Daughter of Witches

by Patricia C. Wrede

  The Templeman stood looking at Arelnath, panting slightly. Ranira thought longingly of the dagger she carried hidden beneath her robe, but she could not reach it easily. Furthermore, she knew that she could not hope to succeed in direct attack on a trained fighter. Her only chance lay in surprise, but she was not close enough to attack without giving him more than enough warning of her intention. The Templeman looked up and met her eyes.

  “I regret that I have distressed you, Chosen One,” he said with polite deference. “But I am afraid I had no choice. This lady was far more of a threat to me than are the rest of you.” He sheathed his sword as he spoke and shifted the dagger from one hand to the other. The blade of the dagger flashed as he took the hilt in his right hand.

  Suddenly Ranira realized that the man had been holding the weapon by its blade. Her eyes flew to Arelnath. There was no sign of blood on her clothing. Ranira strained to see whether she was breathing. The distance was too great. “Is she alive?” Ranira demanded.

  “Of course.” The Templeman sounded surprised, even offended. “Did I not say she was more valuable to me alive than dead? However, I have a few more things to do before she recovers. You will, therefore, please oblige me by backing up three paces and seating yourselves close together. It will be much more comfortable for you, and there will be far less chance for you to attempt to give me any unpleasant surprises.”

  The man watched, dagger poised, as they complied, then he nodded. “Again, I thank you. A lone man cannot take chances.” He placed two fingers in his mouth and whistled piercingly.

  Before Ranira could wonder at the unexpectedness of the gesture, a chestnut horse appeared walking through the trees behind the Templeman. It stopped when it reached his side.

  He took a coil of rope from the saddle and tied Arelnath’s hands firmly behind her. Ranira watched in frustration, but there was nothing she could do. Beside her, Shandy shifted restlessly. Ranira put out a warning hand.

  Small as it was, the gesture made the Templeman look up. “You are wise, Chosen One,” he said as he returned to his task. “The boy could do nothing against me, and I would dislike having to kill him if he tried to escape.”

  “I killed a Templeman once already,” Shandy said in half-sullen defiance. “You’re not so smart.”

  The Watchman finished tying Arelnath and rolled her unconscious body off Jaren. He sat back on his heels with a smile. “That may be, but I would still not advise you to try attacking me.” He looked at the boy with a slight air of puzzlement. “The Chosen One I know, and these three foreigners, but you are unexpected. How do you come to be in such company?”

  “My name is Ranira,” Ranira said, nudging Shandy to keep him from making any more exaggerated claims. “Why are you playing games with us? Who are you?”

  “I am not playing games,” the man said. “Still, I admit I have been remiss; it is only courtesy that I introduce myself. He rose to his feet and bowed gracefully. “I am Erenal, one of the special servants of the new High Priest of Chaldon.”

  “The new High Priest?”

  “Yes, I am afraid you killed the old one last night with some sort of spell,” Erenal said. He did not seem very concerned about it. “It was very convenient for Gadrath; he has been waiting for this for a long time.”

  Mist gasped. “Then, that is why…” She stopped short, but Erenal nodded as he reseated himself.

  “I told you I might shed some light on your… difficulties,” he said. “I am afraid I overheard a good deal of your conversation. You must forgive me. Magic is so interesting, and in Drinn there is little opportunity to indulge such interests.”

  “Gadrath is the new High Priest?” Ranira interrupted. “Then you are one of his ‘special servants’!”

  “I cannot deny it,” Erenal said. An expression of genuine distress crossed his face as Ranira shrank back. “Please, Chosen One. You have nothing to fear from me.”

  “Nothing to fear!” Ranira replied indignantly. “Do you know what happens to the Bride of Chaldon?”

  “To be the Bride does not seem to me a pleasant thing,” Erenal admitted. “But I do not know for certain that Gadrath intends you to play that role.”

  “He chose me himself, because I insulted him in public,” Ranira said scornfully. “He won’t change his mind. And even if he is High Priest now, he couldn’t possibly stop it, since it has been announced through all of Drinn.”

  Erenal smiled. “Gadrath has many ways of keeping the people he finds useful safe,” he said. “He will protect you if that is what he wishes.”

  “What possible use could Gadrath have for me?” Ranira demanded in exasperation. Then she bit her lip, glad that Erenal and Mist could not see her face behind the veil. There was at least one use the new High Priest might wish to make of her, though she had difficulty believing that Gadrath would go to the trouble of deceiving all of Drinn just for that.

  “You are a witch,” Erenal said, seeming not to notice Ranira’s hesitation. “The High Master—that is, the new Highest Born—collects witches. It is one of the duties I and the others in his special service perform.” The Templeman smiled. “He rewards us well, and there is a bonus for these three. Gadrath must want you badly indeed. He sent a messenger-bird to me nearly two days ago, as soon as he was certain you were not in Drinn. It is a good thing I was not in the city. The old High Priest would not allow the Festival rules to be broken in order to send people after you. Gadrath was most annoyed, but as you see, things have turned out well for me. Gadrath may even raise the payment when he learns that there are at least three witches among you.

  “And what use does Gadrath have for witches?” Mist asked. “I did not think such people were popular in Drinn. Indeed, does not the Temple of Chaldon burn witches?”

  “The Temple certainly would, if it could catch any,” Erenal said. “But the Highest Born has been very clever. I do not think many real witches have burned since he first came to power over the Eyes of Chaldon.”

  “That is not true!” Ranira cried. “The Temple burned seven people in the past year alone, two of them in Drinn itself!”

  Erenal shrugged. “They were not witches. I told you Gadrath has ways of protecting those he wishes to use.”

  “You mean he replaces the captured witches with other innocent people,” Mist said. She looked, ill. “And you help him?”

  “I find witches for him,” Erenal corrected. “If I am good enough, the other branches of the Temple do not even realize that the people I find…” Arelnath groaned, and Erenal broke off to look at her. Satisfied that she was merely regaining consciousness, he turned back to Mist. “If I reach a witch before the other Templemen, there is no need for a replacement in the flames. The witch simply disappears.”

  “What does Gadrath do with all these witches?” Ranira asked in a hard voice. Her right hand itched to reach the dagger inside her robe, but she held herself back. She would not risk betraying the presence of the weapon before she had a chance to use it.

  “For many years Gadrath has been building up a source of power independent of the Temple of Chaldon,” Erenal explained. “The witches are that source. You will be well treated.”

  “I have had experience with Gadrath’s version of good treatment,” Ranira spat, remembering the drugged wine. “Do not try to tell me he will behave any differently because he knows I am a witch.”

  Erenal started to answer, but at that moment Arelnath groaned again, shifted, and opened her eyes. She glared into the Templeman’s unwavering gaze. “You are good, Templeman,” she snarled. “But if I had been less tired, you would be dead.”

  “I am aware of that,” Erenal said, unperturbed. “I must apologize for the inconvenience and discomfort I have caused you, but you must admit that from my point of view it was necessary.” He bowed politely without rising. Arelnath’s face was a study in surprise. Under other circumstances, Ranira would have laughed.

  “You are a courteous and well-spoken man,” Mist said thoughtful
ly, drawing part of Erenal’s attention away from Arelnath. “You do not seem to relish the suffering you cause. Why…”

  “I must beg to contradict you,” Erenal interrupted. “I cause no suffering. I prevent it. The witches I find are safe from the fire, and they are given comforts the like of which most of them have never seen.”

  Ranira snorted. She started to reply, but Mist’s warning touch on her arm restrained her. Ranira choked back her angry retort. After a moment, Mist went on, “By taking us to Gadrath you will be the cause of more suffering than you can realize. Do you not know what your Temple plans to do? On the Night of Two Moons they will attack my homeland through their rituals. My people will die if I cannot warn them in time.”

  Erenal looked interested, even slightly sympathetic, but all he said was, “I do not see how I can be the cause of something I am not even aware is happening.”

  “You could prevent this,” Mist said. “Is it so much to ask?”

  “To assist you in your escape?” Mist nodded. Erenal watched her for a moment. “And if your home is warned, what will your people do?”

  “If they are warned, they can defend themselves,” Mist replied. “Chaldon and the Temple priests will not be able to harm them.” She spoke confidently, but Erenal shook his head.

  “Your people will not be content to simply resist,” Erenal said. “If they have such abilities, they have the power to attack in their turn. You propose only that I choose whether the deaths on the Night of Two Moons will be among your people alone, or among mine as well.”

  “There need be no deaths at all,” Mist insisted. “The Island of the Moon is not interested in killing.”

  “And what are your chances of success?” Erenal asked. “You have little more than two days before the Night of Two Moons. I am not the only person searching for you now, and you have not come so far that Gadrath cannot reach you if he chooses to ride out of Drinn.”

  “Without your help we have little hope of success,” Mist admitted. “With it—I do not know. It is possible.”

  “I am sympathetic,” Erenal said. “But even you yourself sound unsure. And if I betrayed my own people to help you, how could you trust me to keep my bargain? No, I am afraid I must take you to Gadrath as I intended.”

  Mist was silent. Ranira looked to Arelnath and was surprised to see an expression of near-approval on the woman’s face. As she puzzled over Arelnath’s acceptance of Erenal’s decision, the Templeman sighed. “But enough talk. Though this conversation is interesting, I think it is time to be moving.” He looked from Arelnath to Jaren, considering. “The sick one I can carry in front of me, but I do not wish to burden my horse with three riders. May I have your oath?” he asked, turning to Arelnath.

  “No.” The quiet word was more emphatic than Arelnath’s earlier anger. “My oath is given.”

  Erenal nodded without surprise. “Then I fear I must tie you to the saddle. It is undignified, but I will try to see that it is not uncomfortable.” He rose, still holding his dagger in one hand, to stand beside the chestnut. As he retrieved a second coil of rope and secured one end to the saddle, Ranira realized what he planned to do. She had seen witches dragged through Drinn behind mounted Templemen, stumbling along at the end of a rope behind the faster-moving horses. Erenal looked up and read the expression in her eyes correctly.

  “I have said I will try to cause your friends no discomfort,” he said almost gently. “I will ride no faster than I must.”

  Ranira swallowed hard and nodded. She understood all too well— Arelnath and Jaren were to be held hostage for the good behavior of the others. So long as they followed Erenal without causing trouble or attempting to escape, he would travel slowly. If one of them ran, he would gallop until he caught the fugitive, without worrying about dragging Arelnath along behind him.

  Erenal turned his attention back to Arelnath, studying her for a moment. “Roll onto your stomach, please,” he said. Arelnath looked at him, Erenal gestured toward Jaren with his knife. “Please, do not be foolish,” he said. Arelnath’s eyes glittered angrily, but she complied. Erenal did not approach her until she had stopped moving. Then he stepped forward and quickly knotted the other end of the rope around Arelnath’s arms, twisting it between the bonds that already held her hands.

  The Templeman tested the knots briefly and stepped back. “I would offer to help you to your feet, but I am sure it would not be wise,” he said as Arelnath rolled onto her back.

  Arelnath chuckled. “You are correct,” she said. In one fluid motion she was on her feet. Without pausing to check her balance, her weight shifted. One foot lashed out. The knife in Erenal’s hand flew into the trees. But Arelnath had no time to take advantage of her opportunity. Even as she moved, the chestnut horse neighed and reared. The motion pulled taut the rope which connected Arelnath with the saddle, and the jerk sent her sprawling heavily.

  A second knife appeared as if by magic in Erenal’s hand, but he made no move to throw it. “That also was not wise,” he said as Arelnath tried to regain her feet. The horse moved, pulling her off balance again. “As you can see, my horse is well-trained.”

  Without hurrying, Erenal crossed in front of the horse to the spot where his dagger had landed. The second blade disappeared as he retrieved the first, and he returned to stand beside the horse’s head. As soon as he touched the bridle, the chestnut stood motionless. Once the horse was quiet, Arelnath was easily able to stand. She made no further attempt to attack Erenal, though she watched him narrowly.

  The Templeman nodded his approval and turned his attention to Jaren. “Now, if you will tell me what malady troubles your friend, I may be able to make him more comfortable until we reach Drinn and one of Gadrath’s leeches can see to him.”

  Ranira thought she saw Jaren’s eyelids flicker as Erenal spoke, but she could not be sure. She hoped he was not going to start hallucinating again. If he began tossing around, Erenal might kill him before she had time to explain. She looked up. ‘‘A Temple snake bit him two days ago. Do you really think you will be able to reach Drinn with him alive?”

  Erenal recoiled slightly, staring down at Jaren. “Two days? And you have carried him this far? Why? He cannot survive much longer, that is plain.”

  Arelnath’s face darkened. “Would you leave a friend to die if you had hope of saving him?”

  “Save a victim of the river-snakes?” the Templeman replied skeptically. “I think you would be kinder to grant him a quick death. No one can heal the bite of those snakes.”

  “I doubt that Drinn has any healers left who could,” Mist said bitterly. “It is one of the drawbacks of burning witches—you cannot use the talents of a dead man.”

  “You can heal him?” Erenal looked at Mist skeptically. Mist nodded. Erenal’s eyes narrowed, watching Jaren. A moment later, he looked up and shook his head.

  “I cannot allow you to use your magic, even if it may cure your friend,” he said regretfully. “How am I to know what spell you weave? And it is-needless cruelty to drape him across my horse and carry him to Drinn. He will be dead long before we reach the city.” He looked down at his dagger for a moment, then stepped to Jaren’s side. “I am sorry, but there is only one thing I can do. He will feel nothing, I promise you.” He knelt and raised his hand for the death blow.

  Chapter 17

  RANIRA CRIED OUT AS she realized Erenal’s intent. She threw herself forward, knowing sickly that she could not reach Jaren in time. She saw Arelnath begin to move as well, and she heard Mist cry something from behind her. Erenal did not seem to notice any of them. His hand was steady as the dagger came down and embedded itself in bare ground. A look of surprise, almost wonder, touched the Templeman’s face and froze there.

  Slowly, he toppled backward. Ranira saw the hilt of a Temple dagger protruding from his chest, and saw Jaren beside him, hand still outstretched from the unexpected blow. Her mind refused to find sense in the abrupt reversal of events. Then her eyes met Jaren’s. They were unclouded by
the effects of the poison. Ranira’s brain began to function again. “Shandy, get Arelnath!” she called over her shoulder. Without waiting to see whether the boy obeyed, she threw herself down beside Jaren.

  Jaren’s eyes closed as Ranira reached his side. He sank to the ground beside the Templeman he had killed. Ranira’s hand shook as she touched Jaren’s shoulder—she still could not believe he was unwounded. How could a man half-dead of snakebite dodge a Templeman and then kill him?

  “I am Cilhar,” Jaren said quietly, as if it explained everything.

  Ranira blushed as she realized she had spoken aloud, but Jaren’s eyes were still closed and he could not see her embarrassment. Ranira wondered if she should try to move him. She looked toward Mist for guidance.

  A low snort from just in front of her distracted Ranira. She turned, then jerked back in surprise. The chestnut horse stood practically on top of her, investigating Erenal’s body with his nose. Ranira had barely time to register the horse’s presence before the animal reared and sent a high-pitched whinny ringing through the woods.

  Ranira fell backward. The horse reared again above its master’s body, and then bolted. Ranira scrambled to her feet as she realized that Arelnath was still tied to the horse’s saddle. She was too late. The rope pulled tight, knocking Arelnath off her feet and revealing Shandy standing behind her with a look of dismay on his face. “The knots were too tight!” he wailed. “I didn’t have time!”

  Ranira ignored him. She ran forward, hoping to stop the horse, but it swerved away from her. She continued to run. The horse was heading into the forest where the trees grew more closely; it might slow down once it had to begin weaving in and out among the trees. As she ran she groped blindly for her dagger.