Tyrant’s Blood

by Fiona McIntosh

  “I know, I know,” he’d replied. “But I have to do this, Elka, or it’s going to eat away at me.”

  He recalled how Elka had ensured the journey through the mountains had been deliberately slow. She’d tried everything to persuade him against this trip. His cheeks began to burn again as he waited, remembering the moment of such terrible awkwardness for him and humiliation for her when she had attempted to tempt him with her body. And now an uncomfortable ravine had opened between them that had not existed before.

  A small shutter opened near his chest. “Yes?” a disconnected voice asked.

  “Er.” He bent down. “Forgive my intrusion, er, sister. My name is Regor and I would appreciate an opportunity to talk with the Mother.”

  “Why?”

  They had rehearsed this. Elka had made it clear to him that he had to convince the nuns of the convent of his need. “Sister, I am an honest man. I was ambushed alone a decade previous in the Penraven forest, beaten senseless and injured so badly that I lost my memory. If not for my companion, who you see beyond with our horses, I would have died. She saved me from my attackers and saved my life. Her name is Elka and she is from the Davarigon people. The Mother knows Elka and I’m sure will want to see her, as well as myself.”

  “And what was a Davarigon doing in Penraven all those anni ago?” the nun asked, her tone waspish, suspicious.

  “Would you believe me if I told you she was collecting herbal supplies only found in our Deloran forest range?”

  “I would not,” the woman said.

  “I speak the truth. I would see the Quirin, if it is possible.”

  “She sees no one, least of all a man.”

  “Please, I beg you—”

  “Go away!” The tiny trapdoor slammed shut.

  He turned around helplessly and stared at Elka. She gave him a shrug as he limped back to her.

  “They won’t even listen.”

  “I expected this. Apart from being very secretive, the nuns of the convent live remotely from society. The fact that you’re a stranger, clearly not from these parts, and a man, would make them even more determined not to get involved with your problems.”

  “I need to speak with the seer.”

  “She may not have the answers you seek.”

  “Elka,” he said with such a resigned tone that she flinched, “I’ve resisted this for years but it’s been building inside me recently. I think I will go mad if I can’t take the pain away.”

  “Pain?”

  He nodded. “Mental strife. There are moments when I feel so close to rediscovering who I am that I physically reach my arms toward it in my sleep. The truth eludes me but it draws near time and again to tempt me to keep trying. I must go back and I must do everything to rediscover who I was ten anni ago…or I might as well be dead.”

  Elka’s head snapped up, her dark brown hair shiny beneath the sunlight, the leather of her waistcoat creaking as she pulled herself around to face him. “You would be dead if not for me and my people.”

  He immediately raised his hands in a defensive gesture. “Don’t do this, Elka, please. I…”

  But Elka surprised him, thrusting the horses’ reins into his hand and yelling over her shoulder, “Wait here!”

  He watched, stunned, as she strode to the convent’s entrance and hammered not once but several times on the iron knocker, until he saw the shutter fly back again. Elka was quick, reaching in and presumably grabbing whichever unfortunate nun happened to be standing on the other side. He couldn’t hear what she said but was amazed to see Elka pull back her hand as the door swung open. If the situation hadn’t felt as dire, he would have laughed, as he had laughed many times before at Elka’s intimidating manner.

  In the open doorway stood a tiny woman, bent and gripping her wrist, which presumably Elka had twisted to make her point understood. A scowl twisted her features. Elka said something and the woman pointed behind her. Elka beckoned for him. “She says to bring the horses through.”

  He didn’t need to be asked a second time; within moments he was leading the two beasts across the threshold of the convent. He bowed to the little woman, acknowledging her presence and hoping he could convey some thanks but the scowl remained on her face and she ignored him.

  “We have to take the horses to the stable across the courtyard. Then we come back and wait by the fountain,” Elka said, pointing to the magnificently sculpted structure in the middle of the grand, very large courtyard. “If I take the horses by myself, can you wait here and stay out of trouble with the women?”

  Ah, there was that humor back. He thought it had deserted her for a while. “Thank you, Elka.”

  She said nothing but her expression was tinged with sorrow and he understood why. She led the horses away, the sound of their hooves echoing around the terraced courtyard. There wasn’t another person in sight. He took the peaceful opportunity to wash his face and hands and run water through his hair in an effort to tidy himself from the long, dusty journey. A voice startled him as he dried his face with the tails of his shirt.

  “You are Regor?” she said.

  He dropped his shirt-tail and wiped his hands on his trousers. “It’s the name I use, yes,” he admitted.

  “But it is not your name?”

  He stared at the tall, slim woman dressed in a dun brown habit. Her eyes were sharp and genial; her lined face filled with inquiry. “I was beaten and—”

  “So I’ve been told. You’ve lost your memory, is that right?”

  He nodded with a sigh. “Yes, er, sister. I don’t know why I didn’t just say so. I have no idea of my true name, who I belong to, or where I come from. Elka,” he pointed at the familiar figure re-emerging from the shadows, “rescued me and her people have returned me to good health.” He stopped abruptly as Elka arrived.

  The old woman turned to Elka and held out a hand. “How are the Davarigons?”

  Elka smiled, kissed the woman’s hand. “As we have always been.”

  “You look like your grandmother, but I’m sure you know that,” the woman remarked, surprising him.

  Elka shrugged and nodded self-consciously. “She died when I was young but my mother reminds me of our likeness regularly.”

  “She was a fine woman, your grandmother, and she too used to take pity on helpless creatures.”

  They both turned to regard him, seemingly sharing a private jest. He tried hard not to show his offense, schooling his expression to remain inquiring, and slightly baffled.

  “He tells me his name is Regor?” the nun said.

  Elka shrugged. “He chose the name for himself when I found him. He speaks the truth, Mother. He has no memory of before the attack but we suspect he is more than a simple forest dweller.”

  “Because of the way he speaks?”

  Elka nodded. “That, the clothes he was wearing when I found him, his sword skills, and lots of other small clues I’ve gleaned over the years. His gracious manners attest to his being noble at least.”

  He glared at Elka. “I can speak for myself.”

  “Elka,” the woman said, “find the food hall. Take some nourishment and rest. Allow me to speak with your companion alone, will you?”

  Elka hesitated; then, at the Mother’s gentle hand gesture, she acquiesced. “Thank you for your hospitality.”

  The woman smiled warmly. Elka smiled back, scowled briefly at her traveling companion, and departed.

  “You seem to have upset Elka,” the woman said.

  “Yes, it’s a special talent of mine,” he replied and she smiled.

  “Come, let us talk openly.” She led and he followed, surprised at how briskly the older woman moved. He drew alongside her as they moved into the cloisters.

  “This is such a beautiful place,” he commented.

  “And you’ve hardly seen any of it.”

  “It’s a pity more people cannot appreciate its beauty.”

  “We do. It is enough.”

  “How many women live here?�
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  She considered this as they walked. “I think we must be around one hundred now.”

  He was taken aback. “That many?”

  “Women come here for many reasons. Some want to escape their lives, others want to make peace and prayer their lives, and there are those who simply need a helping hand.”

  “And men? Is there a similar place for them?”

  “There is, or was, a monastery, I think, in the far south of Dregon on the coast, looking out to the Canuck Islands. I don’t know much about it.”

  “But no men are permitted here?”

  “We’re aiding you, are we not?”

  He grinned back at the soft tease before looking up to admire the magnificent painted ceilings of the cloisters, depicting beautiful scenes of people at play in the heavens. “Lo’s Garden,” he murmured.

  “So you remember that much,” she remarked.

  “Pardon?”

  “Well, you couldn’t have learned about Lo’s Garden with the Davarigon folk.”

  He faltered, stared at her. “You’re right. Absolutely right!” He hugged her and she regarded him archly. “I beg your indulgence. That’s the first insight I’ve had into my previous life in ten anni. The…the murals must have reminded me.”

  She nodded. “Losing one’s memory does not mean it is lost forever.”

  “I’ve just forgotten where I’ve put it, you mean?” he asked hopefully.

  The Mother gave him a look of sympathy. “Misplaced might be a way to look at it, yes. And it may be, Regor, that the more time you spend among your own people, the more memories will be jolted, and returned to you.”

  “That’s what I’ve been thinking about recently. It’s why we’re here,” he said. They’d arrived at a door, and the Abbess stopped in front of it.

  “And no doubt why Elka feels angry,” the nun remarked.

  “She’s tried to talk me out of it.”

  “It’s because she’s frightened for you, I imagine.”

  “Yes, she doesn’t want to learn the truth about me.”

  “And perhaps you will regret it when you do,” the Abbess commented.

  “I might. I’m terrified to find out if I’m some sort of lawbreaker. Considering how she found me—tied up, beaten, a prisoner of the emperor’s soldiers—it seems there is every likelihood that I could be someone on the wrong side of the law.”

  “This occurred ten anni ago, you say?” He nodded. “That was a time of vast upheaval for the Set. We were not an empire then. The various realms were trying to come to terms with slaughter and devastation, with their royals slain and the kingdoms in disarray. Emperor Loethar may well be a magnanimous ruler now but he was nothing more than a bloodthirsty tyrant at the time of your troubles, young man. Who is to say that you were not a rebel, fighting back on behalf of one of the crowns—Penraven’s, maybe?” She squeezed his arm for reassurance and gave him a conspiratorial smile. “Take heart. You came here for help. You want answers. Do not enter this doorway if you’re not sure you want to hear them.”

  He hesitated at the query in her expression. “The sister who first met us said the Quirin sees no men. How come—”

  “She doesn’t see many people at all. And we discourage men entering our convent. You are special.”

  “Why?”

  “Because of who brought you. She knows our rules. She knows to ask this is a mighty request.”

  “Then why would you permit this, Abbess?”

  “For that very reason, my son. Elka knows what she was asking, but still she asked. She must love you very much.”

  He stepped back.

  She regarded him with a narrowed gaze. “You didn’t know?” she inquired gently.

  “I’ve never really considered it,” he admitted, shaking his head, feeling his mind move into a momentary chaos.

  “Has it not been obvious?”

  “No!” he said quickly. “Not at all. We are the closest of friends and her family, her whole people, have been so generous to me that I owe all of them my gratitude…my life.”

  “But you don’t love her,” she said, without query or damnation.

  “Yes, I love her, Abbess, but as I would love a sister or a brother. She is family, she is my closest companion. I trust her, I adore her, I would see no harm come to her. She has never given me any indication of this…until…” He scratched his head, feeling fidgety, suddenly uncertain of everything again.

  “And yet I only had to see how she looks at you to know that Elka would give her life for you.”

  “And I for her, Abbess!”

  Her face creased into a serene smile. “You would do it out of duty and respect. She would do it because her heartbeats only for you. But until you know who you are, you will not be much of a partner, lover, or husband to anyone. Elka will accept you as you are because she loves you, but even if you did feel the same way, she would be destined for unhappiness until you discover your history. The Quirin can put you back on your rightful pathway, I suspect.”

  “And the Quirin is prepared to assist me…being a man I mean?”

  “She makes no distinction but she is contrary and her way is the only way. She will not walk another path so don’t try to control her.”

  “I don’t understand.”

  “You will, my child. Now, some facts you need to know. The Quirin is deformed…and old. So old, in fact, I wonder how much longer she will be with us. I see that shocks you.”

  “I suppose you never think of such gifted people being mortal.”

  “Oh,” she smiled. “She is very mortal, I’m afraid. She can do nothing for herself. We feed her, bathe her, we are responsible for her every need and desire. But she wants for little, and asks for even less, so a lot of the time we have to guess what it is that is best for her. She has been with us since she was a little girl. She is much older than me.” The Abbess beamed. “Even though I know that’s hard for you to imagine.”

  It was a small jest but he couldn’t enjoy it. “Who comes after her? I mean, who will take her place?”

  The Abbess shrugged. “No one, at this point. Quirins are born, not made. We may live decades, perhaps centuries before we see another. Or a new Quirin may find her way here tomorrow, born Vested, realizing she is more.”

  “Vested?”

  “The people who—”

  “Yes, Mother, I know what it means. I haven’t heard that word in a long time.”

  “That’s because it is a Set word. I think, Regor, you were definitely born and raised in the Denovian Set. But rally your courage now and learn all that you can.” She gestured at the door handle. As he reached for it, she added: “I should warn you, she is blind. She is also deaf and pratically mute.”

  “How will we communicate?”

  “She has her ways. Go now, Regor. I hope you find answers.”

  He didn’t know why he embraced her, or even why she permitted it, but he bent and kissed her cheek. “Thank you, Abbess.”

  “I hope you’ll feel the same way later.”

  He returned her sad smile. “Will you reassure Elka that I can’t help this?”

  “She already knows,” the Abbess said, nodding gently with encouragement.

  There was nothing else to say. He gripped the iron ring, twisted it and pushed the door open. It was dark and cold inside. When he turned to say something, the Abbess had gone. Taking a deep breath, he stepped inside, wondering why they would keep this woman in such dark surrounds.

  I have no need of light, a tetchy voice spoke into his mind. Surprised, he staggered backward, grabbing for the door. The voice laughed. I startled you. You shouldn’t think questions so loudly if you don’t want them answered.

  “Quirin, I’m sorry for acting afraid. I don’t know what to expect.”

  What? You’ve come here and now you’ve got nothing to say? she demanded.

  Of course—she was deaf! He frowned in concentration and thought his response to her. Forgive me. I said I was sorry for acting afraid.


  He heard her chuckle, not unkindly. So they’ve given me a man. She made a sound of plea sure. I haven’t heard one of your kind since I was a young woman. How old are you?

  I don’t know. He was getting the hang of how to think his responses even though it was tempting to answer in the more natural way.

  Guess.

  I would estimate I am in my third decade, though where in it I cannot say.

  Come here. Let me feel you.

  He obediently moved forward gingerly, with no real idea where he was headed. He must have thought his uncertainty because a flame suddenly erupted and a single tiny candle was lit.

  The owner of the dislocated voice was hunched in robes, her head covered by a caul. She felt her way along a wall, back into the gloom of the shadows, and sat down.

  Is that easier?

  Yes, thank you.

  You have a nice voice over the seam.

  The seam?

  That’s what we call speaking across minds.

  How am I able to do this?

  Because I permit it. You are drawing on my power.

  Then I thank you again.

  You are a polite man. Raised well. Noble, perhaps?

  I have no idea. Do you have a name?

  He could hear the smile in her mind-speak. I did once. You are the first person to ask me for it in a long time.

  I would have thought the nuns would know it.

  I am older than most of them. They know me simply as Quirin. But Quirin is a title, not a name. And names are so important, aren’t they? They unlock secrets.

  Yes, he said, my name is very important to me.

  I know. I have been told of your predicament. So come, let me touch you.

  He approached her. Why do you hide yourself?

  Because I frighten people with my appearance.

  You do not frighten me.

  You have not looked upon me. You will need to bend down, my friend.

  He went down on his knees so she could reach out and feel the contours of his face. They both fell silent as she touched his cheekbones and chin, felt the length and texture of his hair, which hung loose today.

  Finally, she sighed. A beard, so you are not so youthful but you are hardly an old man. I think you are right in your estimation, although I would place you at twenty-seven or twenty-eight anni. And you are handsome but I don’t believe you’ve had many lovers.