Exile (18 page)

Imoshen let her gift build then released it. Felt it roll over Arodyti. Her power came up against Arodyti’s core and rolled back, empowered by the hand-of-force’s gift.

The both swayed with the intensity of the sensation.

As Arodyti let her arm drop, she fell. Imoshen caught her, cradling her. She was sending her dear friend to die, and it broke her heart.

The light of mischief glowed in Arodyti’s eyes. ‘We could seal it with kiss. Saro wouldn’t mind.’

‘Yes, I would.’

Imoshen laughed. ‘You are incorrigible.’

There was a tap at the door.

‘Come in.’ Imoshen released Arodyti and came to her feet. She had to steady herself on the mantelpiece.

Egrayne opened the door. She closed her eyes as she opened her gift senses, then met Imoshen’s gaze. ‘It is done.’

‘Yes.’ Imoshen’s voice was thick with emotion.

‘Time to go,’ the hand-of-force said.

By the time they reached the sisterhood gate the snow had thickened, making visibility poor.

Arodyti studied the sky. ‘We’ll get down to the sisterhood’s boat-house and out unnoticed.’ She turned to Imoshen. ‘Don’t come any further.’

So they said their goodbyes. Sarosune and the others went first.

Tears stung Imoshen’s eyes as she kissed Arodyti. ‘I’ll look for you on midwinter’s day and spring cusp.’

‘We’ll make you proud of us.’

‘I already am.’

Chapter Thirteen

S
ORNE PUT THE
report aside and rubbed his face. The holy tent was his alone now. It was midwinter’s day and the cold was fearful. If Imoshen’s people snatched the prince today, it would take anything up to ten days for the news to get through to the king.

Even with the brazier right next to him, his breath misted on every exhalation. He hated to think how the men-at-arms were suffering. It was typical of King Charald to stay in his tent, enduring the same hardships as his men. His fortitude had been legendary on the Secluded Sea campaign.

Sorne was once more advisor to the king, but it came at a price, and he’d been dreading the return of the barons from the Wyrd estates, with their trophy braids and sacrifical captives. But since Zabier’s death, winter had settled in with a vengeance, making travel almost impossible. They’d heard nothing from the four barons.

Sorne had devoted himself to sifting through Zabier’s papers a second time, looking for a clue as to Valendia’s whereabouts, but so far had turned up nothing.

What he had uncovered was a series of reports on Wyrd gifts, their uses and limitations. When he found the notation –
As confirmed by Oskane
– he realised the reports were based on the information he’d left with Valendia for safe-keeping when he’d set sail more than four years ago. This information had been hidden in a chest, which must have fallen into Zabier’s hands. It explained Zabier’s boast that he’d set fifty priests to work researching the Wyrds.

Sorne’s chest had contained the Wyrd scrolls, which had been written by True-men over three hundred years ago, before the Wyrds lived completely segregated lives. It had also contained Oskane’s journals, which had been written during his years at Restoration Retreat.

As Sorne read the reports, he realised two things. Fifty priests might have read individual scrolls and journals, but only one priest, Scholar Igotzon, had collated the information, so only he knew the true limitations of Wyrd power.

And the man Sorne knew as Oskane had led a double life. Sorne had known about the she-Wyrd Oskane kept locked in the cellar. He and Izteben had visited the half-blood every day for years, to learn the T’En language. What Sorne had not known was that when Oskane visited Enlightenment Abbey, he had been pursuing his studies of the Wyrds by experimenting on living subjects.

It was the information revealed by Oskane’s meticulous observations of Wyrds under torture that had confirmed or disproved the speculation as to the extent of Wyrd power in the scrolls, and it was this which had led Zabier to convince Charald he could defeat the Wyrds.

Sorne should have taken his chest with him when he sailed; then it would have been lost in his travels. Now True-men knew the limitations of the T’En gifts.

He sighed and rubbed his eyes.

From King Charald’s tent, he heard laughter and singing and knew the barons had arrived for the midwinter feast. He folded up the notes and dressed in his formal robes.

Later, after the barons had left, Charald would sit and talk with him as he did every night. They’d discuss the cost to Chalcedonia of fighting to subdue the the revolts in Maygharia and Welcai. They’d discuss the king’s war barons and how the southern barons deferred to Eskarnor. Charald had his doubts about the mettle of the Chalcedonian barons. He believed they weren’t capable of standing up to Eskarnor. Their families had held their lands for hundreds of years and during that time they’d grown soft, unlike Eskarnor and the southern barons who were all self-made men, hard and ruthless.

It was just like old times, except in those days the king hadn’t trembled when he was tired or overwrought. Charald had developed little tricks to disguise his infirmity. He’d place his elbow on the table and rest his chin on it to hide the way his head wobbled.

And, in the old days, you only had to tell the king something once for him to take it in. Now Charald repeated himself, often having the same discussion with Sorne two nights in a row.

It was surprisingly easy to fall into the old pattern of talking late after the barons had left. But Sorne never forgot that Charald had once ordered his death because it was politically expedient, and was perfectly capable of doing so again.

I
MOSHEN SPENT MIDWINTER’S
day in the sisterhood’s sanctum, with her gift senses on alert, waiting for Arodyti to link with her. If the hand-of-force didn’t reach the prince today, there was still spring cusp.

‘I’m worried about Saffazi,’ Egrayne confessed, then lifted her hands in apology. ‘I’m sorry. This isn’t the time–’

‘No, go ahead. I thought she was looking a little pale.’

‘She hasn’t been herself since the Mieren attack. She turns seventeen soon and should start her initiate training. She spends far too much time with your choice-son. I told her we’d all grown up with lads we’d had to declare dead when they joined their brotherhoods. She gave a strange laugh and said what did brotherhoods matter when we could all be dead soon?’

Imoshen squeezed Egrayne’s hand. ‘You must admit, the rivalry between brotherhoods and sisterhoods does seem petty, when King Charald and his war barons sit outside our gates.’

‘It is precisely because we are faced with this terrible threat that we must abide by our customs. Our customs are what make us what we are. If we discard them, our society will collapse.’

They sat through the day and into the night but Arodyti did not activate the link.

When Imoshen went to her chamber, she found Iraayel playing cards with Frayvia, while her infant daughter slept in the nursery. She knelt by the fire to join in their game. With the Mieren army at the gate evenings like this felt very precious.

After the game ended, Iraayel went back to the lads’ chamber, and Frayvia packed up the cards. ‘There is still time; we don’t have to hand over the city until new small moon after spring cusp.’

‘And if that fails, perhaps I will send someone to assassinate Charald. If the barons are battling for the crown, we’ll stand a better chance of getting away in small groups.’

‘That reminds me. Fifteen Malaunje, three T’En children and their choice-mother arrived while you were busy today,’ Frayvia said. It had been worthwhile sending out messengers to warn their estates. Despite the worsening weather, small parties of refugees had been arriving steadily, making the last part of the journey across the icy lake on stolen boats or makeshift rafts at night. ‘Reoden has welcomed them back to her sisterhood.’

‘That’s good.’ Imoshen saw Frayvia hesitate. ‘What is it?’

‘Have you heard back from All-father Kyredeon? Will he take Iraayel into his brotherhood?’

Imoshen put out the lamp. She had not approached Kyredeon. By rights, he should honour Chariode’s agreement to accept Iraayel, but.... ‘I don’t want Iraayel joining Kyredeon’s brotherhood. Besides, Iraayel won’t be seventeen until next winter cusp.’

Imoshen offered Frayvia her hand and pulled her to her feet. ‘Perhaps the three of us should have gone to study with the Sagoras. Then Iraayel could belong to a brotherhood from a distance.’

‘Looking back, I don’t think the sisterhood had any intention of letting you leave,’ Frayvia said. ‘I think making you study the Sagoras’ language was a delaying tactic.’

‘You could be right.’ Imoshen frowned, thinking of her Sagorese language teacher. ‘I hope Merchant Mercai made it safely home.’

Frayvia laughed. ‘Worry about us, not him.’

S
ORNE WAS ALONE
with the king. The food-taster and manservant had retired for the night. Charald liked to talk, and most of the time Sorne just had to listen.

But this midwinter’s night, Charald was silent as he cracked a nut and tossed the shell into the brazier. As long as his hands were busy, they did not tremble. And now that he looked, Sorne noticed white striations on the king’s finger nails. He didn’t remember them before. Maybe it was a sign of age.

‘My ancestor was a fool. I’ve read accounts of that final battle. He had the Wyrds on the back foot. Yet he conceded and gave them that island. Why would he do that?’

Sorne shrugged. ‘Perhaps segregation was his goal, not the destruction of a whole people.’

‘I know you think it’s impossible to rid Chalcedonia of Wyrds, but I will enact laws. Any woman who has a half-blood baby will not be allowed to have another child. Any siblings of the half-blood will not be allowed to marry. You see, I mean to wipe out the tainted blood.’

‘And the father?’ Sorne asked, keeping his voice even. It amazed him that Charald did not realise the irony: the king had been born with a half-blood twin and Sorne was his son.

‘The father will get a second chance. After all, a man needs sons to carry on his name. If he produces another half-blood, he will not be allowed to have any more children. You see, I will eradicate the Wyrds. One day my son will rule over a kingdom of True-men.’

Sorne nodded. It was on the tip of his tongue to say,
If, by law, the siblings of half-bloods cannot marry, then Prince Cedon would not be able to marry. He is my half-brother, after all
.

But King Charald was happy to edit reality to suit himself, so Sorne held his tongue.

Chapter Fourteen

T
O
S
ORNE’S RELIEF,
the last half of winter was severe; they saw nothing of the barons who had been sent to raze Wyrd estates until ten days before spring cusp. Sorne joined the king to hear Baron Dekaitz’s report.

‘Where are my sacrifices?’ King Charald asked. ‘Where are the trophy braids for your banner?’

‘The full-bloods had shorn their heads,’ Dekaitz reported. ‘When we arrived, the Wyrds were prepared. They’d dug ditches and planted stakes. I would have sat tight and waited them out, but you wanted sacrifices, so I sent my men to attack. Seven times they held us off. On the eighth attack we broke through. Our losses were terrible.’

Charald had sent the most troublesome of Eskarnor and Nitzane’s supporters to make the second round of raids, and now Sorne understood why.

But the king just nodded gravely. ‘Go on.’

‘When we had them cornered, they fought until not one remained alive. We weren’t too worried, because we thought we’d find the women and children hidden somewhere, but there were none. They must have sent them away before we arrived.’

‘Sent them where?’ Baron Nitzane asked. Dekaitz was one of his followers.

‘To the city,’ Charald said. ‘It’s impossible to guard the whole lake. If I told you to patrol the shore, you’d complain because you’d be spreading them too thin. I always knew a few Wyrds would get through. Doesn’t matter. They’ll suffer the same fate as the rest. But I’m disappointed in you, Dekaitz. We’ll see how the other barons fare.’

Three days before spring cusp, another of the barons returned: one of Eskarnor’s supporters, Baron Hanix. Eskarnor greeted him with a laugh and they embraced, Dacian fashion, slapping each other on the back.

Hanix had a similar tale to report.

‘Heads shorn, all dead, no women and children, but I did find this one, hiding in the scullery.’ Hanix signalled his man at the entrance to the tent, who left and returned with an aged full-blood female. They’d removed the tip from a spear and fashioned a noose on the end. She was led around with this. They drove her forward to stand in front of King Charald.

‘She claims to be one hundred and thirty,’ Hanix said. ‘And looking at her, I’m tempted to believe it.’

She was certainly wizened. The barons drew nearer, peering at her, discussing her. They seemed both repelled and fascinated. So many of them crowded around her, the man-at-arms had to step back and lower his end of the spear.

‘A hundred and thirty?’ Charald repeated, eyeing the old woman. ‘Prove it.’

‘My grandmother saw King Charald the Peace-maker sign the accord. She said he had ice-blue eyes, like yours.’

There was muttering at this. The captive’s gaze wandered over the gathering. When she saw Sorne, her mouth twitched with contempt.

‘The Warrior doesn’t value useless old women. She’s not worth sacrificing.’ Charald was dismissive.

Sorne felt the build up of power. The old woman swayed and reached out as if to steady herself, but those sharp old eyes were on the king and her claw-like hand was aimed at his forearm.

Sorne grabbed the back of Charald’s chair and tipped him over. The king went sprawling on the ground.

The old woman staggered, collapsing against Baron Hanix, who went to push her away, but the moment his skin came into contact with hers they both disappeared. Their clothing dropped to the carpet.