Besieged (The Outcast Chronicles)

by Rowena Cory Daniells

  ‘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.’

  At that moment Ardonyx took a step back, and her gaze flew to him. His eyes gleamed with pain and anger. She’d lied to him, hurt him. Certainly, he’d had a secret, but it was something to be proud of, whilst her secret...

  Ardonyx gave the all-mother an abrupt bow and walked away.

  No one spoke.

  Imoshen felt Iraayel’s dismay, and she sensed his struggle to contain his newly-risen gift.

  ‘What does this mean?’ Saffazi asked, bristling on Iraayel’s behalf.

  ‘It means,’ Chariode said, ‘that due to his choice-mother, Iraayel will have to work twice as hard to gain stature in the brotherhood.’

  ‘That’s not fair,’ Saffazi protested.

  ‘Life is rarely fair.’ Chariode made his obeisance to the all-mother and walked off with his inner circle.

  And, when Imoshen went to her next Sagorese lesson, there was no sign of student-he. Through judicious questioning of the sisterhood’s sea captain, who had recently returned from an unsuccessful voyage to find a way through the northern ice floes, Imoshen learnt that Captain Ardonyx had left the city to sail south.

  Chapter Forty-Eight

  Year 318

  ‘NEXT,’ VITTORYXE CALLED. The requests for midsummer trystings were flowing in. Personally, she didn’t see what all the fuss was about. But she had the responsibility of making up the list, and she would do a good job.

  Each individual T’En male’s gift, stature and brotherhood had to be assessed before he could be added to the list, and half a dozen high-ranking sisters waited with her to discuss each request. Among these sisters were Imoshen and Arodyti. It had been Egrayne’s suggestion, and Vittoryxe didn’t see what they could add to the discussion. Arodyti was like a cat on heat; she and her shield-sister asked for several different males each year. Vittoryxe suspected the pair of them regularly slipped out to the free quarter to indulge in illicit trystings. As for Imoshen, she might pretend disinterest in T’En males, but Vittoryxe knew better. Imoshen had grown up in contact with their gift; she was flawed.

  The sea captain, Iriane, strode in. ‘Captain Ardonyx is back.’

  Vittoryxe looked up at the sisterhood’s famous sea captain. ‘So you want to tryst with this Ardonyx.’

  ‘What? No. I want to mount another expedition.’

  ‘What does he have to do with this?’ Vittoryxe asked.

  ‘He’s the greatest of the brotherhood sea captains, a brilliant navigator.’ Iriane spoke as if everyone should know this. ‘He’s been scouting a southern route to the far east. If he finds one, Chariode’s brotherhood will negotiate an exclusive trading agreement with–’

  ‘So you want to make another voyage north?’ All-mother Aayelora said, and looked to Egrayne; always Egrayne. Vittoryxe had seen this as confirmation Egrayne would be named the next voice-of-reason, and she would be the next all-mother, but the longer Aayelora delayed, the more it undermined her conviction.

  Egrayne sat forward. ‘Iriane, last time you tried to find a way through the ice floes, you lost two toes to frostbite and–’

  ‘I’ll be better prepared this time.’ She shifted her attention to the all-mother. ‘Ardonyx has been back four days already, and I only just heard. I need your approval, Aayelora. I need to find a northern passage ahead of him, if our sisterhood is going to have an exclusive trade agreement.’

  As Vittoryxe waited for the all-mother to respond, she noticed Imoshen quietly coming to her feet. ‘Where are you going? We haven’t finished yet.’

  ‘It’s nearly time for my language lesson. I thought–’

  ‘Imoshen can go,’ the all-mother said. ‘And Iriane, you can have your expedition. We’ll finish this tomorrow.’

  Annoyance flashed through Vittoryxe. She should have been the one to call an end to it.

  ‘Right, that’s it for today,’ she said, reclaiming control, and then she went one better. ‘Tonight the sisterhood will hold a farewell dinner for Iriane and her crew.’

  IMOSHEN’S HEART RACED – he was back. There was a chance he might not come to the Sagorese lesson but, if he did, she would be ready for him.

  ‘Imoshen?’ Egrayne called.

  Controlling her impatience, Imoshen waited at the top of the grand staircase.

  ‘Did you notice the all-mother?’ Egrayne asked.

  Imoshen thought back. ‘She seemed tired.’

  Egrayne nodded. ‘And she’s forgetting things. They all remark on how well she is for her age, but she’s failing, Imoshen. She should have stepped down years ago. She didn’t because she couldn’t hand the leadership over to the wrong person.’

  ‘But you’d be a wonderful all-mother,’ Imoshen protested, and she meant it.

  ‘Vittoryxe thinks she’d make a wonderful all-mother, and she’s spent the last thirty years shoring up allegiances with the high-ranking sisters to ensure she’ll have the numbers. There’s no point Aayelora naming a new all-mother if Vittoryxe forces a vote; and, if the vote doesn’t go the way she wants, she could offer challenge.’

  ‘I thought only brotherhoods–’

  ‘It happens if a sister puts personal ambition above the good of the sisterhood.’

  Imoshen winced.

  ‘Exactly. Vittoryxe believes she has the best interests of the sisterhood at heart, but–’

  ‘If she did, she would accept you as all-mother. What will you do?’

  Egrayne studied her. ‘I’ve been waiting for you to grow into your gift. You’re a raedan. With that skill, you could make our sisterhood the most powerful...’ She ran down because Imoshen was already shaking her head.

  ‘I don’t want to lead the sisterhood. The sisters don’t like me. Vittoryxe has seen to that. And the brotherhoods hate me.’

  ‘They respect strength and power. Vittoryxe does not have as many friends as she thinks she does. Certainly, if she became all-mother, the sisters would defer to her, but they would be relieved if she didn’t.’

  ‘You’re serious.’ Imoshen stared at her. ‘I can’t do this.’

  ‘You’d have me to advise you, and your choice of hand-of-force.’

  Even as she shook her head, one part of Imoshen was already planning the changes she would make. Of course, she could not implement them right away, but this would be a chance to gradually bring the sisterhood into a new age, the Age of Enlightenment, as she and Ardonyx called it.

  Oh, but she wanted to see him; needed to see him.

  ‘If Vittoryxe could call on the votes to beat you, she’d beat me.’

  ‘Not if you birthed a sacrare girl, who would grow up to make our sisterhood more powerful than any other. When Reoden had her sacrare daughter, the old all-mother stepped down. You’ve already given birth to a healthy sacrare boy. So your chances of carrying one to term are better than average. I’ve made a list of the suitable males who have asked to tryst with you.’

  ‘I thought no one ever asked.’

  ‘That’s what we told you, because Vittoryxe said–’

  ‘...that I would become addicted to the male’s power if I trysted with a male.’

  Egrayne nodded. ‘So the all-mother turned down all requests.’ She passed Imoshen the list. ‘Take a look. Pick two or three to tryst with. If you do have a sacrare from the midsummer trystings, we don’t want a male claiming stature because of it.’

  ‘Besides, if it was a boy, the sisterhood would have to hand him over in seventeen years, and his brotherhood would...’ Imoshen read Egrayne. ‘You couldn’t kill–’

  ‘We can’t give the brotherhoods a weapon to use against us. You’d better have a girl.’

  ‘There’s no way of ensuring a girl,’ Imoshen protested.

  ‘Don’t mention this to Vittoryxe. Come back to me with at least three trysting partners for midsummer.’

  Imoshen looked down at the list, then u
p. ‘I’ll think about it.’

  She turned to go, but Egrayne caught her arm. ‘Your sisterhood needs you.’

  ‘I understand. I really do.’ They could not go on like this, living in fear of the men. There had to be a better way.

  Imoshen left the palace and made her way to the sisterhood jewellery shop in the free quarter to get changed.

  During the time that Ardonyx had been away, Imoshen had realised two things. The first was that she loved him, and without him life was flat and grey. The second was that he had been right – she could not live her life in fear. If she believed there were injustices, she had to try to redress them.

  And she had a chance of achieving this as all-mother of the most powerful sisterhood, but only if one of the brotherhoods cooperated and set an example for the others. If Ardonyx was all-father of a powerful brotherhood... Her heart raced; together, they could change things for the better.

  There was no sign of Ardonyx on the arched bridge. She waited, but he did not come. Head down, she made her way to the lesson, but a hand caught her arm, pulling her into the same shadowed portico as last time. Her gift recognised him and broke free of her control for a heartbeat.

  He pushed the hood and veil back so that she could see his face. ‘Imoshen...’

  ‘I’m sorry.’ The words poured out of her. She pushed back her own hood and veil. ‘I should have told–’

  ‘You couldn’t. I wouldn’t have–’

  ‘Then later I didn’t say anything, because I didn’t want to risk losing you. You were right, I can’t live in fear.’

  ‘Then say it.’

  This was too intimate. Too powerful. She couldn’t speak. Her gift surged and he swayed towards her. She reached out and brushed aside his robe to find bare flesh.

  Everything was in alignment, her gift, her body and her mind. She was ready for this. Her power built.

  ‘What is that?’ he whispered. ‘I can feel...’

  ‘The deep-bonding.’ In this state, it was hard to speak. ‘It’s all or nothing.’

  He covered her hand with his, and went to lower his defences.

  ‘Wait.’ She wanted to set her gift free, but... ‘Bonding with me will complicate things for you. You’ll have to hide it from your own brotherhood. If the news gets out, it’ll make you a target for men like Kyredeon.’

  ‘He’s not my all-father. Chariode’s brotherhood is strong.’

  ‘I don’t want to put you in danger.’

  ‘It’s all or nothing.’

  She smiled. ‘If we do this, there’s no going back.’

  ‘There never was any going back.’

  Imoshen allowed her gift to meld with his.

  SORNE HOBBLED INTO King Roitz’s hunting camp, carrying a bundle of firewood on his back. The servants were busy preparing for the midsummer feast. With his head down and the scarred side of his face turned towards them, the men-at-arms did not look too closely; they were too busy watching each other for the first sign of betrayal.

  After spending the better part of a year making his way across the kingdom, Sorne had confirmed the rumours. Roitz could not trust his own barons. He’d executed two in the last three years and confiscated their estates. King Roitz went in fear of the men he had once commanded, and had taken to consulting seers and oracles. His last oracle had been executed by the king’s two Khitite bodyguards when she failed to predict an assassination attempt.

  Sorne adjusted his protruding stomach. Tucked into the padding around his waist was the orb of power he’d acquired in Khitan all those years ago. It would not glow until it touched both of his hands. It was part of his oracle disguise.

  No one in Welcai associated the scarred, white-haired, half-blind cripple – he’d adopted a limp – with King Charald’s advisor, the Warrior’s-voice. If he kept his hands hidden and the hood shaded his good eye, no one realised he was a half-blood.

  In the days immediately after leaving Maygharia, Sorne had been sorely tempted to sail back to Chalcedonia and confront Charald, but he’d set himself a duty and he’d come to appreciate anonymity. Norholtz had died in the uprising, killed by his Maygharian queen and, as far as Charald knew, Sorne had perished with him.

  So he no longer had to fear assassins.

  Leaving his firewood with the rest of the pile, Sorne leaned on his staff and followed his nose to the cooking fire. The king had invited his five surviving barons to go hunting with him and celebrate the midsummer feast. Tonight there would be much drinking and roistering. The cook took pity on Sorne and gave him a chunk of bread to eat while the venison roasted.

  As he sat by the fire, he listened to the servants talk and learnt that the camp was teetering on the edge of violence. Roitz and his barons had agreed to bring no more than fifteen men-at-arms each to the midsummer feast, but they’d made sure all their servants were sturdy young men, able to wield a knife or a cudgel.

  Sorne wandered through the camp, chewing on his bread. All around him, men-at-arms drank and boasted while eyeing each other, their hands never far from their weapons. Spotting Roitz’s banner, Sorne fed his bread to a horse and hobbled over to the tent.

  ‘The king will want to see me,’ he said, speaking Chalcedonian with a Khitite accent.

  ‘And who might you be?’ a man-at-arms asked. A veteran of the wars, he was older than Sorne and missing most of the fingers on his left hand.

  ‘A seer.’

  ‘Wait here.’ The veteran went into the tent.

  ‘What’s in store for me?’ his young companion asked.

  ‘Give me your hand.’

  Sorne accepted the proffered hand and leant forward to sniff the palm. ‘There was a scarred man.’ Everyone over fifteen was scarred around here. ‘He touched his sword hilt when he met your eyes today.’

  ‘How’d you know?’

  Because it was a common mannerism. ‘He’ll come after you before dawn.’

  The youth swore and pulled his hand back.

  ‘The king will see you now,’ the veteran told Sorne. ‘But I warn you, if one of the barons has paid you to stab him, the king’s bodyguards will gut you, slowly.’

  Sorne lifted his bandaged hands. ‘I’m unarmed and crippled.’

  As he went inside, he heard the youth telling the veteran what the seer had said, and hid a smile. The camp was tinder ready for the flame.

  Two sturdy Khitites stood in the shadows behind the king. Roitz had known Sorne when he served King Charald but the former baron didn’t recognise the broken man before him now.

  Tilting his head so that the lamplight fell on his scarred eye socket, Sorne studied King Roitz. Drink, fear and constant worry had aged him. His eyes kept darting about the tent, and the slightest noise made him jump.

  ‘You’re certainly ugly enough to be a seer,’ Roitz said. He had started roistering early; two pretty girls went to serve him wine, but he pushed them both aside. ‘What can you tell me?’

  ‘Give me your hand.’

  Sorne made a performance of kneeling, groaning as though his body ached. Tonight was one of his better nights, his belly hardly pained him. He accepted the king’s hand, bent low and sniffed. One of the girls made a disgusted noise.

  ‘I see... a cell with bars, lit only by moonlight. I see a captive woman with copper hair and wine-dark eyes...’

  The king pulled his hand back, swearing softly under his breath. Roitz licked his lips. ‘What about this woman?’

  Sorne held out his hand again. He did not speak until the king’s hand lay in his. Then he swayed and moaned. ‘There are several men, four... maybe five. They laugh when they see she cannot get away. They take turns with her. One of them, I cannot see his face, puts his hands around her throat and strangles her.’

  ‘Ferminzto,’ Roitz whispered. ‘What about her? What is she to me? All this happened more than a decade ago.’

  ‘She is here, tonight.’

  ‘What?’ Roitz jerked back.

  The girls both gave squeals of fright and d
arted away to crouch in the shadows. The Khitites shifted from foot to foot, infected by the king’s fear.

  ‘What’s she doing here?’ Roitz asked.

  Sorne tilted his head, as if listening. Then he shrugged. ‘Makes no sense. She has no eyes, yet she says she came to watch you die.’

  ‘The barons are coming to kill me.’ Roitz lurched to his feet, turning to the Khitites. ‘Go quickly, out the back. Rouse my men.’

  They hesitated, glancing to Sorne, who slid both his hands inside his robe, cupped the orb and held it at chest height. As it began to glow through his vest material, he began to babble in T’En. Crying for help and cursing... as he imagined the she-Wyrd would have done.

  The girls wailed and fled from the tent. The Khitites drew their weapons and followed them, leaving Roitz alone.

  Roitz sank to his knees, moaning.

  After a moment, Sorne heard shouting, and then the clash of metal on metal, as seething tension erupted in violence. He let the orb slip down into its padded pocket and flicked back his hood. ‘Why did you take her eyes, baron?’

  Roitz lifted his head, took one good look at Sorne, then gasped, clutched his chest and pitched over. He jerked twice, then lay still.

  Sorne checked, but there was no pulse.

  Satisfied, he replaced his hood, picked up his staff and hobbled out the back of the tent.

  IMOSHEN PEERED THROUGH the gap in the awning. A dozen lantern-lit, richly-decorated barges floated on the dark lake, while music and laughter drifted across the water. ‘It’s beautiful.’

  ‘You’ve never been out on the lake on midsummer’s night?’ Ardonyx asked as he ran a hand down her bare thigh.

  ‘You know I haven’t.’ She shivered and felt him harden against her buttocks. The melding of their gifts enhanced and shared every sensation. It was intoxicating, and rather overwhelming.

  This was only the third time they had managed to escape alone together. Yet, tomorrow... ‘I can’t believe you’re going to sail off tomorrow.’

  ‘Strictly speaking, I am going to ride off. I can’t set sail until I reach–’