The Outcast

by Louise Cooper

  Holding her head at an arrogant angle, she brushed past Sister Erminet, then glanced around the hall. Almost at once she saw her quarry seated among a group of younger Initiates whom he seemed to be regaling with a story.

  Drachea Rannak was a celebrity, but Sashka felt sure he could be persuaded to give her a little of his time …

  She walked up to the table and said, ‘Pardon me …’

  Drachea looked up, and was startled to see the beautiful, patrician girl who all morning had sat beside the High Initiate smiling down at him. He didn’t know her name or rank, but her face alone was enough to arouse his interest. He rose, and bowed.

  ‘Madam. I’m afraid I haven’t had the privilege of an introduction.’

  His manners were impeccable … Sashka inclined her head. ‘I am Sashka Veyyil, of Veyyil Saravin, Han Province.’ She was gratified to see that the clan name was familiar to him. ‘I believe you are Drachea Rannak, Heir Margrave of Shu?’

  ‘At your service.’

  The Initiates had also risen, and were watching the exchange with interest. Sashka turned her haughtiest expression on them.

  ‘Gentlemen, the High Initiate has asked me to convey some information of a confidential nature to the Heir Margrave. If you would excuse us … ?’

  The ploy was effective, and with expressions of courtesy they moved away, leaving Sashka and Drachea alone. She sat down, gesturing graciously for him to do likewise, and with no preamble said, ‘I was most interested by your story, Drachea-may I call you Drachea?’

  He flushed. ‘I’d consider it an honour.’

  Thank you. I particularly wanted to know more about the girl whom you tell us was in league with Tarod.’

  ‘Cyllan.’ He didn’t quite understand her; what possible interest could she have in Cyllan’s well-being?

  Sashka ignored his obvious puzzlement. ‘Can you tell me something about her?’ she asked sweetly. ‘Her background, her past - I gather that she’s from the Great Eastern Flatlands.’

  Drachea studied his folded hands for a moment, then said with unexpected venom, ‘Cyllan Anassan is nothing but an ignorant, gutter-bred slut who has yet to learn her place!’

  Sashka raised her perfect eyebrows. ‘Indeed? You are - vehement, Drachea.’

  He smiled. ‘Then I must crave your foregiveness. I have a personal score to settle with both that trull and her lover; memory of what I have suffered because of them makes me … indelicate in my expression of those feelings.’

  She reached out and laid a hand on his arm. ‘It must have been a great ordeal for you.’

  Drachea’s eyes burned eagerly. ‘Yes …’ Gods, this girl was exquisite … a match for any man with the courage to try her …

  ‘You said,’ Sashka went on, not removing her hand, ‘that she was Tarod’s lover.’

  ‘Lover, paramour, harlot - ‘ Suddenly Drachea grinned wolfishly. ‘Whichever term you choose, he was fool enough to sacrifice himself for her sake.’

  ‘So he loves her … ?’

  ‘Love? I don’t know if a soulless vermin like Tarod can know the meaning of the word. But he made a pact for her safety with the High Initiate, so he values the little witch in some way.’ He paused. ‘May I venture to ask if you yourself knew Tarod?’

  ‘Oh,’ Sashka said carelessly, ‘we all knew Tarod to some degree. I simply wanted to clarify one or two points that Keridil was unclear on.’ She rose, amused by the haste with which he followed her example and gratified by his obvious anxiety to please her. ‘Thank you, Drachea. You’ve been most helpful.’

  The chances of being able to speak alone with her again were slim, Drachea knew, and so before she could turn away he said, keeping his voice casual, This room grows a little overbearing - perhaps you’ll permit me to escort you into the fresh air for a while?’

  She regarded him. ‘Thank you, but no.’

  Then perhaps some refreshment?’

  Sashka smiled sweetly. ‘I think that to save embarrassment, Drachea, I should tell you that I am shortly to wed the High Initiate.’

  She had flattened him and dismissed him with a single sentence, and as he began to stammer out an apology she gave him a small, almost amused bow and walked away. The boy must be arrogance itself if he thought he was worthy of her … he was well mannered and pleasant enough, but her prospects went far beyond a mere Margravate.

  ‘Sashka!’ A voice spoke behind her, and she turned to find her father, Frayn Veyyil Saravin, at her elbow.

  ‘Father.’ She kissed him. ‘Is Mother rested?’

  ‘Well rested, yes - she’ll join us a little later.’ He nodded in the direction of Drachea, who had sat down again disconsolately. ‘I saw you talking with the Heir Margrave. He seems a very worthy young man.’

  ‘I’m sure he is,’ Sashka said disinterestedly.

  Frayn pursed his lips. ‘I hope you weren’t rude to him.

  He looks downcast, and I know what your tongue can be like.’

  ‘Oh, Father! Of course I wasn’t rude. He made a polite and proper advance, and I simply told him that I am betrothed to the High Initiate.’

  Her father’s jaw dropped. ‘But you’re not!’

  ‘Keep your voice down; people are staring at us.’

  His face purpled apoplectically and he repeated in a strangled whisper, ‘But you’re not betrothed!’

  ‘Not officially yet, perhaps, but … ‘ Sashka shrugged. ‘It’s only a matter of time, Father. Would you therefore want me to squander myself in some dalliance with a provincial Margrave’s son?’

  Frayn frowned darkly. ‘Sometimes, Sashka, your arrogance astonishes me! If Keridil hasn’t yet asked for your hand - ‘

  ‘But he will.’ She planted a kiss squarely on her father’s forehead to pacify him, then, turning, tossed her hair back. ‘Sashka Veyyil Toln - it sits well on the tongue, don’t you think? And don’t try to tell me that it won’t be the best alliance our clan has ever had!’

  Frayn Veyyil Saravin sighed exasperatedly, but knew better than to argue with her. In truth he was deeply proud of what his daughter had achieved. He’d never felt easy with her original plan to marry that black-haired Adept; he’d always felt there was something wrong with the man, and his opinion had been vindicated. But the High Initiate was another matter. As a man of rank, Keridil was second only to the High Margrave himself; as an individual he was personable, trustworthy, had already proved himself a worthy successor to his sire, Jehrek. Frayn could hope for nothing better.

  He caught his daughter’s arm and squeezed it fondly.

  ‘Then if you’re so set in your own mind, Sashka - and I’m not about to gainsay you - take an old man’s advice, and return to the High Initiate’s side. That’s a woman’s proper place, and he’ll appreciate you the more for it.

  Ask your mother if you doubt me.’

  Sashka gave him one of her most beatific smiles, laced with a good measure of pity. ‘Dear Father!’ she said, and kissed him soundly again before moving quickly and gracefully away in the direction of the hall doors.

  Chapter 11

  Cyllan’s face was white and pinched with strain as she walked between her two guards through the Castle’s corridors. In the three days which had passed since her imprisonment she had seen no one, save the escorted servant who brought her food and returned after an interval to take away the untouched plate, and she had spent almost all her time sitting at the window of her room, gazing out over the courtyard in the vain hope of gaining some clue to Tarod’s whereabouts.

  She had to admit - though it rankled - that her captors had been scrupulous in keeping their part of the bargain for her life. No one had made any attempt to molest her; indeed, they’d treated her with punctilious courtesy, even kindness. She’d stonily rebuffed their efforts, ignoring the delicacies sent to tempt her and refusing to respond to any attempt at conversation. But she knew that this impasse couldn’t last forever. Keridil Toln had anticipated and thwarted any effort she might make to kill herself; unless she found another way to bre
ak the deadlock, then the grim pact would be fulfilled, and Tarod would die while she remained a helpless hostage.

  And she had little time left …

  She had tried to make mental contact with Tarod, but always her efforts failed, and she imagined that the Circle had taken precautions-perhaps by drugging him, perhaps by magical means - to prevent any communication. And so, with every other way she could think of barred to her, Cyllan had concluded that she had but one choice … to plead with the High Initiate for Tarod’s life.

  Knowing what she knew of the enmity between Keridil Toln and Tarod, and the reasons behind it, she felt that a mouse in the jaws of a cat would have a better chance of survival than she had of convincing the High Initiate to heed her. But when, on her third morning of captivity, two Initiates came to confer with the guards outside her door and then announced that she was to be brought before Keridil for an interview, she felt a spark of hope. She had nothing to lose by making her plea save her self-respect, and that counted for nothing.

  And so she went with them willingly enough, her heart pounding with nervousness as at last they halted outside the door of the High Initiate’s apartments.

  ‘Come.’ Keridil answered the knock crisply, and Cyllan was led in.

  The room was lined with shelves crammed with papers, and dominated by a large table behind which Keridil Toln sat. Cyllan’s spirits sank as she realised that, contrary to her hopes, he wasn’t alone. Two elderly men flanked him, one fussing with a scroll, the other staring at her with something resembling distaste. Grevard, the Castle’s physician, stood by the window, and on a chair nearby sat a girl of about Cyllan’s own age; a patrician, beautiful yet cold-eyed girl with rich auburn hair. From Tarod’s description Cyllan recognised Sashka Veyyil immediately, and forced herself not to react outwardly to her first sight of the woman who had been his chief betrayer.

  ‘Cyllan.’ The High Initiate’s quiet voice broke into her angry thoughts and, dazedly, she turned to look at him. He smiled reassuringly. ‘Please, sit down. There’s nothing to fear.’

  She gave him a withering glance, and seated herself in the chair he indicated.

  Keridil clasped his hands and rested his chin on them.

  ‘We want to give you the chance to tell your side of this unhappy story,’ he went on. ‘And I hope that you’ll look on us not as enemies, but as friends. There’s a great deal you don’t yet know about the events that have led up to today, and it’s the merest justice that you should understand fully.’

  Cyllan stared back at him. ‘Where is Tarod?’

  Sashka Veyyil coughed delicately, and amusement flickered in her eyes. Tarod still lives,’ Keridil said.

  ‘And he has kept his side of the bargain we made. I hope we can persuade you to do the same.’

  She ignored the remark. ‘I want to see him.’

  ‘I’m sorry; that’s impossible. As I explained to you before -’

  ‘Keridil … ‘ Sashka rose gracefully and came to stand at his back, her hands resting lightly on his shoulders. ‘Please, let me intercede for this girl. Surely, under the circumstances, she can at least be permitted to see Tarod one last time before he dies?’ She looked at Cyllan and her eyes were malicious.

  That’s a kind thought, love.’ The High Initiate was clearly unaware of any ulterior motive, and Cyllan wondered how he could be so blind to Sashka’s duplicity.

  But if the patrician girl anticipated any reaction from Cyllan to her deliberate reminder of Tarod’s impending fate, she was disappointed. Cyllan’s expression remained stony. But inwardly the taunt was like a knife-thrust … and she knew she couldn’t plead for Tarod’s life in the presence of such an audience. Thought of Sashka’s mockery, the cold hostility of the two old men, the physician’s hawk-like scrutiny … she couldn’t do it; the words would wither on her tongue, for her cause would be lost before she could begin.

  Keridil glanced at Sashka, who had resumed her seat.

  ‘We’ll see what can be arranged … but there’s time enough yet. I want to hear your story, Cyllan - and I want you to understand that we of the Circle are not your enemies. We want to help you, in any way that we can.’

  The look he received for his well-intentioned remark was one of such searing contempt that it brought an involuntary flush to his face. Collecting himself, he tried again.

  ‘Perhaps you’d begin by telling us how you came to the Castle? We’ve heard Drachea’s side of the tale, of course, but - ‘

  ‘Then you don’t need mine,’ Cyllan said.

  ‘But we do. If justice is to be done - ‘

  ‘Justice?’ She laughed harshly, then: ‘I have nothing to say to you.’

  One of the elderly Councillors leaned across and cupped a hand to Keridil’s ear. ‘If this girl chooses to be difficult, High Initiate, I see little point in wasting time on her. We have, surely, all the information we need from the Rannak boy? And it must be said that any evidence she presents to us can at best be considered - ah - dubious.’

  Keridil looked obliquely at Cyllan, who sat mutely defiant on the chair opposite him. Despite her allegiances he felt sympathy for her, and couldn’t help but admire her steadfastness. He believed - and he didn’t think it a rash assumption - that if she could be persuaded to speak at all, she’d speak the truth. And he wanted to hear what she might have to say.

  He lowered his voice to a whisper. ‘I take your point, Councillor Fosker, but I’ve a suspicion that the girl’s reticence stems more from fear than hostility, and perhaps it’s little wonder. With respect, I suggest that we’d have better hope of success if I were to interview her privately.’

  The elderly Initiate looked at his fellow Councillor, who had overheard Keridil’s words. The other man grunted. ‘If the High Initiate thinks it wise … ‘

  ‘I do.’

  Fosker nodded. ‘Very well. Though I must say I’ve little faith in the notion, Keridil.’

  Keridil smiled thinly. ‘I trust I can prove you wrong.’

  Cyllan watched with wary suspicion as the two old men made a great fuss of escorting Sashka to the door.

  She had caught the flash of resentment in the girl’s eyes when Keridil asked her to leave, but Sashka made no overt protest. When they were gone, Grevard levered himself up from his reclining posture against the wall.

  ‘Do you wish me to leave, too?’ he inquired.

  Keridil inclined his head. ‘I’d appreciate it, Grevard.’

  The physician paused as he drew level with Cyllan, and stared critically at her, eyes narrowed. ‘I’ll want to see you again before much time has passed,’ he told her sternly, then looked at the High Initiate. ‘She’s not been eating. We’ll have to do something about that, if she’s to stay in good health. As soon as I’ve had a chance to catch up on some sleep, I’ll see to it.’

  Thank you.’ Keridil watched until Grevard had closed the door behind him, then sat back with a sigh. A flask of wine and several cups stood near him on the table; he poured two cups and set one in front of Cyllan.

  She ignored it, and he said, ‘You won’t compromise yourself by drinking wine with me, Cyllan., I need it, and I don’t doubt you do, too. Oh - and pay no heed to Grevard’s brusque manner; it’s merely an affectation.

  Now … do you feel a little better without a plethora of strangers to stare at you?’

  He smiled encouragingly, and a little of Cyllan’s lost confidence returned. He was attempting to bridge the gulf between them, and if she could bring herself to unbend towards him - or at least appear to - she might stand a slender chance of winning a sympathetic hearing.

  She nodded, and picked up the cup. The wine was light and crisp, and made her realise how thirsty and hungry she had become. She drank more, and Keridil nodded approval. ‘That’s better. If we can get along without hostility, I think this will be a happier interview, don’t you?’

  Cyllan stared down into her cup. ‘I didn’t ask for this interview,’ she said. ‘And it’s true that I’ve nothing to tell you that yo
u don’t already know.’

  ‘Maybe so. But I still want to hear the story from your own lips. I want to be fair to you, Cyllan. You’ve done nothing to harm the Circle, not directly; and it saddens me to think that you consider me your enemy.’

  The wine, on an empty stomach, was going quickly to her head. Cyllan looked up, blinking, and found herself voicing the thoughts she’d intended to keep to herself.

  ‘But you’re Tarod’s enemy, High Initiate. That makes you my enemy, also.’

  ‘Not of necessity. If you only understood what lies behind this affair - ‘

  ‘Oh, but I do. Tarod told me the whole story.’ She paused. ‘He also told me that you were once his closest friend.’

  Keridil shifted uncomfortably. ‘Yes, I was. But that was before I discovered the truth about him.’

  ‘So you changed your allegiance without a second thought, and friendship and loyalty counted for nothing.’ She smiled humourlessly. ‘It’s little wonder that Tarod is so bitter!’

  The barb went home, and not for the first time Keridil felt echoes of shame.

  Cyllan drained her cup and held it out for more. She was beginning to feel reckless, and although she knew the wine was dangerously loosening her tongue, she no longer cared. Keridil refilled her cup without comment, and she took another mouthful before setting it down.

  Tarod was loyal,’ she said savagely. ‘He was loyal to the Circle, and the Circle betrayed him.’

  Keridil shook his head. ‘You don’t understand. Whatever Tarod told you, it’s a twisted image of the facts.’

  Tarod isn’t a liar!’

  Keridil sighed. This was proving harder than he’d expected - he had hoped that by using reason he could persuade her round to his point of view, but the task was looking more hopeless with every moment. Cyllan had no thought for her own safety, no fear of reprisal - her loyalty to Tarod was ferocious, and the High Initiate realised that, however deluded she might be, she loved him. In the face of that, how could he make her accept that Tarod had to die?