“It meant that as our clan can no longer return to the sands, I can no longer return to them, not until I have found our children, be they dead or be they living.”
“You do know that may not be possible?”
The question seemed to baffle Alum, and Vaelin realised it genuinely hadn’t occurred to him before. “I have never failed in a hunt,” he said. “I will not fail now.”
Vaelin opted to enter the town via the north-western road where the new-built housing was thinnest. Even so, people still came to watch the Tower Lord’s arrival, dozens emerging from homes to offer shouted greetings although most simply bowed. These days, over half the population of North Tower were immigrants from the wider Realm. Almost all seemed to have their share of dark memories of the Liberation War and a frequently annoying level of reverence for the man who wrought the Miracle of Alltor and stormed the docks of Varinshold. Consequently, Vaelin took every opportunity to absent himself from the tower and did his best to ensure his departures and arrivals occurred in the hours of darkness. Sadly, with the need to get the gold under lock and key, that hadn’t been possible today.
“I thought your people worshipped the dead,” Alum said, squinting at the passing crowd.
“They do, after a fashion,” Vaelin replied. “Though some worship a single god and others . . .” He trailed off with a sigh. “Suffice to say, when it comes to matters of worship, the Realm is a complicated place.”
“Not so complicated.” Alum bared his teeth in a grin. “These people seem to worship you.”
The North Guard were soon obliged to take the lead in order to clear the road of over-enthusiastic welcomers, ensuring a reasonably swift passage to the western gate and into the town proper. Here the people were mostly Reaches-born and less inclined to gather in welcome, though a few Vaelin knew by name called out a greeting as they navigated the narrow streets to the tower. In times past it had been custom for the North Guard garrison to parade upon return of the Tower Lord, but Vaelin had long since discontinued the practice. In fact the only sign of a welcoming party was the blond woman and the girl standing on the tower steps. Both seemed nervous and keen to avoid his gaze, something that caused his heart to plunge. Not again.
“You’ll be provided a room,” he told Alum as they dismounted. “It would be my honour if you would join me for a meal tonight.”
“Of course. The Merchants’ Guild . . .”
“First thing on the morrow.” Vaelin glanced at Sehmon Vek clumsily disembarking the back of a mule, much to Ellese’s amusement. “Your servant will sleep in the stables.”
The blond woman greeted him with a formal bow as he climbed the steps, something he had told her not to do more times than he could count. However, she had always been keen on propriety, evidenced by the unadorned gown she wore, which still bore the black ribbons of mourning for a husband near six years dead.
“My Lady Kerran,” he greeted her, bowing in return before extending a hand to the girl at her side. “No kiss for your uncle, Lohren?”
“Sorry,” she said, coming forward to hug him tightly as he planted a kiss on the top of her head. The fierceness of her embrace told him a good deal, as did the faint tremble in her limbs.
“My lord,” Kerran began. “It grieves me to raise a somewhat difficult matter so soon upon your return . . .”
“Just tell me,” Vaelin cut in, frowning at the sight of her tightly clasped hands, the knuckles pale with tension. “He hasn’t killed anyone this time, has he?”
Kerran gave a very weak smile before replying. “Not for want of trying, my lord.”
CHAPTER THREE
Lord Nortah Al Sendahl sat on the floor of his cell, head slumped and back propped against the wall. He didn’t look up as the door swung open, though Vaelin detected a faint grimace under his beard. The cell lay deep in the bowels of the tower, the only illumination a small candle in an alcove. The space reeked of unwashed flesh and stale drink, the foul humours enhanced by the contents of the bucket in the corner. The stench did little to alleviate Vaelin’s already darkened mood.
He told the guard to close and lock the door, then stood staring at Nortah in silence until he finally raised his head.