She jerked upright, struck by a horrible thought. A sudden fit of coughing wracked her.
Vigorre held her until it finally passed. “Blast it, Nirel, please let me take you back to Master Elkan.”
She shook her head. “I can’t go home. Elkan said people from Tevenar won’t be immune to it, and it’s worse for adults. For most of them it won’t matter, they can go to the wizards. But what if Father catches it from me?”
“Why—oh. Because he’s Dualis—all right, Faithful—too. Are you sure there’s no way to get around the rules? Some special dispensation? Elder Davon said something about penance—”
She groaned. “You still don’t understand. The highest Ordinance of all forbids us to allow the Lady’s power to enter our bodies. Nothing takes precedence, not even Elder Davon’s authority.”
“Surely if that’s all that can stop someone from dying—”
“Not even then. We’d be cast out from the Faithful. The Lord of Justice would exile us from his presence for all eternity.”
She could read the depth of his disgust in the tension of his body. “That’s horrible.”
“No, it’s not.” Nirel pulled away. She was far too tired to argue theology. She’d never persuade Vigorre anyway. He might think he believed her tale of demons, but in his heart he still thought of the Lady’s golden light as holy and good. He’d never come to see it as she and the other Faithful did, the very essence of evil. “But it doesn’t matter. I’m not going to let Father catch measles from me, so he’ll never have to make that choice.”
Panic twisted her stomach. Where would she go, with both the palace and the village closed to her? Maybe Kevessa would take her in. She’d seemed sympathetic to her exiled Faithful servant, back when she was first telling Nirel about the sect. Would she keep Nirel’s identity a secret from the other wizards? Nina wouldn’t agree to heal Nirel if she adamantly refused.
Vigorre took her hand. “I’ll take you to my home. We’ve all had it. Even the twins, last summer.”
Nirel’s heart leaped, but she hesitated. “What about the baby?”
“It’s not due for three months. You’ll be better in a week or two.”
“Won’t your family ask questions?”
“Just because the Matriarch made Father publicly renounce his belief in the demons doesn’t mean he’s really changed his mind. Remember, he knows what happened to you in Tevenar. He’ll accept that as reason enough why you don’t want to let them touch you.”
The offer of a safe refuge with Vigorre while she suffered through her illness was far too tempting to resist. “I guess that would be all right.” She yawned, then was hit by another bout of coughing. When it passed, she sagged against Vigorre. “Maybe you could ask Nalini if she has any medicine that will help.”
“I’ll bring her to check on you.” Vigorre leaned out the window to shout the change of destination to the coachman.
By the time the carriage pulled to a halt outside the soaring columns of the huge Rothen mansion, Nirel was too miserable to either appreciate or be intimidated by the splendor of Vigorre’s home. She managed to make polite responses to Lady Nathenarre as Vigorre’s stepmother exclaimed over her condition and whisked her off to a luxurious guest room. The big canopied bed was delightfully soft, and the many layers of covers were warm enough to finally subdue her shivering.
Vigorre squeezed her hand hard before Nathenarre escorted him from the room. She didn’t have a chance to ask him to apologize to Elder Davon for her absence. But surely the Elder would understand and forgive her. The Lord of Justice had decreed she must endure this trial. She would accept his righteous judgement meekly and meet the challenge with all the courage she could muster.
Twenty-Eight
The house of the secretly Dualist merchant where Elder Davon had arranged the meeting was modest, one of a long row of nearly identical residences lining a quiet street in the upper reaches of Ramunna. Vigorre knocked as Davon’s message had indicated. A silent servant admitted him and directed him down a narrow flight of stairs to a basement room.
He paused with his hand on the door as Keeper Yoran’s voice, raised in anger, reached him. “This had better be good, Davon. My plan would have gone off without a hitch if you hadn’t interfered. The demons and their slaves would be dead.”
Davon’s voice was calm. “And in less than nine months the Matriarch would give birth to a child who would end your hopes of Malka inheriting the throne.”
“If the Mother didn’t deal with that threat, we would have. Do you think Verrinna’s barrenness is entirely natural?
Disgust tinged Davon’s voice. “Nevertheless, what I offer will bring your pawn to the throne of Ramunna, and you to the power you crave, far more swiftly and surely. And the Dualists you despise will no longer trouble you.”
Interest quickened Yoran’s reply. “So Vigorre said, which is the only reason I listened to him. Tell me about this plan of yours. I’ll decide for myself whether it has merit.”
Vigorre judged it a good moment to go in. Both Yoran and Davon turned to look at him, along with the handful of supporters each had brought. Vigorre swallowed, nodded formally to the Keeper—Vigorre still considered him a Keeper, no matter what his father had been forced to do by the Matriarch—and took the seat left empty for him at Yoran’s side. Yoran looked pointedly away.
When he’d finally won admittance to the dungeon the day before and reported Davon’s offer and how he’d foiled the attack on Josiah, Yoran’s cold fury had made Vigorre glad of the bars between them. Vigorre’s explanations of the benefits to the Purifier cause of cooperation with the Dualists had mollified him only slightly. But he’d finally agreed to this meeting, with the stipulation that it must take place in neutral territory outside the Dualist Quarter. He’d sent Vigorre to convey the message with a blistering scolding for his disobedience.
Even so, Vigorre couldn’t be sorry for what he’d done. Nirel’s illness reinforced his feelings. Where would she have turned for shelter if she’d rejected him? Dualist heretic or not, he loved her and wouldn’t abandon her. And even if the donkey was a demon, Vigorre would swear Josiah didn’t know and had chosen to accept the bond to his familiar with only good intentions. He didn’t deserve to die for it. Vigorre’s stomach still twisted when he thought of what he would have found in the alley if he’d arrived a few minutes later.
Davon nodded to Vigorre. “Thank you for carrying my message to your superior. Yoran, did he convey the details of what I told him?”
Yoran scowled. “Yes, but I want to hear them from you. And no coy hints, either. I want to know exactly what you plan.”
“Certainly.” Davon launched into a more detailed enumeration of each of the points he’d listed for Vigorre. Yoran listened skeptically, but also, Vigorre thought, with speculation.
Finally Davon reached the crucial fifth point. His eyes narrowed as he regarded Yoran. “I assume you have agents in Marvanna.”
“Of course.”
“As do I. Highly placed, with the ear of the Autarch. A word from me, and Marvanna can be aware of anything that transpires in Ramunna, no matter how secret.”
Yoran shrugged. “Am I supposed to be impressed?”
“Picture this. The wizards offend the Matriarch so profoundly she falls into a rage. She summons the bulk of the Armada and sends it to conquer Tevenar, leaving only enough ships along the coast of Marvanna to give the illusion our defenses remain in place. Marvanna learns of this deception and launches an attack on Ramunna while it’s vulnerable.”
Yoran tilted his head and regarded Davon through narrowed eyes. “The Matriarch would recall the Armada.”
“Yes. Tevenar would be left open, its native rulers overthrown, but no Ramunnan overlords yet installed in their place. A small force of Faithful could secure it easily. A fleet of trading ships bearing the entire Faithful population of Ramunna could cross the ocean and carry my people to our new home. From all reports it’s generally a rich and fruitf
ul land, its current famine an anomaly. We would carry ample supplies to sustain us until we were well established. We would never return to Ravanetha again.” Davon watched Yoran closely.
Yoran looked into the distance, his head moving in a series of slow, thoughtful nods. “If Marvanna received the proper information at the proper times, they could defeat Ramunna with minimal bloodshed before the Armada returned. They could learn how the Matriarch’s palace might be breached and how she could be captured or killed.”
“My thoughts exactly. Her cousin Malka would inherit the throne. She would sue for peace with Marvanna, which they would grant because she would accede to their demands, including swearing fealty to them. She would place the Purifiers in control of the Temple. By the time the Armada arrived home, everything would be settled. You could ensure Malka didn’t attempt to wrest Tevenar back from the Faithful, but instead agreed to a treaty granting us independence in return for mutually beneficial trade.”
“An interesting proposal.” Yoran was silent for several moments. Davon waited patiently.
At last Yoran raised his eyebrows and brought his gaze back to Davon. “The weakest part of this plan is the conflict between the Matriarch and the wizards. I expect you witnessed her performance this morning. They’re higher in her favor than ever. She’s so pleased they’ve succeeded in producing a pregnancy that she’s prepared to grant them anything they want. I don’t see how that can be changed.”
Davon grimaced in agreement. “I admit I didn’t expect her to become pregnant, at least not so quickly. It’s a setback, but not an insurmountable one. I have agents within the palace watching for an opportunity. And one with the wizards.” He turned to Vigorre. “Why didn’t Nirel come with you?”
He swallowed, a fresh surge of worry washing over him. “She’s sick. From what Elkan said, it’s probably measles. Don’t worry,” he said hastily at Davon’s alarmed expression. “He didn’t examine her, or find out about her symptoms.” He recounted what had happened, Nirel’s concern for her father, and how he’d taken her to his home.
“Thank you, my son,” Davon said. “That seems a good solution. Although if for some reason your family can no longer host her, bring her to me.” He frowned. “I suppose until she recovers it’s up to you to discover a way to set the wizards at odds with the Matriarch.”
Vigorre gulped and looked from Davon to Yoran. Yoran didn’t look happy, but he studied Vigorre speculatively. “As long as you don’t decide you know better than we do and change the plan without authorization.”
Davon’s voice was mild. “I find independent initiative a valuable trait in a subordinate, when coupled with true loyalty.”
Yoran gave a mirthless laugh. “But how certain can you ever be of an underling’s true loyalty?” He gave a quick shake of his head. “Keeper Vigorre did indeed act loyally, even if I would have preferred obedience. I’m inclined to agree to your plan—with a few additions. Vigorre mentioned payments.”
“That’s right. The Faithful are prepared to offer you a generous reward for your assistance.” Davon named an impressive sum. Yoran countered with triple the amount.
Vigorre let his thoughts drift as they negotiated. How could he aggravate the conflict between the Matriarch and the wizards so much she turned on them? Now that his father was out of the dungeon he had no reason to pursue the issue of how she treated her prisoners. Maybe he could bring more of her abuses to their attention. Josiah was always quick to jump into rash action, and Elkan could be brought to cold fury if the offense was egregious enough. The Matriarch would ruthlessly quash any challenge to her authority.
“Vigorre.”
He looked up to find Yoran studying him. “Yes, Keeper?”
Yoran smiled slightly at the title. “You understand what we want you to do?”
“Yes, Keeper. I have some ideas.”
“Do you think you’ll be able to accomplish your task?”
“I hope so.” Vigorre twisted his hands in his lap. “When Nirel recovers, in a week or so, she can help. I’m sure between the two of us we can come up with something.”
“Hmm.” Yoran narrowed his eyes, staring at Vigorre as if he could see into his soul. Abruptly he turned to Davon. “I’ll give this scheme of yours three months, Davon. I hate letting the demons run loose so long, but it shouldn’t be too much of a risk unless they depart from the tactics they’ve used so far. But that’s it. If you haven’t managed to engineer a conflict by then, you never will, and I’m going back to my original plan.”
“Agreed.” Davon seemed untroubled by the deadline.
Vigorre breathed a little easier. He wouldn’t be asked to lead the wizards to their deaths for three more months. At least against the Matriarch they’d have a fighting chance.
Not that anyone had a chance against the Armada. Tevenar’s defeat would be certain if the Matriarch decided to send it there. But perhaps the wizards could flee into safe exile somewhere. He’d warn them if he got the opportunity.
Davon and Yoran spent another hour hashing out details. At the end they rose and clasped hands to seal their pact. Yoran bared his teeth at Davon in a smile that didn’t reach his eyes. “May the Mother bless our venture, so the day might come swiftly when her pure worship is practiced by everyone in Ramunna.”
Davon’s exquisitely polite expression gave no indication the barb disturbed him. “May the Lord of Justice grant us success, and his Faithful freedom forever from the evil and corrupt.”
Vigorre winced at the barely veiled hostility between them. Truly this was a bizarre alliance! But at the same time it seemed strangely logical. Both sides hated and feared the wizards so much they would do anything to defeat them, even cooperate with their erstwhile enemies.
The meeting broke up. Davon and his companions departed toward the Dualist Quarter. Yoran called his people together just inside the door to the street. “Keeper Emirre was forced to dissemble to keep the Matriarch’s favor, but he remains committed to our cause. Swear whatever oaths the Temple demands of you in order to retain your positions; the Mother and I both know you’re true Purifiers in your hearts. Vigorre, return to the wizards and continue as you have been; they shouldn’t suspect you.”
“Yes, Keeper.” Vigorre bowed to him and made his way to where he’d left his carriage waiting, several blocks away.
But instead of heading back to the square, he told the driver to take him to Ozor’s village. He settled back in the seat as the carriage lurched into motion. He had a great deal to think about, and he spent the drive going over everything in his mind repeatedly, but he reached no conclusions by the time the carriage passed the gaudy healer’s tent, turned onto the main road of the village, and halted in front of the cottage Nirel shared with her father.
He knocked on the door, but there was no answer. Not surprising, since Kabos routinely toiled from sunrise to dusk without rest. He circled to the back of the cottage and looked uphill. A dark-clad, heavyset figure labored with a shovel close to where the dense trees of the coastal forest began.
Vigorre climbed the rocky hillside to the small patch of cleared earth. Wordlessly he picked up one of the shovels lying nearby and fell in beside Kabos. The sharp blade sliced efficiently through the tough roots of the saltgrass and into the sandy soil, but it was still backbreaking work to turn over one shovelful after another all the way down the long row Kabos had laid out.
They’d finished one row and were halfway down the next before Kabos spoke. “Where’s my daughter?”
Vigorre took a deep breath. “Nirel’s sick, sir.”
Kabos froze for an instant, then jerked around to glower at him. “What?”
Vigorre hurried on. “We think it’s a disease called measles. Not dangerous, at least not for someone as young as Nirel. But it can kill adults, so she didn’t want to come here and expose you. I took her to my home instead.”
Kabos drove his shovel upright into the ground. Vigorre got the uneasy feeling Kabos would rather have driven it
through his body. “You’ve wanted to steal her for months, and now you’ve done it.”
“No, sir.” Yesterday Vigorre would have repeated his intention to marry Nirel as soon as Kabos gave his permission, but now the words stuck in his throat. It was unthinkable that he should marry a Dualist. Instead, he spread his hands. “She needed a safe refuge, and I gave it to her. She refuses to let the wizards find out she’s sick.” He met Kabos’s eyes. “I know why that’s important to her. She told me.”
The farmer’s eyes widened, but he only grunted.
Vigorre rushed on. “I know you won’t let the wizards heal you, either. That’s why she thinks it’s so urgent to stay away. The disease will last a week or more. It causes a rash the wizards would recognize immediately. So she has to hide until it’s gone. I thought my home would be the best place. She’s under the care and chaperonage of my stepmother. Nathenarre will take excellent care of her and guard her reputation as carefully as you would.”
“Hmmph.” Kabos retrieved his shovel and dug three more clumps of dirt before he spoke. “I suppose that Elder of hers approves.”
“I told Elder Davon, and he had no objection.” Vigorre resumed working, careful not to get too close.
Kabos growled and focused on his shovel as he thrust it into the soil. “Nirel will do as she pleases; I can’t stop her. But she needn’t bother coming back.”
Vigorre froze and stared at him. “She’s only doing this because she loves you. She’s afraid you’ll get sick and have to make the choice to either accept healing from the wizards or die. You’d disown her for that?”
Kabos didn’t stop shoveling. “It’s an excuse. Like Davon’s orders, like this business with the wizards. She’s a willful, wanton whore. She only pretends to obey.”
Vigorre dropped his shovel and balled his fists. “Don’t you dare insult Nirel like that.”
Beyond the Boundary Stones (The Chronicles of Tevenar Book 3) Page 36