She read Ardonyx’s first message as fleet commander, then handed it straight it to Egrayne.
It pleased her to finally see his worth acknowledged. But more than that, if their secret bonding was ever discovered, his only hope of surviving the all-fathers’ vengeance was if his stature had risen high enough to make it impossible for them to touch him.
But it was not all good news. Reoden had examined the scryer, and there was nothing the healer could do for her. Lysitzi’s gift had corrupted. This was something every T’En feared.
‘You’ve named Voice-of-reason Ardonyx commander of the fleet?’ Egrayne gestured sharply with the message stone, making the ribbon fly. ‘A brotherhood adept?’
‘He’s the best person for the job.’ Imoshen held out her hand and Egrayne returned the stone. She beckoned the ship’s master. ‘A message from Fleet Commander Ardonyx.’
He read it and headed off, calling orders. Imoshen looked around the fleet and saw the other ships were also reducing sails. Taking a deep breath, she felt her skin prickle. Was there a storm coming?
‘What is it?’ Egrayne asked.
‘There’s an oppressive power in the air.’
‘A storm?’ Egrayne sounded hopeful. ‘It could break up the sea-vermin’s fleet.’
‘It could. But it could also break up our fleet.’ She studied the sky. ‘Looks like it will blow over and spend its force elsewhere. Send for Hand-of-force Kiane, we must prepare to repel the sea-vermin.’
Chapter Thirty-Seven
ARAVELLE DISCOVERED SHE liked being in the all-father’s cabin, in the centre of things, as everyone prepared for the attack. All afternoon, warriors had been coming and going in answer to Hand-of-force Reyne’s summons.
‘We’re as ready as we can be, for now,’ Reyne said, seeing the last initiate out. ‘The Malaunje warriors and initiates are all eager to win stature, and our adepts know what is expected of them.’
‘Time to prepare our minds and bodies,’ Hueryx said.
As the all-father and his seconds went through to the bathing chamber, Aravelle glanced to Saskar.
‘In case they die tonight, they’ll meditate to prepare their minds for the higher plane. That way they stand a better chance of crossing to death’s realm.’ He saw she didn’t understand. ‘Violent death confuses the shade. If the all-father and his seconds fall, there will be no one to escort their shades to death’s realm.’
‘If they die?’ Panic filled her chest. She couldn’t imagine Hueryx and his seconds dying, they seemed so powerful and in control.
‘When they won leadership of the brotherhood, they swore to protect us. They’ll be in the front ranks when the sea-vermin attack.’ Saskar resumed oiling the leather straps of Reyne’s armour. ‘If they fall and the brotherhood survives, the high-ranking brothers will be too busy challenging each other to decide the leadership to worry about the shades of the fallen.’
And if Reyne was killed, he’d take Saskar with him.
It wasn’t fair.
What would she do without Saskar?
Shocked by the thought, she returned to the task at hand, preparing the armour. Concentrating on each minute detail, she polished and oiled. Something about the armour drew her, maybe because it was both beautiful and designed to deal out death. The chest and back pieces were made of linked plates covered in brilliant enamel that glistened like fish scales. According to Saskar, the brotherhood’s armour had been passed down from one all-father and his seconds to the next, for hundreds of years. And soon it would be worn again, in defence of their people.
All-father Hueryx returned from the bathing chamber. Through the half-open door, she saw Reyne and Dragomyr’s broad backs as they knelt to mediate.
Dressed in supple leather breeches and a cotton vest, Hueryx knelt so that Saskar could help him into his armour.
‘Here.’ Hueryx called Aravelle, raising his right arm so she could buckle the straps down the join side.
This close, she could feel the gift readiness coming off his skin in waves. With her own awareness heightened by contact, her fingers flew through their task.
‘Good.’ Hueryx came to his feet and checked his range of movement. ‘Since my hair’s so short, I’ll have to pad the helmet.’
Aravelle glanced to Saskar.
‘Reyne and Dragomyr will plait their hair and wind it around their heads to cushion their helmets. Hueryx, of course, cannot do that.’
As he spoke, he’d been winding cloth around Hueryx’s head. Hueryx reached for the helmet, with its neck and cheek guards, set it in place, and checked the fit.
With his features partially hidden, he ceased to be All-father Hueryx and became every brotherhood warrior from the sagas – beautiful, dangerous and vengeful.
Deadly.
Aravelle took an instinctive step back.
Seeing her expression, he pulled the helmet off and drew her closer. ‘Don’t look so worried. I’ve planned for every contingency. You won’t suffer at the hands of Mieren again.’
Reyne and Dragomyr returned; solemn and silent, they radiated intensity, and their power seemed to struggle to escape their control. Saskar helped Dragomyr into his armour, then did the same for the hand-of-force.
Aravelle’s heart raced as she realised the stark reality of what was about to take place. She was glad the brotherhood had so many warriors. But the sisterhood ships only had their Malaunje warriors, the empowered lads and those sisterhood T’En who had chosen the warrior’s path. ‘My brothers are on the causare’s ship with Healer Reoden. How will the sisterhood defend…’
She ran down as Hueryx and his two seconds turned to her. Last time she’d dared to ask after her T’En kin, Charsoria had slapped her.
‘Do not fear, Vella,’ Hueryx said. ‘The brotherhood ships will bear the brunt of the attack. I want you to go below to Charsoria’s cabin and, whatever happens, do not fail me. Promise?’
‘I promise.’
‘Good.’ He tapped Saskar’s shoulder. ‘Take Vella down.’
Saskar nodded, strapped a belt to his hips and slid two long-knives into the sheaths.
‘I thought only T’En could carry knives,’ she said.
‘I protect the hand-of-force.’ Saskar’s face had grown so hard and cold, she barely recognised him. ‘Come with me. I must review the Malaunje defences.’
Dry-mouthed, Aravelle followed Saskar out onto the mid-deck and down the hatch to the lower-deck, where she found the Malaunje youths who had just begun their warrior training.
Saskar signalled for their attention. ‘If the sea-vermin get down to this deck, it means the more experienced warriors on the upper deck are dead. Don’t show them any mercy. If they take this ship, they’ll kill all of you. They only want the pretty women and small children who they can enslave or sell…’
Aravelle’s stomach clenched with fear. The sea-vermin would kill Ronnyn for sure, although they would probably spare her little brothers.
‘The babies they’ll throw overboard,’ Saskar said. ‘Babies are too much trouble to care for.’ Aravelle felt sick. She hated being apart from her brothers. At least she could protect Itania.
Aravelle slipped through the young Malaunje warriors to Charsoria’s cabin, which was packed with all the Malaunje children.
Charsoria turned as Aravelle entered. Like the other women, she wore the leather arm guard of an archer. Aravelle hadn’t known she’d been a warrior, but it made sense. The same determination that drove her and her mother, also drove Charsoria.
‘I’m going up on deck now. While I’m gone, Hariorta is in charge.’ The all-father’s-voice gestured to her half-sister, who nodded grimly. ‘You all know what you must do.’
The warriors filed out. Last out the door, Charsoria hugged Hariorta, then left. She didn’t give Aravelle and Itania a second look. Aravelle told herself she didn’t care. In fact, anything else would have been hypocritical.
Only babies, toddlers and children remained, with Hariorta, three elderl
y women, and Aravelle.
‘Prepare a hot posset, Redravia,’ Hariorta ordered.
As the old woman began to prepare the hot milk for the children, Aravelle did a quick count. There were twenty-nine children under fifteen. That couldn’t be everyone. She suspected many of the thirteen-and fourteen-year-olds had joined the warriors on the lower-deck. She realised that Nariska was missing. Shy, silly Nariska – how would she fight?
‘An early night for you, my dears,’ Redravia said to herself, as she prepared the childrens’ possets.
With growing misgivings, Aravelle watched the old woman uncap a small bottle and add the contents to the milk.
‘Add double the honey, to hide the taste,’ Hariorta advised.
Aravelle joined them. ‘What’s going on?’
‘The hot milk is to settle them.’ Hariorta touched the knife at her belt. ‘If the sea-vermin take the ship we’re to kill the children.’
Aravelle stared at her, horrified. ‘Does All-father Hueryx know?’
‘He ordered it. He doesn’t want the children enslaved.’
‘What if our ship falls but the others survive?’
‘They won’t come to our aid. They’ll be too busy defending their own vessels. Each ship stands or falls alone tonight.’
‘Come, the posset’s ready,’ Redravia announced. ‘Drink up, children.’
Obediently, the children drank their hot milk. Aravelle watched, her heart racing, tears of anger pricking her eyes. She wanted nothing more than to protect these children. She didn’t want them to fall into Mieren hands, but she did not believe killing them was the answer. Then she thought of what their lives would be like if the sea-vermin took them. Perhaps a quick death was preferable.
‘Everyone line up. Big children take the little ones.’ Hariorta ordered.
Then she led the children down the hall to the central section. Confused and heartsick, Aravelle took Itania’s hand.
Below their deck was the hold, and below that the bilge. The stench of stale water made Aravelle wince as Redravia opened the hatch to the hold where their food, animals and belongings were stored.
Hariorta gestured. ‘Go first with the lantern, Vella.’
She climbed down. The deck’s ceiling was so low the beams brushed her head. The goats called and the chickens cackled. Above her, she heard several of the children complain about the smell.
Hariorta snapped at them, but Redravia made a game of it. ‘In you go. We’re playing hide and seek. Find a dark quiet place and stay there. We’ll tell you when the game’s over.’
The children climbed down, one after the other. Unaware of the danger and the plans for them should things go wrong, they giggled and set off exploring.
The infants and babies were passed down. The older children and Aravelle settled them on bales, tucking them in their blankets.
Redravia and Hariorta climbed down, along with the two other old women. Several toddlers of around Itania’s age grizzled tiredly.
‘Settle them,’ Hariorta told the other women. Redravia led them to a dim corner, where Aravelle heard her singing a bedtime song.
Hariorta withdrew a knife from her belt, offering the hilt to Aravelle. ‘Here.’
Aravelle stared at the blade. She didn’t know if she could do this.
Just then little Itania escaped from Redravia and ran over to tug on Aravelle’s arm. She looked down at her sister’s upturned face. Brilliant mulberry eyes fixed on her and vivid red lips parted in a question.
Itania was perfect. Innocent of guile, she trusted Aravelle unreservedly.
‘Do you want her sold into a brothel?’ Hariorta’s voice was harsh. ‘Do you want Mieren to use her as they used you?’
Aravelle accepted the knife.
Hariorta did not let it go. ‘This is a harder task than the one the warriors face.’
‘I know.’ But Aravelle still took the blade.
IMOSHEN TUCKED HER drowsy children into the bedding they’d set up in the hold and kissed their foreheads, Umaleni first then Deyne, who stirred and smiled at her before drifting off to sleep. Her heart turned over in her chest. She loved them so fiercely. If love alone could save them…
With lingering wonder, she stroked baby Arodyti’s cheek as the infant suckled at her devotee’s breast. Barely half a year old, this little girl had already survived being hidden in a chicken coop when her parents were murdered. Deyne had found her and fed her, cared for her when the Mieren found him and taken him across Chalcedonia, delivering them to Imoshen for the reward. Having survived against all odds, surely the baby girl was meant to grow up to do great things?
Tonight Imoshen wished she believed in a benevolent god who protected the innocent. But she’d seen what the Chalcedonians believed were gods, and they were only the mindless predators of the empyrean plane.
‘Here.’ Frayvia undid the clasp of her neck torc. ‘I want you to wear this.’
‘But Sorne gave it to you.’
‘Wear it.’
Imoshen leaned forward. Frayvia fastened the torc around her neck and kissed her lips. ‘May this protect you, as it has protected him all these years.’
Imoshen thought Sorne’s wits had protected him, but she didn’t protest.
Frayvia looked up. ‘What if –’
‘If the ship is taken?’
She nodded.
Down at the far end of the hold, Imoshen could hear Reoden’s people settling their sisterhood’s children.
Imoshen took her devotee’s hand and held her eyes as she gift-infused her. ‘I believe, while there is life, there is hope. Whatever happens, you must live to protect these children.’
‘I will never let you down,’ Frayvia whispered fiercely. ‘But they say I’ll die if you die.’
‘Only if you believe it.’
‘How can you be so certain?’
‘You carry my treasured memories for Uma. Would I give them to you if I didn’t think you’d outlive me?’ In truth, Imoshen could not be certain. She knew only that gift-working was not an exact science.
She kissed her devotee’s cheek and came to her feet.
She did not have the strength to look on her children one more time. If she did, it would undo her.
From now on, she had to be cold and strong.
Ducking a low beam, Imoshen threaded her way through the bales to the steps.
RONNYN SAID GOODBYE to his little brothers at the mid-deck hatch. Baby Ashmyr slept in the devotee’s arms. Dropping to one knee, Ronnyn hugged Vittor and Tamaron. ‘I need you two to be brave.’
‘I wish you were coming with us,’ Vittor whispered, pulling out of the hug.
‘I have to help defend the ship. I promised Ma I’d protect you.’
‘I’ll stay and fight,’ Vittor said.
‘Me too,’ Tamaron echoed.
‘You will, when you are big,’ Ronnyn said, throat tight with pride and love. ‘Now, go below and watch over Ashmyr for me.’
‘We’ll protect him,’ Tamaron promised.
Vittor caught Ronnyn’s eye and they shared a smile. Then Vittor took Tamaron’s hand and they both climbed down.
‘They’re good boys,’ the devotee said, her voice thick with emotion.
Ronnyn touched Ashmyr’s downy head – so small, so vulnerable – and looked into Meleya’s mulberry eyes. ‘Thank you.’
She stood on tip-toe to kiss his cheek. ‘Ree will probably send you both down to the hold anyway.’
He and Sardeon had refused to drink the hot posset or go with the rest of the children. The devotee climbed down and his little brothers waved from the deck below.
As Ronnyn crossed the mid-deck, everything seemed clearer and more intense. Even the air was fresh and sharp. Malaunje warriors from both sisterhoods prowled the planks; most spoke softly, but some laughed too loudly, hurting his ears.
The hands-of-force from both sisterhoods had gathered all the empowered lads considered big enough to hold a weapon, and were lecturing them on wh
at to expect. Ronnyn listened for a moment. There was no jostling or joking from the lads this evening. They were eager to prove themselves and win stature.
When Ronnyn inhaled, he could taste the tension in the air. It wasn’t just the T’En gifts rising; it felt like a storm was coming. Yet there wasn’t a cloud in the sky.
Although it was not quite dusk, the cabin was dark. They’d closed the shutters and bolted them. Ronnyn found Sardeon helping the two gift-warriors into their armour. As he joined them, he could feel their power rolling off their skin. It made his heart race and his mouth go dry. This evening, their usually sweet gifts held a sharp undertone, as if the threat changed them in some way.
Tasasne thanked Sardeon. Grimly efficient, she turned to Ysattori. ‘Ready?’
Ysattori nodded and they kissed solemnly, then left the cabin.
Sardeon swallowed audibly and Ronnyn glanced to him. His choice-brother looked like he might faint at any moment. It struck Ronnyn that he was more afraid of Sardeon disgracing himself, than of him being killed.
‘I won’t falter when it counts,’ Sardeon assured him. ‘Although I may pass out, afterwards.’
Ronnyn felt a smile tug at his lips. The bathing chamber door opened as Gift-tutor Sarodyti and her devotee came in. Ronnyn hadn’t seen them since the incident on deck, and he was so relieved he could have hugged them both. Devotee Parnia’s head was bandaged and Sarodyti looked a little pale, but they were both on their feet.
‘Did Ree say you were to help us defend the cabin?’ the gift-tutor asked.
Ronnyn glanced to Sardeon.
‘I see. Then it’s off down to the hold with the rest of the children.’
Before they could object, Hand-of-force Cerafeoni strode into the cabin, herding the injured empowered lad ahead of her. She gave Ronnyn and Sardeon a sharp look, but when she spoke it was to Sarodyti. ‘This is Vittor, Saro. He’ll help you defend the cabin.’
The lad drew breath as if to argue.
Cerafeoni silenced him with a look.
He nodded, clearly unhappy.
‘More balls than brains,’ the hand-of-force muttered. But she thumped his good arm as she went to leave, only to find Reoden had come in behind her.
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