“ Spices and silk, Highness?”
“ The main trade route for spices and silk runs through the Erinean sea, spices from the southern provinces of the Alpiran Empire, silk from the Far West, they come together at the Alpiran ports on the northern coast of the empire. Every ship that docks must pay the emperor for the privilege and a share in the value of their cargo. Alpiran merchants have grown wealthy off this trade, some more wealthy than even the Merchant Kings of the West, and they all pay tribute to the emperor.”
Vaelin’s unease deepened. He can’t be thinking it. “You wish to lure this trade to our ports?” he ventured.
The old man shook his head. “Our ports are too few, our harbours too small. Too many storms lash our coast and we are too far north to capture so much trade. If we want it, we’ll have to take it.”
“ Highness, I know little of history but I cannot recall any occasion when this Realm or any of the fiefs was threatened by Alpiran invasion or even raid. There is no blood between our peoples. The Catechisms tell us that war is only justified in defence of land, life or Faith.”
“ Alpirans are god-worshippers are they not? A whole empire in denial of the Faith.”
“ The Faith can only be accepted, not forced, especially not on an empire.”
“ But they scheme to bring their gods here, to undermine our Faith. Their spies are everywhere, disguised as merchants, whispering denial, defiling our youth in Dark rites. And all the time their army grows and the Emperor builds more ships.”
“ Is any of this true?”
The king gave a small smile, owl eyes glittering. “It will be.”
“ You expect the whole Realm to believe this nonsense?”
“ People always believe what they want to, true or not. Remember the Aspect massacre, all those deniers and suspected deniers slaughtered in the riots on the basis of mere rumour. Give them the right lie and they’ll believe it.”
Vaelin regarded the king in silence as the carriage rattled over the cobbled streets of the northern quarter, the certainty of his realisation was chilling. There’s no lie here, he actually means to do it. “ What do you want of me, Highness? Why share this with me?”
The king spread his bony hands. “I need your sword, of course. Could hardly go to war without the Realm’s most famous warrior now can I? What would the commons think if you were to refuse to bring the sword of the Faith to the Empire of Deniers?”
“ You expect me to make war on a people with whom this Realm has no quarrel on the basis of lies?”
“ I most certainly do.”
“ And why would I?”
“ Loyalty is your strength.”
Linden Al Hestian’s face, turning marble white as the blood drained from the gash in his neck… “Loyalty is another lie you use to trap the unwary in your designs.”
The king frowned, at first he seemed angry then barked a laugh. “Of course it is. What do you think kingship is for?” His mirth faded quickly. “You forget the bargain we made. I command and you follow. You remember?”
“ I’ve already broken our bargain, Highness. I didn’t do what you commanded of me in the Martishe.”
“ And yet Linden Al Hestian still resides in the Beyond, taken by your knife.”
“ He was suffering. I had to end his pain.”
“ Yes, very convenient.” The king waved a hand in irritation, apparently bored with this subject. “It matters not, you made a bargain. You’re mine, Young Hawk. This attachment to the Order is a fiction, you know it as well as I do. I command, you follow.”
“ Not to the Alpiran Empire. Not without a better reason than a shortage of bluestone.”
“ You refuse me?”
“ I do. Execute me if you must. I will make no declamation in my defence. But I’m tired of your schemes.”
“ Execute you?” Janus barked another laugh, even louder than the first. “How noble, especially since you are fully aware I can do no such thing without arousing rebellion amongst the commons and war with the Faith. And I think my daughter hates me enough as it is.”
Abruptly the King pulled aside the velvet curtain covering the window, his face suddenly lighting up. “Ah, the widow Norna’s bakery.” He rapped on the carriage roof again, raising his king’s voice “STOP!”
Climbing out of the carriage he waved away the assistance of the two soldiers of the Mounted Guard who had ridden in escort, grinning at Vaelin, almost like an overgrown child. “Come join me, Young Hawk. Finest pastries in the city, possibly the fief. Indulge an old man’s weakness.”
Widow Norna’s bakery was warm and thick with the smell of oven-fresh bread. On seeing the king she hurried from behind her counter, a tall, thickset woman with heat-reddened cheeks and flour speckled hair. “Highness! Sire! You bless my humble enterprise again!” she gushed, bowing awkwardly and shouldering shocked customers aside. “Move! Move for the king!”
“ My lady,” the took her hand and kissed it, the redness of her cheeks deepening. “A chance to enjoy your pastries can never be ignored. Besides Lord Vaelin here is curious. He has scant opportunity for cakes, do you brother?”
Vaelin saw the way her eyes roamed his face, drinking in the sight of him, the way her customers, now bowed to one knee, stole furtive glances, almost hating them for their adulation. “My knowledge of cakes is scant indeed, Highness,” he replied, hoping his annoyance didn’t colour his tone.
“ Do you perhaps have a back room where we can enjoy your wares?” the king enquired of the widow. “I should hate to disturb your business further.”
“ Of course, Highness. Of course.”
She led them to the rear of the bakery, ushering them into what appeared to be a storage room, shelves laden with jars and sacks of flour lining the walls, furnished with a table and chairs. Seated at the table was a buxom young woman wearing a gaudy dress of cheap material, her hair dyed red, lips painted scarlet and her blouse open at the neck to reveal ample cleavage. She rose as the king entered, executing a perfect bow. “Highness,” her voice was coarse, the vowels clipped. A voice from the streets.
“ Derla,” the king greeted her before turning to the baker. “The apple snaps I think, mistress Nornah. And some tea if you could.”
The widow bowed and retreated from the room, the door closing firmly behind her. The king lowered himself into a chair and gestured for the buxom woman to rise. “Derla this is Lord Vaelin Al Sorna, renowned brother of the Sixth Order and Sword of the Realm. Vaelin this is Derla, unrenowned whore and highly distinguished spy in my service.”
The woman gave Vaelin a long look of appraisal, a half-smile playing on her lips. “An honour, my lord.”
Vaelin nodded back. “Lady.”
Her smiled widened. “Hardly.”
“ Don’t waste your wiles on him, Derla,” the king advised. “Brother Vaelin is a true servant of the Faith.”
She arched a painted eyebrow and pouted. “Pity. Do some of my best trade with Order folk. Specially the Third, randy lot those bookish types.”
“ Delightful isn’t she?” the king asked. “A woman of keen mind but no moral scruple whatever. And an occasionally violent temper. Just how many times did you stab that merchant, Derla? I forget.”
Vaelin studied Derla’s face closely, seeing no artifice in her lack of expression. “Fifty or so, Highness.” She gave Vaelin a wink. “Wanted to beat me to death and fuck my corpse.”
“ Yes, a perverted wretch indeed,” the king conceded. “But a rich one, and a popular figure at court. Once I’d recognised how useful you might be it took considerable expense to arrange your supposed suicide and actual release.”
“ For which I shall always be grateful, Highness.”
“ As you should be. You see, Vaelin, it is a king’s duty to seek out the talented among his subjects so that he might put them to useful service. I have a few like Derla secreted around the four fiefs, all reporting directly to me. They get a good deal of gold and the satisfaction of knowing their efforts preserve the security of this Realm.” The king seemed suddenly weary, resting his chin on his palm, rubbing at his hooded eyes. “Your report from last week,” he said to Derla, “repeat it to Lord Vaelin.”