Besieged (The Outcast Chronicles)

by Rowena Cory Daniells

  Sorne had no illusions about that. ‘But–’

  ‘She’s a half-blood female, and she’s going to be a beauty. There are powerful men out there who would abduct her and lock her away for their own entertainment. You haven’t been here for years, and before that you lived in a mountain retreat. You don’t know what goes on. She’s my sister, not yours. I’ll decide what’s best for her.’

  ‘And Hiruna?’

  ‘Of course.’

  ‘Then hire a healer. She has the wasting illness.’ And he walked away, vowing to visit only when Zabier was busy.

  IMOSHEN HID BEHIND the verandah post as she watched Iraayel practice his martial exercises – precision, strength, speed and total concentration. He wouldn’t be thirteen until winter’s cusp, but he had asked to train with the adolescent boys and he was swiftly catching up.

  Fifteen days had passed since the sacrare’s murder. For the first two days, Iraayel had taken to his bed and refused to eat. On the third day, he had risen as usual and gone about his lessons. That was when she’d discovered she could no longer read him. Some people were impervious to her gift, and now he was one of them. She’d been grateful, because she thought he was recovering.

  Now this...

  ‘I can’t read him. But you’re right, Fray, there’s an unnatural energy and focus to him,’ Imoshen admitted. ‘He’s studying weapons training with the application of a youth about to go into the brotherhood.’

  ‘As if he knows his life depends on it.’

  ‘Iraayel saw the brotherhood warriors in action. He saw Reoden’s hand-of-force die trying to protect the children.’

  Her devotee nodded. Tears made her eyes glisten. ‘His childhood is over.’

  ‘I hate it. I wish we’d never come here. This place corrupts. I swear, if I stay here, I’ll–’

  ‘Hush. Don’t let anyone hear you. Besides, where else could we go? Mieren hate us.’

  ‘Not all the Mieren. The Sagoras...’ Imoshen broke off. She grabbed her devotee and kissed her.

  ‘What’s that for?’ A fond smile tugged at Frayvia’s lips.

  ‘How would you like to live with the Sagoras?’

  Frayvia considered it. ‘They’re very secretive, and they live segregated lives. I don’t think they let anyone in–’

  ‘To the walled section where they live, no. But they welcome students to the Halls of Learning. They’re teachers and searchers of knowledge. If I applied to study with them, I could take you and Iraayel with me.’

  Frayvia frowned, deep in thought. ‘We’d still have to come back when you finished your studies.’

  ‘Not if I kept studying.’ Imoshen hugged her and nodded to the courtyard, where her choice-son worked himself to the point of exhaustion. ‘If Iraayel was studying, I wouldn’t have to hand him over to his brotherhood when he turns seventeen.’

  ‘You can’t break the covenant, Imoshen.’

  ‘I wouldn’t break it, just side-step it. He could give Chariode his oath of loyalty, but continue to study.’ A great weight lifted from her. ‘That’s it. I’m going to ask the all-mother if I can study with the Sagoras.’

  ‘I don’t know, Imoshen, after Vittoryxe and the birds–’

  ‘She’ll be glad to get rid of me!’

  GRAELEN PACED. USED to roaming the city, he found the confines of port life frustrating.

  Someone gave the Malaunje knock on the door.

  ‘Come in.’

  A pretty young Malaunje woman entered, bringing with her the smell of apple and cinnamon tarts baking. ‘Adept Dragomyr invites you to the rooftop garden for refreshments.’

  He found Dragomyr reclining on a couch, while his devotee prepared spiced wine. Graelen passed potted flowers and vegetables, and pruned fruit trees. The sea breeze stirred the cherry blossoms, sending petals across the paving.

  After giving the obeisance of a visiting adept to a higher-ranking adept, he said, ‘Your rooftop garden does your brotherhood credit.’

  ‘Yes, you would not know we’d had such a dry summer last year. We’re hoping for spring rains.’ Dragomyr did not rise to greet him, instead waving him lazily into a chair. ‘What have you learnt about this Warrior’s-voice?’

  ‘Not much more,’ Graelen admitted. When Kyredeon had negotiated for him to stay in Chariode’s port warehouse, part of the agreement meant he had to share information. Kyredeon had made it clear he was to share only enough to ensure Chariode’s future cooperation. Kyredeon still hadn’t forgiven Chariode for winning Rohaayel’s brotherhood ahead of him. ‘The Warrior’s-voice spent the last eight years with King Charald, but no one knows where he came from before that.’

  ‘Our kind are not welcome in the ports of the Secluded Sea,’ Dragomyr said. ‘We trade, but to stay overnight ashore we have to get special permission, so we usually organise meetings on our ships’ decks.’

  ‘Then he must be from Chalcedonia.’

  ‘Unless he was sold by Mieren parents as a slave for the entertainment of some rich noble.’

  ‘That happens?’ Graelen was shocked.

  Dragomyr closed his fan with a snap and regarded him thoughtfully. The adept had captained a trading vessel until he was injured. With the loss of his leg, he’d retired to run the brotherhood’s trade from Port Mirror-on-Sea. He was very old now and very fat, due to the excellence of his personal cook, but his mind was as sharp as ever. ‘They say the half-blood has visions sent by the Warrior god. How can this be?’

  ‘He holds ceremonies at what he calls holy sites.’ Graelen was sure that Dragomyr knew this, and was testing him. ‘He breaks the walls between the planes and absorbs the power that is shed as a result.’

  ‘His hair is white but his face is young. What does this tell us? Dragomyr asked, reminding Graelen of his old gift-tutor. ‘I see you don’t know. Not surprising, since most of the devotees you see would have grown old with their T’En. Ysadore, come here.’

  His devotee poured them each a glass of spiced wine.

  Graelen savoured it and complimented the adept.

  ‘Yes, Ysadore is very talented.’ Dragomyr gestured with the fan. ‘Did you notice his hair is nearly white, like your Harosel? How old is your servant?’

  ‘Sixty, no... I think he’s closer to seventy.’

  Dragomyr nodded. ‘Ysadore is forty. He became my devotee in the raid where I lost my leg. It’s fifteen years since we left the ship, and in that time his hair has gone completely white. It’s because of the strength of my gift. I don’t say this to boast. I say this because you are young and have not seen as much of the world as I have. As a child, I knew T’En who grew up in the height of the High Golden Age. In those days, how fast a devotee’s hair went white was a sign of the extent of their T’En’s gift.’

  ‘Why had I never heard this?’

  ‘Some things are not said. They are understood.’

  ‘You’re saying this Warrior’s-voice has been steeping himself in power.’

  ‘Exactly, which brings us back to the how. How does he break the walls in the first place?’

  ‘Sometimes they break on their own.’

  Dragomyr nodded, then yawned behind his fan. ‘Set your Harosel to find this out. You are dismissed.’ Seeing Graelen’s expression, he smiled sweetly. ‘Eccentricity is the privilege of great age.’

  Graelen hid a smile as he gave the correct obeisance and left. Downstairs in his chamber, he found Harosel waiting to report what he had learnt the night before.

  He finished with, ‘...the locals are grumbling about the barons’ men. They drink, they fight and they accost the women.’

  ‘Not surprising; they spent the last eight years killing, raping and stealing,’ Graelen said. ‘Ask around. See if you can find out how the Warrior’s-voice breaches the walls between the planes.’

  ‘Only high church officials and nobility are present at these ceremonies. What I hear is all speculation.’ Harosel shrugged. ‘The Mieren don’t like it that King Charald has a half-blood advisor
. They’re saying the Warrior’s-voice has ideas above his station. They’re saying the Father’s-voice is a True-man and has visions, so why does the king need a half-blood?’

  ‘It would be remarkable if they didn’t say that.’

  Harosel went to leave, but hesitated at the door.

  ‘What?’

  ‘I was speaking with the warehouse Malaunje. They’ve only had one half-blood infant handed in to them in the last ten years. Lysania’s choice-daughter. For such a large port, that seems strange.’

  ‘There’s another brotherhood and a sisterhood in port. Perhaps the infants have been delivered to them.’

  Harosel nodded and left.

  Graelen knew he should report to Kyredeon, but he had no solid news, only speculation.

  VITTORYXE WAITED UNTIL Imoshen left before speaking up. ‘Send her to study with the Sagoras. She’s a liability to us.’

  The all-mother glanced to Egrayne. Why was she looking to her? Egrayne wasn’t the sisterhood’s voice-of-reason.

  No, but the sisterhood’s voice-of-reason was failing and, when she died, there was a good chance the all-mother would die with her. They were shield-sisters, gift-linked. The day was coming when the sisterhood would have to elect a new leader and, thanks to Imoshen’s rash behaviour, the choice would be between Egrayne and Vittoryxe.

  Egrayne lifted her big hands in a shrug. ‘We can’t let her leave the sisterhood–’

  ‘She’d still be part of the sisterhood. It would be no different from her going to live out on an estate,’ Vittoryxe argued.

  The all-mother looked to Egrayne, and Vittoryxe knew she would recommend the empowerer for the next voice-of-reason. Excitement raced through Vittoryxe; this meant Aayelora would name her the next all-mother.

  Just then the all-mother’s geldr came running in, chased by the devotee. With the reasoning power of a five-year-old but the body of a full-grown adult, he was dangerous. In a fit of temper, he could break bones or even kill.

  Vittoryxe grimaced and stepped aside as the geldr tried to hide behind the all-mother. Tancred might be a neuter, but Vittoryxe always thought of him as male. He was big and strong, and useless – the all-mother should have suffocated him at birth.

  He made Aayelora look ridiculous, hiding behind her smaller frame and giggling. The all-mother’s devotee apologised profusely and lured Tancred out of hiding, then out of the chamber, with the promise of sugared fruit.

  As soon as she was all-mother, Vittoryxe would have him locked up somewhere down below in the crypts. Fed once a day, he would soon waste away and die.

  ‘Kyredeon lost wealth and stature when his theatre burned. I hear rumours his brotherhood is in trouble. The all-fathers are manoeuvring for power,’ Egrayne said. ‘As long as Imoshen the All-father-killer remains in the city, no all-father will risk crossing the all-mothers.’

  ‘So what do you suggest?’ Aayelora asked.

  ‘Tell Imoshen she may study with the Sagoras, but not until she can speak their language fluently,’ Egrayne said. ‘From what I hear, they don’t even use the same alphabet. Tell her you could only negotiate a lesson every ten days. That should slow her down, and who knows what will happen in the meantime?’

  The all-mother nodded. ‘Send for Imoshen.’

  IMOSHEN RETURNED TO her chamber at a run. She had to learn the Sagoras’ language, then they could leave. ‘Frayvia, guess what?’

  The chamber was dim, illuminated by beams of golden, late afternoon sunlight, which filtered through the patterned screen. A shadow detached itself from the darkness – long, elegant legs, hair cut so short she could see the line of the beautiful throat, and a body clad in silk so fine it was almost transparent. Imoshen sensed the familiar gift, with its enticing power.

  ‘Ree...’ Imoshen swallowed. ‘What are you doing here? Where’s–’

  ‘I sent your devotee away.’

  Imoshen closed the door after her, and leant against it. Her gift surged. She sensed the healer’s desire, but underneath that was desperation and determination. Imoshen was out of her depth. ‘Ree...’

  Reoden came closer. ‘Your gift draws me, Imoshen. I can feel it on my skin.’

  ‘Why are you here?’

  ‘You know why.’

  ‘Why now?’

  ‘All the others, they offer platitudes or they avoid me. You know what I’ve been through. You only ever offered me the truth, and I turned you down.’

  ‘You were right to turn me down. I wasn’t ready.’

  ‘Are you ready now?’

  ‘I am, but I’m not sure you are.’

  For answer, Reoden kissed her. ‘Make me forget.’

  ‘You would use me to forget?’

  ‘Yes. Isn’t it awful?’

  ‘Only if I say no.’

  Chapter Thirty-Nine

  A SENSE OF purpose filled Imoshen as she tried on the Sagora style clothing. She pulled the hood into place, and lowered the net over her face so that only her mouth and chin were visible. The world appeared blurry. Why would anyone limit their vision like this?

  Because they valued privacy. It had taken delicate negotiation to organise her language lessons, and part of the stipulation was that she would honour Sagorian customs.

  ‘Hold still while I get the length right.’ Frayvia knelt to pin in the hem. ‘There. How does it feel?’

  ‘It’s a little odd having sleeves that cover my hands, but I’ll get used to it.’

  ‘Now try the Mieren half-cape.’

  Imoshen swung the red half-cape around her shoulders to complete her costume. She studied herself in the mirror.

  ‘If I keep my gift tightly reined, no one will know I’m T’En. In fact...’ She turned this way and that. ‘Unless I speak, they won’t know my gender either.’

  The thought of such freedom gave her a thrill.

  ‘Take it off and I’ll finish the hem. You’ll be ready for tomorrow.’

  Imoshen removed the Mieren half-cape, and Frayvia smiled.

  ‘What?’

  ‘You’re the only T’En I know who would like to be invisible.’ Frayvia accepted the costume and went over to sit by the lamp to finish pinning the hem. ‘You want to hide. Meanwhile, there’s a white-haired Malaunje walking around Port Mirror-on-Sea, bold as brass, calling himself the Warrior’s-voice.’

  ‘I know.’ Imoshen sat beside her. ‘No one knows what to make of it. They say he has visions and advises the king. Egrayne has asked our people in port to find out more about him, but he’s so deeply immersed in the Mieren world it’s proving dangerous for our informants. What do the Malaunje say? Are they tempted to leave the city and try their luck in the church? No more T’En to answer to, no more fear of gift addiction?’

  Frayvia looked up sharply; there must have been talk. ‘Only fools would think that. This Warrior’s-voice – I don’t know who he is, or where he came from, but I do know this. He’ll come to a bad end.’

  Imoshen suspected she was right.

  GRAELEN WATCHED AS a stream of priests wearing the dark robes of the holy-swords left the palace, carrying travelling kits. There was no sign of the Warrior’s-voice amongst them. It was hard to tell Mieren apart, especially when they wore identical robes and tied their hair back the same way. They entered the Warrior’s church and did not come out while he waited.

  For the last nine days, Graelen had walked to the plaza to watch for the Warrior’s-voice. He’d seen the white-haired Malaunje cross from the palace to the Father’s church at around the same time each day and stay for at least one prayer bell, before returning to the palace. There was an intense rivalry between the two churches. Before this, the Father’s high priest had always been the king’s advisor. Now a half-blood from the Warrior’s church advised him, even though there was a True-man who claimed to have visions.

  What was the Warrior’s-voice doing in the Father’s church? Why hadn’t he moved his personal belongings into the Warrior’s church, when his holy-swords had moved there?

/>   Here he came now, crossing the plaza. He glanced over, as if he sensed Graelen’s presence, but he didn’t break his stride.

  Rather than wait around for him to come back out, Graelen headed to the docks. Harosel had said he might have information for him today.

  As one of the war barons rode by, followed by a column of men-at-arms, Graelen stepped into a doorway. King Charald had been rewarding his war barons. This was the third baron to ride off at the head of a long line of men-at-arms to claim his estate and flush out Charald’s enemies.

  As soon as the baron passed, Graelen stepped down onto the street. It was amazing how the Mieren could watch him, without actually meeting his eyes. He’d learned to maintain his mental shields so that their unguarded minds no longer gave him a headache.

  Was that Harosel coming this way? The veteran looked grim, and Graelen increased his pace. When they met at a crossroad, Harosel led him into a dim alleyway, where Mieren children played in the puddles.

  A grubby child looked up. ‘Wyrds!’

  The children disappeared into the rickety buildings that rose three and four storeys high. The lane was not wide enough for Graelen to walk with his arms outstretched. Harosel glanced up and down the alley.

  Graelen didn’t need to be a raedan to read his anger. ‘What is it?’

  ‘The Warrior’s-voice is sacrificing half-blood children.’

  ‘What? Impossible. Are you sure?’

  ‘No. But I went to Paragian’s warehouse. They’ve had half the usual number of Malaunje infants delivered. So I went to the sisterhood warehouse and their numbers are down, too.’

  ‘I see.’

  ‘Mieren parents can’t keep their half-blood children. If they do, other Mieren turn on them. They have to hand them over.’

  Graelen nodded. ‘The Warrior’s-voice makes sacrifices to gain power from the higher plane. He has no innate power of his own, so he has to break the walls somehow. The beasts of the higher plane are hungry for the life force of Mieren. If they have a choice, they prefer the gift-enforced essence of T’En. Half-bloods aren’t quite as tasty, but...’ Graelen shuddered, sickened. It was all making horrible sense. Outrage made his heart race and his gift surge. ‘The Warrior’s-voice does have pure white hair. He must have been immersing himself in stolen power, paid for with the blood of innocents.’