“A gift of thanks from a beautiful maiden.”

“Should I be jealous?”

“Hardly. She’s half a world away and, I suspect, married to a handsome blonde fellow we used to know.”

Sherin pulled the blocks apart. “Winterbloom.”

“From my sister.”

“You have a sister? A blood-sister?”

“Yes. I only met her once. We spoke of flowers.”

She reached to clasp his hand summoning an overpowering need for her, so fierce and powerful as to almost make him forget what he had asked of Ahm Lin, forget the Aspect, the war, the whole sorry blood-soaked tale. Almost.

“Governor Aruan is arranging the ship, but we have hours yet,” he said, moving to the table where she prepared her concoctions, sitting down to unstopper a bottle of wine. “Quite possibly the last bottle of Cumbraelin red left in the city. Will you drink with a former Lord Marshal of the Thirty-Fifth Regiment of Foot, Sword of the Realm and brother of the Sixth Order?”

She arched an eyebrow. “Have I saddled myself with a drunkard, I wonder?”

He reached for two cups and poured a measure of red in each. “Just have a drink, woman.”

“Yes my lord,” she said in mock servility, sitting opposite and reaching for a cup. “Did you tell them?”

“Just Barkus. The others think I’m following on the last ship.”

“We could still go back. With the war over…”

“There’s no place for you there, now. You said so yourself.”

“But you’re losing so much.”

He reached across the table and grasped her hand. “I’m losing nothing, and gaining everything.”

She smiled and sipped her wine. “And the task the Aspect set you, is it complete?”

“Not quite. By the time we leave here it will be.”

“Can you tell me now? Am I finally allowed to know?”

He squeezed her hand. “I don’t see why not.”

It had been cold that day, colder than usual even for Weslin. Aspect Arlyn stood at the edge of the practice field watching Master Haunlin teach the staff to a group of novice brothers. Vaelin judged them as third year survivors from their age and the comparative smallness of the group. In the distance mad Master Rensial was trying to ride down another group of boys, his shrill tones carrying well in the chill air.

“Brother Vaelin,” the Aspect greeted him.

“Aspect. I request lodging for the Thirty-Fifth Regiment of Foot during the winter months.” At the Aspect’s insistence it had become a ritual between them to formally request lodging every time the regiment returned to the Order House, recognition of the fact that, funding and equipment notwithstanding, it remained a part of the Realm Guard.

“Granted. How was Nilsael?”

“Cold, Aspect.” They had spent the better part of three months on the Nilsaelin border with Cumbreael, hunting a particularly savage and fanatical band of god worshippers calling themselves the Sons of the Trueblade. One of their less savoury habits was the abduction and forcible conversion of Nilsaelin children, many of whom had been subjected to various forms of abuse to force their adherence, some killed outright when they proved too intractable or troublesome. The pursuit through the hill country and valleys of southern Nilsael had been difficult but the regiment had harried the band with such ferocity they were down to barely thirty men by the time they were cornered in a deep gulley. They immediately killed their remaining captives, a brother and sister of eight and nine stolen from a Nilsaelin farmhouse a few days before, then loosed arrows at the Wolfrunners whilst singing prayers to their god. Vaelin left it to Dentos and his archers to wipe them out to a man, something he found troubled his conscience not at all.

“Casualties?” the Aspect enquired.

“Four dead, ten injured.”

“Regrettable. And what did you learn about these, what was it, Sons of the Trueblade?”

“They considered themselves followers of Hentes Mustor, believed by many Cumbraelins to embody the prophesied Trueblade from their Fifth book.”

“Ah, yes. Apparently there is an eleventh book being touted around Cumbrael, The Book of the Trueblade, telling the tale of the usurper’s life and martyrdom. The Cumbraelin bishops have condemned it as heretical but many of their followers are clamouring to read it. It’s always the way with such things, burn a book and the ashes spawn a thousand copies. It seems by killing one lunatic we have grown another branch to their church. Ironic, don’t you think?”

“Very, Aspect.” He hesitated, gathering strength for what he had to say, but as ever the Aspect was ahead of him.

“King Janus wants my support for his war.”

Does anything ever surprise you? Vaelin wondered. “Yes, Aspect.”

“Tell me, Vaelin, do you believe Alpiran spies lurk in every alley way and bush preparing the way for their armies to invade our lands?”

“No, Aspect.”

“And do you believe Alpiran Deniers abduct our children to defile in unspeakable god worshipping rights?”

“No, Aspect.”

“In that case do you think that the future wealth and prosperity of this Realm is dependent on securing the three principal Alpiran ports on the Erinean Sea?”

“I do not, Aspect.”

“And yet you come to ask for my support on behalf of the King?”

“I come to ask for guidance. The King has placed my father and his family under threat in order to ensure my obedience, but I find I cannot preserve them whilst thousands die in a pointless war. There must be some way to steer the King away from this course, some pressure that can be brought against him. If all the Orders were to speak as one...”

“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?”