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.
Tobazim had waited until spring and, when there was still no contact from the baron and no sign of the bridge being repaired, he could stand it no longer. His gift drove him to design a new bridge. He’d always thought the old one was in the wrong place. This was the fourth summer of poor rainfall and the river was running low, but he’d allowed for flood.
Now he studied the stone supports and the first graceful arch, which had been completed today. He was pleased with the way he’d built up the road so that it flowed smoothly onto the bridge.
‘Admiring your handiwork?’ Learon grinned and slung an arm around Tobazim’s shoulders. They’d grown up as choice-brothers, and had remained fast friends during their initiate years. Now they were both adepts and wanted to go to the Celestial City to win stature.
‘The bridge will be strong and serve its purpose, but it doesn’t compare to the all-father’s new theatre,’ Tobazim admitted. ‘I’ve heard the ceiling soars four storeys in the air–’
‘Here comes Gift-tutor Nerasun.’ Learon nudged him. ‘Ask him now. Ask if we can go to the city.’
They’d asked this time last year, just before they became adepts, but the retired gift-warrior who ran the brotherhood winery had refused them.
At ninety-two, Nerasun had lived in the city during the High Golden Age. For some reason, he’d come out to the brotherhood’s winery thirty-five years ago and never returned.
‘Gift-tutor Nerasun.’ Tobazim made obeisance. ‘Everything is on schedule. When the bridge is complete, Learon and I were hoping we could–’
‘Serve our brotherhood in the city?’ Nerasun shook his head with a rueful smile. ‘Why are the young always eager to leave? Is life so boring in the country?’
Learon looked to Tobazim, who tried to explain. ‘Now that we are adepts...’
Nerasun took pity on them. ‘You want to chase stature, I know, but... You’ve been raised on tales of the High Golden Age. Life in the city may not be what you expect. So many T’En, so many powerful gifts packed in together. The overflow affects even the strongest-willed men, driving them to–’
‘We’ve been trained to shield against other T’En,’ Learon said. ‘And I’ve mastered every form of combat, armed and unarmed. I want to be the all-father’s hand-of-force one day, and I can’t do that here.’
Tobazim thought his choice-brother had a good chance. Learon was a head taller than him, and he wasn’t short. To his frustration, his choice-brother had only to watch someone do an action to mimic it perfectly. It was impossible to play any sort of physical game against him without losing. Tobazim suspected his skill was tied to his gift.
‘And you, Tobazim?’ their old gift-tutor asked.
‘I must build. My head is full of ideas and my gift drives me...’
Nerasun sighed. ‘When the bridge is finished–’
Learon hugged him, lifting him off his feet.
Nerasun laughed and straightened his robe. ‘When you do get to the city, look up Adept Kithkarne. He’s an old friend of mine. He’ll help you settle in. But there is a task I need you to do. The sisters have a lad who will turn seventeen soon. Athlyn’s his name.’
‘You want us to go to Silverlode Mine to collect him?’ Tobazim tried to keep his voice neutral. They had not been back since they left, seventeen years ago. They might catch a glimpse of their old choice-mother. Might even get a chance to speak to her. ‘What, just the two of us?’
‘The air is thinner up there and the road steep. Old bones...’ Nerasun shrugged. Their old gift-tutor climbed back into the cart. ‘I hope All-father Kyredeon appreciates you two.’
IMOSHEN SMILED AS her choice-son settled the baby. Iraayel would be sixteen this winter’s cusp. All being well, Ardonyx would be back by summer next year, maybe sooner.
Frayvia leant close to whisper. ‘Reoden’s here.’
Imoshen turned with a smile.
‘A perfect little girl. How clever of you.’ Reoden kissed Imoshen’s cheek.
‘Yes, very clever.’ They both knew it was pure chance.
‘They tell me you didn’t let the sisters share the pain.’
‘It wasn’t as bad as the first time.’ Imoshen shrugged. ‘Vittoryxe is furious, by the way.’
‘Vittoryxe is always furious.’
Imoshen laughed and the baby stirred.
Iraayel looked up. ‘Did you see that? She likes it when you laugh. She smiled.’
‘She’s five days old,’ Reoden said. ‘It wasn’t a smile, it was wind.’
‘He’s besotted with her,’ Imoshen whispered. She glanced behind Reoden. ‘You didn’t bring Sardeon? We haven’t seen him in ages, not since right after...’ She didn’t want to talk about the sacrare’s death today.
A shadow moved over Reoden.
Imoshen drew the healer away. ‘Is there something wrong with Sardeon because of the time he spent on the empyrean plane?’
‘The gift-wright is working with him.’
‘Oh, Ree, I’m so sorry. Will he be –’
‘We don’t know. Can I hold her?’
‘Of course.’ Imoshen collected the baby from Iraayel and sent him back to the lads. The sisters didn’t approve of how much time he spent with her and the new baby. They thought he should keep his distance. No point getting attached to a little choice-sister he would not see grow up. A choice-sister who would not even remember him. Tears stung her eyes.
‘Imoshen, what’s wrong?’
She shook her head. ‘I cry at the slightest thing.’
‘It happens when the milk comes in. Makes us soft-hearted.’ Reoden took the baby from her. ‘What did you call her?’
‘Umaleni.’
‘Joy so powerful it brings tears. How appropriate.’ Reoden slid an arm around Imoshen’s shoulders. ‘I’ve been thinking, and I’m sorry I wasn’t more help to you when you first arrived here. You’d lost your little boy, and all we thought about was how to teach the brotherhoods a lesson.’
Imoshen nodded. She’d been thinking of Reoshen a lot lately. ‘He would have been eleven this midwinter. But he didn’t even live one day. When I had to leave him, I cut off my hair and wrapped him up in it like a shawl. That’s how I buried him.’ She wiped the tears from her cheeks. ‘I’ve never told anyone else.’
‘Oh, Imoshen. Things are going to get better now. You’ll see.’
‘All-mother?’ It was Egrayne.
‘You go,’ Reoden said. ‘I’ll sing the baby to sleep.’
Imoshen kissed her cheek and joined Egrayne at the door. She hadn’t wanted to move into the all-mother’s chambers, but people were constantly coming to see her and she needed a proper greeting chamber, so she’d shifted her things in this morning.
From the nursery, they went through to her private chamber, where Frayvia was playing a game with Tancred. Poor thing, they’d told him his mother was gone, but he kept forgetting and looking for her.
Egrayne led her down a short hall, past her study, to the all-mother’s greeting chamber, where a dozen of the top-ranking sisters waited to see her.
‘What now?’
‘You must appoint a hand-of-force, name your inner circle and accept their formal oaths. Then you must accept the formal oaths of the sisterhood. Then you must see the all-fathers of the brotherhoods who owe our sisterhood their covenant oath. They must renew their oaths to the sisterhood.’
‘They aren’t going to like that.’ Imoshen’s head was spinning and the sisters watched her expectantly.
‘We’ve already waited four days,’ Egrayne said, standing in pride of place on her left. ‘Name your hand-of-force.’
That was easy. ‘Arodyti, will you be my hand-of-force?’
Sarosune hu
gged her shield-sister. As Arodyti stepped forward, there were tears in her eyes.
‘Name your inner circle, All-mother Imoshen,’ Egrayne said.
Careful to accord Vittoryxe the honour due a gift-tutor, Imoshen named her first. She included old Tiasarone and Arodyti’s shield-sister. All in all, she tried to balance Vittoryxe’s supporters with those she knew to be neutral or supportive of Egrayne.
When this was done, everyone but the new inner circle left, and Egrayne handed her a sword.
‘But T’En aren’t allowed to carry–’
‘It was Imoshen the Covenant-maker’s sword,’ Tiasarone told her. ‘We were never going to hand it over to the Mieren.’
‘She must have been as tall as Egrayne,’ Imoshen said.
‘She was a mighty warrior,’ Arodyti agreed.
‘Our inner circle gives their oaths of loyalty on this sword,’ Egrayne said. ‘Then it is locked away again.’
GRAELEN SENSED HE was being followed. Nothing would raise a warrior’s stature faster than killing the brotherhood’s assassin. When he reached the stairwell, he stepped to one side and reined in his gift.
Footsteps. Two sets. A whisper.
Just let them try to knife him, let them try. He wanted to crack heads, spill blood and let his gift exult.
Clearly, he’d spent too long in the city, walking Kyredeon’s palace corridors, listening for rumours against the all-father; too long walking the brotherhood quarter, on alert for plots against him; and too long wandering the free quarter, watching the sisterhood gift-warriors for threat.
On a good day, he could convince the all-father that he had allayed all suspicion. But the bad days far outnumbered the good days.
If he didn’t get out of the city soon, his gift would corrupt like poor Paryx and...
Here they came; two against one. He would kill the first one through the door, then he’d take his time with the other one.
He grabbed the first brother and slammed him up against the wall, knife to his throat. The elderly T’En gasped and blinked.
‘Tithe-master Kithkarne!’ Graelen stopped his blade. ‘I’m so sorry.’
‘Then let him go,’ Ceyne said. The saw-bones was the only one of Kyredeon’s inner circle Graelen trusted.
‘Sorry,’ he repeated, releasing the tithe-master. An explanation seemed in order. ‘I thought you were following me.’
‘We were.’ Ceyne’s voice was very dry. ‘Kithkarne wants to speak with you.’
Graelen could not imagine why. The work he did for Kyredeon was on the shady side of brotherhood business. Both of these brothers owed their stature to the upright nature of their work.
‘I think Kithkarne is feeling a little faint,’ Ceyne said. ‘We’d better take him to my chambers.’
Graelen helped the old tithe-master as they made their way through the palace corridors.
Once there, Ceyne shut the doors and Graelen turned to Kithkarne. ‘You wanted to talk to me?’
The old tithe-master nodded. He did look shaken.
‘Here.’ Ceyne offered him a drink of something in a glass no bigger than his thumb. The liquid was cloudy and white.
Kithkarne took it and tossed back the contents. His eyes watered.
Graelen grinned. ‘What is it?’
Ceyne poured two more, offering one to him. ‘A restorative.’
‘Looked like it nearly restored Kithkarne to death’s realm.’ He sniffed and then took a sip. It burned right down to his toes. He coughed. ‘A... anise?’
‘Yes, and sweet fennel and medicinal herbs. Thank you for coming. Kithkarne has found something, and wants you to go with him when he reports to Kyredeon.’
‘The all-father’s not in a good mood right now. Imoshen gave birth to a sacrare. She’s been made all-mother and Kyredeon has to renew his covenant oath this afternoon.’
‘She’ll be even more powerful,’ Ceyne whispered.
Graelen nodded. ‘And no one knows who the sacrare’s father is. As far as I’ve been able to discover, she never leaves the sisterhood quarter except to visit the Sagoras’ shop, or attend jewellery-making classes in her sisterhood’s shop.’ Frustration ate at him. ‘The infant was born on midsummer’s day, which means it must have been conceived on or around midsummer last year. But none of the all-fathers have ever been successful in requesting a tryst with her.’
‘What does it matter who the father is?’ the tithe-master asked.
Graelen glanced to the saw-bones, to see if Kithkarne was serious.
‘He’s very good with numbers,’ Ceyne said. But clearly not with politics.
‘I’m much better with history than numbers,’ Kithkarne said. ‘That’s how I put it all together.’
Graelen turned to Ceyne, lost.
‘Start from the beginning,’ the saw-bones advised, gesturing to the seats by the fireplace.
Kithkarne dropped into one with a sigh of relief.
‘As you know, the burning of the theatre nearly crippled our brotherhood. The compensation payments to the other brotherhoods cost us valuable assets. Then there was the building of the new theatre.’
‘It’s the envy of all the other brotherhoods,’ Graelen said. ‘The marvel of the age.’
‘It cost an arm and a leg, and for what? Stature?’ Kithkarne shrugged. ‘That’s why I was so excited when I found the old debt.’
‘What debt?’
‘Start again, Kith,’ Ceyne advised. ‘Start when Kyredeon became all-father.’
‘He purged every high-ranking brother. I only survived because I was living out at Vanillin-Oak Winery. He executed Sigorian’s tithe-master and all his tithe-collectors. When they couldn’t find anyone who knew how to make the counts add up, they sent for me. I told him I was a historian, not a mathematician, but he handed it all over to me, with two assistants who had never done more than add up a row of numbers. It was absurd.’ The old scholar shook his head. ‘For the first few years, I had to make it up as I went along. Sigorian’s tithe-master had made some risky investments, backing Mieren ventures through intermediaries. I had no idea where the gold had gone, or when it was supposed to be paid back–’
‘No one’s blaming you,’ Ceyne assured him.
‘Kyredeon will,’ Graelen corrected.
‘The counts were a mess. That’s why I didn’t find it until now. My new assistant – the silly lad’s all thumbs – knocked over a cabinet. While I was tidying up the mess I found this.’ He pulled a folded sheet of thick vellum from inside his vest.
Graelen accepted it and opened it up. The writing was Chalcedonian and very faded. ‘This must be forty or fifty years old.’
‘Over forty. King Charald was only fifteen. That’s his signature. The other two are Baron Nitzel and a priest called Oskane, who went on to become high priest.’
‘So the Mieren king borrowed some gold.’
‘Over forty years ago, that was a very large sum. Without it, he would have lost the kingdom. The barons revolted. His father died on the battlefield. The lad was a natural strategist. Why, in his first battle–’
Ceyne cleared his throat. ‘We don’t need a history lesson, Kith. Get to the interesting bit.’
‘That was interesting.’ But he shrugged and went on. ‘The boy-king’s advisors told him to sign this document. The gold we loaned him saved his kingdom. As far as I’ve been able to trace, he made a few payments on the loan, about twenty to twenty-five years ago, then nothing. No payments for over twenty years now.
‘And in all that time, the debt has been gathering interest,’ Ceyne said. ‘Show him your calculation, Kith.’
With a dramatic flourish, the tithe collector pulled out another sheet of paper and handed it to Graelen.
‘But it’s huge!’
‘Charald, High King of the Secluded Sea, owes our brotherhood gold to the value of a kingdom,’ Ceyne said, replenishing their drinks.
The tithe-master raised his glass. ‘To a clumsy boy who knocked over a cabinet. If he hadn
’t, I would never have found this.’
‘The Mieren king will never pay up,’ Graelen said.
‘No, he won’t,’ Kithkarne agreed. ‘We don’t expect him to. If we tried to get that much out of him, he’d be better off slitting our throats. No, we just want him to acknowledge the debt then I can negotiate a sum that will put our brotherhood in the clear and help us to re-establish ourselves.’
‘You want to go to King Charald’s palace?’
The tithe-master nodded. ‘I want you to go with me to see Kyredeon and explain it all, and then you can come with me to the port to see the king. I’ll need an escort as befits the representative of a great brotherhood. Charald doesn’t need to know we’re nearly destitute.’
Graelen’s head reeled.
Ceyne squeezed his shoulder. ‘It’s good news, Grae. Kyredeon will be delighted. As long as he doesn’t get greedy, we can save the brotherhood. This comes just in time, as Chariode and Hueryx have both caught wind that we’re in trouble.’
‘Yes.’ The tithe-master bristled. ‘They’re trying to squeeze us out of ventures, and calling up loans to force us to declare our brotherhood insolvent.’
Graelen finally understood Kyredeon’s paranoia. ‘Right.’ He came to his feet. ‘We’ll go see Kyredeon.’
And he would get out of the city before his gift corrupted.
Chapter Fifty-Two
SORNE FORCED OPEN the gate of Restoration Retreat. The place been empty since they’d left, in the spring eleven years ago. Now it was midday and a summer breeze stirred the leaves of the maple. He could remember the tree: winter-bare, full of spring buds and glowing yellow in autumn.
He looked around. There was the water pump where the penitents had bullied him and Izteben. That was the day Kolst punched Joaken. Back then, he and Izteben had thought they were brothers.
So many ghosts.
Time to lay one to rest.
Sorne went through the store rooms to the small graveyard where the penitents had been buried. The symbol of the Seven had been carved onto rocks and placed over each grave. He counted the grave-markers, but didn’t find one for the she-Wyrd.
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