The tedium was plumbing new, mind-numbing depths when a door opened and Nevin, the Treviston guild master, limped in. A mace had shattered her knee several years before, making a mockery of Nevin’s otherwise athletic body. She was younger than the other residents and marginally more entertaining to be with. Tevi suspected that Nevin would have been good company, except that the constant pain made her short-tempered and cynical. Sandy hair hung in a fringe over shadowed eyes. Her lips were permanently turned down at the corners.
Ricard halted his story. “I was telling young Tevi here about the old wars, up north.”
“You can give it a rest. I’ve heard it all before,” Nevin said bluntly.
Tevi leapt at the excuse to flee. “Ricard can finish the story some other time.” Then she smiled at the old man. He meant well.
“We could go to the kitchen,” Ricard offered.
“Well, actually, I’d planned to go into town tonight.” It was not strictly true, and Tevi could feel herself blushing.
Fortunately, Nevin spoke up. “Ric, get the chessboard out, and give me a game. That should keep you quiet.”
“Oh yes...yes, of course.” Ricard’s confusion showed as he adjusted to the change in plans. He shuffled across the room to collect the board and pieces.
Seizing her chance, Tevi slipped from her seat. At the door, she paused and glanced back. Ricard was fussing over the playing pieces, swapping them back and forth as he tried to remember their positions. Nevin was slumped, her head sagging, as she rubbed her maimed leg with the heel of one hand. It was the same gesture Tevi remembered her mother making—the easing of tendons in a wounded knee. Yet the setting was so very different from the family hall on Storenseg.
Instead of drystone, the wood-panelled walls were hung with tapestries. A log fire blazed in the chimney. Rather than bare earth, there were flagstones, scrubbed clean. Suddenly, it all seemed very alien to Tevi. Swamped by homesickness, she closed the door and retreated to her room.
*
The private quarters did not have fires, and the air was freezing. Tevi’s breath formed white steam. Her room was austere, clearly intended to be functional rather than homelike. The bed was piled high with blankets and furs, though it was too early for sleep. Tevi’s few possessions were neatly arranged. Nothing needed cleaning or mending; the previous month had taken care of that. Tevi sat on the edge of her bed and stared at the four bare walls. They seemed to close in around her with the weight of the deserted guild house.
A door below slammed. The sound reverberated through empty corridors. Listening to the fading echoes, Tevi became aware of voices through the thick green glass of the window. Drawn by the sound, she wandered over and stared out on the town. A panorama of snow-covered roofs filled the skyline. On the narrow street below, well-wrapped figures made what haste they could on the slippery pavements. The scene reminded Tevi of her fabricated excuse to escape Ricard. On impulse, she decided to make good her words.
She grabbed her thick woollen cloak from the rack in the entrance hall and changed into the boots she had bought with money from Sarryle’s contract. One-quarter had gone to Nevin as the guild’s share, but that still left plenty. Coins filled the purse at Tevi’s belt. Fleece-lined gloves and hat completed her attire.
Dusk was settling as Tevi walked down the steps of the guildhall. It was a crisp, clear evening; the first stars already showing overhead. The street was filled with snow, brilliant white close to the walls, turning to brown slush in the ruts where traffic passed. The snow lay on every horizontal surface and clung to details in the brickwork. The road was busy with people going home after a day’s work.
With no clear destination in mind, Tevi wandered from street to street until she reached Treviston’s market square. The stalls and peddlers were gone. Tevi stopped in the middle and inspected each side in turn. The buildings were timber framed, with cream-coloured plaster and steep slate roofs. Tevi finally halted, facing east. Mountains loomed above the chimneys, vertical rock faces stark against the darkening blue sky. The last rays from the sun glinted off the icy peaks and washed them with pink. With each passing minute, more stars appeared.
Tevi watched until the white snow on the mountains was lost in darkness. She lowered her gaze and continued her restless wandering. By now, most townsfolk were home. Doors and window shutters were closed. Yellow light gleamed through joins in the wood.
Tevi passed a group of children indulging in one last snowball fight and ignoring the calls to come in for as long as they dared, until a more emphatic parental shout ended the game. A knot of townsfolk caught her attention, laughing boisterously with one another as they trudged home. Tevi’s eyes followed them enviously until they were out of sight. She knew that she was desperately lonely. Pools of lamplight glittered off the white ground and sparkled on the plumes of powdery snow her boots kicked up. Her thoughts drifted aimlessly, like the dancing flakes.
She was caught completely unaware when a figure cannoned into her, careering wildly out of a steep side street. The collision knocked Tevi skidding sideways on the icy paving. Her arms flailed but caught only on the new arrival, who was even less steady than herself. The two of them crashed to the ground.
Once her shock had passed, Tevi was able to squirm from under her involuntary assailant. “I’m very sorry,” Tevi apologised on reflex, offering a hand to assist the other person to rise.
“Oh, no. It was my fault. I was going too fast, and these shoes are useless. Can’t get a decent grip on the snow.”
“You haven’t hurt yourself, have you?” Sir? Ma’am? Tevi could not tell. The accent was local, but the speaker was so muffled that it was impossible to guess the gender. The person was shorter than Tevi by several inches, yet the voice seemed low for a woman. Not for the first time, Tevi wished mainland men would grow beards. One of these days, she was going to make an embarrassing mistake. It was just as well that gender was of so little consequence in the Protectorate.
“I’m fine, apart from my dignity. Are you all right?” the stranger asked.
“Yes. The snow’s soft to land on.”
“Though I guess I wasn’t quite so soft, landing on top of you.”
Tevi grinned. “It was a bit like being hit by a sack of potatoes...meaning no offence.”
The other person let out a peal of laughter. “None taken. If someone tells me I look like a sack of potatoes, then I’m offended.”
“I’m sure that isn’t likely to happen.”
“I don’t know. I’m a greengrocer. They say traders end up looking like their wares.”
Tevi joined the laughter. The pair exchanged pleasantries while brushing the powdery snow from their clothing. Before long, all traces of the accident had been erased.
“I must be off. Good evening to you, and once again, my apologies.” The greengrocer headed off with cautious steps, one hand braced against the wall.
“Excuse me! Before you go. I’m a stranger in town. I wonder if you could recommend a good tavern.” Tevi spoke, hoping her new acquaintance would offer to join her for a drink.
The face inside the fur-lined hood turned back, smiling broadly. “The ale in the Bees and Bonnet on Mickle Street is very good. My new lover’s one of the bar staff. He won’t be there tonight, but it’s always friendly.”
With arms held out for balance, the unsteady figure tottered away. Tevi stared at the empty street. In disappointment, she continued her aimless roaming.
She would have willingly bought as much ale as the greengrocer could drink, just to have someone to talk to. Tevi was wondering if even Ricard’s stories would be better than nothing when she noticed a painted sign above a tavern door. Several garish yellow and black bees swarmed around a frilly object that was, just conceivably, an item of headgear. This must be the Bees and Bonnet.
The greengrocer had said it was friendly. While Tevi watched, three townsfolk approached, pushed the door open, and went inside. She caught a glimpse of busy tables and scrubbed floo
r, the sound of people talking, even the faint smell of beer and wood smoke. Without making a conscious decision, Tevi found herself following the three townsfolk into the tavern.
Sweat prickled at her sides as the heat and noise of the alehouse swept over her. The sensation was like wading into treacle. All around, benches were filled with animated customers, though a scattering of empty seats remained. Tables lined the walls, with more arranged in the middle. A huge stone fireplace dominated one end of the room. The flickering light played over the low rafters and added to the cheerful glow from a dozen lanterns. An L-shaped counter was squeezed into the corner facing the door, with a row of barrels stacked behind.
Tevi tugged off her gloves, hat, and cloak. The bar was busy, but she was able to find a spot to rest her elbows and wait her turn to be served. It did not take long. A barman rushed to attend to her, ignoring other customers. From the uneasy glance at her hands, Tevi realised it was the tattoos that gained her prompt service. Tevi recognised the three townsfolk she had followed in. She gestured to the waiting group. “They were here before me.”
“Oh, no. You first,” one spoke quickly and then looked away.
Most ordinary citizens treated mercenaries with caution. Remembering Big Bron, Tevi could understand why. There was no point explaining that she was happy to wait her turn. It would only waste time and fail to reassure anyone.
“I’ll have a pint of ale, please.”
“Yes, ma’am.”
The other customers did not act overly nervous, yet Tevi got the impression that they wished she were not there. Hope of finding companionship faded.
During her journey with Sarryle, she had become aware that the red and gold tattoos served to distance her from the general population. Young children would gape at her with hero worship, but their older relatives gave her a wide berth. Traders and others used to employing her guild comrades were less apprehensive, but mercenaries were generally left to their own company.
She fared no better once she got her drink and took a seat close to the fire. As soon as they noticed the tattoos, people sitting either side shifted ever so slightly away and buried themselves in conversation, mainly about the weather, from what Tevi overheard,
Farther away, some stared in her direction, although they looked away sharply if she caught their eye. Tevi’s lips tightened in annoyance, and then a thought struck her. Am I being too sensitive? On the islands, we would always stare at strangers. But on Storenseg, you could go from one year to the next without seeing an unfamiliar face. She remembered how odd outsiders looked to her then. And I’ve changed, to sit here surrounded by dozens of strange faces and find them no more noteworthy than the bricks in the walls. It was a sudden, unsettling realisation. Somewhere on her travels, the islander’s mentality had slipped its hold on her.
The mellow ale washed the tightness from her throat. In the hearth, flames leapt over the burning logs. Looking at them, you could see demons and castles, swords and flowers, if you chose. The fire was a glowing well of fantasies that drew her thoughts in. A wry smile touched Tevi’s lips as she remembered the family hearth of her childhood and sitting by it, playing games of make-believe. She had dreamed of growing up to be a warrior queen who would conquer all the known world—or at least the nearest couple of islands. Things never work out the way you expect.
But what next? Precise plans were hard, although a job would not be a problem. In spring, the pass would reopen, and traffic would flow through the town again. Traders would be heading off to the wildlands beyond the Protectorate, in need of guards. The world was wide and diverse, beyond the dreams of her childhood, beyond the imagination of the island women. Visions of the sights she had seen with Verron and Marith danced among the flames.
*
Her tankard was empty. Tevi considered returning to the guildhall, but she was warm and comfy, and the other customers had long ceased paying her any attention. The tavern noise had become a background rumble in her ears, letting her think in peace, and the ale really was very good—enough to tempt her to a second tankard.
She had scarcely returned to her seat when the door opened. The drop in noise warned Tevi that the new arrival was not just another customer seeking cheer on the frosty night. A tall, middle-aged woman stood just inside the entrance with an expression of bored arrogance on her face. The hem of her blue cloak fluttered in the last of the icy draft that had followed her into the tavern. The cut of her clothes indicated wealth, but that alone would not explain the way the innkeeper rushed to escort her to a table by the fire, unceremoniously displacing its original occupants.
Obviously everyone recognised the woman. Folk returned to their gossip, but the atmosphere was strained. Then Tevi caught sight of a black amulet on the woman’s wrist, engraved with oak leaves. It explained all—the town sorcerer. By now, a bottle of wine had arrived at the table, accompanied by much bowing. As the bar staff retreated, the bottle floated into the air and poured itself. Oblivious to the disturbance she had created, the sorcerer picked up the glass and sipped, while her eyes stared vacantly into the air.
The floating bottle was the first piece of magic Tevi had seen on the mainland, but it did not appear to be the precursor to anything more dramatic. Soon, Tevi’s attention drifted back to the fire and her plans for the future. Taking work as a caravan guard would bring money and the chance to see more of the world. It would also bring new friends and new risks. Tevi frowned at the memory of Cayell that had dogged her all the way from Lyremouth and the questions it raised. Why did she try to tempt me like that? How did she know I would be open to the approach? On the islands, with hindsight, it was obvious. I stood out like a sheep in a pigpen. Too soft and masculine. Even the way I walked and talked must have had them guessing. But on the mainland, the same codes of conduct did not apply. Or did they? How did Cayell know about me? Until she could answer that question, Tevi knew she dared not let anyone get close. She bit her lip, heartsick at the prospect of loneliness. But I want friends.
Tevi’s eyes fell on the woman sitting alone. The sorcerer was someone who must have even greater problems finding company. The people kicked off their table had shown no sign of objecting, but it was hardly a way to make people like you. Do sorcerers enjoy the way they’re treated? Tevi wondered. Might they prefer a bit less deference?
It was no surprise that normal folk had mixed feelings about the Coven, although if it did not exist, there would be nothing to stop sorcerers from taking whatever they wanted. At least the Coven ensured that its members gave something in return. The town sorcerer was responsible for supervising healers and other witches in the area. She was oath-bound to protect the people from attack, magical or otherwise. She was the final arbiter of all inter-guild disputes and the chief civic judge. Her word, quite literally, was law. On top of that, she could be called on for advice in any situation.
And what advice could the sorcerer give me? Tevi sighed. The situation was hopeless. She had learnt to treat the mainland men as if they were female, but it was only a mental game that she was playing with herself. Tevi knew she would only ever want a woman as a lover.
Her tankard was empty. Tevi was again served without delay, but a clump of people blocked the route back to her seat, forcing her to detour by the sorcerer’s table. Tevi glanced at the woman’s face as she passed. Seen close up, she was older than Tevi had first thought. Wavy grey hair framed a deeply lined face, and brown liver spots marked both hands. What advice could she give me? The words repeated in Tevi’s head. Before she had the chance to think it through, her feet had stopped.
Immediately, Tevi knew it was a mistake. Heads twisted in her direction, only to turn away as folk decided that true wisdom lay in minding their own business. The sorcerer looked up, yet her eyes were focused on a point far beyond the room.
“May I talk to you, ma’am?” Tevi asked politely.
By way of consent, the sorcerer indicated an empty chair. She waited until Tevi was seated. “And what do you wa
nt to talk about?”
“I’d like some advice.”
“Eat three meals a day, sleep well, and avoid sharp objects when they’re poked in your direction.” The sorcerer rested her head on one hand. “Or was there something slightly more specific bothering you?”
“Er...yes. I wanted...if, er...” The unfocused gaze was disconcerting. Tevi’s eyes dropped to the tabletop as she floundered for words. The mocking tone made it even harder to speak.
“I’m afraid you’ll have to be a little more precise with your question. Very few sorcerers can use telepathy to any useful extent, and I’m not one of them.”
“My problem is...I need to know what to do...”
Again, Tevi’s words ran into a brick wall. However, instead of taunting her, the sorcerer’s expression became puzzled.
“What to do?” For the first time, her eyes focused on Tevi. “Well, unlikely as it may seem, you should ask those two men to give you a job.” She pointed to the people she meant, sitting at one side of the room.
“I...? Pardon?” Tevi’s surprise jolted her out of her awkwardness.
“You should ask them for a job. Do you know why you should do that?”
“No.”
“Neither do I. Isn’t it intriguing?” The mocking tone returned. “Perhaps they pay well.”
“That wasn’t the question I wanted to ask, ma’am,” Tevi said with slightly more determination.
“Maybe not, but it’s the question you should have asked.”
Tevi opened her mouth to speak and then closed it as she considered the implications of the sorcerer’s words. “You mean it’s a prophecy?”
“In a way.”
“I thought oracles were supposed to be cryptic.”
The Exile and the Sorcerer Page 15
