Betrayal

by Lara Morgan

  ‘I have Clan blood on my hands,’ he said, and Rorc nodded, his expression unchanged.

  ‘Why?’

  ‘The leader of my clan, Karnit, wanted me dead — because of what I am. He set men upon me. There was —’ He stopped, feeling again that hot blood of the man he had killed on his skin. ‘I had no choice. Jared was sent to help me.’

  ‘And this is your reason for fighting Azoth?’

  Tallis was angry, although he wasn’t sure why. ‘I led my earth brother to his death,’ he said, ‘or maybe worse, and even if I am Azoth’s descendant I’m here to stop him from hurting anyone else, not to help him. And I don’t need to make friends with your Faithful or make a cosy life for myself here to do it. I am not a wetlander.’

  ‘Spoken like a man who still holds close to his honour,’ Rorc said. ‘And I see the power in you now. Are you going to use it on me?’

  Tallis hesitated, realising for a moment he had thought of it. Strike out, silence him. He took a long breath and felt the darkness recede.

  ‘No.’

  ‘Good. But that is what you will need to do when Azoth comes. Hold on to your anger, but make sure it’s aimed at those who caused it. Not those of us who want to fight against them.’

  ‘I am not all human,’ Tallis said quietly. ‘Are you sure you want to fight alongside me?’

  ‘Is that what you think, or what others have tried to make you believe?’ Rorc said. ‘You can be a puppet for Azoth, Tallis, or for the Clans, or you can claim your right to choose your own path.’ He gazed steadily at the younger man then walked around the desk to sit behind it.

  ‘You should leave the city, think about what I’ve said. I have a job that needs doing.’ He tapped the scrolls on his desk. ‘There is a village north of here, Hilltown, near the Middle Road, that has fallen out of contact. At first light take Marathin and go with Attar to investigate. I need to know if that village is still standing or if things are worse than we thought.’

  ‘At first light?’ Tallis repeated.

  ‘Do you have a problem with that?’

  ‘No.’ He realised as he said it that the thought of leaving the city was welcome.

  ‘Good. Go and get some food and rest and Attar will meet you at the Dome at dawn.’

  Chapter 4

  Rorc unrolled the map across his desk after Tallis had gone, staring at the village he’d sent him to but not really seeing it. His thoughts were far from the saltwater lands, seeing images of dust, of stone. Talking with Tallis often had that effect on him. The old ghosts of Clan rose up, seeking to claim the part of his soul he’d long since locked away. Despite the young man’s power and connection to Azoth there was still so much of the Clans in him that it made Rorc’s own memories raw, bringing back the sting of the arrows that had driven him away, the face of the woman who still haunted him.

  Few of the memories were good but the hunger for the sands was borne in the blood and he knew how hard it was to erase.

  A knock at the front door sounded and he rolled up the scroll as the latch clicked and footsteps came down the hall.

  ‘You’re early,’ he said as Morfessa entered.

  ‘The meeting was shorter than I expected.’ Morfessa slumped in a chair facing the desk. ‘Nilah was not much interested in talk.’

  Rorc regarded his old friend. The stench of stale wine hung around him and he looked as though he hadn’t bathed in a week.

  ‘And the result?’

  Morfessa shrugged. ‘Councillor Lorgon has her firmly where he wants her, and the Council of Nine too. I think she believes that the Free Lands diplomat murdered her mother. Lorgon plays on her grief and her inexperience, pretending to be the respectful guiding advisor.’

  Rorc rubbed a hand across his forehead. ‘And she is taken in by him.’

  ‘It doesn’t matter what we say to her — and I have tried. I told her the Free Lander couldn’t have done it, that he had nothing to gain, and asked her to think of how Lorgon might benefit from her mother’s death, but —’

  ‘She has known him most of her life,’ Rorc said, ‘and he uses that to his advantage.’

  ‘Lorgon is very persuasive and, given the poison used has been conveniently found in the Free Lander’s chambers, she will have little choice but to believe him. Thanks to his rumours, the people already think the diplomat did it. Resentment and anger toward the Free Lands has been building for weeks — especially with the mercenary attacks that keep occurring on the traders’ caravans. People don’t like it when they can’t get the wine they prefer or their profits start to dwindle. They tend to forget about such things as vengeful gods who have disappeared for the time being.’

  ‘Despite the city being full of refugees.’

  ‘Oh yes, but they are also blaming the Free Landers for them.’ Morfessa ran a hand through his hair so it stuck up in dirty white wisps. ‘We haven’t the resources to fight him on this.’

  Rorc drummed his fingers on the polished wood. ‘I know. He has the Guardian’s ear and is going to drive her to declare war on the Free Lands.’

  ‘And has already started planning for it.’ Morfessa pulled a crumpled square of parchment from the pocket of his trousers and with unsteady hands passed it to Rorc. ‘She signed this at the council today.’

  Rorc smoothed it open across his desk and stared.

  It was a decree signed by all nine councillors and authorised by Nilah to devolve the control of the land army to the council and Guardian. Rorc struggled to control the anger that rose like bile in his gut. They had stripped him of his right to lead all but the riders and the Faithful.

  ‘They used the serpents’ desertion of the city to call your command into question,’ Morfessa said. ‘Lorgon has tried to dress it up by saying it gives you more time to rebuild and reorganise the riders into a different kind of fighting force.’

  Rorc could barely speak for the anger that filled his throat. He slowly refolded the decree, keeping his hands steady through force of will. ‘Lorgon is a fool if he thinks I will sit by and let him lead this city to its death,’ he said. ‘I should kill him. It would be easy using the Faithful — a few Seducers, one Hunter.’

  ‘And yet you know you cannot. He has outmanoeuvred us. He knows you are not the kind of man to do that.’

  ‘Perhaps I am now.’ Fury burned like acid inside him as he thought for a brief moment of how easily he could kill them all. The Faithful followed him, not the council.

  ‘Rorc.’ Morfessa sat forward. ‘You know what you have to do now. We knew this would happen, we planned for it.’

  ‘The Clans,’ Rorc said.

  ‘Yes, we must ask for their aid. You must ask.’

  Rorc took a long deep breath. Morfessa was right. He knew it. There was, now, no choice. ‘I will not go alone. I’ve been thinking of asking another,’ he said.

  ‘Tallis?’

  ‘Yes.’ Rorc noted the interest in the old man’s eyes, the satisfaction. ‘I’ll ask him to go with me. It would help to have another from the Clans, one who has lived among them recently.’

  ‘Yes,’ Morfessa said. ‘Even though you are both Outcasts there is a symmetry in your thinking.’ He frowned, then looked closely at Rorc. ‘Does he know you’re Clan?’

  ‘I’m not sure. He suspects I know more than I should,’ Rorc said. ‘What do you mean by symmetry?’

  Morfessa shook his head. ‘Just a feeling, a dream.’ He smiled. ‘Could be nothing.’

  Morfessa’s feelings were rarely nothing, but Rorc knew better than to push.

  ‘I can’t go until Veila returns,’ he said. ‘I don’t know how long it will take and I worry about leaving the city undefended. If there are serpents left in the Isles they may offer aid.’

  ‘And the Prophet’s scrolls,’ Morfessa said. ‘We need to know if there is anything on them that can help, and also we must not forget about the Four.’

  ‘We don’t even know if they exist. We can’t put any faith in their return. They’re a myth, Mo
rfessa.’

  ‘Maybe to one born in the Clans, but to many they are very real. I believe they are awake again. I am certain I …’ His gaze became vague as he stared away past the Commander to the dark windows. ‘I just have this feeling that they are here, that they are coming again to our aid.’

  ‘Well, I won’t refuse any help we might get,’ Rorc said, ‘but we can’t rely on hopes and maybes.’

  ‘Why not?’ Morfessa suddenly came back from his fugue. ‘Your Clan Guides have never been seen and yet you believe in them.’

  ‘Not anymore.’ Rorc’s look was hard enough to make even Morfessa tread carefully.

  ‘No matter,’ he said. ‘That is your choice, of course.’

  Rorc sat back in his chair. ‘I will need an excuse to disappear for a while and someone I can trust to hold my position while I’m gone.’

  ‘Balkis?’

  Rorc nodded. ‘A few of the older sept leaders may grumble but they respect him. And I know I can trust him. His family has a long history of enmity with Lorgon’s. The councillor would not dare try to influence him.’

  ‘He also hates Azoth,’ Morfessa said. ‘He would see him destroyed before all else.’ His eyes grew filmy and unfocused again. ‘He has his own part to play,’ he said.

  Rorc regarded the old man’s sudden vagueness with unease. ‘Yes. He was over-eager to follow when Azoth left the city with Shaan.’

  ‘Let’s just hope we have enough time,’ Morfessa said. ‘Lorgon is gathering his supporters around him quickly.’

  ‘And regardless of the way she’s treated me,’ Rorc replied, ‘I worry about what he might do to Nilah.’

  ‘He would not harm her — he needs her.’

  ‘For the moment, but I don’t trust him. We need to watch him. I’ll get some Seducers into the palace, get them to have a look around.’

  ‘Shaan is often a guest of hers,’ Morfessa said. ‘Why not ask her to let you know if she notices anything?’

  ‘If she’ll do it,’ Rorc said. ‘She has no great affection for me.’

  ‘You underestimate her,’ Morfessa said. ‘It’s only the natural caution of one who has been a thief. Don’t forget where she came from, Rorc; she’s a good girl, despite her sharp tongue.’

  ‘Perhaps.’ Rorc knew the old man liked Shaan, but she was difficult to read and tended to avoid him. Perhaps Balkis could be the one to approach her.

  ‘I have to go home.’ Morfessa rose from the chair. ‘Do you want to join me for supper? I have some Cermezian wine.’

  ‘Another time.’ Rorc followed him to the door, thinking the last thing Morfessa needed was more wine.

  Chapter 5

  The Keeper’s Settlement, The Serpent Isles

  Tuon followed the Keeper of the Scrolls down the sandy path. It had been raining all day and the scent of wet sand and decaying leaves filled the air, the palm fronds dripping water onto her head as she passed beneath them. Beyond the trees she could hear the sea pouring relentlessly against the shore. In her hand she carried a tightly rolled scrap of parchment — a message for Rorc, the first they had been allowed to send since their arrival in the Serpent Isles with the body of Torg almost four weeks ago. This was also the first time she had been allowed to venture away from the small house they’d been staying in. The funeral rites for her friend were, it seemed, only meant for Isles folk.

  She stumbled over a low-lying tree root and the tall Keeper glanced back at her briefly but didn’t speak. Behind Tuon her two attendants strode in unison as if joined by an invisible thread.

  Pasiphae, the Keeper, had come to the house that afternoon. It was the first time they had met her, but as soon as she’d stepped in the door Tuon had recognised a woman who would suffer no rebellion or deceit. Tall and dark, Torg’s mother was intimidating. Her shoulders and hips were wide but there was little fat on her. At more than sixty years, she was still all muscle and strength and her bared right arm was covered in the dark ink tattoos of her ship mistress years. She’d stood in the room, her gaze moving from Veila, the Seer of Salmut, to Tuon.

  ‘The rites are over,’ she’d said. Her expression was daunting, as were the two silent attendants who stood behind her; shirtless and heavily muscled, their black skin glistening with sweat as they stared straight ahead.

  Veila had risen to her feet. ‘Keeper, we thank you for your hospitality during your mourning. It cannot have been easy for you to have strangers present during this time.’

  Pasiphae said nothing at first and Tuon had thought the Seer had offended her, but then she said, ‘Your words are smooth and, I sense, sincere, but your position here is unchanged. I cannot have you roaming free. My people don’t like your kind. You knew that before you came.’

  Tuon hadn’t known that but the Seer had shown no surprise.

  ‘Times are changed,’ she said. ‘I hoped old enmity could be put aside. We can help each other. You must know the Fallen has returned.’

  ‘Of course. You were warned of this many years ago, but chose not to listen.’

  ‘I have always listened. I have never disputed the Prophet’s claims.’

  ‘And yet not supported them either — until recently.’

  ‘You are right.’ Veila inclined her head. ‘But I am here now, seeking his wisdom, and offering our aid.’

  ‘Your aid was not sought,’ Pasiphae said, and her gaze passed to Tuon. ‘Woman of Salmut. You were a friend to my son. I thank you for bringing him back to me.’

  Tuon almost felt the need to bow or bend a knee to the woman, and was tempted to ask about the old enmity that rendered Veila unwelcome, but instead she went to the table and picked up the packet Rorc had given her.

  ‘This is from the Faithful,’ she said.

  Pasiphae looked down at the small leather pouch. ‘What’s inside?’

  ‘I don’t know.’

  An expression of displeasure passed over Pasiphae’s face. ‘No doubt a generous bounty. The Faithful always pay their dues.’ Her gaze went back to Veila. ‘I will tolerate your presence here in the settlement but nowhere else. And you will not be allowed to view the scrolls. I will allow your companion access. She can stay with me in my house and tell you what she will.’

  That had been all she would say. Tuon had had no choice but to go with her.

  They stepped now onto a wider path that ran back down toward the beach where they had landed. The faint scent of burning hung in the air and as they emerged from the trees she could clearly see that devastation had been wrought on the people here.

  When they had arrived it had been dark and she had caught only glimpses of the village. It was the smaller one on the island, she knew. The main settlement, where the majority of the Isles folk lived and where the shipyards were, was on the other side of the bay across a rocky headland. This small settlement was for the Keeper of the Scrolls and those bonded to her. But so far Tuon had only been able to guess at what the dark shapes were as they were herded past that first night. Now she could see that a battle had been fought.

  On either side, where homes must have stood, were churned and smashed areas of stone and wood, some marked by charred circles of ash. Some of the trees that still stood had their branches slashed on one side, as if something flying past had swiped at them; others had simply been uprooted. Only a few of the buildings were left standing, but Tuon saw little evidence that anyone still lived in them.

  The path curved and they climbed a gentle incline toward a tall home built on stilts that had survived intact. The attendants left them, disappearing along a path to the left of the building, and Pasiphae began to climb a set of wooden stairs to a partly covered deck.

  ‘What happened here?’ Tuon asked as she followed.

  ‘The Fallen called for his serpents and most of them answered.’

  Had this happened in Salmut as well? Tension tightened her gut. They’d heard nothing since they’d left. Was Shaan all right? Had she been found, or did Azoth still have her — or worse? And what of Rorc?
>
  ‘Have there been any messages from Salmut?’ she asked.

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Can I —’

  ‘I will pass them to you presently,’ Pasiphae interrupted.

  Tuon swallowed her impatience and forced herself to take a long breath. Discovery was made with persistence, not pressure. ‘How many here survived?’ she said.

  Pasiphae reached the top step and turned to look at her. ‘Five at this settlement.’ No emotion crossed her face as she spoke. ‘One Hive of serpents, ten in all, stayed and fought to protect us.’ She turned and walked to one of four wooden louvred doors that led into the house. Sliding it open against the wall she said over her shoulder, ‘That smoke you see there —’ she pointed north, ‘— is from the grieving pyres. It is our custom to burn all that the dead leave behind.’

  Tuon looked across the curved sickle of the bay to a rocky point, beyond which drifts of black smoke rose into the clouded sky.

  ‘That is the main settlement,’ Pasiphae said. ‘Two thousand out of the eight who lived in these Isles are left. Many of our ships were broken on the reefs and today I finish the mourning for my first son.’ She turned away to go into the house. ‘The Prophet predicted these dark days. Let us hope that what else he saw may help us to be delivered from them.’

  Pasiphae’s home was a long series of separate rooms accessible only by sliding louvred doors opening to the front deck, which faced the bay. There were no doorways leading through the house from room to room, or if there were, they were in rooms which Tuon was not invited to visit.

  Pasiphae took her to a small bedroom and showed her a closet in which she could put her clothes, then they went to an airy room in the centre of the building. There she handed Tuon two small rolls of waxed parchment and left her without further comment, her tall form disappearing back down the stairs toward the beach.

  Tuon sat on a long low couch and carefully unrolled the first message. It was short and her breath stilled as she read it.

  Serpents have deserted the city. Two riders dead. Free Lander arrested for poisoning Guardian. Hurry. Rorc.