Exile

by Rowena Cory Daniells

  ‘What will we do with him?’ Charald asked.

  Eventually they chose a tree and tied him to it. Even slumped against the tree, he was taller than anyone, including Sorne.

  King Charald ordered wine to be brought out and sent for the pipers. A fire was started. He distributed the wine to the men-at-arms who had delivered the Wyrd giant.

  ‘This is what we are up against,’ King Charald said. ‘Giants, with powers that can steal your mind. This is why we must reclaim our land.’

  They cheered. The pipers played, more toasts were drunk.

  ‘He won’t need these anymore.’ The king hacked off the Wyrd’s genitals and tossed them in the fire, amidst cheering.

  Sorne did not blink; he did not dare. That could so easily be him tied to the tree, alive while they hacked him to pieces.

  IMOSHEN HAD SPENT the rest of day finalising preparations for the journey. Now it was dusk and almost time to say goodbye to Arodyti and her warriors.

  Frayvia slipped into Imoshen’s private study. ‘You were right. It was not a simple case of ambition for stature.’

  Imoshen did not need their link to sense her devotee’s distress. She stood up, opening her arms, and they hugged, touch making the sharing of emotion more powerful.

  After a moment, Frayvia pulled away. ‘It was one of Kyredeon’s warriors. The all-father had drained his gift in retaliation for some insult, but no one could say what it was. Confronting the Mieren was the only way he could die with honour.’

  ‘And Kyredeon drove him to it.’ Imoshen shook her head. ‘Keep your ears open. I have to work with these all-fathers. A tiny detail might give me an advantage.’

  Frayvia nodded.

  It wasn’t supposed to happen, but messages did pass between the Malaunje of the brotherhoods and sisterhoods. As someone who had been brotherhood-raised and then made the change to a sisterhood, Frayvia was uniquely positioned.

  Arodyti opened the door, saw Imoshen with her devotee and would have left, but Imoshen beckoned her, then sent Frayvia through to their bedchamber.

  ‘All ready?’ Imoshen asked.

  Arodyti nodded and gestured to Imoshen’s cabinet, with its many little nooks containing documents. ‘All those treatises... I used to feel so sorry for you, always buried in your studies or madly drawing up breeding charts for Vittoryxe’s birds. Then, the day we went to the spring festival, I noticed you observing everyone rather than joining in, and I realised you are happiest watching and observing.’

  ‘I remember that day. You two dragged me along because you thought I was missing out.’

  ‘We wanted you to have some fun.’

  ‘I did.’ Imoshen’s gift flexed and she read intense purpose under Arodyti’s casual conversation.

  The gift-warrior ran her hand over the cabinet glass. ‘I was convinced I’d never be the sisterhood’s hand-of-force, because Vittoryxe didn’t like me. But you became all-mother instead, and named me hand-of-force. Now...’

  Someone tapped on the door.

  ‘That will be Sarosune,’ Arodyti said.

  ‘Come in,’ Imoshen called.

  The shield-sister entered. ‘Have you told her, Aro?’

  ‘I was waiting for you.’

  ‘Told me what?’ Imoshen asked.

  ‘Vittoryxe dug up more on transposition,’ Arodyti revealed. ‘What we learned this afternoon changes things.’

  ‘It won’t work with a Mieren?’

  ‘It’ll work. Turns out they’re much safer on the empyrean plane. The beasts prefer us, with our innate power, to them. No... if one of the T’En tries to transpose, bringing a second person with them, the chances of them both successfully returning to this plane are neligible.’

  Which meant she could be sending Arodyti to her death. ‘You don’t have to do this.’

  ‘Of course I do.’

  ‘Of course she does,’ Sarosune echoed and the two shield-sisters exchanged looks.

  Imoshen’s heart sank. She would not only lose Arodyti, she’d lose Sarosune, too. The shield-sister bond was so deep that when one died, the other usually followed. ‘There must be some way–’

  ‘It’s because of the amount of power they need to expend to bring the second person along,’ Arodyti explained. ‘It makes them shine like a beacon, attracting empyrean predators.’

  ‘If Arodyti delivers the boy, she won’t survive,’ Sarosune said. ‘So I’m going to the port with her. I want to be there, right up to the end. She can form a deep link with you to deliver the boy.’

  Imoshen didn’t want this. ‘There has to be another way.’

  ‘I’m ready, Imoshen.’ Arodyti had rolled up her sleeve to reveal the fine skin of her inner arm.

  Tears stung Imoshen’s eyes.

  ‘You made me your hand-of-force,’ Arodyti said softly.

  Imoshen exhaled and nodded. She pushed her sleeve up her arm to the elbow. ‘I think it would be better if we kneel.’

  They went over to the fireplace and knelt on the carpet.

  Imoshen raised her left arm and Arodyti met it with her own. Their palms touched and their fingers entwined. Their skin pressed from elbow to wrist where the blood pulsed close to the surface.

  ‘We already share the all-mother’s link with her hand-of-force,’ Imoshen said, her voice a little husky. ‘We can build on that. Lower your defences.’

  She lowered her own, so that her gift was exposed.

  Imoshen found it was like seeing her friend in concentrated form, her essence refined and revealed by the nature and power of her gift – that sense of mischief, the passion and the determination. ‘Lovely.’

  ‘...S-strange.’ Arodyti slurred her words as if drunk. ‘Your gift feels more masculine than feminine. Sharp, impatient and a little w... wild.’

  ‘It’s because she was raised by covenant-breaking brothers,’ Sarosune said.

  Imoshen let her gift build then released it. Felt it roll over Arodyti. Her power came up against Arodyti’s core and rolled back, empowered by the hand-of-force’s gift.

  The both swayed with the intensity of the sensation.

  As Arodyti let her arm drop, she fell. Imoshen caught her, cradling her. She was sending her dear friend to die, and it broke her heart.

  The light of mischief glowed in Arodyti’s eyes. ‘We could seal it with kiss. Saro wouldn’t mind.’

  ‘Yes, I would.’

  Imoshen laughed. ‘You are incorrigible.’

  There was a tap at the door.

  ‘Come in.’ Imoshen released Arodyti and came to her feet. She had to steady herself on the mantelpiece.

  Egrayne opened the door. She closed her eyes as she opened her gift senses, then met Imoshen’s gaze. ‘It is done.’

  ‘Yes.’ Imoshen’s voice was thick with emotion.

  ‘Time to go,’ the hand-of-force said.

  By the time they reached the sisterhood gate the snow had thickened, making visibility poor.

  Arodyti studied the sky. ‘We’ll get down to the sisterhood’s boat-house and out unnoticed.’ She turned to Imoshen. ‘Don’t come any further.’

  So they said their goodbyes. Sarosune and the others went first.

  Tears stung Imoshen’s eyes as she kissed Arodyti. ‘I’ll look for you on midwinter’s day and spring cusp.’

  ‘We’ll make you proud of us.’

  ‘I already am.’

  Chapter Thirteen

  SORNE PUT THE report aside and rubbed his face. The holy tent was his alone now. It was midwinter’s day and the cold was fearful. If Imoshen’s people snatched the prince today, it would take anything up to ten days for the news to get through to the king.

  Even with the brazier right next to him, his breath misted on every exhalation. He hated to think how the men-at-arms were suffering. It was typical of King Charald to stay in his tent, enduring the same hardships as his men. His fortitude had been legendary on the Secluded Sea campaign.

  Sorne was once more advisor to the king, but it came at a p
rice, and he’d been dreading the return of the barons from the Wyrd estates, with their trophy braids and sacrifical captives. But since Zabier’s death, winter had settled in with a vengeance, making travel almost impossible. They’d heard nothing from the four barons.

  Sorne had devoted himself to sifting through Zabier’s papers a second time, looking for a clue as to Valendia’s whereabouts, but so far had turned up nothing.

  What he had uncovered was a series of reports on Wyrd gifts, their uses and limitations. When he found the notation – As confirmed by Oskane – he realised the reports were based on the information he’d left with Valendia for safe-keeping when he’d set sail more than four years ago. This information had been hidden in a chest, which must have fallen into Zabier’s hands. It explained Zabier’s boast that he’d set fifty priests to work researching the Wyrds.

  Sorne’s chest had contained the Wyrd scrolls, which had been written by True-men over three hundred years ago, before the Wyrds lived completely segregated lives. It had also contained Oskane’s journals, which had been written during his years at Restoration Retreat.

  As Sorne read the reports, he realised two things. Fifty priests might have read individual scrolls and journals, but only one priest, Scholar Igotzon, had collated the information, so only he knew the true limitations of Wyrd power.

  And the man Sorne knew as Oskane had led a double life. Sorne had known about the she-Wyrd Oskane kept locked in the cellar. He and Izteben had visited the half-blood every day for years, to learn the T’En language. What Sorne had not known was that when Oskane visited Enlightenment Abbey, he had been pursuing his studies of the Wyrds by experimenting on living subjects.

  It was the information revealed by Oskane’s meticulous observations of Wyrds under torture that had confirmed or disproved the speculation as to the extent of Wyrd power in the scrolls, and it was this which had led Zabier to convince Charald he could defeat the Wyrds.

  Sorne should have taken his chest with him when he sailed; then it would have been lost in his travels. Now True-men knew the limitations of the T’En gifts.

  He sighed and rubbed his eyes.

  From King Charald’s tent, he heard laughter and singing and knew the barons had arrived for the midwinter feast. He folded up the notes and dressed in his formal robes.

  Later, after the barons had left, Charald would sit and talk with him as he did every night. They’d discuss the cost to Chalcedonia of fighting to subdue the the revolts in Maygharia and Welcai. They’d discuss the king’s war barons and how the southern barons deferred to Eskarnor. Charald had his doubts about the mettle of the Chalcedonian barons. He believed they weren’t capable of standing up to Eskarnor. Their families had held their lands for hundreds of years and during that time they’d grown soft, unlike Eskarnor and the southern barons who were all self-made men, hard and ruthless.

  It was just like old times, except in those days the king hadn’t trembled when he was tired or overwrought. Charald had developed little tricks to disguise his infirmity. He’d place his elbow on the table and rest his chin on it to hide the way his head wobbled.

  And, in the old days, you only had to tell the king something once for him to take it in. Now Charald repeated himself, often having the same discussion with Sorne two nights in a row.

  It was surprisingly easy to fall into the old pattern of talking late after the barons had left. But Sorne never forgot that Charald had once ordered his death because it was politically expedient, and was perfectly capable of doing so again.

  IMOSHEN SPENT MIDWINTER’S day in the sisterhood’s sanctum, with her gift senses on alert, waiting for Arodyti to link with her. If the hand-of-force didn’t reach the prince today, there was still spring cusp.

  ‘I’m worried about Saffazi,’ Egrayne confessed, then lifted her hands in apology. ‘I’m sorry. This isn’t the time–’

  ‘No, go ahead. I thought she was looking a little pale.’

  ‘She hasn’t been herself since the Mieren attack. She turns seventeen soon and should start her initiate training. She spends far too much time with your choice-son. I told her we’d all grown up with lads we’d had to declare dead when they joined their brotherhoods. She gave a strange laugh and said what did brotherhoods matter when we could all be dead soon?’

  Imoshen squeezed Egrayne’s hand. ‘You must admit, the rivalry between brotherhoods and sisterhoods does seem petty, when King Charald and his war barons sit outside our gates.’

  ‘It is precisely because we are faced with this terrible threat that we must abide by our customs. Our customs are what make us what we are. If we discard them, our society will collapse.’

  They sat through the day and into the night but Arodyti did not activate the link.

  When Imoshen went to her chamber, she found Iraayel playing cards with Frayvia, while her infant daughter slept in the nursery. She knelt by the fire to join in their game. With the Mieren army at the gate evenings like this felt very precious.

  After the game ended, Iraayel went back to the lads’ chamber, and Frayvia packed up the cards. ‘There is still time; we don’t have to hand over the city until new small moon after spring cusp.’

  ‘And if that fails, perhaps I will send someone to assassinate Charald. If the barons are battling for the crown, we’ll stand a better chance of getting away in small groups.’

  ‘That reminds me. Fifteen Malaunje, three T’En children and their choice-mother arrived while you were busy today,’ Frayvia said. It had been worthwhile sending out messengers to warn their estates. Despite the worsening weather, small parties of refugees had been arriving steadily, making the last part of the journey across the icy lake on stolen boats or makeshift rafts at night. ‘Reoden has welcomed them back to her sisterhood.’

  ‘That’s good.’ Imoshen saw Frayvia hesitate. ‘What is it?’

  ‘Have you heard back from All-father Kyredeon? Will he take Iraayel into his brotherhood?’

  Imoshen put out the lamp. She had not approached Kyredeon. By rights, he should honour Chariode’s agreement to accept Iraayel, but.... ‘I don’t want Iraayel joining Kyredeon’s brotherhood. Besides, Iraayel won’t be seventeen until next winter cusp.’

  Imoshen offered Frayvia her hand and pulled her to her feet. ‘Perhaps the three of us should have gone to study with the Sagoras. Then Iraayel could belong to a brotherhood from a distance.’

  ‘Looking back, I don’t think the sisterhood had any intention of letting you leave,’ Frayvia said. ‘I think making you study the Sagoras’ language was a delaying tactic.’

  ‘You could be right.’ Imoshen frowned, thinking of her Sagorese language teacher. ‘I hope Merchant Mercai made it safely home.’

  Frayvia laughed. ‘Worry about us, not him.’

  SORNE WAS ALONE with the king. The food-taster and manservant had retired for the night. Charald liked to talk, and most of the time Sorne just had to listen.

  But this midwinter’s night, Charald was silent as he cracked a nut and tossed the shell into the brazier. As long as his hands were busy, they did not tremble. And now that he looked, Sorne noticed white striations on the king’s finger nails. He didn’t remember them before. Maybe it was a sign of age.

  ‘My ancestor was a fool. I’ve read accounts of that final battle. He had the Wyrds on the back foot. Yet he conceded and gave them that island. Why would he do that?’

  Sorne shrugged. ‘Perhaps segregation was his goal, not the destruction of a whole people.’

  ‘I know you think it’s impossible to rid Chalcedonia of Wyrds, but I will enact laws. Any woman who has a half-blood baby will not be allowed to have another child. Any siblings of the half-blood will not be allowed to marry. You see, I mean to wipe out the tainted blood.’

  ‘And the father?’ Sorne asked, keeping his voice even. It amazed him that Charald did not realise the irony: the king had been born with a half-blood twin and Sorne was his son.

  ‘The father will get a second chance. After all,
a man needs sons to carry on his name. If he produces another half-blood, he will not be allowed to have any more children. You see, I will eradicate the Wyrds. One day my son will rule over a kingdom of True-men.’

  Sorne nodded. It was on the tip of his tongue to say, If, by law, the siblings of half-bloods cannot marry, then Prince Cedon would not be able to marry. He is my half-brother, after all.

  But King Charald was happy to edit reality to suit himself, so Sorne held his tongue.

  Chapter Fourteen

  TO SORNE’S RELIEF, the last half of winter was severe; they saw nothing of the barons who had been sent to raze Wyrd estates until ten days before spring cusp. Sorne joined the king to hear Baron Dekaitz’s report.

  ‘Where are my sacrifices?’ King Charald asked. ‘Where are the trophy braids for your banner?’

  ‘The full-bloods had shorn their heads,’ Dekaitz reported. ‘When we arrived, the Wyrds were prepared. They’d dug ditches and planted stakes. I would have sat tight and waited them out, but you wanted sacrifices, so I sent my men to attack. Seven times they held us off. On the eighth attack we broke through. Our losses were terrible.’

  Charald had sent the most troublesome of Eskarnor and Nitzane’s supporters to make the second round of raids, and now Sorne understood why.

  But the king just nodded gravely. ‘Go on.’

  ‘When we had them cornered, they fought until not one remained alive. We weren’t too worried, because we thought we’d find the women and children hidden somewhere, but there were none. They must have sent them away before we arrived.’

  ‘Sent them where?’ Baron Nitzane asked. Dekaitz was one of his followers.

  ‘To the city,’ Charald said. ‘It’s impossible to guard the whole lake. If I told you to patrol the shore, you’d complain because you’d be spreading them too thin. I always knew a few Wyrds would get through. Doesn’t matter. They’ll suffer the same fate as the rest. But I’m disappointed in you, Dekaitz. We’ll see how the other barons fare.’