Besieged

by Rowena Cory Daniells

  ‘She taught us the T’En language.’

  ‘No, what did she really do?’ Hiruna saw he did not understand and picked up Valendia, balancing the toddler on her hip. ‘She tried to repair the damage Oskane had done. He made you hate your half-blood.’

  ‘Don’t hate your half-blood,’ Valendia said.

  And he’d woken with the conviction that if he could find a woman like Hiruna to share his life, he would be happy; but no woman had wanted him before he was burned, and now they turned away or looked on him with pity.

  There was one more thing he had to do in Maygharia. After that...

  He had been expecting King Charald to send new orders, and a message addressed to Norholtz had come from Chalcedonia this evening just as they were entering the feasting hall.

  Sorne wanted to return to his bedchamber and seek oblivion in sleep. The pain of his unnatural stomach wound was a constant reminder of his failings.

  He could sit still no longer. Leaning closer to the king, he said, ‘If you will excuse me...’

  Norholtz nodded and waved him off.

  But Sorne did not go straight to his chamber. Instead, he went to Norholtz’s private chambers. The guard nodded to Sorne. As the king’s agent, he had free run of the palace. The scroll with the king’s seal was waiting to be read. It was the work of a moment to slide a hot knife under the wax.

  It seemed to Sorne he had been reading messages meant for others most of his life and turning that information to his advantage. Tonight he learnt that Charald had an heir: a baby boy, born in the spring, named Cedon.

  Sorne was looking forward to returning to Chalcedonia and seeing his family again. He had served the king well. Surely enough time had passed for Charald to welcome him back? But the last paragraph of the message destroyed his illusions.

  On the other matter, it would be convenient if the half-blood suffered a fatal accident while returning to Chalcedonia; during the voyage would be best. At sea, he will not be able to escape his assassins.

  The king wanted him dead. Charald didn’t need Sorne’s visions, not when he had his kingdom and his heir. He didn’t need the political embarrassment of a half-blood advisor who was really his son. Sorne flushed. He’d been a fool to think Chalcedonians could overlook his tainted blood. The king was nothing if not ruthless.

  Hands shaking, Sorne resealed the message. Behind him the door opened and he looked up, surprised to see... ‘Queen Ariama.’

  When she didn’t ask him what he was doing in Norholtz’s private chamber, he made no excuse.

  She was barely twenty-one, yet she’d seen her kingdom fall and her father executed, and had been forced to marry a man she despised.

  ‘You were kind to my son when his father mocked him.’

  ‘Ayghar is a clever boy with an enquiring mind.’ Nothing like his rigid father. Sorne liked children, but he doubted if he would have any of his own. Soon it would be winter’s cusp, and he would be twenty-seven. The age Charald had been when Sorne was born.

  Tears of anger glistened in the queen’s eyes. ‘Norholtz plans to send Ayghar to Chalcedonia. Please talk to him. My son is all I have, and he needs to grow up here, in the kingdom he will one day rule.’

  ‘He needs to be Maygharian, not Chalcedonian.’

  ‘Exactly.’ Smiling in relief, she came over to Sorne. ‘I thought you would understand, when you tried to convince the king not to execute those women and children.’

  ‘I failed.’ He was tired of the killing. Tired of trying to prove his worth. ‘Now that the uprising is crushed, he won’t listen to me.’

  ‘He’s never listened to me. It seems that none of the Chalcedonian men value their wives as they should.’

  Sorne’s belly ached. The pain was always worse when he felt low. ‘It is the way of their people.’

  ‘It is not the Maygharian way. Since Norholtz became king, he has made new laws. Widows cannot inherit their husband’s properties or run their family businesses. Everything must go to the eldest son.’ Anger made her voice thin and hard. ‘A woman must do what her husband, father, brother or son tell her. Women cannot sign legal documents, and it is illegal to teach girls to read and write.’

  ‘Chalcedonian ways.’ Sorne was tired of serving True-men who did not value him. Time for them to learn their mistake. ‘Norholtz is an old man. He will not live forever. When Charald conquered your country, he sent your brother to Khitan as hostage to ensure your cooperation. If Norholtz died, would you bring your brother back?’

  ‘Why would I do that? He was a gambler and a drunkard when he left and, from what I’ve heard, he’s worse now. I was the one being groomed to rule.’

  Sorne nodded. ‘If Norholtz died of a heart attack tonight, what would you do?’

  ‘I wouldn’t send my son to Chalcedonia.’

  ‘The palace is full of Norholtz’s barons. They are ambitious, ruthless men. How would you stop one of them from marching his men into the palace, declaring himself king and marrying you?’

  Her eyes narrowed as she considered this. ‘The palace is full of my loyal servants. The city is full of loyal Maygharians. Behind every baron is a Maygharian woman, who is the equivalent of a servant in her own home. I would set them all free.’

  ‘So you would make a pre-emptive strike, and kill the barons in their beds?’

  She laughed, but her answer was serious. ‘Some could not be reasoned with, I know this already. Others... would swear allegiance to me.’

  ‘Norholtz will never understand your people, Ariama. His unjust laws chafe at them every day and the brutal suppression of this uprising has hardened their resolve to be rid of him.

  ‘If he learns about your lover he’ll have the man hung, drawn and quartered. He’ll have you executed and your son will grow up in Chalcedonia. Ayghar won’t even remember you.’

  She went very pale. ‘Are you threatening me?’

  ‘If I can spot your lover, someone else will. Even if you hide him, what do you think will happen if the next uprising is organised by someone else and they succeed? Will you be returned to the throne your family has held for two hundred years, or will you be executed, because you aided and abetted Norholtz?’

  ‘Why are you saying this?’

  ‘You came to me for help. Sometimes we have to help ourselves. All the barons are staying in the palace tonight. They have only a few trusted men with them. Their captains and the men-at-arms have ridden back to their estates. Men without leaders are sheep.’

  The door swung open and Norholtz limped in. When he saw the queen with Sorne, a spasm of anger crossed his face. For a heartbeat, Sorne thought Norholtz would accuse him of trying to seduce his wife.

  ‘What are you doing, woman, whingeing to the half-blood? Go back to your room. My mind is made up. The prince will grow up in Chalcedonia. Maybe they can make a man of him. The Warrior knows I can’t.’

  The queen glared at him, turned on her heel and walked out.

  ‘Stupid woman...’ Norholtz muttered, sinking into his chair with a grateful sigh. ‘Filling my son’s head with ridiculous ideas. Why are you here, king’s agent?’

  ‘A message arrived from King Charald.’ Sorne was curious to see Norholtz’s reaction. ‘Does it contain my new orders?’

  Norholtz picked up the scroll, broke the royal seal and brought the candle closer to read. When he got to the end, he frowned and Sorne saw his shoulders tense.

  ‘Bad news?’

  ‘What? No...’ Norholtz rolled up the message and shoved it in a drawer. ‘Doesn’t concern you.’

  Well, that was no surprise.

  ‘Before I left Khitan, King Etri gave me a gift.’ Sorne pulled a chain from his pocket. On the end swung the she-Wyrd’s sixth finger bones, set in silver.

  ‘He gave you that?’ Norholtz seemed surprised. ‘Did he say where it had come from?’

  Sorne placed the chain with its gruesome trophy on the desk. ‘He said that you had the matching finger. You know I collect T’En artefact
s–’

  ‘You want to add it to your collection.’ Norholtz sounded relieved. He bent down to open a drawer and put a small draw-string bag on the desk.

  ‘That’s it?’

  Norholtz tipped out the three little bones that made up the sixth finger. ‘I never got them mounted. Filthy things. Should have thrown them away years ago. You’re welcome to them.’

  ‘Thank you.’ Sorne slipped the chain and trophy into the draw-string bag. He tucked it in his pocket, then pressed the tip of his knife to Norholtz’s neck.

  ‘This is about the she-Wyrd, isn’t it? But... but Etri lives. Why kill me and leave him alive?’ Norholtz asked, incensed.

  ‘The she-Wyrd was a sensible woman. She wouldn’t want me to kill a man who genuinely regretted his past and was trying to atone.’

  ‘Etri? He’s forgotten what it is to be Chalcedonian.’

  ‘Yes, he’s a true Khitite.’ Sorne could hear footsteps in the corridor. ‘His three children love him and he listens to his wife. You should have listened to yours.’

  The door opened and the Maygharian queen entered, followed by half a dozen palace servants, including her lover. They all carried bloody weapons.

  ‘What’s this?’ Norholtz demanded.

  ‘This is me, doing what I should have done years ago,’ Ariama said, and signalled to the servants.

  Ignoring Norholtz’s protests, they dragged him out.

  Sorne took Charald’s message, set it alight and dropped it in the empty fireplace.

  ‘I suppose Charald will send another war general like you,’ Ariama said.

  ‘There is no one quite like me. If you have a mind to do me a favour, you could let the king think I am dead.’ Sorne watched the message burn. ‘King Etri of Khitan bears no love for Charald, so don’t expect trouble from him. King Roitz of Welcai is having trouble with his barons. Navarone is also rife with insurrection. That only leaves the kingdom of Dace. Even if King Dakon remains loyal to Charald, he’ll be too busy watching his borders to bother you.’

  ‘COME ON.’ EGRAYNE took Imoshen’s arm and drew her across the crowded theatre foyer. The empowerer gestured to the ceiling fresco. ‘Kyredeon’s outdone himself rebuilding the theatre. Must have cost a fortune!’

  For the grand reopening, they’d staged Rutz’s latest play. It was a curious piece about an all-father who woke up one morning to discover his gift had changed his gender and he was now female. The ensuing complications with his shield-brother and inner circle had kept the audience on the edge of their seats. Imoshen had laughed so much she’d cried, and was looking forward to discussing the play with student-he.

  But she wasn’t used to crowds; the eager gifts and animated chatter of excited T’En made her head spin. She planted her feet and looked for Iraayel. When Egrayne learned that Imoshen had arranged to take her choice-son to the theatre for his birthday, she had invited her choice-daughter to keep Iraayel company. Not to be outdone, Vittoryxe had invited her own choice-son, Bedutz. Since All-mother Aayelora and her inner circle were already going, Imoshen had ended up as part of their group.

  Everyone who was anyone was here tonight.

  All around them, T’En drank wine and talked about the play they’d just seen at the top of their voices, while watching everyone else, sharp eyes glittering.

  ‘I don’t...’ Imoshen glanced over her shoulder, searching for Iraayel, Saffazi and Bedutz. There they were, with the sisterhood’s hand-of-force. Mefynor spotted Imoshen and Egrayne, and herded the three youngsters over to join them.

  ‘What’s the hold-up?’ the sisterhood’s hand-of-force asked.

  ‘All-father Chariode and some of his inner circle are just over there.’ Egrayne indicated with her fan. ‘Iraayel will be going to serve him in a few years. Imoshen should meet him. It would put her mind at rest.’

  ‘Egrayne’s right. Chariode is one of the more reasonable all-fathers.’ Mefynor gestured to Iraayel who, having heard his name, was listening unashamedly into their conversation. ‘It would be good for Iraayel to meet him, too.’

  ‘Besides, Rutz belongs to Chariode’s brotherhood,’ Vittoryxe said, as the rest of the inner circle joined them. ‘We should compliment the all-father, since we can’t compliment the playwright.’

  ‘Perhaps he’ll tell us who Rutz is,’ Saffazi said. She had a fragile beauty, behind which lay a will of steel.

  ‘It’s decided, then,’ Egrayne announced. Imoshen’s gift surged and she knew Egrayne had planned this all along. The gift-empowerer was just trying to help, but Imoshen didn’t like being backed into a corner.

  All-father Chariode and his inner circle were holding court as everyone came over to congratulate them on the success of the play. And, she suspected, to see if they could identify Rutz.

  Chariode’s Malaunje served wine, while more half-bloods played elegant music composed for the play. The crowd eased a little as several groups left to visit the eateries and make a night of it.

  ‘All-father Chariode,’ Aayelora said, making obeisance.

  ‘All-mother Aayelora.’ He returned the obeisance with just the right degree of deference for her advanced age. All-fathers tended to be younger than their female counterparts, as so few of them had the chance to grow old.

  ‘We came to congratulate your brotherhood on the success of Rutz’s latest piece,’ the all-mother said.

  Imoshen had to admit the T’En men did look fine. In their formal robes, with their elaborate torcs of office on their shoulders, thick silver brotherhood bands gleaming on their biceps and jewelled pins glinting in their hair, they reminded her of the paintings of the High Golden Age.

  Of course, none of them met her eyes. She was Imoshen the All-father-killer and, other than student-he, she had not had a casual conversation with a T’En man since Lighthouse Isle.

  ‘Also, I want to introduce you to a lad Egrayne has identified as a powerful gift-warrior in the making.’ Aayelora gestured to Imoshen’s choice-son. ‘Iraayel will be seventeen three years from today, when he will join your brotherhood.’

  Imoshen saw Iraayel’s shoulders tense as the five closest men turned to inspect him. To reassure him, she placed her hand on his back.

  ‘Iraayel...’ Chariode said. It was clear he did not know the name. When Rohaayel’s brotherhood was absorbed into Chariode’s, the T’En boys would have been the last thing on the all-father’s mind. Chariode would have been concentrating on containing the rivalry caused by integrating so many powerful men into the ranks of his warriors and scholars. ‘From Rohaayel’s brotherhood?’

  ‘Yes. Hand-of-force Irian’s son.’ Vittoryxe spoke as if she was being helpful, but was clearly making sure they knew the boy was the son of a disgraced, covenant-breaking father. Imoshen didn’t have to read her to know her motivation.

  Saffazi and Bedutz flushed in sympathy with Iraayel.

  Anger made Imoshen’s gift hard to control, but she hung back and said nothing. As far as she could tell Chariode and his inner circle had not connected Iraayel to her.

  ‘A potential gift-warrior?’ Chariode studied Iraayel. ‘So tell me, Iraayel, what would you like to do when you join us?’

  ‘I... I don’t know. Does Rutz do more than write plays?’

  ‘Why?’ Chariode laughed. ‘Are you going to compete with him? Do we have an aspiring playwright here?’

  ‘No. No, I...’ Iraayel flushed, glancing to Saffazi and Bedutz.

  Imoshen wanted to protect him, but held her tongue. Hearing their all-father’s laughter, two more of his inner circle came over.

  Chariode took pity on Iraayel. ‘Work hard for your gift-tutor, but don’t neglect your other studies.’

  ‘I do work hard,’ Iraayel said. ‘I’d like to go to Ivernia one day.’

  Imoshen glanced to him. Had Frayvia let slip their plans to her son?

  ‘Then you’ll want to be a sea captain, like Ardonyx, here,’ Chariode said, apparently not realising Iraayel meant he wanted to study with the Sagoras. The all-
father beckoned the captain, who had only just joined them. ‘He’s our greatest explorer. What made you decide to go to sea, Ardonyx?’

  ‘I didn’t. I was a terrible student, who drove my teachers to distraction,’ he said, his voice so familiar Imoshen’s heart lurched. Ardonyx was student-he. All other sounds retreated. Her gift surged, and she had to fight to repress it. She needed to get out of here. ‘I kept asking my tutors why this, why that, and always they had the same answer.’

  ‘What was their answer?’ Iraayel asked, intrigued.

  ‘Things are the way they are because that’s the way it has always been. Finally, they sent me to sea. They thought it would knock some sense into me.’

  ‘Did it work?’ one of Chariode’s inner circle asked.

  ‘No...’ Ardonyx shook his head with mock sorrow. ‘I’m still asking why.’

  Imoshen read him. He was Rutz. His plays were his way of expressing his frustration, at a society he had compared with so many others, and found wanting.

  Ardonyx grew very still, and she felt his power questing for hers.

  Imoshen knew she had to make obeisance and slip away before everything unravelled but, at that moment, Egrayne put a hand on the small of her back, urging her forward.

  ‘Chariode, this is Iraayel’s choice-mother, Imoshen.’

  Seven high-ranking T’En men focused on Imoshen, and she wanted to sink through the floor. The instant she spoke, student-he would recognise her voice. But she had no choice; she had to thank Chariode. The moment seemed to last forever.

  Egrayne nudged her.

  Imoshen gave the obeisance of obligation. ‘All-father Chariode, as Iraayel’s choice-mother, I thank you for accepting him into your brotherhood.’

  She kept her gaze on Chariode, but sensed Ardonyx stiffen. He’d recognised her. Meanwhile, Chariode’s inner circle watched their all-father, waiting to take their cue from him.

  ‘Imoshen...’...the All-father-killer. Chariode didn’t say the words. He didn’t need to; they all heard them.

  ‘I hope...’ Imoshen’s voice faltered. ‘I hope you can ignore the identity of Iraayel’s choice-mother and accept him for the potential gift-warrior he is.’