“We’ve found many such seams,” she told him when Ultin’s footsteps had faded. “These past four years, the deeper we dig the more we find.”
“Then I must confess my surprise King Malcius failed to mention such good fortune.”
Dahrena pursed her lips. “Good fortune for him could mean ruin for this land,” she said.
“Did your father know of this?”
“It was at his order that no word of it was sent to the Realm. To this day it’s known only to the Miners Guild, Brother Kehlan and myself.”
“An entire guild knows of this but says nothing?”
“The hill people are very serious in the oaths they give. They were here long before the first Asraelin ship appeared on the horizon. They know what will happen if word of this spreads to the wider Realm.”
“The wider Realm is greatly troubled at present. Such riches could alleviate considerable suffering, not to mention fund our King’s many ambitions.”
“That may be, my lord. But it will also bring the Realm down on us like a plague. Bluestone is one thing, gold is another. Nothing so inflames men to lust and folly like the yellow metal we find with every shaft we sink. Everything will change, and believe me, this land and its people are worth preserving.”
“Oath or no. A secret like this holds too much value to be kept forever. By accident or betrayal it will become known.”
“I am not suggesting we strive to keep it concealed for all the ages. Just the scale of it. The King can have his gold, build all the bridges and schools he likes with it, just not all at once.”
She was suggesting treason, and, judging by the intensity of her gaze, she knew it.
“You show great trust in me,” he said.
She shrugged. “You . . . were not what I expected. Besides, as you say, it was a secret you would have learned soon enough.”
He turned back to the seam, looking at the dull gleam of the yellow metal in the lamp’s glow. Greed had never been a preoccupation for him and he had always found its power difficult to understand, but it was an undeniable power nonetheless. He searched for the blood-song but found no music, no notes of either warning or acceptance. This decision, seemingly of such import, may in fact be irrelevant.
“Lady Dahrena Al Myrna,” he said, turning back to her. “I ask you formerly to accept the title of First Counsel to the North Tower.”
She gave a slow nod. “I gladly accept, my lord.”
“Good.” He began to work his way back along the narrow passage. “When we return to the tower, I shall require your assistance in composing a suitably restrained letter to the King advising him of our good fortune in finding a new supply of gold, albeit of relatively small quantity.”
They emerged blinking in the sunlight, finding Captain Adal waiting with a scroll in hand. Nearby a newly arrived North Guard was removing the saddle from an exhausted horse. The captain’s face was grave as he handed Vaelin the scroll. “From our northernmost outpost, my lord. The news is three days old.”
Vaelin looked down at the scroll and the meaningless scrawl it contained. “Perhaps you could just . . .”
“I agree, my lord, this lettering is appalling,” Dahrena said, reading the scroll over his shoulder, her eyes widening at the contents. “This is confirmed?”
Adal gestured at the new arrival. “Sergeant Lemu witnessed their transit himself. He’s not a man prone to excessive flights of imagination.”
“Transit?” Vaelin asked.
Dahrena took the scroll and read it through again. He was disturbed to note her hands shook as she held it. “The Horde,” she said in a soft murmur. “They came back.”
CHAPTER TWO
Lyrna
She awoke to find a little girl sitting on her bed, staring at her with wide blue eyes. Her head felt as if it were being pummelled from within by a tiny man with a large mallet and her mouth was so dry she could only croak a hello in Lonak at the girl. She angled her head and kept staring.
“It’s your hair, Queen.” Davoka was sitting on a neighbouring bed, naked save for a loincloth. “No Lonak with gold hair.”
Lyrna pulled back the furs that covered her and swung her legs off the bed, sitting up with a groan provoked by the multiple aches rippling from her back to her toes. Davoka rose and poured water into a wooden cup, holding it to Lyrna’s lips. Shorn of clothing, Davoka was an even more impressive sight, her body an epic of muscle, scars and tattooed flesh. She put the cup aside when Lyrna had drained it, holding a hand to her forehead. “Fever gone. Good.”
“How long have we been here?”
“Three days.”
Lyrna cast her gaze about the room, seeing walls of stone covered in decorated goatskins and complex hangings fashioned from strips of leather and wood carvings, some depictions of animals and men, others so unfamiliar as to be abstract.
“This is the woman’s hall,” Davoka told her, slipping into her own tongue. “Used for birthing. Men are not allowed here.”
Lyrna felt something teasing her hair and looked up to see the little girl tracing her fingers through the gold tresses, eyes still wide with fascination. “What’s your name?” she asked her in Lonak, smiling.
The little girl cocked her head. “Anehla ser Alturk,” she said. Alturk’s daughter.
“She doesn’t have a name yet,” Davoka explained. She shooed the girl away with a flick of her hand. She scampered to a corner and sat on the floor, still staring at Lyrna.
Davoka took a flask from her pack and handed it to Lyrna. “Redflower,” she recognised, sniffing it.
“Take your pain away.”
Lyrna shook her head and handed it back. “Redflower makes a slave of those who drink it.”
Davoka frowned at her then laughed, taking a small sip from the flask. “Queen makes things hard for herself. I see this.”
Lyrna rose from the bed, taking a few experimental steps. The slight chill to the air made for a not-unpleasant tingle over her naked flesh. “Brother Sollis and the others?” she asked.
“Unhurt but kept apart from the village. Only Alturk speaks to them, and no more than he has to.”
“He’s the leader of these people?”
“Clan Chief of the Grey Hawks. He holds dominion over twenty villages and their war-bands. No other save the Mahlessa can command so many.”
“You trust his loyalty?”
“He has never questioned the word from the Mountain.”
Lyrna detected a slight hesitancy to Davoka’s tone. “But will he continue to do so?”
“He has led many raids against your people, lost blood and kin to your gods-hating brothers. My people are taught to hate you from the day they are born.” She nodded at the little girl in the corner. “You think she doesn’t hate you? She’s probably only here so she can tell her father what words we speak.”
“And yet the Mahlessa wants peace. Even though it threatens to break your nation apart.”
“Words from the Mountain are not to be questioned.” Davoka threw a clay pot at the little girl, making her flee the hall. “Tell your father that!” she called after her.
She turned back to Lyrna, eyes surveying her nakedness. “Too thin, Queen. Need to eat.”
The next three days were spent in isolation at the woman’s hall, eating the food Davoka prepared and slowly rebuilding her strength. She was allowed to wander a few steps from the entrance where two Lonak warriors stood, regarding her in scowling silence and ignoring whatever greetings she offered. Davoka was never more than six feet from her side, and always armed. She caught a glimpse of Sollis at the far end of the village, practising a sword scale with Brother Ivern outside a small stone hut ringed with ten more warriors. She waved and the Brother Commander stopped, pausing for a moment then raising his sword in a brief salute. Brother Ivern followed suit, albeit with more of a flourish to the flash of his blade. She laughed and bowed in return.