The Exile and the Sorcerer
Page 11
“I guess being three times as strong as anyone else here gives me an unfair advantage.”
“You don’t worry about fairness in battles. Use every advantage you’ve got. Anyway, I know the guild would be pleased to have you.”
“Can anyone just ask to join?”
“No. You need to be nominated by a guild member. Normally, it’s the warrior you’ve been apprenticed to, but it doesn’t have to be. And you weren’t born in the Protectorate, so you’d need two other citizens to vouch for you. But I can’t see Marith and Verron refusing you that.” Cade patted Tevi’s shoulder. “Think about it. If you like, I’ll nominate you. You did all right with the bandits—certainly saved my neck.”
He walked away, humming softly. Tevi looked out to sea, deep in thought.
*
The Aspen Rover reached Lyremouth harbour late the following evening. Sunset turned the rooftops of the city dull pink. Overhead, stars were starting to show. The ship dropped anchor out in the bay. It would not dock until high tide next morning. Tevi and Marith leant against the railing and watched dusk claim the city. Against the darkening sky was a forest of tall masts. Light from numerous torches shimmered off the still water. Farther inland, other lanterns speckled the hills rising behind the harbour.
Marith pointed out the major landmarks.
“Which is the Coven?” Tevi asked.
“Over there. It’s the group of buildings on the southeast of town.”
“The Guardian lives there?”
“Yes.”
“Have you ever met her?”
Marith snorted at the idea. “She doesn’t mix with the likes of us. I saw her predecessor once, but that was in the days before he was elected Guardian.”
“A man can be Guardian?”
“Of course. Why not?”
Tevi tried to explain her surprise. “Well...it’s just, coming from the islands, I don’t think of men being in positions of power.”
“The only thing that affects someone’s ability to wield power is whether or not they’re a sorcerer. It’s the most important difference between people, and the only one that really counts.”
“On the islands, we’d say the most important difference is between men and women,” Tevi said thoughtfully.
“That’s silly. There are a few minor physical differences, but none amount to anything significant. Slightly more women than men are witches, but then men are generally stronger, so there are more of them in the mercenaries. But either way, the odds aren’t good enough to gamble your life on—and if you insult a female mercenary assassin, muscles won’t save you.”
Tevi stared down at the dark waters lapping against the hull. She could think of one area where the differences were very significant but did not want to raise the subject. The traders had never commented on her lack of interest in the young men they had met, nor asked why she had left the islands, and Tevi was not about to risk their friendship by telling them.
“My people would say that men are naturally inferior to women,” Tevi said at last.
This time, Marith laughed aloud. “And that’s even sillier. You can only get away with it because you don’t have sorcerers, so everyone is in the same state. On the mainland, any baby in any family, male or female, might grow up to be a sorcerer. It’s hard trying to act superior to someone who can incinerate you with a single word.”
“I’m not trying to justify my people’s beliefs, just explaining why I have problems sometimes.”
“I understand. You’re doing all right.” Marith squeezed Tevi’s shoulder affectionately.
“I can see that sorcerers create problems for hereditary rulers,” Tevi said, although she had a gut feeling that her grandmother would do fine, regardless of the political system.
“The setup on your islands only works because there are no real differences between people to get in the way of the imaginary ones you invent.”
“But men and women...” Tevi let her sentence trail away, no longer certain quite what she believed.
“It doesn’t count for anything,” Marith stated confidently. “If ever you meet a sorcerer, you’ll see what I mean.”
Tevi decided it was wiser not to push the point. The two women remained on deck, talking quietly until the light faded.
*
The traders found lodgings at a comfortable inn not far from the docks. They took a light lunch in the main room, seated with the other guests at a long oak table. Sun streamed through the thick glass windows, casting bands of green light over the floor. From outside came the sounds of the city.
With the meal over, Marith pushed back her chair. “I’ll go and finalise the sale of the spice.”
“I suppose you want me to see the guild auditor,” Verron said with a heavy sigh.
“Oh, go on. You love presenting the accounts.” Marith grinned mischievously as she headed for the door.
Derry leapt eagerly from his chair. “Can I come, too?”
“If you want.” The pair departed, bound for the spice market.
“Do you want me to come with you?” Kimal asked his father cautiously.
“It wouldn’t be a bad idea for you to see how the accounting goes.” Kimal’s face fell, and his father took pity on him. “But I know you’ll have more fun showing Tevi around the city.”
They went together as far as the traders’ guildhall. It was an imposing structure with a gabled roof and half-timbered walls. Fanciful beasts were carved over the windows. The three parted company at the arched gateway and the younger pair spent the afternoon strolling around the wide tree-lined avenues, narrow alleys, and open squares of the city.
Shops sold a bewildering array of goods. Many items, Tevi had never seen before and she had no idea what they were. The size and wealth of Lyremouth overwhelmed her. All the guilds had halls and there appeared to be some form of competition to determine which profession could outdo all the rest. She was also surprised to find there were no city walls, as if Lyremouth, or the Coven, was boasting of its impregnability.
On one wide thoroughfare, they were passed by an open carriage, complete with uniformed footmen. Sunlight sparkled off the inlaid gilt and polished wood. Tevi pointed at the passenger. “Who’s she?”
“It’s ‘he.’ And he’s the head of the Potters’ Guild,” Kimal replied. “You can tell from the crest on the door.”
Tevi frowned, uncertain whether the symbol related to the passenger’s occupation or gender. Before she could ask for clarification, Kimal disappeared into a shop. Tevi leant against a tree and waited his return. After a little thought, she was sure the crest would be the mark of the Potters’ Guild, like the crossed swords were for mercenaries. Tevi smiled ruefully; it would not be such a bad idea if Protectorate citizens wore badges proclaiming their gender. She still had great difficulty telling the sexes apart. On the other side of the street, two young lovers ambled along, arms around waists. For the life of her, Tevi could not tell which one was the woman.
Kimal reappeared, carrying a parcel, which he opened to display a tiny jade figure of a horse—a midwinter’s gift for his sister. He talked of her as they continued their stroll.
“Arnet’s been working up north, but she’ll be home for midwinter. I can’t wait to see her again. I’ve missed her.”
“Your parents have as well.” Tevi had heard the ache in Marith’s voice when she spoke of her daughter. Tevi was sure there would be no similar distress in Red’s voice when speaking of her.
“Oh, I know, but Arnet was never interested in trading. Her only love is horses. Doesn’t care about its shape or size. As long as it’s got four legs and neighs, she’s happy.”
“Didn’t your parents mind her not becoming a trader?”
“Why should they?”
“Where I come from, you had to follow in your mother’s footsteps.”
“Like having kings and queens and things?”
Tevi was about to correct the mention of kings, but it did not matter. “Yes.”
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“It wouldn’t make sense on the mainland. Power is dependent solely on ability. I guess the guilds mimic the Coven. All our leaders are elected by their members.”
“It’s fair.”
“And it makes sense. Anything else would be very chancy. I mean, just because your mother or your grandmother was good at something doesn’t mean you will be as well, does it? You might be absolutely hopeless.”
That was altogether too close to home. Tevi decided to change the topic. “Do you have any other brothers or sisters?”
“Mama and Papa had two other children, but Uncle Ged and his partner are their parents now. We’ll be seeing them when we get home.”
“He adopted them even though their true parents were alive? Isn’t that unusual?” Tevi was surprised.
“No. Happens all the time in the Protectorate. Obviously, a lot of people won’t produce their own children, so they adopt any spare ones their siblings or cousins have.”
The ‘obviously’ did not follow in Tevi’s experience, but much of what she was told about the Protectorate baffled her and Kimal had a knack for throwing her off balance. She was saved any further confusion by their arrival at the open parkland surrounding the buildings of the Coven.
Once upon a time, when Lyremouth was still a village, the Coven had been located some way from the dwellings of ordinary folk. With the passage of years, Lyremouth had grown into a great capital, yet none of the new buildings encroached on the land around the Coven. Tevi guessed it was due to nobody wanting the sorcerers as close neighbours rather than to a sense of aesthetics. The buildings were nothing to look at and the open panorama only served to emphasise it.
The tower of the Guardian stood proudly in the centre, but the remaining structures were an unplanned jumble. The walls were old and plain compared to the guildhalls, even dilapidated. The few touches of grandeur appeared to have been tacked on as afterthoughts.
“It’s not as impressive as I expected. The temple at Kradja was more to look at.” Tevi’s disappointment showed in her voice.
Kimal grinned. “When you’re as important as the Coven, you don’t have to resort to fancy brickwork to impress people.”
To bear this out, many groups of travellers were gathered, looking at the buildings with expressions ranging from apprehension to reverence. The onlookers even included a party of dwarves, who babbled among themselves in their clipped, guttural language. Judging by their actions, they were having an intense debate about the architectural virtues of the flying buttress.
In the middle of the grass was a low granite outcrop. Its highest point barely reached shoulder level and it was dominated by an ancient oak. There seemed nothing noteworthy about the rock, yet it was getting considerable attention.
“What’s that?” Tevi asked.
“The Heart of the Protectorate. The spot where Keovan sat and looked out on the world.”
“Who was Keovan?” Tevi had heard the name before.
“A sorcerer. He died four hundred and forty-seven years ago. He lived in a hut on the site of the Coven and sat on that rock every day, talking to anyone who would listen.”
“He founded the Protectorate?”
“No. All Keovan did was bewail the state of the world and the futility of life.”
“Then why is he famous?”
“He was the strongest sorcerer of his day. His reputation kept trouble at bay, so the land around here had peace, and a group of followers built up—other witches and sorcerers who wanted to learn from him. After he died, none of his students was up to taking his place. Everyone assumed the region would be swallowed up by another sorcerer’s empire. But his students agreed to work together and swore a pact with the townsfolk. Other sorcerers joined them, and that was the beginning of the Coven.”
“And they kept the rock.”
“Oh, yes. It’s used every year for a ceremony on the anniversary of Keovan’s death. They all troop out here, and the guild masters swear allegiance to the Coven on behalf of their members. Then the Guardian swears on behalf of the Coven to defend the Protectorate. After that, all the new sorcerers are introduced to the people. And then they stand on the rock and repeat the Guardian’s oath and are given their black amulets.”
Tevi frowned. “I don’t see what the sorcerers get out of it. If they’re as powerful as you say, why don’t they just take what they want?”
Kimal looked thoughtful. “Not all sorcerers are power-mad maniacs, but before the Coven, the ones who just wanted a quiet life used to sit back and let the empire builders get on with it. Then the Coven came along and gave the peaceful sorcerers a chance to chat to each other and write books and things. I think the Coven gave the thinkers and talkers something to fight for—fortunately. If the Coven falls, the Protectorate goes with it.”
Tevi and Kimal stood surveying the buildings. The walls did not seem in danger of collapse despite the dwarves’ concern. Eventually, they headed back through the winding streets of Lyremouth.
*
Verron and Marith were busy totalling up the money and making plans for the final stage of their journey. Their work was interrupted by Tevi, who hesitantly entered the room and slipped into a seat at the end of the table. Her serious expression caused Marith to roll up the map she had been studying and Verron to put down his pen.
“Is something wrong?” Marith asked.
“No...not really.”
“But?”
“I’ve been thinking.” Tevi took a deep breath, then continued in a rush. “I appreciate the offer to spend winter with you, but...did Cade say anything to you about me joining the mercenaries?”
Neither of the traders looked happy. Marith was the first to speak. “He mentioned it, since we’d have to vouch for you. Of course, we’re willing to do that.”
Verron stared at the table, picking at some spilt wax. “If it’s what you want...not that there’s anything wrong with the mercenaries’ guild, but its members don’t tend to reach old age.”
“If I don’t join a guild, I’m stuck as an unskilled labourer. And the mercenaries are the only guild I’m trained for.”
“We’d be sorry to part company with you.”
“Once I’m a member, there’s nothing to stop you hiring me officially. If you want.”
Marith brightened up. “That’s an idea. There are so few mercenaries who know how to take care of a wagon team.”
“Then we’d have the Waggoners’ Guild down our necks.” Verron glared at his partner.
“There’s nothing to say a mercenary can’t—”
Tevi stepped in before the discussion could get waylaid. “So if it’s all right with you, I’ll go and visit Cade tomorrow and tell him I want to join.”
The traders hesitated before answering.
“Yes, of course.”
“We’ll come with you.”
*
Two mornings later, Tevi stood on a riverside wharf. Autumn was advanced, and her breath formed white clouds in the dawn air. The traders solemnly hugged her in turn before boarding the river barge. The boat would take them home on the last step of the trade route. Once everyone was aboard, the crew loosened the mooring rope and pushed the barge away from the dock.
Verron called out, “You won’t forget how to get to Cottersford, will you? We’re always at home for two months either side of midwinter.”
“I hope we meet again soon, but if not, farewell, Tevi,” Marith added.
“Farewell, Marith, Verron, and you, too, Kimal and Derry,” Tevi called back. The words sounded awfully final, but it was too late to change her mind.
The barge reached open water and the oarsmen set to work. Tevi watched until the craft was lost from sight amidst other traffic on the busy river Lyre; then she turned and retraced her steps through the city. The working day was just beginning. Shopkeepers were removing shutters and setting out their goods, peddlers shouted their wares, rowdy gangs of dockers headed for the harbour, and children on errands raced by.
*
The point of the man’s sword came straight for Tevi’s heart. She pulled her own weapon across to parry while pivoting on one heel. The sword missed by a hair’s breadth, but her desperate defence left her unbalanced. A long step back stopped her from falling; however, her opponent pressed on with his attack before she had time to recover.
The rear of the hall was getting close. Tevi was running out of room. In a bid to gain space, she launched her own series of sharp jabs. Her opponent evaded them easily and immediately shifted back into attack. With lightning speed, the edge of his sword flicked upwards. Tevi blocked at the cost of yet another retreat, and her heel touched the wall. Her opponent smiled and took six paces backwards, generously allowing her more space. Tevi took a deep breath. The man was good, easily the best warrior she had ever fought. Hardly surprising—he was senior sword master to the Guild of Mercenary Warriors.
Their eyes met. The sword master raised his wooden sword and gestured with his free hand, inviting her to attack. Tevi clenched her teeth. She could not defeat the sword master by skill. He was quicker and vastly more experienced than she was. Strength was her only advantage. Dropping her left hand on the hilt, she leapt forward, swinging her whole body into a double-fisted stroke that caught her opponent by surprise. Still he managed to block and the two swords met with a resounding crack, striking close by the cross-guards. As ever, the sword master’s timing was perfect, but he was unable to withstand the force of the impact. The blow sent the wooden sword spinning from his hand. It bounced off the wall and skidded across the floor, finally coming to rest some thirty feet away. The sword master treated it to a rueful stare while shaking his jarred wrist.