The Outcast

by Louise Cooper

  The Chaos Lord regarded her, clearly aware of her thoughts. At last, almost gently, he said, ‘What is it that you ask of Chaos, Cyllan?’

  She took a deep breath. ‘Help me to save Tarod’s life!’

  He inclined his head. ‘And how would you envisage that I do it? Should I bring a legion of demons to raze the Castle and consign its inhabitants to the Seven Hells?

  Would you condone that, to save him?’

  Cyllan met his searing gaze. ‘If need be.’

  ‘Ah; then you are worthy of Tarod.’ To her astonishment she saw respect lurking beneath the amusement in Yandros’s expression before his thin lips quirked downwards. ‘But, much as the thought appeals to my sense of justice, it can’t be done. We are in exile, Cyllan.

  Our powers in this world are a poor shadow of what they once were. I have been able to reach your mind and speak with you - but I can bring you no direct aid.’ He smiled again, thinly. ‘Only Tarod had the power to open the way to us, and he chose instead to break the pact we had made and turn his back on the old allegiance.’

  Cyllan felt her throat constrict. Yandros’s mercurial nature was twisting again, offering her hope one minute, despair the next. He had made no promise to help her … could it be that, even now, he’d refuse?

  She said, her voice unsteady: ‘I can’t deny that. But I hope -I believe - that in spite of it, you won’t abandon him now.’

  Yandros’s look was enigmatic. ‘You place a childlike faith in our loyalty.’

  ‘I have no other choice.’

  The Chaos Lord considered. ‘And if I am persuaded … what would you have me do?’

  She had thought, and she saw only one way. ‘Kill me,’

  she said harshly. ‘Break the hold that the High Initiate has over Tarod. When I’m dead, there’ll be nothing to stop him from taking revenge.’ She hesitated, then her eyes met his and she added with heartfelt emphasis, ‘Please ‘No.’ Yandros held up a graceful hand, forestalling her protest. ‘To free Tarod by destroying you would be a waste. I could do it - and would, if it served my purpose - but there are better ways, and you’re of more use to us while you live. But understand this; if Tarod is also to live, you must serve us, and serve faithfully. Look at me.’

  She had cast her gaze down, but now, at his bidding, looked up again. Yandros’s eyes had turned black, and mirrored in them she saw images that made her recoil with a deep-buried, atavistic horror. Havoc - a wild, howling insanity of impossible colours, tormented shapes, shrieking faces - the stuff of Chaos itself, roiling from the implacable black eyes turned towards her, ready to explode upon the world in insane pandemonium.

  ‘You see what you must pledge yourself to serve.’

  Yandros’s voice was cruel, unrelenting. ‘Make your choice!’

  Panic seized her; the revulsion of a hundred generations who had sworn fealty to the peace of Order; the inherited memories of thousands who had died to wipe the plague of Chaos from the world; the horrors of eternal damnation. To ally herself to this being would be to betray all she had ever known … yet without Yandros, Tarod would die …

  Slowly, shaking violently, Cyllan dropped to one knee before the Chaos Lord.

  Yandros smiled. He had foreseen enough to confirm the judgement he had made in sending the Warp that had snatched this girl from her old life; in moving the fanaani, who owed no debt to Order, to save her from the sea; in manifesting a part of himself in answer to her call. And if she succeeded in her task, she alone would hold the key to Tarod’s future … and the future of the Chaos realm. She would be a valuable servant …

  There can be no turning back,’ he said softly, with satisfaction.

  Cyllan didn’t raise her head, but he saw her nod almost imperceptibly before she whispered, ‘What must I do?’

  ‘You must find the stone … and restore it to its rightful owner.’

  She looked up quickly. ‘How can I do that?’

  ‘By using the cunning and the guile that have already stood you in good stead. We can help you - we have no power to intervene directly, but our … influence …

  may still be felt in the right quarters.’ Abruptly the smile faded from his expression. ‘It must be done, Cyllan.

  Only Tarod has the power to call us back to the world, and then only when the soul-stone is in his possession once more. But if the stone remains in the hands of these worms of Order, they’ll not rest until its essence is bound and destroyed.’ His proud, sinister face now held no trace of kindness, but was cruelly venomous. ‘If the stone is destroyed, Tarod’s soul will be destroyed with it.

  And that is not what you want … is it, Cyllan?’

  ‘No … ‘ she whispered.

  Yandros raised a hand, pointing at her heart. ‘Then, if you desire him to live, I charge you to return the Chaos stone into his keeping.’ His eyes flashed with a white-hot fire. ‘Don’t fail me - for if you do, you’ll lose far more than Tarod’s life. Your own gods damned you when you called on Chaos for aid; but if you fail Chaos now, your soul will find no comfort in our realm!’

  His tone struck to the marrow of her bones; a chill certainty that brought back the horrifying images she had seen in his eyes. She couldn’t answer; she was too appalled by the enormity of the bargain she had made.

  Yandros seemed to relent a little and his eyes quieted, strange colours moving once more in their slanting depths. ‘Do your work well, and you have nothing to fear,’ he said more softly. ‘And don’t think that you’re entirely alone. There is one here in the Castle who will help you. When you meet that one, you’ll know.’

  Abruptly he caught her left hand, turning it palm up.

  ‘You cannot summon me again, Cyllan. I’ve answered you this once, and I can do no more. But I leave you with my blessing.’ And with a gesture that seemed to mock human courtesy, he kissed her wrist.

  It was as though a burning brand had been touched to her arm. Cyllan screamed with pain, jerking violently backwards - and as she fell, a fire-hot blast of air ripped through the room with a muffled, thundering explosion.

  The walls bulged out, tortured by a force they could barely contain - Yandros vanished, and Cyllan slammed back against the window before slumping in a dead faint to the floor.

  The servant who ran to fetch Keridil received a tongue-lashing for his pains, but the High Initiate had no choice but to leave the small celebration taking place in his rooms and follow the man to the Castle’s South wing. He had cut off the garbled explanation, aware only that the girl from the Eastern Flatlands had somehow managed to do herself some mischief in spite of his best precautions, and as he hastened towards her room he felt sick to his stomach at the thought of what might happen if she died. They could keep the news from Tarod easily enough, until the time came for his execution. But he wouldn’t go willingly to destruction unless it was proved to him that she still lived and prospered. And if she did not …

  Keridil swallowed back the bile of fear as he approached the locked door.

  To his relief, his peremptory knock was answered by Grevard. The physician looked irritable rather than worried - surely a good sign, Keridil told himself nervously.

  ‘Ah - Keridil.’ The physician scowled at him. ‘I told those damned fools there was no need to send for you!’

  Keridil looked past him to the bed. Hard to make the girl’s figure out; she seemed to be unconscious, and a white-robed woman whom he recognised as Sister Erminet Rowald was tending her, dogged by two servants who seemed to be more of a hindrance than a help.

  ‘She’s alive?’ the High Initiate demanded tersely.

  ‘Oh yes; she’s alive.’

  ‘What happened?’

  Grevard shook his head. ‘I don’t know. We thought all possible precautions had been taken, but it seems we were wrong.’ He nodded towards the bed. ‘One of the servants found her huddled senseless in a corner when he brought her food. I thought at first she’d collapsed from malnourishment - you know how she’s been refusing to eat - but I changed my mind
when I saw her arm.’

  ‘Her arm?’

  The physician shrugged. ‘Go and look at it for yourself.’

  Frowning, Keridil crossed to the bed, nodding a brief acknowledgement to Sister Erminet as he drew near.

  Cyllan lay still and white-faced, and at first she seemed unmarked - until Keridil saw that the left sleeve of her dress had been rolled back, exposing a ferocious crimson mark that ran from her wrist almost to the elbow.

  He looked quickly back over his shoulder at Grevard.

  ‘That’s a burn mark … ‘

  ‘Precisely.’ The physician grimaced. ‘And if you can explain how she came to have fire in her hands, you’re a better man that I am!’

  ‘It’s impossible. Unless she conjured it out of thin air -’

  ‘Well, I’ve yet to hear a better theory. Does she have any power?’

  Keridil mused, then shook his head. ‘I doubt it.

  Besides, if she had a talent, the Sisterhood would have snapped her up years ago; isn’t that right, Sister Erminet?’

  The old herbalist eyed him enigmatically. ‘Naturally, High Initiate.’

  ‘Then if she didn’t inflict it on herself, who could have … ‘ Keridil’s voice trailed off as an unpleasant possibility occurred to him. Tarod. If the girl had somehow contacted him, persuaded him to break the bargain, he might have tried to use his power to kill her from a distance, in order to save himself. And almost succeeded …

  He turned on his heel. ‘Grevard, is that demon Tarod still under lock and key?’

  ‘Of course.’ The physician looked surprised.

  ‘And have my instructions to keep him drugged been followed to the letter?’

  Now Grevard looked affronted. ‘If you’re suggesting that I -’

  ‘High Initiate.’ Sister Erminet’s voice cut in on Grevard’s angry retort, and Keridil turned to see that she had straightened and was facing him, arms akimbo, like an admonishing tutor. ‘The Adept Tarod is at this moment lying in his cell, oblivious to the activities of the world around him. I administered the narcotic with my own hands, and watched him drink it with my own eyes.’

  Nonplussed, Keridil made a pacifying gesture. ‘I’m sorry, Sister; I didn’t mean to imply negligence. And Grevard -I apologise.’

  The physician shook his head. ‘It was a reasonable enough assumption under the circumstances.’

  Again, Erminet spoke up. ‘There is, of course, one other possibility,’ she said indifferently. Both men stared at her and she continued. ‘It may not be a burn mark at all. The stone of the walls is rough - if the girl really wanted to kill herself, she might have tried to graze her wrist to the point where the artery was severed.’ She smiled pityingly. ‘She couldn’t have succeeded, of course, but who can fathom the reasoning of the desperate? And if she rubbed it hard enough, the grazing could produce a mark very akin to a burn.’

  Grevard looked sceptical, but to Keridil the old woman’s theory seemed as credible as any other. ‘Thank you, Sister,’ he said. ‘You may well have solved our conundrum … but the question remains as to how we keep her from doing herself further harm. She can’t be constantly watched - we haven’t the servants to spare.’

  ‘Perhaps I can be of use, High Initiate?’ Erminet said, as though the idea had only just occurred to her.

  ‘Grevard has little need of me now that his list of emergencies has been dealt with, yet he himself is still busy enough. It would be no hardship for me to divide my time between two patients.’ She smiled ingenuously. ‘I believe I could ensure that this girl doesn’t have the opportunity for any further mischief.’

  ‘I don’t know.’ Privately, Keridil wasn’t taken with the idea; he had caught much of Sashka’s dislike of the acerbic Erminet, although he had to admit that he could find no fault with her skills. ‘I feel we’ve already imposed too much on your good offices, Sister, by detaining you at the Castle this long. You must surely have more vital work at your Cot?’

  ‘Nothing that can’t wait.’ Erminet told him briskly. ‘If truth be told, sir, I find great satisfaction in being in a place where I can use my skills rather than merely teach them. I feel that I am being of practical help.’ She beamed at him.

  Cornered, Keridil looked at the physician. ‘Grevard?’

  Grevard and Erminet had reached a tacit understanding whilst they worked together, and the physician had developed a respect for the old woman. ‘If the good Sister is willing to stay, I don’t mind admitting that I’m grateful for her assistance. Especially with Tarod … ‘

  His face tightened perceptibly. ‘Don’t take me wrong; I share the views of the entire Circle where he’s concerned. But it isn’t easy to face a man and prepare him for execution when I once knew him as a friend.’

  Keridil’s face remained impassive, though the physician’s words went sharply home. ‘Very well, then,’ he said, making the best of it. ‘If Sister Erminet is willing to take responsibility for both our prisoners, so be it.’ He bowed to the old woman. ‘Thank you, Sister.’

  She cast her eyes down modestly. ‘An honour, High Initiate.’

  Grevard clapped Keridil on the shoulder. ‘And now you can return to whatever tedious business was interrupted by this little drama!’

  In the furore over Cyllan, he’d all but forgotten …

  Keridil’s face broke into a broad grin. ‘It was far from tedious, I assure you!’

  ‘Ha!’ Misinterpreting, Grevard burst out laughing. ‘I should have known! Your cheeks are as red as a Sunset, my friend! Give the lady my personal apologies!’

  Keridil held up both hands. ‘Grevard, you’ve a mind like a cesspit!’ Then his expression sobered, though he was still smiling. ‘This news interrupted a celebration, and - you may as well be the first outside her clan to know, for the announcement will be public in the morning. Sashka Veyyil and I are to wed.’

  Sister Erminet’s head came up sharply, then as quickly she bent back to her patient. Grevard stared at Keridil in delighted astonishment for a few moments, before delivering a punch to the shoulder that almost sent the High Initiate to the floor.

  ‘So you’ve finally asked her! Well done, Keridil, well done! There’ll be a celebration as great as the Inauguration itself!’

  Keridil flushed again. Thank you. I appreciate your good wishes.’

  ‘You’ll have the good wishes of the world, my friend, make no mistake. A beautiful girl; beautiful … and a just reward for you both after all that’s happened. Your father would have been very happy.’

  The two men headed towards the door, still talking, and Erminet paused to watch them go. Her bird-bright eyes were unfathomable, but one corner of her mouth was lifted in an expression that faintly suggested contempt.

  Chapter 13

  When Cyllan began to sweat and struggle in delirium, and scream out an alien-sounding name, Sister Erminet bustled the serving-woman sent to assist her out of the room, placating her with the assurance that this was only to be expected in such a case and she could cope perfectly well. Once alone with her patient, she turned to her collection of herbs and prepared a draught whilst listening intently to the panicked ramblings from the semi-conscious girl.

  Yandros … she’d heard the name before somewhere, and recalled a connection with the condemned Adept. And that tied in with her suspicions concerning another apparently insignificant discovery she’d made in this room. A bowl of fruit which had been broken and pulped to no obvious purpose … and the fruit stones, scattered in an apparently random pattern on the floor.

  Stone-reading, she knew, was a form of geomancy peculiar to the East - so it seemed that the girl had been playing with fire, and - quite literally - had burned herself.

  Cyllan’s ranting had by now degenerated into wordless mumbles, and when Erminet looked at her again her eyelids were fluttering spasmodically. Consciousness was returning … good. The old woman carried her prepared draught to the bed, sat down and drew Cyllan’s head forward.

  ‘Here, now. Drink this; it’ll unlock yo
ur muscles and calm your mind.’ She held the cup to the girl’s lips, watched with satisfaction as a good mouthful went down. ‘That’s the way … oh, Aeoris preserve us, girl, you’re spluttering it everywhere; look at that mess!’

  Cyllan had gagged on the drink, but Erminet’s involuntarily sharp reprimand seemed to pierce her clouded mind. She batted feebly at the cup, then her eyes opened.

  They looked at each other, Erminet curious, Cyllan hostile and wary. She had been dreaming monstrous dreams, haunted by Yandros’s coldly sardonic face - and the shock of waking to find herself confronted by a Sister of Aeoris dismayed her.

  ‘Well, are you simply going to stare at me as though I were your grandmother’s ghost?’ Erminet demanded.

  ‘Or have you something to say for yourself?’

  Cyllan lay back, but her gaze didn’t leave the old woman’s face. ‘Who are you?’ she demanded huskily.

  ‘Sister Erminet Rowald. I see they don’t teach good manners in the East,’ Erminet retorted tartly.

  Cyllan scowled. ‘I didn’t ask you to tend me.’

  ‘Indeed not; but someone did, and so I’m here whether you like it or no.’ She brandished the cup.

  ‘Finish your drink.’

  ‘No … you’re trying to drug me.’

  She was as perverse and obstinate as Tarod, Erminet thought, and sighed. ‘It’s nothing more than a simple restorative. Here; I’ll show you. I don’t doubt my need’s greater than yours anyway!’ She drank half the cup’s remaining contents and held it out once more. ‘Now are you satisfied?’

  Dubiously, Cyllan took the cup from her and finished the draught. It tasted pleasant enough; spiced wine with a hint of honey and other, subtler flavours, and her stomach was glad of it. Erminet, meanwhile, had risen and crossed the room, her movements apparently casual, and was stirring something on the floor with one foot. Cyllan glanced at her - then felt her lungs constrict.

  The stones …