Exile (11 page)

Then All-father Saskeyne’s voice-of-reason sprang to his feet and claimed stature for their brotherhood. And, to Imoshen’s amazement, the others acknowledged it. Her gift surged and she read them as a group; they were so intent on their own little world and so used to dismissing Mieren as beneath them that they did not grasp the larger implications.

She was causare, their nominated leader, but she led only by consensus. If she destroyed Saskeyne’s stature, he would retaliate with aggression. If she tried to force her will on the brotherhoods, they would revolt.

She felt dark laughter well up inside her and wished Ardonyx was here. His biting satires had laid bare the flaws of their society, but most people had failed to see the underlying message. She sensed someone watching her and spotted Hueryx. There was a mocking light in his eyes. Her gift surged and she understood his cynical comments sprang from frustration with their people.

She would not give in to bitterness.

When it seemed the leaders of the T’Enatuath would leave without addressing the real problem, Imoshen came to her feet.

‘Before we go, there is one more thing. The Mieren king sent his barons to raze our estates even though we had agreed to give him what he wanted. He’ll see the burning of his effigy and the banners as an insult. If he razed our estates without provocation, what will he do now?’

She waited for this to sink in, then gestured to Saskeyne. ‘While this all-father’s symbolic action has united us, we are still sitting in a besieged city and the people on our estates are vulnerable.’

‘What are you saying, Imoshen?’ Hueryx asked, giving her the opening she needed.

‘I cannot do my job as causare if others take actions that undermine me. Before any of us take an action that is going to impact the rest, it needs to be brought to an all-council for approval.’

The brotherhood leaders did not like this. They argued it infringed on their authority. She said nothing, letting Hueryx put the case. Paragian was quick to grasp the implications and support him.

While the debate unfolded, Egrayne leant closer to her. ‘Hueryx didn’t address you as T’Imoshen. He should use the causare’s title.’

Imoshen wanted to bury her head in despair or laugh. Her title was the least of her problems. ‘If I can get the brotherhoods to agree to this, I’ll count it a win.’

She watched the argument evolve and, when her gift told her the moment was right, came to her feet. ‘I propose we bring actions that affect the T’Enatuath to an all-council for approval.’ And she raised her hand.

Gift on edge, she memorised who raised their hand and in what order. All-fathers Kyredeon, Saskeyne and Dretsun were last to agree.

When the all-council was over, she walked back to the sisterhood quarter with the all-mothers and their seconds.

Outside the healer’s palace, she caught Reoden’s hand. ‘Ree, my choice-son wanted to see Sardeon but he was turned away. Why?’

The healer drew her inside and took her up to her private chambers. As Reoden reached for the nursery door, Imoshen prepared herself for the worst. Like Iraayel, Sardeon was sixteen. If he was still living in the nursery, he must need constant care.

The door swung open to reveal a pleasant room that opened onto a private rooftop garden. A child lay on his stomach in front of a fire reading a book. His feet swung in time to some internal music.

Imoshen looked up to the healer. ‘Where’s–’

‘Sar?’ Reoden called.

The child looked up. It
was
Sardeon. She had forgotten how beautiful he was.

‘But...’ He should have been sixteen, not twelve. Imoshen looked to Reoden in confusion.

‘Go back to your reading,’ Reoden told Sardeon. ‘The gift-wright will be here soon.’

They stepped outside and shut the nursery door.

‘He hasn’t grown at all,’ Imoshen whispered. ‘What does Ceriane say?’

‘She hasn’t found anything like it in the records. We’re hoping he’ll grow out of it...’ Reoden heard what she’d said and winced. ‘We’re hoping time will heal him.’

‘Is he ready for me?’ the gift-wright asked.

The healer nodded and the gift-wright left them.

‘I’m sorry,’ Imoshen whispered.

‘I’m his choice-mother and a healer.’ Reoden wrung her hands. ‘I should be able to help him. I can’t.’

‘No one can help him, or me.’ Scryer Lysitzi joined them. ‘I’m crippled. My power is blocked. I should have known Kyredeon meant to kill...’ Her voice faltered.

‘You could have only known if I had asked you to scry looking for a threat to my daughter,’ Reoden told her. Imoshen had the feeling it was an old argument. ‘It’s not your fault.’

Imoshen was shocked by the scryer’s appearance. One side of her face was pulled out of alignment by a scar. ‘At least let Ree heal your face.’

Instead of answering, the scryer gave a strange laugh and drifted out, muttering under her breath. Imoshen shivered.

‘I have healed her face,’ Reoden confessed. ‘Every time I heal it the scar comes back.’

‘It’s tied to her gift?’

‘It is now.’ Tears slid down Reoden’s cheeks.

‘Oh, Ree.’ Imoshen took her in her arms and kissed them away. They had been lovers and would be again, one day. ‘Why didn’t you tell me?’

‘The shame–’

‘The shame?’ Imoshen could not believe her ears. ‘If anyone should be shamed, it’s Kyredeon’s men, for killing an innocent child!’

A
S
T
OBAZIM FINISHED
his exercises, he glanced over to Learon. Every evening his choice-brother came to him with complaints about the hand-of-force. Tonight it had been the way Oriemn belittled initiates when they made mistakes in training. He claimed it undermined their confidence. While Tobazim agreed, there was nothing they could do. He’d hoped the challenging exercise patterns would help Learon bring his mind, body and gift into balance.

But his choice-brother’s expression was grim.

Learon picked up a cloth to rub his face. ‘How can a young initiate learn when he’s afraid of his teacher?’ He tossed the cloth away. ‘When we lived in the winery, I dreamed of coming to the city and winning stature. It all seemed so simple then. All we had to do was slip into a rival brotherhood palace and steal their banner to prove ourselves to the hand-of-force.’

‘True.’ Tobazim looked around for something to distract him, and noticed activity on the all-father’s rooftop garden, across the other side of the courtyard from them. ‘What’s going on there?’

Under the brotherhood’s banner, two Malaunje had constructed a tent with brocade trim and gauze curtains. Others arrived bringing a couch, two braziers, and a low table set with wines and delicacies.

‘Looks like they’re building a trysting bower,’ Learon said.

‘That’s right, I heard Kyredeon had taken a new lover. Guess he’s planning on moon bathing. It’s supposed to enhance the gift when trysting. But,’ Tobazim gestured to the sky, ‘both moons are new and there’s too much cloud.’

Learon didn’t comment. The Malaunje finished constructing the bower then went downstairs.

‘I bet Oriemn was furious when Saskeyne’s warriors beat him to the trophy braids,’ Tobazim said again.

‘Serves him right. Stealing my idea.’

As they turned to head downstairs, Learon signalled for silence and pointed. A warrior crept across the rooftop garden. Another warrior followed him, keeping low, dashing from raised garden bed to bed.

‘Are they ours?’ Tobazim whispered.

‘It’ll be a rival brotherhood trying to steal our banner. Bet they’re Saskeyne’s adepts. Come on.’

‘Wait, Lear.’

But he’d already taken off down the stairs.

Tobazim followed close on Learon’s heels, so close that he sensed his choice-brother’s eager gift. The palace was a warren of passages and courtyards. But Learon knew his way and did not hesitate. His long legs ate up the stairs, taking them three at a time, until he reached Kyredeon’s private rooftop garden.

‘Wait.’ Tobazim caught up with him before he stepped outside. He could feel Learon’s gift close to the surface. ‘We should tell someone.’

‘This is our chance to win stature. Turn the flat of your blade. Grab their arm-torcs, if you can.’ If they took the other brotherhood’s arm-torcs, the warriors would have to come back to retrieve them. Their humiliation would add to Tobazim and Learon’s stature. Learon stepped out. ‘Come on.’

Tobazim followed him.

A lantern burned in the bower, but the rest of the rooftop garden was dim. Empty raised garden beds dotted the area. At first glance, Tobazim could not spot the warriors.

Learon grabbed a rake and charged. ‘Caught you!’

As the other brotherhood warrior sprang to his feet, Tobazim saw a flash of blade; that wasn’t right. Although warriors could end up with broken bones, banner-stealing was not meant to cost lives.

The warrior deflected the rake with his first blade and lunged for Learon’s throat with his second.

The attack was furious. Learon staggered backwards as he struggled to bring the rake around and into play.

Stunned, Tobazim was about to help him, when he caught movement in the side of his vision. He dodged instinctively. A blade whistled past his ear.

On the back foot, Tobazim edged away, fighting to control his gift. His attacker glanced behind Tobazim, who sensed another man’s gift. Just in time, he threw himself sideways. Rolling across a garden bed, he came to his feet near Learon, grabbed a shovel and brought the end up.

Four warriors surrounded them. A patch of moonlight fell across their faces. Tobazim did not recognise them, and he thought he knew all of Saskeyne’s young adepts by sight, if not by name. These were not hot-headed young brotherhood warriors out to strike a blow for stature.

‘Who are they?’ Tobazim whispered.

‘I don’t know,’ Learon muttered. ‘But they’re not here to steal the banner.’

With that, Learon charged his two assailants, swinging the rake like a scythe; they scattered. He brought the blunt end up, driving it forward in the classic staff attack. It took one of the warriors in the chest, sending him sprawling.

He returned to protect Tobazim’s back. Learon was a master-adept of both armed and unarmed combat; Tobazim was not.

Two more intruders darted out from the shadows, making six in total. Tobazim’s gift leapt to his defence. He forced it down. As the intruders came closer, there was no yelling, no bravado, just deadly intent in their movements. They divided up, so that Tobazim and Learon each faced three attackers.

Tobazim did not like their chances.

‘These are not them,’ one of the intruders said.

‘Too late. Kill them anyway. Then hide.’ He sounded like someone who was used to giving orders and dealing in death.

Tobazim wanted to protest. They were all T’En. It did not feel right, fighting his own kind when thousands of Mieren besieged their city.

‘Quickly,’ the leader urged.

Tobazim flinched. He didn’t want to die like this. He’d never had the chance to win stature with his gift, never trysted with a T’En woman, never known love...

Behind him, Learon grunted with effort as he diverted a strike.

The warrior on Tobazim’s left darted in, trying to get around to his back. Tobazim remembered his old weapons-master telling him the weakest fighter always attacks from behind: deal with him quickly, then concentrate on the ones that come in from the front.

Tobazim swung the shovel at the knife-hand that arced towards him, smashing the man’s hand and breaking bones. The blade went flying as the momentum of Tobazim’s strike carried the intruder around, taking his second knife out of striking range.

Tobazim stepped in behind him. With his free hand, he caught the man’s shoulder and pulled him backwards, slamming him on the ground.

The fallen man’s companion stepped in front to protect him.

Tobazim cursed. What was he thinking? He should have brained the one he’d just taken down. This was not weapons practice.

He edged closer to Learon. They must not get separated. Meanwhile, he tried to keep his attackers moving so that one impeded the other.

The intruders’ leader moved to one side to allow one of his companions to come at Tobazim, who shortened the arc of the shovel and drove it forward for the man’s throat. It sank in, hitting something hard. The warrior went down. A horrible gargling sound came from his crushed throat as he struggled for breath.

Ignoring the downed man, Tobazim faced the leader.

The leader was a canny older warrior who circled him, then came in, moving so fast that Tobazim couldn’t get the shovel around in time.

Darting back, he tripped over a body. As he went down, a long-knife passed within a finger’s breadth of his throat. He just had time to realise he was a dead man when he hit the tiles and the wind was knocked out of him.

Beyond his attacker, Tobazim saw All-father Kyredeon, his hand-of-force and a Malaunje woman step out of the stairwell. Seeing the altercation, she darted back.

The attackers’ leader turned towards the newcomers.

Hand-of-force Oriemn drew his long-knives, tossed one to Kyredeon and stepped between his all-father and the intruders. Three of the four remaining intruders went to deal with the new threat.

Learon had lost the rake somehow and was now facing a warrior with nothing but his fists.

Tobazim rolled to his knees. Noticing the gleam of a blade on the tiles, he grabbed the hilt and sprang to his feet to help Learon. He was in time to see his choice-brother break the intruder’s neck and spring to help Kyredeon’s hand-of-force, pulling one of the intruders off Oriemn’s back.

All-father Kyredeon had snatched a blanket from the couch and wrapped it around his forearm, and was using it as a shield to deflect the blades, while striking with his own knife.

Tobazim darted in, looking for a target. He saw an intruder with a knife in one hand, hugging his broken hand to his chest, and knew it was the one he had failed to kill. This time, Tobazim came at him from behind, caught him around the throat and drove the knife between his ribs, straight into his heart.

It was up close and intimate; it was one of his own people and it was nothing like killing one of the Mieren. Tobazim felt the other’s gift flare as it tried to protect him. Skin on skin, the sudden rush of power stunned him.