Years ago, when she’d escaped the brotherhood and failed to save her infant son, she had travelled across Chalcedonia with Frayvia and Iraayel, who was only four at the time. She’d experienced first-hand the hatred of the Mieren. And today she had looked into the mind of the man who’d attacked her and found, behind all the logical arguments, a deep irrational fear of her race.
How could they fight this primitive fear?
A warm hand cupped her cheek.
She opened her eyes to find Frayvia watching her fondly. ‘Your mind is racing. It makes my stomach churn. Sleep.’
‘Sorry. Do you think Sorne would betray us?’
‘Why? What’s happened?’
Imoshen gestured to the window seat and they retreated there. As they settled under a blanket, she told Frayvia about the meeting with King Charald.
‘Sacrificing T’En?’ her devotee repeated. ‘Poor Sorne.’
‘You think he has no choice? King Charald is awfully proud of him.’
Frayvia exhaled slowly. ‘I don’t think he would willingly betray us. You read him when you healed him, surely you know?’
‘Usually I read a momentary emotion, which only gives me a glimpse and I have to interpret it. With Sorne I read his core, and he is pure of heart. But what if he discovered something that made him hate us? A person of principle can do terrible things, if they believe what they do is justified. Remember how Kyredeon sent his warriors to murder Reoden’s daughter? True-men are right to fear us. We are stronger than them and our gifts can shatter their minds.’
A wave of tiredness swept over Imoshen and Frayvia yawned. Imoshen realised she was unconsciously draining her devotee through their gift link. ‘Enough talk for now.’
SORNE WAS NOT used to being confined.He’d spent all day in the tent with Zabier. Now he paced. Soon the Wyrds would meet with the king. He didn’t understand why they’d made Imoshen their causare. Other than her gift, she had no qualifications. They were blinded by their reliance on the gifts to interpret the world. Surely one of the all-fathers would be better qualified? Then again, maybe not; the Wyrds lived segregated in the city or on their estates. Few went out into the larger world. Even those who sailed their trading vessels were limited in what they could observe. None of them knew True-men, or strategy, or King Charald like he did. He would have made a better causare.
The realisation stopped him in his tracks.
Since he was seventeen, he had been observing King Charald, the greatest living commander – perhaps the greatest ever, since no one else had succeeded in uniting the Secluded Sea under one leader before. He knew Charald was single minded and utterly ruthless.
The Wyrds were trapped in an ever-tightening noose, and it was up to Sorne to find a way out.
‘I swear, if you don’t stop pacing I’ll...’ Zabier rubbed his face and shoved his notes aside. ‘What’s the matter with you?’
‘I need to walk.’ He did his best thinking that way.
‘Go. Then maybe I’ll get some peace.’ Zabier seemed edgy as he gestured to the chest. ‘Wear the cape and hood.’
Zabier stood and went to the entrance, where an awning protected a table and chairs. When Sorne joined him, he found half a dozen of the new order of priests intent on dicing. They looked more like men-at-arms than priests.
‘You didn’t have these priests before,’ Sorne said.
‘My holy warriors? I wasn’t sacrificing silverheads before.’ Zabier raised his voice. ‘Two of you are to escort the Warrior’s-voice wherever he goes.’
‘Don’t trust me?’
‘No, I don’t. But then I don’t trust the men-at-arms, either. Some of them might forget you are the Warrior’s-voice and see only your tainted blood.’
Zabier had a point. Last time he had walked the army camp, King Charald had not been making war on Wyrds.
As Sorne set off with his escort of priests, he was reminded how Oskane used to call him and Izteben his holy warriors.
There had to be a weakness in King Charald’s defences. Not physically, the king was far too experienced for that, but an army was made up of individuals, whose allegiance extended no farther than the next man in the chain of command.
While conquering the kingdoms of the Secluded Sea campaign, Sorne had seen Charald turn men against their kings and use them to his advantage.
Walking the camp revealed where each baron had pitched his tent, which told Sorne something of their allegiances. There were the five southerners who had risen to the position of baron while serving Charald in his Secluded Sea campaign. He had rewarded them with land and wealth upon returning to Chalcedonia. They were ruthless, ambitious men. Then there were the six original Chalcedonian barons who, when Charald’s cousin had stolen the crown, had given their allegiance to King Matxin. When Charald returned, they had bent over backwards to prove their loyalty.
The southern barons had pitched their tents on the south side of King Charald’s tent, while the Chalcedonian barons were camped to the north.
Clearly neither group trusted the other.
Baron Nitzane occupied an odd position, camped between both sets of barons. King Matxin had banished him and his brother because they were related to Charald through his marriage. They had gone straight to King Charald and served him loyally, so Nitzane and his brother had served with the southern barons. The king had rewarded the eldest brother with the kingdom of Navarone, which he ruled under High King Charald, while Nitzane now owned the estates that had once belonged to both his mother’s father and his father, so he was also a Chalcedonian baron.
It struck Sorne that Charald was right to fear the young baron. If anyone could unite both the southern barons and the Chalcedonian barons against the king, it was Nitzane. This division of loyalties and mistrust could be turned to the Wyrds’ advantage but, as yet, Sorne did not see how.
When he returned to the tent, Zabier appeared more relaxed. As they went outside to join the king, he noticed Zabier’s eyes seemed glassy.
Sorne knew the signs. His brother was an addict.
From what Zabier had said, it had to be pains-ease. Sorne wanted to say something, but he had to be careful. He knew from personal experience that an addict could justify anything.
IMOSHEN DIDN’T LIKE Charald. There was something wrong with the king. And it wasn’t just the way he kept addressing Hueryx and Paragian, even when she spoke directly to him.
‘Winter is upon us. Soon the roads will be impassable,’ Imoshen said. ‘We need to send messages to our estates and they need to travel here or meet us at the port. Many of our ships are at sea. We need to recall them. It would make more sense to start the exile process in the spring, with the aim of leaving by midsummer–’
Charald gave a bark of laughter. ‘I could order my barons to ride out and raze every one of your estates tomorrow. You leave in ten days.’
‘If you razed all of our estates, there would be no reason for us to leave in ten days,’ Imoshen said.
Charald had been watching her, and now his gaze slid past her shoulder to Paragian. She stole a look at Sorne. Was he serving the king?
‘You can send your messengers now and leave on the first day of spring,’ Charald told Paragian.
‘The roads will still be deep in snow,’ Imoshen said. ‘If you want us to travel fast, then mid-spring would be best.’
‘New small moon after spring cusp,’ Charald said. ‘That is my final offer.’
It was what Imoshen had hoped for. ‘Very well, we’ll hand the city over then.’
They had saved their estates and had until new small moon after spring cusp to come up with a plan. If it was possible. If it wasn’t, it would give the brotherhoods time to adjust to the idea of exile.
SORNE FELL INTO step behind the barons as they left the causeway, crossed the town square and took the road past the shops and homes, up the northern hillside where the king had made camp.
When they reached the camp, they stopped in front of Charald’s tent.
‘So that’s it,’ Baron Aingeru said. ‘We sit around now until the first new small moon of spring and wait for the Wyrds to leave?’
‘Certainly not. Did you see the way they looked down their noses at us? Arrogant Wyrds,’ Charald snapped. ‘They need to know we’re serious. This could be a ploy.’ Charald gestured to the five southern barons. ‘Eskarnor, Hanix, Aingeru, Odei and Fennek, take a war party, choose a Wyrd property near your estate and raze it. Bring back the silverheads’ braids. When we add them to your banners, the Wyrds won’t be so high and mighty.’
They all moved into Charald’s tent to discuss which estates to attack. Sorne was surprised to hear Nitzane make recommendations. How could the baron talk of murdering Wyrds, yet treat him as a friend? Did Nitzane put him in a different category from other half-bloods?
Perhaps this was how Zabier could separate his love for Valendia from the act of sacrificing Wyrds.
By midday the following day, the barons had ridden off to attack the chosen estates. Imoshen and her people were in for a shock.
Chapter Six
EVERY DAY, IMOSHEN went to the rooftop garden to practice her exercises, striving to train her body and bring her mind, body and gift into alignment. She used to find the exercise patterns soothing, but today she looked out across the lake to a besieging army. Snow blanketed the hillside. She hoped they were freezing their balls off in those tents.
Twenty days under siege and life went on. In a way, it seemed her people had always lived under siege. They were wary of the Mieren, and they were wary of each other. When she’d come to the city at the age of seventeen, the divide between the T’En men and women had struck her as an undeclared civil war.
At least King Charald’s attack had forced her people to put aside old grievances and unite against a common enemy, to some extent.
‘No matter how hard you stare at them, they will not disappear,’ her choice-son said.
‘Iraayel.’ She smiled, looking up. Just before the Mieren attack he’d turned sixteen. He was half a head taller than her and would not finish growing until he was around twenty-five. ‘Your wound has healed well.’
‘It was nothing. You know what I hate? The silences.’
‘I don’t understand.’
‘The Mieren attack reminded me of the day Lyronyxe was murdered in front of Sardeon and I. That made me realise I haven’t seen Sar in years. We used to be best friends, the three of us. So I went to All-mother Reoden’s palace and asked to see him, but they turned me away. Why?’
Imoshen hesitated.
‘When I thought back,’ Iraayel continued, ‘I realised it was like a door had closed in my mind that day and now it has re-opened. You never told me why the brotherhood warriors killed Lyronyxe.’
‘You were only twelve. You poured yourself into your gift studies and began weapons training alongside the older lads. I waited, but you didn’t ask.’
‘I’m asking now.’
Imoshen could sense his gift rising and had to fight the instinct to take a step back.
Iraayel gestured to the brotherhood palaces. ‘The all-fathers hate you because you killed one of their own. Yet now you’re their causare.’
‘Only because they divided their votes.’
‘Lyronyxe was thirteen. What did she do to deserve their hatred? Why did All-father Kyredeon send his warriors to kill her?’
‘He said he knew nothing about it and her death was an accident.’
‘But you don’t believe him.’
She didn’t deny it. As Imoshen recalled Lyronyxe, the bright child she’d watched grow up, her throat tightened. ‘She was a sacrare, born of two T’En parents. Reoden’s gift is healing. We never knew who Lyronyxe’s father was. Whatever his gift, it expressed itself in Lyronyxe this way: she would have been a gift-wright, like All-mother Ceriane.’
‘Gift-wrights are good,’ Iraayel insisted. ‘They can heal a T’En when their gift corrupts.’
Imoshen chose her words carefully. ‘A healer like Ree can use her gift to repair broken bones or knit torn flesh. If she can do that, she can take the living heart inside your body and squeeze it until it stops.’
He went pale. ‘I never thought... but yes, that makes sense.’ He frowned. ‘You’re saying a gift-wright–’
‘A sacrare gift-wright,’ she reminded him. ‘Very powerful.’
‘Could reach into a T’En’s gift and turn it against them?’
Imoshen nodded.
‘You think All-father Kyredeon had Lyronyxe killed so she would never grow up to threaten the brotherhoods. What kind of person does something like that?’
‘A ruthless one.’
‘But...’ His voice shook and she could see he was close to tears. He turned and walked to the edge of the roof, where he gripped the stone balustrade.
She joined him, wanted to touch him, yet hesitated. Her gift surged, but she hadn’t been able to read Iraayel since the day Lyronyxe was murdered.
He turned to face her. ‘Why won’t they let me see Sardeon?’
‘He loved her. When she died, he went looking for her essence on the higher plane.’ She saw Iraayel wince. ‘Sardeon had no training. When I realised he had been sucked onto the empyrean plane, I went after him, found him and brought him back.’ She took Iraayel’s hand. ‘At first Reoden said he was all right. But I haven’t seen him since. All I know is that Gift-wright Ceriane has tried to help him.’
Iraayel swallowed. Tears clung to his lashes. ‘All-mother Reoden is so kind. Yet she lost two children that day.’
Imoshen hugged him, and then pulled back to find Egrayne approaching.
The gift-empowerer looked grim.
‘I’ll go,’ Iraayel said. He slipped away as Imoshen went to meet Egrayne.
‘You spend too much time with him, Imoshen. It’ll make it harder on you when he has to join his brotherhood.’
She didn’t want to send Iraayel away, didn’t see why she should, but she contained her rebelliousness and asked, ‘Is there bad news?’
‘Very bad,’ Egrayne said as they left the roof top garden. ‘Reoden’s waiting downstairs with a Malaunje lad from one of her estates. He stole a Mieren boat and went to All-father Tamaron’s palace. They let him in, demanded answers, then sent him up here.’ Egrayne led her along a corridor to an open door. ‘They know. All the brotherhoods know.’
‘Know what?’ Imoshen asked.
‘That King Charald hasn’t kept his word,’ Reoden said, when they reached her. She was pale and angry, her gift close to the surface. A lad of about fifteen stood at her side. ‘Tell the causare what you told me.’
Imoshen’s gift surged and she saw him as a bowstring pulled taut, ready to snap. ‘Charald attacked his home.’
He nodded and gulped a breath. ‘It was late, everyone had gone to bed. There was no warning. They must have poisoned the dogs. First we knew was the shouting, and Mieren running through the big house. I looked out the window and saw the barn on fire. The adults tried to stop them. I tried to get to my’ – his mouth worked and he swallowed twice – ‘...my sisters, but I couldn’t. The cook told all us kitchen hands to go out the back and run away. They were waiting for us. They came after us, hacked at us as we ran. They–’
‘Enough.’ Anger made Imoshen’s gift rise.
‘I ran away,’ the lad whispered. ‘I hid. I didn’t go back. I–’
‘Listen to me.’ Imoshen took his hand in hers, letting her gift bring him comfort. ‘You came here. You warned us. We needed to know. Thank you.’
And he dissolved into tears, as great wracking sobs shook his body. Reoden pulled him into her arms.
IMOSHEN AND EGRAYNE stepped out into the hall and looked at each other.
‘The brotherhoods know,’ Egrayne said. ‘They’re going to be furious. They’ll want to retaliate.’
Imoshen’s mind raced. ‘Why did Charald do this, when we’ve already agreed to his demands?’
‘I don’t care why he did it. What do
we do?’
‘King Charald holds all the cards. Exile may be our–’
‘Don’t say that. Not even in jest.’
‘I wasn’t jesting. We need a way to influence him. But he knows not to let us touch him.’
‘What if...’ Egrayne’s eyes widened. ‘Have you heard the rumour about the playwright, Rutz? They say he can imbue words with power and sway people’s minds. That’s why he writes under a pen-name to hide his real identity. If the other all-fathers knew who he was, they’d execute him for fear of falling under his influence. Ask All-father Chariode...’ She looked stricken. ‘Rutz may have died the night of the attack.’
‘That would be a useful gift right now,’ Imoshen conceded. She happened to know for a fact that Rutz could not imbue his words with power, because Rutz was really Captain Ardonyx, the explorer. He was Imoshen’s secret bond-partner and Umaleni’s father. And even if he could imbue words with power, he was far to the south, on a voyage of discovery. But she did need to find out what had happened to Chariode’s brotherhood. Iraayel was due to join it in less than a year’s time.
‘The lad has finally let me ease him into sleep,’ Reoden said, as she reached them. ‘I’m surprised he held out so long. He stole a horse and rode night and day to get here.’
‘You need to call an all-council, Imoshen,’ Egrayne urged. ‘The all-fathers will want to hold Charald accountable.’
‘Then I’d better call an all-council right away.’ And divert the brotherhoods from doing something stupid.
By the time everyone reached the empowerment dome, they knew Charald had not kept his word and they were furious. After listening to the leaders of the T’Enatuath argue back and forth, Imoshen raised her hands for quiet. When this did not work, she went over to the singing bowl that was played during empowerment ceremonies, and tapped it. A single clear note rang out.
Silence fell under the dome.
‘I’m guessing King Charald has broken his word to prove he has power over us,’ Imoshen said. It was the only explanation that made sense.
Exile Page 6
