The Storm Witch

by Violette Malan

  “How can we do such a thing?”

  “Can the Marked ones be brought secretly into the palace?”

  #Lionsmane#

  Parno set the bow he was oiling down on the tabletop, wiping his fingers clean on the scrap of rag. “Hear you,” he said. He still spoke aloud when talking with the Crayx, even though he knew he didn’t have to. Somehow, it kept things feeling normal for him. He supposed that one day, he would simply forget, and speak to them only with his Pod sense, as everyone else did.

  #We have found someone who can tell you of the City# #We know you do not like to listen to another’s thoughts# #But Oskarn is of the Sunwaver Pod, their current is now in the Round Ocean, and he cannot be brought to face you# #He has been through the City of the Mortaxa more than once#

  Parno winced. They were right, he didn’t like receiving someone else’s thoughts, or knowing that his were being sent. But that, too, was something he would have to get used to. He hadn’t known that the Crayx could convey the thoughts of someone as far away as this Oskarn was. Did this mean that any Crayx could talk to any Crayx, anywhere in the world?

  #Yes#

  “Let me get out parchment and pens,” Parno said, shaking his head and getting to his feet. The other cabin was still being used by whichever captain was not on watch, so Parno had had all maps and documents transferred to the one he increasingly shared with Darlara. The Crayx waited until he had fetched clean scraps to make notes on, and was seated once again.

  “I’m ready.”

  *This is many years ago* Somehow, the man’s thoughts, his voice, sounded differently in Parno’s mind than that of any Crayx. He could tell that he was conversing with another human, that the human was male, and even that he was very old. *When the Mortaxa were better disposed toward us* *The Crayx had told us of a Pod-sensed one to the south, inland, and our Pod was the only one near* *You know that they keep slaves*

  “I know,” Parno said, wondering if the face he made was somehow transmitted to Oskarn along with his words.

  *The slaves are many, especially away from the City, and the one we sensed was a slave child* *I volunteered to fetch her* *There was no other who would go so far from the sea, not even for a Pod-sensed child, but I was young, and felt myself invincible, and as it is, I was not harmed* *I hired guides who helped me find and buy the child, and I returned to my Pod with her*

  “But you passed through the City to do so?”

  *Twice* *And waited there while the sale was registered and sealed, lest there be some difficulty after*

  “And you can describe the City to me? Particularly the land side?” Parno took up his pen in preparation.

  *I can* *You have seen great palaces and buildings, such as might be seen in the vast cities of the Great King*

  “I have.”

  *From the sea, the City seems to be a palace, carved from the living rock of the cliff face, span after span, layer upon layer, showing windows and balconies, and here and there a staircase* *Docks, wharfs, and piers are built, floating upon the sea, and it is here that we dock, and hold markets* *There are four entrances, two at the dock level, and two others in the third level* *But the City itself extends past this facade, deep into the bluff behind it* *Wells and shafts, cut vertically into the heart of the rock from the summit far above, carry air and light into the lower levels*

  What Oskarn described as Parno took notes and made drawings, did indeed sound like a huge, many-storied palace, with innumerable corridors that functioned as streets and alleys, and large open spaces that served the purpose of public squares and buildings. Parno learned that the seaward part of the rock held the homes of Noble Houses, with the Tarxin’s palace at the very top. The poorer or less important people lived lower down, and deeper into the rock—some might never see true daylight for weeks at a time, if ever.

  “And the land approach? The entrances from the top?”

  *The Upper City is laid out like a formal garden within a decorative wall, but instead of plots of flowers and trees, the High Nobles have winter houses out in the air* *At this time of year, there would be too much heat for these to be much occupied* *Few have permission to build* *The largest precinct is that of the Tarxin’s palace, and is truly a garden, with its own wall for the privacy of the ruler and his family*

  Parno continued to draw as Oskarn described the Upper City. Particularly the parts around the public entrance to the Lower City, and the Tarxin’s walled garden. It soon became apparent that, extensive as the man’s knowledge was, and as detailed his memory, he had only seen limited parts of the city. Two items stood out. First, the Upper City was like an unfortified town, with low walls and no guards. Second, the wall of the Tarxin’s precinct was not high by Boravian standards. Nor was it ditched or moated. Nor, he was surprised to learn, was it usually guarded.

  *The guards are all the Tarxin’s men, and keep to the inner City* Oskarn said.

  “What can you tell me of the rooms in the palace itself?”

  *Alas, nothing* *There was no reason for me, a common Nomad, neither captain nor chief trader, to be received by the Tarxin*

  No help for it, Parno thought shrugging. Once he was in the palace precincts, it would be a question of capturing someone and persuading them to tell him where the Storm Witch might be found.

  *Amusement*

  Seventeen

  DHULYN KEPT ONE EYE on the movement of shadows across the jewel-bright patterns of the tiled floor in her sitting room, and the other on the pocket of thin leather she was sewing into the back of her new vest. The pocket would hold one of the daggers she’d picked out and had sharpened to her specifications. She’d asked the palace seamstresses for scraps of cloth and leather, waving aside as politely as she could their offers to do any sewing she might require with the declaration that Paledyns were required to do certain ceremonial things themselves. People would think that she had used these scraps to create, on the back of her vest, a larger version of her Mercenary badge. And so she had. What they wouldn’t see was how much she’d thickened the material, and what she had hidden there.

  Dhulyn bit off the thread, slipped the vest on, and reached over her shoulder, first with the left hand, then with the right, to make sure she could reach the pocket. She then repeated the whole business with the dagger in place.

  Satisfied, she took the vest off once more and began to work on four shorter, wider straps that she would attach lower down on the vest, closer to her waist. These would hold the small hatchet she’d liberated on her tour of the kitchens and honed herself on the edge of the stone window ledge. Unlike the dagger, the hatchet would be sewn into the vest, and be ready to hand when it was needed. Experience had taught her that unlike a hidden dagger, once a hatchet was out, you rarely had a chance to put it back.

  As the last stitch went into place, Dhulyn looked up and, her head tilted, slowed her breathing, letting herself fall into the Stalking Cat Shora, the better to listen. Quickly, she stood, pulled on the vest, and did up the ties. The scraps of cloth, needles, and other sewing tools, along with the old vest she’d been using as a pattern she gathered up and thrust into the inner chamber. She was leaning against the worktable, sword in hand, when the expected tap came at the door.

  “Come,” she said.

  She’d expected Xerwin to be first through the door, but it seemed the Tar had some sense after all. Instead, it was Remm Shalyn, a wide grin on his pleasant features, who led the three Marked ones in, and Xerwin who waited in the outer corridor in case questions had to be answered. Not that there were many errands being run at this time of day, when most people were preparing for the midday meal.

  “The Tar’s plan worked like a throw of loaded dice, Dhulyn Wolfshead,” Remm said. Though it didn’t seem possible, his grin grew even wider.

  “No one above, then?” She looked at Xerwin.

  “Exactly as I thought,” he said, unable to keep the satisfaction out of his voice. “Much too hot up there at this time of day for anyone, even the
servants.” By which he meant, Dhulyn knew, the garden slaves who kept the pavilions of the High Noble Houses clean and their flowers blooming. They would have gone up early in the morning to cover over valuable plants against the glare of the sun, but by this time Xerwin had expected the place to be deserted—and it seemed he had been right.

  “Your pardon, Tar Xerwin,” Remm said, though he had, in fact, waited until the Tar had finished speaking. “But if there is water available, the Marked ones are in need of it.”

  Dhulyn gestured her permission at a tray on the table to her left, which held cups and a water jug beautifully glazed in black and red, and turned back to Xerwin.

  “Is this heat natural?” She could tell by the way he raised his eyebrows that he hadn’t even considered it. A Storm Witch could cause a great deal of mischief if she went about it carefully.

  But the Tar was shaking his head. “I’ll be looking askance at the morning sea breezes next,” he said. “And they’ve been constant my whole life. For the season and time of day, this heat is normal. Though,” he added, “only last evening I overheard my attendants gossiping. Apparently one of the High Noble Houses—I didn’t quite catch which—has been wondering whether perhaps the Tara Xendra could be persuaded to create cooler air for some party they’re planning.” It was Dhulyn’s turn to raise her eyebrows, and Xerwin grinned. “I hope I’m there to see the look on the Tarxin’s face if the House actually asks him.”

  “Don’t be too sure of his answer,” Dhulyn said. “If the House is important enough, the Tarxin might very well allow it.”

  As Xerwin pursed his lips in a silent whistle, shaking his head, Dhulyn once more checked the angle of light on the floor.

  “Tar Xerwin,” she said. “I believe you are eating with the Tarxin today?”

  “Surely you’re not trying to be rid of me?”

  Dhulyn rolled her eyes and waved him toward the door. “Of course I am. I don’t want anyone to come looking for you.”

  “With your leave, Dhulyn Wolfshead,” Remm said as soon as Xerwin was gone. “Speaking of food, I should go order us some.”

  “Fetch it yourself,” Dhulyn said. “That way no one will see how much you bring.” She glanced at the Marked ones and looked back at Remm, who was nodding.

  “Back shortly.” He touched his forehead to her and left, pulling the door shut behind him. Dhulyn followed him to the door and listened as his footsteps and his light whistle died away. She threw the bolt, and turned back to face the Marked.

  All three had put aside their veils, and except that she was seeing them in daylight, they looked much the same. Ellis Healer, a linen bag hanging over his shoulder, was still leaning on a staff, but the two women were recuperating from their journey more quickly.

  “You have spoken with the White Twins,” Ellis said. Rascon Mender still had her cup of water to her lips, and Javen Finder was mopping the sweat off her face with a clean corner of her veil.

  Dhulyn sheathed her sword and strode back to the table, propping one hip up on the edge. Closer together, they would be less likely to be overheard. “Who else knows?”

  “No one we’ve told, that’s certain,” Rascon Mender said.

  Ellis Healer frowned at her and she blushed, turning away to refill her cup. “Not many within the Sanctuary besides the three of us even know you were sent for. Kalinda, of course, the one who showed you in, the White Twins themselves, but . . .” he fixed Dhulyn with a watchful eye. “You will have noticed that they are fully aware only when they are Seeing.”

  Dhulyn nodded.

  “So you will realize that they could tell no one, and as for the rest of us.” He shrugged. “We make it a practice not to talk about our own affairs to the unMarked.”

  “And as for them—and there’re some—who don’t think as we do on these subjects, why, we don’t tell them anything.” Rascon seemed to have recovered her cheery equilibrium. “What about your man, that Remm Shalyn,” she continued. “Is he to be trusted?”

  “So far as I trust anyone, yes.” Dhulyn ran her fingertips along her sword hilt. She didn’t know whether it was the company of the Marked—or the number of weapons she now had hidden in her clothing—but she was beginning to feel relaxed for the first time since the storm at sea. “And do you know what the White Twins told me?”

  The was a general shaking of heads, but this time the two younger Marked waited for Ellis Healer to speak. “Likewise, who would tell us? The Twins?”

  Dhulyn relaxed even more. It seemed that the secret of her own Mark was safe. Now the trick would be how to tell these three what they needed to know to Find the Tara Xendra without giving away that she’d had the Vision herself.

  “The White Twins have Seen the Tara Xendra, that much is clear from what they told me,” she said. The others looked at one another and nodded. “The child’s spirit is safe, but it is in hiding.”

  The Finder was shaking her head, frowning. “But that shouldn’t make any difference. It’s things that are lost or hidden that I Find.”

  “But if she were nowhere near, Javen,” Rascon said. “And if the Storm Witch’s soul was in the way . . .”

  “Did the White Twins say anything else? Was any clue given?” Javen Finder asked.

  This was the dangerous part of the path. “They spoke of a grove of trees,” Dhulyn said. “A thicket in which the child lay concealed.”

  “A spirit child hiding in a spirit wood?” Javen Finder’s face, so eager a moment ago, had fallen, and she was chewing at her lower lip. “It’s not like I can Find a Vision, you know. Otherwise we’d all be Seers.”

  “I have something here that may help you.” Dhulyn went to the end of the table nearest the window and folded back a piece of silk cloth to expose a small bowl, sturdy and perfectly round, glazed a deep blue on the outside and a pure white on the inside. All three Marked gathered close, looking down at it.

  “Remm Shalyn had it made to my order—by a master, as you can see. The glaze both inside and out is perfect, without mar, flaw, or shadow. No hand but the maker’s has touched it, neither Remm’s nor mine. The water it holds is brought from a spring, and passed three times through a piece of pure undyed silk.”

  “How did you know what’s needed?” Javen said, her voice trembling.

  Dhulyn shrugged. “The two I’ve seen were old, passed from generation to generation. But once, many years ago, I read a fragment of an ancient book which described the making of a Finder’s bowl. Much of it would make no sense unless you’d actually seen one.” Dhulyn indicated the chair she’d had placed near the bowl. “Will you try?”

  Javen sat down, wiping the palms of her hands dry against her skirt. She pressed her palms together, fingers against her lips, eyes closed. She took a deep breath, opened her eyes, and looked into the bowl.

  “Oh, what beautiful colors,” she exclaimed.

  Dhulyn exchanged glances with the other Marked. Rascon was just giving a small nod, confirming that the rest of them saw only the white interior, when a knock came at the door.

  “The food?”

  Dhulyn drew down her brows in a frown. Would Remm knock? Or was he too burdened by food to manage the door. She jerked her head toward the doorway to the inner room and waited until the Marked had gone through it. She shut the door on them, tossed the loose piece of silk back over the bowl and threw open the door as if she was in a great temper.

  But she swallowed the tart words she would have used to greet Remm Shalyn. A young girl, correctly veiled, stood in the open door, her eyes as round as the bangles on her wrists.

  “Your pardon, T-tara P-paledyn,” the girl stammered. “But the Tarxin, Light of the Sun, has asked for your presence.”

  For a moment Dhulyn stayed where she was, right hand gripping the edge of the door. Was the girl frightened at meeting the Paledyn? Or was it the errand itself that frightened her?

  “Wait for me, young one,” she said in as soft a voice as she could manage. “I will accompany you in a moment.�
�� Dhulyn shut the door in the girl’s face and stood leaning against it. If this summons was Xerwin’s doing, he’d have something to answer for when she caught up with him. She pushed away from the door, turning toward the inner room, and the Marked. They should be safe enough here when Remm Shalyn returned.

  She wished she could say the same for herself.

  Everyone who could find a clear space on deck was out taking advantage of the warm rain to refill every water cask, bag, and bottle, and to rinse off whatever clothing, skin, and hair had last been washed in salt water.

  Parno Lionsmane was in the forward section of the deck that under more regular circumstances would be the designated bathing area. He’d found that while he had become used to the smell and taste of salt on his skin—and on the skin of others—he was just as pleased to be able to rinse it off. The Nomads, living together so closely, had no great feelings of body modesty, and almost his entire squad, both male and female, were in the bathing area with him. In a way, it was like being back in his Mercenary School.

  More and more, except for the presence of so many children, Parno found himself reminded of his own Schooling, especially since the intensive training of his strike force so closely resembled the constant drilling and practice that Schooling required. He’d found that he was even teaching his squad versions of some basic Shoras, modified only to take into account the shortness of the time they had for training.

  Once or twice, watching the squad practice, he’d looked around, unconsciously expecting to see Dhulyn off to one side, getting a different angle on the recruits. Grief still came when he thought of her, but it no longer stabbed him to the heart, or took his breath away. She had always wanted to start her own School, to do for others what Dorian the Black had done for her. It wasn’t impossible, Parno thought now as Conford passed him a towel, for a School to be started on a Nomad ship. After all, the Nomads had taken him in, just as the Brotherhood had done, all those years ago, when he had been cast out by his House.