Priestess of the White

by Trudi Canavan

  :He is the weakest of them, Juran observed. From our spies’ descriptions, he is the one called Sharneya. We might take adva—

  The Pentadrian leader sent a blast up toward the Siyee. At Juran’s instruction, Auraya threw up a barrier to intercept it. She sensed Speaker Sirri’s relief through Mairae; the Siyee leader was wearing Mairae’s link ring.

  The attack increased and Auraya strained to hold her barrier against the blast as the speed and ease with which she could draw magic to herself lessened. She took a few steps forward and was able to strengthen her barrier once again. It was not the first time she had thinned the magic around her. In the hours since the attack began, they had moved several steps into the valley from the ridge as the magic around them diminished. So had the black sorcerers. It was incredible to think how much magic had been used already, but she had no time to feel awe.

  From somewhere close by came an animal snarl and a cry of pain and terror. No mere man or beast could reach her, but she was all too aware that the most Gifted of Circlian priests and priestesses stood behind and beside her and the other White, adding their strength when directed. She turned to see a huge black vorn tearing at the throat of a priestess. It must have slunk around the back of them in order to attack without warning.

  :Kill it, Auraya, Juran ordered.

  She blasted it. It howled as her magic sent it tumbling away from its victim, then lay twitching. Other black shapes darted away from the priests and priestesses around her. They wound between Circlian fighters, too fast for her to strike at without endangering her own people.

  :Do you think the Pentadrians attacked the Siyee in order to keep us distracted long enough for the vorns to sneak behind us? she asked.

  :Yes, Juran replied. And they sent those beasts in to attack the people around you, not us. I think they were testing you, to see if you are inclined to protect the sky people in preference to the rest of the army. Let them believe that for now. Later we will use it to our advantage.

  :Yes, she replied, though she could not help feeling a twinge of doubt. Perhaps I am inclined to be protective of the Siyee more than others?

  :You aren’t, Dyara assured her.

  But Auraya could not shake a growing feeling of dread. Would Juran have one of the others protect the Siyee instead? Or would proving otherwise mean leaving the Siyee vulnerable to attack?

  45

  Though the sun was high, a chill wind kept the watchers on the ridge wrapped in their tawls. Danjin looked to either side, at the peculiar mixture of camp servants and important personages that had gathered to watch the battle. They formed a long line along the edge of the valley. Most of it was made up of crowds of servants, cooks and other camp helpers. At the center was a pavilion. Carpet had been laid over the grass and chairs placed for those of highest rank: the two kings and the Moderator of the Somreyan Council. Advisers, courtiers and servants stood around the outside of this, entering only when summoned, and grooms stood nearby holding mounts at the ready.

  The White had insisted that the two monarchs remain out of the battle. Danjin smiled as he remembered that argument.

  “We are quite willing to fight alongside our men,” King Berro had said indignantly, when told he and King Guire didn’t have a place in the fight.

  “Be assured we know that,” Juran had replied. “But if you enter the battle you will die. The moment the Pentadrians find a gap in our defense—and they will—they will strike at anyone who looks important to us.” He paused. “You could disguise yourselves as ordinary soldiers to increase your chances of survival, but I would prefer you did not. You are too important to risk.”

  Berro had scowled at that. “Why, then, do you send the Siyee Speaker into battle?”

  “She is difficult to distinguish from the other Siyee, and as the Siyee elect their leaders, another Speaker has been chosen to take her place if she dies.”

  “I have chosen my heir,” Berro reminded Juran.

  “A child,” Juran pointed out bluntly. “Who will take some years to grow into his responsibilities.” He crossed his arms. “If you wish to venture onto the battlefield, we will not stop you. We will not protect you at the cost of victory. If you seek glory, it will cost you your life—and weaken your country.”

  At that point, Moderator Meeran had cleared his throat.

  “I am an elected ruler, yet you have no place for me either.”

  “No,” Juran replied, turning his attention to the Somreyan. “Forgive me for pointing this out, but you are old and have no experience in fighting. You are of greater value to us for your ability to negotiate with and unite others.”

  He had then asked Meeran to take charge of the non-fighters during the battle, and to negotiate on behalf of the army should the Circlians lose the battle. Nobody had asked why I-Portak, the Dunwayan leader, was joining the battle. All knew that the leader of the warrior nation was required to fight alongside his people. If he did not, he would lose the leadership to another. Several Dunwayan sorcerers—their fire-warriors—accompanied him.

  Danjin looked at Lanren Songmaker. The military adviser was standing a little forward of the watchers, staring intently at the battle. His whole body was tense, his hands clenching and unclenching. Sunlight glinted off a white ring on the middle finger of his right hand.

  The ring linked Songmaker to Juran, giving the White leader a view of the battlefield from afar. Looking down into the valley, Danjin frowned.

  The Pentadrian sorcerers and the White had blasted at each other for hours, but neither side appeared to have an advantage. When so much of the magic loosed was all but invisible at this distance, it was hard to work out what was happening. All he saw was the effect of it when one side managed to harm the other.

  That harm was most often inflicted on the fighters. Neither side appeared to have killed more or less of their enemy’s army, but Danjin had noted that it was always the soldiers, priests and priestesses protected by Mairae or Rian that suffered. Two of the enemy’s sorcerers appeared to have the same difficulty. Both sides used the strength of their Gifted followers to shore up the weaker sorcerers’ defense.

  The rest of the fighting forces were not so equally matched. The advantage, to Danjin’s dismay, lay with the Pentadrians.

  It had not appeared so at first. There were fewer Pentadrian fighters. They had no war plattens or mounted soldiers. As the two armies came together, however, it became clear that most of the Pentadrian foot soldiers were trained and prepared to face both.

  And then there were the vorns.

  The huge beasts brought death and devastation wherever they roamed. They moved so fast, only luck or a concerted effort by many archers could bring them down. The beasts seemed to enjoy killing. As Danjin watched, four of them drove a group of soldiers from the main battle. They tore out the throats of those that tried to face them, then chased the rest out of the valley, loping easily after the runners and nipping playfully at their heels.

  “Why don’t we have creatures like that? Why don’t we have vorns to fight for us?” King Berro muttered.

  “I guess the White didn’t have time to breed their own,” Guire replied mildly.

  “They are an abomination,” a woman growled.

  Heads turned to the speaker. Dreamweaver Adviser Raeli stared back, her gaze cold. “If your White created such evil beasts, would they be any better or nobler than these Pentadrians?” she asked.

  The two kings looked thoughtful, though it was clear Berro was not completely convinced by her words.

  “They have bred Bearers instead,” Meeran said. “And my people have provided them with little helpers.” He nodded to the cage Danjin was holding.

  Danjin looked down at Mischief. The veez had remained quiet throughout the battle so far. Danjin hadn’t dared to leave Mischief behind, sure that if he did the veez would escape and go in search of Auraya.

  “Reyer and veez?” Berro snorted. He looked to the left, where grooms held the five white Bearers ready in ca
se the White needed them. “Only the White have Bearers and they aren’t even using them—and what use is a talking pet during war?”

  “Out,” Mischief said.

  The weight in the cage shifted. Danjin looked down. “No. Stay.”

  “Out,” Mischief insisted. “Away. Run.”

  “No. Auraya will come back later.”

  The veez began to turn circles inside the cage, setting it rocking. “Run! Bad coming. Run! Hide! Run!”

  Danjin frowned. The veez was growing more and more agitated. Perhaps the abductor was near. He turned and scanned the faces around him. Those closest were looking at the veez in curiosity. He looked farther away, to the left and right and over his shoulder.

  And saw four black shapes loping up the other side of the ridge toward them.

  He shouted a warning. Screams rang out as the vorns were seen. There was a moment of hesitation as people clutched at each other in terror, or collided with others as they turned to flee. The line of watchers broke. Most of it spilled down the hill toward the battle, leaving a few individuals frozen in terror on the ridge. The centermost watchers remained still, held together by a strong, confident voice.

  “Everyone into the pavilion, and stay there,” High Priest Haleed said, striding forward to place himself between the vorns and the pavilion. “I will deal with this.”

  Danjin frowned as he realized the Somreyan elder was the only magically trained person among the watchers, apart from Raeli—though he had no idea how Gifted she was. Not all Dreamweavers are strong sorcerers.

  All squeezed into the dubious cover of the cloth pavilion. Outside, the grooms were hastily covering the heads of the reyer with cloth, including the Bearers, in the hope that the mounts wouldn’t take fright and break free. They drew them as close to the pavilion as they could.

  Songmaker was still standing outside, his back to the pavilion and his attention on the battle. Danjin saw the man look around at the people fleeing into the valley in puzzlement. He called the man’s name. Songmaker turned and his expression changed from puzzlement to alarm as he took in the scene. As he walked toward the pavilion, Danjin heard an animal yowl of pain close by.

  He looked out to see one of the vorns lying, twitching, on the ground. The others were scampering backward, dodging this way and that to avoid Haleed’s attacks.

  “Ah, magic,” Songmaker murmured. “A soldier might lose form as he ages, but a sorcerer remains useful.”

  So long as he keeps his reflexes sharp, Danjin added silently. Haleed managed to injure another of the vorns, but most of his strikes had missed the fast-moving creatures. He did not seem able to anticipate their rapid changes of direction.

  “Your pet turned out to have a use after all,” a voice whispered in Danjin’s ear. “Don’t worry about him. He’ll return.”

  He turned to stare at Raeli. She looked down. Following her gaze, Danjin realized the cage he was still holding was empty, the door open. He felt a stab of alarm. He cast about, searching for the veez.

  “Don’t bother. He can look after himself,” Raeli assured him.

  “Against vorns?”

  “They aren’t after veez, they’re after—”

  Her words were drowned out by a scream of pain followed by an inhuman screeching. Looking out, he saw Haleed swaying under the weight of a mass of black-feathered shapes. The priest’s white robes were splattered with blood.

  “The birds!” someone exclaimed. “Help him!”

  “His eyes,” Songmaker hissed. “They went for his eyes.”

  Meeran barked orders. Servants hurried forward, then stopped and retreated hastily back into the pavilion. Danjin saw a black shape launch itself at Haleed, knocking the old man over. He felt a rush of terror as two more black shapes leapt past the priest. The small crowd surged back and he felt himself shoved sideways.

  Losing his balance, he began to fall, but someone grabbed his arm and steadied him. All was chaos: screams, yells, shouted orders and the screech of birds. How could so few people make so much noise? A hand grasped his arm and spun him around.

  He found himself facing Raeli. He stared at her in surprise. Over her shoulder he saw a reyer gallop away, King Berro in the saddle.

  “Stay close to me,” Raeli said. “I’m forbidden to kill, but I can shield you.”

  He nodded. As she turned to face the pavilion there was a loud crack and the structure collapsed. The awning was covered in birds. Raeli spread her hands. The air sparked, then filled with flapping wings as the flock took off.

  The sound of galloping hooves drew Danjin’s attention. He saw the Bearers racing away. Each bore two riders. Danjin was relieved to see Moderator Meeran among them.

  “Good,” Raeli said. “Less trouble for me.”

  Then a black shape wriggled out from under the pavilion and streaked away in pursuit.

  Raeli grimaced. “I hope those Bearers can run as fast as people say they can.”

  “They can,” Danjin assured her. “Though whether—”

  As a chilling snarl came from under the pavilion, he jumped. He backed away as the cover began to shift and writhe, but Raeli stayed still. She stooped and grabbed the edge of the cloth.

  “Don’t free it!”

  She ignored him and hauled it aside. Danjin winced as he saw the bloodied bodies underneath. A black shape reared up and launched itself at Raeli. She made a quick gesture and the vorn jerked aside. It regarded her with chilling intelligence, then slunk away.

  A familiar voice cursed vehemently. Looking down, Danjin was amazed to see Songmaker struggling to his feet. His left arm was bleeding badly from deep gouges.

  “I can heal you,” Raeli offered, stepping closer to examine the wound.

  Songmaker hesitated, his gaze becoming distant for a moment, then frowned.

  “Thank you, Dreamweaver Adviser,” he said, his tone formal, “but I must decline. A bandage will do for now.”

  Her lips thinned. “I will see what I can find.”

  Danjin felt a stab of sympathy for her and, surprisingly, anger. It seems I agree with Auraya that the ban on using Dreamweaver services is ridiculous. The vorn still lurked nearby. Raeli did not turn her back on it as she tore a strip of cloth from one of the dead servant’s tunics and used it to bind Songmaker’s wound.

  “If the White want you to remain here, they had best send you a priest—and soon,” she said. “I can ward off one or two of those creatures, but I doubt I could manage more.” Her gaze hardened. “Tell your leader my people will be here in a few hours. Remind him that we do not take sides; that we will offer our help to all. Should the Pentadrians accept us, but not the Circlians, that is none of our doing.”

  Lanren stared back at her, then nodded. “Several priests are already on their way.”

  The sun hung low in the sky by the time the Dreamweaver caravan stopped. Their numbers had grown to a hundred or so. Leiard knew there were more Dreamweavers coming to the battle than those he travelled among. Other caravans had stopped in nearby valleys. Scattered, they lessened the risk that the Circlians—if seized by some crazed fanatical urge after the battle—could rid the world of hundreds of Dreamweavers in one strike.

  They had halted an hour’s walk from the battle and Arleej had gathered a group of twenty to accompany her to the scene. Most of the others would come when the battle was over. A few would stay to defend the tarns should opportunists decide to loot them.

  Leiard had joined Arleej’s group. He had brought Jayim with him, knowing that the boy would sneak after them if he was left behind. Now, as they reached the scene of devastation, he sensed Jayim’s curiosity and anticipation change to horror.

  The valley was dark with churned mud, charred grass and corpses. A constant roar, muffled by distance, reached them. It was made up of screams, yells, the clash of weapons and shields, and the boom and crack of magic. Five white figures faced five black ones across the valley. The air between them flashed and writhed. Great scorch marks littered with co
rpses indicated where their sorcerous battle had spilled past protections.

  Leiard remembered other battles. Smaller ones, but just as gruesome. They were not his memories, but they were vivid. Sorcery and death. Waste and pain. He saw that there were new elements to this battle. Black beasts—the vorns Auraya had once described—roamed through the Circlian army, deadly and hard to kill. Siyee wheeled and dived above the heads of soldiers and sorcerers. Smaller black shapes harried them, tearing their wings or attacking in numbers to drag their victims to the ground.

  As he watched, three Siyee dived out of the aerial battle to swoop over the heads of the Pentadrians and send down a faint rain of missiles. One Siyee then fell as archers sent a volley of arrows in reply, but they had left several victims behind them.

  Yet each death was devastating to the Siyee. There were so few of them.

  I have to hope the Circlians win, he thought suddenly. Or this may be the end of the Siyee.

  The greatest tragedy is that they are here at all, Mirar said darkly. This will be your former lover’s greatest crime: to make a peaceful people warlike and lead them to extinction.

  “So here we are. What do you make of this, Leiard?”

  He turned to find Arleej standing beside him.

  “Foolishness,” he replied. “Waste.”

  She smiled grimly. “Yes, and I agree. But what do you make of the two armies? What are their strengths and weaknesses? Who will win?”

  Leiard frowned and considered the battle again.

  “It is a typical confrontation. The sorcerers fight from the back, protecting their army from magic as well as themselves. The stronger of the minor sorcerers remain with them, adding their strength.”

  “You mean the White?” Jayim asked. “And the priests and priestesses.”

  “Yes,” Leiard replied. “Those whose role is more physical than magical fight their own battle, hoping always that the sorcerers will protect them. Soldiers, archers, mounted fighters, war-platten drivers, Siyee, vorns, the black birds. They may not have strong Gifts, but they will use what they can.”