The Exile and the Sorcerer (2 page)

Tevi rested her shoulder against the stone wall of the hall and breathed in deeply, tasting salt. The smell was comforting. Soon she would be on the water, with the solid timbers of her boat beneath her feet. Captaining a fishing boat was the only thing she was good at, and the women respected her ability even if they did not respect her.

Thinking about her boat eased the knot in Tevi’s stomach. She lowered her gaze and began eating the bread. Abrak’s chapel stood in the middle of Holric village square. An armed woman was posted at the door. Tevi allowed herself a cynical smile. Setting a guard after the chalice was gone served little purpose. Obviously, a sorcerer had wanted the artefact and had sent an enchanted bird to steal it. Nothing now remained in the chapel worth taking. In truth, even the chalice had been purely symbolic. Abrak’s legacy lay in her potion, the magic brew that gave the women their strength. Without it, they would be even weaker than men.

Unconsciously, Tevi grimaced at the memory of being forced to take her daily dose throughout childhood. The potion tasted foul, but it had done its work. Her enhanced strength would stay with her forever. Typically, Laff claimed to like the taste, but Tevi was pleased she would never need to take it again. However, at that moment, it was the only thing in her life that Tevi could think of to be grateful for. Her situation was hopeless. The friends of her childhood had deserted her until only Brec remained. Even her family scorned her—not that anyone thought she was a bad person, just a bad joke.

The round chapel marked the spot where Abrak had been burnt many years before. Now the ancient sorcerer stood, in spirit, at the side of Rangir, goddess of the sea—or so the myths claimed. Tevi was sceptical, but she needed whatever help she could get. On impulse, her lips moved as she silently offered a prayer.
“Please, Abrak, speak on my behalf to Rangir. Give me the chance to prove myself, so people will speak of me with respect. Show me how to end the scorn.”
Was it too much to ask?

Around the square, clusters of people stood by doorways, soaking in the spring sunlight before beginning their day’s work. One group was looking in Tevi’s direction, although it was unclear whether she, or her grandmother’s hall, was the topic of conversation. Either way, Tevi felt self-conscious. She was about to walk away when the focus of attention shifted abruptly. Voices were raised in shouts, and heads turned.

Tevi moved away from the wall just as a running woman burst from a pathway between two buildings. It took a second for Tevi to recognise the runner: Anvil, a senior member of the war band. It took less than a second longer for the significance to dawn. Anvil was due to be on lookout duty on the Stormfast Cliffs that morning.

“Rathshorn,” Tevi whispered. It had to be the explanation. The season was early for raiding, but Anvil would not be running so frantically just to bring a report on the weather.

Tevi spun back through the doorway. People looked up, startled, from their breakfasts. “Anvil, from the lookout...she’s coming.”

While most leapt to their feet, the Queen remained impassive, looking at the doorway. Tevi stepped aside as the drumming of running feet grew louder. Anvil charged in and skidded to a stop before the Queen, gasping for breath.

A cacophony of questions greeted the sentry. “What have you seen?”

“Is it Rathshorn?”

“What’s wrong?”

The Queen waved her hands for silence. “Let her catch her breath.”

The questions stopped, although the noise did not. Feeling strangely detached, Tevi leaned against the doorpost and surveyed the hall, taking in the fear on the faces of the old and the excitement of the young. Laff looked happy, as if she had received a gift. Tevi watched with something between irritation and sorrow.
Maybe not a gift, but a prize
, the thought came to Tevi
. Just one more game for Laff to win
.

Anvil had a hand pressed to her side, but the heaving of her shoulders had eased enough for speech. “There’s a boat...it must have...come close...during the night.”

“Just one?” the Queen asked.

“That’s all I could see. There might be more around the headland.”

“Anything else?”

“There’s a green pennant on the mast.” Anvil’s words drew a sigh of relief from some corners. The green flag was a sign of parley.

“They want to talk,” the Queen said thoughtfully.

“They’ve got shields on display.”

“They want to talk while reminding us what they back their words with.” The Queen’s face twisted in irony as she amended her words. “Did you recognise the shields?”

“It’s Rathshorn.” Anvil confirmed everyone’s guess.

“It might be a diversion while they attack elsewhere,” Red said from her position at the Queen’s shoulder.

“True,” the Queen agreed. “Send scouts to Hanken Ridge and the Skregin to see if any other boats are lurking. And for this parley, we can play their game. Muster the war band on the beach.”

“The whole band?” Red questioned.

“Oh, yes. It never hurts to bargain from a position of strength.”

Laff was at the weapon rack even before the Queen finished speaking. The family broke into groups. Men herded children to the back of the hall, old women stood in the centre talking in low voices, councillors gathered around the Queen, and the young women of the war band assembled by the weapons.

Tevi joined them, her heart thumping. All her life, there had been relative peace—only a few minor raids, such as the one in which her mother had been hurt. However, word was that the new Queen of Rathshorn was looking for trouble.

Swords hung in scabbards under the shields. Tevi slipped the strap over her head and evened out a kink in the leather so it would not dig into her neck. The weight of the sword against her leg was familiar, but not at all reassuring. Around her, women were putting on helmets and greaves. It was all so serious, deadly serious, yet the mood was like children playing on the beach.

“Tevi, what do you think? Is it war?”

Tevi glanced over her shoulder. In the enthusiasm, Laff’s hostility was forgotten. It was the first time in months she had addressed Tevi without a sneer.

“Hopefully not,” Tevi said quietly.

“
Not
?”

“I don’t want to see women killed for no good reason.”

“You’re frightened.” Laff’s voice returned to its usual contempt.

Tevi cursed herself; she should have held her tongue. “It isn’t that—”

Her words were cut off. “I’m sure it is. And in your place, I’d be frightened. It’s only because the handle sticks out of the scabbard that you know which end of your sword to grab hold of. And you’re supposed to lead the war band. It’s going to be embarrassing following you. You’re the worst fighter we have. You’ll be dead within minutes.”

“Then you won’t have the embarrassment of following me for long,” Tevi snapped back. She rammed the helmet onto her head and left the hall.

Of course, Laff was right. If it was war, then Tevi knew she would be dead within days. Her incompetence at fighting was a running joke. The sight of Abrak’s chapel made Tevi remember her prayer.
Give me the chance to prove myself, so people will speak of me with respect.
Another bad joke. No one would talk ill of a woman who died in battle, no matter how quickly or incompetently.

The Queen’s retinue marched towards the beach, gathering the war band from their family halls as they went. The women were in high spirits and laughing, but only Brec had a smile for Tevi.

“I hear we have visitors,” Brec said as she joined the line.

“Just one boatload, from Rathshorn.”

“So we’re all going to pose prettily on the beach for them.” Brec’s laughter rang out.

“I think that’s about it.” Despite her bleak mood, Tevi found herself smiling.

Unfailing good humour was possibly Brec’s most valuable trait—that and the simple, uncritical friendship she offered. Tevi was aware that her own feelings for Brec were far more complicated. Everyone liked Brec. She was witty and good looking, skilled with both sword and fishing net, easygoing but not weak willed.
So why is she eager to be my friend, when anyone in Holric would welcome her company?
The thought sprang from Tevi’s bitter mood.

The war band formed an untidy phalanx on the dunes. Tevi, her mother, and the matriarchs of the families stood detached from the warriors, behind the Queen. They had barely reached position when the boat rounded the Stormfast Cliffs. The figures of several women were visible, taking in the sail as the small craft cut across the blue waters of the bay.

Behind her, Tevi heard the excited exchanges between members of the war band.

“What do you think they want?”

“Might be some sort of ultimatum.”

“As a pretext for war?”

“Could be.”

“Perhaps Queen Fearful wants her brother back.”

“I say we should let her take him. He’s useless.”

“You’ve had him?”

“Only once.” The exaggerated exasperation in the woman’s voice brought yelps of laughter that were quickly stifled by glares from the matriarchs.

The boat ran aground in the shallows. Seven women jumped out, up to their thighs in the waves. Together, they hauled the boat up beyond reach of the tide. An older woman then disembarked and splashed through ankle-high water. The green pennant from the boat was tied to a long spear in her hand. A dozen yards from the Queen, she stopped and planted the butt of her spear in the sand.

The two groups studied each other in silence. Tevi looked at the leader, taking in her spiky white hair and the twin scars across her left cheek. Seeing a face you could not recognise was so strange; months, even years, could pass without it happening. When it did, the temptation was always to try mentally forcing the features into familiar contours.

At last, the stranger spoke. “I am First-in-battle, cousin and envoy to Queen Fearless-warrior of Rathshorn.” Her clear voice was loud over the waves.

“I am Fists-of-thunder, Queen of Storenseg,” Tevi’s grandmother replied, at her most austere.

The envoy’s gaze raked over the Queen. “My companions and I have travelled far to speak with you. We bring an offer that will aid both our islands.”

“Then we will be pleased to hear to it.” Despite the conciliatory words, there was an icy edge in the Queen’s voice.

The envoy was unflustered. “May I introduce my companions? This is Raging-shark, foremost in victories, whose courage is famed in song throughout the isles.” A tall, redheaded woman nodded. “This is Steadfast-shield-wall, the despair of all who stand against her, fearless and invincible. This is...”

Tevi stopped listening to the meaningless formality. Custom demanded that the women be identified before the parley could commence, but the ascribed feats were fictitious and the warlike birth names were always abandoned in favour of abbreviations, puns, or (as in Tevi’s case) acquired nicknames.

Once the envoy finished, the Queen continued the ritual, naming the small group between her and the war band. Brec’s grandmother, Lizard, was introduced as Dragon-heart; Miam, ancient, half blind and deaf, as Mighty-sword-arm. All were credited with feats of valour. Tevi would have found it funny if she had not been dreading her own introduction.

The Queen was nearing the end, with only Red and Tevi to go. “This is my daughter, Blood-of-my-foes, a warrior whose name is spoken with awe, who has triumphed in countless battles.” For once, the acclamation was completely true. The envoy looked with interest, but her attention was fixed on the crutch under Red’s arm. “And this is my granddaughter, Strikes-like-lightning, who boldly leads the war band.”

Tevi tried not to wince. It was decidedly weak praise, but anything stronger might have drawn sniggers from the women behind her. Now, at last, they could return to the royal hall in Holric and learn the nature of the envoy’s mission.

*

Thick brown wax sealed the stopper of the terra-cotta flask. Tevi’s hands shook as she picked at it with her knife, aware that everyone was watching. Not that there were crowds; in fact, Tevi had never seen the royal hall so empty. Apart from herself and the Queen, the only ones present were the women from Rathshorn, the matriarchs, and three veteran captains of Storenseg’s war band, including Red. Everyone else had been ejected. Guards outside the doorway were keeping the curious at a distance, but undeterred, folk had gathered around the square and were peering in as best they could. Shouts drifted on the morning air, but no one inside was yet talking.

The Queen was the only one seated. Tevi stood before her, struggling with the stubborn cork. She could feel eyes burning into her back, imagining the shame should it be said that the leader of the Storenseg war band could not fight her way into a wine flask, but soon the sealing wax was gone, and the stopper was loose enough to be pulled.

Tevi balanced the flask in the crook of her arm and poured the yellow wine into a drinking bowl. The sweet, sickly smell seemed too heavy for the early hour, yet custom had to be observed. She offered the drink to the Queen, who accepted with a nod and took the smallest possible taste. No one with her grandmother’s experience would risk negotiating when drunk. Tevi moved to the envoy and again offered the bowl. The woman from Rathshorn also swallowed a sip, barely wetting her lips, but enough. The tension in Tevi’s neck eased. Whatever else the envoy might say, by all rules of honour, she had shared their hospitality and could not declare war.