Tower Lord

The Fourth Order was represented by Brother Kehlan, a man of some fifty or so years with a serious look who regarded Vaelin with the same wary suspicion he saw on most faces around him.

“Would I be right, brother,” he asked the healer, “in judging you the longest-serving member of the Orders in the Reaches?”

“I am, my lord,” Kehlan replied, pouring himself some more wine. “Some thirty years now.”

“Brother Kehlan came north with my father,” Dahrena explained, touching an affectionate hand to the brother’s sleeve. “He has been my tutor for as long as I can remember.”

“Lady Dahrena has an excellent knowledge of the healing arts,” Kehlan said. “In truth she’s more my tutor these days than I am hers, what with all the curatives she brings back from the Seordah. They’re often remarkably effective.”

“You visit with the Seordah, my lady?” Vaelin asked her. “I was given to believe they forbid entry to their forest.”

“Not to her,” Kehlan said. “In fact I doubt there’s a path in the Northern Reaches she couldn’t walk in complete safety.” He leaned forward to meet Vaelin’s gaze, some wine sloshing from his overfilled cup. “Such is the respect and affection she commands here.”

Vaelin gave an affable nod in reply. “Of that I have little doubt.”

“Are the Seordah very fierce, Lady Dahrena?” Alornis asked. She was seated on Vaelin’s left and had said little all evening, clearly disconcerted by the unfamiliarity of the circumstance. “All I know of them are rather fanciful tales from the histories.”

“No fiercer than I,” Dahrena replied. “For I am Seordah.”

“I thought my lady was of Lonak descent,” Vaelin said.

“I am. But my husband was Seordah, and so, by their custom, am I.”

“You have a Seordah husband?” Alornis asked.

“I did.” Dahrena looked down at her wine cup, smiling sadly. “We met when the Horde came out of the north and my father called for aid from the Seordah, he was amongst the thousands who answered. I would have married him the very day I met him but for father’s insistence I wait for my majority. After we were wed I lived amongst them for three years until . . .” She sighed and took a sip of wine. “The war between Lonak and Seordah has never ended. It raged long before your people came here and will no doubt rage for centuries to come, claiming many more husbands.”

“I’m sorry,” Alornis said.

Dahrena smiled and patted her hand. “Love once and live forever, so the Seordah say.”

The sadness in her eyes stirred memories of Sherin, her face the day he had placed her in Ahm Lin’s arms, the hours he spent watching the ship take her away . . .

“Might I enquire what plans my lord has for the morrow?” Brother Hollun said, calling his attention back to the table. “I have several months worth of records requiring the Tower Lord’s signature.”

“I have business at Nehrin’s Point,” Vaelin replied. “I would like to introduce my sister to some friends I’m told reside there. We’ll see to the records when I return, brother.”

Sister Virula stiffened at mention of the settlement. “Do I understand, brother, that you intend to visit the Dark Clave?”

Vaelin frowned at her. “Dark Clave, sister?”

“Just silly rumours, my lord,” Dahrena said. “The kind that always beset those with unfamiliar ways. The Reaches have ever been a refuge for exiles, people of differing faiths and customs, outlawed in their homelands. A long-standing tradition of the Tower Lord’s dominion.”

“One not to be overthrown without very careful consideration,” Brother Kehlan said, downing what was probably his sixth cup of wine. “New blood enriches us, Vanos always said. Something you’d do well to remember.”

Vaelin found he didn’t like the threat in the man’s voice, drunk or not. “Brother, if serving me is such an irksome task, you have my leave to return to the Realm at your earliest convenience.”

“Return to the Realm?” Kehlan grew red in the face, getting to his feet, shaking off Dahrena’s restraining hand. “This is my realm, my home. And who are you? Some vaunted killer from the mad king’s failed war?”

“Brother!” Captain Adal came forward, grasping the healer’s arm and pulling him away. “You forget yourself. Too much wine, my lord,” he said to Vaelin.

“Do you have any notion of the greatness of the man you pretend to replace?” Kehlan raged on, tearing free of Adal’s grip. “How much these people loved him? How much they love her?” His finger stabbed at Dahrena who sat with eyes closed in despair. “You are not needed here, Al Sorna! You are not wanted!” He continued to rant as Adal and another North Guard hustled him from the chamber, leaving a taut silence in his wake.

“And I thought this evening was destined to end without any entertainment,” Vaelin said.

The words provoked only a small ripple of laughter, but it was enough to herald a return of conversation, albeit muted.

“My lord.” Dahrena leaned close to Vaelin, speaking in hushed but earnest tones. “My father’s death was very hard on Brother Kehlan. The illness that took him was beyond his skill to heal. He has not been himself since.”

“He spoke treason,” Sister Virula said, her voice a touch smug. “He said King Janus was mad. I heard him.”

Dahrena gritted her teeth and pressed on, ignoring her. “His service to this land has been unmatched. The lives he has saved . . .”

Vaelin rubbed at his temples, suddenly weary. “I’m sure I can forgive the drunken outburst of a grieving man.” He met her gaze. “But it can’t happen again.”

She nodded, forcing a weak smile. “My lord is kind. And there will be no repetition of this, you have my word.”

“I’m glad.” He pushed his chair back and got to his feet. “My thanks for all your attention today, my lady. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I find myself sorely in need of rest.”

? ? ?

“The Eorhil named him He Who Trails Fire When He Runs. On account of his mane.” The stable master smoothed a hand over the horse’s flank. It was a handsome beast, thickly muscled though not so toned as a well-bred Realm mount, but tall at the shoulder, his coat a dark russet brown save for his mane which had a tinge of red to it. “Not ones for short names the Eorhil. I just call him Flame.”

“He’s young,” Vaelin observed, checking the horse’s teeth and noting the absence of grey in the hairs on his snout.

“But smart as a whip and well trained, my lord,” the stable master assured him. He was a broad man in his thirties, Nilsaelin judging by his accent, sporting a patch over his left eye and naming himself only as Borun. He had greeted Vaelin’s early-morning appearance at the stables with brisk affability, absent any of the resentment the Tower Lord was becoming accustomed to.

“He was traded from the Eorhil when still a colt,” Borun said. “Was to be Lord Al Myrna’s next mount. Lady Dahrena thought it fitting he should come to you.”

Vaelin scratched Flame’s nose, receiving a contented snort in response. At least this one won’t bite. “I’ll need a saddle. And a mount for my sister.”

“I’ll see to it, my lord.”

Alornis appeared as the horses were being led into the courtyard, yawning and swaddled in furs. Even in summer the Reaches retained a chill for much of the small hours. “How far is it?” she asked. There was a redness to her eyes that made Vaelin suspect she had partaken of more wine than she should the night before.

“A few hours’ ride, usually,” Dahrena advised, climbing onto her own horse. “But we have a call to make first. I should like to show you one of the mines. If you are agreeable, my lord?”

“Certainly.” He inclined his head at Alornis, then at her horse. She yawned again, muttered something and hauled herself into the saddle with an audible groan.

As well as Orven’s guardsmen, they rode in company with Captain Adal and two of his men, taking the north road into heather-covered hills. The road had a well-maintained surface of hard-packed gravel and proved a busy route; they had to make way for several heavily laden carts along the way.

“When my father first took on the Lordship it was just a narrow dirt track,” Dahrena said when Vaelin commented on the quality of the road. “The stone had to be carried to the dock on packhorses. He used the King’s coin to build the road and the King’s Word to make the merchants pay towards its upkeep.”

They rode together at the head of the column. The mix of rigid neutrality and anger from the previous day seemed to have abated, but he could still sense a guardedness in her demeanour. Probably still worrying over the drunken healer, he thought.

“You don’t intend to stay, do you?” he asked.

She gave him a sidelong glance and he knew she was wondering what his song had told him, although his words came from nothing more than careful observation. “I had thought I might return to the forest,” she said. “For a time.”

“A pity, I should have liked to bestow a title on you.”