‘He’s just a boy,’ Ardeyne said.
Torekar’s copper hair was bound in a braid, and he wore the leather vest and breeches of a Malaunje warrior; a hectic flush of colour illuminated his pale cheeks.
‘I didn’t notice he was the one holding the Mieren girl,’ Ardeyne said. ‘My concentration was focused on her. I didn’t realise when I breached her defences, that I was breaching his. He shouldn’t have been here. Why did you bring him?’
‘He’d insulted us by calling Mieren True-men. He needed a chance to redeem himself.’ In truth, Irian hadn’t even thought about it. ‘You’ve made him your devotee.’
‘I didn’t mean to.’
‘I know, but that doesn’t change the fact,’ Irian said, torn between admiration and annoyance. A hundred years ago, all of the powerful T’En had devotees; even those whose gifts were not strong enough aspired to it. Since then, there had been a philosophical shift away from binding a Malaunje to one of the T’En for life, but... ‘It still happens. Some Malaunje choose it.’
‘This is not like Rohaayel and his beloved Mariska. I don’t even know this youth. What if we can’t stand each other?’
‘Torekar is an honourable warrior.’
‘And I’m a scholar.’
The screaming stopped again. They both glanced back to the clearing.
‘I’ll give you a hand with him,’ Irian said.
‘No. He’s my responsibility.’ But before the voice-of-reason could lift Torekar, the all-father joined them.
‘Good, I’ve caught you alone. Have you told him, Ardeyne?’ Rohaayel asked. Then he noticed the unconscious youth. ‘What happened?’
‘Told me what?’ Irian came to his feet slowly.
Rohaayel and Ardeyne were shield-brothers. Only with this bond had they been powerful enough to take down the last all-father and his voice-of-reason. A hand-of-force could expect to die in the service of his brotherhood, so an all-father might go through three or four during his leadership; Rohaayel could not afford a deep bond with Irian. As much as Irian understood all this, he still resented being excluded. The three of them had known each other since they had been returned to the brotherhood, as lads of seventeen. Back then, he’d admired Rohaayel’s quicksilver mind and aspired to be like him, but he’d always been the odd man.
Always been scrambling to keep up with the pair of them.
Ardeyne and Rohaayel exchanged a look.
‘Tell me what?’ Irian repeated.
The youth stirred and sat up. Ardeyne helped him to his feet.
‘I’m sorry.’ Torekar slurred his words. ‘I must have fallen asleep. Apologies, all-father.’ He gave the deep obeisance, hands going to his heart to symbolise love, then to his forehead to symbolise duty. He staggered a little as he straightened up. As if that wasn’t enough, he reeked of Ardeyne’s gift.
Recognising the signs, Rohaayel’s eyes widened.
‘Go back to the camp and rest,’ Irian told Torekar. ‘You’ve had a shock.’
With another apology, the youth left them.
Irian brought his attention back to the two men. ‘What was Ardeyne supposed to tell me, Roh?’
‘I would have spoken before this,’ Rohaayel said. ‘I meant to tell you between now and when Mariska went into labour. But the horse...’ He did not go on.
He did not need to. Irian felt bad enough. ‘So tell me now.’
Rohaayel drew breath to speak.
A newborn wailed.
Rohaayel turned to face the tent. ‘My son lives. Mariska...’
Chapter Four
VITTORYXE’S HANDS TIGHTENED on the reins. Her knees pressed into the horse’s flanks, causing it to whicker and shift uneasily. Leaning forward, she soothed her mount, her gaze never leaving the far riverbank and the waiting warriors.
The group from All-father Sigorian’s brotherhood mirrored her own: five adults – four T’En and one Malaunje – plus the baby. The copper-haired woman carried the infant in a sling across her chest.
This would be the third time Vittoryxe had collected a T’En baby from one of the brotherhoods.
Imoshen the Covenant-maker had written that although you could sometimes trust an individual T’En man, they could never be trusted when they came together, because this triggered a rise in their gifts which could interfere with rational thought.
Much had been written by T’En woman scholars on the danger of the men and how to safeguard oneself from them. While their individual gifts weren’t as strong, they were physically stronger and they outnumbered the women four to one. In truth, Vittoryxe suspected if it hadn’t been for the women’s more powerful gifts, they would have ended up as slaves to the men, like Mieren women.
Unthinkable.
The two T’En men swung from their saddles and jumped to the ground. Vittoryxe’s breath caught in her throat. So much strength and barely contained energy. Still, she wouldn’t trade physical strength for gift strength.
No, but to be strong in both body and gift...
The brotherhood’s symbol glinted on the silver arm-torcs around their thick biceps. By the richness of their brocade robes, these two were high ranking, possibly gift-warriors like herself and Egrayne. She thought she caught the flash of silver gift-warrior torcs around their necks. If so, they were not only physically strong, but powerful.
All the more reason to be cautious.
They wore their knee-length robes unlaced, the better to reveal the duelling scars on their chests. Typical – all display and bravado.
Her mouth curled in contempt.
Their only concession to the rigours of travel was the way they bound their long silver hair in plaits. They wore riding boots, and breeches rode low on their lean hips. Jewelled belts held two long-knives, one on each hip. According to the truce with King Charald the Peace-maker, these daggers could be no longer than the distance from index finger-tip to the elbow.
She did not recognise either of the brotherhood warriors, but that was not surprising, since they had chosen to absent themselves from the city and live out their days on a distant estate.
If they had chosen this life. She’d heard rumours that some all-fathers sent ambitious brothers to distant estates to prevent leadership challenges, which meant she must not dismiss these two just because they lived a six-day ride south of the city.
The agreed meeting place for the ceremony was the bridge. Symbolically, it spanned a gulf of four hundred years of mutual distrust between brotherhood and sisterhood, built by ritual, cemented by tradition.
It was unseasonably warm. The bridge’s golden sandstone arches glowed in the morning sunlight, and reflected in the smooth surface of the slow-flowing river.
In an attempt to lighten the atmosphere, Vittoryxe pointed. ‘Someone should write a poem to the lines of that bridge.’
‘Someone probably has,’ Egrayne said. She was as tall as a T’En man, broad-shouldered, strong-jawed and popular. For the life of her, Vittoryxe could not figure out why.
Both of the young initiates grinned. They were warriors-in-training who hoped to prove that they had what it took to become elite gift-warriors. Now they shifted in their saddles, communicating their apprehension to their horses.
‘Show no fear,’ Egrayne told them, dismounting.
This annoyed Vittoryxe, as it gave the impression Egrayne was in charge when in reality they were both trained gift-warriors.
‘Don’t hold their eyes. They’ll see it as a challenge or an invitation,’ Vittoryxe told the young initiates. Springing to the ground, she wrapped her reins around a tree branch. ‘Think of the brotherhoods as vicious dog packs, each ruled by the strongest and most ruthless of the beasts. The weak become prey, so they can’t afford to let an insult pass. Don’t give these warriors reason to feel threatened.’
‘And don’t let your gift defences slip,’ Egrayne added.
Vittoryxe hid her annoyance. She’d been getting to that. ‘You will have heard that the men crave our gifts, but they a
lso fear them. They might be able to break our necks with their bare hands, but they know we can kill them with a single touch. So don’t flaunt your powers.’ She held young Kiane and Arodyti’s eyes to be sure they were sufficiently impressed. ‘Even an accidental slip could be construed as an insult.’
Egrayne nodded. ‘Balance in all things.’
Why did she always have to have the last word?
One of the men reached up to help the Malaunje woman dismount. He lowered the woman to the ground, displaying a tenderness Vittoryxe found hard to reconcile with what she knew of them. She’d never forget the way her mother had been murdered. But she mustn’t think about that.
‘That’s the baby’s mother?’ Arodyti asked.
‘Yes,’ Vittoryxe said.
‘Probably,’ Egrayne corrected.
‘The Malaunje mother should be present for the ceremony,’ Vittoryxe said. ‘Sometimes if the woman dies in childbirth, or she’s too weak to make the journey, then a close friend stands in for her.’
‘Have the brotherhoods ever tried to hide a T’En baby?’ Arodyti asked, her wine-dark eyes bright.
She was seventeen and inclined to exaggeration and laughter. What was worse, Vittoryxe had overheard her poking fun at the oldest of the sisters, females who had been born almost a century ago in the High Golden Age. At least Kiane appreciated their sisterhood’s proud heritage, with its unbroken line of all-mothers back to Imoshen the Covenant-maker.
‘They could claim the infant was stillborn and keep it,’ Arodyti said. ‘After all, we only have their word.’
‘They wouldn’t dare!’ Vittoryxe felt her heart race and her gift try to rise. ‘Four hundred years ago, the all-fathers indulged in a terrible feud. In their greed and ambition, they kidnapped and killed precious T’En boys to weaken rival brotherhoods.
‘Horrified by this, Imoshen the Covenant-maker united the all-mothers, took the boys and forced a gift-oath on the surviving all-fathers. Since then, every new all-father gives the same gift-oath, and the brotherhoods have handed over all T’En babies. They know we will safeguard the children and return the boys to them when they’re seventeen, old enough to survive the dangers of the brotherhoods. They know they are not fit to raise T’En children.’
‘They know...’ – dark humour lit Egrayne’s mulberry eyes – ‘that if one of them breaks his word, the all-mothers will band together and strip the guilty all-father of power. The strongest of their own brothers will then kill him and claim the rank of all-father. We use the ambition of the brotherhood men to keep them in check.’
Both Arodyti and Kiane grinned.
This irritated Vittoryxe. It was supposed to be a solemn and sacred occasion.
Arodyti shifted in the saddle. ‘But I don’t see–’
‘Always questioning,’ Vittoryxe snapped. ‘It’s been this way for nearly four hundred years.’
‘It’s time,’ Egrayne announced.
Vittoryxe took the lead. As she stepped onto the stones of the bridge, a lark sang on the riverbank and the air seemed charged with intensity. She felt as if she was taking part in one of the old sagas. It only confirmed her belief that she was destined for great things. And, all the while, her gift strained to break free.
She’d been eight years old, waiting at the gate of the sisterhood’s estate, when her mother had been struck down by the T’En brother. Of course, the other sisters had been swift to execute him, but that hadn’t helped her mother, who had bled to death in the courtyard. She mustn’t think about her mother.
Two tall T’En men approached, accompanied by the small Malaunje woman and the bundle she cradled in her arms.
Vittoryxe stopped a body-length from them. Egrayne came to stand behind her on her left.
This close, Vittoryxe saw that, yes, both men wore silver torcs around their necks denoting their status as gift-warriors, although neither had the decorative symbols that indicated kills.
‘We are here to honour the covenant,’ the shorter of the two gift-warriors said. A diagonal scar bisected his cheek, cutting through his top lip to his chin, reminding Vittoryxe of the violence of the brotherhoods.
‘We entrust a future brotherhood warrior into your care,’ the taller gift-warrior said, as he gave the young mother a nudge.
She undid the sling and parted the cloth to reveal a perfect, naked infant boy, perhaps five days old by the state of the cord.
‘A perfectly formed T’En boy,’ Vittoryxe acknowledged. She stepped forward before Egrayne could claim the honour and held out her arms.
The young mother looked to be no more than twenty. Tears spilled unheeded down her cheeks. Sometimes the Malaunje mothers looked away at this moment. Sometimes they trembled, and their eyes darted about as if they wanted to run or protest. None did, all were too afraid of the brotherhood warriors.
This young woman said nothing, but her eyes demanded much. Daringly, she met and held Vittoryxe’s gaze as she handed the baby over.
Vittoryxe stiffened at the insult. ‘By giving him into our sisterhood’s care you do the best you can for the child.’ Although the words were ceremonial, she sincerely believed them.
The taller of the gift-warriors unrolled a short scroll. He read off the father’s name, giving his rank in the brotherhood so that a choice-mother of appropriate stature could be appointed.
Vittoryxe accepted the scroll. ‘We swear to protect this child with our lives. We swear to rear him to revere the heritage of the T’Enatuath and protect our Malaunje. His details will be entered into the sisterhood’s lineage book.’
The young Malaunje woman swayed and the tall man steadied her.
As soon as he touched her, Vittoryxe sensed the rise of male gift. One or both of the gift-warriors had slipped and lost control. It was only for a heartbeat, but it was enough.
Male power, so different from its female counterpart, registered as sharp and abrasive on Vittoryxe’s senses; she’d never liked it, never felt the urge to arrange a tryst with a brotherhood warrior or scholar. That had been her mother’s failing, a liking for the men and their gifts; for one man in particular, who thought that two trysts meant he owned her.
Anger fuelled Vittoryxe’s gift as it reacted to the threat of the male’s. Banking her power, she took a step back.
The tall gift-warrior flushed. So it was he who had slipped. And now he’d been shamed in front of them. His wine-dark eyes glittered with anger, and the line of his jaw flexed as he ground his teeth.
Vittoryxe’s heart hammered. She was hampered by the infant. If they resorted to violence, Egrayne would have to hold them off.
While Egrayne was strong and combat-trained, the men were also trained and stronger. Egrayne could take one down, perhaps, but not two. To defeat them, she would have to drag both warriors through to the higher plane, where the female gifts were more powerful.
Vittoryxe felt sickeningly vulnerable.
Her gift rose and slipped her control.
Both men inhaled sharply and the scarred one took an involuntary step forward. The tall one grabbed his companion’s arm, while manoeuvring the Malaunje woman behind him.
‘Steady...’ Egrayne said, moving in front of Vittoryxe. Egrayne’s left hand went to her knife hilt, while her right hand gestured for Vittoryxe to stay back.
The two warriors backed up a step.
Vittoryxe did likewise.
Neither side turned their backs on the other, neither relaxed until they were off the bridge.
By the time they reached Arodyti and the others, Vittoryxe’s mouth was so dry she couldn’t have spoken if she’d wanted to.
The half-blood wet-nurse accepted the baby. She would care for him until they returned to the sisterhood’s palace and a suitable choice-mother was appointed.
Vittoryxe’s fingers trembled so badly she could barely undo the strap of her saddle bag. Furious with herself, she put the scroll away, fumbled the bag closed and swung her weight into the saddle.
‘What happened?’
Arodyti asked. ‘I thought I caught the scent of male gift.’
‘The father lost control for a moment,’ Egrayne said, mounting up.
Vittoryxe was surprised. But now that she thought about it, Egrayne’s guess was probably correct.
‘If he can’t control himself,’ Vittoryxe snapped, ‘he shouldn’t have come to the ceremony.’
Egrayne glanced at her, but did not make the obvious rejoinder. Which was strange; after all, Vittoryxe’s slip had placed both of them in danger.
She hated losing control. It had nothing to do with witnessing her mother’s murder. The brotherhood gift-warrior was to blame; her gift had simply risen in defence.
‘She was probably his devotee,’ Egrayne added.
‘Devotee?’ Arodyti asked. ‘I thought the T’En weren’t supposed to imprint their gift on a Malaunje. If the males are weaker than us, how–’
‘Anyone can slip,’ Egrayne said. ‘The men–’
‘The men are weak, but their control is also weak,’ Vittoryxe spoke over her. ‘Trust a male to slip and enslave a Malaunje.’ Even as she said this, envy ate away at her. It was frowned on nowadays to make a devotee, but being powerful enough to sustain one certainly added to a T’En’s stature.
‘Come on.’ Egrayne turned her mount.
Intent on putting distance between themselves and the brotherhood party, they rode off.
The rest of their group waited in a clearing filled with shifting, dappled light. A slight breeze stirred the canopy, sending autumnal leaves swirling down around them.
‘It went well?’ the oldest of the Malaunje asked.
‘As well as can be expected.’ Egrayne sounded grim.
Vittoryxe said nothing. She resented the gift-warrior covering for her. What if Egrayne went to Gift-tutor Lealeni and revealed her loss of control? Lealeni was looking for the right gift-warrior to train as her replacement. From gift-tutor it was a short step to sisterhood all-mother, Vittoryxe’s true goal.
Besieged (The Outcast Chronicles) Page 4