The Summon Stone

by Ian Irvine

  Afterwards Sulien read a poignant little story she had written about Piffle.

  “Well, that was crap,” said Julken the moment she had finished.

  “I’m sure she did her best,” said Maigraith.

  Karan only restrained herself with a superhuman effort. Hospitality was sacred at Gothryme… at least for the first night.

  “Speaking as an impartial teller, I thought it was very well told,” said Llian. He scowled at Julken. “I can’t wait to see how Sulken is going to entertain us.” He gulped from his goblet. Evidently he had decided that the only way to get through the evening was with as much wine as possible. Karan could hardly blame him.

  “Don’t want to.” For the first time Julken seemed unsure of himself.

  “Show them your art,” Maigraith said to Julken. “He’s been practising for weeks.”

  “Yes, come on, Julken,” said Llian thickly. “Your father was one of the greatest mancers of all time. You must have inherited some of his talent.”

  Karan jammed her elbow into his ribs so hard that wine went all down his front. Llian scowled and squeezed his shirt into his goblet. She felt like smacking him.

  “Daddy!” Sulien hissed. “Manners!”

  “You can do it, Julken,” said Maigraith. “You’ll surpass your father one day.”

  Julken’s fleshy bottom lip quivered. Had he been told that over and again, but knew he would never measure up?

  “I know a spell to boil water,” he said reluctantly.

  Llian passed him the decanter. “Try it on the wine. Boiling could only improve it.”

  Julken set the decanter in front of him, made several clumsy motions over it and cast his spell. Nothing happened. He flushed and tried again without success. His round head looked like an overripe tomato about to burst.

  Maigraith, frowning, inscribed a sentence on a piece of paper and slid it across. Julken looked down at it, his lips moving, then sounded it out haltingly with wildly exaggerated motions of his meaty hands.

  A wisp of vapour emerged from the mouth of the decanter, but that was all. Julken’s face was on fire; he glowered at the table. Sulien let out a tinkling peal of laughter.

  “Sulien!” cried Karan. “Apologise at once.”

  “I’m sorry,” said Sulien, her eyes alive with glee. She poked the decanter with a fingertip and the wine boiled instantly, bubbling out of the top and onto the tablecloth.

  Julken looked down at the petite girl, his fists opening and closing, and there was such rage in his eyes that Karan’s heart missed a beat.

  “You will be,” he said in a grating voice. “When we grow up, we’re going to be married… and you’ll never laugh again.”

  Sulien let out a cry of terror, fled up to her room and bolted the door. Karan went after her, but neither threats nor promises could induce her to come down. When Karan returned to the dining room, Julken was stabbing the fire with the poker, showering coals everywhere. Llian, who’d already had more wine than was good for him, was destroying the cork in a new bottle.

  Maigraith tried to laugh the incident off. “You know what boys are like. They say the first thing that comes into their heads.”

  “It sounded like a threat to me,” said Llian. “And no one threatens my daughter. If you step out of line again, Julken—”

  “This isn’t your house, it’s Karan’s,” snapped Maigraith. “You have no rights here, and if you ever lay a finger on my son…”

  Karan linked her arm through Llian’s. “Llian and I speak with one voice. Julken will apologise.”

  “Very well,” Maigraith said coldly. “Where is Sulien?”

  “She’s gone to bed. I’ll expect his apology in the morning.”

  Maigraith called Julken and they went to their room at the far end of the southern wing. Llian helped Karan carry the sorry remains of dinner into the kitchen and they cleaned up. “I’m sorry,” he said. “I’ve made things worse, haven’t I?”

  Karan felt a great surge of affection for him. “You were defending our daughter, but please don’t make an enemy of Maigraith.”

  “It’s a bit late for that.”

  20

  THE ARMS OF HIS MISTRESS

  “Mummy, Daddy! Mummy, Daddy!”

  Karan was shocked awake. Had Sulien had another nightmare? Had the magiz got to her? It was barely sunrise, yet she was sobbing and banging on the bedroom door.

  Llian scrambled out of bed and pulled on a robe. Karan yanked the door open and Sulien fell in, hugging something fluffy in her arms. Something limp.

  “It’s Piffle!” She was howling, heartbroken. “He’s dead!”

  Karan took the sad little body, ashamed of her momentary relief. Piffle’s tongue protruded and his neck was floppy. Llian folded Sulien in his arms.

  “I’m really sorry,” he said. “It must have been a wildcat from the mountains. With the drought, they’re hunting further afield.”

  “There’s no b-blood,” sobbed Sulien. “No tooth or claw marks. And… and I heard the drumming.”

  Karan found no trace of injury, but under Piffle’s fur its neck was bruised, as if huge hands had closed around it and snapped it.

  “When?” she said.

  “At dawn. He was barking furiously… and then everything went quiet. What could it be?”

  A dreadful suspicion arose. Karan could see it in Llian’s eyes too. She shook her head. Not in front of her.

  “Take Piffle down to Rachis,” said Karan. “We’ll be down in a minute.”

  Sulien went out, the puppy hugged in her arms. Karan closed the door.

  Llian yanked on his pants. “Julken’s a monster and he’s only going to get worse.”

  “What are we going to do?”

  “Get rid of them, and make sure they never come back.”

  “We can’t accuse him without proof,” said Karan.

  “We both know he did it. Make some excuse.”

  She went down the stairs, trembling, afraid of the confrontation. What would Maigraith do? She was in the kitchen with Rachis and Sulien, who was brushing Piffle’s fur. A very surly Julken sat outside at the terrace table.

  Karan took Maigraith aside and told her what Julken had done. “I want you to go, now! And never bring him here again.”

  Without a word, Maigraith hauled Julken off to his horse, saw him mounted, gave Llian a stare that shivered Karan’s bones, and they rode away.

  “If she ever comes back…” said Llian.

  “There’s nothing you can do. I’ll take care of her.” But how, how?

  Half an hour later a courier appeared at the door, carrying an urgent letter and asking for an exorbitant sum, two silver tars, in payment.

  “Who’s it from?” said Llian dully.

  “Doesn’t say,” said the courier, a plump grey-haired old woman on a gigantic bay mare. She turned the letter over in her hands. It was bent, battered and rather grubby.

  “It isn’t in very good condition,” said Llian.

  “Came by skeet, didn’t it?”

  Karan appeared beside him. “Here’s your fee, and thank you, Lebla,” she said, handing her the coins. “Take the damned letter, Llian.”

  He wiped off a skeet dropping. “I don’t recognise the handwriting.”

  Karan took the letter from the envelope, sniffed it and handed it to him. “I’d know that perfume anywhere. It’s from your friend in Chanthed.”

  Llian clawed his fingernails into his cheeks. “Just for one day let’s think about Sulien first. I loved Piffle almost as much as she did.”

  “Sorry. What a bitch I’ve turned out to be.” Karan gave him a quick kiss on the forehead. “I’ll call you for the burial.” She limped across to the kitchen.

  Llian stared at the crumpled letter. Should he burn it, unread? But he could hardly do so after Karan had paid two precious tars for it.

  He sat under a plum tree in the orchard. Thandiwe’s perfume carried him off to those carefree student days before he had told the T
ale of the Forbidding so sensationally at the Graduation Telling twelve years ago, and his life had changed for ever. He had first set eyes on Karan then, in the audience, and she on him, as though their meeting was fated to be. How could it have all gone so wrong?

  Chanthed, 17 Mard, 3111

  My dearest Llian

  Wistan is finally dying (yes, really dying, not pretending), and before he goes there must be an election for Master of the College. I think I’ve got the numbers, but I need all the support I can get and you have a surprising number of followers. Well, not surprising considering your Great Tale, but you know what I mean.

  I need your help urgently, and I know how unhappy you are, trapped in the backwoods of Bannador. Come to Chanthed in all haste, if not for the sake of our long friendship, then at least for what I can do for you. Once I’m Master of the College, your ban will be overturned and a junior post will be yours.

  “A junior post!” Llian exclaimed.

  You deserve much more, but I’ve already promised the senior positions to my supporters. But there are other things I can offer you; just name it and it’s yours. Anything at all!

  Please come with all possible haste. My rivals are well organised and none of them will do anything for you.

  Your oldest friend,

  Thandiwe

  Llian read the letter again. The offer of a junior post was an insult, but he had to get the ban overturned.

  As to the barely concealed subtext, he did not even want to think about it.

  After Piffle had been laid to rest along with his favourite bone, and Sulien’s tears had subsided, she went up to her room and closed the door. Karan’s heart ached for her but right now there was nothing she could do.

  She turned round. Llian was standing awkwardly nearby, holding the letter in one hand. He was sweating.

  “Come out to the orangery,” said Karan.

  He followed her and they sat at the cast-iron table. He handed her the letter.

  “Just tell me what’s in it,” she said, making a supreme effort.

  “No more secrets.”

  “All right.” As she read the letter, the sick feeling in the pit of her stomach grew worse until she was on the verge of throwing up. I know how unhappy you are and trapped in the backwoods made it clear precisely what Thandiwe thought of Karan and Gothryme. She might as well have said with that bitch of a wife.

  But there are other things I can offer you; just name it and it’s yours. Anything at all! There was no doubt as to what she was offering.

  “I know what you’re thinking,” said Llian. “She wants me—”

  “In her bed,” said Karan.

  Llian looked despairing. “I won’t go.”

  “But you need her help to find out about the summon stone. It’s urgent, Llian.”

  “Wistan, Anjo, Snoat, Maigraith and now Thandiwe. It’s as though someone is manipulating them to get at me.”

  Karan’s fists were clenched so tightly in her lap that her knuckles ached. Thandiwe lived in Llian’s world, and she could give him back the career without which he felt only half a man.

  If Karan begged him to stay here, he would, but he was bound to confront Maigraith when she came back, and Karan knew she would. Maigraith would destroy him; she might even have come here with that intention.

  It only left Karan one option. To save her family, she would have to push Llian into the arms of the woman who wanted to be his mistress.

  21

  THE WORST DAY OF MY LIFE

  “I can’t go,” said Llian. “Not when Sulien—”

  “You can’t protect her from the magiz. But if you can find out where the summon stone is, and what it is, someone might be able to keep the Merdrun out.”

  “It would be expensive. Food. Inns. Stabling for my horse.”

  “There’s coin enough… just.”

  “What if I get there… and Thandiwe tries to cozen me… and the drumming starts again.”

  “You’ll resist it,” she said as steadily as she could. The irony was sickening. “I trust you.”

  She would trust him, even if she had to force herself. But Thandiwe would stalk him and ply him with drinks and flattery, and flourish her ripe body in his face… and surely, sooner or later, under the influence of the drumming, Llian would crack. If he did, Karan would never get him back. How would she explain that to Sulien?

  But then, how would she explain it if Maigraith decided to avenge Rulke? “I want you to go,” she said softly. “Right now.”

  He looked stunned. Though not as stunned as she felt. Karan felt as though she’d been beaten with a club.

  “There’s no point getting there after Wistan is dead and the vote has been held,” she added. “She’ll owe you nothing.”

  “I can’t leave with Sulien in such a state.”

  “It’s only seven weeks until the invasion.” Panic surged. Time was running out yet things were getting worse, not better. “I’ll look after her. She’ll understand.”

  “No, she’ll feel that I’ve let her down when she most needed me, and she’ll be right.”

  “You’ve got to go.”

  She peered between the orange trees towards the track to Tolryme. There was no sign of riders but the knot in her belly did not go away. Maigraith would be back.

  “It’s as though you’re trying to get rid of me,” Llian muttered. “What’s going on?”

  He was quick! “Nothing,” Karan lied. “Go!”

  “What, now?”

  “Yes.”

  “All… all right.”

  Gloom settled over her. She stood up. “We’d better tell Sulien.”

  “I can’t bear to leave her like this. Why don’t you come too?”

  Karan wanted to, but it was impossible. “The harvest has to be got in and we’re short-handed as it is. Then there’s all the preserving and drying and smoking and pickling to be done for the winter.”

  “We might not be here by then.”

  If the invasion succeeded, they might all be dead. “Our farm workers still have to eat.”

  His face sagged.

  “But in six weeks or so,” said Karan, “we could think about coming. Let’s go up and tell Sulien.”

  “Tell me what?” said Sulien, coming in.

  “I’ve got to go to Chanthed right away,” Llian said dully.

  Her green eyes flashed. “Why?”

  “It’s his best chance to get the ban lifted,” said Karan.

  “I don’t want you to go,” said Sulien.

  “I don’t want to go either,” said Llian.

  “You must!” said Karan.

  Sulien swung around to Karan, fists on her hips. “You’re sending Daddy away? Because of Maigraith?”

  She was her father’s daughter, no doubt about it. “It’s nothing to do with her,” Karan lied. “Llian, go and get ready.”

  An hour later, he rode off. Sulien was inconsolable. “Why did you send Daddy away?” she screamed.

  “I didn’t,” said Karan, feeling sick.

  “Yes, you did. I hate everything! This is the worst day of my life.”

  Sulien fled to her room and slammed the door. Karan stood by the track, all alone, tears flooding down her cheeks. She had never felt more alone, empty and burdened. At the crest of the rise Llian stood up in his stirrups, waving so furiously that he almost fell off. Clumsy oaf! She smiled sadly. Then he disappeared and she was wrenched in two. Would he even survive the trip?

  She wiped her face and went to the kitchen, where she tried to distract herself by cleaning and blacking the vast iron stove. It did not help. Two hours later she heard the drumming again, very faintly, and ten minutes after that Maigraith was back, alone.

  “What do you want?” Karan snarled.

  “Where has Llian gone?”

  Karan put down her brush and the jar of blacking in case she was tempted to decorate Maigraith’s face. “To Chanthed. Something came up and he had to go at once.”

  “I sup
pose it makes it easier,” said Maigraith.

  Karan felt that she was not displeased. Perhaps she had manipulated things to this end. Maigraith had been taught by Faelamor, the greatest manipulator of all time.

  “No!” said Karan. “Whatever the question is.”

  “I want Sulien to come and live with me for six months – even a year. She’s a gifted child but she needs discipline.”

  Karan stared at her, open-mouthed. Only Maigraith could say such a thing.

  “Julken murdered Piffle. He’s a vicious brat and I wouldn’t send Sulien to live with you and him for a day to save my own life.”

  Maigraith’s lips compressed to a hard line. “Julken won’t be there. I’ve sent him to Garching Nod.”

  “What’s that?”

  “The best mancery school in the west. It’s a hundred and fifty leagues away. He needs discipline and he’s too old to live with his mother; he’s got to become a man. He won’t be back for a year and a half.”

  The pain in Karan’s chest was so bad that she could have been having a heart attack. “I don’t understand why you want Sulien to live with you.”

  “You and I were the only two triunes in the world,” said Maigraith. “You bear the blood of Aachim, Faellem and old humans, and I’m descended from Charon, Faellem and old humans. We’re unique, Karan! No one can understand what we’ve been through and who we are.”

  “Sulien is the only child I’ll ever have; I can’t bear to be parted from her.”

  Then Karan hesitated. Maigraith had been a brilliant mancer even before Rulke gifted her with much of his own art. If anyone could protect Sulien against the magiz, she could. But could Maigraith protect her against Julken? Blind as she was to his flaws, would she even see the danger? Karan could not take the risk – there were worse things than death.

  Maigraith reached into her saddlebags and pulled out a heavy leather bag. She weighed it in her hand, pursed her lips, then drew out another the same size.

  “Things are desperate. You’re close to losing Gothryme, and Llian will be in the arms of that curly-haired trollop within the week. I’m your only hope.” She put the two bags on the kitchen table. “Five hundred gold tells in each. Enough to pay your debts, recapitalise the estate and still have a full bag left over.”