by Emma Miles
‘It’s not a bad plan.’ She shook her head and took another sip of wine. Getting too drunk to care was probably more rational than stabbing Jorrun. A lot more beneficial to her people too. She wondered what the repercussions would be if she did murder the Elden’s sorcerer and the king’s best friend; they certainly wouldn’t be good. She drank more wine and picked at the eggs.
Rosa cleared her throat. ‘It seems that Jorrun is quite happy to give you lots of freedom and responsibility. There are plenty of men in Elden who wouldn’t hand over their purse to their wife.’
‘In the Fulmers all women are free and responsible for their own choices and lives.’ She gazed down into her chalice.
‘Tell me more about the Fulmers,’ Rosa demanded, sitting up straighter.
Kesta did so; describing her clifftop stronghold home, the forests full of wild animals and tantalising fruits. She picked at the food and sipped at the wine while she told of the treetop pathways made of narrow swinging ladders; of the fierce fishermen, and the enigmatic foresters.
‘Kesta.’
She jumped and dropped her chalice; it left a dark red trail across the table that reflected the candlelight. Jorrun was standing in the doorway; he held a bottle of wine in one hand and two ornate glasses in the other.
‘Come with me.’ He didn’t wait but walked on up the stairs.
She stood, and Rosa stood with her. It was too soon!
Rosa walked around the table to squeeze her hand and kiss her cheek. Kesta realised she wasn’t breathing and forcing in air she made her knees lift and carry her to the door. She could feel her skin burning but she was freezing cold inside; the stairs seemed infinitely steep but the stairway not long enough.
He had poured her some wine and moved around to the other side of the beautiful table to pour himself some.
‘Sit, please.’
She did so; her hands clenched into fists on her legs beneath the table. She couldn’t look up at his ice eyes.
He sat down. ‘You are happy with your rooms? Did Merkis Tantony explain that you may take over the running of the household if you so wish?’
She cursed herself for her dumbness; this was no time to become a frightened prey animal. Drawing herself up she found her voice. ‘Yes.’
Even to her own ears she sounded angry and rude. She swallowed and tried again. ‘I am looking forward to seeing the views from these windows in the daylight.’
‘I have some rules for you.’
She glanced up then but could not hold his gaze.
‘Well, one rule; the other is more a request. This is the same command I give to everyone who comes to the stronghold; even the king. Do not ever enter the Raven Tower. You know that I am a sorcerer; the Raven Tower is a dangerous place.’
He studied her face, and she did her best to meet his regard steadily as she nodded once. She was too numb to feel any curiosity.
‘My request is that you accept a young girl of this stronghold as your maid. I understand that it’s not the custom of the Fulmers, but it would mean a lot to me. She is …’ He turned toward the window and his eyes became distant. ‘She is a somewhat difficult young woman, but I have seen a kindness in your nature and I think you might be able to help her if you can find the patience. If you will not do it for me, then consider that Rosa will be used to having a maid or a younger lady-in-waiting to attend her.’
Kesta frowned. She didn’t want a maid, and she didn’t want to do anything to help the man before her; however, there was no good reason to turn away a young woman who apparently needed help. Not yet anyway.
‘Very well.’ She lifted her chin and tried to muster a small show of pride. ‘I will give her a chance at least.’
‘That is all I ask.’ Jorrun stood and Kesta flinched. ‘You look exhausted. I know that it has been a difficult day for you. I’ll leave you to rest and settle in; we will speak again tomorrow evening.’ He walked to the door and then paused there. Kesta could not so much as blink never mind turn around. ‘Just so that you understand me; I am not in the habit of forcing myself on any woman – not even my wife. Goodnight.’
The door closed and every muscle in Kesta’s body turned to liquid; she almost wet herself. Anger rose up from her toes at the same time as overwhelming relief rushed up from her stomach to her tingling scalp. She picked up her wine and swallowed it down; vowing that she would never, ever, allow herself to feel that afraid and helpless again. She moved around the table and picking up Jorrun’s glass hurled it against the wall. She felt satisfaction and release at the wonderful sound of shattering glass.
Slowly, she went to the window and looked across the overgrown inner circle of the stronghold toward the east. It was too dark to see anything; but the soft light of a candle danced still, high up in the window of the Raven Tower.
Chapter Four
Osun; Covenet of Chem
Osun sighed and turned his head to look at the woman next to him. She had her back to him with one small rounded shoulder above the blankets and appeared to be asleep; but he could never be certain. As quietly as he could he slipped out of the bed and stooping under the sloping fabric of the tent, slipped his robe over his head. The sharpness of the air hit him as soon as he lifted the flap and he snatched up a lantern and hurried to the wagon. A lock of his long, black hair was blown across his eyes and he impatiently pushed it away. The bullocks were hobbled nearby and one of them snorted at him in the darkness. He placed the lantern on the floor of the wagon and clambered inside, wincing as the pendant around his neck seared his skin a second time.
‘I’m coming!’ he said through gritted teeth.
He went to one of the chests and taking out a large flat obsidian bowl, he filled it with water; then from the flask that nestled beside the bowl he let three small drops fall. He reached beneath his robe, grasped the blood-red amulet, and clenched it in his left hand as he held the lamp high with his right and peered into the water. It began to cloud as the dark droplets dissolved and then cleared to show the face of a man with startling eyes.
‘Yes, Master?’
The reply came not from the bowl but from the amulet in his fist, the deep timbre of the voice vibrating in the bones of his fingers.
‘What do you know of raids against the Fulmers? Why have I not heard of this before?’
Osun shook his head. ‘Master, I know nothing of such raids. Rumour has it that all the islands of the Borrows have now been conquered but there has been no word of the Fulmers.’
‘All of the Borrows? You’re sure? Why haven’t you contacted me before now?’
Osun couldn’t help but flinch back from the water. ‘Master, I am yet two days outside of Margith where I can gain certain news; I didn’t want to furnish you with false information. Let me speak to the other traders there and listen in at the temple; I will confirm the truth as soon as I am sure it is truth and not rumour.’
‘Very well. You’re sure you’ve heard nothing of plans to attack the Fulmers or Elden?’
‘Elden! Gods, no! I’d have told you at once! You think that is their intent?’
There was a long silence.
‘See what you can find out in Margith. You’ll contact me within three days?’
‘Yes, Master.’
The water seemed to thin, and the image of the man vanished. Osun rocked back on his heels and put down the lantern. Even after all these years, travelling to Margith made him nervous; too many priests, not to mention the fact it was the ruling seat of one of the necromancers. At least his master had not asked him to go into the palace!
He tipped the water over the back of the wagon and stowed everything carefully back in the chest. He slipped back inside the tent and hung up the lantern, pulling his robe back up over his head. Anxiety gnawed at him and instead of returning to his side of the blankets he shook the woman’s shoulder; she made no protest but lay unmoving as he used her body to try to alleviate the knot of anxiety in his chest.
***
He awo
ke to the smell of boar and mushrooms and cursed when he saw how much light was seeping through the tent. He grabbed his long coat, struggling into the sleeves as he pushed out through the thin hide flap.
‘You should have woken me.’
‘Sorry, Master.’ Milaiya glanced up as she turned the thin strips of meat on a long metal plate balanced over the fire. Her voice sounded contrite enough but, as ever, he thought he caught a glimpse of contempt in her eyes. Her sullenness grated on his nerves. She had no need to be so miserable; he treated her well enough, never beating her and giving her a fair share of his meagre rations. He even ensured that her clothes were reasonably warm, and that she had shoes. Milaiya had too wide a nose and too narrow a face to be considered beautiful although her curling copper hair redeemed her a little. Her bloodlines were insignificant, she had no particular skills, and he’d bought her cheaply as a general slave two years ago. His previous slave had been an old pleasure slave in her thirties, pretty enough still but useless for the chores he required. He’d made a loss on her sale, but he had to admit that Milaiya had made up for it.
‘Get the tent packed away and harness the bulls.’ Taking his knife from his belt he took the meat off the cooking plate and put it on his own. As he chewed, he considered the road ahead. Margith was on his regular route and he usually made a small profit there before heading further north toward the mountains and the glacier field. There was money to be made taking simple necessities out to the farther villages in the coldest part of the north but there was little news to be gathered there. What he did gain were snow bear pelts and sea-cow fat all of which made even a lone merchant like him a tidy profit. The best place to sell such goods was Arkoom, but he’d avoided the capital city for three years now. Every time he looked in the mirror he saw the face of his father; a face that he thought must be unmistakable. If anyone asked he told the tale that his mother was a skin slave from a cheap house and he never knew who his father was; he’d worked his way free and set up as a trader. For the most part no one particularly cared who he was; but things were changing.
He shook himself from his daydream and saw that Milaiya had finished stowing away their belongings and was leading the long-haired, red bullocks over to the wagon. That was one thing he could say about her; she was efficient and could somehow pack an amazingly large amount of goods into a small space.
‘Eat something, then we will be on our way.’
Milaiya glanced up and nodded, stroking the long, coarse hair and softer ears of one of the bulls. A smile ghosted her face as the bull leaned into her, then her head lowered as she turned and walked over to Osun to finish the two small strips of meat he had left.
‘Drink your tea and we’ll get going.’
He pointed to the small bundle of herbs that sat beside her cup. It was a concoction that supposedly ensured she wouldn’t fall pregnant although it apparently damaged her chances of conceiving in the future. Although there might be some money to be made by selling a slave’s baby, the inconvenience of having his only slave pregnant and useless would outweigh any gain in coin.
***
Although the night had been cold, the ground was already boggy with snow thaw that had not dried up or run off. He couldn’t help but sigh when he thought of the all too brief springs he’d spent across the sea in a warmer land. The two red bulls strained at first but soon got into a steady pace and he didn’t try to push them; he knew that abusing his animals wouldn’t bring him gain in the long run. This part of Chem was hillier with many deep river valleys racing down from the mountains. He preferred the rough but milder coast and had to admit he missed the coastal city he’d grown up in – although not the life he had had then. If he’d had a choice, he would have set up shop as a trader in luxury goods, sending someone else out to do all the fetching and travelling for him. If he’d a choice he would settle, make real friends, maybe even buy a woman with good bloodlines to bear him a son.
But he didn’t have a choice, he wasn’t a slave, not exactly, but he wasn’t free. Between his master and constantly looking over his shoulder to be sure he wasn’t recognised or discovered, he lived his life always on edge. He never dared stay anywhere too long or let anyone get too friendly. The covens of the Arkoom sorcerers had spies of their own and despite their bond of friendship, he feared his master. As a child his master had been powerful, now the Gods only knew what the man was capable of. He had never been offered the choice of what he wanted or where he wanted to be; he was to be a spy in Chem, caught between his master and the Covens of Arkoom.
***
Sleet hit them hard on their second day and they were forced to make camp early before night fell. It took a lot of will, but mostly fear of recrimination, for Osun not to curse at the Gods for the inconvenience; he was so close and yet frustratingly kept from comfort and warmth. Not for the first time he was tempted to throw away the tube of blood around his neck and be free from this life of lies and constant fear. But a promise was bound around his soul and sealed by his mother’s blood. Milaiya stirred a little as he moved away from her warmth. He was used to being alone, it had been his life since he’d been sent back to Chem, but that didn’t mean that loneliness didn’t hurt.
His heart lifted as he sighted the walls of Margith the next day, black against the slush and snow. It was said that the city walls were made from the vomit of a fire mountain and he didn’t doubt it. The stone was jagged and sharper than teeth, mostly black but swirled with iron red, sulphur yellow, and pumice white. Legend said that the blood of a thousand slaves bound the rock together from hands torn to pieces by the harsh, serrated surface. Above the walls tall towers peered, as black as the walls but polished and sheer, the sun refracting off them and distorting the towers’ shape. Osun flicked his long whip at the bulls to bid them hurry. Excitement and anticipation warred with anxiety as they reached the gates. He recognised two of the guards and gave them a wave as they approached.
‘Oswan, ain’t it?’ One of them said, eyeing the wagon.
He didn’t correct him. ‘Yup. Got held up by that sleet last night so I’m late for the market.’
‘Ah.’ The guard spat. ‘They won’t let you set up now.’
‘More time for pleasure before work then!’ Osun grinned.
The guard showed his crooked teeth back with a chuckle. ‘Aye, go on with ya, save some ale for me!’
Osun nodded and flipped him a coin. It never hurt to have a guard or two on side. ‘Have one on me!’
They drove on through the gate and Milaiya shifted beside him, securing her small veil. He made a decision and his spirits lifted still further.
‘We’ll go to the Sunset Inn.’
Milaiya turned in surprise but said nothing. The Sunset Inn was the best in Margith, in the heart of the city and close to the palace of the resident coven. Osun felt proud of himself at the bold and dangerous move and also somewhat pleased that he was more than able to afford it. He might be a spy for his master, but he was still a very adept merchant and had accumulated a tidy sum in secret.
The inn was a massive four stories tall and even boasted a tower on one corner. It was frequented by the most prosperous of merchants, particularly those who dealt in slaves with sorcerous bloodlines, and sometimes members of the covens themselves. There were secure underground pens for holding valuable slaves as well as ample stabling. The food was talked about all over Chem. Osun’s mouth watered just thinking about it. They drove up to the impressive iron gates and a well-dressed young man opened them and gave a small bow. He wore a simple copper collar to show that he was a paid servant and not a slave.
‘What is your requirement, master?’ the young man asked without looking up.
‘Stabling and safe storage for my wagon.’ He hesitated, a desire for luxury and to elevate his status momentarily warring with his natural inclination to be thrifty. ‘I need only one room, but I’d like something spacious.’
‘Come in, master, I will send the lodging manager out at once.’ H
e pulled the gates open wide to allow them to drive in.
Osun had only just stepped down from the wagon when he was presented with a mug of hot, dark wine, by a young female slave. Her short veil and severely tied back hair denoted her as a domestic slave rather than a pleasure slave. She bowed and without speaking indicated for him to follow; in Chem a woman could not speak unless spoken to first. Behind them Milaiya had picked up his bag of personal effects which she’d packed for him; he trusted her implicitly to have picked the right things and had learnt that she was better at remembering and anticipating what he would need than he was himself. They passed a trader coming out of the building followed by three women and a well-armed guard – most likely a less wealthy relative. The women were short and slight and covered from head to toe, a gauzy veil obscuring even their eyes marking them as valuable virgin merchandise. The guard watched Osun with narrowed eyes, but the trader gave him a nod and a smug smile, clearly pleased with whatever transaction he’d made.
The inn’s expansive reception was full, and the noise of conversation and the clang of cutlery rattled against Osun’s nerves. The Lodging Manager came hurrying over at once with a low and flustered bow.
‘Master, I am so sorry not to greet you at once, but a Lord of Arkoom Coven was just leaving and had my full attention.’
Osun felt his blood freeze and his face burn, but he kept his voice calm as he replied, ‘I quite understand. May I ask which venerated Lord I had the misfortune of missing?’
‘It was Lord Feren, Master. Sadly, he did not stay here at my wonderful establishment but some of his party did and he blessed me by joining them here to break their fast before departing back to Arkoom.’
His father’s uncle, then, someone Osun would not have wanted to bump into; even so his rapid heartbeat began to ease.
‘Did they bring exciting news from the Seat of Arkoom? I heard that we have at last conquered those raiding dogs of the Borrows.’