Full Circle (40 page)

He was as startled by the idea of Doronit on a farm as by the plea in her voice. “You would let thousands of people — children
— be slaughtered, just for revenge?”

She smiled, hard as the sapphires in her brooch. “Not for revenge. For justice! This is
our
land, and always has been. Do the old powers come for the blondies? No! Does the River acknowledge them? You know she doesn’t.”

Shock hit him, a moment ahead of understanding. She had all the secrets that the ghosts could tell. Of course some Traveller
man had told her about the River. She didn’t know, couldn’t know, about him and Her.

Outside, the sun set. A shiver went through both of them at the same moment, and Ash’s head reeled. Something was happening,
outside, at the edge of the city — at all the edges of the city. A spell… One that felt familiar.

Doronit was quicker than he was, as always. “The spell to keep out ghosts! They’ve set it all around the city.”

They stood for a moment silently. Doronit smiled.

“They’ll be resting secure now, in their feather beds. Thinking they’re safe. But all we have to do is break the barricade,
and they’re all dead.”

She saw the revulsion on his face and came closer.

“We could help him, Ash, you and I. There’s no sign that he can make them talk. Think how much more effective he’d be if he
could talk to them, discuss plans of attack, strategy. We would be his most valuable officers.”

He knew that voice. It was the voice she’d used to try to convince him to kill Martine. Then he had been torn, but not this
time. He moved closer to her, as though drawn despite himself. For a moment, he’d lost his compassion for her, but now it
came back. She was like a child, not caring how she got what she wanted, just wanting it now. In that thought, at last, he
found affection for her as well as compassion and gratitude; she could have been so much more. In another world, a different
time, before the landtaken, she could have been anything she chose.

Her eyes warmed as she came closer, seeing the warmth in his. “We could tip the balance,” she said softly. “You and I together.
The way it was meant to be.”

“Yes,” he said. “We could tip the balance.
You
could tip the balance.”

He could see it, too clearly. Turvite overrun. She would simply send out her people and tell them to break the barricades
where it wouldn’t be detected. The ghosts would storm through into an unprepared city. The enchanter, so far, had shown no
great sense of strategy or cunning. His strikes had been clean, simple, brutal. With Doronit to advise him, with her capacity
to communicate freely with the ghosts, with her huge network of spies and safeguarders — and worse, with her viciousness —
Acton and Bramble had no chance of even reaching the ghost army. Doronit’s agents would find and stop them before they came
anywhere near. She would destroy any hope they had, and condemn thousands to death, right across the Domains. And one of those
thousands would be young Ash, probably, and Mabry his father, certainly. Their precious home in Hidden Valley would be smashed
apart with swords and screams and death, and the child he had sworn to protect would be the most vulnerable thing there.

He didn’t reach to the River for guidance. She had no say in this. Just this once, he was not following. This time, he had
to decide for himself.

Ash reached up, gently, delicately, and took Doronit’s face between his hands. He felt very calm, as though time had slowed.
She smiled, triumphant, blue eyes finally alight for him.

He broke her neck.

S
ORN WANTED
to go back to the Moot Hall immediately. If she were to claim Central Domain, she needed to be part of any discussion, to
set herself in the council as if it were natural. Turvite was the perfect opportunity — she had as much right to be there
as the warlords did.

Martine would have preferred to rest, but she followed Sorn. Curiosity drove her as much as duty, she acknowledged to herself.
And the desire to see Arvid.

When they walked into the hall, Ranny and Garham were poring over a map of Turvite spread out on a huge table. They were allocating
areas. Each warlord was to defend a section of the city, using his own men to direct and train Turviters.

Martine kept back, but Sorn joined the group around the table, ignoring Thegan’s glare and the questioning stares of the others.
Ranny glanced at her and nodded; Garham scarcely seemed to notice her. Arvid looked up and saw Martine at the back of the
hall and smiled involuntarily, as though his whole spirit had lightened because she was there. Her thoughts wandered: to his
arm, supporting her during the spell; his gentleness as he had returned her to the Red Dawn, the way he had stroked her hair
back and handed her over to Sorn and Safred reluctantly. She forced her attention back to the present, to the discussion around
the table.

Ranny had given the harbour to Coeuf, Martine suspected on the grounds that his senility would be least dangerous there, and
put Eolbert, his son, in actual control. Thegan was given the southern sector.

“I should take the north-west,” he demanded. “I’m the only one who has experience against them!”

“Much good it did you,” Sorn said mildly.

Each warlord snapped his head around to stare at her. Thegan couldn’t hide his astonishment, which gave Martine some satisfaction.
He’d never so much as spoken a word to her directly, but her dislike was already deep and burning.

Merroc smiled at Sorn in appreciation. “I will take the north-west,” he said. “It leads to my domain.”

Thegan stared at Merroc; then, with a slight nod, accepted this as reasonable. Or appeared to.

The others took their assignments more graciously, and were introduced to the Turvite Moot staff who would be their offsiders.

Before Merroc left, he bowed to the council and said, “Far South Domain is at the service of Turvite!” It was a display for
the benefit of the assembled officers and councillors.

“South Domain is at the service of Turvite,” Eolbert followed quickly, simultaneously, with Arvid: “The Last Domain is at
the service of Turvite.” The two men smiled at each other, a little embarrassed. The other warlords waited for each other
to speak.

Sorn noticed Thegan open his mouth. “Central Domain is at the service of Turvite,” she said.

There was a pause, as people registered who had spoken. The women councillors smiled slightly.

“Cliff Domain is at the service of Turvite,” Thegan said smoothly, smiling at Sorn as though at an errant child. “And the
men of Central and Cliff Domains will fight together, as always.”

It was a good recovery, Martine thought. But Sorn had sown a seed, at least, in people’s minds. Eolbert’s, for example. He
was her age, after all, and not married, although rumour said he had a mistress who lived at the fort and had borne him several
children. That was no barrier to a formal alliance between warlord families. Sorn would have to encourage Eolbert to hope
that, if she renounced Thegan, he would be in the running to marry her.

She clearly knew that, because she smiled at him gently, and walked out the door with him, and let Thegan hear her say, “You
have several children, do you not, my lord, at Wooding?” It was a dangerous game, and Sorn was braver than Martine had thought
to play it, but Thegan was too fully occupied with the enchanter to focus on her just yet. It would come. An attempt to kill
her, probably, before she could announce her intention, so he could inherit from her. And then he could forget about siring
a son on her.

“I would so love to have children myself,” Sorn said.

Eolbert’s eyes widened and the dissipated folds around his mouth deepened. So, he had understood, and was rapidly calculating
her intentions. “A big family is every warlord’s dream,” he said. “One I certainly share.” He glanced at Thegan. “But not
in this current situation. We must deal with this enchanter before any of us can think of the future.”

Say something, Martine urged Sorn silently. Reassure Thegan of your promise, or he will draw sword and slice you down right
here.

As though she had caught the thought, Sorn nodded. “Indeed, my lord,” she said gravely. “Nothing can be thought of until after
this crisis.”

Arvid came up behind Martine and, careless of who was watching, put his hands on her waist and drew her back to rest against
him. She allowed herself to relax. Sorn was safe for now.

It made sense for the council to use the most experienced commanders, but the people of Turvite didn’t like it, and showed
they didn’t like it by obeying orders slowly or sloppily or by simply ignoring them. Martine and Sorn and Safred watched as
Merroc tried to organise the defence of the western road. He had made an inn his headquarters, despatching orders from there,
but it wasn’t going well.

Martine almost laughed. It was one of the things she’d always liked about Turviters, their independence. But it might get
them killed. She yawned behind her hand. Every bone still ached slightly, as though the spell had hollowed them out. But how
could she rest? She’d never sleep, not tonight.

“I can’t be everywhere at once, man!” Merroc snapped when an aide asked him to talk to the tanners who were forming the guard
at the gate.

“Perhaps an extra officer would be useful, my lord Merroc?” Sorn queried.

He frowned. “An
experienced
officer would be invaluable, my lady, but —”

“I have one in my train,” she said smoothly. “He has… parted ways with my lord Thegan, but he is an excellent officer.”

“Who is it?”

“Lord Leof.”

“The chaser? Gods, yes, get him here as soon as you can.”

“Thegan won’t like it,” Safred warned.

Merroc smiled. “Let me worry about Thegan. Time he learnt he’s not the warlord of the whole eleven!”

They sent a messenger to fetch Leof from the Red Dawn. When he walked in, Sorn bit back a smile, and he flicked a quick, searching
glance at her before bowing formally. Ah, Martine thought. Sits the wind in that quarter? That explained a great deal. He
was certainly good looking enough to make a young woman’s heart beat faster. Sorn was playing a much more dangerous game than
she had realised. Thinking of Arvid, Martine was sympathetic. You couldn’t choose who you loved, could you? Especially a warlord’s
daughter, married off when she was still half a child to a ruthless man twice her age. Poor Sorn, she thought. Yet when she
looked at Sorn, who was following Merroc’s plans intently, a small frown on her face, her body upright in her chair,
poor Sorn
seemed inappropriate. Sorn was no longer a child — and she had a strength that men might not easily see, hidden inside the
calm poise of the warlord’s wife.

Leof had no time to even speak to them. Merroc sent him out immediately to place the archers in the houses nearest the road.

More people were going to die, Martine thought. More and more.

H
E WALKED
out into the training yard, putting every ounce of energy he had into seeming confident.

Aylmer was waiting, sitting on a bench honing a knife in the light from a lantern. Hildie was lying full length on another
bench. They both tensed as he walked out the door, and Hildie swung her legs to the ground, eyes on his.

“She’s letting you live?” Aylmer asked, voice neutral.

“Better than that,” Ash forced himself to grin. “I’m the heir again!”

Hildie swore, but Aylmer raised both brows and half-grinned back, caught between admiration and disbelief. He stood up and
made for Doronit’s office.

“Wouldn’t go
just
yet if I was you,” Ash said slowly, before Aylmer had reached the door. “She might need a few minutes to, er…”

Aylmer’s grin was genuine this time. “Shagged your way back in, did you, lad?”

Hildie laughed and lay back down on the bench. “Old fool,” she said, and it wasn’t clear if she were talking about Doronit
or Aylmer.

Neither thought for a moment that he might have been a threat to Doronit. A year ago they would have been right.

His hands felt heavy with the memory of her weight sagging down on them as he’d lowered her to the floor.

“I need a drink!” he said with feeling, and raised a hand casually to them as he simply walked out of the yard, and kept walking
slowly until he reached the inn on the corner. Hildie watched him go. He didn’t turn to confirm it, but he knew she would
be watching. She was less trusting than Aylmer, and immune to men’s charms.

So he walked into the inn and past the outside benches into the quiet of the parlour, ordered a mead and, after he’d had a
few sips of its dizzying sweetness, headed out to the privy in the back lane.

He couldn’t see anyone watching the lane, so again he kept walking. He had to find Baluch. Meet Bramble. Be ready for the
enchanter’s next strike.

But he didn’t make it to the end of the laneway before the Dung Brothers caught up with him.

They stripped him of weapons, purse and pouch and hauled him in front of the council, where Doronit’s limp body lay on a sheet
on the floor as evidence. She looked like a stranger, some brown-haired woman he’d never met. Small, much smaller than she’d
seemed to him alive. Ash drew a deep breath and looked away from her.

Turvite’s Town Council was five members, including Ranny. They stared at him with identically suspicious blue eyes, and he
had never been so aware of his black hair.

The Council were furious, especially Garham, who shouted and banged the table in front of him.

When he drew breath, Ash said, “Clear the room.”

“What?” Garham yelled. “Don’t you give me orders, you black-haired bastard!”

Ash looked at Ranny, who had sat composed through Garham’s tirade. The last time he had seen her had been in her own office
at Highmark, with Martine. He could tell she remembered him. He spoke directly to her. “Clear the room.”

The other councillors began to object, but Ranny cut through them.