The Storm Witch

by Violette Malan

  Remm led them around two huge air shafts. Both were lined with windows and balconies all the way down to the bottom, many levels below.

  “See those large openings,” Remm said, pointing at several dark areas in the walls of the shafts. “For the circulation of light and air,” he said. “It is a capital offense to block them, or impede them in any way. The Tarxin uses a special squad of slaves to keep them clear and clean.”

  “So it would be the slaves who know these ways best,” Dhulyn said.

  Remm slowed, looking at her over his shoulder. “And the significance of this?”

  “The shafts would be the logical way to get slaves out of the City,” she added.

  “You are entirely too clever, Paledyn Dhulyn Wolfshead.” Remm had turned to face front, but Parno would swear the man was smiling.

  They were heading across the largest square they’d yet encountered, angling toward the stairs on the far side which would let them down to the level of the Marked Sanctuary. Parno found his eyes drawn to his Partner. Everything about her, the way she moved, the easy swing of her hips, the relaxed set of her shoulder and elbows—everything was familiar, known. And yet, he felt as if he was seeing her for the first time. For a second he thought he was dreaming, that she couldn’t be walking in front of him now as if she had never been gone. He clamped down on his teeth to stop his jaw from trembling, and resisted the urge to speed up and touch her.

  “Three men watch us from the shadows to the left,” Dhulyn said softly.

  She was speaking to Remm Shalyn, Parno realized, never thinking that she would need to tell him. But the truth was he hadn’t seen or sensed them until she spoke. He shook himself and took a firmer grip on his sword, hoping that Dhulyn hadn’t noticed his abstraction. That was exactly the kind of daydreaming that got people killed—and the kind of daydreaming that was supposed to be impossible for Mercenary Brothers.

  #You are well# came a voice in his head. Evidently his uneasiness was sufficient to call the attention of the Crayx.

  *Just a little embarrassed* he answered them.

  #Sympathetic amusement#

  “So long as all they’re doing is watching us.” That was Remm Shalyn, responding to Dhulyn.

  “Probably think we can’t see them,” Parno put in.

  “Probably hoping we can’t,” Dhulyn said. “Three men in the dark, no lantern, keeping silent? Up to no good, my heart. Up to no good.”

  They reached the broad staircase to the lower level without further incident, and from the foot of the steps found their way easily to the gate of the Sanctuary. The gate was shut, but torches in the Sanctuary Hall were lit, as well as the lamps hanging from the ceiling.

  “Is this usual?” Parno found the sudden blaze of light unexpected, and anything unexpected had to be treated with suspicion.

  “It’s not unusual,” Remm said. “I believe some light is always left burning to help anyone who comes seeking a Healer, and the Marked themselves use the Sanctuary Hall as their own Grand Square. The gate is customarily locked, however, and . . .” his voice trailed off as a human shape was silhouetted on the other side of the bars.

  “Is it you, Dhulyn Wolfshead?” came a young girl’s voice.

  Remm Shalyn stood aside and Dhulyn stepped up to the gate. “It is, Medolyn Mender. Ellis Healer expects us.”

  The mechanism of the gate was complicated, but silent. Finally, the left-hand leaf of the iron gates swung open, and Parno followed Dhulyn inside.

  The three Marked they’d come to meet were standing off to the right, under a grouping of three oil lamps. They waited there as Dhulyn, Parno, and Remm Shalyn approached them.

  “Your companions must wait here, Dhulyn Wolfshead,” the older man said.

  “Ellis Healer,” Dhulyn said. “Rascon Mender and Javen Finder. This is my Partner, Parno Lionsmane, called the Chanter. He was Schooled by Nerysa Warhammer. Where I go, he goes.”

  Parno pushed back his hood, revealing his Mercenary badge. The woman introduced as Rascon Mender grinned broadly, and nudged the Finder with her elbow. The young girl, Medolyn, lifted her fingers to her mouth.

  Ellis Healer looked from one to the other of them with narrowed eyes. “Can this be? There is another Paledyn?”

  “I thought he was lost,” Dhulyn said. “But he has been restored to me.”

  “We’ve been restored to each other,” Parno corrected with a grin.

  Now Ellis Healer was nodding. “The White Twins kept saying, ‘Our friends are coming,’ ‘Our brother and sister come.’ We could not understand it, and no matter how we questioned them, we would receive the same answer. Now it all makes sense, though why they should claim kinship with Paledyns is likely more than any of us will ever know. Of course your brother Paledyn is welcome to join you, but I’m afraid . . .” The Healer’s glance shifted over to Remm Shalyn.

  “Not to worry,” the swordsman said. “It was never my intention to attend. I will stay here and help keep watch.”

  Parno and Dhulyn were spinning around, swords out, a heartbeat before the sounds from the gate registered on the others. Six men entered. The two in front wore their swords slung at their hip, and from the amount of jewelry they wore, and the length of their kilts, these were nobles. The other four were just as clearly guards, carrying their swords in their hands.

  Parno glanced at Dhulyn, but she was watching the newcomers. Six against two, he thought. Against three if they could count on Remm Shalyn. And Dhulyn had said they could. Good odds either way.

  Dhulyn did not relax when she saw that Xerwin led the intruders. Parno, she was happy to note, had moved away to her right to give her room to move her sword, but not so far that they could not work in tandem if needed. At least his time among the Nomads had not cost him his sharp edge.

  “Tar Xerwin,” she said, as much to inform her Partner as to greet the Tar. “I did not expect you to attend this evening.” She saw Xerwin’s friend’s eyes narrow as he took in Parno’s Mercenary badge. She was weighing the necessity of more introductions when Xerwin spoke.

  “I’m not here to join you, Dhulyn Wolfshead. I’m here to stop you. I’ve changed my mind, I don’t want this.”

  “You’ve changed your mind?” Dhulyn tried hard to keep the surprise out of her voice. Xerwin had been just as inclined to kill the Storm Witch as she had been herself. “And if I haven’t? I have my own reasons to expel the Storm Witch.” And she still did. Not as strong as they once were, perhaps, not as compelling, but the danger from the Storm Witch was still real.

  “Your reason stands next to you.” This was the slightly nasal voice of Xerwin’s friend Naxot. “Or did I hear badly a moment ago? Is this not your lost Partner? The man you believed was killed by action of the Storm Witch? If he is restored to you, your need and right for vengeance is gone. As Paledyns, you should protect and support the other Chosen of the Slain God.”

  Dhulyn smiled, deliberately letting her lip curl back. “You would tell me what my responsibilities are? What of the Tara Xendra? Have you forgotten her? At the very least, we must see if she can be restored before we strike bargains with a being who would occupy the body of another.”

  Xerwin shook his head as though it were heavy. “My sister is gone. Some good must come from that. The Storm Witch said—”

  “Well, I should think she did.” Parno’s tone showed that he had probably rolled his eyes. “What would you expect her to say?”

  Xerwin shook his head again, his lips pressed together. “Who am I to trust?” he said in a voice rough with frustration. “The Storm Witch tells me she did not see Xendra, that my sister was not in the spheres and that my sister could not have survived there without a Mage’s power. Is that the truth? The White Twins tell Dhulyn Wolfshead that they can See Xendra, and perhaps they can lead a Finder to her. Is that the truth? Who should I listen to? Who can I trust?”

  “You must trust someone, Tar Xerwin,” Ellis Healer edged forward and Dhulyn shifted to keep him out of her line of at
tack. “Whom shall it be?”

  Xerwin blinked, and swallowed. “I would trust Dhulyn Wolfshead. I would trust you.” He turned toward her. “I believe you are neutral, all the more so now that your Partner is with you. What proof can you offer me besides the word of the White Twins that my sister still lives?”

  Dhulyn’s mouth went suddenly dry. What proof indeed. She wished she had time to consult with Parno, but there was only one real answer. She must tell Xerwin she was Marked, regardless of what danger it might bring her. If she expected Xerwin to trust her, she must trust him.

  “Your sister’s soul lives, Xerwin. I have Seen her myself.”

  Xerwin’s eyes grew rounder, and his mouth softened.

  “What does this mean?” This was his friend, Naxot again. “Why not tell us this before?”

  He trusts me, I trust him, Dhulyn reminded herself.

  “You misunderstood me, Xar Naxot. I mean that I have Seen her myself. I do not rely on the word of the White Twins. I have Seen the Tara Xendra in a Vision of my own. I am a Seer.”

  The murmurs that came from the other Marked present were so soft as to be hardly more than shallow intakes of breath. Naxot’s face was statue-still. Xerwin’s mouth had fallen open, but he recovered very quickly.

  “I am convinced,” he said. “You would not say such a thing of yourself if it were not the truth. If you yourself are a Seer, and have Seen my sister’s soul, I believe she lives.”

  “But does that mean Tara Xendra can be found and restored?” Naxot said. He put a steadying hand on his friend the Tar’s arm.

  “Surely, we should at least attempt it,” Dhulyn said. She’d kept her eyes on the two nobles, knowing that all the time Parno would be watching the four guards, ready for any signal, or any untoward movement.

  Naxot was nodding now, a slight frown drawing down his brows. “But does it follow that we should throw away the good that can come from the Storm Witch?” His tone was reasonable, as if he merely offered an alternative idea that had no importance to him personally. As perhaps he did, Dhulyn thought. For all she knew, Naxot functioned as Xerwin’s privy council, asking the questions Xerwin would not always ask himself.

  “The Tara Xendra, your sister, is a sweet girl,” the young man continued. “But if she is safe, if her soul is safe in her present location, should we not consider the greater good?”

  Oh, no, Dhulyn thought, all but shaking her head. As soon as some noble began talking about the greater good in terms of the sacrifice of an individual—they never, she’d noticed, offered to sacrifice themselves. Xerwin’s face had hardened, it seemed he was thinking along the same lines.

  “No good can come of this evil,” she said. “The Storm Witch may be of some use, may even genuinely wish to help you, but if you sacrifice an innocent child . . .” This time she did shake her head. “This is not something the Slain God would look on with pleasure.” And I should know, she thought. “Is the Storm Witch somehow more entitled to your sister’s body than Xendra is herself?”

  “Here’s a question I’ve heard no one ask,” Parno said. “What’s happened to the Witch’s own body? How did she come to lose it? For all we know, her own people cast her out. Since she can survive in these spheres she’s told you about, we do her no harm to return her there.”

  Naxot’s parted lips indicated that he had an answer for that as well, but Xerwin forestalled him with a raised hand.

  “Enough.” The Tar’s gesture silenced everyone, and made Dhulyn see for the first time what he would be like as Tarxin. “I have made my decision,” he said, and the firmness of his voice supported his words. “Evil or not, the Storm Witch misled me for purposes of her own. My sister is alive, and deserves to be restored to her body if it is possible. Dhulyn Wolfshead, please proceed.”

  “No, I’m afraid that won’t be possible.”

  This time the interruption came not from the gate, but apparently from the air, somewhere to the left of where they were standing. Parno eyed a section of wall, examining its thickly ornamented stonework with suspicion. He’d wager he and Dhulyn were the only ones not surprised when that part of the wall opened, turning as if on a pivot, and the Tarxin Xalbalil stepped out, flanked by two guards carrying pikes, and six others with swords.

  “Thank you, Naxot. It appears you were correct in your estimations. You will have your reward when my son the traitor has received his.”

  “Naxot!” Xerwin’s hand, which had gone for his sword hilt when the wall moved, hung limply at his side.

  His friend still wore that stone face he’d showed them earlier. “I had to be certain,” he said. “You had changed your mind about her once already. I could not side with you against the Holy Woman,” he said, crossing the floor to stand near the Tarxin.

  “Xerwin, I’m disappointed in you.” The older man’s dry voice made Parno’s skin crawl. “To take the tool yourself and use it against me, that I expected, and even approved, in a way. You would not have succeeded, but at least it would show you were ready to succeed me in another sense. But to take such a weapon as the Storm Witch and to throw it away, to save a child whose only use is to warm the right man’s bed—” he shook his head, but his reptilian smile never changed. “I would suspect your mother of foisting another man’s child on me, if we did not look so much alike.”

  These words seemed to stiffen Xerwin’s resolve, as his hand went once more to his sword hilt, and he looked much readier to fight than he had a moment before. Parno caught the small signal Dhulyn sent him and moved with her to flank the Tar, eyeing Xerwin’s four men as he moved. One was expressionless, except for the narrowing of his eyes. He looked like he’d stand neutral if he could manage it, until he saw who would gain the upper hand. Two were shocked, and clearly unsure what they should do, but they’d likely follow Xerwin out of habit if nothing else. The fourth was positioning himself to fight—and apparently on Xerwin’s side. Remm was inching himself into a better spot on Dhulyn’s far side.

  Seven, perhaps eight of us, ten of them. Parno eyed the two guards carrying pikes. They’d have to go first. That is, if the talking ever stopped.

  “This is convenient, very convenient,” the Tarxin was saying. “All the pieces on the board at the same time.” He looked at Dhulyn in a way that made Parno tighten the grip on his sword—and then loosen it properly again. “Now I see how it is possible for a woman to be a Paledyn. You’ve had your master behind you all the while, directing your every move.”

  It was all Parno could do not to laugh out loud. The man was a very poor judge of character if he could look at Dhulyn and think any such thing. But now the man was addressing him, and Parno tried to hang a serious expression on his face.

  “So you are my real adversary here—and I can see from your pretty tunic that you are in league with the fish lovers. Your attack was a clearly a feint, allowing you to get more of your people into Ketxan City. Where have you hidden them all, I wonder?” he waved this away. “Never mind. I will be curious to see what else a search of the Sanctuary will reveal.”

  “My lord Tarxin, Light of the Sun, you cannot.” Aghast was not too strong a word to describe the old Healer’s tone. “The Sanctuary is neutral ground, ours so long as we provide our services and abide by the terms and conditions of our treaties. Our privacy is not to be violated.”

  “But you are in violation of your oaths and treaties,” the Tarxin said in his cold raspy voice. “You are obviously in league with the enemies of the Mortaxa, so your Sanctuary is lost.”

  Xerwin was nodding, his expression sour, his mouth twisted to one side. “That is how we deal with everyone,” he said. “They bargain away everything to keep their freedom, and then they find themselves without the freedom to say no.”

  “Never mind, Ellis,” Dhulyn said. “If he had not found this excuse, another would have served. He won’t live to hurt you.”

  “You’re outnumbered, you silly woman. Do you think you can fight your way through my guards, even with my foolish
son on your side?”

  “Odds aren’t bad,” Parno put in, shrugging. “Counting Xerwin and his boys, only seventeen of them against eight of us.”

  A soft whistling sound, a CLUNK, and one of the pikemen fell to his knees, his weapon clattering to the floor, Dhulyn’s dagger sticking out of his right eye.

  “Sixteen,” she said.

  While everyone was still standing around gawking, Dhulyn ran forward, sword in hand, Remm behind her and to her left, like a good sword servant.

  Even as he was dashing forward himself to deal with the second pikeman, Parno noticed that Xerwin was not making the amateur’s mistake of going for Naxot, the man who’d betrayed him. No, Xerwin was heading straight for his father. Good. It would make things easier all around if he or Dhulyn didn’t have to kill him.

  Then his first opponent was before him and the time for watching others was over. The Mortaxan blades were shorter, thicker, better for slashing and cutting than the longer sword Parno had. The man lifted his sword to cut down at Parno’s shoulder, and Parno ran in quickly and thrust his own sword through the man’s throat. As he went down, Parno slashed at the sword hand of another man, and dashed past him to where the man with the pike was holding Remm Shalyn at bay. Remm was already bleeding from a cut on his upper arm—luckily not his sword arm—when Parno came nearer.

  “Leave him to me,” he said. Remm grinned and moved out of the way before Parno could trample him.

  Parno fell automatically into the Striking Snake Shora, avoiding, and occasionally parrying the pike’s blade, watching the man’s shoulders and neck muscles, looking for the telltale shifting that would signal a feint, or a true blow. The pike’s sharp blade was clearly intended to slash as well as stab, and the man wielding it knew his job. Parno’s single advantage, he knew, was that he had faced this weapon, or its cultural variation, many times before, and unlike the opponents the man was used to, was not afraid of it. In fact, it was likely that Parno had faced it in earnest, on the battlefield, more often than this man had used it. It was a tenet of the Common Rule, that drilling was one thing, and killing another.