Stormlord’s Exile

by Glenda Larke

  “Waterpainting is such a magic.”

  “Placing paint-powder on the surface of water is evil? Don’t be daft.”

  Basalt bristled and Laisa glared at Jasper.

  “For the past half-cycle, I’ve put my priests to work researching all that is known of waterpainting,” Basalt continued. “Firstly, it’s an art that’s not known in the Quartern. It comes from the land of blasphemers to the east.”

  “Have you been there, Basalt? Have you ever heard a person of Khromatis utter blasphemies? Where is your proof of that assertion?”

  “They call themselves Watergivers, do you deny that? The ’Basters themselves admit that they have their faith from Khromatis, and they’ve stated openly in the past—although they’re more circumspect now—that they believe Sunlord worship to be a fallacy. They’ve said clearly that our Watergiver, Ash Gridelin, is not a holy figure who sits at the right hand of the Sunlord, but rather one of them. The Khromatian heretics. An ordinary person! Do you deny that?”

  “I know little of their beliefs and care even less.”

  His mouth dry, Jasper walked to the dayjar in the corner and pushed back the cover to take some water. He made every movement with studied casualness, but sunblast it, his fingers were trembling with anger as he lifted the ladle to drink. He was furious, but he was also cautious. Basalt had the power of every waterpriest in the Scarpen behind him, and he controlled every rainlord Breccia had—even, it seemed, Laisa.

  He added, “I still don’t know what your point is.”

  “My waterpriests have been researching the archives in our libraries. They have found assertions that waterpainting can be used to fix the future. We’re of the opinion that Terelle Grey used the medium to kill ziggers during the battle for the Qanatend cistern. Worse, we have evidence that you used this painting sorcery—and the sorceress—to defeat Highlord Taquar during your fight with him at Scarcleft Hall. I myself saw her painting the scene; so did Lord Senya. Anyone present that day will tell you that they were astonished you won against such an accomplished and experienced bladesman as Lord Taquar Sardonyx. Now I believe we know how you won. You used iniquitous, immoral methods.”

  “I see. So we all have to be kind and considerate to our enemies, do we? Why, then, is it all right to take a man’s water, to kill in the rainlord manner?”

  “That power is Sunlord-bestowed. And the Sunlord does not give such power to just anybody.”

  “Oh? And yet the two most powerful of such lucky lords I can think of are myself and Taquar. Taquar was instrumental in wiping out a Gibber village, including killing my baby sister and other members of my family—all to gain himself power over a stormlord. But that’s fine because he didn’t use sorcery? And now you accuse me—who, also according to you, must have been chosen by the Sunlord as a recipient of his blessings—you accuse me of immorality and iniquity because you think I did use sorcery? And what are these supposed crimes of mine and Terelle’s? Let me think…” He started counting them off on his fingers. “Killing ziggers sent against an army of which you were a part, m’lord. We were preventing the second invasion of the Scarpen, I believe. And, oh yes, deposing a rainlord who betrayed our people to our enemies. Your logic seems a little askew, Lord Gold.”

  The Sunpriest’s face mottled with purple blotches. “You’re clever at playing with words, but it doesn’t alter the fact that I have sufficient evidence to charge Terelle Grey with the use of sorcerous magic. Her favourite painting appears to be of you—we believe that you’re the innocent party here. You don’t understand what she has done to you. She has been changing your future to suit herself. Forcing you to do things without you being aware of it. To turn from Lord Senya to her, for a start—”

  “Well, I can tell you for a start that Laisa doesn’t believe a word of that nonsense.”

  “The penalty for guilt is death.”

  “What?”

  It was Laisa who answered. “The penalty for using sorcery, such as waterpainting, is death. Jasper, the Council of Waterpriests has already met and passed judgement on Terelle Grey. She’s been found guilty and the punishment is for her to be taken to the House of the Dead, to have her water publicly extracted. The rainlord death.”

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  Scarpen Quarter

  Breccia City

  Breccia Hall, Level Two

  “What? Are you both sun-shrivelled?” Jasper took two strides to where Lord Gold stood. He grabbed the Sunpriest by the neck of his robe and jerked him forward until they were almost nose to nose. Through gritted teeth, he said, “You’ll be weeping lucky if I don’t strike you dead right here and now. I don’t need the ability take your water. I can use this sword of mine. Or I can stuff you head first into that family jar in the corner. And right now I can’t see one reason why I shouldn’t.”

  “I can give you several, Jasper,” Laisa said, still apparently unruffled. “Have you no idea of the power of waterpriests in the Scarpen? People see them as their conduit to the Watergiver or the Sunlord. Kill the Sunpriest and you’ll find yourself having to watershift from a prison like the one you put Taquar in.”

  He answered her without shifting his gaze from Basalt, still wriggling ineffectively in his grasp. “You’re sun-fried. Waterpriests may have power, but without me you’re all dead. I never wanted this, but the truth is I am the only stormlord you have. How can you threaten me or the woman I love and expect to achieve anything beyond my rage? I will not marry that woman”—he still kept a hold on Basalt’s collar as he pointed at Senya with his free hand—“and I will not give this city to a ruthless, conniving bitch!”

  He flung Basalt from him. The Sunpriest tripped and fell backwards onto the floor. Gasping, he struggled to prop himself up on one elbow but made no attempt to rise to his feet. Even half-prone, he continued to berate Jasper. “We can’t do without you, no, but we can do without your snuggery harlot! She has been condemned by the Council of Waterpriests. If she sets foot back in the Scarpen, the sentence will be carried out by the first waterpriest who sees her.”

  “Jasper, Jasper,” Laisa said, placatingly, “we don’t really want Terelle or you dead. Her sentence has been suspended, pending a decision as to whether she is to be granted a stay of execution in the interest of mercy. And that, Jasper, depends on Basalt. He—we—are willing to forget all about Terelle as long as you marry Senya, as long as Terelle stops her waterpainting, and as long as I have Breccia.”

  He was seized by an intense desire to laugh uncontrollably. He tried to subdue it, but a loud guffaw burst out of him anyway. “You sand-brains! You don’t get it even now, do you? Without Terelle and her waterpainting there is no cloudshifting.”

  They stared at him, Senya still in her chair, wide-eyed and puzzled, Laisa frowning as the truth began to dawn on her, Basalt in shocked disbelief.

  “That’s right,” he said, with a harsh laugh. “Your sorcerer has been using her talent to bring you the water you drink, and I hope you choke on it. The truth is, I cannot raise water vapour from the ocean without her. With her, I can just manage to water the whole Quartern, more than I could ever manage with Taquar’s help. It leaves us both exhausted, but we can do it. So tell me, you petty little man, is this so-called sorcery evil, or is it a blessed Sunlord-given talent to save us—to save you—from thirsting to death?”

  “You—you’re lying!” the Sunpriest said.

  “No. There’s not a drop of rain will fall unless she helps me. You want proof? Senya, go into the Stormquest room. Here’s the key.” He took off the leather thong around his neck and gave it to her. “There are shelves on the left-hand wall as you go in. Bring me one of the paintings you see rolled up there. Any one, and be careful with it.”

  Sulkily, Senya unfolded herself from the chair. She was ungainly with her advanced pregnancy, and once again he was hit with the reality of a child. Their child. He was soon to be a father. Oh, waterful mercy. Why her? The answer came all too readily: because he had been a witless, sand-
brained fool.

  She left the room. Basalt climbed to his feet and moved to sit in the chair she had vacated. Jasper was glad to see he was shaken. Blighted eyes, I still want to kill the bastard.

  Laisa shook her head, bemused. “That explains such a lot. Why didn’t I see it?” She looked over at Basalt. “He’s telling the truth. Are you sure you’ve got the religious aspect correct, Lord Gold? Perhaps waterpainting is not such a bad thing after all?” When he didn’t answer, and in fact looked as if he was about to have a seizure, she reproached Jasper. “You should have told me.”

  “Would it have made a difference to anything?”

  “Who knows? I don’t think it makes a difference now, unless I am very much mistaken.”

  He regarded her, hoping they could read nothing on his face. She was talking about Basalt of course, telling him that the man was not about to change his mind. Something shattered inside him. This was a nightmare beyond imagining. All his fault. Because he’d bedded Senya in a moment of weakness. And now Terelle had to pay for it.

  As if she knew what he was thinking, Laisa came close enough to lay her hand on his arm again and dropped her voice so only he could hear, “Lord Gold would have gone after Terelle no matter what, you know. He hates all ’Basters with a passion, let alone someone from another land.”

  “She was born in the Gibber,” he snapped, addressing Basalt rather than Laisa. “She’s sacrificed precious water to the Sunlord all her life.”

  Basalt was scowling as Senya reentered the room. Jasper took the key first, hanging it around his neck again, then the painting. Unrolling it and holding it up in front of his chest, he showed them. “Me, stormshifting,” he said. “In the stormquest room. You can see clouds out of the window, storm clouds that will bring water. Using the power that is in this painting, I am able to draw water vapour from the ocean and make the clouds you see here.” He wasn’t about to explain to them the secrets of waterpainting and how it fixed a single point in future time, or how he could ensure the arrival of that time by putting the same objects in the right places on the table, the way Terelle had painted them. “Of course not all waterpaintings are imbued with power. The ones that used to adorn the houses of the rich were no more than paintings on water.”

  Basalt was ashen-faced, and Jasper knew he had convinced the man of the truth of his explanation.

  “I want this verdict of guilt against Terelle withdrawn,” Jasper said. “Immediately.”

  “Never,” the man replied, standing. “All unnatural power not stemming from the Sunlord must be forbidden sorcery. So say the holy writings bestowed through the medium of the Watergiver that we may know the path of righteousness. They are never wrong. Besides, we prayed to the Sunlord to give us guidance to make the right judgement. The verdict still stands.”

  Laisa, in alarm, intervened. “My lord, it seems that if Terelle does not return to Breccia we’re all going to die.”

  “You must have more faith, Lord Laisa. The Sunlord will provide the means to help his chosen. Have no fear.” He gave Jasper a hard stare. “You have strayed from the true path. You were chosen by the Sunlord as a recipient of his power, but you have been found wanting. This is why your power is inadequate. With prayer and sacrifice and atonement, I see no reason why the Sunlord’s face of light will not bring a full stormlord’s strength to you. If you are not worthy, well, the Sunlord has already shown us an alternative path. If Lord Taquar is released, and water is bestowed only on the faithful of the Scarpen instead of the heathens elsewhere, then the Holy One’s will shall be done.”

  Jasper blinked, flabbergasted. “Do I hear you rightly? My method of bringing water to the whole Quartern with Terelle is sinful, whereas if I supply only half the water required, but do it with the aid of a multiple murderer like Taquar, it’s somehow holy?”

  When the Sunpriest did not answer, he added, “You are sick, Basalt. Now, revoke this sentence of death on Terelle or you’ll not leave this room alive.”

  “Come now, Jasper, let’s be sensible. Together Basalt and I can prevent you from harming him. And I hardly think you want to be accused of murder anyway.”

  When he opened his mouth to tell Laisa what he thought of Terelle being murdered, she intervened hastily. “Look, I’m sure we can come to some sort of agreement.”

  “I want to be the Cloudmaster’s wife,” Senya said.

  Laisa nodded. “And I want to be the highlord. Lord Gold wants an end to sorcery. And you want to save Terelle. It should be within our abilities for us all to work out an agreement where we all get what we want.” Jasper started to speak, but she forestalled him again. “You marry Senya immediately. You declare me highlord immediately. Lord Gold announces to the Council of Rainlords that the verdict against Terelle has been nullified in exchange for her agreement—which we will assume you can persuade her to follow if she ever returns—to use her waterpower only to do pictures like this one, in the service of the Quartern and its Cloudmaster.” She indicated the painting he was still holding. “She will undertake never to do any other waterpainting that involves sorcerous magic.”

  She looked at Basalt. “Is that agreeable?”

  He didn’t answer the question, but, sounding petulant, said to Jasper, “I don’t see that such an agreement is necessary. I’m confident that the Sunlord will find a way for us to receive enough water for our faithful. I’ll send out my men with ziggers to find and kill the sorcerer woman, even if they have to go all the way to Samphire. She may have been Gibber born, but her blood is tainted by her ancestry. Lord Senya says she is the granddaughter of that old waterpainter, Russet. I warned the previous Lord Gold about him; Lord Nealrith, too. Neither of them would listen.”

  How could he protect Terelle? She was already ten days into her journey, close to Samphire. Even if the Sunpriest’s agents missed her while she was still in the Quartern, they could easily find her on her way back to the Scarpen. He could send her a cloud message, warning her—but she had no rainlords with her. No one who could stop an assassin with a zigger. His desire to strangle Basalt was so strong he had to put his hands behind his back.

  “If you kill Terelle, you’ll die the moment I hear of it,” he told Basalt.

  The Sunpriest shrugged. “Then it will be the Sunlord’s wish.” His tone told Jasper the threat meant nothing. He believed his deity would protect him.

  For a moment everyone in the room remained poised, tense, silent. Senya chewed on her lip, unusually subdued. Laisa, more alarmed than confident now, was staring at him. Basalt was openly seething.

  Jasper knew his future was in ruins. He had to salvage what he could; he had to decide what was most important. And what he could jettison. Words streamed through his head: I have to keep Terelle safe… I have to be able to water the Quartern… I have to prevent any return of Taquar to a position of power.

  He made his decision—he would determine the outcome, not Basalt or Laisa. And he would pay the price. He dropped the painting.

  In one fluid move, he wrenched water out of the family jar and as soon as Laisa, Basalt and Senya swung their heads to look towards it, he had his sword out of his scabbard. Even as Laisa began to utter a warning a cube of water was encasing Basalt’s head. The Sunlord immediately used his rainlord power to push it away—but just as quickly, Jasper circled it around to cover his face again. Basalt repulsed it all, only to find streams of water coming at him from behind and above and below. His ability to react succumbed to his panic. He began to choke and splutter.

  Senya screamed. Laisa lent her power to help Basalt, shoving water away from his nose and mouth. He began to run for the door, his wet clothes flapping, his hands flailing ineffectually at the water that followed him until—coughing and sputtering, desperate for breath—he fell to the floor gasping.

  Laisa rushed at Jasper to slap him with an open hand; she never reached him. He swung his sword up and she only just stopped before impaling herself. Senya’s hysterical screaming was loud enough to bring peo
ple to the door. A guard threw it open, his sword already drawn. Several others crowded into the opening behind him. They took in the scene, gaping in varying degrees of horror.

  Probably related to the extent of their piety, Jasper thought, surprised at his own calm. “Guards,” he said with the same restraint, “please escort Lord Senya to her room and ask her maid to attend to her. And shut the door when you go, would you?”

  For a moment the guard in the lead stared, nonplussed. Jasper could almost see him considering whether it was better to obey the bringer of his water or help the man who was the spiritual leader of his faith. It didn’t take him long to decide. He snapped his mouth shut and signalled the guards behind him to assist Senya from the room. As there was no way she was in any state to be cooperative, they complied by bodily lifting her by the arms and carrying her out. The first guard followed them and closed the door behind him. Senya’s screams continued outside, growing fainter as she was borne away.

  “Laisa, would you mind sitting down and staying there for a moment, while I attend to Lord Gold?” Jasper asked.

  She was gaping at him, for once at a loss for words, but when he didn’t lower his sword, she shrugged and did as he asked.

  He stood over Basalt, who was still on the floor trying to regain his breath. The water hovered in the air not far from his cheek. Exhausted, Basalt was no longer trying to push it away.

  “Lord Gold,” Jasper asked, trying to sound as pleasant as possible under the circumstances, “do you doubt that I can kill you?”

  The man, chastened at last, shook his head.

  “Good. Then remember that, because if you threaten the woman I love again, you will die and I will work to demolish every trace that the Council of Waterpriests ever existed. Understand?”

  Basalt gave the minimum movement he could to indicate a nod.

  “Excellent. Now perhaps we can come to an agreement. I’ll grant you most of what you want; you’ll grant me much of what I demand. On the rest, we compromise. If you break this agreement, I’ll carry out my threat to you and your Council. If I break my side of the agreement, then I understand you’ll go ahead and attempt to kill Terelle Grey. And I suspect this would be followed by some considerable unpleasantness on both sides, which any rational man would want to avoid.”