Stormlord’s Exile

by Glenda Larke

  She flushed.

  You murdered her daughter, he thought, and I am not going to do anything about it.

  He passed the priests on his way out.

  Sandhells, Rith, I am sorry. I am so sorry.

  CHAPTER FORTY-FIVE

  Scarpen Quarter

  Scarcleft City

  Gibber Quarter

  Wash Drybone

  A light wind skittered through the bab grove, scurrying dust and rattling the dried underskirt of the palms. In near silence, a pack pede carrying three people slipped through the darkness of the night in the direction of the Scarcleft city walls. It wasn’t following the road and it wasn’t heading towards any of the gates, either. They would have been closed anyway, at this time of the night. Three hours before dawn, with the night at its darkest.

  When they drew level with the grove’s main water cistern, Jasper, who was driving, halted the pede and jumped across onto the stone slab top. Terelle and Rubric followed.

  “No guards,” Rubric remarked as he lit the single candle in a small shutter lantern.

  “They clear everyone out of the groves and close the city up tight,” Jasper explained. “Not much out here to be stolen.”

  “Or broken,” added Rubric, selecting a prybar from his pack. He inserted it at the edge of the cistern lid and proceeded to use it to break the lock. “Scared?” he asked Terelle.

  “Of course I’m scared.”

  We all are, Jasper thought. What if Taquar is waiting for me? All they could do was hope that Laisa had told Taquar that he and Terelle were heading for a new life in the Gibber. Most of their party, led by Dibble and Elmar, were indeed doing just that. Laisa might not have relayed the message, and if she had, Taquar might not have believed it.

  They worked on in silence, each step unfolding according to plan.

  They’d been over it so often. They’d practised and experimented and discussed every aspect. With Jasper’s help, Terelle had drawn maps of Scarcleft and its hall from memory and they’d studied them together. Even so, being here again, in the bab grove outside the gates of Scarcleft, Jasper felt vulnerable. Not like a stormlord at all. Not like a man who’d fought battles and held the fate of thousands in the magic of his power. He felt like Shale Flint, helpless in the clutches of a rainlord. And how must Terelle be feeling? She’d once been imprisoned within these walls, threatened with death by the man he was about to confront.

  In the distance, night-parrots boomed. If he looked through the trees he saw the walls of the city, dark and formidable, patrolled by armed sentries. From all that Jasper had been able to find out about the way Taquar now ran his city, it was a place difficult both to enter and to leave. All who passed the gates were questioned and searched. Jasper had no doubt that everyone was on special lookout for him.

  Together he and Rubric dealt with the cover of the cistern, edging it open. Together they pulled a large block of water out. They had to work quickly now. The longer there was an unusual movement of water the more chance that Taquar or one of his rainlords would notice it.

  Please let them all be asleep…

  Once the block was the size Jasper wanted, and had been shaped to suit his needs, they lowered it until its upper surface was level with the back of their mount. Terelle had already uncovered their unwieldy baggage to reveal a single boat-shaped segment taken from a dead pede.

  He turned to Terelle and kissed her lightly on the lips. “I have to do this.”

  “I know.”

  “I may not succeed.”

  “I know that too.”

  “If I fail—” he began.

  “Just remember that only Amberlyn matters. Take her and ignore Taquar if you can. Why should we care enough about him to see him dead?” Her voice trembled with passion.

  He didn’t reply.

  She added, her tone telling him she was resigned but not defeated, “No matter what, if I can, I will look after Amberlyn.”

  “I love you.”

  She smiled. “I know that as well. And I so need you back in one piece.”

  He nodded to Rubric. “I’ll throw some water at you if I’m successful, then send someone to open the gate. No water by dawn—get out of here, both of you.”

  Rubric and Terelle manoeuvred the segment until it floated on top of the water. Cautiously, with Rubric stabilising the surface for him, Jasper stepped aboard and sat down. The “boat” wobbled alarmingly, then tipped to one side. He distributed his weight more evenly and sat still.

  “I think that’s got it,” Rubric muttered. “Jasper, take care. Terelle’s right, ye know. Taquar doesn’t matter.”

  He didn’t reply. Taquar had been behind the attack on his settle that had killed his family and his baby sister. Taquar had imprisoned him. Taquar had kidnapped and threatened the woman he loved. Taquar had brought the whole land to the brink of disaster. Taquar had manipulated him into a marriage he didn’t want and was threatening to torture his daughter.

  What he did matters to me.

  The rage behind the thought—he felt that deep in his being, searing and corrupting his inner peace. It had been there so long it was almost part of him. He needed to expunge it. Terelle thought he could do it by dismissing Taquar, as if the man didn’t matter. Well, he’d tried that and failed miserably.

  Now he had a better idea. It wasn’t nice, it probably didn’t reflect well on him, but he didn’t care. If Taquar and I both die, at least Amberlyn will be safe. And the Quartern will survive, with Umber and Rubric and Jade and Terelle and the Source. I’m not so important any more. The thought was oddly liberating.

  “Time to go,” he said. He took a deep breath. It didn’t do anything to stop the pounding of his heart. He was about to fly.

  The block of water began to lift, the boat rocking in the middle. This was the part that they had practised the most; this was the reason he’d needed Rubric along. He’d tried to do it on his own, but found he just wasn’t powerful enough to lift himself and the water and guide it as well. He hadn’t wanted to bring Terelle either, but she had asked him loftily just how he and Rubric were going to take care of a baby on the way to the Gibber, and that was that.

  Slowly, carefully, they lifted the water, sending it higher and higher.

  If he lost his hold on it…

  Don’t think about that.

  If a rainlord sensed it and yanked it from under him…

  Don’t think about that either, you sand-head.

  Rubric concentrated on holding the integrity of the block of water intact; Jasper focused on moving it where he wanted.

  Which was straight up, at least at first. The higher it went, the better the chance that none of the guards along the walls would notice as he slid silently overhead. Rubric, whatever you do, don’t drip water on the sentries’ heads.

  Or worse still, drop Jasper and his vessel on the city from a considerable height. Jasper tried not to imagine that. If they failed, he died. At least it would be quick.

  He sat motionless. When he glanced over at Scarcleft, he gasped.

  I’ll be weeping waterless, this is like being a bird!

  For one wild moment he wished it was daylight so he could see it all. At this time of the night, there were hardly any lights; just the occasional flicker of a candle in a window, a lantern wending its way up through the city, grasped, perhaps, in the hand of a drunken reveller on his way home. The brightest points of light were occasional inn windows opening onto a courtyards. Still, there was enough starlight to outline the buildings in a silvery glow.

  He edged the water still higher, resisting the impulse to go faster, or to go closer before he was high enough. He wanted to be on a level with Scarcleft Hall when he drifted over the walls. As he reached the right height, he scooped up a handful of water and tossed it over the edge; his warning to Rubric to be ready. A moment later it returned as a shower of droplets on his head.

  He’s a withering fine stormlord. Those drops had barely started to fall before Rubric had
become aware of them and sent them back. He smiled as he began to edge his craft towards the heights of the city. Terelle’s meeting up with her cousin—with both her cousins—was the best thing that had happened in Khromatis.

  He passed over the wall, directly below. Everything was so dark that he had no way of telling if a guard was looking upwards. At least no one shouted an alarm. Wilted damn, it was a long way down…

  He looked ahead to the hall where it squatted on the second highest level, just below the waterhall. Easy enough to orient himself because the main Sun Temple of the city poked its tower up above all the surrounding buildings on Level Three, not far from the main gates on Level Two. He knew exactly which balcony belonged to Taquar.

  But first he had to enter the hall unseen.

  He used his senses to pinpoint guards. More difficult than he’d thought, blast it. The water of his craft blocked the details of people further away. He thought there could have been as many as fifteen men up on the ramparts of the wall around the hall and the waterhall above. In addition, guards patrolled the gardens. He smiled slightly, remembering. Guards had almost caught him there the day he had arrived in Scarcleft, when he’d been thirteen or fourteen years old. How different things would have been if they had! He never would have met Terelle, for a start…

  He brought his mind back to his task.

  Deal with Taquar first. If Taquar was dead, then everything else would fall into place. He started to descend, speeding up as he went. Rubric, bless him, kept the raft’s integrity, no small feat from his distant perch on the cistern.

  He guided the raft to Taquar’s balcony. The room beyond was shuttered tight, no light showing. He hovered level with the balcony railing and climbed out of the pede segment. Then, to make sure it didn’t float off the edge of the water block and go crashing somewhere below, he pulled the front end up onto the balcony railing just enough to anchor it.

  He paused. Everything inside was quiet. If he’s awake, he’ll know who it is. He’d be waiting. And Taquar was a skilled swordsman, even handicapped as he was now. His knee was a mess after their last encounter, and by all accounts he walked with a pronounced limp and a lurching gait. It must have affected his ability to fight. Jasper had no compunction at all about taking advantage of that, not with this man.

  Stepping away from the water, he used his senses to tell him Taquar was supine. Good. Probably still asleep. He tried the door, but it was barred. He unhooked his prybar from his belt and inserted the hooked end between doorjamb and door lock, then levered it savagely. The door splintered. He wrenched it open, sword in one hand, prybar still in the other, and launched himself into the room like a low-flung spear, not directly ahead, but off to the left.

  Wise move. Taquar had been faking sleep. The highlord came off the bed already holding his sword and slashing the place where logically Jasper would have been. Jasper rolled and leaped upwards onto the bed. He feinted with his sword to cover the savage swing of the prybar with his left hand. Taquar ducked at the last moment and the metal hook did no more than rip off his ear in a spray of blood.

  At that moment, the damaged door swung shut, sweeping the meagre starlight from the room as it closed. It wasn’t quite pitch dark—briquette coals glowed in the fireplace—but mostly they had only their sense of sound and their feel for the other’s water to guide them.

  I hope I’m better at this than he is. Jasper had the disadvantage of never having been in the highlord’s bedroom before. As he moved across the bed, he kicked something with his foot. Silently he reached down to pick it up, thinking it was a pillow. To his delight his hand closed around the harder, more manageable shape of a cushion.

  Senses wide to every nuance of Taquar, he was aware that the highlord had stepped back, away from the bed. He had one hand to his ear, in an attempt to stem the copious flow of blood that Jasper could sense. Taquar’s breath had quickened. Air in, damper air exhaled. His hand held his sword at the ready, weaving it to and fro in the air.

  “Jasper.” His tone was amused and apparently unworried. He must have been in agony, but there was no trace of it in his voice.

  Still arrogantly confident, sunblast the wilted bastard.

  Jasper’s courage shrank. How could he fight a man like that? He was no swordsman. All his battle successes had been with water, but now he was up against the most powerful of all the rainlords.

  “I might have known you couldn’t just leave while you were ahead.”

  Jasper’s mouth was dry and he had to lick his lips before he could speak. “You have my daughter.” He made a small slit in the cushion cover, a heavy bab-fibre cloth, and slid the prybar crossways inside. It fitted firmly through the packed stuffing, wedged from corner to corner.

  “So? I won’t hurt her if you leave me alone.” Taquar said. “I thought you’d be sensible and stay away to keep her safe. I underestimated your foolishness. Or is it your desire for revenge? I was prepared to give up my schemes of a greater, united land under my rule in exchange for a prosperous future for Scarcleft. But no, you couldn’t let it rest, could you? Never mind, at least we have other stormlords now to manage the water. Your death will mean nothing.”

  His contemptuous dismissal was strangely hurtful. Jasper said, “You have a price to pay for what you’ve done.” He made another two slits, in the back cover of the cushion this time, and slid his arm into one and out of the other, so that the cushion fitted snugly over his forearm like a buckler. A cushion was a poor substitute, but this one had a tough iron prybar in it as a nasty surprise. It could be both a weapon and a shield. In the dark, he felt sure that Taquar would not realise what he’d done.

  “The truth is, you can’t save Amberlyn from me, any more than you could save your little sister—can’t recall her name—from Davim. Still, it’s not too late. I’m prepared to be magnanimous. Leave now, the same way you came in, and I swear she’ll be well cared for as long as you stay away and encourage anyone else with a grudge to stay away from my city.”

  Jasper pretended to consider the idea. “Why should I accept that assurance? You can hardly expect me to think of you as an honourable m—”

  Someone knocked at the door. Ordinarily the man’s water would have warned them both, but not now. Their focus was on each other.

  When Taquar opened his mouth to say something, Jasper leaped from the bed in his direction, lunging with his sword from above. His stroke was almost successful. Almost. Taquar’s parry carried Jasper’s sword past, but it was close enough to rip his sleeve. The highlord followed up with a flurry of strokes that Jasper only just managed to turn. Twice the improvised buckler saved his life. The strain of concentration formed sweat along his brow, but he didn’t dare wipe it away. Blighted hells, I think I am going to die. Concentrate, Jasper. Make sure that you take him with you when you go. This is for Amberlyn… And Citrine.

  The knocking at the door continued. Neither Taquar nor Jasper paid any attention.

  It was hard to know just where the point of the sword was in the dark. The lack of light gave Taquar an advantage because he was the better swordsman. The confines of the room meant that his injured leg was not much of a disadvantage.

  I must have more light.

  The knocking became pounding. “My lord! My lord! Are you all right?” Several voices.

  Withering spit, reinforcements. Jasper disengaged and back-pedalled, fast, until he was back at the door to the balcony.

  “Break it down!” Taquar shouted to those on the other side of the door. “And get the child!”

  Jasper flung open the balcony door and wrenched the water inside. He didn’t care what happened to the pede segment and didn’t wait to see. He stepped aside to let the water shoot into the room. Taquar felt it coming, but his damaged knee did not allow him to move quickly. He pushed against it with his power instead. Water shot off in all directions. Jasper gathered it together again, and the two men struggled to wrench control of it away from each other.

  Your mistake,
Taquar. I may be a lousy stormlord, but I’m more powerful than you are when it comes to water.

  He eased off the pressure of his power slightly to encourage Taquar to give it his all, then jerked the water away. Taquar staggered, caught off guard. Jasper had control now and slammed a stream upwards into Taquar’s face. While the man was coping with that, Jasper moved to hook a leg behind Taquar’s knee and toss him to the floor. It must have hurt his wounded ear, because he gave a short cry of pain. Yet he still managed to parry Jasper’s next sword cut while he struggled to rise.

  Jasper stamped on his damaged knee, then further hampered his movements by flinging water into his face. Taquar retaliated, jabbing at his leg with his blade. It cut into the fleshy part of his calf, hurting more than incapacitating. He jumped back and kicked Taquar, this time grinding the toe of his sandal into his raggedly torn earhole.

  Taquar screamed. As he faltered, Jasper pounced on his sword and twisted it out of his hand. With a swing he tossed the weapon out of the room, over the balcony and into the garden below.

  “My lord, my lord, are you all right?” The door was juddering now as those outside battered at it with something heavy.

  Taquar scrambled to his feet, butting Jasper in the stomach with his head as he came up. As Jasper doubled over, dragging air into starved lungs, Taquar wrested his sword out of his hand. Then he lunged at him. Jasper swung his buckler blindly upwards to deflect the blow. The curved end of the pry iron slammed into Taquar’s cheek, piercing the skin and pushing into his mouth, knocking out several teeth on the way. The sword blade scraped Jasper’s ribs in passing. That was close.

  Taquar gasped and stumbled back against the wall, finally realising that there was something more than just a cushion tied to Jasper’s arm. He still held Jasper’s sword.

  The door to the passage burst open and three armsmen plunged into the room, weapons drawn, followed by another carrying a lantern. Behind them, a guard was holding the arm of a woman clad in a voluminous nightgown, hugging a bundle to her shoulder. Amberlyn’s nurse, Zirca, her eyes wide with fear.