The Telastrian Song (8 page)

A
lessandra was
quiet the next morning and didn’t utter a word during the first leg of their trip to Medenmeer. They had skipped dinner after the theatre and turned in early, leaving Soren to ruminate on the disaster that their perfect evening had become.

With Ostian exiles in Voorn, he had known there was a slender risk that someone might recognise him, but having lived most of his life in the gutter he didn’t know that many people. Of those—Academy graduates for the most part—many had fallen at Sharnhome, or found themselves at the wrong end of the headsman’s axe. It hadn’t occurred to him that it would be Alessandra who was recognised. It was a foolish mistake and took him completely by surprise. It was not entirely a disaster though; dal Lupard didn’t appear to have a clue who he was, and with luck they would never encounter one another again.

Neither of them had any wish to spend another day in Venter, so they took the first post-carriage heading south the next morning. Soren couldn’t begin to empathise with the humiliation Alessandra must have been feeling, and worried that he wasn’t doing enough to show his support for her. He knew that there were times where all he wanted was to be left alone. If that was what she needed he wanted to give her the space, but likewise, he didn’t want to appear uncaring.

They had never again spoken of the time she spent as a courtesan in Ostenheim, the source of their original falling out. He had seen it as a betrayal at the time, but discovered what had brought her to it and knew it was only his behaviour that was at fault.

They had also never discussed her time in captivity on Sancho Rui’s ship, or in a seraglio in Shandahar. Not one of those situations had been of her choosing, and Soren realised that his own misfortunes paled in comparison to hers, yet she bore them with no outward effect or complaint. Better than he did his. He had always thought that she would talk about those things if and when she wanted to, when she was ready. He didn’t want to force the issue. The previous night was only the second time he had seen her cry, and it wounded him like no blade ever could. He didn’t know what to say, and felt useless because of it.

When he allowed his mind to dwell on the night before, he felt almost overwhelming regret at not having cut dal Lupard down where he stood. He should have done more for her and he cursed himself for it. The urge to kill dal Lupard didn’t make him feel good, but seeing the state Alessandra was in made him feel worse. Some people behaved in a way that invited a meeting with a blade, and Soren found it hard to see how that was his problem rather than theirs.

In any event, a position in Amero’s court was earned with the blood of others and the applause in the foyer confirmed to Soren that there were plenty of Ostian exiles who felt the same. Perhaps, as Soren had threatened, they would have the opportunity to broach the matter once more.

T
hey had
to change from the large, comfortable carriages that plied the main road south, to a smaller, cramped affair for the final leg to Medenmeer. The suspension springs were so seized that neither Soren nor Alessandra managed to rock it when they got in. It smelled damp, but Soren was hopeful that they would at least have it to themselves.

His hopes were dashed when a large gentleman clambered into the carriage shortly before it was due to set off. His considerable bulk did nothing to rock the carriage as he got in either, confirming to Soren that they were in for an uncomfortable trip.

Their fellow passenger introduced himself as Stans Volpert, a land agent heading east to investigate properties for his employer. Soren gave him the false identities he had used in Voorn.

Even in the comparative cool of the Ventish climate, Volpert was ruddy faced and perspired heavily. Alone, he would have occupied most of the carriage’s cabin. With two others it was uncomfortably cramped. He also had what could be most politely described as an active stomach. It gurgled and groaned in odd and amusing ways at regular intervals, and each time Soren felt Alessandra stiffen next to him as she struggled to stop herself from laughing aloud. The gentleman seemed completely oblivious to his internal workings, and Soren was grateful for the fact that the issue seemed to be limited to gurgles and groans. He was also grateful that by the time they reached Medenmeer on their fourth day of travel, Alessandra was constantly on the verge of laughter rather than tears.

P
ierfranco dal Lupard
made it his practice to know the names, the real names, of every Ostian citizen in Venter. A lifelong desire to know everyone else’s business, their secrets, was what had drawn him to a career in the Intelligenciers.

The objectionable young man and his slut wife at the theatre had made an impression on dal Lupard, so he pursued his investigation into who they were with more enthusiasm than usual. He had one of his agents follow them from the theatre to find out where they were staying, which told him that the young man was of ample means. That in itself was unusual; few Ostian exiles had managed to bring much wealth with them when they fled.

A young banneret exile of ample means, and a former courtesan for a wife. It was an interesting combination but by no means unheard of. With all that had happened the match would raise fewer eyebrows than it would have ordinarily. The wheels turned over in dal Lupard’s mind as he considered the possible scenarios. The young man was probably an aristocrat, fleeing Ostenheim and finding love in the arms of a beautiful woman with a chequered past. Ridiculously romantic when he thought about it, so ridiculous that it made him sneer with contempt.

His agent reported that they had left the city the morning after his meeting with them at the theatre. While not averse to getting his own hands dirty, the winter weather in Venter was miserable and he preferred to remain indoors when possible. He dispatched another agent to find where they had gone, but by the time he traced them to the stables they were long departed; headed south.

Dal Lupard would usually have left the matter there until it became more relevant again, if it ever did. However there was something naggingly familiar about the pair, which he couldn’t quite put his finger on.

He started with what he knew. That was the girl. She had called herself Bevrielle when plying her trade in Oldtown. She was highly regarded, not just for her more intimate abilities but also her intelligence, wit and charm, which had made her a regular feature on the arms of far older, and very wealthy men on the social circuit in Ostenheim. By the time dal Lupard became privy to her association with the Duke, she had been passing information back to him for months. She had even beaten dal Lupard to a few of the juicier morsels of blackmailable scandal in the lead up to the Duke’s accession.

What had brought her to Venter, on the arm of a young husband? Money was the easy answer, and usually the correct one. They seemed genuinely fond of one another though, if that was of any importance. Massari. He repeated the name to himself. He had never encountered it before, so it raised no alarm bells as he mulled it over. There was something about the young man that wouldn’t allow him let the matter drop. It was enough to ensure that dal Lupard couldn’t think of anything else. It was a gut feeling rather than anything specific, a response developed after years of working as an Intelligencier.

Dal Lupard thought about it carefully. His resources in Venter were limited, and he already had a specific list of names he was obligated to watch. The Ventish were expelling anyone they suspected of being a spy from the country; only his senior diplomatic credentials had saved him, and he suspected even they might be wearing thin.

With greater resources he would have followed his instinct without hesitation, but with what little he had he needed to be far more circumspect. He looked out the window and sighed. It had rained nearly every day since he had arrived in Voorn. It was not a choice assignment, far from it. It was evidence of how far from favour he had fallen. While he would have gratefully received his notice of expulsion from Venter, he would not get a warm welcome home as a failure. The only place left for him to fall was the headsman’s block, and even Voorn was preferable to that. Sending his men off on a hunch was taking a chance, and should he fail in his current duty it would most certainly lead to an appointment with the axe.

He couldn’t let it go, however. There was something about the young man and his whore wife that stimulated every suspicious fibre of his body. A couple of men for a couple of days was all it would require. Something told him that it would be worth the risk. Dal Lupard had lost much, and he very much wanted it back. He had to take risks if that were to happen, had to listen to the instincts that had won him so much to begin with. He looked out the window. It was raining again—no great surprise—but for the first time since arriving in Voorn, he felt enthusiastic at the prospect of venturing out into it. Perhaps this would be something that could justify him going home.

T
he carriage dropped
them off at a small square in the centre of Medenmeer. Cut stone buildings were cluttered around it and a sloping path led down to a small harbour. The village was part of Ranph’s estate, but as far as Soren had been able to find out, Ranph lived at a manor house outside of it.

With the carriage driver’s help, Soren unloaded their luggage from the carriage’s roof, putting off the fact that he didn’t know what he was going to do next. Alessandra looked around uncertainly.

When the luggage was unloaded and stacked on the cobbled square, she turned to him and shrugged her shoulders.

‘What now?’ she said.

‘We’ll have to find where Ranph’s house is, and arrange a way to get there.’ He looked around at the sleepy village. ‘Not quite sure how though.’

Arriving in a new and unknown village was not an experience that Soren enjoyed, but he had become accustomed to it. There was always a moment of unsettling confusion as he tried to work out where he needed to go and who to ask for information. He looked around, trying to feign an air of certainty for Alessandra’s benefit, but he was under no illusions that she would fall for his act; she had seen it too many times. She smiled and looked around, allowing him to go through his routine.

There were a few villagers moving about, but none paid the arrival of the carriage any attention.

‘Any idea of where we can hire a couple of horses?’ Soren said to the carriage driver.

He shrugged, but said nothing.

Soren asked a passer-by who directed him to a stable on the edge of town. There, they were informed that although there were no horses available for hire, there was a cart going to the manor house later in the day that would take them.

S
oren felt
a twinge of anticipation as the cart rattled up the gravel driveway that led to the front of Medenmeer Manor. A lot of time had passed since he’d last seen Ranph—standing on the quayside in Ostenheim, shortly after he had risked his life to get Soren out of the castle dungeon. There had been no communication between them since, but their friendship was strong. Nonetheless, Soren had no way to know how Ranph would react to him turning up on his doorstep unannounced. With Ranph’s newly assumed title, Soren could be a reminder of a life he was trying to put behind him.

Alessandra could obviously detect his unease, and held his hand a little tighter than usual, which he was grateful for. The thought of being parted from her so soon was painful, but he knew it was the only way for them to have any hope of a happy life together. They would never be able to have a normal life constantly looking over their shoulders.

Ranph’s house was large and a creamy white colour with several pointed turrets and a blue-grey slate roof. It looked old, but as if it had seen an extensive renovation in recent times. It wasn’t quite what Soren had expected. Ranph’s family had been one of the wealthiest in Ostia, and while this house looked like the home of a prosperous individual, it was not the palace that Soren had thought it would be. He wondered how much of a change of circumstances the coup had meant for Ranph.

The cart dropped them off in front of the house, before continuing on around to wherever it was delivering its cargo. Soren stood on the driveway, crunching the gravel beneath his feet as he hesitated before going up to the door. He worried how Ranph would receive them and hated the idea of turning up unannounced looking for a favour.

Nonetheless, he had come a long way and there was no point in turning away now. He needed Ranph’s help and he was not going to get it procrastinating on the raked gravel driveway. He went up the steps and rapped the large brass knocker hanging from the centre of the door.

It opened after a moment. Somewhere in the back of his mind Soren had been expecting Ranph to open the door.

‘Can I help you, sir?’ a servant said.

Ranph was still prosperous enough for a serving staff at least. ‘Yes, I hope so. I’m looking for Ranph dal Bragadin, or dal Medenmeer as I understand he’s calling himself now.’

‘Might I ask who you are, sir?’

‘Banneret Soren.’

‘One moment please, I shall see if Viscount Medenmeer is available.’ He retreated back into the house.

Soren exchanged a hopeful look with Alessandra, who was still standing on the gravel driveway beside their small pile of luggage. It made Soren feel like they were itinerant paupers, which he was not comfortable with, but he had money to pay his way—more than enough—so they would not be any financial imposition on his friend.

‘What in hells are you doing waiting at the door like a bloody stranger?’

The voice came from somewhere inside the house, and although Soren couldn’t see its source he recognised it instantly.

‘I wasn’t sure if I’d got the right address,’ Soren called back.

The servant appeared at the door again and gestured for Soren to enter, before spotting Alessandra. ‘I’ll fetch your bags, sir,’ he said.

Ranph appeared in the servant’s place, a wide smile fixed on his face. He hesitated for a moment before stepping forward and embracing Soren. ‘It’s good to see you,’ he said. ‘After so long since I’ve heard anything about you, I was beginning to think that bastard managed to get you in the end.’

‘Happily not the case, but it’s not for want of trying,’ Soren said.

Ranph grimaced. ‘Ah. But come in, come in. I’ve no idea how far you’ve come. I’m sure you’d like something to eat and drink.’ He spotted Alessandra talking with the servant. ‘You found her then,’ he said, his smile widening even more.

‘Eventually, but it took some doing,’ Soren said, a relieved smile appearing on his own face.

R
anph led
them to a comfortable looking lounge.

‘So much to talk about,’ he said as they sat. ‘I hardly know where to start. What brings you to Venter? Where have you come from?’

Soren had just opened his mouth to reply when the door swung open. A tiny child wobbled in unsteadily, making it as far as the leg of a table, which it grabbed onto for support. Judging by the blue outfit, Soren assumed the child to be a boy. A plump, middle-aged woman followed swiftly. Alessandra’s face lit up with a beautiful smile when she saw the child.

‘I’m sorry, my Lord, now that he’s started walking he’s getting hard to keep up with,’ the woman said. She scooped the child up in her arms and whisked him back out, closing the door behind her.

Soren raised an eyebrow. ‘Yours?’

Ranph smiled. ‘Yes. Rikard. Not even eleven months and he’s running about the place every chance he can get.’ Ranph’s voice dripped with pride.

‘You named him after your father,’ Soren said.

‘Yes. It seemed like a good idea. I had to agree to my father in law’s being stuck in there as well, but it was a small price to pay.’

‘Speaking of which…’ Soren said.

‘Sara’s out riding. She’ll be back soon. I can’t wait to introduce you to her. She’s Ventish, though as chance would have it I met her in Ostia—but that’s another story. Anyway, you were going to tell me what brought you to Venter.’

Soren opened his mouth again, but stopped himself. When he’d considered asking Ranph for help in killing Amero, he imagined the whole thing as an extraordinarily dangerous adventure—a chance to put a wrong to right, but an adventure nonetheless. There was no way he could ask Ranph to join him now that he was responsible for a wife and child. The other reason for coming, to leave Alessandra in the safety of Ranph’s family’s care, was something he wanted to discuss with Ranph first, so Soren needed to wait until she was out of earshot. Explaining it to her would not be a pleasant task.

Soren had no immediate answer for Ranph. He knew Ranph, and he knew what his response would be when Soren told him that he was going back to Ostenheim for a final reckoning with Amero. He would realise that Soren had come there looking for help and had only changed his mind when he saw Ranph’s son. Soren couldn’t allow that to happen. Not now.

He needed to know that Alessandra was safe while he was in Ostia, and he would use this to make Ranph think that was all he had come there for. He had never been particularly good at dissembling, especially not to friends, but needs must.

‘We had to move on again, and we hadn’t been to Venter yet. Then we heard you were here, so thought we’d call.’

Ranph gave Soren a sideways look, and glanced over at Alessandra. He obviously realised there was more to it than that, but he also knew Soren well enough not to dig for further detail.

‘Well, I’m glad you did. It’s been too long, and it’s such a relief to see you both safe.’

The door opened again, and a strikingly beautiful young woman walked in. She was tall and slender, with dark curly hair and a faint dimple in her chin. She was wearing riding dress. Soren presumed that she was Ranph’s wife, Sara.

Ranph stood when she came into the room, and, almost forgetting his manners, Soren followed suit.

‘Sara,’ Ranph said. ‘This is an old friend of mine from Ostenheim, Soren.’

Soren could see that she instantly recognised his name.

‘I’m pleased to finally meet you,’ she said. ‘And who’s your lovely companion?’

‘This is Alessandra,’ Soren said.

‘Oh, you managed to find her. The way Ranph tells the story of breaking you out of a dungeon to chase after her is terribly romantic. I’m not sure if I actually believed it until now.’

She made her way over to Alessandra, who had also stood up, and embraced her like they were old friends.

‘How long will you be staying with us?’ Sara said.

‘I hadn’t really thought about it, to be honest,’ Soren said. ‘Not long though.’

‘Sara, why don’t you take Alessandra and show her about the house. I suspect she’d like to meet Rikard also,’ Ranph said.

Alessandra nodded and smiled, and Sara took her by the hand and led her out of the room, the two chatting happily.

‘She’s looking well,’ Ranph said, as soon as the door closed behind the women.

‘Yes, she always does,’ Soren said. ‘We had a nasty run in with someone in Voorn though, and it’s taken its toll on her; she’s still a little downcast over it, but she seems to be getting better.’

‘Really? What happened?’

‘I took her to the theatre in Voorn. Thought it would be a nice surprise and that we wouldn’t have the opportunity for anything like that again for a while. We met the Ostian ambassador, dal Lupard. He knew Alessandra. From before…’

‘Ah. Dal Lupard’s a nasty piece of work; the Ventish hate him and are looking for any excuse to boot him out of the country. They suspect he’s spying on them, which he probably is. He was an Intelligencier back in Ostenheim before he won Amero’s favour during the pogroms after Amero took control. Got himself a landed title but he fell out of favour along the way, which is why he was sent here. I wouldn’t give him another thought though; the Ostian exiles hate him even more than the Ventish. If they don’t deport him, like as not he’ll be found with his throat cut in an alleyway. No more than he deserves.’

Soren let out a chuckle, only partly forced. ‘I got that impression. I had words with him; Alessandra did too, and we got an ovation as we left the theatre because of it. Look, before they come back in, there’s something I need to talk to you about. I need a favour.’

‘Name it and it’s done,’ Ranph said.

Soren shifted uncomfortably in his seat. ‘I need you to look after Alessandra for a while.’

Ranph furrowed his brow. ‘Why?’

‘I have to go back to Ostenheim.’

‘Having done that myself, I’d strongly advise against it.’ He paused for a moment. ‘You’re going after Amero?’

Soren nodded.

‘Then you’re a bloody fool. You’ve got Alessandra back. Find somewhere quiet, settle down, raise a family. Forget about Amero. He’ll get what’s coming to him eventually. No point in getting yourself killed trying to make that happen a bit sooner.’

‘Don’t you think I haven’t tried all of that?’ Soren said. ‘He’s still sending people after me. The arrogant bastard obviously can’t stomach the fact that I got away from him. He tried to have me killed in Auracia, in Shandahar and in Estranza—twice in the same day. That’s where we were before now. Things were quiet there for a while, and I was beginning to hope that he’d given up. No such luck. If it was just me, it wouldn’t be an issue—I’ve no ties to anyone or any place. But it’s only a matter of time before Alessandra gets hurt and I can’t have that. I won’t drag her halfway around the world and back again running from him. She deserves better. One way or the other, it won’t end until one of us is dead. I’m going to do my best to make sure it’s him.’

Ranph looked at him carefully. ‘I’ve seen that face before, so I know your mind’s made up, but this is just as bad an idea as it was the last time.’

The last time was the night Soren decided to leave the Academy, and Ranph was right. It had been a bad decision, one Soren had regretted ever since.

‘This might be a bad idea, but at least this time it’s for the right reasons.’

Ranph said nothing for a moment. ‘I want him dead just as much as you. He stole nearly everything I owned, I’m pretty sure he was responsible for having my father killed, and likewise for me getting done over in that alley where you found me. To top it all, I have the constant worry that he’ll send someone here to try and kill me. From what I’m told, I’m the last Elector Count of Ostia still drawing breath. This might all look well and grand,’ he said, gesturing around him, ‘but when I arrived here I didn’t even have a pot to piss in. The house was a ruin and the fields were a wilderness. If you’re going, I’m coming with you. I want my son to be able to see the house and the land that his family have lived on and worked since before the Empire fell. In any event, I can’t let you run off to get yourself killed on your own.’

Soren started to shake his head and opened his mouth to speak, but Ranph cut him off.

‘Sara is here to keep an eye on Alessandra, not that she needs it. And there’s Farro, my brother-in-law and a banneret, not to mention a dozen other men keeping the place safe. Amero’s death is as valuable to me as it is to you. This place is like a fortress, I’ve made damn sure of that. Every time the nanny takes Rikard outside, I worry that assassins might arrive. I don’t let Sara out of shouting distance of the house without at least two bodyguards. I’ve trained the farm hands with weapons, so they can all fight well if they need to, and I’ve four Bannerets here all the time. You had a bow pointed at you from the moment you stepped onto my driveway until I gave the all clear. There are times I feel like I’m under siege here, and that won’t change until Amero’s dead.’

‘You need to be here to look after your family, Ranph, and I need to know that Alessandra is as safe as she can be while I’m away. You’re the only person I trust with that. I need you to do this for me, if your family isn’t reason enough to stay here.’