Besieged

by Rowena Cory Daniells

  The youth leaned over the orb and peered into the light, just as Sorne hoped he would.

  Sorne lowered the glass ball ever so slightly, drawing him in, then lifted it suddenly with great force, smashing the thick glass ball into the youth’s face. The baron fell back just as Broken-nose entered the tent.

  ‘Clever half-blood.’ Broken-nose came over and crouched, to touch the youth’s throat. ‘He’s dead.’

  And now Broken-nose would kill him. Sorne cursed his bad luck.

  ‘The little fecker’s dead.’ Broken-nose shook his head in wonder, then sprang to his feet. ‘I could kiss you.’ He took another look at Sorne. ‘Maybe not.’

  Someone called from outside.

  ‘Hold on,’ he yelled and grabbed Bazajaun’s banner. ‘Time for a new baron.’

  As Sorne watched, he went to walk out. ‘What about me? I killed him for you. Just cut me free. That’s all I ask.’

  Broken-nose laughed, grabbed the lamp and left him in darkness. Sorne waited, hoping he could convince someone to let him go, but no one came to take the tent down.

  The following day, fifty of King Dantzel’s men arrived in camp. They peered into the tent with great caution, as if used to finding traps. When all they found was Sorne and the body, one of them called for the captain.

  This man studied Sorne, grimacing in distaste. Next, he examined the fallen youth. ‘Pretty as a girl. What a waste.’

  ‘That’s Bazajaun. I killed him.’

  The captain snorted. ‘That’s not Bazajaun. The baron’s a full grown man with a broken nose. That’s just some poor boy.’

  ‘That poor boy tied me up and was going to cut off my prick.’ Sorne couldn’t repress a shudder. ‘A man with a broken nose took Bazajaun’s banner. He’s calling himself the baron now. But he’ll be easier to catch than the real Bazajaun. I know where they’re going.’ Sorne hoped they had taken the youth’s advice and gone to the giant’s navel.

  ‘Untie him,’ the captain ordered. ‘We’ll take him with us.’

  One of them went around behind Sorne, while the other one dragged the youth’s body to one side.

  The orb rolled away from him.

  ‘That’s mine,’ Sorne said.

  The captain picked up the she-Wyrd’s hair.

  ‘That’s mine, too,’ Sorne said.

  ‘You’re mighty pushy for a hideous half-blood who’s tied to a pole, standing in a circle of his own piss,’ the captain said.

  Sorne ignored this. ‘I’m a personal friend of King Dantzel. He’ll reward you for delivering me safely.’

  They released him, and he tried to take a step, but fell to his knees. No one helped him as he rubbed the blood back into his feet and legs. At least he was alive and intact.

  Chapter Fifty

  VITTORYXE PUSHED PAST the heavily pregnant Imoshen. It was midsummer’s night of the year 319 and All-mother Aayelora lay dying.

  At last.

  The sisterhood’s high-ranking members had been called to hear the all-mother name her successor. Now they were waiting for Egrayne to let them into her bedchamber.

  Last year, around winter’s cusp, their old voice-of-reason had died. Egrayne had taken on the role, allaying Vittoryxe’s fear that the empowerer would oppose her for all-mother.

  Frustrated by the delay, Vittoryxe strode along the length of the chamber, past a row of windows. From here, she looked out over the other sisterhood palaces, down to the lake where revellers celebrated on barges: singing, drinking and trysting as they had done for three hundred years. Vittoryxe could feel the pages of history turning, presenting her with a blank page to write her name as the new all-mother.

  Turning on her heel, she almost collided again with Imoshen, who walked with her hands on her lower back, pregnant belly swaying in front of her. Imoshen seemed preoccupied, and didn’t even apologise for getting in the way.

  Vittoryxe glared at her, but she didn’t notice.

  When Imoshen had made it past the seven small moons it took to deliver a Malaunje baby, Vittoryxe had cursed her. Trust Imoshen to carry a T’En baby.

  The door to the all-mother’s private rooms opened, and Egrayne ushered them into the all-mother’s bedchamber. Most of Aayelora’s inner circle were dead; only old Tiasarone still lived. Vittoryxe had already picked her new inner circle. She was stuck with Egrayne as her voice-of-reason, but she would name Kiane her hand-of-force. The old hand-of-force, Mefynor, was almost eighty and ready to step down.

  Egrayne stood on the far side of the bed, with Arodyti and her shield-sister, Sarosune. Imoshen stood with them. Her eyes were closed, and she appeared to be distracted. Typical. She didn’t appreciate the solemnity of the occasion. How could she, when she wasn’t really one of them? Their sisterhood should never have accepted her.

  Egrayne had propped Aayelora up on pillows, so that she could make her announcement. Through a closed door to the next chamber, they could hear the geldr sobbing; he might be simple, but he knew his mother was dying.

  When Vittoryxe was named all-mother, she would get rid of the embarrassment.

  ‘Come closer,’ the all-mother said, her voice not much more than a whisper. She’d held the reins of the sisterhood for almost fifty years. No brotherhood leader had ever survived that long. Few sisterhood leaders could equal her.

  Vittoryxe made sure she wore a suitably humble expression as she shuffled closer to the bed.

  Imoshen swayed, and the two shield-sisters reached out to steady her; trust her to make a play for attention.

  Egrayne offered the all-mother her hand, opening her gift so the old T’En woman could draw enough strength to make her announcement.

  ‘The last years of our sisterhood have been turbulent, with the execution of All-father Rohaayel the Covenant-breaker and the murder of the healer’s sacrare daughter. Hopefully, you will see some peace now. I’m tired, and happy to go to death’s realm. Hand-of-force Mefynor is ready to step down. The new all-mother will want to appoint her own hand-of-force, so I will not name one. Our sisterhood is lucky to have a strong voice-of-reason in Egrayne, who is also a gift-empowerer. Our sisterhood is lucky to have a well-read gift-tutor in Vittoryxe. As the new all-mother, I name...’

  Vittoryxe squared her shoulders.

  ‘...Imoshen, who–’

  ‘Imoshen? But she’s not even an adept,’ Vittoryxe protested.

  ‘She carries a sacrare child,’ Egrayne said.

  ‘She what?’ Vittoryxe wanted to laugh. ‘No. She took a Malaunje lover. The inner circle never approved a T’En tryst for her.’ But when she glanced at Imoshen, she knew it was true. Imoshen was addicted to the male gift; she would never have settled for a Malaunje lover. ‘Who is it? Who is the father?’

  ‘She kept his name secret to protect him.’

  ‘She hasn’t birthed the babe yet. It could be deformed, for all we know–’

  The sisters cut her off, protesting, and she knew she had pushed too far.

  ‘Imoshen has already birthed one healthy sacrare,’ Egrayne said. ‘If our all-mother wishes to name her the next all-mother, that is her right.’

  No one protested. Vittoryxe glanced around to her supporters, half of them would not meet her eyes. ‘Are you all blind? She was raised by a covenant-breaking brotherhood. She doesn’t value our proud tradition. She–’

  Imoshen bent double with a groan, holding her belly.

  ‘What? No, you can’t be serious...’ Vittoryxe was beside herself.

  ‘She’s been in labour since sunset,’ Egrayne said, dropping Aayelora’s hand. ‘Quickly, get her up on the bed in the next room.’

  Arodyti and Sarosune helped Imoshen from the chamber, and the rest of the inner circle followed in her wake.

  Left alone with the dying all-mother, Vittoryxe knelt on the bed and grabbed Aayelora’s shoulders, shaking her. ‘What’s wrong with you? Imoshen?’ She was so angry she could feel her gift crawling across her skin like a thousand burning ants. ‘She’s a gift addict! She’l
l ruin the sisterhood! What were you thinking?’

  But the old all-mother had no answer. She was dead.

  Vittoryxe thrust Aayelora aside in disgust and stalked into the next chamber.

  The moment she entered, she felt the pressure of the sisters’ gifts. But above that, she felt Imoshen’s gift, and it repelled her. All she could see was a row of backs as the sisters crowded around the bed.

  ‘Open your gift to us, Imoshen,’ Egrayne urged. ‘We can help you bear the pain.’

  ‘Too late for that,’ old Tiasarone said. ‘One more push, and the baby will be here.’

  ‘She can’t be ready to deliver,’ Vittoryxe protested. ‘She was walking around just before.’

  A baby cried, proving her wrong.

  ‘It’s a girl,’ Egrayne said, delighted.

  Vittoryxe rolled her eyes. ‘Of course it is.’

  But no one heard her, they were all congratulating Imoshen, the sisterhood’s new all-mother.

  KING DANTZEL WAS not exactly pleased to see Sorne, but he gave him a chamber and invited him to tonight’s feast to celebrate the destruction of Baron Bazajaun’s bandits.

  No servants came near Sorne, either too busy organising the feast, or reluctant to be associated with the disfigured half-blood. That suited him just fine.

  He had washed the she-Wyrd’s hair and spread it on the window ledge in the sun, and now he waited for it to dry. A flock of birds circled the castle towers.

  Mad Bazajaun had been right; he was trying to atone. Sorne would take the trophies home to Restoration Retreat, where he would bury them and make his peace with the she-Wyrd.

  It would not be so easy to atone for the path he had set King Charald on, when Matxin seized the throne. In fact, he could see no way to atone for the conquest of five kingdoms. Maygharia and Welcai had already reverted to their original dynasties, but that did not restore the lives of those slain in the conflict.

  Sorne just wanted to go home, and even as he thought this, he realised home was where Hiruna was – Hiruna and Valendia. His vision had told him something bad was going to happen to the half-bloods. At least he’d warned Graelen. He should go home and make sure his mother and sister were safe.

  Charald believed Sorne was dead, but the scars that made him invisible here would draw attention in Charald’s port city.

  As soon as the she-Wyrd’s hair was dry, he plaited it neatly, wrapped it and stored it in his travelling kit. He needed to think, and headed downstairs to take a walk. Through a doorway he saw a balcony bathed in the light of the setting sun and a familiar voice reached him, carried on the evening breeze.

  Baron Nitzane, here?

  Well, why not? Dantzel was the baron’s brother. Sorne moved through the chamber, towards the open doors. It would be good to see Marantza and Nitzane again. He smiled to see Nitzane with his small son, who looked to be about two.

  ‘I’m so sorry. Such a terrible accident,’ Dantzel said. ‘He must miss his mother.’

  ‘The bridge didn’t just collapse.’

  Marantza dead? Sorne’s feet slowed. He’d had no idea. But then he’d been gone for three years. He shouldn’t disturb them.

  Nitzane grabbed his brother’s arm. ‘It was murder, made to look like an accident. Her carriage was found washed up on a river bend. Our son was supposed to be with her, but he came down with measles and she’d left him at home. It was Charald.’

  ‘Are you mad?’ Dantzel drew him towards the door.

  Sorne couldn’t reach the hallway door in time. He darted back and bumped a sideboard. An apple jumped off a plate. He caught it, knelt and crawled under a table.

  Dantzel closed both doors. ‘There, now we’re safe, Zane. What makes you think–’

  ‘She was Charald’s heir.’ Nitzane put the small boy down.

  ‘He has an heir, a son, almost the same age as yours.’

  ‘Prince Cedon? He’s a cripple, born with a club foot. An imperfect man cannot sit the throne, and Charald’s queen just birthed a blue baby. It’s the same thing that happened with our mother. Every baby after her first one died. Charald will have no more children.’

  Silence stretched. Small feet trotted by the table.

  ‘Why are you here, Zane?’

  ‘You know why I’m here. I want justice. My son is the rightful heir to Chalcedonia.’

  ‘I can’t betray Charald. He gave me this kingdom.’

  ‘Out of guilt. I wrote you how he had our father killed so he could marry our mother.’

  ‘No... I never got your message.’

  Nitzane swore softly.

  A friendly little face peered under the table at Sorne. Luckily it was dim and his good side was towards the small boy. Sorne held his finger to his lips. The toddler grinned and climbed under to join him.

  ‘There’s more. When Charald returned to Chalcedonia, he sent Sorne, the Warrior’s-voice, to kill our mother so he could marry again.’

  ‘The Warrior’s-voice is here, in the palace.’

  ‘What? Charald said he was dead, killed in the Maygharian uprising two winters ago.’

  The little boy grew restless. He wanted to play. Sorne undid his boot straps, freed the lace, and made it wriggle across the polished wood. The toddler giggled and tried to grab it. The two brothers kept speaking.

  ‘The Warrior’s-voice is very much alive and on some private mission for the king, I suspect,’ Dantzel said. ‘He was the one who guided my captain to Bazajaun’s camp. Now you’re telling me he killed our mother?’

  ‘What? No, she’s alive. And now that I think about it, this makes Charald’s club-footed heir illegitimate!’

  ‘But Charald doesn’t know that,’ King Dantzel reminded him. ‘And if he did, Mother wouldn’t be safe. You must go back to Chalcedonia and arrange for her to come to me.’

  ‘If I go back to Chalcedonia, I’ll fear for my son’s life. Charald killed his mother. He would not hesitate to kill my boy. I...’ Nitzane broke off. ‘Where has he gone?’ Footsteps. ‘Martzane, where are you?’

  The little boy giggled.

  ‘He’s hiding,’ King Dantzel said. ‘My boy was the same, at that age. In fact, he still likes playing hide and seek. Look, Zane, you can leave your son here. I’ll raise him with my children, but I won’t attack Charald.’

  ‘Then you might as well kill my boy, because Charald will. He can’t afford to let him live.’ Anger made Nitzane’s voice shake.

  The little boy responded to his father’s emotion with a whimper.

  Nitzane heard him. ‘Martzane, are you all right? Where are you?’

  Sorne held up the apple, rolling it from hand to hand. He offered it to the child, who reached out. Before the boy could grab it, he rolled the apple out from under the table across the floor and the toddler went after it.

  ‘There he is.’ Nitzane sounded relieved. ‘What’s he got?’

  ‘An apple... and a boot strap.’

  Sorne looked down. Sure enough, the child had taken his boot strap.

  ‘Where would he–’

  ‘I have to go back to Chalcedonia,’ Nitzane said. ‘If the king suspected I knew he was behind Marantza’s murder, he’d accuse me of treason and confiscate my estates.’

  ‘You can leave Martzane here. He’ll be safe. Charald is an old man. He must be nearly sixty. He’ll take a fall off his horse, or eat something that disagrees with him, and then your troubles will be over.’

  ‘Careful, brother. It sounds like you think the king’s death would be a good idea. Speak of it to no one. Not even your wife. You know how women gossip.’

  ‘Ginnie doesn’t gossip.’

  They were heading for the door. Sorne started to relax.

  ‘Whatever you do, don’t say a word in front of Sorne,’ Nitzane warned. ‘He’s been good to my family, but...’ Their voices faded.

  Sorne breathed a sigh of relief and climbed out from under the table. His knees felt weak. After a moment, he checked the hall. When it was empty, he headed back to
his chamber. All the while, his loose boot slid around on his foot.

  At the top of the stairs, Nitzane called his name. ‘Sorne, is that you?’

  He turned, hoping the length of his breeches hid the missing bootlace, which was still there in little Martzane’s hand.

  ‘Who else?’ Sorne asked.

  A servant hurried by, lighting the lamps.

  Nitzane studied him. ‘I’m sorry we couldn’t do more about the scarring.’

  Sorne shrugged and wiggled his fingers. ‘I’m alive and I have the use of my hand.’

  Martzane grinned at him and reached out for him.

  ‘He likes you.’ Nitzane smiled. ‘What are you doing here? Charald told everyone you were dead.’

  Sorne wanted to tell him the truth, but that wouldn’t help either of them right now. ‘I must dress for dinner.’

  ‘Got you on some secret mission, has he?’ Nitzane shrugged. ‘We can catch up tomorrow.’

  Sorne nodded. Tomorrow he would ride for Chalcedonia, visit Restoration Retreat, then head across country to the port, where he would have to hide his identity. Even as he thought this, he realised he could buy his way back into the king’s good graces by revealing the brothers’ treason.

  But he wouldn’t. His sympathies were with Nitzane.

  And besides, Charald would thank him in one breath and turn on him in the next.

  Chapter Fifty-One

  TOBAZIM’S GIFT WAS unusual. He had the ability to perceive the weights and stresses involved in building. And his gift demanded to be used. It had driven him to examine the collapsed Mieren bridge. He hadn’t expected Baron Nitzane to welcome his interference, but he had expected the Mieren to reply. First Nitzane hadn’t responded when Tobazim inspected the bridge and sent him a message about the cause of its collapse. Then the baron hadn’t made any move to rebuild the bridge, or to authorise Tobazim to repair it.

  Tobazim understood the man was heartbroken; his wife had died when her carriage plunged into the river last winter. But since then, everyone, Mieren and T’Enatuath alike, who lived south of the bridge had to detour out of their way to use the Westborough Bridge. Nitzane was a baron and he had responsibilities to his people.