“Which means he’ll really be heading anywhere else,” Barkus said. “They’ll never catch him.”

“This is a bad business, brother,” Prince Malcius said to Vaelin, his face grave. “The Order affords great protection to its brothers but this…” He shook his head. “The King will have no choice but to issue a death warrant.”

“Then let’s hope our brother finds his way quickly to safer lands,” Caenis said. “He’s possibly the finest rider in the Order, and has great skill in the wild. He won’t be easily caught by the Realm Guard…”

“He won’t be caught by the Realm Guard at all,” Vaelin said. He went to the table where his sword rested and buckled it on quickly, tugging the straps tight before pulling his cloak over his shoulders. He could feel Sherin’s eyes following him but found himself unable to look at her. “Brother Caenis, the regiment is yours. You will send a messenger to Aspect Arlyn informing him I am in pursuit of Brother Nortah and will bring him to justice. The regiment will wait here for orders from the King.”

“You’re going after him?” Barkus seemed astonished. “You heard the prince. If you bring him back they’ll hang him. He’s our brother…”

“He’s a fugitive from the King’s justice and a disgrace to the Order. And I doubt he’ll give me the chance to bring him back.” He forced himself to look at Sherin, searching for some words of farewell but nothing came. Her eyes were bright and he could tell she was close to tears. I’m sorry, he wanted to say, but couldn’t, the weight of what he had to do pressed down too heavily.

“What makes you think you could hunt him down anyway?” Barkus demanded. “He’s a better rider than you by far, better in the wild too.”

He doesn’t have a blood-song to guide him. It had begun as soon as Dentos began his story, a flat tone flaring whenever Vaelin’s thoughts turned to the north. “I’ll find him.”

He turned and bowed to Prince Malcius. “By your leave, Highness.”

“You’re not going alone?” the Prince asked.

“I’m afraid I must insist on it.” He looked in turn at his brothers. Barkus angry, Caenis confused, Dentos sorrowful, and wondered if they would ever forgive him. “Take care of the men,” he said and walked from the chamber.

Chapter 7

The Renfaelin city of Cardurin had been built on one of the foothills to the northern mountains. Approaching the walls with Spit at a sedate walk Vaelin was struck by the complexity of its construction, every cobbled street sloping upwards in what seemed tighter and ever steeper curves. Tall rectangular sandstone buildings topped by clay-tiled roofs rose on each side. The town was an interconnected whole, each block joined to another by a walk-way, high arches curving elegantly between the walls. It felt as if he were staring up at a forest of stone.

He was waved through the gate by a spearman who favoured him with a respectful nod. The Order had always been held in high esteem in Renfael, a regard which had remained undiminished despite the wars of unification when the Aspects had taken the King’s part. People in the streets beyond the gate gave him a few curious glances but there was none of the open staring or recognition he dreaded when traversing the streets of Varinshold.

He left Spit with a stableman near the gate who gave him directions to the Sixth Order mission. “It’s a bit of a climb, brother,” the man said, taking hold of Spit’s reins and making to give him a scratch on the nose.

“Don’t!” Vaelin pulled the man’s hand away, Spit’s teeth chomping on empty air. “He’s got a temper and we’ve ridden a long way this past two weeks.”

“Oh.” The stableman moved back a little, grinning at Vaelin. “Bet you’re the only one can handle him eh?”

“No, he bites me too.”

The Sixth Order mission house was near the summit of the city and the stableman hadn’t exaggerated the climb, his legs were aching with the effort by the time he jangled the bell suspended next to the door. The brother who opened it was broad and heavily bearded, staring at Vaelin with shrewd blue eyes beneath his bushy brows.

“Brother Vaelin?” he asked.

Vaelin frowned in surprise. “I am expected, brother?”

“A galloper arrived from the capital two days ago. The Aspect gave notice of your mission and ordered me to give any assistance you require should you call here. I expect similar missives were sent to missions throughout the Realm. Unfortunate business.” He stepped aside, “Please, you must be hungry.”

Vaelin was led along a dimly lit corridor and up a flight of stairs, then another flight, and another after that. “Brother Commander Artin,” the bearded man introduced himself as they climbed. “Sorry about the stairs. Renfaelins call Cardurin the city of many bridges. Really should call it the city of countless stairs.”

“May I ask why you have no guard on the door, brother?” Vaelin enquired.

“Don’t need one. Safest city I’ve ever been to. No outlaws in the wilds either, Lonak won’t tolerate them.”

“But don’t the Lonak themselves pose a danger?”

“Oh they never come here. Don’t like the stink of the town apparently, bad smell means bad luck. When they raid, they go for the smaller settlements near the border. Every couple of years one of the War Chiefs will get a few thousand of them worked up enough for a large scale raid, but even then they rarely come close to the city walls. Not much for siege craft, the Lonak.”

He was led to a large room which served as the mission’s meal hall and ate a plate of stew Brother Artin had brought up from the kitchens. After the meal the Brother Commander unfurled a large map on the table. “The most recent effort from our brother map-makers in the Third Order,” he explained. “A detailed rendering of the borderlands. Here,” he pointed to a pictogram of a walled city. “Cardurin. Directly north will take you to the Skellan Pass, fortified and permanently manned by three companies of brothers. A truly unassailable barrier for any fugitive. The Lonak gave up on it decades ago.”

“How do they make their way south?” Vaelin asked.

“The foothills to the west and east. It’s a long journey and makes them vulnerable to pursuit but they’ve little choice if they want to keep raiding. How can you be sure your brother will venture into Lonak lands?”

He’s my brother no longer, Vaelin wanted to say but held his tongue. He felt a profound anger whenever he thought of Nortah and it would do no good to voice it. “Is there a safe way in?” he asked the Brother Commander, avoiding his question. “A way a man travelling alone wouldn’t be seen?”

Brother Artin shook his head. “The Lonak know whenever we venture into their lands, alone in the dead of winter or in a full company of brothers in high summer, it makes no difference. They always know. Something Dark about it, I reckon. Make no mistake, brother, if you follow him in there you’ll meet them, sooner or later.”

Vaelin scanned the map, from the solid mass of jagged peaks that formed the northern mountains and the heart of Lonak lands to the Skellan pass, fortified a century ago when the Renfaelin Lord decided the Lonak were a real threat rather than a continual nuisance. It was when he turned his attention to the western foothills that the blood-song flared. His finger picked out a small, unfamiliar pictogram on the map. “What’s this?”

“The fallen city? He won’t go there. Even the Lonak don’t go there.”

“Why?”

“It’s a bad place, brother. All ruins and bare rock. Only ever seen it from a distance and it gave me the frights. Something in the air…” He shook his head. “Just feels bad. The Lonak call it Maars Nir-Uhlin Sol, the Place of Stolen Souls. They have plenty of stories about people going there and never coming back. There was a party of brothers from the Fourth Order about a year ago, come in search of deniers fleeing north. It was after the appointment of their new Aspect and our Order’s refusal to assist any longer in the Fourth’s denier hunting. They insisted on going to the fallen city, claimed they had intelligence leading them there, although from where they wouldn’t say. They were deaf to my warnings, ‘Servants of the Faith need fear no savage superstition,’ they said. We only ever found one of them, or rather part of him, frozen solid in the snow three months later. Something had been at him. Something hungry.”

“Perhaps they simply got lost and froze to death. A wolf or a bear could have come upon the body.”

“The man’s face was frozen, brother, in a scream. Never seen such a look on any man, alive or dead. He was eaten alive, by something bigger and far meaner than any wolf. And bears don’t leave marks like these.”

Vaelin turned back to the map. “How many day’s ride to the fallen city?”

Brother Artin’s shrewd eyes regarded Vaelin closely. “You really think he’s there?”

I know he’s there. “How many day’s ride?”

“Three, if you push hard. I’ll send a bird to the wall for a party to accompany you. May take a few days. You can rest here…”