“The time when the Orders spoke as one is long past. Aspect Tendris hungers for war against the unfaithful like an ale starved drunkard whilst our brothers in the Third Order lose themselves in their books and watch the events of the world with cold detachment. The Fifth Order by custom takes no part in politics and as for the First and Second, they consider communion with their souls and the souls of the Departed to take precedence over all earthly concerns.”
“Aspect, I am given to believe there is another Order, with possibly more power than all the others combined.”
He was expecting some register of shock or alarm, but the Aspect’s only expression was a slightly raised eyebrow. “I see this is the day all secrets are to be revealed, brother.” He clasped his long fingered hands together and concealed them within his robe, turning and gesturing with his head. “Come, walk with me.”
Frost crunched underfoot as they walked together in silence. From the practice field came the shouts and grunts of pain and triumph he remembered so well. It made him ache with unexpected nostalgia, for all the pain and the loss of his years within these walls it had been a simpler time, before the schemes of kings and the secrets of the Faith brought darkness and confusion into his life.
“How did you come by this knowledge?” the Aspect asked eventually.
“I met a man in the north, a brother of an order long thought to be a myth by the Faithful.”
“He told you of the Seventh Order?”
“Not without persuasion and only up to a point. He did confirm that the continued existence of the Seventh Order is a secret known to all the Aspects. Although, given the recent rift with the Fourth Order I suspect Aspect Tendris remains in ignorance of this information.”
“Indeed he does, and it is vital his ignorance continues. Wouldn’t you agree?”
“Certainly, Aspect.”
“What do you know of the Seventh Order?”
“That it is to the Dark as we are to war and the Fifth Order is to healing.”
“Quite so, although our brothers and sisters in the Seventh Order do not refer to the Dark. They regard themselves as guardians and practitioners of dangerous and arcane knowledge, much of which defies such mundane concepts as names or categories.”
“And would they use such knowledge to aid us?”
“Of course, they always have and continue to do so to this day.”
“The man I met in the north spoke of a war within the Faith, of some within the Seventh Order becoming corrupted by their power.”
“Corrupted or deluded. Who can say? There is much that remains known only to the vanished years. What is clear is that members of the Seventh Order came to possess knowledge best left hidden, that somehow they reached into the Beyond and touched something, some spirit or being of such power and malice that it came close to destroying our Faith and the Realm with it.”
“But it was defeated?”
“Contained might be a better word. But it lurks there still, in the Beyond, waiting and there are those called to do its bidding, plotting and killing at its instruction.”
“The Aspect Massacre.”
“That and more.”
Vaelin thought back to his confrontation with One Eye beneath the city, of what he had told Frentis as he carved the complex pattern of scars into his chest. “The One Who Waits.”
This time the Aspect’s surprise was clear. “You have been busy haven’t you?”
“Who is he?”
The Aspect paused, turning to regard the boys on the practice field. “Perhaps he’s Master Rensial, his apparent madness all these years merely a cloak for his true design. Or he’s Master Haunlin who never did say how he came by those burns. Or is he you, I wonder?” There was an unnerving intensity to the Aspect’s gaze as he turned to Vaelin. “What better disguise could there be, after all? Son of the Battle Lord, courageous in all things, apparently without flaw, loved by the Faithful. What better disguise indeed.”
Vaelin nodded. “Quite. It would only be surpassed by you, Aspect.”
The Aspect blinked slowly and turned away to resume his walk. “My point is that he remains too well hidden and no device or effort by the Seventh Order has yet revealed him. He could be a brother of the Order or a soldier in your Regiment. Or even someone with no connection to the Order at all. The prophecies are vague on the method but are clear that it is the purpose of the One Who Waits to destroy this Order.”
Vaelin frowned in puzzlement. The concept of prophecy was not a feature of the Faith. Prophets and their visions were the province of false beliefs, of god worshippers and Deniers who clung to superstition they mistook for wisdom. “Prophecies, Aspect?”
“The One Who Waits was foretold to us many years ago by the Seventh Order. There are some within their ranks that have gift of scrying the future, or at least the ever changing clouds of shadow that make up the future, so they tell me. It is rare for the visions produced by such people to concur, for the shadows to coalesce into a recognisable whole, but they all agreed on two things: we will have only one chance to discover the One Who Waits and if we fail to do so then this Order will fall, and without this Order so falls the Faith and the Realm.”
“But we have a chance to stop it?”
“One chance, yes. The last brother to make a prophecy on the subject lived over a century ago, it’s said he would slip into a trance and write his visions in script more precise and artful than the most skilled scribe in the land, even though he was unable to read or write when the trance was not upon him. Shortly before he died he reached once more for his pen and left a short passage, ‘War will unmask the One Who Waits when a king sends his army to fight beneath a desert sun. He’ll seek the death of his brother and mayhap find his own.’”
The death of his brother...
“You survived two attempts on your life whilst still in training,” the Aspect went on. “We believe both were carried out by those in service to whatever malignance lurks in the Beyond. For some reason it greatly desires your death.”
“If the One Who Waits is concealed within the Order, why not simply have him kill me?”
“Either because no such opportunity has yet arisen or because to do so would have risked revealing his face and he still has much to do. But amidst the chaos of war, surrounded by so much death, he may well take his chance.”
Vaelin felt a chill that owed nothing to the icy winds sweeping across the practice field. “The king’s war is our chance?”
“Our only chance.”
“Foretold by a man scribbling in a trance more than a hundred years ago. You are willing to commit the Order to war on the basis of this alone?”
“After all you have seen, all you have learned, can you really doubt it? This war will happen whether we support it or not. The king has set his course and will not be dissuaded.”
“If it happens the Realm could fall in any case.”
“And if it doesn’t it will certainly fall. Not to warring fiefs once more but to utter ruin, the earth scorched, the forests burned to cinder and all the people, Realm Folk, Seordah and Lonak dead. What else would you have us do?”
“I couldn’t think of anything to say,” Vaelin told Sherin, his thumb tracing over the smooth skin of her hand. “He was right. It was horrible, terrible, but he was right. He told me this would be a war unlike any we have known. A great sacrifice would be made. But I must return. No matter how many of my men and my brothers fell, I must return to the Realm once I had completed my task. As he walked away he told me I reminded him of my mother. I often wondered how they came to know each other, now I suppose I’ll never find out.”
Her head lay on the table, eyes closed, lips parted, her hand still holding the wine cup he had given her. “Two parts valerian, one part crown root and a pinch of camomile to mask the taste,” he said, stroking her hair. “Try not to hate me.”
He dressed her in her cloak, tucking the scarf and blocks in the folds, and carried her to the harbour. She was light in his arms, fragile. Ahm Lin waited on the quay next to a large merchant vessel, his wife Shoala clutching his hand, her face tight with suppressed tears as she cast a forlorn gaze at the city she would likely never see again. Governor Aruan was negotiating with the vessel’s captain, a stocky man from the Far West who grew alarmed at the sight of Vaelin. Perhaps he had been one of the captains forced to watch the burning ships after the sailor’s escape attempt, Vaelin couldn’t remember, but he quickly concluded his haggling with the Governor and stomped off up the gangplank.
“The price is agreed,” the Governor told Ahm Lin. “They sail direct for the West, first port of call…”
“It’s better if I don’t know,” Vaelin cut in.
Ahm Lin came forward to take Sherin from him, lifting her easily in his muscular mason’s arms.
“Tell her they killed me,” Vaelin said. “As the ship pulled away from the dock the Emperor’s Guard arrived and killed me.”
The mason gave a reluctant nod. “As the song wills it, brother.”
“She could stay here,” Governor Aruan offered. “The city owes her a great debt after all. She would be in no danger.”