Besieged (The Outcast Chronicles)

by Rowena Cory Daniells

  ‘Well?’ Nitzel’s belligerent voice carried to the far side of the chamber.

  ‘Go on,’ Oskane urged. ‘Call on the gods.’

  Sorne swallowed and glanced to Izteben. They would have to climb down. Crouching on the edge of the steep rock, Sorne lowered his weight to the cavern floor, a body-length below. Izteben followed him down.

  Sorne opened the chest and unrolled the braid, hanging it across his arm with the silver arm-torc tied to the end.

  ‘We seek the Seven,’ Oskane said, his voice echoing across the cavern. ‘We seek enlightenment, Father. Your wisdom, Scholar, Your guidance, Warrior.’

  Nothing happened.

  Izteben nudged Sorne, who swung the plait out and let go. The metal of the arm-torc flashed as it sailed through the air. It clattered to the floor and rolled to a stop.

  Nothing happened.

  ‘When will it start?’ Cedon asked. ‘Have we come all this way for nothing?’

  ‘Who knows?’ Nitzel said, but he sounded pleased.

  Sorne frowned. What had they forgotten? He’d fallen, scraped his back and...

  ‘You were bleeding,’ Izteben said, following the same train of thought. ‘Cut your finger and flick blood in that direction.’

  ‘I’ll do more than that.’ Sorne rewound the braid. He took out his knife and nicked his finger, rubbing blood on the silver torc. Immediately, he felt his senses sharpen; the air seemed thicker, sounds magnified. ‘It’s working.’

  ‘Your neck.’ Izteben gestured.

  Sorne looked down at his mother’s torc. A glow came from the blue stone.

  At the same moment, Cedon said, ‘It’s getting dark in the corner. I thought the god appeared in a flash of light?’

  Izteben glanced to the gathering darkness and began to edge back towards the entrance. ‘Throw the offering, Sorne. Throw it!’

  Sorne flung the silver torc away from him.

  Something caught it before it could land on the stone. The plait stretched taut between Sorne and the unseen thing.

  ‘Look at that!’ Cedon marvelled.

  ‘Praise the Seven!’ Oskane sounded delighted.

  The king laughed. ‘Well, I’ll be–’

  Something else snatched the braid from Sorne’s hands and it was pulled taut between two unseen forces.

  ‘Seven bless us, there’s two of them!’ Oskane cried.

  ‘I can’t see the gods,’ Cedon complained. ‘Why can’t I see them?’

  ‘You can see how much they despise the Wyrds,’ Oskane said. ‘See how they fight over who gets the offering. See how the silver arm-torc glows.’

  Sorne felt the steep stone ledge at his back.

  One end of the braid dropped and the darkness rushed towards them.

  ‘Jump!’ he cried, throwing the chest towards the beast. Not waiting to see if it was satisfied, he turned to give Izteben a boost.

  A flash of white burned his eyes, and a sudden wind drove him into stone. Men cried out. Cedon screamed. King Charald roared.

  We poked the hornet’s next. What do they expect? Sorne thought, as he blacked out.

  ‘IT’S JUST HORRIBLE,’ Imoshen muttered. She and Frayvia sat in the window seat, heads together, whispering. Thankfully, Iraayel slept nearby, unaware of the violence. The night air was filled with shouting, the clash of metal on metal and the breaking of glass from the brotherhood quarter.

  ‘It’s to be expected,’ Frayvia said. ‘The all-fathers blame Rohaayel’s brotherhood, they’re fighting over it, strongest takes all.’

  Imoshen shuddered. ‘I don’t like this place. Nothing is what I expected. There’s–’

  ‘There’s nowhere else to go.’

  ‘We had no choice, I know, but... I don’t understand why I had to kill Rohaayel. Why the sisterhoods are so afraid of the brotherhoods. I don’t understand why our people are locked in war like this. There has to be a better way.’

  Frayvia hugged her. ‘My poor, idealistic Imoshen.’

  ‘I can’t afford to be idealistic. There’s you and Iraayel to think of.’ She chewed on her bottom lip. ‘When I gave my vows to All-mother Aayelora tonight, Vittoryxe was not happy.’

  ‘As long as you keep out of her way.’

  ‘I can’t. She’s the gift-tutor. I suspect she is going to pick holes in everything I do. According to her, a T’En can only have one gift, but I know that’s not true.’

  ‘Imoshen, she’s a gift-tutor with thirty or forty years of experience. Listen to her. Work out how to win her over. The sisterhoods have given us sanctuary. Be grateful for that. I am.’

  Imoshen nodded but, in truth, she was numb.

  ‘Look,’ Frayvia whispered, as flames and sparks lifted high into the night sky above the brotherhood quarter. ‘Rohaayel’s palace is burning.’

  ‘I’m sorry. Here I am thinking only of me. Did you have family there?’

  Frayvia shrugged. ‘There was Ardeyne, but he’s gone now and I was never close to him. There were others, friends...’

  ‘Will they be safe?’

  ‘They’re Malaunje. Not important enough to be in danger.’

  ‘I don’t understand how you can say that.’

  ‘I know.’ Frayvia kissed her cheek and stood up, offering her hand. ‘Come to bed.’

  LIGHTS DANCED OVER Sorne’s head.

  When they settled down and resolved themselves into lanterns strung from the branches of the maple tree, he knew where he was. Nearby, he heard several voices arguing.

  ‘...no, a True-man cannot see the gods. They are too magnificent for our minds to comprehend,’ Oskane was saying.

  ‘Then the light is...’ This was Charald.

  ‘All that our minds can cope with. The half-bloods are closer to animals, and so they pass out when the gods plant visions in their minds.’

  ‘Are you sure it’s safe?’ Nitzel asked.

  ‘Of course, it’s not safe,’ Oskane snapped. He was clearly enjoying himself. ‘If you think contacting the gods is safe, you’re a fool. They are so far above us, we–’

  ‘I wasn’t scared,’ Cedon boasted. ‘Not for one moment.’

  Liar, Sorne thought. Cedon had been terrified, just like the rest of them.

  ‘Where’s Izteben?’ He tried to sit up, winced and dropped back. The moment his eyes closed he saw a ship’s deck, the king, a boy...

  ‘He’s right here, safe,’ Hiruna said. Sorne opened his eyes to see her leaning over him with a damp cloth. ‘You cut your forehead.’

  ‘The other half-blood’s awake now,’ one of the barons announced.

  Sorne struggled to sit up, and Izteben helped him. Hiruna had bandaged his choice-brother’s head, and now she began to bandage Sorne’s, watched by the king, the prince, the barons and Oskane. It seemed the scholar had risen in stature, for he now sat on the king’s left. Behind the four chairs, the barons’ men watched. They were subdued, stunned.

  When Sorne closed his eyes, he saw the deck again, saw the king hug the small boy.

  ‘Enough, woman, get out of the way and let him tell us his vision,’ the king commanded.

  Hiruna ignored him.

  Sorne glanced to Izteben. ‘You all right?’

  ‘Seeing double. Something slammed me into the wall.’

  ‘From what they’re saying, you’re both lucky to be alive,’ Hiruna whispered. She tied off the bandage and stepped back.

  Sorne was having trouble focusing, and the glow from the lanterns fractured into streamers of light. Each time he blinked he was back on... ‘the deck.’

  ‘What did he say?’ Charald demanded. ‘Speak up, boy.’

  ‘This is not just any half-blood boy,’ Oskane said. ‘He speaks for the Warrior.’

  Sorne felt a bone-deep satisfaction. Now the king had acknowledged him and was finally talking to him. ‘I saw a ship’s deck. King Charald was with a boy–’

  ‘Prince Cedon!’ Charald announced.

  It hadn’t been the prince. It had been another boy, much young
er. But now was not the time to quibble.

  ‘What were we doing, Warrior’s-voice?’ the king asked, finally using his new title.

  ‘You hugged him,’ Sorne said. ‘You seemed pleased, as though something momentous had just happened.’

  ‘A victory,’ Charald stated and jumped to his feet. ‘That’s it. We’re meant to sail down the coast and attack –’ he broke off. ‘Did you see which kingdom I’d conquered?’

  ‘I saw the moons,’ Sorne lied. ‘Crescent moons with–’

  ‘Khitan. I knew it!’ Charald told his barons.

  Sorne sought Oskane’s eyes; the scholar was pleased. They would be welcomed back to court, and Oskane would see his family restored to its former position of influence.

  The king paced. ‘It’s spring cusp. The barons could summon their men and set sail before the next small moon, the sooner the better.’ Charald turned to Oskane. ‘Pack your bags, old man. I hope you don’t get seasick.’

  Oskane’s face dropped and his mouth gaped.

  ‘Nitzel.’ The king beckoned him. ‘I appoint you regent to rule for Cedon until I return.’

  ‘But, father...’

  ‘Now listen to me, Cedon.’ Charald pulled his son to his feet. ‘I was crowned on the battlefield and handed a kingdom in chaos when I was fifteen. Oskane and Nitzel helped me hold onto it. Don’t ignore good counsel.’

  ‘But I want to come with you and fight.’

  ‘Someone must stay to rule the kingdom.’

  ‘And he will do that, with my advice, King Charald,’ Nitzel said. ‘I am honoured.’

  And pleased, very pleased, Sorne could tell.

  ‘But...’ Oskane began.

  ‘The half-blood, I know,’ Charald said. ‘We’ll take the Warrior’s-voice with us. He was born under the sign of the Warrior, and the Warrior has claimed him.’

  ‘There were two gods in the cavern, King Charald,’ Izteben said.

  Everyone fell silent as the king turned to the other half-blood, the son of a poor carpenter, who had dared to address him without permission.

  Sorne didn’t know what Izteben was up to, but he trusted him.

  ‘When the Warrior gave Sorne a vision, the Father sent me a vision.’ This from Izteben, who did not believe in visions. ‘The Father is angry with True-men. He hasn’t been worshipped as he should have been. I saw Scholar Oskane returned to his place as high priest of the Father’s church, ruling over all the other churches as the Father rules over his home. I saw unclean places accorded their proper reverence as holy sites. I saw the Seven honoured with offerings of T’En artefacts presented by the six-fingered hands of copper-haired half-bloods.’

  Sorne looked down to hide his amusement. Clever, clever Izteben.

  ‘The Father has spoken through this half-blood,’ Oskane announced. ‘So it shall be.’

  While the king and his barons discussed this new turn of events, Izteben’s eyes gleamed with triumph. He edged closer to Sorne to whisper, ‘Now we both speak for the gods. You’ll sail with the king and I’ll go to the Father’s church in port with High Priest Oskane.’

  The king and his men ordered chairs brought out, and their evening meal was served under the maple tree. There was talk of logistics, ships, men, and supplies, all embellished with eager boasting and copious drinking. And later, after Hiruna returned to the stable with Zabier, there was more drinking, bawdy songs and shouting. Hiruna sent Sorne to check that their door was barred.

  They went to their beds, but it was hard to sleep, what with all the noise. It was only as the retreat fell silent that Sorne remembered the she-Wyrd, locked in her cell. Now that her usefulness was over, he had a terrible feeling she would be killed.

  Throwing back the covers, he crept to the ladder and climbed down. The horses stirred in their stalls.

  ‘What are you doing?’ Izteben whispered, following him down.

  ‘Freeing the she-Wyrd.’

  ‘Oskane will know it was us.’

  ‘I don’t think he’ll be too worried. He’s been restored to high priest.’

  ‘Wait,’ Zabier whispered, eyes bright, hair tousled. ‘I’m coming with you. I know where Franto keeps the key to the cell.’

  ‘Tell us and we’ll get it,’ Izteben said.

  ‘Oh, no. I missed out on the mine. I want to be part of this.’

  ‘Very well,’ Sorne said.

  Zabier jumped off the last rung. ‘Let’s go.’

  ‘Wait.’ Sorne caught Izteben’s arm. ‘The she-Wyrd will need shoes, a knife, some food...’

  ‘My shoes will fit her,’ Hiruna said.

  The three of them jumped and turned, to find her watching from the doorway of the kitchen.

  ‘Did you think I wouldn’t notice? Come here.’ She put a hamper on the kitchen table and packed a set of clothes, her winter shoes, fresh bread, smoked meat, some cheese and preserves. Lastly she added a knife, a cup and a bowl, flint and a candle stub.

  Hiruna spoke softly as she worked. ‘This reminds me of the night we didn’t run in time. Kolst wanted to stay, thought his brother would protect us. The villagers knocked him down and dragged me out of my home. You were just a baby, Izteben. I thought we were going to die.’ She shuddered. ‘Then Scholar Oskane saved us...’

  ‘Why aren’t all True-men and -women like you?’ Sorne asked.

  ‘How do you know more of them aren’t?’ she countered. ‘Maybe they’re afraid to be known as Wyrd-lovers.’

  Sorne shook his head. ‘Even the penitents despised us.’

  She shrugged and handed him the travelling kit. ‘Don’t get caught.’

  Both moons were full and bright, casting the shadow of the maple onto the courtyard stones. The door to the main building opened on oiled hinges. Sorne could hear the barons’ men snoring in the dining room.

  Izteben signalled for Sorne to wait, and went up the steps with Zabier.

  Moments later, Izteben and Zabier slipped back down the steps, looking very pleased with themselves. Sorne led the way to the cellar, where they were shocked to see the door to the she-Wyrd’s cell standing wide open.

  ‘She must have escaped already.’ Izteben sounded relieved.

  Sorne had a bad feeling. ‘Hold this.’ He gave the hamper to Zabier and crept along until he came to the cell. It was hard to make out much in the darkness. Sorne lit a candle.

  The she-Wyrd lay near the far wall in a pool of blood. Her gown had been shoved up to reveal her body, and there was something wrong with her face...

  ‘Go wait at the stairs, Zabier,’ Sorne said. For once, their little brother didn’t argue. Sorne could hear him weeping softly.

  Torn between pity and contempt, Sorne made himself study the body. Her eyes had been gouged out, her hair hacked off and the little fingers on both hands were missing.

  Izteben retched. Sorne fought the same reaction.

  In the retreat, there were no women other than their mother and the she-Wyrd, but when Joaken and the other penitents had been alive, they’d boasted of the women they’d known, and they hadn’t worried who overheard. Sorne and Izteben knew what had happened here.

  Guilt hit him. ‘She asked me to free her last night. But I...’

  ‘Why didn’t you?’ Izteben asked, his voice thick with emotion.

  ‘Yesterday, we weren’t important. Tonight...’ Tonight he’d felt powerful. Now he saw this for the illusion that it was. If True-men could do this to someone who was no threat to them, what would they do to half-breeds who dared...

  ‘It’s not decent.’ Izteben picked up her blanket. ‘We should cover–’

  ‘Don’t.’ Panic made Sorne’s voice sharp. ‘They mustn’t know we’ve been here.’

  Izteben looked confused. ‘We’re the gods’ messengers. The king himself listens to us.’

  Sorne licked dry lips. ‘Who do you think condoned this? Why do you think Ma had me check the stable door was barred?’

  Izteben looked shocked.

  Sorne licked his thumb and
finger and pinched the candle flame. ‘We should go.’

  They sent Zabier to bed while they replaced the key in Franto’s chamber. When they returned to the stables, Hiruna was waiting for them.

  ‘We were too late,’ Izteben said, returning the hamper. ‘How can someone do that to another person?’

  ‘I’m sorry.’ Hiruna did not seem surprised. ‘I’m sorry you had to see that.’

  ‘She was weak,’ Sorne said.

  ‘No.’ Hiruna’s eyes glittered. ‘She was strong. She could have killed herself, but she chose to stay and help you boys, even after I told her Oskane wouldn’t kill you.’

  ‘And look what it got her,’ Sorne said, voice thick with anger. ‘She died in the end.’

  ‘Everyone dies. It’s how you live that’s important.’

  ‘Oh, Ma.’ Izteben hugged her. She sobbed softly. ‘Don’t worry. We’ll look after you.’

  ‘I know that.’ She summoned a smile. ‘It’s just... Tomorrow we leave. Everything is changing.’

  ‘For the better,’ Sorne insisted.

  But on the morrow, he discovered the covered cart was being put to a new use.

  Sorne had known there were not enough horses for them all to ride. He’d expected to walk. He hadn’t anticipated...

  ‘The half-bloods will ride in the cart, out of sight,’ Franto said, flipping the cover back.

  ‘Much more comfortable than walking.’ Hiruna climbed up, then held out her arms for Izteben to pass Valendia.

  ‘And Zabier?’ Sorne asked Franto.

  ‘Zabier will be serving Scholar Oskane.’ Franto made an impatient gesture. ‘Be realistic, Sorne. The king cannot be seen to be travelling with half-bloods.’

  Heat filled Sorne’s face. ‘Not even–’

  ‘Come on.’ Izteben slung an arm round his shoulder and drew him away from Franto. ‘Now is not the time for this.’

  He was right. Sorne felt he should insist they bury the she-Wyrd, but he was a coward. His face burned with shame as he climbed into the cart. Izteben sat next to him. Morning sunlight came through the gaps in the canvas. They could hear the men joking and grumbling as they mounted up. Yesterday those same men had cowered in fright, while he and Izteben stood between them and death.