Exile (2 page)

‘I’ll watch over Vella while you rest.’ As he kissed Sasoria’s cheek, he sensed Hueryx’s gift residue on her skin.

She squeezed his hand. ‘I used to wish this baby had been born a half-blood like us, but now...’

Now she had hope.

Sasoria slept and soon the toddler curled up next to her. Meanwhile, Asher tried to imagine their brotherhood with T’En children running around. There would be lots of little boys. It was rare for a T’En man to produce a full-blood daughter, but it did happen.

He must have nodded off, but he woke the instant Hueryx returned. The scholar drew him into the hall and, gauging from his expression, the news was bad. ‘What happened?’

‘The sisterhood leaders told Imoshen she had to execute Rohaayel. The brotherhoods sent their best gift-warriors to kill her, but she...’ Hueryx shook his head, stunned. ‘An untrained seventeen year-old girl killed ten T’En gift-warriors. She made the brotherhood leaders back down, and they hate her for it.’ He glanced to the closed door where Sasoria slept. ‘This is going to break her heart.’

Asher realised the shock would weaken Sasoria’s defences, making it easy for Hueryx to imprint his gift on her. ‘I’ll tell her.’

‘No. I’m the one who gave her hope. I’ll tell her.’

For the rest of the afternoon Asher tried to concentrate on illustrating the beautiful histories, but all the while his stomach churned. It didn’t help that outside their palace walls the all-fathers battled over Rohaayel’s brotherhood. There was fighting in the streets, and he could smell burning. When he went to the window, he saw Rohaayel’s palace was alight. Such a waste.

A door opened behind him. ‘Asher?’

‘Sasoria.’ He turned. She’d been crying. He held out his arms and she ran to him. To his relief, he sensed very little of Hueryx’s gift residue on her.

Her hug was fierce and brief. ‘We have to run away.’

He wanted nothing more but... ‘The kingdom is full of True-men.’

‘Mieren,’ she corrected him with a fond smile. ‘You hide it so well, I forget you were raised by Mieren parents. They must have loved you very much to keep you.’

‘They paid for it.’ He’d been thirteen when the fisher-folk murdered his parents in their beds and set fire to their cottage. He’d escaped and made his way to the Wyrd city.

‘My poor Asher,’ she whispered. ‘But it will be different for us. Have you heard of the village of free Malaunje?’

He shook his head.

‘They say it’s high in the mountains. We must go tonight, while the brotherhoods are in upheaval. I’ll pack. You find out where the village is.’

But no one knew. Most said it was a myth. This didn’t deter Asher. Sasoria was his. He’d been raised in a tiny fishing village to the south. There were hundreds of islands off the coast of Chalcedonia, islands where Hueryx’s brotherhood and the True-men would never find them. He’d make a life for them there, a good life.

So he loaded Sasoria and little Aravelle into the rowboat. As Asher took the oars, he realised he would be glad to leave the island city. He was born a free Malaunje, and that was how he wanted to live.

It was season cusp so both moons were full but, with Rohaayel’s palace blazing and the fighting in the streets, no one noticed them row across the lake. They headed south west for the coast and freedom.

PART ONE

Chapter One

Year 319

‘S
ORNE’S VISIONS NEVER
failed to come true. You told me we’d be victorious!’ Spittle flew from the king’s lips. ‘You told me the Wyrds would crumble. You said you’d seen me leading my war barons down the causeway and into the Wyrd’s city.’

‘And so you shall.’ Zabier’s mouth was almost too dry to speak. His heart raced and he felt sick with terror. He’d never seen the king this bad before. Charald had been so intent on orchestrating the attack, he hadn’t slept for three days.

‘How? How are we going to take the city now? The Wyrds fought off my barons, closed the causeway gate and murdered every man trapped inside. I’ve promised my people a kingdom free of Wyrds. I’ve promised the barons the spoils of the city. But what do I have instead? I have a nest of Wyrds wanting to talk terms.
Terms!
’

‘In my vision, you take the city,’ Zabier assured him. It had seemed a safe bet. Charald had conquered every mainland kingdom around the Secluded Sea. But the king was nearly sixty and most True-men were lucky to live to fifty.

As Zabier watched the king pace, he seriously considered slipping pains-ease into his wine to calm him.

Words poured from the king. He’d been fighting to retain the throne since the age of fifteen, and he had the details of every battle in his mind. He spoke of men long dead, barons who had failed him, barons who had proved loyal; he spoke of his cousin who had seized the crown when his back was turned and how his son, Prince Cedon, had died.

That was the night Zabier had been named the Father’s-voice, messenger of the god. It was more than a decade ago, but Zabier would never forget. The failed offering, the deaths of Prince Cedon and of Zabier’s brother, Izteben...

‘Three queens I’ve had, and what have they given me?’ As the king gestured, Zabier noticed his hand trembling. ‘Seven stillborn children, a prince who never lived to grow up and now a crippled prince. What good is a son with a club foot?’

‘Why does the Warrior god test me like this?’ Charald demanded. ‘I’ve done everything He asked of me. I conquered the kingdoms of the Secluded Sea in His name and set up temples to the seven gods of Chalcedonia. Why, the last two offerings were full-blood Wyrds, silverheads. Sorne never made that kind of sacrifice, yet his visions always came true. Oskane... Where is Oskane?’ The king frowned, looking around as if the old priest might be sitting in a corner.

Zabier licked dry lips and ventured, ‘High Priest Oskane died the same night–’

‘Of course. That was the night my treacherous cousin seized the throne. Now my cousin’s daughter has produced a healthy True-man son, when all I have is a useless cripple. The barons have heard. They eye my throne and...’ Charald ran on about the ambitious barons.

If they knew their king’s mind was failing, they would turn on him. Until recently, Zabier had dreamed of seducing Queen Jaraile, planting his own child on the throne and assisting her to rule until his son was of age. But a closer acquaintance with the barons had convinced him it was safer to have less ambitious goals. After all, as high priest of the greatest church, he was the most powerful man in Chalcedonia after the king.

If only his visions would come true.

‘Three years ago, before he died, Sorne promised me a healthy son,’ Charald said. ‘Then again, two nights ago, when the Warrior returned him from the dead, he said he’d had a vision of my son ruling Chalcedonia.’

Zabier looked down to hide his contempt. Religion was the king’s one blind spot, and Sorne knew it. He’d used the king’s faith to ‘return from the dead’ and reclaim his trust. Charald turned to Zabier. ‘I haven’t seen Sorne since the night of the sacrifice. Where is the Warrior’s-voice?’

Sorne. Always Sorne.
Zabier managed to summon a smile. ‘He was exhausted after his vision. I’ll see if he is well enough to come to you, sire.’

I
MOSHEN KNELT TO
inspect the tiles. They’d been mopping the blood, sweeping up broken glass and loading enemy bodies onto carts since midnight. As far as she knew, the warriors down in the brotherhood quarter were still hunting down invaders.

She came to her feet and dusted off her hands. ‘Not a speck of blood. Excellent.’

A dozen fresh-faced Malaunje lads and lasses watched her intently. Her gift surged and she knew they needed reassurance. She was a raedan, able to read people’s emotions. It was a good gift for the all-mother of a great sisterhood. ‘When the palace is ready we’ll hold a cleansing ceremony.’

This cheered them, but nothing would remove the knowledge that Charald’s army had made it past the brotherhood palaces at the low end of the island, through the free quarter and right up into the sisterhood quarter.

‘How can they do it, all-mother?’ one earnest youth asked, angry tears glittering in his mulberry eyes. ‘How can they kill defenceless children?’

‘They’re Mieren, born without the gifts or the Malaunje affinity for them. They aren’t as aware of each other as we are. They can’t share what they feel as we do. This makes it easier for them to be cruel.’

Leaving the weapons practice courtyard, Imoshen went to the solarium to see to the wounded. There were so many injured they lay in the hallway, and the herbalists had enlisted several assistants. Moving from bed to bed, Imoshen said a few words to each of the wounded until she came to the person she needed to see.

She might be the sisterhood’s all-mother but she was also Iraayel’s choice-mother. It didn’t matter to her that he wasn’t a child of her flesh. She’d loved him from the day he was born, and last night he’d led the lads against king Charald’s men. T’En boys aged thirteen to sixteen might be as tall as full grown Mieren, but they didn’t have the muscle. Iraayel had ordered the lads to build a barricade at the top of the stairs. If he hadn’t been there, the Mieren might have made it as far as the nursery. Imoshen shuddered to think of her baby daughter in the hands of King Charald’s men and her gift surged.

All around her, voices grew louder and people sat up as they responded to the overflow of her power; she restrained her gift and approached Iraayel, only to find Saffazi with her choice-son. Half a year older than Iraayel, Saffazi was usually the one getting him into trouble. Now she sat holding his hand, her expression intense. Last night, the two sixteen-year-olds had killed in defence of the sisterhood.

Seeing Imoshen, Iraayel sat up. ‘Tell them, I’m all right. I don’t need to be here taking up a bed. Tell them.’

Imoshen smiled. ‘Last time I saw you, you were uninjured, the attack was over and I sent you to make sure the palace was free of invaders. What happened? Did you corner one of the Mieren?’

‘No... I learnt to make sure dead men are dead before I load them onto the cart.’

Iraayel and Saffazi exchanged a look, then laughed.

But Imoshen couldn’t. The thought of what might have happened terrified her.

‘Silly boy,’ she said somewhat thickly and hugged him tight.

As she pulled back, he caught her arm. ‘Saf stayed with me all night. We were afraid the shades of those we’d killed would come after us, seeking vengeance.’

‘That was brave of you.’ Imoshen wasn’t surprised. She’d always known the girl had steel in her. Leaning over, she kissed Saffazi’s cheek and let her power rise to offer gift-infused thanks.

‘But you didn’t need to worry.’ She was surprised they knew of the danger, as neither of them had begun their initiate training. ‘I asked the oldest and most powerful of my inner circle to protect us from the shades of dead Mieren. Besides, when people die a violent death, they’re confused and easy prey for the beasts of the higher plane.’

She smiled at their relieved expressions. ‘I must go. It’s nearly time for the all-council.’

Leaving the solarium, she headed for her chamber. No sleep last night, on her feet all day; why didn’t she feel tired?

‘There you are.’

As Gift-tutor Vittoryxe fell in step with her, Imoshen repressed a sigh. She knew the gift-tutor meant well, but Vittoryxe was inclined to lecture.

‘You’re headed for the all-council?’

‘Soon.’ Imoshen wasn’t looking forward to it. The leaders of the brotherhoods and sisterhoods would elect a causare to talk terms with the Mieren king.

‘You’ll be elected causare,’ Vittoryxe said, as if she believed Imoshen wanted this and envied her. ‘As the next causare, it will be up to you to save us from King Charald the Oath-breaker. Only you have the raedan gift, only you can read him and use this insight against him.’ Vittoryxe took Imoshen’s arm, her gift rising with her intensity. ‘You must remind King Charald that it was
his
ancestor who signed the accord that gave us this island. Back then, it was fit for nothing but goats. Without land to farm, we had only knowledge to trade.’

They came to a point where the hallway divided. Vittoryxe turned to her. ‘Now we have a network of estates across Chalcedonia and trading partners throughout the known world. We bring wealth to Chalcedonia, and the Mieren benefit from having us here. We’ve done nothing to provoke them. Why did King Charald attack us?’

Back when Imoshen had helped heal Sorne, she’d seen the king through his eyes. After eight years serving Charald as he conquered the kingdoms of the Secluded Sea, Sorne knew the man who wore the crown. Imoshen had read him. He was a true servant of the Warrior god – he fed on war. ‘King Charald hates us and loves war.’

‘He’s always hated us. And no one loves war, war is terrible,’ Vittoryxe said.

‘Gift-tutor?’ A servant waited to speak with her.

‘This will be about the gift training chamber. The Mieren desecrated it. You go. I’ll be joining the inner circle soon.’

They parted. It was true Imoshen was a raedan, but that only allowed her to read people. She couldn’t sway their minds. She’d told Vittoryxe why the king attacked them, and the gift-tutor hadn’t believed her. What was she going to do?

Deep in thought, she passed a corridor. Something moved in the corner of her vision and, with a harsh cry, a man hurtled out of the shadows towards her. She caught a flash of metal as his blade came down. Her gift rose. Imoshen side-stepped the blow and reached for him. All she needed was bare flesh under her hand and she could tear his life force from his body, sending it to the higher plane, where it would be devoured by predators.

But her hand met cloth.

Her gift surged in frustration. The man made a disgusted sound in his throat as if he sensed it, before shoving her against the wall and drawing his arm back for a strike.

She focused her gift and reached for his face, but he jerked away from her touch.