The Wolf's Call

by Anthony Ryan

  He hadn’t caught a single glimpse of them since his capture on the lake. The soldiers of the Merchant King had swarmed Crab’s boat with staves in hand, displaying little hesitation in their use. Ellese had made the mistake of swatting away the hand of a soldier as he made to bind her wrists and been clubbed to the deck for her pains. Vaelin had suffered his own flurry of blows when he tried to step to her side. As he lay on the deck, gasping from pain and clutching ribs he suspected might be broken, a sackcloth bag was thrust over his head and his wrists were bound with thick twine. There had been a few hours of lying in what he assumed was accumulated bilge water in the bowels of the ship-sized boat. He heard Nortah’s voice raised at one point but whatever witticism he had intended to bestow was rapidly drowned by a harsh shout and the dull thwack of hard wood on flesh.

  Eventually he had been dragged from the damp into the open air. Harsh prods propelled him across solid ground as he peered through the weave of the sack at what he took to be some form of dockside. Then came the gloomy interior of the carriage and the jangle of chains followed by the feel of cold iron on his wrists. The bag was whipped away, and he caught a fleeting glimpse of a soldier’s armoured back before the door slammed shut.

  “Is this how you treat a noble visitor?” he had muttered to the gloom with a weary laugh, reflecting on the uselessness of Erlin’s lessons in etiquette.

  “I don’t suppose,” he asked the mouse now as the carriage’s wheels continued to rattle over what he hoped were cobbles, “you know the name of this place?” He accompanied the question with a few bread crumbs. The mouse, however, appeared unimpressed. The black beads of its eyes gleamed as it paused to regard him for a second before hopping closer, gathering the morsels to its mouth with tiny claws.

  “No.” Vaelin sighed. “I doubted you would.”

  He strained to peer at one of the larger gaps in the planking. It was barely the width of his small finger and revealed only a variety of passing light and shadow, although from the increased pitch of noise, it was clear the carriage was indeed now navigating some kind of city. The sheer number of accumulated voices he could hear, coupled with the hours it took for the carriage to come to a halt, convinced him this was a far more substantial place than a mere town.

  He reckoned it took a total of four hours before the vibration of the wheels gave way to something far smoother and the carriage came to a halt. A hard metallic clanking and the door swung open. Vaelin blinked watery eyes in the harsh daylight until his vision cleared to reveal a hard, frowning face that, he realised, was one he had seen before.

  He judged the man’s age at a few years more than his own, his smooth shaven features marred by lines at the corners of his eyes and mouth. His black hair was drawn back into a topknot revealing a forehead marked by a trio of old scars, two of which hadn’t been there when Vaelin last saw him. Also, his expression had been very different. The face of a man in love, Vaelin recalled. Also, whilst his memory increasingly contrived to discard some details as he grew older, the visions conveyed to him by the blood-song never dimmed, especially those concerning Sherin.

  The man’s eyes narrowed as Vaelin’s gaze lingered on him, nostrils flaring in a disdainful sniff. “Fetch a bucket,” he said, glancing to the side. “He cannot assault the king with such a stink.”

  With that he stepped back and two soldiers in red-lacquered armour climbed into the carriage. They removed Vaelin’s chains and one barked out a command to get up. Vaelin groaned as his muscles stretched for the first time in days, getting unsteadily to his feet only to be shoved towards the door. It was clearly a push calculated to cause harm, forcing Vaelin against the metal-bracketed edge of the doorway with sufficient force to provoke a pained grunt. Hearing the man who had shoved him let out a snicker, Vaelin groaned again and sank to one knee, head sagging in exhaustion.

  “On your feet, you barbarous ape,” the shover said, meaty hand clamping hard on Vaelin’s shoulder. He sagged lower, forcing the guard to stoop and slightly unbalance his stance. Vaelin’s head snapped back in a blur, connecting with the soldier’s nose, producing a satisfyingly loud crack. As the man reeled, Vaelin twisted, catching hold of the hand on his shoulder whilst simultaneously lashing out with his foot, sweeping the soldier’s leg away. He collapsed onto Vaelin, trying to tear his hand free as his companion loomed closer, reaching for Vaelin’s arm. He rolled, taking the soldier with him, hands moving with brisk, practised efficiency, screams filling the musty confines of the carriage. In the time it took for two more soldiers to climb into the carriage and drag them apart, he succeeded in breaking three of the shover’s fingers.

  “Enough!”

  Vaelin felt the cold kiss of steel under his chin and found the man with the familiar face standing over him. He held the tip of a sword to Vaelin’s skin with a precise but firm grip, a deep temptation to use it plain in his gaze.

  “Kill me,” Vaelin said, “and who will you take to meet your king?”

  “I strongly suspect,” the man said as the sword tip pressed harder, Vaelin feeling a trickle of blood on his neck, “he may well be satisfied with just your head.”

  Vaelin gave a bland smile and released his grip on the soldier, letting the man scrabble away, cursing and clutching his ruined hand.

  “Shut up!” barked the familiar man, the note of authority in his voice marking him as an officer of some kind. Sheathing his sword, he spared the soldier a disgusted glance before turning away. “Short rations and no wine for a month. You were warned he was dangerous.” Turning to Vaelin, he inclined his head at the door. “No more trouble. Understand me, barbarian?”

  “I have companions,” Vaelin said. “I would know where they are before I go anywhere.”

  “Any questions will be answered by the king, if he deigns to sully his tongue by conversing with you. Now get up or I will happily deliver you to him in chains.”

  Climbing down from the carriage, Vaelin found a bucket full of soapy water waiting at the foot of the steps. A few paces beyond stood a soldier holding a bundle of plain but clean clothes.

  “Strip,” the officer said, gesturing at the bucket. “Then wash, then dress.”

  Vaelin took a moment to scan his surroundings. He stood amidst a ring of a dozen red-armoured soldiers in a courtyard he would have taken for a field were it not for the smooth slate tiles that covered it from end to end. It was bordered by three-storey buildings with low-angled roofs, the corners and edges of which were richly adorned in statuary. Beyond the buildings he saw towers rising into the pale cloudy sky. They were almost as tall as the towers of Volar, but thinner, each one crowned by a structure that resembled a miniature fortress. Watch-towers, he concluded, finding himself impressed. No army could approach within fifty miles without being seen.

  “Strip, wash and dress!”

  Vaelin glanced at the familiar man and gave a courteous bow before divesting himself of his clothing. The sweat-matted fabric peeled away from his skin to birth a miasma that even he found strong enough to sting his eyes. “You haven’t asked my name,” he commented once fully naked, moving to the bucket. “Is that because you already know it?”

  He gave the officer a sidelong glance as he lathered himself, seeing a determinedly rigid composure in his features. This was a fellow well practised in concealing emotion. “Or my business in the Venerable Kingdom,” Vaelin went on. He dipped his head into the bucket and soaked his hair before working his fingers through the tangled strands. “Don’t you wish to know why I am here?”

  The man said nothing, face just as rigid as before.

  “Sherin Unsa,” Vaelin said, watching for any reaction and finding none. “A woman of my former acquaintance. Sister Sherin Unsa to be precise, formerly of the Fifth Order of the Faith. Although I imagine she dropped the title years ago.”

  Still nothing beyond a slight twitch to the eyes. “She’s an easterner,” Vaelin added, hefting the buc
ket. “A barbarian you would say. Like me.” He upended the receptacle and emptied the contents over his head, enjoying the sensation of cleanliness despite the chill. “Strange that you would have no knowledge of her.” He tossed the bucket aside and took a moment to shake the moisture from his hair. “I had heard she achieved some renown in these lands thanks to her healing skill . . .”

  “I know of whom you speak.” The man’s expression had hardened once more, Vaelin seeing the same hunger for violence in his gaze. “And, yes, I do know who you are. She is nothing like you.”

  He’s never met me, yet he hates me, Vaelin concluded. What did she tell him? He turned away as the question provoked a shameful bitterness. The truth would be cause enough, if he loves her.

  “If the Merchant King wishes to know my business in his realm,” he said. “She is the sole reason . . .”

  “Don’t speak of her again!”

  The surrounding soldiers tensed as their officer took a step towards Vaelin, fist tightening on the sword at his belt. He mastered himself quickly, however, stepping back and nodding at the soldier with the clothes. “Dress and be quick. This tardiness is only adding to the insult you have dealt this kingdom.”

  The clothes were a simple set of grey cotton trews and jacket. Shoes were not provided so, once Vaelin had dressed, he was obliged to walk on bare feet as he followed the captain from the courtyard. The soldiers marched on either side, rarely taking their eyes off him. Vaelin was led through a series of gates and along successive walkways, guards snapping to attention as the captain passed by. People Vaelin took to be servants from their plain garb and the bundles they carried would scurry aside and bow low. By contrast, those of more opulent dress, presumably courtiers or officials of some kind, would either stare at Vaelin in open curiosity or pointedly avert their gaze as if the mere sight of a barbarian were somehow injurious.

  Eventually they came to a gate far taller and more ornate than the others, its massive doors grinding on iron hinges as they swung open to reveal a broad pleasing panorama. Low hills of vibrant green surrounded placid pools of clear water whilst cherry blossom trees scattered petals across the vista. Vaelin recalled Lyrna’s liking for gardens and the extensive royal parks she reputedly funded in her new dominions. However, he doubted she had as yet crafted anything to match this for sheer scale and beauty.

  “Wait here,” the captain told his soldiers, starting through the gate and gesturing for Vaelin to follow. The great doors swung closed the instant they stepped through onto the lush pasture. There appeared to be no pathways here, and Vaelin enjoyed the feel of the grass on his feet as he followed the captain up one hill and down another.

  “You know my name,” he said, labouring to keep up thanks to the depredations of his confinement. “Will you not tell me yours?”

  The captain remained silent for some time before replying in a tone of weary necessity, “Sho Tsai. Commander of the Red Scouts.”

  “A mere scout?” Vaelin scoffed. “And not even a general? Surely a man of my standing should be escorted by someone of equal rank.”

  It was another calculated barb, one that seemed to strike deeper than the others. Sho Tsai came to a halt, turning in a slight crouch, one hand on the scabbard of his sword whilst the other gripped the handle. “Rank?” he asked in a low murmur. “You have no more status here than a worm wriggling in shit.”

  Anger, Vaelin thought in satisfaction as he began to voice another insult, one he hoped would guarantee an attack. He would disarm this prideful scout and force information from him. He knows where the others are. He knows where Sherin is, and I’ll have him tell me.

  A high-pitched chime sounded across the park, drawing Vaelin’s gaze from Sho Tsai’s glowering visage. The sound had originated from a small island in the centre of the nearest pool. It was linked to the bank by a stone pier and featured a slope-roofed structure supported by four pillars. A tall man with long silver hair stood beneath the roof, repeatedly striking a baton to a broad bell of some kind. A little girl capered about in front of him, her giggles mingling with the chimes.

  Sho Tsai let out a deep sigh as he straightened, gesturing to the island. “The Merchant King Lian Sha commands your presence.”

  He turned and strode off, leaving Vaelin to briefly consider and then discount the notion of subduing him now that his back was so conveniently turned. A brief scan of the surrounding park revealed no sign of other guards or attendants, but he had an intuition that such emptiness was an illusion. Surely no king would leave himself so defenceless. He was also increasingly aware of his dangerous lack of caution since leaving the Reaches. As Tower Lord Al Sorna he would never have baited Sho Tsai so. Brother Vaelin, however, was always far too accepting of risks.

  The chimes and the little girl’s giggles fell silent as they traversed the pier to the island. She abruptly abandoned her dance to hide behind the tall man’s robe, peeking out at Vaelin with a fearful scowl.

  Sho Tsai came to a halt at the end of the pier and sank to one knee. “Most Favoured of Heaven,” he said in strident but respectful tones. “I bring the interloper as per your command. And”—he glanced over his shoulder at Vaelin—“will be greatly honoured to administer your swift and wise judgement.”

  The tall man favoured the soldier with a kindly smile but said nothing, his gaze lingering expectantly on Vaelin. The brother might not have bowed, he thought. But the Tower Lord would.

  He repeated the bow that had failed so conspicuously on the lake, embellishing it by lowering his head an inch or two further than etiquette required. The tall man evidently found this amusing for he gave a hearty laugh before turning to Sho Tsai.

  “My thanks, Captain. Return to the shore if you would. I will speak to this man alone.” His voice was soft, possessed of a melodious quality very different from any accent Vaelin had yet heard in this land. Nevertheless he found it to possess a certain effortless authority that reminded him of Aspect Arlyn, another man who rarely felt the need to raise his voice above a murmur.

  “Forgive me, Most Favoured.” Sho Tsai bowed lower, a hard reluctance in his voice. “But the barbarian should be considered a dangerous beast. He attacked one of my men . . .”

  “Really?” the Merchant King interrupted, silver eyebrows raised in surprise. “Did he kill him?”

  “No, Most Favoured.”

  “Could he have, if he wished?”

  Sho Tsai’s shoulders hunched a little. “Yes, Most Favoured.”

  “Then he cannot be termed a beast, can he?”

  Sho Tsai hesitated a moment longer, then dipped his head lower before rising. Turning smartly about, he favoured Vaelin with a glance full of dire warning before marching along the pier to the shore.

  “We shall speak in your tongue,” Lian Sha told Vaelin in precise Realm Tongue coloured by his musical tones. “So there is no misunderstanding between us.”

  “As you wish, Highness,” Vaelin replied. At the sound of his voice the little girl sheltering behind Lian Sha’s robes let out a tiny squeak and hid her face in the cascade of silk.

  “A moment, please,” the Merchant King said before crouching and gently easing the girl away. “He is just a man, blossom of my heart,” he told her, using his sleeve to wipe away her tears. “Such foolish notions your mother teaches you. Play now.” He pointed to a collection of dolls and sundry toys close by. “Your grandfather has business to attend to. And what is business?”

  “Business is the sun and rain,” the girl replied promptly. Lian Sha stroked a finger across her cheek and she scampered to her toys without further hesitation.

  “My youngest grandchild,” the Merchant King told Vaelin. “Only four years old and already my favourite. Do you have a favoured child?”

  “I have no children, Highness.”

  “Yes, I was forgetting. Vaelin Al Sorna, Tower Lord of the Northern Reaches and most famed sword of the Un
ified Realm, has never married. What a curious people you are. A man born to any of the Merchant Kingdoms who remains unmarried beyond his twenty-first year would find himself shunned, even subject to fines in certain Prefectures. Is it lust for the flesh of men that prevents you choosing a wife?”

  “No, Highness.”

  Lian Sha’s dark eyes seemed to twinkle as they regarded him. Whereas the Merchant King’s voice reminded Vaelin of Aspect Arlyn, his eyes evoked sour memories of King Janus.

  “No insult suffered, I see,” Lian Sha mused. “A man possessed of a broad mind, or at least broad experience. Of course, I know why you have no wife, as I know what brings you to my kingdom without invitation. You come in search of the healing woman, in memory of the love you shared and lost.”

  “Your Highness is well informed.”

  “An ill-informed king will soon find himself a beggar, or dead. It will not surprise you to know that I became aware of your presence here within two days of your stepping onto the docks of Hahn-Shi. A remarkably efficient intelligence and messenger network was one of the more useful legacies of the Emerald Empire.” The twinkle faded and the king’s eyes took on a sudden hardness. “I would know the fate of my emissaries to your tower.”

  “They were murdered by a member of their retinue.”

  “The weapons I sent them to purchase?”

  “Will not be forthcoming, at least until my queen rules on the matter, which will take months and even then, I fully expect the answer will be no.”

  “Her response might be altered were she to learn her most favoured general is now a guest in my palace.”

  “I assure you, Highness, it will not. When it comes to negotiations, Queen Lyrna will not suffer any disadvantage and I caution you against rousing her anger. Not long ago, an entire empire was crushed for making the same mistake, as I suspect a well-informed king would already know.”

  A steely glint crept into the Merchant King’s eyes and his voice became a low, steady murmur. “For the sake of a pleasant outcome to this meeting, make no assumptions as to what I do and do not know.” He held Vaelin’s gaze and blinked, the murmur abruptly replaced by a brisker, more businesslike tone. “What became of the assassin?”