Ascendant's Rite (The Moontide Quartet) (23 page)

‘I need your help, Prandello, and that of any you can trust to put their loyalty to their Brethren first, ahead of the shihad or any other allegiance.’

The Silacian glanced at his own hands, which were tattooed with lines from the Kalistham. ‘That is most of us, brother. Tell me more: a packleader doesn’t leave his charges lightly – your “quest” must be of grave import, yes?’

Here we go
 . . . ‘Brother, I have gained information about something of great moment to our people.’ Zaqri proceeded to give an edited version of the truth: that the Seeress Sabele had sought his aid, guiding them to an island-refuge where they’d found magi concealing a famed artefact, one that could cure the Dokken of their need to consume souls.

‘My pack tried to seize the artefact, but two magi escaped with it,’ he said as Prandello listened intently. ‘Sabele guided my pack in pursuit, but they’ve evaded us – I had to leave my people in Dhassa, and the Seeress is dead, but the hunt goes on.’

Prandello was intrigued. ‘A cure for our condition? Is that possible?’

‘I can scarcely believe it myself, but when you hear the name of this thing, you will be convinced.’ Zaqri leaned forward and whispered, ‘It is the Scytale of Corineus.’

Prandello was stunned. ‘
Sol et Lune!
But surely the Scytale of Corineus resides in the deepest vaults of Pallas? The pillar of Urte would crack before it left there.’

‘Nevertheless, it is beyond all doubt. It’s been stolen, and it’s here in Ahmedhassa!’

‘And Sabele is lost?’ Prandello rubbed his brow. ‘She’s been with us for ever. The tales say it was she who discovered how to unlock our gnosis.’

‘A Keshi girl named Huriya took her soul, then vanished, seeking the Scytale for herself.’ Zaqri looked at Prandello enquiringly: it was quite possible that Huriya had also sought him out.

‘Huriya? I don’t recognise the name. Who else knows of your quest?’

‘The Inquisition, or parts of it,’ Zaqri admitted. ‘They showed up during our attempt to seize the Scytale for ourselves and caused the confusion that enabled the two magi to escape. Presumably there are forces within the Rondian Imperial Court that are aware, but the emperor must fear revealing the loss, lest it trigger a revolt.’

‘So Rashid doesn’t know, nor the Hadishah?’ Prandello mused.

‘I presume not. I’d fear them knowing: they are magi, after all.’

‘They have promised a new era between us.’

‘And now they know your names and where you live. Will you be safe in Medishar after the war?’

‘I acknowledge your point. But there were Rondian Inquisitors in Medishar during the Second Crusade. That was too close for us; we needed to make a stand. The shihad was our best option, but we aren’t blind to the risks.’

‘I’m not criticising,’ Zaqri said mildly. ‘I’m just glad you’re here now.’

Prandello toasted him. ‘What is it you want, amici?’

Zaqri exhaled slowly. ‘I have a trail gone cold: I need hunters, loyal to the Brethren and willing to leave the shihad and accept my command. The future of our people is at stake, brother. Imagine a world in which our affliction is cured and we stand as the new power, a host of Ascendant magi united by our shared suffering and ready to right the wrongs of the past.’

‘May it come to pass,’ Prandello declared. ‘I am with you.’ He waved a hand to encompass the camp outside. ‘Salim is close by, a lion attended by jackals. The sultan is a rare leader, a man to inspire anyone, but the alliances that bind this camp are weak. There are Ordo Costruo rebels here, and Hadishah, and all the sultan’s human warlords. We Dokken know that our welcome here is tenuous at best, and that someday soon we will have to leave. Your coming is a sign that the time has come for us to disappear into the night.’

*

It became a pattern: a messenger bird, usually a sparrow, would arrive just before dawn as Cym sipped a weak tea made from dried astera leaves, boiled pre-dawn because she couldn’t risk a fire during the day lest the smoke draw unwanted eyes. The bird would land beside her hand and wait, trembling and afraid, until she picked it up. Then the message implanted in its aura would flow into her and she would hear Zaqri’s voice.

The news sounded good: a Dokken packleader named Prandello was sheltering him. The army was delaying to sort out some problems in the supply lines before they pushed on to the river. Prandello had agreed to help, but they were under constant surveillance by the sultan’s magi, so they must prepare their move carefully. She should stay put, Zaqri told her, and await his instructions.

He missed her. He loved her.

It was strange how he could find the courage to say such things when he wasn’t with her.

I love you too
. She whispered it in her mind, but without the skill to implant a message in the bird’s head as he had, she didn’t know how to reply. It was too dangerous to move from her hideout in a faceless mass of rocks in the midst of nowhere. Whenever she went to the fringes to watch, she glimpsed riders passing in the distance. The sultan’s army were near, and foraging – if they found her, a young woman alone, they would misuse her, so she stayed hidden, even when she was certain she was alone.

The rocks were snake-infested, but she had enough Animagery to drive them from the areas she frequented. The cave where she slept away most of each day and night wasn’t big, and once she had rested and recovered, she was bored.

Zaqri’s latest message said.

Then no bird came, and worry made her frantic. She prowled her little camp, fretting, convinced he was going to appear from any direction, right now. She sweated and prayed and cursed and couldn’t sleep, no matter what she tried. Dawn found her covered in grime, rock dust sticking to her skin and her hair, itching and filthy. She hadn’t washed in eight days, and her stores of food were running low.

Finally a wren swooped onto the rock above and bobbed to her hand. She almost crushed it in her desperation as she opened her mind and Zaqri’s voice filled her head.

She found herself silently bawling, wracked with grief and utter frustration, so much that she could barely breathe. Eventually she calmed enough to wipe her swollen eyes and think.

How can you send me ‘all of your love’ when they are just words? All of your love means your face and your hands and your body and your smell and your taste and your heat!

Having broken through all of her self-punishing hate, and the cruel bonds of vendetta, she needed him all the more. Finding Alaron and the Scytale and freeing the Rimoni were like pallid shadows against the desire to see his face. And now Ramon was in danger too.
The army is moving
, he said. And she was running out of food.

That night she slipped from the cave and padded toward the sultan’s camp.

My place is with him.

*

There was a spider in the corner of Alyssa Dulayne’s pavilion, a big, sleek thing with purple swirls on its distended abdomen. Deadly poisonous, but she didn’t mind. She understood spiders and their webs. You filled your world with strands, so thin and gauzy the creatures blundering past didn’t notice. You wove patiently, repaired and tended constantly, then retreated to the shadows, always touching your web, waiting for it to tremble.

When Rashid Mubarak had gone north after Shaliyah, he’d left her behind in the sultan’s court. Some fools wondered if Rashid was tiring of his white-skinned concubine, but she knew her value. She was his eyes and ears at the heart of the most vital web of all.

I’m the most powerful woman in Ahmedhassa. I’m the Lucia Sacrecour of the East.

If she’d been born in Pallas, she would have been spinning her webs at the centre of the empire. Instead she’d been born among the Ordo Costruo of Pontus, where intellect and seriousness were prized and beauty regarded as merely skin-deep. She’d shown them
skin-deep
: she’d gone deep under their skins, those pompous geniuses; they could be reduced to quivering jelly like any other man.

Magi like Rene Cardien had stormed about decrying her loose morality – so-called ‘liberal’ magi who hated that she lived with all the freedom they idealised yet feared. Antonin Meiros had called her ‘that slattern’, but all he’d done was drive his own daughter into her web.

Rashid had once asked her why she’d betrayed the Ordo Costruo, but the answer was simple:
Because I could
. The game meant so much more to her than the reasons why she played. Let others agonise over ideology and ethics.
All I want is the joy of victory – and the pleasures that come with it.

She smiled to herself at the thought, and returned her attention to what she was doing: powdering her face ready for another night of intrigue. Her blonde hair was plaited into ornate patterns with pearls woven through the shining tresses. A ballgown of cloth-of-silver clung to her curvaceous body, even though she would have to endure a bekira-shroud over it while on public display. Tonight she planned to fascinate and entice, although hints were all anyone would be getting from her. That was the price for breathing these heady airs: the court of Salim was full of intrigue, but not hedonism, for Salim prized his own morality. Alyssa was accepted here as Rashid’s woman, and because she was Ordo Costruo, but a scandal now would be harmful. She was already a ready target for the mealy-mouthed Godspeakers and jealous Hadishah.

Her maid tinkled the bell outside her tent.
Let tonight’s games begin
.

‘Yes, Lesharri?’

Lesharri scuttled inside and fell to her knees at Alyssa’s feet. She was part-Hebb, and Alyssa’s half-sister, her late father’s bastard child. Alyssa had been bringing her under her control for years, reducing the girl’s sense of self until she was merely an extension of her own will. Lesharri’s only joy now was to do exactly as Alyssa bid.
Would that I had more like you, dear sister
. Of course, such mind-conditioning was illegal, and if the Ordo Costruo had ever realised, they both would have been executed.

How terribly short-sighted of them
, she thought.

‘Lady, the Dokken Lord’s woman is here.’

‘Prandello’s whore?’ That was a strand of her web that seldom quivered. Alyssa admired the glittering creature in her mirror, the goddess she became on nights like these. ‘Bring her in.’

Lesharri bobbed her head eagerly and showed in the woman. She took her cloak, then settled in the corner, poised to act if there was any threat – for Lesharri was still a fully functioning mage.

The Dokken clan-leader’s woman settled in the guest seat, clearly in awe.

Yes, I’m truly this beautiful
. Alyssa cast about for her name . . .
Maddeoni: a Vereloni human, stolen by Prandello during the Second Crusade. More than a dozen years as Prandello’s broodmare, and it shows. The mother of two boys she adores, but she longs to escape. Prandello is kind to her now, but she hates him still.

A little sympathy had been all it took. While Prandello was away scouting during the siege of Ardijah, Alyssa had sought out his lonely concubine. ‘
Yes, it was awful what was done to you. If the chance comes, I may be able to help you, my dear.
’

Tonight, perhaps that time had come. Alyssa loathed the Dokken, and would welcome the chance to strike against them, even if it weakened the army. They were by far the older enemy, after all.

‘Maddeoni, how are you this lovely evening?’

The woman tugged her bekira-hood down, her big eyes filling with tears. She was fading joylessly into middle-age, her face lined, her temples grey and the dark circles under her eyes turning to sagging pouches. Her voice was bitter as she announced, ‘The clan is preparing to leave, Lady.’

Most of Alyssa’s visitors told her snippets like this, things they thought important. Most were ill-informed or misinterpreted; she had learned to be patient, to encourage the giving, and examine each morsel thoroughly. ‘The whole army is about to march, Maddeoni,’ she said lightly.

‘This is different. They’re leaving the shihad.’

Opportunity chimed. ‘Are they really? Tell me more.’

‘They are going to forsake the shihad during the confusion of the march.’ Maddeoni laughed drily. ‘The fools thought me asleep as they discussed their plans, their routes. Prandello forgets I exist,’ she added in a low, vindictive voice. ‘They’re taking us women and the children into the wilds to hide, and then the men are going off somewhere. He sits half the night drinking and planning with his closest people, and the stranger.’

Alyssa took the woman’s hands in hers. ‘They pledged to join the shihad, Maddy. To leave like this is wrong; it will make many people terribly angry. You’ve done well in telling me.’

Maddeoni’s eyes narrowed. ‘Will they be . . . chastised?’

‘Quite possibly,’ Alyssa said, affecting worry. ‘Unless we can prevent them from doing anything foolish.’

‘No, I want them to be foolish. I want them to be
punished
,’ the Vereloni woman hissed. Then her face clouded. ‘As long as my children are safe.’

Alyssa gripped the woman’s hands, projecting fervent sincerity. ‘Of
course
they will be safe, dearest. Children are so precious – even Dokken children. After all, if they never gain the gnosis, they are just like ordinary boys and girls, are they not?’ She hugged Maddeoni to her gently. ‘I’ll see you safe, Maddy.’ She kissed her cheek. ‘Now, tell me about this stranger.’

*

‘Tell me truly, brother, why can’t your pack help us?’ Prandello asked. ‘I have only fifty Brethren after our losses at Ardijah. The rest of our kin went north to aid Rashid Mubarak – we need as many men as we can to search an area so vast.’