The Outcast

by Louise Cooper

  ‘Cyllan.’ He laid both hands on the table, palms down, in a conciliatory gesture. ‘Please. You must listen to me, and try to see matters through my eyes.’

  Anger flared in her look and she retorted, ‘Must I, Keridil? You’ll not see matters through mine - why should I make concessions where you refuse them?’ She picked up her cup, drank again, beginning to feel giddy and a little sick. ‘You hold me hostage while you make preparations to murder Tarod. Yes, murder,’ she added as Keridil made to protest. ‘It’s nothing less than that!

  He’s never been tried for his supposed crimes - oh, I too saw the documents! Instead, you simply condemn him to death because it’s expedient!’ She spat the last word viciously. ‘If that’s your justice, I want none of it!’

  Keridil’s mouth tightened as anger began to replace the nagging guilt. ‘As you’re so ready to cry murder,’ he snapped back, ‘then perhaps you’ll spare a thought for the fellow Initiate whom Tarod slaughtered in cold blood, in this very room! Do you condone that?’

  Cyllan smiled icily. ‘Do you mean the man who killed Themila Gan Lin?’

  That was an accident!’ Keridil got up and paced across the room, furious. The girl was twisting his every word to her own advantage; he felt as though he were the prisoner and she the inquisitor. Abruptly he turned on his heel, pointing a finger at her. ‘Your lover isn’t what you so fondly believe him to be. Damn it, he isn’t even human! Consorting with Chaos is a crime that hasn’t been heard of in this land for centuries, but you, with your ridiculous romantic notions, have committed that crime! The rightful punishment is death, and if it wasn’t for the fact that we need you as a safeguard, I’d-’

  He stopped, realising that he was losing his temper, and took a deep breath. ‘No. I didn’t mean that; I’m sorry.’

  ‘You shouldn’t be,’ Cyllan replied, her eyes intense.

  ‘Kill me. I don’t care.’

  He shook his head. ‘I won’t harm you. When Tarod is dead, you’ll go free with no stigma attached to you. I’ll keep my bargain - and.the gods know I don’t bear you any personal ill will! But while you persist in this insane determination to champion an evil-doer, I can’t help you, either.’

  She turned her head away. ‘I don’t want your help. I don’t want anything from you - except Tarod’s release.’

  ‘You know that’s impossible. One day, with Aeoris’s grace, perhaps you’ll understand.’

  The storm of rage was past now, leaving Cyllan drained and weakened; and the wine was sapping her will to fight. At this moment she would have gone down on her knees before the High Initiate and pleaded for Tarod’s life, but she knew with a dismal certainty that it could avail her nothing. Keridil was implacable in both his hatred and his resolve, and nothing she could do or say would sway him. She felt despairing tears start in her eyes and struggled to hold them back, but Keridil saw the tell-tale glitter on her lashes. He moved towards her, knowing he couldn’t comfort her and yet urged by an uneasy conscience to try, but was interrupted by a tentative knock at the door, which opened to reveal an elderly woman in the white robes of a Sister of Aeoris.

  ‘Oh … forgive me, High Initiate.’ Her bright, sharp eyes focused on Cyllan. ‘I’m seeking Grevard, and I was told I’d find him here.’

  Keridil forced himself, with an effort, not to snap at her. ‘He was, Sister Erminet, but he’s gone. Can I be of service?’

  ‘It’s simply that your captive should be attended to before he has a chance to recover from Grevard’s last dosage,’ the old woman told him briskly. Cyllan’s head came up sharply and she stared at the Sister, receiving a frown in return. ‘I understand it’s a precaution that’s better not neglected,’ Sister Erminet went on. ‘But if Grevard is occupied elsewhere, I’ll gladly see to the matter myself.’

  ‘Yes, yes.’ Keridil was impatient, annoyed by the interruption and only thinking to rid himself of its perpetrator as quickly as possible. ‘Please do as you think fit, Sister. Grevard will be grateful for your help.’

  ‘Very well.’ The old woman looked at Cyllan again, speculatively this time. The girl’s face was frozen, as though she’d seen some ancestral ghost, and the snippets of hearsay she’d gleaned in the Castle over the past few days began to make a pattern in Erminet’s mind.

  She pulled her gaze away, nodded with quick courtesy to the High Initiate, and went out.

  Cyllan stared at the closed door until Keridil’s hand on her shoulder startled her back to the moment. She jerked away, her face venomous. ‘She’s going to Tarod … where is he? What have you done with him?’

  ‘He’s safe, and he’s well enough.’ Keridil spoke shortly.

  ‘I want to see him!’

  ‘And I’ve told you, you can’t!’ Sister Erminet’s unwitting interruption had brought the High Initiate near the end of his tether. ‘Don’t you think I’ve enough to do without this miserable affair to contend with as well? I brought you here in the hope that I could make you see sense - I’m beginning to feel I’m wasting my time!’

  Cyllan bit her lip hard to stop the tears. ‘We disagree, High Initiate, on what is sense and what is not. And if you think you’ll persuade me to change, you’re wrong!’

  She looked at him, accusation and contempt in her eyes.

  ‘Unlike many others, I abide by my word of honour!’

  Keridil’s lips whitened and he strode to the door, flinging it open and shouting for Cyllan’s escort, who were waiting a little further down the corridor. They hastened in, and he made a dismissive gesture in Cyllan’s direction.

  ‘Get the girl out of my sight,’ the High Initiate said coldly. ‘She’s had her chance - I’m wasting my time with her!’

  He wondered if Cyllan would have some last word, even some plea, as she was led away. Even now he’d help her if he could … but her face remained whitely, icily expressionless, and she didn’t so much as glance at him. The door closed behind her and, angry and frustrated, Keridil lifted his own wine cup and drained its contents in a single draught.

  The steep stairs that led down to the Castle’s cellar level were uneven, and the unsteady light of Sister Erminet Rowald’s lantern made the way more tricky still, especially with the added encumbrance of her bag of herbs and philtres. She had, however, refused all offers of help with her task, convincing Grevard that she could quite well manage alone.

  The physician had been thankful enough to have this particular duty lifted from his shoulders, and his willingness suited Erminet’s purpose perfectly. Past the wine stores, he had told her; then the third cellar on the right.

  A troublesome task, and a time-consuming one …

  Erminet’s nostrils caught the mingled smells of musty casks, old, spilled wine, stale air and earth; and wryly she wondered how any living being could be expected to prosper in such unsavoury surroundings.

  Reaching the bottom of the flight she set off briskly along the dark, narrow passage. At her heels a small silver-grey shape trotted, blending with the shadows, and as she approached the third door Erminet paused to look down at the cat which had followed her from the main wing.

  ‘Little Imp.’ Affection softened the old woman’s normally acerbic tone, and the cat raised its tail high.

  There’ll be no tidbits for you down here!’

  The cat uttered a self-satisfied chirrup in reply, and ran on ahead. It was one of the numerous offspring of Grevard’s own pet which lived half wild in the Castle, and for some inscrutable reason it had lately taken to following Erminet wherever she went, attaching itself to her like a familiar. Erminet was amused and gratified by its partiality for her company; she had dubbed it the Imp - not entirely in jest; many people mistrusted these creatures’ telepathic abilities - and, when no one was about to observe, spoiled it with food from her own plate.

  The cat, prompted by that same telepathic instinct which enabled its kind to communicate in a primitive way with human emotion and intent, stopped at the appropriate door and looked at Erminet with inquiring interest. The door
was unguarded - Keridil had taken more arcane precautions - and Erminet drew the key Grevard had given her from her pouch. It turned stiffly in the lock, and she entered the cellar beyond.

  She couldn’t see him at first. Her lantern-light was poor, and the shadows played tricks with the eyes. But as she turned from relocking the door carefully behind her, a figure moved in the deeper darkness on the far side of the chamber.

  He was sitting on what looked like a pile of worn and discarded rugs, his back propped against the damp wall, and even in this dim light Sister Erminet could see the sardony in his green eyes. Grevard had been lax - the drugs he had administered had clearly worn off, leaving the captive in full possession of his faculties. But perhaps that could be to her advantage . , .

  Tarod spoke suddenly. ‘A Sister of Aeoris to administer to my needs. I’m honoured.’

  Erminet sniffed. She had encountered this man - or demon, or whatever he was - before, under similar circumstances; and although they had crossed swords, she felt respect and a strong measure of sympathy for him. Heretical though the thought might be, the old Sister strongly disapproved of the kind of treachery which had brought Tarod to this pass, and disliked seeing a once proud individual so reduced. And she had stronger views still on the nature of girls like Sashka Veyyil …

  ‘Adept Tarod.’ She crossed the room towards him, aware that he hadn’t as yet recognised her. ‘I see Grevard’s nostrums have done nothing to dull your tongue.’

  The green eyes narrowed momentarily, then Tarod laughed a tired, throaty laugh. ‘Well, well; Sister Erminet. I didn’t expect this particular wheel to come full turn again.’

  She set her bag down on the floor and stared at her patient. Gaunter than ever, unshaven, hair lank, clothes dirty … and the tell-tale lines of tremendous strain on his face. The sight of him affected her, and to combat such unwarranted feelings she was brusque as she said, ‘You look no better for your respite.’

  Thank you. Did Grevard send you specifically to entertain me with your observations?’

  ‘Grevard is too busy attending to what they tell me is the aftermath of your handiwork,’ Erminet retorted.

  ‘I’ve simply been detailed to see that you are, and remain, stupefied.’ She frowned at him. ‘It would appear that someone has been neglecting their duty.’

  Tarod sighed. ‘Perhaps they also tell you that I don’t present a threat to anyone here, drugged or no.’

  This was what Erminet had suspected, and it fitted with the slowly emerging picture. ‘I heard some rumour of a bargain between you and the High Initiate,’ she said, busying herself with the contents of her bag. ‘But it sounded unlikely, and no one took the trouble to explain it to a withered old apple like me, so I dismissed it as nonsense.’

  ‘It’s true.’ Tarod eyed the concoction she was preparing with distaste.

  Erminet stopped her work and regarded him thoughtfully. Then I’ve misjudged you. I hadn’t imagined you would accept defeat so easily.’

  She saw the answering flicker of pain in his eyes, and the cat, which until now had sat peacefully washing itself, paused to give a little cry of protest as though its telepathic senses had picked up some powerful emotion.

  Then Tarod said curtly, ‘I have my reasons, Sister.’

  ‘Ah, yes … ‘ Erminet licked her lips. ‘The girl… ‘

  The sudden change in the atmosphere was palpable as Tarod sat upright, every muscle tense. ‘You’ve seen Cyllan?’

  She had expected a reaction, but not one so vehement; and to hide her surprise she feigned indifference.

  ‘Cyllan; so that’s her name. Yes, I’ve seen her, not an hour ago in fact. That is, if she’s that frail-looking child with the pale hair and peculiar eyes.’

  Tarod tensed visibly. ‘Where is she?’

  ‘Your anxiety betrays you, Adept.’ Erminet eyed him with sour amusement, then abruptly relented. ‘She was with the High Initiate, in his study - and yes, I recall the circumstances under which Sister-Novice Sashka Veyyil was granted a similar interview.’ She remembered Cyllan’s face, the agony of rage in her eyes; remembered, too, the argument on which she’d shamelessly eavesdropped before knocking at Keridil’s door. ‘You need have no fears there,’ she added. ‘Had the girl been armed, I imagine I’d have found the High Initiate with a knife through his heart.’

  Tarod closed his eyes. ‘Then she’s alive, and she’s well … I thought Keridil might betray our pact … ‘

  Erminet looked at him beadily. ‘Your pact? How is the girl involved in that?’

  Tarod met her gaze, weighing her up in an attempt to decide whether or not he should say more. This old woman had tried to be kind to him once, in her peculiar way; despite his contempt for Circle and Sisterhood, he liked her - and, though in many ways the two women were poles apart, something in her character reminded him of Themila Gan Lin.

  He said, softly, ‘Cyllan is the crux of our pact, Sister.

  She is a hostage against my good behaviour. If I should fight against the fate the Circle has ordained for me, Keridil will have her executed the moment I’m dead.’

  Erminet was clearly shocked, and her customary sourness gave way to sudden humanity. ‘But she’s no more than a child! The High Initiate surely wouldn’t - ‘

  ‘She has consorted with me. Any Province Margrave would hang her for less.’

  That was true enough… no one, now, was in any doubt as to Tarod’s real nature, although in the privacy of the cellar Erminet found it hard to believe she was talking with a demon of Chaos. She should have been afraid of him, but wasn’t. To her, he seemed little more than a victim of circumstance … and that was a condition she understood all too well, even if the memory was forty years old …

  ‘So you’re prepared to die, in order to save her life …’

  she said.

  ‘Yes.’

  Gods, she thought, was the age-old pattern repeating itself yet again? She licked her dry lips. ‘And when you’re gone?’ she asked.

  ‘Keridil has promised that she’ll go free.’ Tarod’s eyes darkened. ‘I have no choice but to trust him. At least this way she’ll have a chance.’

  Erminet doubted the wisdom of speaking what was in her mind, but couldn’t break her lifelong habit of brutal honesty. ‘Are you sure it’s a worthwhile sacrifice, Tarod? You were betrayed once … ‘

  For a moment she thought he’d strike her, but the anger in his eyes died and he only said, ‘I’ll not be betrayed a second time, Sister Erminet. Not by Cyllan.’

  No … recalling again what she had overheard, Erminet believed that he was right. She sat down, discarding her potions, and her face was suddenly drawn with an uncomfortable mingling of confusion and pain.

  Tarod’s love for that strange little outland girl, his readiness to lose his own life in order to save hers, moved her deeply, awakening emotions which she’d thought gone and forgotten. She sat motionless for what seemed a long time, tormented by her thoughts, and only looked up when Tarod’s hand touched her arm.

  He was smiling, faintly but kindly. ‘Forty years ago, you said, Sister. But you haven’t forgotten what it is to love, have you?’

  The face of the youth, doubtless by now aged and withered, as she was, who had spurned her and for love of whom she had tried to kill herself, was suddenly sharp and clear in Sister Erminet’s inner eye. The cat ran up to her and tried to climb on to her lap, making small sounds of distress. Tarod stroked its head. ‘I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have spoken.’

  ‘Nonsense.’ Erminet forced her voice to take on its old brusqueness. ‘Ghosts can’t harm anyone … ‘ She laughed, sharply and artificially. ‘I haven’t cried since I entered the Sisterhood, and I’m not about to start now; not for myself, at any rate.’ She looked at him, her eyes over-bright. ‘But that doesn’t stop me wishing there was something I could do for you and that girl.’

  Tarod leaned back. ‘You could do something for me,’

  he told her. ‘If you will.’

  ‘What’s that?’
>
  ‘See to it that she lives, and prospers.’

  Erminet blinked. ‘Should she not?’

  ‘She’s sworn to take her own life. She tried once, when we were first captured, to stop the bargain being made. I believe she’ll try again, and I don’t trust Keridil to prevent her.’ He hesitated. ‘If you can do that for me, Sister, you’ll have my lifelong gratitude - ‘ He stopped, and laughed at the irony of his own words. ‘No; that’s worth little enough. Say instead, my thanks.’

  It was a modest enough request; and if the High Initiate, or her own Senior, the Lady Kael Amion, disapproved, they might do as they pleased. The thought gave Erminet a frisson that was almost pleasant.

  ‘I don’t need your thanks,’ she told Tarod. ‘I’ll do as you ask, because I don’t want to see two lives wasted where one would suffice.’ Abruptly she smiled. ‘There; now you have a sour old woman’s reasoning to comfort you.’

  ‘You’re not as sour as you like to pretend.’

  ‘You’ve only seen my weaknesses. But you’ll see my strengths unless you take this.’ Bending, she picked up the concoction she had been mixing. ‘Enough, Grevard says, to render you unconscious, so that the rest of us can sleep easy in our beds tonight.’

  Sleep would be a blessing … its oblivion was far preferable to the long, solitary hours, the agony of waiting, of wondering. Tarod took the tiny silver cup. ‘A bargain, then, Sister Erminet.’

  ‘You’re too fond of making bargains for your own good,’ she said with an attempt at acid humour. ‘But yes.

  I’ll keep my promise.’

  She watched as he drank the cup’s contents, then took it from him and said, ‘I’ll speak to the girl. I’ll tell her you still live - though whether she’ll trust me, I can’t predict.

  Were I in her place, I wouldn’t believe a word anyone said to me.’

  Tarod gazed thoughtfully into the middle distance for a few moments, then smiled wryly. ‘Give her a message from me, Sister. Ask her if she remembers her first visit to the spire … and remind her that I took nothing she was unwilling to give.’ His green eyes met Erminet’s.