Besieged (33 page)

Aayelora released the new all-father. He swayed on his knees and his inner circle helped him to his seat.

‘I would speak,’ Rohaayel said.

‘Why?’ Aayelora bristled. ‘Imoshen is living proof of your guilt.’

‘It’s true that I broke the covenant, but I believe–’

‘There can be no excuse!’ Vittoryxe shouted him down.

‘She’s right,’ another woman said. ‘Pronounce sentence, Aayelora.’

‘Make an example of him.’

Driven by anger and fear, the women’s gifts gathered. Imoshen inhaled sharply; her nostrils stung with the rush of power.

The all-fathers and their seconds did not respond. They sat in icy, determined silence. This struck Imoshen as odd. Surely, they would protest the execution of a fellow all-father.

‘Imoshen?’ Rohaayel reached out to her.

‘Prove your loyalty. Kill him, or die trying.’ Vittoryxe shoved her in the small of the back.

Imoshen staggered forward, off balance. Her hands landed on Rohaayel’s bare chest. The shock of his gift made hers rise in response. Instinctively, she segued to the empyrean plane, taking him with her.

To Lighthouse Isle.

But this wasn’t her home. She recognised the island as Rohaayel’s mind, and the white tower as the source of his gift.

She had to destroy it to protect herself.

She ran up the rise to the base of the lighthouse, where she found a locked door. The first of his defences.

Desperate, she slammed her shoulder into the wood. To her amazement, the tower swayed and began to topple. Of course, his two seconds were dead, and the link to his inner circle had been severed. His gift was crippled.

The tower tumbled, falling over the edge of the cliff. Jumbled white stones now formed a path to the rocks below, where the waves broke.

A storm brewed, blue-black thunder clouds gathering. The wind drove the waves, piling them high, and great showers of white spray shot up, raining down on the rubble. Where the spray hit, the white stones sizzled and dissolved, as the empyrean plane devoured Rohaayel’s gift.

She caught a glimpse of him lying, defenceless, on her favourite rock near the thundering waves.

She had to save him. Instinct drove her to run down the stone path, jumping jagged gaps until she had almost reached him.

Then she stopped. What was she doing?

Rohaayel lay amidst the broken stones of his tower. A wave rolled in and swirled around the rock, sending up a shower of spray. When droplets landed on her forearms they stung like embers.

The sea was the manifestation of the empyrean plane, and it would devour him. That was how it should be. But still she hesitated.

He stirred and lifted his head, saw her there.

Sensing a threat behind her, she turned to see more men appear on the cliff edge, ten in all. A gift-warrior from each of the other brotherhoods...

It was an ambush. That explained the all-fathers’ determined silence. The brotherhoods were not going to let the sisterhoods execute one of their own all-fathers without exacting vengeance.

She glanced to Rohaayel. He was as surprised as she was. The gift-warriors ran towards her, jumping over the rubble.

Trapped, she leaped and landed on the same flat-topped rock, not far from Rohaayel. Three of her ambushers caught her up, and she backed away, glancing towards the sea.

A wave, glistening with menace, rolled towards them. She could feel its hunger in the marrow of her bones. Now she knew why she’d been attracted to these rocks, when her gift began to stir, why she had dreamed of them over and over, and why she had dared the sea to take her. It had all been practice for working her gift on the empyrean plane.

As a fourth gift-warrior closed in on her, Rohaayel reared to his feet. He formed a blade and stabbed one, then another. The third saw what was happening and turned to him. They fought, as a fourth came after Imoshen.

She backed up and glanced over her shoulder. Directly behind her was a rock that was drowned by each crashing wave, but could be used as a bridge to another, higher rock and safety. She would have to time her jump so as not to be swept away.

Wounded now, Rohaayel grabbed both the gift-warriors and threw himself into the sea. White foam closed over them. A cry of protest died on her lips.

Spray showered Imoshen, stinging her exposed skin.

She glanced to her left. The remained six gift-warriors were ready to make the leap to her rock. To her right, she saw the glistening crest of a monstrous wave coming towards them, large enough to sweep them all to their deaths.

Confident they had her, the gift-warriors leapt onto the flat-topped rock with her. She turned and fled, jumping to the lower stone. Three of the men followed her.

She backed up, timing her escape. They were too intent on her to realise the danger. She hesitated as if terrified, keeping their focus on her.

At the last possible moment, she leapt for the higher rock, scrambling madly to gain enough height. The wave smashed into the rocks behind her like a thunderclap of power. Stinging droplets scoured her back.

Shaking with fright and pain, she turned to look down.

All of the males had been swept away, devoured by the sea.

Stunned, exhausted and in pain, Imoshen huddled on the rock, hugging her knees. The gardenia Iraayel had given her pressed against her cheek, reminding her of him. And her love for him gave her the strength to segue back to the earthly plane...

...where she felt soft petals, rich with perfume, on her cheek. Opening her eyes, she found herself in the empowerment dome. Her breath misted in front of her face.

A chill silence hung on the air. No one moved as she uncurled and came slowly to her feet. A white hoarfrost covered the marble where she stood. Rohaayel’s body lay where it had fallen, frozen solid. He’d saved her life.

He’d loved her in the end.

Tears stung her eyes, and she shivered. The little burns all over her back and forearms stung.

Directly across from where she stood, the all-fathers and their seconds stared at her. No one spoke. Ten all-fathers, ten voices-of-reason... and ten dead hands-of-force. Frozen solid, their bodies slumped in their seats. Proof of the ambush.

Imoshen glanced over her shoulder to find that the all-mothers and their seconds had united behind her, coming to their feet. She felt a wave of female gift power gather and knew all their lives hung in the balance.

Rohaayel’s body shattered, breaking into clear shards of ice, which swiftly melted. A heartbeat later the gift-warriors’ bodies shattered and melted.

As if this was a signal, the brotherhood leaders stood and filed out of the dome, never turning their backs on the women.

When all the brotherhoods had left the building, the sisterhood leaders descended from the tiers.

Imoshen shuddered with cold. Egrayne took the robe off her own back and slid it around Imoshen’s shoulders.

‘Are you all right?’ Reoden asked. She ran her hands over Imoshen, healing the burns. The cessation of pain was a balm, but it was her motivation that did more to heal Imoshen. Reoden’s actions sprang from compassion.

‘They ambushed her,’ Egrayne said.

‘They had to, or appear weak. But she survived,’ Vittoryxe said, and the look she gave Imoshen was not much different from the one the brotherhoods had given her as they’d left. ‘She killed the old all-father
and
ten gift-warriors. That’s–’

‘Rohaayel...’ Imoshen voice cracked. If Rohaayel hadn’t killed the first four, she would not have survived. He’d saved her. In the end, he’d loved her. Tears stung her eyes. ‘He–’

‘He paid the price.’ Vittoryxe spoke with vicious conviction. ‘And, with your display of power, none of the all-fathers will dare break the covenant.’

Imoshen felt sick. A wretched wave of dizziness swamped her senses, and she reached out to Egrayne, who caught her as the world went away.

Chapter Twenty-Seven

S
ORNE TENSED.
I
T
was some kind of test; he could tell by the way Nitzel watched him.

‘Put it here,’ Nitzel ordered. The barons’ men placed the dining table under the maple tree. It was almost dusk and the courtyard was blanketed by shadow. Hiruna and Zabier brought out lanterns, hanging them from the lower branches of the tree. It all looked quite festive.

Sorne leaned in close to Oskane. ‘What’s going on?’

‘I’m not sure.’

Izteben watched from the stable door with little Valendia.

‘Put the chairs here,’ Nitzel ordered.

Three chairs were lined up, one each for the king, the prince and the prince’s grandfather. As they took their seats, the barons’ men carried out seven identical small chests and set them on the table.

‘Ah.’ Oskane sounded relieved. ‘It’s the T’En artefacts. Although why there are so many, I don’t know. He’ll ask you to pick one to take down for the offering.’

‘Pick one? Why?’ But, even as he asked, Sorne knew the answer. He needed to choose the artefact with the most T’En gift residue. By doing so he would confirm that his half-blood made him sensitive to T’En power.

As if there was any doubt.

Last night, Sorne had climbed the maple outside the king’s chamber and had listened at the open window as Nitzel and the king discussed the threats the other kingdoms represented. He knew who Charald most feared amongst his own barons, and which kingdom the king most wanted the gods to tell him to conquer. In fact, it was a pity they needed to go down to the unclean place at all now, but it was necessary. He needed the flash of light to convince them it was the gods speaking.

‘Sorne?’ Oskane nudged him. ‘It’s time.’

‘Time for the half-blood to choose the artefact,’ Nitzel announced, and everyone fell silent. ‘Only those with tainted blood can sense the residue of T’En gift.’

Sorne stepped forward. He rolled up the long sleeves of his knitted undershirt and opened the first chest. A T’En plait. He took it out. The watchers whispered and pointed.

Only the faintest residue of power remained. Useless.

He rolled it up and put it back.

In the second chest he found a gleaming skull, the jaw wired shut. It had rubies for eyes and it made the watchers gasp with horror, but it was completely devoid of power. He guessed it dated from King Charald the Peace-maker’s time.

The third chest contained a small vest. It must have belonged to a child. He heard Hiruna’s soft gasp at the dried blood. Old, flaky. Powerless. He was glad. He didn’t want to think about the child who had died, many years ago, wearing this vest.

The fourth chest contained bones. His gut tightened. Two sets of sixth finger bones. They used to take them from T’En on the battlefield and string them on chains, to wear as talismans around their necks.

These bones held little residue.

The fifth chest contained another plait. This one was both silver and copper, the T’En and Malaunje hair inter-woven. He didn’t want to know why their killer had ordered this done. His hands trembled as he returned it. It brought home to him how vulnerable he was, unless he proved himself useful to the king.

The sixth chest contained a pair of six-fingered gloves made of white kid-leather. They were fine and soft as skin, and the backs of the hands were covered in tiny seed-pearls set in a swirling design. The gloves made the watchers murmur in appreciation, but they held no power.

The last chest contained a silver arm-torc. This artefact was fresh, fresher even than the ones Oskane had stashed under his bed. There was a design on the silver armband – a snake swallowed its tail, forming a circle.

Sorne held up the armband, showing it to the king, but he was really looking past the king’s chair to Izteben. ‘This is the offering.’

Charald sprang out of his chair. ‘Let’s be off, then.’

‘Bring the lanterns,’ Nitzel ordered. ‘I want plenty of light.’

Clearly, he still thought they were going to stage some sort of trickery. Sorne smiled grimly and sought Izteben’s eyes. His choice-brother’s smile mirrored his own.

Prince Cedon watched all these preparations, eyes glittering with fear and excitement. Nitzel looked sceptical. The barons each took a lantern. They laughed too loud and fingered the hilts of their swords. Not that a sword would do them much good where they were going.

Sorne’s hands trembled as he returned the arm-torc to the chest. Another pair of hands reached across the table to take the box; he looked up to meet Izteben’s eyes.

‘You didn’t think I’d let you go down there alone, did you?’

For a moment, Sorne was so relieved he could not speak. Then he recovered his voice. ‘We throw it and run.’

Izteben grinned. ‘Better yet. Get that plait, tie the arm band to the end.’

‘Good idea.’ He went back to the first chest and removed the braid. It was easily longer than he was tall. The original owner must have been a giant.

The end was tied off with leather strips, which he used to attach the armband. Then he returned the armband to the chest and wound the plait around it. He could feel gift residue coming from the chest itself, which was lined with silver.

‘Everyone ready?’ King Charald raised his voice.

Sorne and Izteben hurried over to walk behind Oskane. They fell into step together as the party set off. Sorne looked over his shoulder and saw Hiruna’s worried face. She had Valendia in her arms and was holding Zabier to prevent him from following.

Gift residue clung to Sorne’s hands and heightened his senses. The night felt strange and unreal, but everything around him seemed sharply defined. He noticed wild flowers growing in the cracks of the stone steps, their petals closed for the night; he heard the birds singing as they settled in the branches above.

And he dreaded going down into the mine. Last time, they’d only escaped due to luck.

The entrance had been widened, and a proper door attached. They stepped through and milled about.

‘The half-bloods lead the way,’ Oskane said. He gave Izteben a lantern. Sorne followed, carrying the chest.

Eventually the tunnel narrowed, and Sorne’s mouth went dry as he recognised the odd-shaped gap that he and Izteben had squeezed through.