Exile (16 page)

T
HE SOUND OF
running boots reached Tobazim as his sight cleared. He lay sprawled on the polished wooden floor, his face sticky. He touched his mouth, and his hand came away red with blood.

Running boots? Mieren attacking again? He rolled to his feet, feeling for the hilt of his knife. His head reeled and he staggered. For a moment, he didn’t know why he’d been flat out on the floor.

Then it came back to him, along with the throb of his split lip.

Someone shouted in excitement. The running boots were not another attack, just high spirits.

He looked up and caught a glimpse of himself in a mirror. Blood stained his chin and teeth.

He might have to intercede on Learon’s behalf. He couldn’t appear before the all-father in this state. Slipping into the bathing chamber, he rinsed his mouth and wiped his face. Meanwhile, boots pounded along the corridor outside, coming this way. Tobazim turned towards the door even as Athlyn flung it open.

‘Learon’s in trouble. You’ve got to help him.’

Tobazim discovered his hand was on his knife hilt and had to force his fingers to relax. Violence would not save his choice-brother now. Diplomacy might not be too late.

Athlyn took in his split lip. ‘What happened to you?’

‘Where is he?’

‘They’re in the main courtyard.’ Athlyn fell into step with him. ‘You’ll help him, won’t you?’

‘Did you hear the cause of the trouble?’

‘They’re saying Learon insulted Kyredeon’s hand-of-force. The all-father won’t let Oriemn kill him, will he?’

Tobazim did not answer.

By the time they reached the nearest balcony overlooking the main courtyard, the rails were crowded with adepts, initiates and Malaunje, and the air was thick with roused gift. Tobazim skirted a large group, heading for the far end where he could see down into the courtyard.

Learon stood alone, confronting the all-father and his inner circle. Oriemn and Kyredeon had their heads together with the voice-of-reason. Their words did not carry, but their sharp, concise gestures told Tobazim that his choice-brother’s fate was being swiftly decided.

‘What’s going on?’ Haromyr asked as he joined them.

‘I don’t know. I just got here,’ Tobazim said.

At the sound of his voice, Ceyne pushed through the crowd to reach them. By rights, the old initiate should have been down in the courtyard with the rest of Kyredeon’s inner circle. The saw-bones took in Tobazim’s split lip, but did not comment.

‘They say Learon insulted the hand-of-force,’ Ceyne said. ‘They say he refused to back down, then compounded it by offering a challenge.’

Tobazim bit back a protest. In any other brotherhood, it would not have come to this. Kyredeon should have listened to Learon and acknowledged the debt. The all-father should not have paraded their differences before the whole brotherhood.

Tobazim gripped the rail. ‘Honour is everything to Learon. Trust to him to offer challenge.’

‘Will it be a gift duel?’ Athlyn asked.

‘No,’ Tobazim said. ‘Learon’s only been an adept for a little over a year, so the all-father wouldn’t allow a gift duel. It’ll be physical.’ Which suited Learon. ‘Probably unarmed.’

‘I bet Learon wins,’ Haromyr said. ‘I’ve seen him at weapons practice.’

‘Quiet. Kyredeon’s made a decision,’ Ceyne said.

The all-father nodded to Oriemn. At a signal from the brotherhood’s hand-of-force, three of the warriors grabbed Learon, forcing him to his knees.

Tobazim waited to hear the terms of the duel, but Kyredeon did not speak. Instead, he lifted his left hand towards Learon’s forehead.

A strangled sound of protest escaped Tobazim.

‘What’s he doing?’ Athlyn asked.

‘He’ll drain his gift,’ Ceyne said.

‘But can’t Learon stop him?’

‘If he tried, Kyredeon would strip his defences and cripple his mind. He’d end up a lackwit.’

The whole courtyard went quiet.

‘What’ll happen to Lear?’ Athlyn whispered.

Tobazim could not speak.

‘Without his gift, he’ll have no defences against Oriemn and the adepts. It will take days for his power to rebuild and, in that time, they’ll–’ Ceyne broke off as Learon reared up, but the three warriors forced him down.

Tobazim cursed and went to help his choice-brother.

‘Don’t.’ Ceyne grabbed him. ‘You’ll achieve nothing. You tried to warn him.’

Tobazim felt Haromyr and Athlyn step in to each side of him.

‘You’re being watched,’ Ceyne warned. ‘Turn around and face the courtyard. If you protest or walk off, you’re next.’

So Tobazim did nothing while Kyredeon feasted on Learon’s gift. And he hated himself for it.

Finally, the all-father stepped back and Learon fell forward onto his hands and knees. Oriemn pulled him to his feet.

‘What happens now?’ Athlyn whispered, voice thick with horror.

Tobazim could not speak.

‘Without his gift defences, Learon is as helpless as a Mieren,’ Ceyne muttered. ‘More helpless even than some of them, because they have natural defences. Oriemn’s supporters will overcome his will and use him for their pleasure.’

The hand-of-force’s gift swamped Learon’s will in an instant, implanting a compulsion. Oriemn held out his hand, and Tobazim’s choice-brother went to his enemy, eager for his lustful touch.

Every fibre of Tobazim’s body revolted. He knew how Learon would feel when the compulsion wore off. Athlyn made a choked sound in his throat. Haromyr swore under his breath.

‘They’ll pass him around until they tire of him.’ Ceyne sounded weary. ‘His gift will rebuild itself eventually, but his stature will never recover. He’ll never challenge Oriemn for hand-of-force.’

And Tobazim understood why Oriemn and Kyredeon had driven Learon into a corner.

Anger threatened to undo Tobazim’s gift control. He grasped the rail, knuckles white as he noted who amongst his fellow initiates ventured down to the courtyard to share in Learon’s humbling, and who slipped away, unable to watch. Ceyne turned to go.

‘You’re not staying?’ Athlyn blurted. ‘But you’re inner circle.’

‘I’ve seen it too many times, these last forty years. Each all-father has been worse than the last.’ Ceyne looked very old as he walked off.

Athlyn turned to Tobazim, speechless.

‘Out of my way.’ Tobazim had to leave before he did something he’d regret and ended up like his choice-brother.

But it killed something in him to turn his back on Learon.

Chapter Twelve

T
OBAZIM WALKED THE
wall above the causeway gate. Today his body ached as if he had spent all yesterday at weapons practice when, in reality, he had spent all night warring with his instinct to go to Learon’s aid.

It was a crystal clear winter’s day. The causeway stretched before him, a narrow ribbon of stone set in the lake’s azure waters. There was no warmth in the winter sun.

Beyond the lake, the town clustered along the shore and beside the road that eventually led to the port. Behind the town on the northern hillside were the tents of the besieging army. Smoke drifted up, hanging on the still air. It was so peaceful, it was hard to believe thousands of men-at-arms waited ready to kill his people.

Behind him booted feet charged up the stairs. Tobazim’s stomach knotted as he turned to face the messenger – Athlyn again. ‘What is it?’

‘Learon wants us to open the gate.’

‘What?’ Tobazim left his post, running down the steep stairs to the winch room where Haromyr and three Malaunje warriors confronted his choice-brother. From his clear eyes, Learon had thrown off Oriemn’s compulsion, but his gift would not rebuild for several days. Until then, he would be vulnerable.

He wore only a loin cloth and his arm-torcs. He carried one of the confiscated Mieren swords and a shield, rather than T’En long-knives. But what struck Tobazim was his hair. He’d cut his hair to his jaw. Normally, a warrior wore his hair plaited and wound around his head to cushion his helmet.

‘What are you doing?’ Tobazim demanded, although he knew the answer.

‘Here, catch.’ Learon pulled off his arm-torcs and tossed them to Tobazim. The silver was still warm from his choice-brother’s body. ‘I will not honour a brotherhood that has no honour.’

The others gasped. Tobazim’s cheeks burned. Learon had been treated dishonourably, but this... ‘Lear–’

‘Today my mind is my own. I won’t let them take it again.’ His choice-brother looked straight through Tobazim. ‘Let me out.’

‘Lear, there’s thousands of Mieren on the far shore–’

‘Exactly. I seek an honourable death, and the chance to take a few of the enemy with me.’

‘I’ve been ordered to let no one in or out.’

‘Don’t deny me this, choice-brother.’ For a moment their eyes met, and Learon let Tobazim see the depth of his humiliation; he could not live with the dishonour.

Tobazim stepped aside and gestured to Haromyr. ‘Open the gates.’

The other adept did not argue. He directed the Malaunje warriors to start the winch that raised the inner gate.

Tobazim stood silent, aware of his choice-brother beside him, gripping his weapons firmly, ready to die. How had it gone so wrong? What could Tobazim have done differently? He’d failed his choice-brother. ‘I’m sorry, I–’

‘You tried to warn me that we weren’t dealing with warriors from the sagas,’ Learon cut him off. ‘I hold honour too high to live in these times.’

Did that mean he thought Tobazim was without honour? At that moment Tobazim felt he deserved Learon’s contempt.

‘When–’ Learon’s voice caught and he had to clear his throat. ‘When it is done will you escort me to death’s realm?’

Haromyr gulped and glanced to Tobazim.

‘It will be my honour,’ Tobazim said.

Without another word, Learon ducked under the still-rising gate and walked through the dark tunnel towards the outer gate and sunshine.

‘Open the other gate,’ Tobazim said.

As the Malaunje obeyed, he ran up the stairs with Haromyr and Athlyn on his heels. From the wall-walk they had a good view of Learon striding down the causeway.

I
MOSHEN’S GIFT-WARRIORS WOULD
leave tonight. They’d spent the previous day preparing for the journey and, since the mission was secret, saying goodbye to their loved ones without letting them know. Imoshen had hardly slept. She was torn. It seemed pointless to have the mind-manipulators and not use them, so she’d sought out Arodyti to broach the subject again.

She found the shield-sisters on the rooftop going through their exercises together; they moved in tandem with precision and skill.

Imoshen watched for a moment, then went over to the wall, to look at the besieging army. So many Mieren. And everything rested on Arodyti.

They’d done all they could to prepare Arodyti for transposition. Vittoryxe was still finding old scrolls with different version of the myths, and Imoshen wanted to do all she could to ensure her hand-of-force reached the port. Surely, if Saskeyne’s warriors swore to obey her, Arodyti would reconsider taking them.

Once the shield sisters had completed their exercises, Imoshen turned to face them and argue her point, but Sarosune pointed. ‘See, there. That’s why we can’t take brotherhood warriors.’

Imoshen turned to see a lone, near-naked T’En warrior walking towards the end of the causeway. ‘What is he doing?’

‘Winning glory, by killing himself. What else could it be?’ Arodyti muttered. ‘Too bad if this drives King Charald to retaliate.’

T
OBAZIM STOOD ON
the gate’s defences, watching his choice-brother walk to his death. In opening the gates he had disobeyed his all-father, and he was proud of it.

Across the lake, he heard the first shouts of alarm. Half a dozen men-at-arms formed ranks at the end of the causeway; more came running.

Booted feet echoed up the stairwell behind Tobazim as more brothers joined him. Word spread fast. Soon the wall-walk was crowded. Tobazim suspected the sisterhoods would be up in their palaces watching from every vantage point.

‘He goes to his death with honour.’ Athlyn’s voice shook with emotion.

‘He wins stature for our brotherhood,’ Haromyr assured the youth, squeezing his shoulder. ‘Even if he has taken off his arm-torcs.’

Tobazim said nothing, too angry to speak. The arm-torcs weighed heavily in his hands. His choice-brother should not have been forced to do this.

Several Mieren ventured out to meet Learon. At this distance, Tobazim could not see the small signals that presaged their assault. He knew that battle was joined only when three of the men-at-arms attacked Learon. The scrape of metal on metal reached them on the gate.

Athlyn gasped as first one fell, then the second.

When Learon picked up the third Mieren, held him over his head and threw him into the lake, the watchers on the city walls cheered.

Learon struck his sword on his shield to signal his readiness. This time five Mieren warriors approached.

‘He does us proud,’ Haromyr said.

‘Then your all-father must see this. Out of the way,’ Kyredeon’s voice-of-reason ordered.

Tobazim and his companions backed off, so that Kyredeon and his two seconds had the best view. Now Tobazim had to crane his head to see over their shoulders. He heard his companions’ sharp intake of breath, saw his choice-brother falter, falling to one knee, before rearing up again – the watchers cheered.

Tobazim’s body flinched and jerked with each blow. It seemed Learon would be overwhelmed, but he cut his attackers down until he stood amidst a heap of fallen Mieren warriors.

‘He’s bested those five,’ Kyredeon’s voice-of-reason muttered. ‘Will they send more?’

‘No, they’re backing off.’

‘It’s costing them too many warriors. They’ll bring up the archers,’ Oriemn said.

Someone obstructed Tobazim’s line of sight. He thrust them aside in time to see Learon charge the knot of Mieren at the end of the causeway. The archers cut him down before he could reach them.

A hushed gasp filled the air, followed by shouts of anger.