BLOOD SONG THE BERKLEY PUBLISHING GROUP Published by the Penguin Group Penguin Group (USA) Inc 375 Hudson Street, New York, New York 10014, USA USA | Canada | UK | Ireland | Australia | New Zealand | India | South Africa | China Penguin Books Ltd., Registered Offices: 80 Strand, London WC2R 0RL, England For more information about the Penguin Group, visit penguin.com Copyright © 2011 by Anthony Ryan All rights reserved No part of this book may be reproduced, scanned, or distributed in any printed or electronic form without permission Please not participate in or encourage piracy of copyrighted materials in violation of the author’s rights Purchase only authorized editions Ace Books are published by The Berkley Publishing Group ACE and the “A” design are trademarks of Penguin Group (USA) Inc eBook ISBN: 978-1-101-62290-2 Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data Ryan, Anthony Blood song : a Raven’s Shadow novel / Anthony Ryan — Ace Hardcover Edition pages cm ISBN 978-0-425-26769-1 (hardcover) I Title PR6118.Y3523B56 2013 823’.92—dc23 2013003738 PUBLISHING HISTORY Ace hardcover edition / July 2013 Cover illustration © Cliff Nielsen Cover photographs: texture © Alexeysun/Shutterstock; metal plate © R-studio/Shutterstock; ice glass © Kompaniets Taras / Shutterstock; brown leather © Alef-Beth/ Shutterstock; leather © Brandon Bourdages / Shutterstock; fire © Alexander Chernyakov / iStockphoto; fire © Valeev/Shutterstock; fire © Nejron Photo / Shutterstock; metal texture © Waj/Shutterstock; sword © Olemac/Shutterstock; sword © Kjolak/Shutterstock Cover design by Judith Lagerman Interior text design by Tiffany Estreicher Main map by Steve Karp, based on an original by Anthony Ryan Central Unified Realm map and Northern Alpiran Empire map by Anthony Ryan This is a work of fiction Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales is entirely coincidental The publisher does not have any control over and does not assume any responsibility for author or third-party websites or their content For Dad, who never let me give up ACKNOWLEDGMENTS My profound thanks to my editor, Susan Allison, for taking a chance on a nobody, and to Paul Field, who wouldn’t let me pay him for the work he did correcting the many errors with which I littered the original manuscript Also, I’d like to acknowledge the considerable debt I owe the authors of all the fantasy works I’ve enjoyed over the years, none more so than the late great David Gemmell in whose mighty shadow I am happy to labour Table of Contents Part I Verniers’ Account Chapter One Chapter Two Chapter Three Chapter Four Chapter Five Chapter Six Part II Verniers’ Account Chapter One Chapter Two Chapter Three Chapter Four Chapter Five Chapter Six Chapter Seven Chapter Eight Chapter Nine Chapter Ten Part III Verniers’ Account Chapter One Chapter Two Chapter Three Chapter Four Chapter Five Chapter Six Chapter Seven Chapter Eight Part IV Verniers’ Account Chapter One Chapter Two Chapter Three Chapter Four Chapter Five Chapter Six Chapter Seven Chapter Eight Chapter Nine Chapter Ten Part V Verniers’ Account Chapter One Appendix I Appendix II PART I Raven’s shadow Sweeps across my heart, Freezes the torrent of my tears —SEORDAH POEM, AUTHOR UNKNOWN endlessly, and they all tell a different tale of what it actually means For the Alpirans it’s all about duty, the Renfaelins think it’s the same as courage In these islands it appears it means killing a son for a crime committed by his father then slaughtering a helpless man when the pantomime fails to go to plan.” It was strange, but the crowd fell silent as he spoke Even though his voice wasn’t particularly loud, the amphitheatre carried it effortlessly to all those present, and somehow their anger and disappointed bloodlust abated “I offer no excuse for my father’s actions Nor can I offer any contrition He burned a city on the orders of his king, it was wrong but I had no hand in it In any case, spilling my blood will leave no mark on a man who died three years ago, peacefully in his bed with his wife and daughter at his side There is no vengeance to be had on a corpse long since given to the fire Now give me what I came for or kill me and have done.” My gaze shifted to the spear-bearing guards, seeing hesitation as they exchanged glances and cast wary eyes at the crowd, now possessed of a rising murmur of confusion “KILL HIM!” It was the Lady Emeren, on her feet now, striding towards Al Sorna, finger pointed in accusation, snarling “KILL THE MURDERING SAVAGE!” “You have no voice here, woman!” Nurin told her, voice hard in rebuke “This is the business of men.” “Men?” Her laugh was harsh, near hysterical as she rounded on Nurin “The only man here lies unconscious and unavenged Cowards, I call you Faithless pirate scum! Where is the justice I was promised?” “You were promised a challenge,” Nurin told her He looked at Al Sorna for a long moment before lifting his gaze to the crowd, his voice rising “And it is concluded We are pirates it is true, for the gods gave us all the oceans as our hunting grounds, but they also gave us the law with which we govern these Isles and the law holds true in all things or it means nothing Vaelin Al Sorna stands as victor in this challenge under the terms of the law He has committed no crime in the Isles and is therefore free to go.” He turned back to the Lady Emeren “Pirates we are, but scum we are not And you, Lady, are also free to go.” We were marched to the end of the mole and told to wait whilst they arranged passage for us with the few foreign vessels in port A large detachment of spearmen stood guard across the quay to discourage any last-minute vengeance from the townsfolk, although I judged the mood of the crowd at the conclusion of the challenge to be subdued, more disappointed than outraged The guards ignored us and it was plain our departure would be marked with no ceremony I have to say it was an awkward circumstance to linger there with the two of them, the Lady Emeren prowling the dock, arms tightly folded against her breast, Al Sorna sitting silently on a spice barrel, and me, praying for the turn of the tide and blessed release from this place “This does not end here, Northman!” the Lady Emeren burst out after an hour of silent pacing She approached to within a few feet of him, glaring, hating “Have no dream of escape from me This earth is not broad enough to hide from…” “It’s a terrible thing,” Al Sorna cut in “When love turns to hate.” Her baleful visage froze as if he had stabbed her “I knew a man once,” Al Sorna continued, “who loved a woman very much But he had a duty to perform, a duty he knew would cost him his life, and hers too if she stayed with him And so he tricked her and had her taken far away Sometimes that man tries to cast his thoughts across the ocean, to see if the love they shared has turned to hate, but he finds only distant echoes of her fierce compassion, a life saved here, a kindness done there, like smoke trailing after a blazing torch And so he wonders, does she hate me? For she has much to forgive, and between lovers”— his gaze switched from her to me—“betrayal is always the worst sin.” The cut on my cheek burned, guilt and grief mingling in my breast amidst a torrent of memory Seliesen when he first came to court, the way his smile always seemed to bring the sun, the Emperor giving the honour of his education in court matters to me, his early stumbling attempts at etiquette, listening to his latest poems far into the night, the fierce jealousy when Emeren made her feelings known, and the shameful triumph when he began to forsake her company for mine And his death…The endless grief I thought would consume me Al Sorna had seen it all, I knew it Somehow, there was nothing hidden from his jet eyes Al Sorna rose and stepped towards the Lady Emeren, making her flinch, not in hatred I knew, but fear What else had he seen? What else would he say? Kneeling before her, he spoke in clear, formal tones, “My lady, I offer my apology for taking your husband’s life.” It took her a moment to master her fear “And will you offer your own in recompense?” “I cannot, my lady.” “Then your apology is as empty as your heart, Northman And my hatred is undimmed.” They found a vessel from the Northern Reaches for Al Sorna, ships from the Unified Realm’s northmost holdings apparently enjoyed rights of anchorage in Meldenean waters denied their countrymen I had heard and read a little of the Reaches, how it was home to peoples of varied ancestry, and was therefore unsurprised to find the crew mostly dark-skinned with the broad features common in the Empire’s southwestern provinces I walked with Al Sorna to the ship’s berth, leaving the Lady Emeren rigidly immobile at the end of the mole She stared out to sea, refusing to grace the Northman with another word “You should heed her,” I told him as we neared the gangplank “Her vendetta won’t end here.” He glanced over at the still form of the Lady, sighing in regret “Then she is to be pitied.” “We thought we were sending you here to your death, but all we have done is set you free As you knew we would, I’m sure Ell-Nestra never had a chance Why didn’t you kill him?” His black eyes met mine with the piercing, questing gaze I knew saw far too much “At my trial Lord Velsus asked me how many lives I had taken, I honestly couldn’t tell him I’ve killed many times, the good, the bad, cowards and heroes, thieves and…poets.” His eyes became downcast and I wondered if this was my apology “Even friends And I’m sick of it.” He looked down at the sheathed sword in his hand “I hope to never draw this again.” He didn’t linger, made no offer of his hand or any word of farewell, simply turning and making his way up the gangplank The vessel’s captain greeted him with a deep bow, his face lit with a naked awe shared by the surrounding crew The Northman’s legend had flown far it seemed Even though these men hailed from a place long distant from the Realm’s heartland, his name clearly carried a great meaning What waits for him? I wondered In a Realm where he is no longer merely a man The ship departed within the hour, leaving half its cargo unloaded on the docks, keen to be away with its prize I stood at the end of the mole with the Lady Emeren, watching the Hope Killer sail away I could see him for a time, a tall figure at the prow of the ship I fancied he may have glanced back at us, just once, perhaps even have raised a hand in a wave, but he was too far away to be sure Once free of the harbour the ship unfurled to full sail and was soon vanished beyond the headland, heading east with all speed “You should forget him,” I told the Lady Emeren “This obsession will be your ruin Go home and raise your son I beg you.” I was appalled to see she was crying, tears streaming from her eyes, although her face was rigidly devoid of expression Her voice was a whisper, but fierce as ever, “Not until the gods claim me, and even then I’ll find a way to send my vengeance through the veil.” CHAPTER ONE H e took Spit and rode westwards, keeping to the shoreline, finding a campsite sheltered in the lee of a large grass-topped dune He gathered driftwood for a fire and cut grass for kindling The stems were dried by the sea breeze and lit at the first touch of the flint The fire grew high and bright, embers rising like fireflies into the early-evening sky In the distance the lights of Linesh seemed to burn brighter still and he could hear music mingled with the sound of many voices raised in celebration “After all we did for them,” he told Spit, holding a sugar lump up for the warhorse to chomp on “War, plague and months of fear Hard to believe they’re happy to see us go.” If Spit cared anything for irony, it was expressed in a loud snort of annoyance as he jerked his head away “Wait.” Vaelin caught hold of the reins and unfastened the bridle before moving to lift the saddle from his back Shorn of the encumbrance, Spit cantered away across the dunes, kicking through the sand and tossing his head Vaelin watched him play in the surf as the sky dimmed and a bright full moon rose to paint the dunes a familiar silver blue Like snowdrifts in the height of winter Spit came trotting back as the last glimmer of daylight faded, standing expectantly at the edge of the light cast by the fire, awaiting the nightly ritual of grooming and tethering “No,” Vaelin said “We’re done Time to go.” Spit nickered uncertainly, forehoof kicking sand Vaelin went to him, slapped a hand on his flank, stepping back quickly to avoid the retaliatory kick as Spit reared, whinnying in anger, teeth bared “Go on, you hateful beast!” Vaelin shouted, gesticulating wildly “GO!” And he was gone, galloping away in a blur of silver-blue sand, his parting whinny resounding in the night air “Go on, you bloody nag,” Vaelin whispered with a smile There was little else to occupy his time so he sat, feeding the fire, recalling that day atop the battlements at the High Keep when he watched Dentos approach the gate without Nortah and knew everything was about to change Nortah…Dentos…Two brothers lost and about to lose another It was only a slight change in the wind bringing a faint scent of sweat and brine He closed his eyes, hearing the soft scrape of feet on sand, approaching from the west, making no pretence of stealth And why would he? We are brothers after all He opened his eyes to regard the figure standing opposite “Hello, Barkus.” Barkus slumped down in front of the fire, raising his hands to the flames His muscle-thick arms were bare as he wore only a cotton vest and trews, his feet shorn of boots and his hair matted with seawater His only weapon was his axe, strapped across his back with leather thongs “Faith!” he grunted “Haven’t been this cold since the Martishe.” “Must’ve been a hard swim.” “Right enough We were three miles out before I realised you’d gulled me, brother The ship’s captain took some hard persuading before he’d sail his boat back to shore.” He shook his head, droplets flying from his long hair “Sailing off to the Far West with Sister Sherin As if you’d pass up a chance to sacrifice yourself.” Vaelin watched Barkus’s hands, saw how they were free of any tremble although it was cold enough to make his breath steam “That was the deal, right?” Barkus went on “We get to live and they get you?” “And Prince Malcius is returned to the Realm.” Barkus frowned “He’s alive?” “I was sparing with the truth in getting you all out of the city without any fuss.” The large brother grunted again “How long till they come for you?” “First light.” “Time enough to rest up then.” He unslung his axe from his back, setting it down close by “How many you think they’ll send?” Vaelin shrugged “I didn’t ask.” “Against the two of us they better send a whole regiment.” He looked up at Vaelin, puzzled “Where’s your sword, brother?” “I gave it to Governor Aruan.” “Not the brightest idea you’ve had How you intend to fight?” “I don’t In accordance with the King’s Word I will surrender myself to Alpiran custody.” “They’ll kill you.” “I don’t think so According to the Fifth Book of the Cumbraelin god, I still have many more people to kill.” “Pah!” Barkus spat into the fire “Prophecies are bullshit Superstition for god worshippers You took their Hope, they’ll kill you right enough Just a question of how long they take over it.” He met Vaelin’s eyes “I can’t stand by and watch them take you, brother.” “Then leave.” “You know I can’t that either Don’t you think I lost enough brothers already? Nortah, Frentis, Dentos—” “Enough!” Vaelin’s voice was sharp, cutting through the night Barkus drew back in alarm and bemusement “Brother, I…” “Just stop.” Vaelin studied the face of the man in front of him with all the scrutiny he could muster, searching for some crack in the mask, some flicker of lost composure But it was perfect, impervious and infuriating He fought to master the anger, knowing it would kill him “You’ve waited so long for this, why not show me your true face? Here at the end, what difference does it make?” Barkus grimaced in a flawless display of embarrassed concern “Vaelin, are you quite well?” “Captain Antesh told me something before he left Would you like to hear it?” Barkus spread his hands uncertainly “If you wish.” “It seems Antesh isn’t his real name Hardly surprising, I’m sure many of the Cumbraelins we hired felt the need to use a false name, either through fear of a criminal past or shame at accepting our coin What was surprising is that we’ve both heard his other name before.” Still no slip in the mask Still nothing beyond the concern of a true brother “Bren Antesh was once greatly in thrall to his god,” Vaelin told him “So great was his devotion it drove him to kill, to gather others who also thirsted to honour their god with the blood of heretics In time he led them to the Martishe where most of them died at our hands, leading him to question his belief, to abandon his god, accepting the King’s gold and giving it to the families of his fallen men, then seeking death in a foreign war, all the time trying to forget the name he had won in the Martishe: Black Arrow Bren Antesh was once named Black Arrow And he assures me he was never in possession of any letters of free passage from his Fief Lord, nor were any of his men.” Barkus remained still, all expression now vanished “You remember the letters, brother?” Vaelin asked “The letters you found on the body of the archer I killed The letters that set us to war with Cumbrael.” It was only a slight change in the angle of his head, a small shift in the set of his shoulders, a new curve to his lips, but suddenly Barkus was gone, like smoke in the wind When he spoke Vaelin was unsurprised to hear a familiar voice, the voice of two dead men “Do you really think you’re going to serve a Queen of Fire, brother?” Vaelin’s heart plummeted like a stone He had been nurturing a withered hope that he might be wrong, that Antesh had been lying and his brother was still the noble warrior sailing away with the morning tide Now it was gone and there were just the two of them, alone on the beach with death coming swiftly “I’m told there are other prophecies,” he replied “Prophecies?” The thing that had been Barkus grated a harsh, ugly laugh “You know so little All of you, scribbling down your fumbling attempts at wisdom, calling it scripture when it’s just the rantings of the mad and the power-hungry.” “The Test of the Wild Is that when you took him?” The thing wearing Barkus’s face grinned “He wanted to live so badly Finding Jennis was a gift of life but his sense of brotherhood was so strong he couldn’t bring himself to what was necessary.” “He found Jennis’s body frozen, with no cloak.” The thing laughed again, harsh, grating, enjoying its cruelty “His body and his soul Jennis was still alive, half-dead with cold, but still breathing, whispering pleas for Barkus to save him Of course there was nothing he could do, and he was so very hungry Hunger does strange things to a man, reminds him he is just an animal, an animal that needs to feed, and flesh is just flesh The temptation sickened him, the hunger driving him beyond the edge of madness, and so he wandered out into the snow and lay down to die.” Hentes Mustor, One Eye, the carpenter who burned Ahm Lin’s house, all once close to death “Death is your gateway.” “They call to us, across the hateful void, the plaintive call of a soul near death, like a lost lamb drawing a wolf Not all can be taken, only those with the seed of malice and the gift of power.” “Barkus had no malice.” Another venomous cackle “If there’s a man without malice in his heart, I’ve yet to meet him Barkus had hidden his so deep he barely knew it was there, festering like a maggot in his soul, waiting to be fed, waiting for me It was his father you see, the father who had sent him away, who hated and envied his gift He saw the wondrous things the boy could with metal and hungered for the power It is the way of things for those of us with gifts Wouldn’t you agree, brother?” “Were you always him? Every word spoken since, every deed, every kindness I can’t believe it was all you.” The thing shrugged “Believe what you wish They come close to death, we take them, from that moment they are ours We know what they know, makes it so easy to maintain the mask.” The blood-song whispered, a faint but jarring note “You’re lying Hentes Mustor was not fully within your command, was he? That’s why you killed him before he could tell me the lies you whispered to him in the voice of his god And when you came for Aspect Elera you had three men under your yolk yet they attacked separately, no doubt your business with Aspect Corlin at the House of the Fourth Order taxed your abilities I don’t think you can fully control more than one mind at once, and I’ll wager your grip can be broken.” The thing inclined Barkus’s head “Battle Sight is a powerful gift indeed Soon you’ll be close to death and one of us will come to claim it Lyrna loves you, Malcius trusts you Who better to guide them through the difficult years ahead? What malice lurks in your breast I wonder? Your Master Sollis perhaps? Janus and his endless schemes? Or is it the Order? After all, they sent you here to draw me out and in doing so robbed you of the woman you love Tell me there is no malice there, brother.” “If it’s my song you want, why have you sought my death twice now? Sending hirelings into the Urlish to kill me during the Test of the Run, sending Sister Henna to my room the night of the Aspect massacre.” “What use have we for hirelings? And Henna’s mission was conceived in haste, so troublesome to find you at the House of the Fifth Order that night of all nights, before we knew what power you could offer us She sends her regards, by the way So sorry she couldn’t be here.” He searched for some guidance from the blood-song but found only silence This thing was not lying “If not you, then who?” His voice faded as it came to him, borne on a despairing chord from the blood-song: Brother Harlick’s fear in the fallen city Have you come to kill me? “The Seventh Order,” he murmured aloud “Did you really think they were just a bunch of harmless mystics labouring in service to your absurd faith? They have their own plans, their own agents Do not delude yourself that they would hesitate to seek your death should you prove an obstacle.” “Then why have they not attacked me since?” The thing shifted Barkus’s body in badly concealed unease “They are biding their time, waiting for their chance.” Another lie, confirmed by the blood-song The wolf The Seventh set its hirelings on me but the wolf killed them Had they seen it as evidence of some Dark blessing, protection afforded by a power they feared? Questions As ever, there were always more questions “Were you once a man?” he asked it “Did you have a name?” “Names mean much to the living but to those who’ve felt the depthless chill of the void they seem the conceit of children.” “So you were alive once You had a body of your own.” “A body? Yes I had a body Torn by the wilderness and wasted by hunger, pursued by hate at every turn I had a body born of a raped mother they called a witch We were driven out because her gift could turn the wind The man who fathered me lied and said she had used the Dark to compel him to bed her Lied that he refused to stay with her when the spell faded Lied that she had used her gift to spoil the crops in revenge With stones and rotting filth they drove us into the forest, where we lived like animals until the hunger and the cold took her from me But I lived on, more a beast than a boy, forgetting language and custom, forgetting everything but revenge And in time I took it, in full measure.” “‘He called forth the lightning,’” Vaelin quoted “‘And the village burned The people fled to the river but he swelled it with rain until the banks burst and carried them away Still his vengeance was not sated and he brought down a blast of wind from the far north to encase them in ice.’” The thing formed a smile, chilling in its complete lack of cruelty, a smile of fond remembrance “I can still see his face, my father, frozen in the ice, staring up at me from the depths of the river I pissed on it.” “The Witch’s Bastard,” Vaelin whispered “The story must be three centuries old.” “Time is as much a delusion as your faith, brother To look into the void is to see the vastness and smallness of everything at once, in an instant of terror and wonder.” “What is it? This void you talk of?” The thing’s smile became cruel once more “Your faith calls it the Beyond.” “You lie!” he spat, even though there was no sound from the blood-song “The Beyond is a place of endless peace, complete wisdom, sublime unity with the everlasting souls of the Departed.” The thing’s lips twitched for a moment and then it began to laugh, loud and hearty peals of amusement echoing across the beach and the sea Vaelin felt his hand itch for the dagger in his boot as it continued to laugh, resisting the urge with difficulty Not yet… “Oh.” The thing shook its head, thumbing a tear from its eye “You utter fool, brother.” He leaned forward, the face of what had been his brother a red mask in the firelight, hissing, “We are the Departed!” He waited for the blood-song’s call but heard nothing beyond an icy silence It was impossible, it was blasphemy but there was no lie in this thing’s words “The Departed await us in the Beyond,” he recited, hating the desperation in his voice “Souls enriched by the fullness and goodness of their lives, they offer wisdom and compassion…” The thing was laughing again, near helpless with mirth “Wisdom and compassion There is no more wisdom and compassion amongst the souls in the void than there is in a pack of jackals We hunger and we feed, and death is our meat.” Vaelin closed his eyes tight, resuming his recitation, the words tumbling rapidly from his lips “What is death? Death is but a gateway to the Beyond and union with the Departed It is both ending and beginning Fear it and welcome it…” “Death brings us fresh souls to command, more bodies to twist to our will, sate our lusts and serve his design…” “What is the body without the soul? Corrupted flesh, nothing more Mark the passing of loved ones by giving their shell to the fire…” “The body is everything A soul without a body is a wasted, wretched echo of a life—” “I HEARD MY MOTHER’S VOICE!” He was on his feet, dagger in hand, crouched in a fighting stance, eyes now locked on the thing across the fire “I heard my mother’s voice.” The thing that had been Barkus got slowly to his feet, hefting the axe “It happens sometimes, amongst the Gifted, they can hear us, hear the souls calling in the void Brief echoes of pain and fear mostly That’s how it all started, you know, your faith Several centuries ago an unusually Gifted Volarian heard a babble of voices from the void, among them the unmistakable voice of his own dead wife He took it upon himself to spread the word, the great and wondrous news that there is life beyond this daily punishment of grief and toil People listened, the word spread and so began your faith, all built on the lie that there is a reward in the next life for servile obedience in this one.” Vaelin fought to master his confusion, tried to stop himself willing the blood-song to speak, to give the lie to this thing’s words Wood cracked in the fire, the surf beat against the shore in a ceaseless rumble and Barkus regarded him with the cool, dispassionate gaze of a stranger “What design?” Vaelin demanded “You spoke of his design? Who is he?” “You’ll meet him soon enough.” The thing that had been Barkus clasped the haft of the axe with both hands, taking a firm grip, holding it up for the edge of the blade to catch the moonlight “I made this for you, brother, or rather I allowed Barkus to make it He always hungered for the hammer and the anvil so, although he resisted manfully until I took away his reluctance Beautiful, isn’t it? I’ve killed so many times with so many different weapons, but I must say this is the finest With this I can bring you to the brink of death as easily as if I were wielding a surgeon’s knife You’ll bleed, you’ll fade and your soul will reach out to the void He’ll be waiting for you there.” The smile the thing offered was grim now, almost regretful “You really shouldn’t have given up your sword, brother.” “If I hadn’t, you wouldn’t have been so willing to talk.” The thing’s smile vanished “Talking’s over.” He leapt over the fire, axe drawn back, teeth bared in a hateful snarl Something large and black met him in midair, fastening its jaws on his arm, rending and tearing as they crashed together onto the fire, thrashing, scattering flame Vaelin saw the hateful axe rise and fall once, then twice, heard the enraged howl of a slave-hound as the blade bit home, then the thing that had been Barkus was rising from the dregs of the fire, hair and clothes aflame, his left arm hanging ruined and useless, nearly severed by Scratch’s bite But the right arm was still whole, and he still held the axe “Asked the governor to set him loose at nightfall,” Vaelin told him The thing roared in pain and rage, the axe arching round in a silver blur Vaelin ducked under the blade, lancing out with the dagger, piercing the thing’s chest, seeking the heart It roared again, swinging the axe with inhuman speed Vaelin left the dagger embedded in its chest and caught hold of the haft of the axe as it swung round, backhanded a savage blow to the thing’s face and followed with a kick to the groin It barely staggered and delivered a stinging head-butt, sending Vaelin reeling across the sand, falling onto his back “Something I didn’t tell you about Barkus, brother!” the thing said, leaping closer, axe raised “When you trained together, I always made him hold back.” Vaelin rolled to the side as the axe bit down on the sand, twisted to send a kick into the thing’s temple, surging to his feet as it shook off the pain and swung again, the blade meeting only air as Vaelin dived over the arc of the swing, ducked in close to snatch the dagger from its chest, stabbed again then stepped back to let the axe swing within an inch of his face The thing that had been Barkus stared at him, shocked, still, smoke rising from his burns, his ruined arm bleeding onto the sand He dropped the axe and his good hand went to the rapidly spreading stain on his shirt He stared at the thick slick of blood covering his palm for a second then slowly sank to his knees Vaelin moved past him and retrieved the axe from the sand, fighting revulsion at the feel of it in his hands Is this why I always hated it so? Because this was its final purpose? “Nicely done, brother.” The thing that had been Barkus showed bloodstained teeth in a grin of absolute malice “Perhaps the next time you kill me, I’ll be wearing the face of someone you love even more.” The axe was light, unnaturally so, making only the faintest whisper as he brought it up and round, slicing through skin and bone as easily as it did the air The head of what had been his brother rolled on the sand and was still He tossed the axe aside and pulled Scratch from the dying remnants of the fire Heaping sand onto the smouldering burns, tearing his shirt to press rags against the deep cuts in his side The slavehound whimpered, tongue lapping weakly at Vaelin’s hand “I’m sorry, daft dog.” He found his vision blurred by tears and his voice caught by sobs “I’m sorry.” He buried them separately For some reason it seemed the right thing to He said no words for Barkus, knowing his brother had died years ago and in any case he was no longer sure if he could say them and not feel a liar As the sun rose he took the axe and walked to the edge of the beach The morning tide was coming in fast, the breakers roaring in from the headland He hefted the axe, surprised to find the revulsion had gone, whatever Dark stain it had held seemed to have dissipated with the death of the man who had fashioned it Now it was just metal Finely crafted and gleaming in the sun, but still just metal He hurled it into the sea with all the strength he could muster, watched it glitter as it turned end over end before dropping into the waves with a small splash He washed himself in the surf and returned to his makeshift camp, covering the bloodstains as best he could, then made for the road, walking back towards Linesh It was an hour or so before he came to the agreed place and the desert heat was coming on swiftly He chose a spot near a road marker and sat down to wait The blood-song rose as he sat there, a new tune, stronger and clearer than before As his thoughts turned in his head he found the music changed, mournful as he recalled the final whimper from Scratch, bombastic as he replayed the fight with the thing that had been Barkus, and with the music came images, sounds, feelings he knew were not his own He understood that for the first time he was truly in command of his song, he was finally singing Somewhere in a place that wasn’t a place something was screaming, begging forgiveness from an unseen hand that dealt punishment of depthless pain, untroubled by mercy or malice In a palace far to the north a young woman composed the greeting she would offer her brother on his return, a carefully crafted speech combining grief, regret and loyalty with expert precision Once satisfied, she laid down her quill, requested some refreshment from her maid and, when she was certain she was alone, put her perfect face in her hands and wept To the west another young woman gazed at a broad ocean and refused to weep In her hand she held two wooden blocks wrapped in a finely embroidered silk scarf Below her the sea beat against the ship’s hull, scattering spume into the air Her hand itched to throw the bundle to the waves, anger burning in her, a hard pain she couldn’t escape, making her hate the thoughts it provoked A desire for revenge was not something she understood, never having felt it before From behind came a shout of pain and she turned, seeing a sailor collapsed on the deck having fallen from the rigging, clutching at a broken leg and swearing profusely in a language she didn’t understand “Lie still!” she commanded, moving to his side, returning the blocks and the scarf to the folds of her cloak Aboard another ship sailing another ocean, a young man sat, silent and still, his face a blank mask Despite his stillness, he provoked fear in those around him, their master’s orders having made it clear that to awaken his interest invited the swiftest death Although the young man was as unmoving as a statue, within his shirt the scars on his chest burned with a continual, fierce agony Vaelin focused the song to a single pure note, casting it forth across the deserts, jungles and ocean that separated them: I will find you, brother The young man stiffened momentarily, drawing fearful glances from those who guarded him, then returned to his previous immobile, expressionless state The vision and the song faded, leaving him sitting in the blazing sun, a dust cloud rising in the east, soon resolving through the haze into a troop of horsemen, the tall figure of Grand Prosecutor Velsus at their head, riding hard, eager to claim his prize APPENDIX I Dramatis Personae THE UNIFIED REALM The Royal House of Al Nieren Janus Al Nieren—King of the Realm Malcius Al Nieren—son to Janus, Prince of the Realm, heir to the throne Lyrna Al Nieren—daughter to Janus, Princess of the Realm The Noble House of Sorna Kralyk Al Sorna—First Sword of the Realm, former Battle Lord of the King’s Host Vaelin Al Sorna—son to Kralyk, brother of the Sixth Order Alornis Dinal—illegitimate daughter to Kralyk The Noble House of Myrna Vanos Al Myrna—Sword of the Realm, Tower Lord of the Northern Reaches Dahrena Al Myrna—Lonak foundling, adopted daughter of Vanos The Noble House of Sendahl Artis Al Sendahl—First Minister of the Council of Unity Nortah Al Sendahl—brother of the Sixth Order, son to Artis, Vaelin’s comrade The Noble House of Hestian Lakrhil Al Hestian—Lord Marshal of the King’s Twenty-seventh Regiment of Horse, later Battle Lord of the King’s Host Linden Al Hestian—Lord Marshal of the King’s Thirty-fifth Regiment of Foot, son to Lakrhil, friend to Vaelin Alucius Al Hestian—poet and second son to Lakrhil THE ORDERS OF THE FAITH The Sixth Order of the Faith Gainyl Arlyn—Aspect of the Sixth Order, Vaelin’s superior Sollis—sword-master and Brother Commander of the Sixth Order, Vaelin’s master Caenis Al Nysa—brother of the Sixth Order, third son of the House of Nysa, Vaelin’s comrade Barkus Jeshua—brother of the Sixth Order, son of a Nilsaelin blacksmith, Vaelin’s comrade Dentos—brother of the Sixth Order, Vaelin’s comrade Frentis—urchin and pickpocket, later brother of the Sixth Order, friend to Vaelin Makril—brother of the Sixth Order, renowned tracker and later Brother Commander Rensial—Master of Horse Chekril—Master of Hounds Hutril—Hunt Master Jestin—Master of the Smithy The Fifth Order of the Faith Elera Al Mendah—Aspect of the Fifth Order Sherin—sister of the Fifth Order, friend to Vaelin, later Mistress of Curatives Gilma—sister of the Fifth Order, attached to the Thirty-fifth Regiment of Foot Harin—Master of Bone Lore to the Fifth Order Sellin—veteran brother of the Fifth Order, gatekeeper to the Order House OTHERS Scratch—Volarian slave-hound, friend to Vaelin Spit—warhorse of foul temper, Vaelin’s mount Nirka Smolen—captain of the Third Company, King’s Mounted Guard Sentes Mustor—drunkard, heir to the Fief Lordship of Cumbrael Hentes Mustor—younger brother to Sentes, called the Trueblade Lartek Al Molnar—Finance Minister of the Council of Unity Dendrish Hendrahl—Aspect of the Third Order Tendris Al Forne—brother of the Fourth Order and servant of the Council for Heretical Transgressions, later Aspect of the Fourth Order Liesa Ilnien—Aspect of the Second Order Theros Linel—Fief Lord of Renfael, vassal to Janus Darnel Linel—son to Theros, heir to the Fief Lordship of Renfael Banders—knight and Baron of Renfael, bondsman to Theros Gallis—climber, outlaw and later sergeant in the Thirty-fifth Regiment of Foot Janril Norin—former apprentice minstrel, later standard-bearer in the Thirty-fifth Regiment of Foot Bren Antesh—captain of Cumbraelin archers during the Alpiran war Count Marven—captain of the Nilsaelin contingent during the Alpiran war THE ALPIRAN EMPIRE Aluran Maxtor Selsus—Emperor Seliesen Maxtor Aluran (Eruhin, The Hope)—adopted son to Aluran, chosen heir to the Imperial throne Emeren Nasur Ailers—wife of Seliesen Verniers Alishe Someren—Imperial Chronicler Neliesen Nester Hevren—captain in the Imperial Guard Holus Nester Aruan—Governor of the City of Linesh Merulin Nester Velsus—Imperial Grand Prosecutor Ahm Lin—stonemason of Far Western origin APPENDIX II The Rules of Keschet Keschet is played by two players on a board of one hundred squares Each player begins the game with Emperor, General, Scholar, Merchants, Thieves, Lancers, Archers and Spearmen At the start of the game a player may place any piece in any square in the first three rows at the player’s end of the board The opposing player will then place a piece of the player’s choosing in the first three rows at the player’s end of the board All pieces are then placed on the board in turn The player who placed the first piece then makes the first move A piece is taken if the square it occupies is occupied by an opposing piece The game is won if the Emperor is taken or if the Emperor is the only piece remaining to the losing player Any piece in an adjoining square to the Scholar is protected and cannot be taken The Scholar may move one or two squares in any direction The Emperor can move up to four squares in any direction The General can move up to ten squares in any direction The Archer can move up to six squares vertically or horizontally The Thief can move one square in any direction A player has the use of any piece taken by the Thief The Spearman can move up to two squares vertically or horizontally The Lancer can move up to ten squares diagonally The Merchant can move either one square in any direction or to any vacant square adjoining the square occupied by the Emperor horizontally, vertically or diagonally, if the route is unobstructed by another piece ... Group (USA) Inc eBook ISBN: 978-1- 101- 62290-2 Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data Ryan, Anthony Blood song : a Raven’s Shadow novel / Anthony Ryan — Ace Hardcover Edition pages... Estreicher Main map by Steve Karp, based on an original by Anthony Ryan Central Unified Realm map and Northern Alpiran Empire map by Anthony Ryan This is a work of fiction Names, characters, places,.. .BLOOD SONG THE BERKLEY PUBLISHING GROUP Published by the Penguin Group Penguin Group (USA) Inc 375 Hudson Street, New York, New York 1 0014 , USA USA | Canada | UK |