Winter Be My Shield

by Spurrier, Jo

  ‘I know the situation as well as you do! Our ancestors weren’t stupid; they understood the dangers we’d face once they destroyed the mages. They knew it would leave us vulnerable and they did it anyway, at enormous cost to themselves. Thousands died at Demon’s Spire! The flowers of a generation sacrificed themselves to destroy the Demon Vasant. And within less than a hundred years, will we forget their sacrifice and invite a sorcerer to join our ranks? It would be the undoing of everything they died to achieve! Our ancestors are not to blame for what is happening here. The fault is ours, because we knew this day would come and we failed to prevent it.’

  ‘And so you’d throw away the only weapon we have? I’ve seen her fight, Mira, if the Akharians can manage even a fraction of it, we’ll fall like grain under a sickle and the king won’t turn out his pet sorcerer to defend us. Severian would count it a favour if the Slavers cleared the tribal lands.’

  ‘We can deal with mages,’ Mira said. ‘We’ve done it before. The land itself will drive the Slavers back. Those who survive the winter will drown in the floods or fall to the spring fevers, and any who make it through the summer will likely starve before they freeze.’

  ‘And what about the folk taken as slaves? What comfort will that be to them?’

  Mira sighed and ran a hand through her clattering braids. ‘Uncle Dremman has sent warnings to the western territory along with word of the muster; he’s ordered folk to leave the villages and take shelter in the forests. I’ve told the priests here, too, though the legions are weeks away — the houses and herds are nothing, they can be rebuilt. Some won’t heed it, of course, but there’s naught we can do about that. We’ll survive, though it’ll mean hard years ahead.

  ‘But if we accept Sierra, it will destroy us as well, Cam: it would be an affront to the ancestors and turn the Gods themselves against us. Sierra can’t help the way she’s made and she’s suffered so much already — she and Rasten both. They were never meant for this world. I want to feel pity for her, but she is so angry and so cold, and she killed my men without any hint of remorse. It’s the demon in her, I suppose, but if only she were more human it would be easier to have some sympathy for her.’

  ‘She’s not like that,’ Cam said. ‘I was raised in the clans, too, and I know what you’ve been taught. I thought the same thing when I found out what she is, but with Severian’s men on our trail I had no choice but to keep her with us.’

  ‘I understand that. But what about Isidro? I realise the two of you have been cut off from civilised society and forced to do whatever you can to survive, and I know Isidro’s been through a lot, but what on earth possessed him to share his furs with a sorcerer?’

  Cam looked away. ‘You didn’t see him before she came to us. He was in so much pain and he was losing the will to fight it … but when she came it was as if she brought him back to life.’

  Mira narrowed her eyes. ‘You can’t tell me he’s in love with her. He’s only known her for a little over a week —’

  ‘No, it’s not that. She’s given him a reason to keep living — some hope that the future might be different.’

  ‘And I suppose he thinks no woman is going to want him now that he’s crippled. But why would someone like her take such an interest in a sick and wounded man?’ Mira frowned and sat up a little straighter. ‘And that business in the tent, when you were telling me about Rasten … I was too preoccupied to take much notice at the time, but she was doing something to him, wasn’t she? Just what in the Bright Sun’s name is going on here?’

  Cam cursed silently. He didn’t want to have to explain this — but if he shied away Mira would only ask Rhia, who would tell her, and with a lot less concern for what it would mean for Sierra. ‘Mira, I want you to swear that you won’t repeat what I tell you.’

  Mira frowned at him. ‘I can’t keep a secret from my clan.’

  ‘I realise that, but I don’t want you telling everyone in the temple, or announcing it to your escort. Things are bad enough as it is without making Sierra more nervous.’

  Mira pursed her lips with a touch of annoyance and finally nodded. ‘Very well. I’ll tell only those who need to know.’

  There was no way out of it now. Perhaps he should have refused to explain and instead woken Sierra so she could tell Mira herself … or perhaps this was the better way, after all. He doubted Sierra would be able to keep her temper or her powers under check in the face of Mira’s scorn. In the morning he’d apologise for spilling her secrets and, if he did it with Isidro in the room, he could be reasonably sure she wouldn’t take it out on him too badly. ‘Sierra’s powers …’ he said. ‘There’s a reason why Kell went to so much trouble to track her down and why he’s desperate to get her back. She’s not just an ordinary mage: she’s a Child of the Black Sun. She derives power from the suffering of others. Kell uses her to generate power from his victims.’

  Mira’s face drained of colour and she wordlessly covered her mouth with her hands, eyes wide with shock and horror. ‘She’s a torturer?’

  ‘No! Kell never let her near his victims. From what I understand he kept her chained like a dog. She had to watch while he and Rasten did the work. She was there when they … when they had Isidro. She was shocked that he was still alive.’

  ‘So she … she feeds off it? That’s foul!’

  ‘It saved our lives when the soldiers tracked us back to our camp. And tonight Rasten was forced to back down rather than face the power she raised from him and Isidro. But that’s not all. She doesn’t just feed off pain, she can take it away as well. Before Sierra came to us Rhia was giving Isidro as much poppy as she dared and he was still in pain. But with Sierra he says the pain vanishes completely and it’s hours before it returns. That’s what happened in the tent — Isidro wouldn’t let her do it until we were back at the camp in case Rasten came after us again.’

  Mira was staring into middle distance. ‘Isidro’s right, isn’t he? Kell will do anything to get her back and he’ll destroy us if we can’t shift the balance of power. But do you really think she can kill Rasten? If she couldn’t do it tonight, what makes you think she’ll fare any better the next time?’

  ‘She was alone,’ Cam said. ‘The moment people start dying, her power grows.’

  Mira let out her breath in a heavy sigh. ‘And you want to keep her around? Ye Gods, what happens the first time she needs a boost of power? We’d be lucky if she asked for a condemned criminal to torture instead of simply reaching for the nearest warm body.’

  ‘Fires Below, Mira! Rasten might do a thing like that, but Sierra wouldn’t.’

  ‘How do you know?’

  ‘Because I’ve got to know her! I told you: I felt the same way at first, but I’ve been watching her and Isidro. If I thought she was doing him the slightest bit of harm —’

  ‘You’d have cut her throat while she slept. Do you think she didn’t know that? She had no choice but to win you over. And Isidro wouldn’t say anything and risk having her withhold the relief. How can you be sure she’s telling the truth about how Kell treated her? You can’t trust Isidro’s version of events. You told me yourself he barely remembers his time there.’

  Cam rested his head in his hands as he stared at the flagstones. ‘He would never have made it through the last week without her.’

  She fell silent at that and after a moment he felt her hands against his shoulders, trying to soothe away his weariness. ‘Cam, I’m sorry. I’ve forgotten what all this must have been like for you. You must be exhausted and worried sick over Isidro. I don’t want to argue. Just tell me what you want me to do about her. I’ll think it over; we can discuss it again once we’ve both had some sleep.’

  Cam sighed. Sleep would count for little when they had to mount up and ride on again in the morning. What he needed, what they all needed, was a few days’ rest with nothing to do but eat and sleep and rebuild their reserves. But that was impossible. Time was a luxury they could not afford.

  ‘Give her a chance,�
� Cam said. ‘She’s got no one and nothing in the world beyond us. If an alliance isn’t possible then just give her what gear you can and send her on her way, because if she thinks you’re going to send her back to Kell, she’ll destroy you without a second thought. Whatever you do, Mira, don’t make her into your enemy.’

  Mira’s hands tightened on his shoulders. ‘I’m afraid it’s too late for that.’

  Chapter 18

  Rasten knelt, naked, on the floor of his tent. The trampled spruce prickled like needles against his skin.

  His back was a mass of scars but one stood out among them all — Kell’s sigil, a mark that had been branded into his skin but reached far deeper. Dried and flaking blood was smeared over it all and a fresh red trickle ran down over his ribs. His bloodstained clothes lay discarded in a heap and a bowl of steaming liquid and a pile of clean rags sat near him. He was close enough that Sierra felt she could reach out and touch him, as he soaked a rag in the liquid and reached over his shoulder with a gasp of pain to clean the wound. The shift in position pulled on the gash, sending another rivulet of fresh, bright blood trickling over his ribs. What do you want, Little Crow? he said.

  I’m dreaming, Sierra thought.

  Are you? Not entirely, I’d say. He squeezed the rag out over his shoulder and when the liquid ran down and into the wound, it stung like a lance of fire.

  He was alone. Even if Kell had sent a servant with him Sierra knew Rasten wouldn’t allow anyone to attend him in this state. She could see his hands shaking as he soaked the rag again — the shock of the wound had been held at bay until he’d returned to his camp, cushioned by the power he carried, but now that it had drained away he was paying the price.

  For two years, Rasten had been her only companion. When she had been confined to a black and lightless cell he had been her jailer, bringing her food and water and emptying the waste bucket. Later, when Kell judged that the isolation had worn her down enough, Rasten had become her teacher. He gave her the training Kell deemed necessary to enable her to serve. When time came for the sessions with the poor souls Kell used to fuel his power, it was Rasten who had dragged her into the chamber and chained her hands to the floor, leaving her helpless to resist becoming part of the ritual. When she angered Kell enough to earn a session on the rack herself it was Rasten who had chained her down and it was he who had cleaned and bandaged the wounds afterwards and helped her drink the draught to let her sleep. Sierra had returned the favour sometimes, when Rasten was left weak and bloody from a session of Kell’s pleasure. She feared him, sometimes she hated him, but she also knew he was as much Kell’s victim as anyone. He was Kell’s slave, too, but while she had been spared the worst of it Rasten had been subjected to every degradation and humiliation Kell could contrive. Rasten was as tough as a slab of granite, but she’d heard Kell make him sob and beg for mercy.

  Why don’t you run? she asked him. Slip away, lose yourself in the mountains. Kell’s tied down holding back the Akharian mages. He can’t follow you.

  If you think that, then you don’t know him at all, Rasten said. If this king falls, he’ll soon find another to accept his services. We belong to him, you and I, and he’ll sacrifice everything he has to bring us back to heel. So long as he lives, we’ll be his slaves.

  Have you told him what’s happened yet?

  No. I thought I’d save that particular pleasure for later, when I have the strength to deal with it. His power was probably too low to make the contact and Kell would not lower himself to lending any of his power to bridge the gap.

  By stretching as far as the wound would let him, he could just reach the gash to clean it. It set Sierra’s back afire, just as it had when Rasten turned the poker on Isidro. Somewhere, she felt her body twitch in response to the sensation, threatening to wake.

  Your powers have grown since Kell first brought you to us, Rasten said. I was afraid you would never reach this point — until a few hours ago, I was sure of it.

  I’m sorry I didn’t kill you, she said to him in her dream. It would have been better for us both, I think.

  I felt that way once, Rasten said. But not any more. And I know you don’t want to die either, Little Crow, despite sending us both beneath the ice.

  I’ll die before I’ll let you take me back, she vowed. I’ll kill us both rather than submit to that.

  She wrenched herself awake with a splutter of light. Energy hummed and buzzed along her nerves while her heart pounded in her ears and sweat trickled down her spine.

  Her face was wet with tears. Sierra touched them incredulously, then quickly scrubbed them away with the blanket while a flush of shame crept over her cheeks. She didn’t want to pity Rasten — she needed to hate him if she was going to have the strength and the will to kill him. There was no other option — if Kell ever took her back he would break her down and Rasten would be the tool he used to do it. It would be better for Rasten, anyway — a release at last from this life of torment.

  Her heart still pounding, Sierra made herself lie down, willing sleep to return. In a few short hours they would be moving on again. She had just closed her eyes when Rasten’s voice came to her again, weak with pain and fatigue.

  The first time I saw you, Little Crow, you gave me hope. Now I know, one day soon, you’ll set me free.

  Sierra woke to a clatter of metal as one of the temple servants fed the furnace in the wall of Isidro’s chamber and then shuffled away to his next task. The noise woke Cam as well and Sierra lifted her head to see him push his blankets away and sit up with a yawn.

  Sierra shuffled down to the foot of the bench and raked her hair back from her face, only to have her fingers snarl in a nest of tangles. She hadn’t combed it after her dive into the river and it was knotted with fragments of leaf and litter from the riverbed, while her comb was with the remains of her gear on the torched sled. All she had were the clothes she’d been wearing, piled in a rumpled heap at the foot of the bed. She’d been too weary to bother hanging them up the night before. When she reached for them the damp green smell of the riverbed wafted up from the fabric. They needed to be aired at the very least, washed for preference. Her winter fur needed attention, too — it was stiff from its dunking and the leather needed to be scraped and worked to soften it again, but there was no time. Rasten would be on the move and they would have to be mounted and riding out within the hour if they were to have a hope of catching him.

  Sierra dropped the garments in her lap and turned to Isidro. He slept still, unmoved since she had woken in the middle of the night. But she could feel the pain in his arm returning. It would wake him before long.

  ‘Best to let him sleep while he can,’ Cam murmured and then he nodded to the kettle sitting over the brazier. ‘Is that water still hot?’

  Sierra licked her fingertips and gingerly tested the metal. ‘Warm enough for washing.’

  Cam rolled up his bedding and shoved the bundle against the wall and out of the way. ‘Well and good,’ he said and tossed her a lump of soap from his pack. ‘You go first and I’ll fetch our breakfast.’

  It felt good to be clean, even though she had to dress in her filthy clothes again. While she waited for Cam to return, Sierra built up the fire, and she was just settling to work through the knots in her hair with her fingers when a tap against the doorpost startled her and brought her to her feet with a skittish burst of power that rippled over her skin in a lattice of light. With a deep breath to steel herself and force her energy down, Sierra went to the doorway and twitched the curtain aside.

  Mira was there with a pack under one arm and her other hand raised to knock on the post again. At the sight of Sierra she faltered, her hazel eyes growing wide as she took a half-step back before she could stop herself. Her sleek red braids were twisted into a knot at the back of her head and jewels of jade and gold winked on her earlobes. ‘Ah …’ Mira said. ‘Good morning. Did you sleep well?’

  ‘Well enough,’ Sierra said, acutely conscious of her bird’s-nest hair a
nd her rumpled clothes. Behind her, Isidro sighed, and she glanced over her shoulder and stepped out, letting the curtain fall closed to shield him from the light.

  As she did so, Mira leaned around the doorpost to peer into the gloom. ‘How is he?’

  ‘Sleeping,’ Sierra said and wound her fingers together to keep from fidgeting. She didn’t know what to say to this woman who had sent assassins to kill her. Part of her was still furious and that fury was feeding the crackling power coursing up and down her spine; but Cam and Isidro were depending on Mira’s support for their safety and she didn’t want to cause them any more trouble than she already had. So Sierra sucked up her anger and with clenched teeth put her power on a tight leash.

  Mira hefted the pack under her arm. ‘I had my women put a new kit together for you. I have them hunting down some bedding and there’s a comb in there, too. If there’s anything else you need, let Cam know, and I’ll find it for you.’ She passed the pack over and as Sierra took it the movement pulled back the cuffs of her sleeves to show the fresh scars encircling her wrists.

  ‘Uh … thank you,’ Sierra said, juggling the bundle to keep the scars and the mutilated remains of her kinship tattoo out of sight. ‘I —’

  ‘We —’

  They both stopped. A nervous ripple of power slipped past Sierra’s controls and flickered over her shoulder and she shifted the bundle again to swat at it.