Exile (17 page)

‘They’ll defile his body,’ Haromyr muttered. He pushed through the others to confront their all-father. ‘We must negotiate for his body.’

‘We ask the Mieren for nothing,’ Kyredeon growled. ‘Not even his arm-torcs.’

‘I have them.’ Tobazim offered the silver bands, head bowed. He feared if he lifted his head and met the all-father’s eyes, Kyredeon would see how much he despised him.

He waited. Would the all-father see this as the insult it was intended to be, or would he interpret it as Learon preventing the torcs from falling into Mieren hands?

‘Just as well,’ Oriemn said. ‘We don’t want to give the Mieren any more trophies. I’ll take those.’

Kyredeon took the arm-torcs. Tobazim’s hands were lighter, but his heart was heavy.

‘Learon died with honour,’ Haromyr said. ‘His shade will feast with the heroes in–’

‘My inner circle will not be escorting him to death’s realm,’ Kyredeon announced.

Haromyr glanced to Tobazim.

The all-father’s eyes narrowed. ‘I did not give him permission to seek an honourable death. I forbid anyone to escort his shade.’

Tobazim fought the instinct to protest.

Oriemn caught Tobazim’s arm, twisted it up behind his back and forced him to kneel before Kyredeon. It felt as if his shoulder was about to pop out of its socket.

‘Do you understand?’ Oriemn demanded. When Tobazim did not respond, he jerked his arm again making his shoulder scream in protest.

‘I understand,’ Tobazim ground out.

‘Use his title.’ Oriemn jerked Tobazim’s arm once more.

‘I understand, All-father Kyredeon,’ he said, locking his fury down deep inside. He dare not object, not when he’d seen Kyredeon’s idea of justice.

Oriemn thrust Tobazim forward.

Saving himself with his good arm, Tobazim came to his feet and gave obeisance as best he could before backing off. His death would not help Learon.

Nothing would help Learon.

Even so, he despised himself. If the winery had still stood, he would have asked permission to leave the city and serve the brotherhood there, but he was trapped. Trapped in the besieged city, and trapped in Kyredeon’s brotherhood, until the day he died. His silver arm-torcs, once a symbol of pride, had become a symbol of imprisonment.

The full impact of his position hit him with such force that he staggered. Only Haromyr and Athlyn kept him upright. He was grateful they still stood by him.

When he returned to the bedchamber he shared with Learon and the other young adepts, he found all the Malaunje who had escaped from the winery waiting for him. No one said anything. Paravia stepped forward and sang Learon’s favourite songs, one after the other.

There was nothing sad about those songs, but many wept unashamedly. When it was over, everyone left, until only Paravia remained with Tobazim.

He kissed her cheeks solemnly. ‘Thank you.’

‘Kyredeon sent for me last night.’

‘I’m sorry.’

She shook her head. ‘He didn’t want me. He made me watch Learon’s humiliation. He never wanted me. He wanted to get rid of Learon.’ She caught his hand. ‘Tobazim, what did you do to make an enemy of him?’

‘Nothing. We only ever did what we believed to be right.’

Tears slid down her cheeks. ‘Promise me you’ll be careful.’

He nodded.

‘I can’t spend the rest of my life living under this all-father.’

‘I know.’ Tobazim was so tired, his head felt thick. ‘One day someone will challenge him and we’ll have a new all-father.’

‘Not if he kills off all the adepts he sees as a threat.’

Tobazim flinched. ‘Then I’m safe. I’m only a builder.’

‘Oh, Tobazim.’ She kissed him. ‘Goodbye.’

He was too heartsore and tired to understand until the next day when they found her body.

She’d jumped off the tallest palace tower.

I
MOSHEN GRIPPED THE
stonework as the lone T’En warrior battled on the causeway. When he defeated the second group of Mieren, the brotherhood warriors cheered, their deep voices carrying up to the sisterhood palaces at the island’s peak. Her heart soared with their voices. These were her people. She was so proud of this glorious, hopeless warrior.

At the same time, she was furious with him and his brotherhood.

‘Such a waste.’ Imoshen was surrounded by Malaunje and T’En now, all watching the battle. ‘Why would an all-father send one of his warriors out to die like this?’

‘Punishment?’ Arodyti shrugged. ‘Maybe it was his own idea, and he wants to impress his brotherhood and win stature.’

‘Will the Mieren send more warriors against him?’ a Malaunje boy asked. In his excitement, he had pushed in right next to Imoshen. ‘Why do they hesitate?’

‘Because they won’t waste–’ Imoshen broke off, wincing as Mieren archers cut down the T’En warrior.

The boy clutched Imoshen’s arm. She felt his shock and pain clearly.

‘Now they’ll desecrate the body,’ Arodyti said.

Sure enough, half a dozen of them picked him up and carried him off.

The Malaunje and T’En around Imoshen were subdued as they left to go downstairs.

Sarosune wiped the tears from her cheek. ‘He was very brave and very foolish.’

Arodyti met Imoshen’s eyes. ‘This is how the brotherhoods behave after you ask them not to take action without approving it at an all-council. Now do you see why I won’t take any of their warriors with me? Their values are not our values. They put honour ahead of good sense.’

Imoshen understood. She also realised she had a precedent for not taking her actions to the all-council for approval.

S
ORNE PUT ANOTHER
sheaf of reports aside and rubbed his face. He was so angry with Zabier, if his brother had been here, he would have grabbed him and shaken him. How dare Zabier die and leave him with no clue as to Valendia’s whereabouts?

He frowned at Zabier’s travelling chest. There had been nothing personal in it, just piles of papers, all methodically tied with string. He would go through it all again, but at first glance there was no mention of a female half-blood, or a secret captive. There were, however, a lot of reports on Wyrd customs and gift working.

Maybe Zabier kept his personal papers in his travelling bag. Sorne picked it up and unpacked it. Right at the bottom, he felt something familiar wrapped in a knitted vest. With a growing sense of betrayal he took out his mother’s torc. There it was gleaming up at him, the silver neck torc with the blue stone. Zabier had had it all along.

A shout made Sorne repack the bag.

He went outside to see a mass of men-at-arms heading his way. They waved their swords and shields in celebration, and they were making for the royal tent. Sorne found Charald standing outside, with several of his barons.

‘What’s happening?’ Sorne asked.

As the men drew nearer, Nitzane arrived and edged around behind the group to stand near Sorne.

‘First chance I’ve had to say I’m sorry.’ His voice was cloaked from the rest by the cheering men-at-arms.

For a heartbeat, Sorne had no idea what he was talking about. Then he recalled, other than King Charald, Nitzane was probably the only one who knew that Zabier was his brother.

‘Do you remember we had a sister?’ Sorne asked. ‘Did Zabier ever tell you what became of her?’

‘No. Why?’

‘She’s missing.’

‘If there’s anything I can do...’ Nitzane put a hand on his shoulder. Sorne had helped him find his mother.

The men-at-arms reached the king.

‘What have you got there?’ Charald asked.

They nudged one another, until one of their own stepped forward and bowed. ‘A gift for you, King Charald.’

The men-at-arms parted to bring forward the body of a huge T’En warrior. He was naked and his chest was full of arrows.

As he lay sprawled in the snow at the king’s feet, a dozen different men-at-arms began to tell the story, speaking over each other. According to them, he’d walked down the causeway, brazen as could be, and challenged them. Of course, they cut him down.

The men-at-arms tossed a True-man sword and shield on the snow next to his body, and complained about the lack of trophies: no silver braid, no arm-torc.

Now that Sorne had gotten over the initial shock, he recognised the warrior. It was Learon. He went cold with shock. Was this the poor fellow’s punishment for letting him in to see Imoshen without telling his all-father? What had happened to Tobazim?

‘What will we do with him?’ Charald asked.

Eventually they chose a tree and tied him to it. Even slumped against the tree, he was taller than anyone, including Sorne.

King Charald ordered wine to be brought out and sent for the pipers. A fire was started. He distributed the wine to the men-at-arms who had delivered the Wyrd giant.

‘This is what we are up against,’ King Charald said. ‘Giants, with powers that can steal your mind. This is why we must reclaim our land.’

They cheered. The pipers played, more toasts were drunk.

‘He won’t need these anymore.’ The king hacked off the Wyrd’s genitals and tossed them in the fire, amidst cheering.

Sorne did not blink; he did not dare. That could so easily be him tied to the tree, alive while they hacked him to pieces.

I
MOSHEN HAD SPENT
the rest of day finalising preparations for the journey. Now it was dusk and almost time to say goodbye to Arodyti and her warriors.

Frayvia slipped into Imoshen’s private study. ‘You were right. It was not a simple case of ambition for stature.’

Imoshen did not need their link to sense her devotee’s distress. She stood up, opening her arms, and they hugged, touch making the sharing of emotion more powerful.

After a moment, Frayvia pulled away. ‘It was one of Kyredeon’s warriors. The all-father had drained his gift in retaliation for some insult, but no one could say what it was. Confronting the Mieren was the only way he could die with honour.’

‘And Kyredeon drove him to it.’ Imoshen shook her head. ‘Keep your ears open. I have to work with these all-fathers. A tiny detail might give me an advantage.’

Frayvia nodded.

It wasn’t supposed to happen, but messages did pass between the Malaunje of the brotherhoods and sisterhoods. As someone who had been brotherhood-raised and then made the change to a sisterhood, Frayvia was uniquely positioned.

Arodyti opened the door, saw Imoshen with her devotee and would have left, but Imoshen beckoned her, then sent Frayvia through to their bedchamber.

‘All ready?’ Imoshen asked.

Arodyti nodded and gestured to Imoshen’s cabinet, with its many little nooks containing documents. ‘All those treatises... I used to feel so sorry for you, always buried in your studies or madly drawing up breeding charts for Vittoryxe’s birds. Then, the day we went to the spring festival, I noticed you observing everyone rather than joining in, and I realised you are happiest watching and observing.’

‘I remember that day. You two dragged me along because you thought I was missing out.’

‘We wanted you to have some fun.’

‘I did.’ Imoshen’s gift flexed and she read intense purpose under Arodyti’s casual conversation.

The gift-warrior ran her hand over the cabinet glass. ‘I was convinced I’d never be the sisterhood’s hand-of-force, because Vittoryxe didn’t like me. But you became all-mother instead, and named me hand-of-force. Now...’

Someone tapped on the door.

‘That will be Sarosune,’ Arodyti said.

‘Come in,’ Imoshen called.

The shield-sister entered. ‘Have you told her, Aro?’

‘I was waiting for you.’

‘Told me what?’ Imoshen asked.

‘Vittoryxe dug up more on transposition,’ Arodyti revealed. ‘What we learned this afternoon changes things.’

‘It won’t work with a Mieren?’

‘It’ll work. Turns out they’re much safer on the empyrean plane. The beasts prefer us, with our innate power, to them. No... if one of the T’En tries to transpose, bringing a second person with them, the chances of them both successfully returning to this plane are neligible.’

Which meant she could be sending Arodyti to her death. ‘You don’t have to do this.’

‘Of course I do.’

‘Of course she does,’ Sarosune echoed and the two shield-sisters exchanged looks.

Imoshen’s heart sank. She would not only lose Arodyti, she’d lose Sarosune, too. The shield-sister bond was so deep that when one died, the other usually followed. ‘There must be some way–’

‘It’s because of the amount of power they need to expend to bring the second person along,’ Arodyti explained. ‘It makes them shine like a beacon, attracting empyrean predators.’

‘If Arodyti delivers the boy, she won’t survive,’ Sarosune said. ‘So I’m going to the port with her. I want to be there, right up to the end. She can form a deep link with you to deliver the boy.’

Imoshen didn’t want this. ‘There has to be another way.’

‘I’m ready, Imoshen.’ Arodyti had rolled up her sleeve to reveal the fine skin of her inner arm.

Tears stung Imoshen’s eyes.

‘You made me your hand-of-force,’ Arodyti said softly.

Imoshen exhaled and nodded. She pushed her sleeve up her arm to the elbow. ‘I think it would be better if we kneel.’

They went over to the fireplace and knelt on the carpet.

Imoshen raised her left arm and Arodyti met it with her own. Their palms touched and their fingers entwined. Their skin pressed from elbow to wrist where the blood pulsed close to the surface.

‘We already share the all-mother’s link with her hand-of-force,’ Imoshen said, her voice a little husky. ‘We can build on that. Lower your defences.’

She lowered her own, so that her gift was exposed.

Imoshen found it was like seeing her friend in concentrated form, her essence refined and revealed by the nature and power of her gift – that sense of mischief, the passion and the determination. ‘Lovely.’

‘...S-strange.’ Arodyti slurred her words as if drunk. ‘Your gift feels more masculine than feminine. Sharp, impatient and a little w... wild.’

‘It’s because she was raised by covenant-breaking brothers,’ Sarosune said.