heart?” His gaze narrowed as he surveyed the settlement once more. “All of the people here are . . . Gifted?”
“No, just most of the adults, and perhaps half the children.”
The Moreska shifted in his saddle, Vaelin noting how he clutched the reins tighter and his horse began to stir as it sensed his discomfort. “I see,” was all he said.
“Perhaps,” Vaelin ventured, “you would prefer to spend the day hunting. The hill country to the north is rich in wild goats . . .”
“Goats! Yes!” Alum straightened, reaching for one of the spears he had chosen from the tower armoury. “You have given me these fine weapons. It would be insulting not to furnish meat by way of thanks.” He turned his horse to the north, then paused. “If you do not emerge from this dread place within two days,” he told Vaelin in a grave voice, “be assured I will rescue you.”
With that he spurred his mount into motion and galloped away, Vaelin noting how he kept his gaze firmly averted from Nehrin’s Point.
Vaelin approached the gate at a canter and reined in to dismount. “Master Rentes,” he greeted the burly, staff-bearing Cumbraelin who came forward to take charge of his horse.
“Good day, my lord. Shall I send word to convene the Council?”
“That won’t be necessary. I assume Mistress Cara is at the school?”
“That she is, my lord. Be another hour before she lets the little ’uns loose, though.”
“I’ll wait.” Vaelin nodded his thanks and proceeded inside. Walking the broad streets to the schoolhouse, he was reminded of why he always liked coming here; the people were always scrupulous in avoiding his company. Some offered a muted greeting or a bow before hurrying on their way, but most just averted their gaze and busied themselves with various chores. The Queen’s Word protects them, he thought. But still they fear me, even though I was once one of them. It occurred to him that the loss of his gift was why they feared him, perhaps suspecting such misfortune might be contagious.
Most of the inhabitants came from all corners of the Realm, and a sizeable minority from yet more distant shores. Each had their own tale of persecution at the hands of their own people and therefore valued the security offered by this refuge. Aside from the long-standing risks posed by the ever-suspicious non-Gifted, the years since the war had brought the added threat of the Blood Reavers. The knowledge that drinking the blood of the Gifted would prolong human life had been suppressed under the Queen’s Word. Nevertheless, this hadn’t prevented it becoming widely known amongst the upper echelons of society throughout the Greater Realm. A select few criminal gangs had made themselves rich by abducting Gifted in order to drain their blood and sell it to a select clientele. Any caught doing so were subject to immediate execution but the potential profits were sufficient to overcome the fears of many an outlaw. The wall around Nehrin’s Point was not for show, nor was it a manifestation of paranoia.
So far, there had only been one serious attempt at abduction in the Reaches. A teenage boy and girl had ventured beyond the walls for a midnight tryst only to be captured by an opportunist band of cutthroats. Vaelin had handled the matter with swift and merciless efficiency, hunting down the band with the aid of the tower’s hounds. He ordered those not killed in the brief skirmish paraded through the streets of North Tower before executing them in the square, the hangman having been ordered to make sure the spectacle lasted as long as possible. However, Vaelin was not so naive to think the threat had disappeared, and a garrison of twenty North Guard were on permanent station at Nehrin’s Point.
Since Nortah’s tenure as teacher, the original schoolhouse he constructed had been given over as a nursery for the youngest children. Classes for the older students were now held in a large two-storey building constructed from the red sandstone common to the Reaches. Both buildings sat close to the longhouse where Nortah and Sella had made their home. It sat empty now, the windows boarded up and a chain on the door. Vaelin cast a critical eye over the roof, finding numerous tiles missing, and grimacing as he pondered the likely state of the interior. He had been a frequent visitor here in the years before Sella’s illness. Even then Nortah’s increasing appreciation for the bottle had become apparent, his