Impossible Things (6 page)

‘You’ll soon get used to eating more,’ the warlord – Kael – said.

Ishtaer nodded politely. She didn’t think she ever would.

He told her to get into bed and she did, lying stiff and trembling as he climbed in beside her. But all he did was settle beneath the covers, not even trying to touch her. She heard his puff of air as he blew out the candle, and silence settled over the room.

‘Ishtaer?’ he said after a few minutes.

‘Yes, m—Kael?’

‘Stop bloody trembling. I can’t get to sleep.’

‘I—I’ll try.’

‘Are you cold?’

‘No.’

‘Pity. I could have warmed you up.’

She edged a little further away from him.

‘Sure you don’t want me to touch you?’ he asked idly.

‘Yes,’ she gasped.

‘Your loss. Well, night, then,’ he said, and she heard nothing from him until the morning, when he shook her awake, told her to get dressed and follow him.

She’d expected to go straight into a meeting with this council he’d talked about, but instead he took her across a courtyard and into a large, busy room filled with heavenly scents.

People went oddly silent as Kael approached, but he ignored them all and handed Ishtaer a tray on which he placed various items of food, then guided her to a table.

All around them, Ishtaer was conscious of the whispers.

‘… fifteen hundred in Draxos.’

‘I heard he killed fifteen thousand.’

‘I meant personally, numbhead.’

Beside her on the bench, Kael calmly ate his breakfast, with no sign of having heard them.

‘So did I. He just slaughtered that many.’

‘No one could kill fifteen thousand men all by himself.’

‘Lord Krull could …’

‘Coffee, Ishtaer? It’s better than the stuff we had on the ship.’

Ishtaer nodded mechanically.

‘… you know he’s Twice-Marked?’

‘Yeah, but no one knows what his second mark is.’

‘They say his Militis mark covers, like, his whole arm and half his chest! But no one’s ever seen …
’

‘Enjoying your breakfast?’

‘It’s delicious,’ Ishtaer said with heartfelt sincerity. It was porridge, but not the tasteless stuff they’d had on board the ship. This porridge had cream and honey and fruits and spices in it. This porridge was like food for gods.

‘… oh my gods, that’s Lord Krull!’

‘So I see. You know,’ he dropped his tone and spoke close in her ear, ‘if you’d let me touch you in bed, I could put that look on your face.’

Her whole body tightened at his nearness, even before he spoke.

Kael made a sound of disgust. ‘But that’ll never happen, will it?’ he said. ‘You’ll get that expression from porridge, but not from me.’

‘… on the seas, and his father was a great warlord …’

‘Krull the Warlord!’

‘… pirate …’

‘Shh, don’t look, that’s Krull the Warlord!’

Eventually, as her bowl emptied and Kael finished his several plates of food, he shoved back his chair and stood up. ‘Come on, then,’ he said, and once again everyone went silent as they passed.

‘Gone a bit quiet in there,’ Kael remarked as they emerged into the cool morning.

‘They all knew you,’ Ishtaer ventured.

‘Nah, they knew
of
me. I love having a reputation,’ the great warlord remarked as they crossed the cobbles. ‘Always gets girls into bed. Well, except you.’

Ishtaer had, technically, been in his bed, but she didn’t really want to remind him of it.

‘Although maybe you haven’t heard about me. I’m Krull the Warlord, you know.’

‘I’ve heard, my lord,’ she said evenly. All those whispers …

‘Really? Did I tell you how I slaughtered – how many were they saying in there? Fifteen thousand, in Draxos?’

‘Barehanded,’ she agreed, feeling slightly sick.

‘And the pirate booty. Got a castle full of gold in Krulland. No? I kill pirates, you know,’ he added jauntily. ‘They’re afraid of me.’

‘Everyone’s afraid of you, my lord,’ Ishtaer said.

‘Including you,’ he sighed. ‘Okay, fine. Whatever. Try not to look so terrified when we meet the council, will you?’

She nodded, but she had the distinct feeling that he knew as well as she that it was a lie.

The chamber he took her to was up a wide flight of stone stairs and along a passageway open to the courtyard below. Whenever they passed someone, conversation would stop, footsteps slow, and once she even thought she heard the shuffle and scrape of a curtsey. Kael ignored it all.

The day was cold, the air crisp, but Ishtaer wore a woollen dress and cloak that covered her head and hands. The day was cold, but she was not.

Kael opened a door that creaked heavily and led her to a wooden chair in a room where tapestries muffled echoes and a large fire crackled.

‘Now then, Krull,’ said a man’s voice. An older man, his voice used to command. ‘What have you brought us?’

‘Will this take long?’ asked a woman, not unkindly. ‘We’re run off our feet in the clinic. I swear every second person in the city has flu.’

‘You won’t be long here, Julia,’ said a second man, his voice thin with age, but sure of itself.

‘It will take as long as it needs to,’ said a third man, his voice calm, friendly, and just a little bit too smooth to be trustworthy.

Kael ignored them all. ‘Coffee, Ishtaer?’

She shook her head automatically, then added, ‘No, thank you, my lord.’

She heard the glug of liquid and clink of crockery as he poured his own, and the woman’s impatient sigh. Finally, he settled beside her in another chair, and said, ‘You’d best introduce yourselves. Sir Scipius I know, but I’m afraid it’s been a while since I visited the clinic, ma’am.’

‘Julia Quintia,’ said the woman.

‘Madam Julia, the senior Healer here at the Academy, is that correct?’ Kael said. Ishtaer assumed the woman nodded as there was no rebuttal to this. ‘If she believes your mark to be genuine, she’ll be in charge of your training.’

Ishtaer nodded. Her eyes were downcast, as usual. She’d been told for too long how annoying it was to have them flickering about all over the place. Best that her lids hid them.

‘I am Sir Flavius Fulvius Viator, child,’ said the smooth-toned man. ‘I run the Academy.’

‘And also takes charge of all the dull stuff every Chosen needs to know, whether or not it actually relates to his or her field,’ said the elderly man in a quiet tone. ‘I really can’t see how High Ilani is even relevant any more, except as a way of excluding those who don’t know it. To which end, I might as well call myself simply Killen.’

‘I am Sir Scipius Durian Militis,’ said the man who’d spoken first, ‘and I’ve no idea what I’m doing here. Why am I verifying the marks of a woman, Krull?’

There was a pause, during which she heard Kael swallow and set down his cup. ‘The same reason Madam Julia is here,’ he said.

Another pause. ‘She has a Healer’s mark also?’ Madam Julia said. She made a noise of annoyance. ‘You know there’s no way to test if her Seer’s mark is real.’

‘No. But just as you can test if she’s a real Healer, Sir Scipius can test,’ here he took Ishtaer’s wrist and pushed up her sleeve, ‘if she’s a real Warrior.’

Someone sucked in a breath. Someone laughed softly.

‘Is this a joke, my lord?’ asked Madam Julia.

‘If it is, then it’s on me as well,’ Kael replied smoothly. ‘And you know I’m not fond of being laughed at. I found her with these three marks. I’ve seen her heal herself so I’ve no reason to distrust that mark, and she’s shown a little aptitude with a sword, although in her present sorry state it’s rather hard to tell what she might be good at. You’ve no idea how to stand up for yourself, have you, Ishtaer?’

‘And I don’t suppose you’ve had any handy visions that have come true, have you, child?’ asked Killen.

Ishtaer shook her head.

‘But,’ said Sir Scipius, ‘a woman. A woman Warrior?’

‘Just because it’s never happened before doesn’t mean it can’t happen in the future,’ said Sir Flavius.

‘Yes, but that would make her Thrice-Marked,’ said Madam Julia tensely. ‘It’s impossible.’

‘Merely implausible,’ said Killen.

‘Who are you?’ asked Sir Flavius. ‘Who are your people? Are you related to Lord Krull?’

‘Gods, I hope not,’ Kael said, and against all her expectations, that hurt Ishtaer. ‘Sirs, Madam, may I present Tyro Ishtaer ex Saraneus Medicus Militis Aspicio prior Inservio.’

‘Yes, but,’ began Sir Scipius, and then he went silent.

‘Inservio?’ asked Madam Julia sharply.

Kael let out a long breath.

‘Will you not speak, Ishtaer?’ asked Killen softly. The rest started squabbling.

‘My lord,’ she whispered sideways.

‘Mmm?’ Kael said.

‘I don’t understand. Inservio?’

A pause. ‘Never mind,’ he said. ‘You’ll get a new name soon. Once you’ve graduated the Academy. And maybe we’ll find out who your people are. Then you can be named for them.’

‘You don’t
know
—’ Madam Julia yelped.

‘Perhaps you’d better start at the beginning,’ said Sir Flavius crisply.

A pause, and the rattle of Kael’s coffee cup. Then he said, ‘As you say,’ and proceeded to give a potted history of Ishtaer as he knew her.

A very potted history. He managed to glaze over their entire time at Samara’s compound with, ‘I noticed she bore the marks of the Chosen and brought her back to my ship,’ and utterly failed to mention how she’d nearly gelded him and he’d left her to die in a cell.

He told the committee what he did know of her life before she became a slave, and as he spoke it became clearer to Ishtaer too. ‘She was raised as an orphan in a workhouse on the Saranos,’ he said. ‘She doesn’t know who her parents were. She worked in domestic service before escaping to sea, where she was sold as a slave.’

No, that’s not right
. She’d never been sold. She’d been … captured, that was more the word. From the terror and pain and anger of the ship to the chaos on deck, the crash of timber and the smash of swords, men screaming and dying and the deck running red with blood, and the devil raising his sword and roaring at her—

‘Ishtaer?’

The old man’s voice. Startled, she shook herself.

‘Are you all right?’ That was Kael.

Rapidly, she nodded. Footsteps sounded, and the swish of cloth, and someone smelling of medicinal herbs was in front of her. Madam Julia. Her fingers were cool against Ishtaer’s wrist.

‘She’s terrified, my lord. What have you been doing to her?’

‘Me? I’ve been saving her life, that’s what I’ve been doing. Should have seen her when I found her. Starved, crippled—’

‘Crippled?’

‘Yes, she – look, you tell her, Ishtaer. You’ve hardly said a word all morning.’

You hardly gave me opportunity.
‘I broke my leg,’ she said, and then frowned and corrected herself. ‘My leg was broken.’

‘Not usually enough to cripple someone,’ Madam Julia said. ‘Especially not a Healer. Had your mark manifested by then?’

Ishtaer nodded. ‘But she had no crystals,’ Kael put in for her, ‘and had never heard of the Chosen, anyway.’

‘Hmm. So it was never set? I suppose that would cause problems,’ Madam Julia mused. ‘May I see?’

Ishtaer nodded, and the Healer pushed up the skirts of her dress to the knee. She chattered with Ishtaer about the injury and about how Karnos had set it. ‘That old misery,’ Julia called him.

‘A misery who’s saved my life a handful of times,’ Kael told her.

‘Hmm. We might work on that scar, Ishtaer, but the bone has healed quite nicely. What have you healed since you got your crystals?’

Ishtaer showed the woman the palm of her hand. ‘I was burned here.’

‘And there’s not a mark on it. Very good. What burned you?’

She hesitated. ‘Tell her,’ said Killen’s voice.

‘A-a brand,’ she stammered.

A short silence, then Scipius said, ‘Like a cattle brand?’

‘Exactly like a cattle brand,’ said Kael. ‘Lady Samara is not a pleasant woman. I imagine I’ll have an interesting conversation with the Emperor about her later.’

‘I see,’ Madam Julia said, although it was quite clear she didn’t. ‘And have you any knowledge of herbs?’

Ishtaer forced herself to be still.
Don’t try to impress them. Don’t pretend to be better than you are.
‘Some,’ she said.

‘Some? Ishtaer – look, will you look at me, please? How I’m supposed to carry on a conversation with the top of your head, I’ve no idea.’

Ishtaer breathed in.

‘Ah,’ said Kael. ‘Yes, that’s the other thing.’

‘She can’t,’ said Killen.

Madam Julia’s hand went under Ishtaer’s chin and forced it up. Ishtaer opened her eyes fully; there was no point hiding now.

Scipius swore. Ishtaer felt the breeze of the Healer’s hand waving back and forth. ‘You’re blind,’ Madam Julia said sharply.

‘No,’ Ishtaer said, surprising herself. ‘I just can’t see.’

‘Isn’t that what blindness is, girl?’ Sir Flavius asked.

‘There’s nothing wrong with her eyes,’ Kael explained as Madam Julia poked at her eyelids. ‘Karnos has examined them over and over. No injury, no cataract, she wasn’t born this way. We were rather hoping someone here might be able to shed light on it.’

Madam Julia sounded thoughtful. ‘It’s not my field,’ she said. ‘I’m sure I can find someone who specialises. It will make it harder to teach you, Ishtaer,’ she added, as if Ishtaer had done it on purpose.

‘And impossible for me,’ said Sir Scipius. ‘Even if that mark is real.’

‘It is,’ said Killen, but Sir Scipius came striding over to take her arm in his hands. She felt his breath on her skin as he peered close, and fought revulsion.

Kael muttered something under his breath, then said aloud, ‘We’re wasting time here. Your sword, sir.’

Sir Scipius dropped her arm. ‘You can’t mean—’

‘A demonstration, yes. And if she’s hurt, well then. What better way to demonstrate her healing abilities?’

Killen laughed softly. After a moment, she heard the silken glide of a sword being withdrawn from its scabbard, and then the hilt of it was pressed into her right hand.

It was a serviceable weapon, she decided, not fancy with crystals and carvings, like Lord Krull’s. This one was shorter than the practice swords she’d used on the ship, it had leather binding the handle and no cross guard, but it was light and felt secure in her hand.

She unfastened her cloak and laid it over her chair.

‘You’ve given her a gladius against your longsword?’ Sir Flavius said doubtfully. ‘Is that fair?’

‘No,’ the warlord said, and swung at Ishtaer.

Her arm flew up across her body and the short sword pushed him back, steel sliding against steel. He whirled the longsword in an arc above his head and came at her again, from the left this time, the sword slicing upwards. Ishtaer chopped down and was rewarded with the clash of steel on steel again.

‘But—’ Sir Scipius murmured.

Krull’s sword slid up along hers, up and to the right, and she pushed back in the same direction until he’d swung away, and this time he chopped down at her.

Use the momentum
, she thought, and drove the point of his sword to the ground. Then she lifted her weapon and jabbed sharply forward, the blade an extension of her arm.

Someone sucked in a sharp breath, and she remembered too late that this was a real sword, not a practice wooden dummy, and that Kael hadn’t dressed in padded practice armour as he had on the ship. She faltered, halted her thrust, and the warlord let out a short, harsh laugh as he swept the flat of his sword against her arm, slicing through her sleeve and the skin of her inner arm.

The gladius clattered to the ground and Ishtaer clutched at her arm, feeling hot blood seep through.

For a moment no one moved, no one spoke, and then Kael said, ‘Now would be a prime time to demonstrate your healing abilities, lass.’

Madam Julia
tsked
and pushed Ishtaer to her seat. ‘A small cut would suffice.’

‘That is a small cut.’ Kael sounded disinterested.

‘I meant a little slice of the finger! Not a – oh dear, that’s bleeding quite a lot, Ishtaer. Do you know how to slow the blood?’

She nodded, covering the wound and willing the flow of blood to cease. That was what Karnos had told her on the ship. ‘You just have to tell it what to do, kid. That’s the only way I can describe it.’

‘And knit the blood vessels back together … yes, that’s it. Layer by layer, that’s the way to treat a cut like this. Start with the most important bits and then the most badly damaged, and after that simply work your way out.’

‘How did you know where his sword was?’ Sir Scipius asked her. ‘If you can’t see … Is this some Seer’s trick?’

‘No,’ said Killen’s voice. He sounded amused.

‘I don’t think so,’ Ishtaer said. ‘It’s just … I listened, and I felt for the air currents and I … I worked it out. Where the sword was going to go. Using the momentum.’

‘We had a couple of practice fights on the ship,’ Kael said.

‘Yes, but …’

‘If she could see, she’d be better,’ Kael conceded. ‘But do you think she could do that if she wasn’t a Warrior?’

Madam Julia held the edges of the wound together while Ishtaer concentrated on fusing the skin closed.

‘Do you know how to dull pain?’ she asked, and Ishtaer shook her head.

‘I—the crystals fade it a bit,’ she said. ‘But I don’t know if it would work on someone else.’

‘No. That’s a technique you can learn. And which I’ll teach you.’ She paused. ‘It’s going to be difficult, Ishtaer, if you can’t see anything. But I’m willing to try if you are.’

She was firm, but she was kind. She was offering to teach Ishtaer.

People have been kind before. And it’s been a lie.

She thought about the sword Kael had knocked from her hand. About the instinctive way she’d moved with it.
This whole place could be crawling with armed men who are bigger and faster than I am.

But they don’t seem to mind me fighting back.

‘I will try,’ she said, and Madam Julia made a satisfied noise.

‘You’ll need to clean that wound,’ she said. ‘Come with me down to the clinic and we’ll sort it out properly for you. These boys can squabble over whether you’re a Warrior or a Seer, but I’m satisfied you’re a Healer. Come on, then.’

Ishtaer followed.