“A good point, captain.” Vaelin nodded at Caenis. “Put a guard on the main wells.” He straightened, finding his dizziness had subsided. “We’ll meet again in three days. Thank you for your attention.”
The captains departed leaving Caenis and Vaelin alone the battlements. “Are you all right, brother?” Caenis asked.
“A little tired is all.” He gazed out at the trackless desert, the horizon wavering in the midday haze. He knew he would one day look out at this scene and behold the spectacle of an Alpiran host. The only question was how long it would take them to arrive. Would they leave him enough time to accomplish his task?
“Do you think Al Cordlin could be right?” Caenis ventured. “The Battle Lord will have Marbellis under siege by now, it is the largest city on the northern coast.”
“The Hope Killer isn’t in Marbellis,” Vaelin said. “The Battle Lord drew his plans well, he’ll have a free hand at Marbellis whilst the emperor’s army deals with us. We should have no illusions.”
“We’ll hold them,” Caenis said with flat certainty.
“Your optimism does you credit, brother.”
“The King requires this city to fulfil his plans. We are taking but the first step on a glorious journey towards a Greater Unified Realm. In time the lands we have secured will become the fifth fief of the Realm, united under the protection and guidance of King Janus and his descendants, free from the ignorance of their superstitions and the oppression of lives lived at the whim of an emperor. We have to hold.”
Vaelin tried to discern some irony in Caenis’s words but could detect only the familiar blind loyalty to the king. Not for the first time he was tempted to give his brother a full account of his meetings with Janus, wondering whether his devotion to the old man would survive knowledge of his true nature, but he held back as always. Caenis was defined by his loyalty, he cloaked himself in it as protection against the many uncertainties and lies that abounded in their service to the Faith. Quite why Caenis was so devoted Vaelin had never been able to divine but was loath to rob him of his cloak, delusion though it may be.
“Of course we’ll hold,” he assured Caenis with a grim smile, thinking, Whether it makes a thimble-worth of difference to anything is another matter.
He moved to the stairway at the rear of the battlement. “I think I’ll take a tour of the town, barely seen it yet.”
“I’ll fetch some guards, you shouldn’t walk the streets alone.”
Vaelin shook his head. “Worry not, brother. Not so weakened that I can’t defend myself.”
Caenis was still unsure but gave a reluctant nod. “As you wish. Oh,” he said as Vaelin began to descend the stairs. “The governor requested we send a healer to his house. Apparently his daughter’s taken ill and the local physicians lack the skills to help her. I sent Sister Gilma this morning. Perhaps she can foster some good will.”
“Well if anyone can, it’s her. Assure the governor of my best wishes for his daughter will you?”
“Of course brother.”
The woman who answered the door to the stonemason’s shop regarded him with naked hostility, her smooth brow set in a frown and her dark eyes narrowed as she listened to his greeting. She seemed a year or so shy of thirty, with long dark hair tied back in a ponytail and a dust stained leather apron covering her slender form. From behind her came the rhythmic thud of metal on stone.
“Good day, madam,” he said. “Please forgive the intrusion.”
She folded her arms and gave a curt reply in Alpiran. From her tone he assumed she wasn’t welcoming him inside with an offer of iced tea.
“I… was told to come here,” he went on, her stern gaze giving no insight as to her understanding, her mouth fixed in a hard line, offering nothing.
Vaelin glanced around at the mostly empty street, wondering if he could have misread the vision somehow. But the blood-song had been so implacable, its tone so certain, compelling his course through the streets, only subsiding when he happened upon this door beneath the sign of a chisel and hammer. He resisted an impulse to push his way inside and forced a smile. “I have business to discuss.”
Her frown deepened and she spoke in heavily accented but unmistakable words, “No business here for northmen.”