Exile (12 page)

He let the man drop and stepped back.

Then he swayed as reality wavered and he was nearly drawn through to the higher plane with the warrior’s departing shade.

He shook his head to clear it.

The leader of the intruders had thrown off Learon’s bear hug. Now he sprang for Kyredeon. Unbalanced, Learon staggered backwards into Tobazim and they both went down.

Tobazim just had time to turn the long-knife so his choice-brother didn’t end up with the blade between his ribs, but he couldn’t prevent Learon from clipping his head on the side of a raised flower bed as they fell.

Trapped under his stunned choice-brother, Tobazim struggled to throw Learon off.

Meanwhile, Tobazim heard the sharp grunts and ragged breathing of vicious fighting. With a heave, he pushed Learon to one side and came to his feet, standing over his fallen choice-brother, ready to defend him.

But all the attackers were down.

Oriemn and Kyredeon straightened up. The pall of gift aggression hung on the still air, making Tobazim’s heart race.

Hand-of-force Oriemn rolled one of the intruders onto his back. ‘This one’s dead.’ He gestured to Tobazim. ‘Get the lamp.’

Tobazim returned from the trysting bower in a halo of golden light. Oriemn took the lamp from him to inspect the dead T’En warriors.

Kyredeon had been bent double catching his breath. Now he straightened, unwound the blanket from his arm and tossed it aside. ‘Who is it?’

‘No idea.’

‘Which brotherhood?’

‘They’re not wearing arm-torcs.’

Kyredeon spat in disgust.

Oriemn stepped over a body and rolled one of the intruders onto his back. On seeing the leader, Kyredeon tensed.

But Oriemn missed his all-father’s reaction as he turned the last one over and looked up to Kyredeon expectantly.

‘No idea,’ the all-father said, and if Tobazim hadn’t seen that flicker of recognition, he would have believed him.

Tobazim’s legs felt as if they might give way. He took a step back and dropped to sit on the edge of a flower bed.

Learon groaned, as he sat up carefully.

Oriemn turned the lamp towards them. ‘What were you two doing up here?’

Tobazim gestured to the nearby roof garden. ‘We were exercising, when we saw–’

‘Do you recognise any of them?’ Oriemn asked.

‘No.’ Tobazim licked his lips. ‘They were after the all-father.’

‘What makes you say that?’ Kyredeon demanded.

‘One of them said, “these are not them,” but their leader said to kill us anyway. This is All-father Kyredeon’s private rooftop garden and his bower has been set up. Naturally, I thought–’

‘No one asked you think.’ Kyredeon cut him off. ‘You should have reported to the hand-of-force, not come up here alone.’

‘You’re right,’ Tobazim admitted. ‘We only saw two of them and thought–’

‘You would win stature,’ Oriemn finished for him. ‘You nearly got us all killed.’

Learon rolled to his feet, swaying a little. He was bigger than the hand-of-force and the other two stepped back.

‘At first we thought they were Saskeyne’s warriors, come to steal our banner,’ Learon said, rubbing the back of his head. ‘That’s why we didn’t tell anyone. But they were assassins.’

Kyredeon waved him to silence, turning away.

In the pause, Tobazim asked softly, ‘How are you doing?’

‘Head’s thumping fit to burst. What about you?’

‘Alive.’ He glanced to the palace wall, about a bowshot away. The brothers on patrol were watching the lake, unaware of what had passed.

‘What’ll we do with the bodies?’ Oriemn asked.

A thought struck Tobazim. ‘Do you want me to search them, see if anything identifies their brotherhood?’

Kyredeon shook his head. ‘No point. They took off their arm-torcs. They won’t have anything to identify them.’

At that moment one of the
dead
men behind Kyredeon rolled to his feet, lifted his long-knife and went to stab the all-father between the ribs. Learon reacted instantly, catching him and diverting the strike.

Oriemn thrust his all-father aside and turned to deal with the attacker, but Learon already had him restrained.

‘A gift-trick to mimic death,’ Tobazim marvelled.

‘Who sent you to kill our all-father?’ Oriemn demanded. ‘Was it Saskeyne? Dretsun? Hueryx?’

The assassin did not reply.

‘You’ll get nothing from him,’ Kyredeon said. ‘He’s cut his hair. He’s already dead.’

Tobazim realised they all had.

‘Shall I kill him?’ Oriemn asked.

‘No. Put his eyes out and turn him out of the palace. Let our warriors hunt him for sport.’ Kyredeon clearly relished the idea. ‘That will deliver a message to those who sent him.’

Oriemn moved in, hands lifting to the assassin’s face, thumbs ready to gouge out his eyes. Tobazim felt sick and Learon opened his mouth to protest. Taking advantage of Learon’s momentary distraction, the assassin slipped free. He head-butted Oriemn and lunged between the two big warriors, heading straight towards Tobazim.

Before Tobazim knew what was happening, the assassin had grabbed the blade from him. Their eyes met and Tobazim looked into the face of death. He fully expected to die. But then he saw mercy in death’s eyes.

The assassin darted past him, backing away, holding the long-knife ready.

Oriemn straightened up, sucking in his breath noisily. Kyredeon and Learon both moved to encircle the intruder.

‘May your brotherhood wither and fade, Kyredeon. May you never sleep easy in your bed, Kyredeon,’ the assassin said. ‘May you die having looked long and hard into your own blighted soul, Kyredeon. May your shade be devoured by empyrean beasts, Kyredeon.’ Then he lifted the blade and sliced his throat open.

It was the warrior’s honourable suicide. He fell, making horrible choking noises, the blood bubbling from the wound.

Tobazim shuddered. At the same time, admiration warmed him. It was better to die whole and defiant, than maimed and hunted for sport by a rival brotherhood.

But questions remained unanswered. Who had sent the assassins, and why had Kyredeon pretended not to recognise their leader?

The hand-of-force rounded on them. ‘Since you are so keen to fight for the brotherhood, you can relieve the guards on the ruined palace wall.’

Tobazim gulped. In Kyredeon’s brotherhood you did not refuse an order. But tonight, he and Learon had killed several T’En. The warriors’ shades would come after them and try to drag them onto the higher plane.

‘They’ll come for us,’ he blurted.

‘Don’t worry. They won’t be coming for you,’ Kyredeon said and Tobazim realised the assassination attempt wasn’t over. The shades of these warriors would try to drag the all-father onto the higher plane, where they might even sacrifice their own chance to reach death’s realm, to ensure that Kyredeon’s essence was devoured by empyrean predators. Now he understood the depth of the assassin’s curse.

Tobazim glanced to Learon, who looked as though he had just reached the same conclusion. ‘I see.’

‘You see nothing.’ Kyredeon’s gaze fixed on him and Learon. ‘You saw nothing. This never happened. Understood?’

They nodded.

‘Swear on your brotherhood vow,’ Oriemn insisted.

They knelt before Kyredeon and swore to silence.

‘Now, go patrol the wall,’ Oriemn dismissed them.

As Tobazim left the rooftop garden, everything felt unreal. He had fought alongside Kyredeon and his hand-of-force, but he had to wonder what had provoked the assassination attempt.

As Learon entered the stairwell someone hurtled at him. He caught his assailant and swung them up against the wall.

‘It’s me,’ Paravia gasped.

Learon groaned and pulled her to him, wrapping her in his arms. She kissed him eagerly.

‘I thought you were going to die,’ she whispered. On tip toes, she planted kisses on his chin and throat. ‘I thought I’d never hold you again.’

Learon lifted her off the ground the better to kiss her, his gift rising in reaction to the danger and the promise of trysting.

‘Lear,’ Tobazim protested. ‘Not now.’

‘Not ever,’ Oriemn said, from the rooftop entrance to the stairwell. ‘Get your hands off her.’

Tobazim felt cold as he realised who Kyredeon’s new lover was.

‘What business is it of yours–’ Learon said, reaching for his weapon.

‘Don’t you dare draw your blade against me,’ the hand-of-force said, although from his tone, there was nothing he’d like better. Oriemn let his gift rise, laced with threat and aggression.

‘Lear...’ Paravia caught his forearm. ‘It’s all right. I don’t mind.’

‘I should think not,’ Oriemn said. ‘It’s an honour to be invited to the all-father’s trysting bower.’

‘You’re his new lover?’ Learon was shocked.

‘It’s all right,’ she whispered, and cast Tobazim a look of mute appeal.

‘Come on, Lear,’ he said.

His choice-brother brushed off his hand, turning to Oriemn. ‘Paravia’s mine.’

‘Is she your devotee?’

‘No...’ Learon admitted.

‘Has she borne you a child?’

‘No.’

‘Then you’ve made no claim on her.’

‘I’m making a claim now.’ Learon turned to Paravia and Tobazim felt him gather his gift. ‘Would you be my devotee?’

She opened her mouth to reply, but Oriemn cut her off.

‘You’re supposed to be patrolling the wall, Learon. Do I have to punish you for dereliction of duty?’

‘I just need to–’

‘You need to go to your post.’ Oriemn was enjoying this. ‘You can ask Paravia tomorrow. See if she still wants a mere adept, when she can have an all-father.’

Learon bristled.

Tobazim grabbed his arm. ‘No, Lear. Come on.’

For one terrible moment, he thought Learon would brush him off and attack the hand-of-force. In his current state, Learon would grab him and segue straight to the higher plane.

‘Go, do your duty, Lear,’ Paravia told him. ‘I’m going to do mine.’ With that, she went out the door towards the bower, and all the fight went out of Learon.

In silence, they went to the chamber they shared with other young adepts, dressed warmly and strapped on their knives.

As they passed the infirmary, Ceyne came out and signalled Tobazim.

‘Can’t stop, have to report to the wall.’

Ceyne gestured to Learon. ‘What’s wrong with him?’

‘Kyredeon’s taken Paravia for his new trysting partner,’ Tobazim said.

Ceyne shrugged. ‘He’s the all-father.’ Then he gave Learon another look. ‘I didn’t know he was serious about her.’

‘Neither did I,’ Tobazim admitted. ‘We’d better go. We’re on patrol.’

Chapter Nine

Z
ABIER WOKE FEELING
thick-headed.For a moment he didn’t know where he was, and then he remembered he’d slept all day after being up all night. He felt awful. He recognised the signs; since leaving port, he’d had to be on alert, so he hadn’t taken a decent dose of pains-ease – he needed a night in its arms.

‘Good, you’re awake,’ Sorne said. ‘Charald has called all the barons to his tent for the evening meal. We need to get dressed.’

‘Why doesn’t Charald rest?’ Zabier grumbled.

‘He cannot appear weak.’

‘I know that. It was a rhetorical question.’

Sorne laughed.

‘What?’

‘You sounded like Oskane.’

‘Well, he did have a hand in training me.’ Looking back, Zabier realised the years in the retreat had been the best time of his life. Everything had started to go wrong when they returned to port.

‘You’d tell me if something was troubling you, wouldn’t you, Zabe?’ Sorne asked.

‘Of course.’ Zabier answered, then listened to himself. Annoyance flashed through him. He was no longer Sorne’s little brother. Had never been his brother.

‘Good. Charald wants to see us first.’

Zabier dressed and they went into the next tent, where they found the king sitting at his table, with a manservant next to him.

‘My food-taster,’ Charald said. He gave the man a nod. ‘Wait outside until the barons arrive.’

Zabier glanced to Sorne. He thought they had allayed the king’s fear about poison.

‘Come here.’ Charald was dressed in finery, but there was a hectic flush to his cheeks and his eyes were overbright. The king had always carried his age well, but since last night, the flesh seemed to have shrunk on his big frame. He looked to be what he was: a True-man approaching sixty who had lived a hard life.

Charald leant close to Sorne, dropping his voice. ‘You’ve survived a dozen assassination attempts. But they never tried to poison you. It’s a cruel thing, poison. A pox on Nitzane and his ungrateful brother. I gave Dantzel a kingdom and made Nitzane the richest baron in Chalcedonia. Do I get gratitude?’

‘But, sire,’ Zabier said. ‘We shared the food.’

‘There are more ways to deliver poison. I’m going to be on my guard from now on. I can’t trust anyone. Not the southern barons, not the Chalcedonian barons. I hear them whispering...’

The king gripped Sorne’s arm. ‘I thought I was going to die last night, and it made me remember how my father died on the battlefield. He left me a kingdom torn apart by greedy barons, but at fifteen, I was already bigger than most True-men. My son will be three in the spring and he’s a cripple. You said I would have a healthy son. Where is he? I’ve tried asking the Warrior, but He won’t give me a straight answer.’

Zabier waited to see how Sorne would wriggle out of this.

‘In my vision you hugged a healthy boy,’ Sorne said. ‘This is what the Warrior showed me. How this comes about, I don’t know. The gods move in mysterious ways.’

‘The last two queens each gave me one son, then nothing but blue babies. Why? Why does the Warrior punish me? He must want something from me.’ Charald’s pale blue eyes darted about. ‘When I conquered the kingdoms of the Secluded Sea, the Warrior rewarded me by returning the throne of Chalcedonia. Since then, two of those kingdoms have revolted. No wonder He’s impatient with me. I could sail south to reclaim them, but the last time I left Chalcedonia, my son was killed and my cousin stole my throne. No, I must stay here. When I rid the land of Wyrds, the Warrior god will cure my crippled prince. He returned Sorne from the dead, so He can cure a club foot. That’s it, isn’t it?’ He turned to them. ‘That’s the answer.’