Exile (3 page)

This gave her the chance to duck under his arm. Picking up her long pleated trousers, she ran flat out down the passage, heading for the all-mother’s chamber. She made it as far as the corner before he tackled her around the waist. As they hit the ground, her chin struck the marble and her teeth sank into her lower lip. Desperate, she tried to twist under him, reaching for his face. He reared back and raised his weapon to strike.

Hands caught his knife arm. Arodyti pulled him off Imoshen, lifting him to his feet. The sisterhood’s hand-of-force gave a grunt of pain as he elbowed her in the stomach. Arodyti’s shield-sister caught his other arm and, between them, they slammed him up against the wall, pinning him. His blade clattered away, spinning on the marble.

Sounds echoed strangely in Imoshen’s ears. She heard frightened, angry voices as her inner circle of high-ranking sisters ran out into the hall.

Feeling light-headed with relief, Imoshen pulled herself to her feet. Her gift urgently needed to be used; shivers ran through her.

Egrayne reached them. The sisterhood’s voice-of-reason had been a gift-warrior; she grabbed the man’s knife, stepping in to hold it to his throat.

Something warm ran down Imoshen’s chin. When she wiped her mouth, her hand came away glistening with blood.

‘Read him,’ Egrayne ordered. ‘Find out why they attacked us.’

‘He’s probably just a man-at-arms, with no idea what’s going on,’ Imoshen said.

‘Read him,’ Arodyti urged. ‘We have to know what we’re up against.’

He didn’t speak their language, but he must have felt Imoshen’s gift gathering, because he grimaced in disgust. She read fear, mixed with contempt. But if she wanted to know his motivations she had to dig deeper, she needed touch.

As she lifted her hand to his face, he jerked his head aside. The knife dug into his throat and he winced.

Imoshen placed her palm on his cheek and probed. ‘He has natural defences.’

‘He would,’ Arodyti muttered.

‘Break them,’ Egrayne snapped.

Imoshen glanced to her in surprise. ‘If I do that I could shatter his mind.’

‘He was going to kill you.’

Yes, and she’d been ready to wrench his life force from his body and send it to the higher plane. But that was in self-defence. ‘You’re asking me to shatter his walls and immerse myself in his mind.’

His filthy, angry Mieren mind. She couldn’t do that without being affected by him. His breath came in short gasps and she could smell fear on his skin. He revolted her, but she also pitied him.

‘He waited behind after the others left. He let Malaunje go past because he wanted to kill a full-blood,’ Arodyti said. ‘He knew you were important by the richness of your clothes. He chose to kill you because we need you. Now we need you to find out what he knows.’

They were right. Imoshen let her gift build with every breath, and rise up against his defences.

In her mind’s eye, he stood on a rock and the tide was coming in. She was the tide. She came at him in ever rising waves until he lost his footing and fell into the sea.

She had him.

Terror. Disbelief. This could not happen to him.

But it had, and now she could sift through his thoughts. This went beyond her raedan gift; it was the destructive dismantling of a man’s mind.

She picked through his memories, working backwards: the attack on her; waiting for a suitable victim; the actual attack on the city and running up the road to the palaces; waiting for the order to attack; marching to get here; saying goodbye; boasting to friends.

Ah, here it was – the call to bear arms.

A man stood on a mounting block outside a smithy, exhorting the locals to come and kill Wyrds. He spoke of the brown fields of True-men and the green fields of the Wyrds. He claimed the Wyrds had stolen the water and weren’t suffering from the drought. He claimed the Wyrds had denied the Seven, and the gods had sent the drought as punishment.

Kill the Wyrds; end the drought.

Kill the Wyrds; strip the city.

Kill the Wyrds; return home a rich man.

Kill the Wyrds...

Kill them because they were different, with their gifts and their strange eyes and their six fingers. They frightened him.

There, that was the core reason. Kill what he feared.

How could she reason with this?

Imoshen felt tainted by his hatred. Her legs crumpled under her. Barely able to think, she felt Egrayne catch her and slide an arm under her shoulder.

‘What happened?’ Frayvia asked. The Malaunje woman took her other arm and helped her along.

Egrayne explained about the attack, as they entered the inner circle meeting chamber and lowered her into a chair.

‘You’re her devotee, help her,’ Egrayne urged.

Imoshen felt Frayvia’s hand on her forehead. She refused to activate their link and inflict the Mieren miasma of hatred on her devotee.

‘Should we send for All-mother Reoden?’ Frayvia asked. ‘Or is it a gift injury?’

Imoshen struggled to speak. She didn’t want them to call on Reoden. With so many injured, the healer would already be exhausted.

‘Give her air.’

‘Give her some water.’

‘She’s covered in blood.’

Her inner circle hovered and fussed.

‘I’m fine,’ Imoshen said. She wasn’t fine. She despaired.

‘What did you learn from him?’ Egrayne asked.

‘Yes. Why did King Charald attack us?’

They asked as if there was a logical reason and, once they knew what it was, they could fix the problem. Imoshen gathered her thoughts. ‘He was just a man-at-arms and didn’t know King Charald’s reasons, only the reasons he was given.’ She explained about the drought and the belief he would reap gold. ‘But mostly, he came to kill Wyrds because we’re different. He fears what’s different and seeks to destroy what he fears.’

The sisters fell silent.

As Imoshen look up at them, she felt the dried blood on her neck. ‘I need to bathe and dress, or I’ll be late for the all-council.’

She came to her feet, moving with care. Frayvia helped her through to the bathing chamber, stripped her, sponged the blood from her body, clucked over her and helped her dress. Hot tears scalded Imoshen’s cheeks. The thought of what they faced seemed insurmountable.

But, when she returned a little later, dressed in pleated trousers, vest and formal knee-length robe, with her hair properly arranged, she was clear-eyed and cool-headed. Vittoryxe had joined her inner circle and they had recovered their spirits.

Listening to them speak, it was clear they believed Imoshen would be elected causare and she would use her gift and come up with a way to convince the king to honour the accord. After all, it was his ancestor who gave them this island. He must respect the agreement.

Imoshen wondered why they did not feel despair. But they had not felt the fear and hatred she’d felt in the Mieren’s mind. If all of King Charald’s war barons and their men were like her attacker...

She turned to Egrayne. ‘Perhaps one of the all-fathers would be a better causare.’

The voice-of-reason grabbed her arm and drew her away.

‘What happened when Rohaayel was executed?’ Egrayne asked. ‘What happened to his brotherhood?’

People rarely spoke of Imoshen’s father and the memory made her flinch. ‘After he died, the other all-fathers fought over his brotherhood. That night, his palace burned and there was blood in the streets.’

‘Exactly. That is how the all-fathers resolve disputes.’

‘She’s right,’ Gift-tutor Vittoryxe said. ‘The male gift influences the way they think, making them impatient and prone to violence. It’s even worse when they get together. Their gifts feed each other. They can’t afford to look weak, or an ambitious male will try to take their brotherhood, so they don’t back down. Is this the kind of causare you want to deal with King Charald?’

No, it isn’t, but...

‘Honestly.’ Vittoryxe lifted her hands in frustration. ‘Do you know how lucky you are? You don’t deserve your raedan gift, Imoshen. You have no ambition. The causare who saves us from King Charald the Oath-breaker will go down in history!’

At that moment, Arodyti returned. She had changed into her ceremonial armour; she strode towards them, radiating determination. ‘I’m ready. Let’s go.’

Chapter Two

T
HE RUINED PALACE
was littered with the dead.

Tobazim tried not to see the details, but he had to look for enemy bodies. He stepped over the corpses of Malaunje children, the elderly and warriors who had died defending them. It hit him hard; he’d sought sanctuary in the city after the king’s barons had attacked his home. They’d struck the winery without warning and killed indiscriminately. Almost everyone he knew and loved had died that night.

‘Come here,’ Learon called from the boat-house.

Tobazim found him standing near the gate to the lake. His choice-brother was big, even for the T’En, and it was thanks to him that Tobazim, Athlyn and about a dozen Malaunje had escaped the winery.

Learon crouched, gesturing to the metal grille that protected the boat-house from the lake. ‘That’s how they got into the palace. They broke the gate.’

Tobazim prodded the bent bars, feeling his gift rise. He could sense the forces required to twist the metal. ‘The noise of last night’s revelry hid their entry.’

‘And we were right next door. We were the first to hear the screams.’ Learon came to his feet, brushing off his hands. He looked disgusted. ‘It wouldn’t have been this bad if our brotherhood had let us go to their aid right away.’

‘Lower your voice. Only we know our all-father held his warriors back.’

‘What kind of all-father lets another brotherhood suffer?’

A vindictive one.
‘Kyredeon misjudged,’ said Tobazim out loud. ‘He thought Chariode’s brotherhood would be weakened, not destroyed. He had some sort of vendetta against Chariode.’

‘And that makes it acceptable?’

‘Of course not, but we’re not in a position to criticise our all-father. Come, there’s no more Mieren bodies down here.’ He went down the passage and out into the courtyard. His choice-brother caught up and walked beside him. ‘Now that we’ve gotten rid of their dead, we can deal with our own. We’ve lost so many, I wouldn’t be surprised if we have to dig more crypts.’

Learon swayed and began to pitch forward. Tobazim reached out to save him. The instant he touched Learon’s bare skin, he knew what was wrong, but he could not save himself as he, too, was swept to the higher plane.

A dozen vengeful shades surrounded them. They had to be the spirits of the Mieren he and Learon had killed when they helped close the causeway gate.

How had the shades found them? The all-father’s inner circle should have protected the brotherhood’s warriors. Considering the number of dead, though, it wasn’t surprising some had slipped past and sought out their killers.

On the higher plane, his choice-brother’s true nature was revealed. Learon would die to protect those he loved. Inspired by his purity of purpose, Tobazim drew on his gift to form an axe and prepared to defend Learon’s back. Unlike his choice-brother, he was not a gift-warrior, but he had the training to protect himself on the higher plane.

As Learon forced the empyrean plane to take shape around them, it became the winery courtyard, reminding Tobazim how they’d stood under the lantern-lit tree the night the barons attacked.

Without an innate gift and training, the Mieren could not hold their true form on the higher plane. Each shade had reverted to the man’s inner essence, and they appeared as all manner of beasts.

The shades rushed them. Tobazim swung his axe with a precision. Each time he cut a shade, the creature dissolved, unable to hold its essence together. The hungry higher plane did the rest, absorbing the shades’ energy.

A foul squat creature with broad shoulders and slavering teeth came in low and tried to tear out Tobazim’s groin. He sidestepped, smashing its brains out. While he was distracted, something raked his side, clawing him and raising red-hot trails of fire.

From the corner of his eye, he caught a glimpse of Learon hacking at something twice his size: a conglomeration of shades that had banded together with one goal in mind, to avenge their deaths.

A clawed paw swung towards Tobazim’s head. He ducked, then drove the end of the axe up and under his attacker’s jaw. The shade fell back. The impact of its fall shattered it, and another of the creatures along with it.

Fear kept Tobazim moving. With every wound they leaked power. If he and Learon received too many injuries, they would not be able to hold themselves together. They would be absorbed, leaving their bodies nothing but husks on the earthly plane.

Claws and teeth sought to break his skin. Each time he shattered a head or broke a spine, the shade collapsed and was absorbed.

Something the size of a small pony leapt in from the side, knocking him off his feet. The axe flew from his hands, and he felt the greedy earth soak up the power he’d used to form the weapon, leaving him diminished. Vicious jaws opened and lunged for him. Weakened by the loss, Tobazim fought to keep the creature’s massive maw from closing on his head.

Learon caught the creature around the neck and hauled it away. Tobazim sprang to his feet, formed a hunting knife, and gutted it.

The creature dissolved, and Tobazim realised it had been the last of the shades. Learon’s body leaked bright power in several places. His choice-brother gestured to Tobazim’s chest and he looked down to see a wound. They should heal these injuries on the empyrean plane, or else they would carry them across to their physical bodies, but he was exhausted... staggering, dry-mouthed, mind-numbingly exhausted.

The lanterns faded as if someone had dimmed them. Learon was weakening. Shadows crept in from the corners of the courtyard. Tobazim saw empyrean predators slink out of the shadows, attracted by the power they’d shed. If only they had a barred cage to protect them, they’d have time to repair their bodies.

Even as he thought this, long roots unfurled from the tree’s branches, sinking into the ground to form vertical bars; reminding Tobazim of the winery’s giant fig with its buttress roots. It occurred to him that they needed crossbars like the grille of the boat-house gate, and horizontal tendrils grew from the bars.