The Guild (45 page)

She nodded her head, then shook it, wrinkling her nose. “Um . . . sorry, no. I’m okay now, but . . .” Pausing, she looked at him. He was only a few inches taller than she, and she knew she had never seen him before, but . . . Awkward silence stretched between them as something in his gaze turned sad and regretful. It hurt her to see it, hurt her deep down inside in the same place where she could feel Guildra residing. “I . . . don’t know if this is going to sound really strange or creepy or . . . or like I’ve slipped a cog and broken some gear teeth, here, but . . .”

“. . . But?” he asked, brows raising in encouragement for her to continue.

“But . . . I feel like I know you,” Rexei forced herself to admit. “I know I
don’t
, but . . . I feel like I
know
you, and . . . like . . . I feel like I care for you . . . which is really silly and stupid, because we obviously haven’t ever—”

His fingers covered her lips, even as his own mouth curved in a smile. “You
do
know me. Or you did. We knew and liked each other a lot. Unfortunately, you had to take a magically binding spell to
forget
all about me, and everything around me, so you wouldn’t betray me to the ex-priests who just fled here.”

“I
do
know you? And you know me?” Rexei repeated. He nodded, and a strange but utterly welcome sense of relief flooded her. “Good. Good . . . because I really thought I was stripping some gears here, thinking either it was, uh, me going crazy or . . . you know . . .”

“Love at first sight?” he asked, giving her a shy smile. His hand reached out and clasped hers, the one not holding on to the scroll. “More like you were a combination of highly wary and a bit belligerent that very first time, out of what you thought was a need for self-defense. I wish I knew how to
reverse
the oathbinding, but . . .”

An indelicate snort interrupted their conversation. Both glanced at Orana, whose bulk of armor had somehow vanished from beneath her robe without her actually needing to disrobe. “It’s an
oathbinding
. Just have her swear an oath to
remember
again. If she does it of her own free will, without coercion, then she’ll re-remember everything—you people seriously need some training,” the Darkhanan woman added. “I can spare a couple months to teach you the basics of magic, but as soon as spring has thawed its way up toward the northern coast, Niel and I really need to get back to our home.”

Rexei knew that Niel was the unseen soul of Orana’s Host, residing somewhere inside the blonde woman’s body via the holy powers of Darkhanan Witch-craft. As much as she wanted to ask questions about the woman, about her life, about what had happened at the Convocation of Gods and Man—Rexei could not
remember
how she knew anything about a resumed Convocation of Gods and Man.

Guildra . . . will you help me with my oath?
she asked silently. A pulse of something warm rose up from within, a sense of love, support, and acceptance. Nodding to herself, Rexei carefully phrased what she wanted to say in her thoughts. She was no apprentice in the Law-Sayers Guild, but she knew what an oathbinding was.

“I, Rexei, bind unto my powers the following vow: I will remember everything I have forgotten at the end of this vow, including any memories purged from my mind by oathbinding, and I will remember all these things with calm clarity. So swear I, Rexei . . . High Priestess of Guildra, and Guild Master of the Guildaran Holy Guild.”

A bright, bubbly tingling feeling swept down over her body from the crown of her head to the tips of her toes in her winter boots. It felt far cleaner than any of the other magics she had been touched by in the last hour—at least until the last few minutes or so—and in its wake . . . she remembered. Remembered why her bottom was sore and what it felt like to sleep trustingly next to the man with the green lenses, Alonnen Tallnose, head of the carefully hidden Mages Guild. She remembered how he had teased her, shared with her, and believed in her. Remembered every warm, welcoming, friendly touch, and remembered their first kiss.

More than that, she remembered other things. It was a good thing she had asserted that she would remember them with
calm
clarity, because she remembered forgotten horrors of being groped and cursed, bullied and badgered. Remembered all the
good
things that had happened to her, too. And she remembered . . . Frowning softly, Rexei quirked her brows. “I even remember how to make pickled beets? I didn’t realize I even knew how, let alone that I’d forgotten that . . . I couldn’t have been more than
three
when Mum made pickled beets . . .”

Watching the expressions play across her face, in her eyes, Alonnen was caught off-guard by that non sequitur. Chuckling, he dared to lean forward and wrap his arms around her. To his everlasting relief, she immediately snuggled close, hugging him right back. “I’m sorry everyone knows what your gender is now, with Orana calling you priestess and all that.”

Rexei snorted. “I revealed it myself to the ex-priests in order to get that Aian fellow, Torven, to call a halt to the summoning ritual. He offered me as a
male
sacrifice . . . and I dropped my trousers and mooned him to get him to stop.”

“You . . . what?” Alonnen asked her, brows raising in shock. “I, ah . . .”

Orana shrugged. “A bold, yet unconventional choice. Your
mistaken gender identity would have invalidated the binding, allowing the demon to cross the barrier with impunity, had you been fully handed over for sacrifice.”

Recovering from his shock, Alonnen realized Captain Torhammer and his brother were approaching. Alonnen switched to hugging his love with just one arm. “Definitely unconventional, but undoubtedly the best proof possible. We should be very grateful that this Torven Shel Von fellow is such a stickler for getting the demonic bindings perfectly right.”

“Master Tall. We need your people to help us track down the escaped mages,” the captain said once he was within polite conversation distance. Polite, but assertive.

“Actually, no, we don’t,” Alonnen corrected.

His brother frowned at him. “This isn’t your call to make, Master Tall. Nor is it hers.”

“Neither is it
yours
,” Orana returned calmly. “Prophecy is involved . . . and prophecy has already let us know where they’ll be confronted next. Torven was ejected from the Tower’s vicinity in Aiar. High Priestess Saleria and her ‘servant’—a fellow Darkhanan Witch—have saved the Sacred Grove of Katan . . . and now the Gearman’s Strength which Master Rexei just displayed is going to help the Guilds’ defender cast them out. Master Tall, I’m afraid that Pelai is having . . . difficulties . . . adjusting to the way your, ah, guardianship is managed. She’ll need you to return immediately and perform the aetheric spells yourself.”

“Aetheric?” Rexei asked, wondering what she had missed.

“We’re going to disrupt the aether for the next two years,” Alonnen told her, “and do it in such a way that the Netherhells will not be accessible. Not here and not in any other land we can reach and cover. Captain Torhammer, my guild will want to get our hands on any books left behind by the ex-priests. The rest of the wealth confiscated should be split into quarters, shared between
the Holy Guild, the Militia, the Mages Guild, and the new government. Orana, if you would assist them in looking for any magical ‘surprises’ that might have been left behind . . . ?”

Rexei liked how he had divided the wealth; Alonnen had more years of experience as a Guild Master than she, and this was yet another good idea she had seen from him. She nodded when Captain Torhammer and Leftenant Tallnose each flicked a querying glance her way.

Orana bowed, acquiescing. “With the local land well sealed against demonic energies by Her Holiness, the rest should be mere nuisances to me, for all they might be dangerous to you.”

“Let’s just hope we don’t have to do that again,” Rexei said. She offered the scroll to Orana, who shook her head.

“Keep it. All priesthoods should have a copy of how to bless away demon taint and reseal the land . . . and I fear many more lands will need their own copies.”

Nodding, Rexei nudged Alonnen into moving toward the exit. His brother followed them, muttering as soon as they reached the rounded corridor. “I can’t believe you’re just
letting
them flee.”

Alonnen rolled his eyes. “Stuff it, Rogen. The next place they’re going is Mendhi. Prophecy says as much, and that means it’ll be up to the priests and the Painted Warriors of that land to manage what happens next.
We
have a lot of work to do if we’re going to have any hope of stabilizing ex-Mekhana into a new nation and figuring out where we want this new Guildara to go.”

“Alonnen,” Rogen warned him.

“We don’t even know
how
we’re going to rule over ourselves,” Alonnen pointed out, flicking a palm at his brother. “We don’t want a Matriarch or a Patriarch—”

“I
certainly
wouldn’t agree to that,” Rexei interjected firmly, and received a loving squeeze from Alonnen’s other arm.

“See?” Alonnen asked rhetorically. “There you go. And we
cannot be successfully ruled by Consulate committee. Nor by any one guild, unless you want inter-guild politics to be our next big enemy.”

“Marta Grenspun might have some ideas,” Rexei found herself offering. “She’s ruthless as an organizer, and she has managed to find great people for my guild. She’s not the only one we can ask, too . . . Oh. Lundrei,” she whispered, seeing her half brother through an open cell door. Two militia members were working on the collar binding his throat, trying to pick it open. “So they
did
coerce him into writing that note.”

“Probably,” Alonnen said. “Orana promised to give us a few Truth Stones and leave a list of instructions on how to make them. We can question him with that to be absolutely sure.”

“Truth Stones are going to completely revise the way the law is handled in this land,” Rogen observed dryly. He let his mouth curve into a wry smile. “I think I’m actually looking forward to those kinds of headaches, instead of the ongoing fears of Mekha and His priesthood.”

Alonnen frowned, then stopped, bringing Rexei to a halt as well. “Oy . . . I just realized something.”

“What?” Rexei asked.

“Well, I love you, you see,” he said, making her blink and raise a hand to cover her mouth. He quickly patted her forearm in reassurance. “And I know you love me, right?”

She couldn’t speak, but she could nod. Vigorously. Nod and blink back the tears of emotion welling up inside of her.

“Well, then . . . how in the name of your Goddess are we going to get married?” he asked. “I’m not in the mood to put up with that Mekhanan-style nonsense of women pledging to be subordinate to men, but we’re too young as a new land to have any formal ceremonies written up, yet. And
you
, Master Longshanks, are the highest ranked member of the new priesthood. Who’ll bless our union, if and
when we marry?
If
we marry,” he added, allowing for some wiggle room on her behalf with a tip of his head.

“
When
. And I’ll write it up so that anyone can get married by Holy or Gearman witness. And I’ll be known as a priestess, as well as the Guild Master,” she stated, making up her mind. “I’ll grow my hair out and wear skirts from time to time and
not
be afraid of anyone finding out I’m actually a female.”

“Well, no. Not after baring your bottom and mooning the worst bastards to ever be born in this land, as it’d be a bit too late to erase
that
particular image, even if I had an oathbinding big enough to help with that task,” Alonnen said mock mildly . . . and grinned when she mock whapped him for teasing her. He leaned in and kissed the tip of her nose.

Rexei kissed him back on the tip of his. Their noses bumped together, then they were kissing, swept along by the sheer relief of having won the day with neither harmed. It would have continued and deepened, except Alonnen felt his brother rapping his knuckles on the top of his head. Not painfully, just annoyingly. Pulling back, he eyed his brother.

“Stow the passion, brother,” Rogen chided him. “Don’t you have to get back to seal off those Portal-whatsits?”

“Right. Yes. Very important. By the way, I’m stealing one of your militia motorhorses,” Alonnen added, nudging Rexei toward the stairs. After losing her to her kidnappers, he did not feel comfortable leaving her behind, prophecy or no.

“You’re what?” Rogen asked, frowning at him. “You are not!”

“
You
and your men blocked every street leading to this place,” Alonnen countered. “Only a motorhorse is going to get the two of us free of the tangle of vehicles before the rest of you are ready to leave, and I am not taking the motorwagon. It will still be needed to transport all the other mages back home. So, I’m taking a motorhorse, and Rexei is riding it with me . . . right?”

“I have no plans of forgetting you anytime soon,” she told him, guessing why he wanted her to go with him. She felt the same way and wanted both men to know. “I’m glad to see that not even the tightest of oathbindings could keep me from the memory that I love you. But
I’ll
be the one to drive the motorhorse.”

“You? Why you?” he asked.

There were several answers she could have claimed: that as a member of the Messengers Guild, she had been trained to handle a motorhorse in all forms of weather. That she knew she was a slightly better guider of the vehicle. But the real reason, she told him bluntly. “Because I love it when you hug me, and I want you to hug me all the way back home, and that means you have to sit
behind
me, which means
I’ll
have to guide the thing.”

He considered her words, then dipped his head. “I must admit, that is the most logical excuse for a miles-long hug I have ever heard. I’d be delighted to hold you as long as I can, too. Shall we plan on a nice long ride all the way to the northern shore for our wedding trip?”

“Ugh. Just get yourselves out of here, before I start thinking
I
need to settle down, too,” Rogen muttered. “I don’t need Mum making any more ‘I want grandchildren’ noises in my direction. And refill the tank, brother! You’ll return the motorhorse in perfect condition to Precinct headquarters with a full tank of engine potion tomorrow and no extra scratches, or I’ll tell Torhammer I
didn’t
authorize it, and he’ll make you slave away for a month or more in the quarries.”