She came to her feet and dusted off her hands. ‘Not a speck of blood. Excellent.’
A dozen fresh-faced Malaunje lads and lasses watched her intently. Her gift surged and she knew they needed reassurance. She was a raedan, able to read people’s emotions. It was a good gift for the all-mother of a great sisterhood. ‘When the palace is ready we’ll hold a cleansing ceremony.’
This cheered them, but nothing would remove the knowledge that Charald’s army had made it past the brotherhood palaces at the low end of the island, through the free quarter and right up into the sisterhood quarter.
‘How can they do it, all-mother?’ one earnest youth asked, angry tears glittering in his mulberry eyes. ‘How can they kill defenceless children?’
‘They’re Mieren, born without the gifts or the Malaunje affinity for them. They aren’t as aware of each other as we are. They can’t share what they feel as we do. This makes it easier for them to be cruel.’
Leaving the weapons practice courtyard, Imoshen went to the solarium to see to the wounded. There were so many injured they lay in the hallway, and the herbalists had enlisted several assistants. Moving from bed to bed, Imoshen said a few words to each of the wounded until she came to the person she needed to see.
She might be the sisterhood’s all-mother but she was also Iraayel’s choice-mother. It didn’t matter to her that he wasn’t a child of her flesh. She’d loved him from the day he was born, and last night he’d led the lads against king Charald’s men. T’En boys aged thirteen to sixteen might be as tall as full grown Mieren, but they didn’t have the muscle. Iraayel had ordered the lads to build a barricade at the top of the stairs. If he hadn’t been there, the Mieren might have made it as far as the nursery. Imoshen shuddered to think of her baby daughter in the hands of King Charald’s men and her gift surged.
All around her, voices grew louder and people sat up as they responded to the overflow of her power; she restrained her gift and approached Iraayel, only to find Saffazi with her choice-son. Half a year older than Iraayel, Saffazi was usually the one getting him into trouble. Now she sat holding his hand, her expression intense. Last night, the two sixteen-year-olds had killed in defence of the sisterhood.
Seeing Imoshen, Iraayel sat up. ‘Tell them, I’m all right. I don’t need to be here taking up a bed. Tell them.’
Imoshen smiled. ‘Last time I saw you, you were uninjured, the attack was over and I sent you to make sure the palace was free of invaders. What happened? Did you corner one of the Mieren?’
‘No... I learnt to make sure dead men are dead before I load them onto the cart.’
Iraayel and Saffazi exchanged a look, then laughed.
But Imoshen couldn’t. The thought of what might have happened terrified her.
‘Silly boy,’ she said somewhat thickly and hugged him tight.
As she pulled back, he caught her arm. ‘Saf stayed with me all night. We were afraid the shades of those we’d killed would come after us, seeking vengeance.’
‘That was brave of you.’ Imoshen wasn’t surprised. She’d always known the girl had steel in her. Leaning over, she kissed Saffazi’s cheek and let her power rise to offer gift-infused thanks.
‘But you didn’t need to worry.’ She was surprised they knew of the danger, as neither of them had begun their initiate training. ‘I asked the oldest and most powerful of my inner circle to protect us from the shades of dead Mieren. Besides, when people die a violent death, they’re confused and easy prey for the beasts of the higher plane.’
She smiled at their relieved expressions. ‘I must go. It’s nearly time for the all-council.’
Leaving the solarium, she headed for her chamber. No sleep last night, on her feet all day; why didn’t she feel tired?
‘There you are.’
As Gift-tutor Vittoryxe fell in step with her, Imoshen repressed a sigh. She knew the gift-tutor meant well, but Vittoryxe was inclined to lecture.
‘You’re headed for the all-council?’
‘Soon.’ Imoshen wasn’t looking forward to it. The leaders of the brotherhoods and sisterhoods would elect a causare to talk terms with the Mieren king.
‘You’ll be elected causare,’ Vittoryxe said, as if she believed Imoshen wanted this and envied her. ‘As the next causare, it will be up to you to save us from King Charald the Oath-breaker. Only you have the raedan gift, only you can read him and use this insight against him.’ Vittoryxe took Imoshen’s arm, her gift rising with her intensity. ‘You must remind King Charald that it was his ancestor who signed the accord that gave us this island. Back then, it was fit for nothing but goats. Without land to farm, we had only knowledge to trade.’
They came to a point where the hallway divided. Vittoryxe turned to her. ‘Now we have a network of estates across Chalcedonia and trading partners throughout the known world. We bring wealth to Chalcedonia, and the Mieren benefit from having us here. We’ve done nothing to provoke them. Why did King Charald attack us?’
Back when Imoshen had helped heal Sorne, she’d seen the king through his eyes. After eight years serving Charald as he conquered the kingdoms of the Secluded Sea, Sorne knew the man who wore the crown. Imoshen had read him. He was a true servant of the Warrior god – he fed on war. ‘King Charald hates us and loves war.’
‘He’s always hated us. And no one loves war, war is terrible,’ Vittoryxe said.
‘Gift-tutor?’ A servant waited to speak with her.
‘This will be about the gift training chamber. The Mieren desecrated it. You go. I’ll be joining the inner circle soon.’
They parted. It was true Imoshen was a raedan, but that only allowed her to read people. She couldn’t sway their minds. She’d told Vittoryxe why the king attacked them, and the gift-tutor hadn’t believed her. What was she going to do?
Deep in thought, she passed a corridor. Something moved in the corner of her vision and, with a harsh cry, a man hurtled out of the shadows towards her. She caught a flash of metal as his blade came down. Her gift rose. Imoshen side-stepped the blow and reached for him. All she needed was bare flesh under her hand and she could tear his life force from his body, sending it to the higher plane, where it would be devoured by predators.
But her hand met cloth.
Her gift surged in frustration. The man made a disgusted sound in his throat as if he sensed it, before shoving her against the wall and drawing his arm back for a strike.
She focused her gift and reached for his face, but he jerked away from her touch.
This gave her the chance to duck under his arm. Picking up her long pleated trousers, she ran flat out down the passage, heading for the all-mother’s chamber. She made it as far as the corner before he tackled her around the waist. As they hit the ground, her chin struck the marble and her teeth sank into her lower lip. Desperate, she tried to twist under him, reaching for his face. He reared back and raised his weapon to strike.
Hands caught his knife arm. Arodyti pulled him off Imoshen, lifting him to his feet. The sisterhood’s hand-of-force gave a grunt of pain as he elbowed her in the stomach. Arodyti’s shield-sister caught his other arm and, between them, they slammed him up against the wall, pinning him. His blade clattered away, spinning on the marble.
Sounds echoed strangely in Imoshen’s ears. She heard frightened, angry voices as her inner circle of high-ranking sisters ran out into the hall.
Feeling light-headed with relief, Imoshen pulled herself to her feet. Her gift urgently needed to be used; shivers ran through her.
Egrayne reached them. The sisterhood’s voice-of-reason had been a gift-warrior; she grabbed the man’s knife, stepping in to hold it to his throat.
Something warm ran down Imoshen’s chin. When she wiped her mouth, her hand came away glistening with blood.
‘Read him,’ Egrayne ordered. ‘Find out why they attacked us.’
‘He’s probably just a man-at-arms, with no idea what’s going on,’ Imoshen said.
‘Read him,’ Arodyti urge
d. ‘We have to know what we’re up against.’
He didn’t speak their language, but he must have felt Imoshen’s gift gathering, because he grimaced in disgust. She read fear, mixed with contempt. But if she wanted to know his motivations she had to dig deeper, she needed touch.
As she lifted her hand to his face, he jerked his head aside. The knife dug into his throat and he winced.
Imoshen placed her palm on his cheek and probed. ‘He has natural defences.’
‘He would,’ Arodyti muttered.
‘Break them,’ Egrayne snapped.
Imoshen glanced to her in surprise. ‘If I do that I could shatter his mind.’
‘He was going to kill you.’
Yes, and she’d been ready to wrench his life force from his body and send it to the higher plane. But that was in self-defence. ‘You’re asking me to shatter his walls and immerse myself in his mind.’
His filthy, angry Mieren mind. She couldn’t do that without being affected by him. His breath came in short gasps and she could smell fear on his skin. He revolted her, but she also pitied him.
‘He waited behind after the others left. He let Malaunje go past because he wanted to kill a full-blood,’ Arodyti said. ‘He knew you were important by the richness of your clothes. He chose to kill you because we need you. Now we need you to find out what he knows.’
They were right. Imoshen let her gift build with every breath, and rise up against his defences.
In her mind’s eye, he stood on a rock and the tide was coming in. She was the tide. She came at him in ever rising waves until he lost his footing and fell into the sea.
She had him.
Terror. Disbelief. This could not happen to him.
But it had, and now she could sift through his thoughts. This went beyond her raedan gift; it was the destructive dismantling of a man’s mind.
She picked through his memories, working backwards: the attack on her; waiting for a suitable victim; the actual attack on the city and running up the road to the palaces; waiting for the order to attack; marching to get here; saying goodbye; boasting to friends.
Ah, here it was – the call to bear arms.
A man stood on a mounting block outside a smithy, exhorting the locals to come and kill Wyrds. He spoke of the brown fields of True-men and the green fields of the Wyrds. He claimed the Wyrds had stolen the water and weren’t suffering from the drought. He claimed the Wyrds had denied the Seven, and the gods had sent the drought as punishment.
Kill the Wyrds; end the drought.
Kill the Wyrds; strip the city.
Kill the Wyrds; return home a rich man.
Kill the Wyrds...
Kill them because they were different, with their gifts and their strange eyes and their six fingers. They frightened him.
There, that was the core reason. Kill what he feared.
How could she reason with this?
Imoshen felt tainted by his hatred. Her legs crumpled under her. Barely able to think, she felt Egrayne catch her and slide an arm under her shoulder.
‘What happened?’ Frayvia asked. The Malaunje woman took her other arm and helped her along.
Egrayne explained about the attack, as they entered the inner circle meeting chamber and lowered her into a chair.
‘You’re her devotee, help her,’ Egrayne urged.
Imoshen felt Frayvia’s hand on her forehead. She refused to activate their link and inflict the Mieren miasma of hatred on her devotee.
‘Should we send for All-mother Reoden?’ Frayvia asked. ‘Or is it a gift injury?’
Imoshen struggled to speak. She didn’t want them to call on Reoden. With so many injured, the healer would already be exhausted.
‘Give her air.’
‘Give her some water.’
‘She’s covered in blood.’
Her inner circle hovered and fussed.
‘I’m fine,’ Imoshen said. She wasn’t fine. She despaired.
‘What did you learn from him?’ Egrayne asked.
‘Yes. Why did King Charald attack us?’
They asked as if there was a logical reason and, once they knew what it was, they could fix the problem. Imoshen gathered her thoughts. ‘He was just a man-at-arms and didn’t know King Charald’s reasons, only the reasons he was given.’ She explained about the drought and the belief he would reap gold. ‘But mostly, he came to kill Wyrds because we’re different. He fears what’s different and seeks to destroy what he fears.’
The sisters fell silent.
As Imoshen look up at them, she felt the dried blood on her neck. ‘I need to bathe and dress, or I’ll be late for the all-council.’
She came to her feet, moving with care. Frayvia helped her through to the bathing chamber, stripped her, sponged the blood from her body, clucked over her and helped her dress. Hot tears scalded Imoshen’s cheeks. The thought of what they faced seemed insurmountable.
But, when she returned a little later, dressed in pleated trousers, vest and formal knee-length robe, with her hair properly arranged, she was clear-eyed and cool-headed. Vittoryxe had joined her inner circle and they had recovered their spirits.
Listening to them speak, it was clear they believed Imoshen would be elected causare and she would use her gift and come up with a way to convince the king to honour the accord. After all, it was his ancestor who gave them this island. He must respect the agreement.
Imoshen wondered why they did not feel despair. But they had not felt the fear and hatred she’d felt in the Mieren’s mind. If all of King Charald’s war barons and their men were like her attacker...
She turned to Egrayne. ‘Perhaps one of the all-fathers would be a better causare.’
The voice-of-reason grabbed her arm and drew her away.
‘What happened when Rohaayel was executed?’ Egrayne asked. ‘What happened to his brotherhood?’
People rarely spoke of Imoshen’s father and the memory made her flinch. ‘After he died, the other all-fathers fought over his brotherhood. That night, his palace burned and there was blood in the streets.’
‘Exactly. That is how the all-fathers resolve disputes.’
‘She’s right,’ Gift-tutor Vittoryxe said. ‘The male gift influences the way they think, making them impatient and prone to violence. It’s even worse when they get together. Their gifts feed each other. They can’t afford to look weak, or an ambitious male will try to take their brotherhood, so they don’t back down. Is this the kind of causare you want to deal with King Charald?’
No, it isn’t, but...
‘Honestly.’ Vittoryxe lifted her hands in frustration. ‘Do you know how lucky you are? You don’t deserve your raedan gift, Imoshen. You have no ambition. The causare who saves us from King Charald the Oath-breaker will go down in history!’
At that moment, Arodyti returned. She had changed into her ceremonial armour; she strode towards them, radiating determination. ‘I’m ready. Let’s go.’
Chapter Two
THE RUINED PALACE was littered with the dead.
Tobazim tried not to see the details, but he had to look for enemy bodies. He stepped over the corpses of Malaunje children, the elderly and warriors who had died defending them. It hit him hard; he’d sought sanctuary in the city after the king’s barons had attacked his home. They’d struck the winery without warning and killed indiscriminately. Almost everyone he knew and loved had died that night.
‘Come here,’ Learon called from the boat-house.
Tobazim found him standing near the gate to the lake. His choice-brother was big, even for the T’En, and it was thanks to him that Tobazim, Athlyn and about a dozen Malaunje had escaped the winery.
Learon crouched, gesturing to the metal grille that protected the boat-house from the lake. ‘That’s how they got into the palace. They broke the gate.’
Tobazim prodded the bent bars, feeling his gift rise. He could sense the forces required to twist the metal. ‘The noise of last night’s revelry hid their entry.
’
‘And we were right next door. We were the first to hear the screams.’ Learon came to his feet, brushing off his hands. He looked disgusted. ‘It wouldn’t have been this bad if our brotherhood had let us go to their aid right away.’
‘Lower your voice. Only we know our all-father held his warriors back.’
‘What kind of all-father lets another brotherhood suffer?’
A vindictive one. ‘Kyredeon misjudged,’ said Tobazim out loud. ‘He thought Chariode’s brotherhood would be weakened, not destroyed. He had some sort of vendetta against Chariode.’
‘And that makes it acceptable?’
‘Of course not, but we’re not in a position to criticise our all-father. Come, there’s no more Mieren bodies down here.’ He went down the passage and out into the courtyard. His choice-brother caught up and walked beside him. ‘Now that we’ve gotten rid of their dead, we can deal with our own. We’ve lost so many, I wouldn’t be surprised if we have to dig more crypts.’
Learon swayed and began to pitch forward. Tobazim reached out to save him. The instant he touched Learon’s bare skin, he knew what was wrong, but he could not save himself as he, too, was swept to the higher plane.
A dozen vengeful shades surrounded them. They had to be the spirits of the Mieren he and Learon had killed when they helped close the causeway gate.
How had the shades found them? The all-father’s inner circle should have protected the brotherhood’s warriors. Considering the number of dead, though, it wasn’t surprising some had slipped past and sought out their killers.
On the higher plane, his choice-brother’s true nature was revealed. Learon would die to protect those he loved. Inspired by his purity of purpose, Tobazim drew on his gift to form an axe and prepared to defend Learon’s back. Unlike his choice-brother, he was not a gift-warrior, but he had the training to protect himself on the higher plane.
As Learon forced the empyrean plane to take shape around them, it became the winery courtyard, reminding Tobazim how they’d stood under the lantern-lit tree the night the barons attacked.
Exile Page 2