Blood Song

Prince? Looking at the tall man again Vaelin recalled the serious youth he had seen at the King’s palace so many years before. Prince Malcius had grown almost as tall and broad as his father. Vaelin looked for soldiers of the Royal Guard but saw no-one accompanying the prince. A prince who walks alone amongst his people, he thought, puzzled.

“Vaelin!” Caenis whispered insistently.

As he made to kneel the prince waved his hand. “No need brother. Please rise, all of you.” He smiled at the kneeling multitude. “The ground is muddy. Now then my lord,” he turned to Al Hestian. “What manner of disturbance is this?”

“A traitorous outrage, Highness,” Al Hestian said forcefully, rising from a bow, his left knee caked in mud. “These boys attacked my men in an effort to rescue the prisoner.”

“You bloody liar!” Barkus exploded. “We came to help our brothers when they had been attacked…” He fell silent as the prince held up his hand. Malcius paused and surveyed the scene, taking in the wounded Blackhawks and Nortah’s unconscious form.

“You brother,” he said to Vaelin. “Are you a traitor as the Lord Marshal claims?” Vaelin noted his eyes barely left Nortah.

“I am no traitor, Highness,” Vaelin replied, trying to keep any trace of fear or anger from his voice. “Neither are my brothers. They are here only in my defence. If an answer must be given for what has happened here then it is mine alone to make.”

“And your fallen brother.” Prince Malcius moved closer, staring down at Nortah with an odd intensity. “Should he make an answer too?”

“His… actions were driven by grief,” Vaelin faltered. “He will answer to our Aspect.”

“Is he badly hurt?”

“A blow to the head, Highness. He should wake in an hour or so.”

The prince continued to stare down at Nortah for a moment longer before turning away, saying softly, “When he wakes tell him I grieve too.”

He moved away and addressed Al Hestian. “This is a very serious business, Lord Marshal. Very serious.”

“Indeed Highness.”

“So serious that full resolution will take so much time as to delay the execution, something I should hate to explain to the King. Unless you wish to do so.”

Al Hestian’s eyes briefly met the Prince’s, the light of mutual enmity shining clearly. “I should hate to intrude on the King’s time needlessly,” he grated through clenched teeth.

“I am grateful for your consideration.” Prince Malcius turned to the Crows. “Take these wounded men to the royal pavilion, they will have the care of the King’s physician. Lord Marshal, I hear there are some riotous drunkards near the west gate in need of your attentions. Do not let me detain you further.”

Al Hestian bowed and remounted. Guiding his horse past Vaelin and the others with the promise of retribution writ large in his face. “Out of the way!” he shouted, his riding crop lashing at the crowd as he forced his way through.

“Take your brother back to the Order,” Prince Malcius told Vaelin. “Make sure you tell your Aspect what occurred here, lest he hear it from other lips first.”

“We will Highness,” Vaelin assured him, bowing as low as he could.

A hundred yards away a steady, monotonous drumbeat was sounding, the crowd falling silent as the beat increased in volume. Vaelin could see a row of spear points rising above the throng, moving in time with the drum, drawing ever closer to the dark silhouette of the gallows.

“Take him away!” the Prince commanded. “Senseless or not, he should not be here.”

It was as they made their way through the silent crowd, Vaelin and Caenis carrying Nortah, Dentos and Barkus forcing a passage, that the drumbeat stopped. There was a silence so thick Vaelin could feel the anticipation like a weight pressing him into the earth. There was a distant clatter then an eruption of cheering, thousands of fists raised in the air in triumph, manic joy on every face.

Caenis surveyed the celebrating crowd with naked disgust. Vaelin couldn’t hear the word he mouthed but the shape of his lips carried the meaning clearly enough: “Scum.”

Nortah disappeared into the care of the masters as soon as they were within the walls of the Order House. It was obvious from the guarded looks of the other boys and the glares of the masters that word of their adventure had sped ahead of their return.

“We’ll see to him,” Master Checkrin said, relieving them of Nortah’s burden, lifting him easily in his muscle thick arms. “You lot get to your room. Do not come out until ordered. Do not talk to anyone until ordered.”

To ensure the instruction was followed Master Haunlin accompanied them to the north tower, the burnt man’s usual passion for song evidently quelled by the circumstances. When the door slammed behind them Vaelin was sure the master was waiting outside. Are we prisoners now? he wondered.

In the room they set aside their gear and waited.

“Did you get my boots?” Vaelin asked Caenis.

“I didn’t get the chance. Sorry.”

Vaelin shrugged. The silence stretched.