His brow creased. “Even though it was before you ever heard of the Faithful, or found out your father was one, or decided to join them?
She clenched her fists. “None of that makes any difference. Please, Josiah, if you ever cared about me, even a little bit, don’t let Elder Davon find out. He loves me. It would break his heart if he had to cast me out, but he would. Just like he would have cast Mila out, if she’d let Elkan heal her.”
Josiah wrinkled his nose. “I don’t particularly care if I hurt his feelings.”
“It would hurt me. I love being one of the Faithful. I belong with them as I’ve never belonged anywhere before. I love the Ordinances, and the rituals, and everything else about the Faith. Don’t take that away from me. I never asked for what happened.” Even in a whisper she didn’t dare name her shameful secret. “I had no choice.”
“They would punish you for something that wasn’t your fault? That’s not fair.”
“It’s not about fairness. Please, Josiah, promise.”
“All right. I promise. If it’s that important to you.” He rubbed the back of his neck. “But if you ever change your mind and want a way out, I’d be happy to tell them everything.”
“I won’t.” She turned away and crossed her arms, blinking hard. She would never surrender to the temptation to escape, no matter how bad things got.
Elder Davon and the others continued to haggle with the traders. From the aggrieved tone creeping into the Tevenarans’ voices, it sounded like the Faithful were getting the better of the deal.
After a few minutes, Josiah said, “I do care about you, Nirel. I always have. I know you were only doing what you thought was right. I guess we can’t really go back to being friends, but we don’t have to be enemies, do we?”
“Not unless you insist.”
“If you’re happy with the Faithful, I’m happy for you. I hope your new settlement thrives, wherever you decide to start it. It might not be as bad as I said.”
“Elder Davon has been planning this for many, many years. I’m sure he thought of every contingency and prepared for it. There’s no reason we can’t learn whatever skills we need to survive.”
“Of course not.”
“Nalini taught me a lot before we left. I can distill insulin. I’ve been treating four diabetic children for the whole voyage. As well as lots of other things, cuts and coughs and fevers. Even a few broken bones.”
Josiah made an encouraging noise.
“We can hunt and fish until we’re able to grow crops. And forage. I can pass on everything Shonika taught me. We’ll be fine. The Lord of Justice will protect us.”
This time his noise was skeptical, but at least he didn’t contradict her. “I’ll see if I can talk Elkan into loosening up a little. I don’t see how it would make much difference if he let a handful of farmers and herders go with you for a few months, just until you got started. It’s not like you’ll ever sail in with weapons demanding the Mother’s power like Ramunna or Marvanna might.”
She snorted. “That’s certainly one thing you’ll never have to worry about.”
Josiah scratched Sar’s ears. “Did you know Kevessa and Vigorre are here?”
Nirel stiffened. “No.” Kevessa had been her friend, and Vigorre more than her friend, until they’d learned how she’d betrayed their trust.
“They came with the Matriarch. Maybe you could come by the Hall sometime and say hello.”
“I don’t know if that would be a good idea.” She looked away. “I lied to both of them. A lot. They might not be as forgiving as you are.”
“Oh.” After a moment he shrugged. “Borlen’s here, too. And Tesi, she’s a wizard now, although the Matriarch hasn’t let her come to the Hall yet.”
Despite herself, Nirel was intrigued. “Tesi? How did that happen? She told me she followed a Girodan teacher who didn’t believe in the Mother.”
“Apparently the Mother didn’t care.” Josiah launched into the tale. Nirel listened, curiosity winning out over the queasy feeling she was doing something forbidden. After all, none of the Ordinances specifically forbade listening to a follower of the Lady talk about her. But she was glad Josiah kept his voice down and Elder Davon remained occupied with his negotiations.
When that story was finished, Josiah went on to describe how the Armada had attacked Tevenar, and how he’d helped defeat them with their own weapons. This Nirel could listen to without a qualm. She memorized every detail to relate to Davon later.
Josiah finished his account just as Davon and the others shook hands with the traders. Everyone looked reasonably pleased. She should have known that traders would find a way if offered a tempting enough profit, no matter how scarce resources might be.
“Where next?” Josiah asked Davon.
The Elder tilted his head. “The headquarters of the Farmers’ Guild. Their knowledge is what we need most.”
“They’re all the way on the other side of the market, but I think we can get there and still have time to talk before everyone goes home for the night.” He pushed out the door.
Elder Davon paused to exchange a few more words with the traders. Nirel followed Josiah. As soon as they passed through the door he stopped so abruptly she ran into his back. “Oof. Josiah, what—”
Then she saw. Facing them was a cluster of Armada soldiers.
Before she could react, Davon’s hand fell on her shoulder. “Is there a problem, gentlemen?” he asked in Ramunnan.
Their leader replied in the same language. “The Matriarch requires your presence.”
Josiah looked quickly up and down the street. Nirel followed his gaze, but there were no watchers to be seen, or anyone else except a few pedestrians several blocks away. He took a deep breath and squared his shoulders anyway. “This is Tevenar, not Ramunna,” he said in his heavily accented Ramunnan. “She can’t give orders here.”
The soldier sneered at him. “She has not summoned you, donkey boy.”
Josiah bristled and put his hand on Sar’s back. “You don’t have to go anywhere with them, Elder Davon,” he said loudly. “They wouldn’t dare try to force you. Not in front of witnesses.” The donkey laid his ears back and glared at the soldier.
Davon gently moved Nirel out of the way and went to stand beside Josiah. “Thank you for your valiant defense, but it’s not necessary. I welcome the opportunity to speak with the Matriarch. You may return to your master. Tell him I’m pleased with your assistance and would appreciate your guidance again in the morning.” To the soldier he said, “We’re happy to accept the Matriarch’s invitation. Lead us to her.”
The soldiers moved back and waited until the rest of the Faithful emerged from the building. They surrounded the group and conducted them down the street.
Despite Davon’s dismissal, Josiah stuck close to Nirel’s side. She grimaced at him. “You should go back to the Hall like Davon said.”
“That’s where we’re headed; the Matriarch’s tent is right down the street.”
Remembering what she’d seen through the window-glass, Nirel couldn’t dispute that. “You don’t have to act like they might turn on us at any moment.” She nodded at his hand clutching Sar’s mane.
“I don’t trust them.” His jaw had a stubborn set. “Two days ago we were fighting them.”
“There’s nothing to worry about. The Matriarch likes me.”
“Not any more. Vigorre and the others told her how you lied to her.”
That made Nirel falter. “What? Why should she believe them?”
“Because they saved her life from the assassins your friends sent to kill her.” He related the story while the Ramunnans hustled them through the streets.
As she absorbed the information, their escort took on a much more threatening aspect. “So she knows everything.”
“Yeah. But don’t worry. When we get close I’ll run ahead and warn Elkan. He’ll set some of us to watch through windows. We can intervene if she tries to do anything but talk to you.”
>
The idea was comforting, but she turned away. “We don’t need the help of the Lady’s power. Or her followers.”
“Too bad. Elkan’s not about to let the Matriarch get away with anything while she’s in Tevenar. He let you come ashore, so you’re under our protection, whether you want it or not.”
Before Nirel could make a retort, Davon moved to Josiah’s side. “I must ask you and your master to refrain. I wish to hold a private conversation with the Matriarch. According to my understanding of your Law, such discourse is protected from undesired observation.”
Josiah blinked. “Unless there’s good reason to believe that someone’s going to get hurt.”
“Which there is not, in this case. The Matriarch has offered no threat, nor do I anticipate any trouble. I have willingly accepted her invitation. You have no cause to violate our privacy.”
Josiah took a breath, paused, then let it out. He glanced at Sar. The donkey switched an ear at him.
Josiah’s shoulders sagged. “I guess you’re right,” he said resentfully.
“If at any point I feel danger is imminent, I’ll call for help. I don’t object if a wizard stays near the Matriarch’s tent, ready to respond to such a call.”
Nirel breathed a little easier at that. Despite Davon’s expressed confidence, she wasn’t at all sure the Matriarch intended them no harm. She was well known to bear a grudge.
“All right,” Josiah said with ill grace. He looked ahead. “We’ll split off here and take word to Elkan.” He shot Nirel a quick glance. “See you later.”
“Later,” she answered. He and Sar swerved and took a branching street. As soon as they were clear of the Ramunnans, Josiah started running. Sar cantered alongside.
Davon patted her back. “Truly, daughter, we have nothing to fear. Verinna acts always in her own interest. Taking revenge on us might be satisfying, but it would not help her achieve her goals. Our cooperation will be far more valuable, so she will seek to win it.”
“Yes, sir.” Nirel wasn’t sure she believed him, but she’d never known him to be wrong when predicting what someone would do.
Except when he’d believed the Armada would defeat the wizards. He’d staked the future of all the Faithful on his certainty, and now they must deal with the consequences of his fallibility.
The Matriarch’s tent was even larger and more ornate than it had appeared from a distance. It rose in the middle of a field of smaller tents which filled a full block that had apparently been a park. Armada soldiers were everywhere, patrolling the edges of the camp, ducking in and out of tents, gathering around fires where fragrant pots bubbled.
Their escorts led them through the camp to where a pair of guards flanked the entrance of the huge green and gold striped tent. The guards drew the cloth flaps open and gestured them inside.
The central room of the tent was patterned after the throne room in the Matriarch’s palace. A dais at the far end held a copy of the throne. Unless it was the real one she’d brought with her, Nirel thought. The Matriarch sat upon it, her bearing as imperiously regal as if she still reigned over her own home. “Davon,” she said cooly. “We have much to discuss.”
“Indeed we do.” Elder Davon approached her fearlessly and stood before the dais.
She eyed him. “You do not kneel to me? You never balked before.”
“When I was your subject, I gave you the honor appropriate to my sovereign. But I and the rest of the Faithful are no longer citizens of Ramunna.”
“So you admit you’re a traitor.”
“Not at all, your majesty. Centuries ago, when your ancestor Nobilla, great-granddaughter of Tharanirre, invited the Faithful to take up residence in Ramunna, she made a bargain with my predecessors. We pledged our fealty as long as we dwelt in her land. We promised to labor and trade for Ramunna’s benefit and abide by the restrictions she set. But we reserved the right to dissolve the agreement and leave at any time we chose. The Faithful have preserved the document Nobilla signed. I would be happy to produce it for your perusal.”
The Matriarch’s eyes narrowed but she waved her hand. “That won’t be necessary. I’m familiar with it.”
Nirel tried not to let her surge of satisfaction show on her face. Verinna had hoped they’d forgotten. She didn’t understand the Faithful very well if she’d considered that a possibility. This might be easier than Nirel had expected.
Davon gave no outward sign that he’d won a point. “Then you acknowledge that our departure from Ramunna was entirely legal and that you no longer have any legitimate authority over us.”
Instead of replying, the Matriarch rose and paced back and forth across the dais. When she drew even with Davon, she clasped her hands behind her back and looked down at him. “The Dualists have helped Ramunna become great, and we’ve helped you thrive. The trade you conducted from our port has enriched both our peoples. Why should we sever this mutually beneficial relationship now?”
“I’m afraid your Majesty’s definition of ‘thrive’ differs from mine. Animals in a cage cannot truly be said to thrive, even if their bellies are full and their numbers increase.”
“Yet animals born and raised in a menagerie swiftly perish if released into the wild.” She turned and made another pass across the dais. “Your people are world-renowned as traders, Davon. Don’t pretend you need nothing from me. I freely acknowledge that I need what you have. We both stand to profit from the exchange.”
“What do we have that your majesty desires?”
“Ships,” she answered promptly. “The Tevenarans can sell me weapons, but by the time they could build me new ships the hour for my return would have long passed. I plan to sail for Ramunna in three months. That will be ample time for you to locate some congenial spot and begin construction of your paradise. After your people disembark, lend your ships and their crews to me. I’ll fit them with weapons and add them to the Armada. Thus augmented, its strength will be ample to overwhelm the Marvannan fleet and take Ramunna back.”
Davon was quiet for several seconds. The elders and businessmen murmured to each other. Nirel couldn’t tell if their reaction was positive or negative. She wasn’t sure how she felt about the offer, either. On one hand, the Faithful wanted nothing more than to be quit of Ramunna forever. On the other, Verinna’s proposal could be sorely tempting, depending on what she offered in return.
In a helpful tone, the Matriarch added, “Of course, after Ramunna is securely in my hands again I’ll return your ships to you. I’ll even replace any destroyed in the battle with brand new vessels fresh from the shipyards, constructed to your specifications.”
Davon fixed her with a calm, uncompromising gaze, his immense dignity in no way diminished by the need to look upward. “That’s what you need from us. What do you imagine we need from you?”
“Support. Once back in Ramunna, I can send your new settlement whatever it needs. Food, building supplies, seed, animals. Skilled workers and artisans to teach any skill your people lack. Trade to help your new colony flourish. This continent holds great riches, only a small portion of which are controlled by the Tevenarans. Huge stands of timber, animals with luxurious fur, exotic fruits and vegetables, vast plains waiting to be cultivated, deposits of gold and silver and iron. Ship them to Ramunna in exchange for goods beyond your skills to produce, cloth and tools and weapons. You’ll need weapons to defend yourselves against the many who will covet your wealth. Ramunna can be your ally against them.” She paused. “Or one of your enemies.”
Again Elder Davon was silent. Nirel considered the Matriarch’s offer. It was indeed tempting. Ramunna’s aid could make the difference between success and failure for their venture.
The escalating buzz from the others told her they were reaching the same conclusion. Davon held up a hand, and they stilled. “I will need time to evaluate your proposal and discuss it with my colleagues.”
“Of course. Will a day be sufficient?”
“Three.”
She made a fac
e. “The Tevenarans are impatient to know whether I’ll buy weapons from them or not,” she complained.
It was clear to Nirel her protest was only token. Davon knew as well. “This is a grave choice you offer us. You can contract for weapons now and use them on your own ships if we refuse to let you have ours.”
“Very well. I’ll await your answer in three days.” From her satisfied air she was confident she knew what it would be.
Nirel wasn’t so sure. Which was more important to Davon? The Faithful’s lives, or their independence? Could they accept the Matriarch’s bargain without entangling themselves inextricably with Ramunna for generations to come? If they rejected it, could they survive?
Davon inclined his head. “Until then, your majesty.” He turned and led the Faithful from the tent. The Matriarch let them go without protest. When Nirel glanced back, she glimpsed a smug, self-satisfied smile on the exiled ruler’s lips.
Forty-Four
Meira’s spoon tilted, slopping soup back into her bowl. Elkan looked away, pretending not to notice. He knew Meira hated any evidence that her left hand was still not as deft as her right had been. She’d made excellent progress for only three days, but she wasn’t satisfied. Hadara and Whiskers had spent a session sending the Mother’s power into Meira’s brain to speed the adaptation, and they’d shown him and Tobi how to continue the process, but they could only do so much. Meira was determined not to rest until she reached her full former ability. Elkan doubted she ever would.
He’d never tell her that, though. He turned casually back as she scooped a new spoonful and lifted it to her mouth. “How did your work go today?”
She swallowed and answered. “All the main roads are clear. We started on the second bombed building this afternoon. I think we can finish it tomorrow. What about you?”
He rubbed his forehead. “The Matriarch approached the Smiths’ Guild. She wants them to forge weapons for her.”
Meira’s spoon froze halfway to her mouth. “They can’t.”
“I don’t have grounds to forbid them. She signed the treaty; we’re formally at peace. The Wizards’ Guild doesn’t have a say in what the other guilds choose to produce and sell. The Council of Guildmasters could outlaw it, but the smiths and miners have argued persuasively that we should take as much gold as she’s willing to offer.”
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