Besieged (35 page)

‘She must have escaped already.’ Izteben sounded relieved.

Sorne had a bad feeling. ‘Hold this.’ He gave the hamper to Zabier and crept along until he came to the cell. It was hard to make out much in the darkness. Sorne lit a candle.

The she-Wyrd lay near the far wall in a pool of blood. Her gown had been shoved up to reveal her body, and there was something wrong with her face...

‘Go wait at the stairs, Zabier,’ Sorne said. For once, their little brother didn’t argue. Sorne could hear him weeping softly.

Torn between pity and contempt, Sorne made himself study the body. Her eyes had been gouged out, her hair hacked off and the little fingers on both hands were missing.

Izteben retched. Sorne fought the same reaction.

In the retreat, there were no women other than their mother and the she-Wyrd, but when Joaken and the other penitents had been alive, they’d boasted of the women they’d known, and they hadn’t worried who overheard. Sorne and Izteben knew what had happened here.

Guilt hit him. ‘She asked me to free her last night. But I...’

‘Why didn’t you?’ Izteben asked, his voice thick with emotion.

‘Yesterday, we weren’t important. Tonight...’ Tonight he’d felt powerful. Now he saw this for the illusion that it was. If True-men could do this to someone who was no threat to them, what would they do to half-breeds who dared...

‘It’s not decent.’ Izteben picked up her blanket. ‘We should cover–’

‘Don’t.’ Panic made Sorne’s voice sharp. ‘They mustn’t know we’ve been here.’

Izteben looked confused. ‘We’re the gods’ messengers. The king himself listens to us.’

Sorne licked dry lips. ‘Who do you think condoned this? Why do you think Ma had me check the stable door was barred?’

Izteben looked shocked.

Sorne licked his thumb and finger and pinched the candle flame. ‘We should go.’

They sent Zabier to bed while they replaced the key in Franto’s chamber. When they returned to the stables, Hiruna was waiting for them.

‘We were too late,’ Izteben said, returning the hamper. ‘How can someone do that to another person?’

‘I’m sorry.’ Hiruna did not seem surprised. ‘I’m sorry you had to see that.’

‘She was weak,’ Sorne said.

‘No.’ Hiruna’s eyes glittered. ‘She was strong. She could have killed herself, but she chose to stay and help you boys, even after I told her Oskane wouldn’t kill you.’

‘And look what it got her,’ Sorne said, voice thick with anger. ‘She died in the end.’

‘Everyone dies. It’s how you live that’s important.’

‘Oh, Ma.’ Izteben hugged her. She sobbed softly. ‘Don’t worry. We’ll look after you.’

‘I know that.’ She summoned a smile. ‘It’s just... Tomorrow we leave. Everything is changing.’

‘For the better,’ Sorne insisted.

But on the morrow, he discovered the covered cart was being put to a new use.

Sorne had known there were not enough horses for them all to ride. He’d expected to walk. He hadn’t anticipated...

‘The half-bloods will ride in the cart, out of sight,’ Franto said, flipping the cover back.

‘Much more comfortable than walking.’ Hiruna climbed up, then held out her arms for Izteben to pass Valendia.

‘And Zabier?’ Sorne asked Franto.

‘Zabier will be serving Scholar Oskane.’ Franto made an impatient gesture. ‘Be realistic, Sorne. The king cannot be seen to be travelling with half-bloods.’

Heat filled Sorne’s face. ‘Not even–’

‘Come on.’ Izteben slung an arm round his shoulder and drew him away from Franto. ‘Now is not the time for this.’

He was right. Sorne felt he should insist they bury the she-Wyrd, but he was a coward. His face burned with shame as he climbed into the cart. Izteben sat next to him. Morning sunlight came through the gaps in the canvas. They could hear the men joking and grumbling as they mounted up. Yesterday those same men had cowered in fright, while he and Izteben stood between them and death.

‘One day, all of Chalcedonia will look up to us,’ Sorne said. ‘We will stand between the True-men and their gods.’

Chapter Twenty-Eight

‘M
AKE
I
MOSHEN A
provisional-adept?’ Vittoryxe repeated. ‘She hasn’t even covered the basics of gift control, or gift hierarchy, or the theories behind gift power.She might be seventeen, but she’s not even an initiate, let alone a provisional-adept.’

The all-mother glanced to her voice-of-reason, but it was Egrayne who spoke. ‘She executed Rohaayel and ten gift-warriors–’

‘How?’ Vittoryxe fumed. ‘That’s what I’d like to know.’

Egrayne shrugged. ‘If Imoshen doesn’t have provisional-adept status, what does it say about us? None of us have been tested like this.’

‘If I give her provisional-adept status, what does it say about the twenty years of training everyone else goes through?’

‘We aren’t belittling the work you do training the lads for entry into the brotherhoods,’ the all-mother said. ‘Or the way you mentor our girl-children. But...’

‘But Imoshen has already proven she has the power and the control,’ Egrayne said.

‘She has no sense of history, and she doesn’t appreciate the power she has.’

‘Then teach her these things,’ the all-mother said. ‘That’s why we suggested provisional-adept status.’

‘After all, Vittoryxe,’ Egrayne said. ‘You don’t have to give her full adept status until she turns thirty-three and takes on adult duties in the sisterhood.’

Vittoryxe could see the sisterhood’s inner circle was determined. If she had no choice, then she was going to pull Imoshen up on every little mistake. The brotherhood-raised sister was going to rue the day she tried to side-step the hierarchy and accepted the rise in status. Vittoryxe smiled. ‘So be it.’

‘Send her in,’ the all-mother told her devotee.

Vittoryxe moved aside as Imoshen entered and made obeisance.

Dropping gracefully to her knees, Imoshen sat on her heels. ‘You sent for me, all-mother.’

‘Gift-tutor Vittoryxe has something to say.’

Imoshen looked up expectantly.

‘I have decided to accord you provisional-adept status.’

Imoshen nodded. No surprise or delight, and no gratitude.

Egrayne cleared her throat. ‘Imoshen, you have killed adepts on the empyrean plane. Only another adept can do that. We T’En train for twenty years to become adepts. We are according you a very great honour.’

Colour raced up Imoshen’s throat and over her cheeks. She leant forward to put her hands on the floor and press her forehead to her hands. Then she lifted her head. ‘Forgive me. I don’t know your ways. Forgive me, gift-tutor, I’ll work very hard to be worthy of this honour.’

‘See that you do.’ Either Imoshen was a conniving schemer, who had her eye on the role of all-mother, or she really was completely unaware, but Vittoryxe did not believe
that
for a heartbeat.

Imoshen was a real threat to Vittoryxe’s plans to become all-mother and, should the opportunity arise, causare.

Certainly, Vittoryxe would train Imoshen, but she’d also test her. The girl was definitely powerful, but power was only a tool. Lack of knowledge was Imoshen’s weakness. It would be a simple thing for her to have an accident on the higher plane.

It was sad, but it happened and, considering Imoshen’s lack of formal training, no one would be surprised.

‘W
HAT DID THEY
say?’ Frayvia asked, as soon as Imoshen returned to their chambers.

Iraayel ran over to show her his puzzle then climbed into her lap as they all sat in the window seat. Outside, birds wheeled in the brilliant blue spring sky, circling one of the city’s white towers.

‘I’ve been given provisional-adept status.’

‘So why aren’t you happy?’

‘The gift-tutor is furious.’

‘You read her?’

‘I didn’t mean to. Don’t worry, she didn’t notice.’

Unaware of the undercurrents of their conversation, the four-year-old pulled the wooden horse apart and began slotting it back together.

‘It’s not surprising the gift-tutor is annoyed,’ Frayvia said. ‘You have no formal training.’

‘She’s also very determined.’

‘To do what?’

‘That’s just it. I don’t know.’

‘I did it.’ Iraayel held up the horse.

‘Well done.’ Imoshen hugged him. ‘My clever boy.’

‘You are a threat to the gift-tutor because you have no training. Vittoryxe is a teacher, and the trust between student and teacher is sacred.’ Frayvia smiled. ‘Work hard and show proper respect, and you’ll win her over.’

‘I
T’S STILL DANGEROUS,
’ Oskane said. He gestured to his private office. ‘Just because we are back in Port Mirror-on-Sea and I’m high priest of the Father’s church, it doesn’t mean we are safe.’

‘That’s why I don’t want to leave you,’ Franto insisted.

‘I won’t be alone. You’ve been training Zabier.’

‘He’s only just turned thirteen.’

‘He’s smart and loyal. Also I have Matxin. He’s my blood kin and equally determined to bring Nitzel down. You are going with Charald to advise Sorne. Your job is to keep him out of trouble. Don’t worry, Charald expects to be back by winter. Now send Matxin in.’

As Franto left the high priest’s office, Oskane adjusted the folds of his formal robe. He had not seen his cousin’s son in seventeen years. Now Matxin was a middle-aged man of thirty-four, with children of his own.

The baron strode in, still covered in the dust of the road. He gave a perfunctory bow and kissed Oskane’s ring.

‘So Sorna’s half-blood boy has the king dancing to his tune now,’ he said.

‘The Warrior speaks through him. Praise the Seven that I lived to see this.’

Matxin cast him a swift look. ‘I see... But what of the Wyrds? Charald still owes them a fortune. If they were to call in the debt, they could beggar the kingdom, and leave us ripe for invasion.’

‘Then we’re lucky there’s been fighting in Cesspit City,’ Oskane said. It was three days by fast rider from the Wyrd city to the port. News of the fighting had arrived before the king’s party. ‘Did you hear? At least one of their palaces has burned. As long as they’re busy fighting amongst themselves–’

‘We’re safe. Yes, but your half-blood sent Charald to war against the one king who offered to help me take the throne. What was he thinking, Uncle?’

‘Sorne is the Warrior’s-voice. He was only repeating what the Warrior god told him.’

‘Of course... What of Nitzel? He murdered my sister and sent my father home with his tail between his legs. I’ve spent the last seventeen years keeping my head down, while Nitzel lined his pockets, placing his supporters and relatives in positions of power. I must see him brought low.’

‘And you shall. But–’

‘This summer is the perfect opportunity. While the king and his war barons are conquering Khitan, Nitzel will be alone with the prince – an old man and a boy of thirteen. I have supporters, men who are tired of Charald’s taxes and temper.’

‘I’m glad to hear it, and I’m sure they will come in useful. But first we must consolidate our hold on the church. Next to the king, it is the most powerful body in Chalcedonia. In a way, it is more powerful, because kings come and go, but the church lives on. I’ll win over the–’

‘Just how will you do that, Uncle? There are whispers in certain quarters. True-men and -women do not take kindly to half-bloods interfering with their gods, advising the king and claiming the title of Warrior’s-voice!’

‘Charald is taking Sorne with him. I’m sending Franto to make sure the half-blood causes no trouble.’

‘But there’s more, aren’t there? You brought a nest of Wyrds with you, and one of them claims to be the Father’s-voice. What if he gets cocky?’

‘I have his mother and sister to ensure his cooperation.’

A grim smile split Matxin’s face. ‘That should do it. But I don’t think branding yourself as a Wyrd-lover is going to help our family’s cause.’

Feeling battered, Oskane sat down. ‘This summer’s cusp, the Father’s-voice will make an offering to the gods. I’ve already invited the leaders of the other churches. Believe me, after this you will not doubt me, or the Seven, again.’

‘I see. What I don’t see is why we need the half-bloods.’

‘We...’ But he was too tired to explain. Oskane rang the bell. Zabier opened the door. ‘Where’s Franto?’

The lad hesitated, and Oskane guessed Franto’s stomach was troubling him again.

He gestured to Zabier. ‘Matxin, this is the other brother, born a True-man. He’ll take you to see the half-bloods. They’ll tell you how they contact the gods.’

Matxin nodded and left with the lad.

Oskane felt exhausted, lightheaded and short of breath. There was a dull nagging pain in his left arm. The pain eased and Oskane managed to catch his breath. Now that he was back in port, in a position of power, he hardly had the energy to enjoy it.

‘A
GILDED CAGE.
’ The chambers they had been given were more sumptuous than anything Sorne had ever seen. Leaded windows looked out across the rooftops to the port beyond. ‘That’s what this is, a gilded cage. And we’re prisoners.’

Valendia whimpered. Hiruna picked her up and went through to the sleeping quarters. Meanwhile, Izteben stretched out on a padded chair by the fireplace.

‘What’s the matter with you?’ Sorne stood over him. ‘You used to be the one who’d get all fired up.’

‘If you recall, I used to get fired up because Oskane was being unfair to you. Now you’re about to sail off with the king to lay waste to the unsuspecting innocents of Khitan.’

Sorne had the grace to blush. ‘I had to send him somewhere, and if it hadn’t been Khitan it would be some other kingdom.’

‘So the secret is to tell people what they want to hear? Very wise. I’ll remember that, because I have to stay here and serve Oskane’s greater plan. Look around you. We’re living like kings. We’re half-bloods, Sorne. If we weren’t here, we’d be serving the Wyrds in the Celestial City.’

The door opened, and they both turned to see Zabier enter with a well-dressed stranger. The man was travel-worn, and something about him was vaguely familiar.