Exile

by Rowena Cory Daniells

  ‘We broke through once. We can do it again,’ Charald said. He gestured to the big T’En man. ‘Next time, speak for yourself, causare. Next time, come prepared to surrender.’

  ‘We have not used our gifts on True-men,’ the smaller, sharp-eyed man said in Chalcedonian. ‘Do you really want to push us? You can’t resist our gifts.’

  Charald gave a bark of laughter. ‘Your gifts? I piss on your gifts. You know why?’ He beckoned Sorne to step forward. ‘Because I have this priest, returned from the dead not two days ago.’ And he thrust Sorne’s hood back to reveal his face with the missing eye.

  All of the Wyrds gasped.

  ‘Warrior’s-voice,’ the sharp-eyed male muttered in Chalcedonian.

  ‘I see you’ve heard of my half-blood,’ Charald gloated. ‘Have you heard what he can do? He’s the one who discovered how to contact the gods. The Warrior has been blessing him with visions since he was seventeen. Through this half-blood the Warrior guided me, as I conquered the kingdoms of the Secluded Sea. He guided me here tonight.’

  As Charald paused for effect, Zabier glanced to Sorne and the king. He looked as if he wanted to protest, but managed to hold his tongue.

  Sorne also wanted to protest, but couldn’t. If he was to be any use as Imoshen’s spy, he had to let the T’En believe the worst of him. He had promised to let her know if Charald was going to attack. Now, after Charald’s boasts, she would assume he’d lied to her.

  Sorne did not try to catch her eye, not with Zabier watching him.

  ‘Can you guess how he gets these visions?’ Charald was enjoying himself. Sorne knew what was coming and he could not stop it. ‘He sacrifices his own kind. Just two days ago, he sent a silverhead into the Warrior god’s arms and was rewarded with a vision.’

  The T’En stared at him in horror. All Sorne could do was look, stone-faced, straight ahead.

  Without a word, Imoshen turned on her heel and walked away. The two men followed her, then the warriors, and lastly the servants with the lanterns.

  Charald laughed, calling after them, ‘That’s right, go home and load your wagons, sew your jewels into the hems of your winter coats. Prepare for exile, Wyrds. You have until dusk tomorrow to agree to my terms, then I send my barons to raze your estates!’

  As the causeway gate closed, the king rubbed his hands together and turned to his barons. ‘That’s put the wind up them. It’ll go back and forth for a bit, but they’ll be opening the gates and bending over before midwinter.’

  He strode down the causeway, with the barons falling into step around him. ‘Time to celebrate. Break open the wine.’

  Sorne held back while the True-men jostled for position next to the king.

  ‘You...’ Zabier was beside him; fury twisted his features. ‘You get all the glory. I’m the one who came up with how to avoid the Wyrds’ gifts. I’m the one who made the half-blood sacrifices. All you ever sacrificed was gift-infused relics. You sicken me!’

  Somehow, Sorne managed to restrain himself and leave.

  ‘Yes, walk off. It’s all you ever do. You left me to protect Ma and Valendia from King Matxin. You left again when Ma was dying. She called for you, right at the end, but you weren’t there!’

  Sorne ground his teeth. Back then, he’d been a fool, chasing glory and the respect of True-men. All it had gotten him was the empyrean wound and betrayal. It had taken him years to find out who he really was. Now he would not fail Valendia, and he would not fail his people.

  AS SOON AS they stepped through the causeway gate, Imoshen felt her legs go weak. Had Sorne betrayed them? She found it hard to believe, but if he hadn’t, he was playing a deep and dangerous game.

  The sisterhood leaders drew her to one side, but she was still aware of Hueryx and Paragian being swamped by brotherhood leaders demanding answers.

  ‘King Charald is a barbarian,’ Paragian said. ‘He has a pet half-blood who sacrifices T’En to True-man gods!’

  ‘Sacrifices T’En?’ Egrayne repeated horrified. She looked to Imoshen for confirmation.

  ‘...the king boasts he’s come back from the dead.’ Hueryx said, to his fellows. ‘That he sacrificed one of us just two days ago.’

  This incensed the men. Between their rising gifts and their furious exclamations, it was hard to think. This was what she’d feared; what would get them all killed.

  Imoshen pushed through the sisters to climb a mounting block below a street lamp. She beckoned Arodyti. ‘Give me your long-knife.’

  The sisterhood’s hand-of-force obliged. Imoshen struck the metal post. The high, clear note cut through the brotherhoods’ deep voices and they all turned to her. ‘The king is using the Warrior’s-voice and talk of sacrifices to unnerve us.’

  ‘Did your gift tell you this?’ All-father Kyredeon demanded.

  ‘I read a great deal of anger in the Mieren, cloaking their fear. In King Charald I read triumph and determination.’

  ‘Yes, but what does the king want?’ All-father Egrutz asked.

  She read the brotherhood leaders. With their gifts on edge they were angry, eager for violence and ready to shout her down. They would take the hard facts better from one of their own, which was why she’d asked Hueryx and Paragian to go with her. ‘What did King Charald want, All-father Hueryx?’

  ‘He didn’t want to negotiate, that was clear. He means to drive us out of the city, and out of Chalcedonia.’

  ‘We can hold the city. We can double the guard on the wall!’ a hand-of-force insisted and others agreed

  Imoshen caught Paragian’s eye. ‘What will King Charald do if we hold out against his army?’

  ‘He threatened to send his barons to break down our estate walls, kill every last T’En and Malaunje, and burn the buildings.’

  Everyone protested.

  ‘Hueryx,’ Imoshen raised her voice. ‘Does Charald strike you as the sort of man who would make good on his threat?’

  The wiry all-father sent her a look that said he knew what she was doing, but answered anyway. ‘The Mieren king will not hesitate.’

  ‘And can our estates stand against the barons and their men?’ Imoshen asked Paragian.

  ‘They all have defences, but none could stand for long, not without hope of help coming.’

  ‘We are dealing with a king who has conquered all the mainland kingdoms of the Secluded Sea,’ Imoshen said. ‘He has resources beyond anything we have–’

  ‘What?’ Saskeyne bristled. She read him. He’d come to the leadership of his brotherhood young and hadn’t been seasoned by disappointment. ‘Are you suggesting we walk out of here tonight? Because I’m not doing that. This is our home.’

  Others agreed with him. A sea of angry faces shifted under the lamplight.

  ‘You’re the great raedan,’ Kyredeon sneered. ‘We were told you could read King Charald and find a way to negotiate with him.’

  ‘I read him. He wants to be rid of us, and he believes we have our backs to the wall.’ She looked around at the angry men, and the worried women. ‘Are you willing to sacrifice everyone on the outlying estates, then sit here until we run out of food in two or three years’ time?’

  They muttered.

  She waved an arm in the direction of the camped army. ‘Charald can bring food in. He can rotate his army. The drought won’t last. He can send his men home to harvest their crops and plant new crops, while we sit here and eat our stores. And when we’ve done that, we will be back where we are right now.’ She waited a moment to let them take this in. ‘Do you want to sacrifice everyone on our estates, to gain nothing?’

  ‘We can assassinate him,’ Saskeyne said. ‘I could send one or two warriors to kill Charald and–’

  ‘And then what? I read his war barons. They are greedy and ambitious. They’ll fight over Charald’s crown. One of them will win and then he’ll reward his supporters by promising them the riches of the Celestial City, and we’ll be back where we started. The Mieren will not negotiate.’

  ‘But they f
ear our gifts,’ All-father Dretsun said.

  Imoshen sought Hueryx’s eyes. ‘What did Charald say about our gifts?’

  ‘He said he pissed on our powers.’

  This was greeted with stunned silence.

  ‘Didn’t you notice how his men were dressed?’ Imoshen asked. ‘When they attacked, much of their skin was covered. Somehow they’ve learned we need touch to use our gifts, that our powers have limitations. There are thousands of them and too few of us. Meanwhile, our people on the estates are vulnerable.’

  ‘This lake stretches back towards the mountains, with many secluded inlets. King Charald can’t patrol it all.’ It was Saskeyne again. ‘We can send out small groups of warriors. They can make their way through the countryside. They can warn the estates.’

  ‘Warn them to do what?’

  ‘Defend their walls.’

  ‘Until all the warriors are dead, the walls fall and the defenceless are slaughtered?’ Imoshen asked. ‘Or are you suggesting these warriors can travel through hostile countryside escorting old folk, children and babies back here? When the Mieren track them down and surround them, no one will come to their aid. They will all die to the last child.’

  Silence stretched.

  ‘What do you suggest we do, Imoshen?’ Egrayne asked.

  It was the question she had been waiting for. ‘We buy time by saying we’ll accept exile.’ There were protests at this, but she raised her voice and forged on. ‘It’ll save our estates, while we come up with a plan.’

  ‘I say we send a dozen of our best warriors into the enemy’s camp,’ Saskeyne said. ‘They infiltrate the barons’ tents. They kill all the barons and the king.’

  ‘Every king has an heir, every baron has a brother. Killing the king and his barons will make their heirs eager for vengeance. For every one you cut down, another will rise in his place, filled with righteous anger and ready to seek revenge. How will this lead to peace?’

  Imoshen waited while they discussed alternatives. Her gift surged and she read them. The brotherhoods would fight to die a glorious death; the sisterhoods would fight to survive. Imoshen’s gift told her the moment was right to call a vote.

  ‘I say we buy time.’ She raised her hand. One by one – some grudgingly, resentfully – the leaders of the T’Enatuath raised their hands.

  ‘Our warriors will think us weak, if we accept exile,’ Saskeyne protested.

  ‘Our warriors will think us cunning, if we buy time,’ Imoshen said. ‘When the odds are against you, cunning is all you have.’

  ‘So tomorrow we ask for time to prepare for exile,’ Hueryx said, to her relief. ‘How much time?’

  ‘As much as we can get. Meanwhile, we send stealthy messengers to our estates, warning them to prepare for attack, or send their people here in secret. Saskeyne’s right, the lake’s shore is too big for King Charald to patrol. Tell your guards on the wall-walk to watch for refugees from our estates.’

  ‘Meanwhile, we come up with a plan,’ Paragian said and others agreed.

  The brotherhood leaders hadn’t accepted exile. They still thought they were negotiating to buy time to defeat King Charald. Imoshen glanced to Hueryx. He met her eyes, and smiled with dark humour.

  ‘Yes, go back to your inner circles and ask for ideas,’ Imoshen said. Maybe, just maybe, they would come up with something.

  When she climbed down her knees shook so badly she had to lean against the mounting block. Returning the knife, she thanked Arodyti.

  They’d bought some time and saved their people out on the estates. But they were still besieged, outnumbered and hated. And she had to persuade the brotherhoods exile was preferable to a glorious death.

  Chapter Five

  LAST TIME HE’D travelled with Charald’s army, Sorne had worked himself into the position of the king’s advisor. At twenty-five, he’d stood on the balcony of the conquered palace in Navarone and discussed how to recapture Chalcedonia. It had taken years to reach that point, and the barons had always resented Charald’s half-blood priest. Now he was relegated to standing behind the king’s chair again, like a servant.

  Zabier had his place at the king’s table, but he sat there sour-faced, nursing his wine and his grievances. Meanwhile, the barons and the king celebrated. They were so sure it would be a short, successful siege they were already dividing up the spoils of the city between them. From their point of view, it was much better to convince the Wyrds to walk away, leaving everything intact, than to sacrifice men to capture burnt-out palaces.

  As the servants took the empty plates, Baron Eskarnor came to his feet, raising his glass. ‘To King Charald, saviour of Chalcedonia!’

  As the barons topped up their glasses to echo the toast, Sorne saw naked greed and ambition on their faces.

  How could Imoshen save the city and their people? Originally, he’d meant to rescue Valendia and take her to Imoshen. But for now his sister was safer as Zabier’s prisoner.

  The king called for more wine and Zabier excused himself and beckoned Sorne, who followed him out. If only he could convince Zabier to trust him. They had more in common with each other than with any of these violent men.

  When they entered the holy tent, Sorne looked for his travelling kit and realised he’d left it with his horse the night of the sacrifice. His mother’s torc had been in that bag; a terrible sense of loss swamped him.

  ‘I left my horse picketed over the hill from the standing stones,’ Sorne said. ‘You didn’t happen to come across it, did you?’

  ‘No.’ Zabier gave him a suspicious look. ‘Why? Did you have something valuable in your travelling kit?’

  He was about to lie, when he realised Zabier could be motivated to help him. ‘Do you remember the torc I used to wear for ceremonies?’

  ‘The one that glowed when the walls between this plane and the higher plane were about to break?’

  The torc was only thing Sorne had of his mother. Charald had ordered the young queen murdered so he could take another wife, one who would give him True-man sons. His mother had only been fifteen, which seemed impossibly young to him now that he’d just turned twenty-nine. He cleared his throat. ‘I believe it glowed in the response to the gods.’

  ‘The predators, you mean.’

  Sorne blinked. Zabier had always been a believer.

  ‘I’m not a fool. I know those things are beasts, not gods. We’ve already been through this, but I see the drug has left you with a patchy memory. You’re going to perform the sacrifices for me then tell me your visions and I will tell King Charald. I’ve seen too many ceremonies go wrong to risk my life.’

  ‘I’ll need my mother’s torc.’

  ‘I’ll ask if a horse was discovered that night, but I doubt if anyone will admit to finding it. The men-at-arms are little better than savages and the barons are just thieves in fine clothes.’

  ‘You hid Valendia because you knew this war against the Wyrds was coming. You protected her.’

  ‘Yes.’ Zabier looked pleased.

  Sorne picked his words carefully. ‘What’s going to happen to her after King Charald banishes all the Wyrds?’

  ‘She’ll be safe with me. She can have her music and a pet. What more does she want?’ Zabier fought a yawn and failed, then gestured to the bunk. ‘That’s mine. You can sleep on the bedroll. Since my assistant isn’t here, you’ll perform his tasks. And remember, I’m a light sleeper.’

  ‘I remember.’ He found it hard to reconcile the boy he’d known with this man. ‘You’re high priest of Chalcedonia, advisor to the king. You’ve come a long way from the carpenter’s cottage. What more do you want, Zabier?’

  Thre was no answer. Zabier undressed and dropped the nightrobe over his shoulders, put out the lamp and lay down.

  Sorne stretched out on the bedroll. He preferred it to True-man beds, which were never long enough.

  ‘I want to be powerful enough so that I don’t have to live in fear,’ Zabier said softly. ‘When you sailed off with King Charal
d I was thirteen. King Matxin named me Father’s-voice and high priest, then forced me to perform sacrifices to frighten the barons. He gave me lists of names and told me to say the gods had revealed them as traitors. I had to obey him. Ma and Valendia’s lives depended on it.’

  ‘I’m sorry. I didn’t know.’ He didn’t know how the man he’d met once and instantly trusted could have turned into the tyrant Zabier described. Yet other people described Matxin as a despot. ‘I’m sorry, brother.’

  Zabier shifted on his narrow bunk and Sorne thought he would protest. But he said nothing.

  If Sorne could just win Zabier over, convince him that keeping Valendia locked up was no way for her to live and come up with a way to help Imoshen save the T’Enatuath...

  His head ached and he gave it up for now.

  IMOSHEN RETURNED TO the palace feeling exhausted. Everyone was subdued. Tired and heartsore, she suspected.

  She was glad to retreat to her bedchamber. She moved quietly, so as not to wake Frayvia or the baby. Stripping off her finery, she dressed in a simple nightgown and slipped into the nursery.

  Last night, she had shut this door on the sisterhood’s T’En children, not knowing if the next person to open the door would be herself or an armed Mieren. Today she’d barely had time to see her infant daughter. Now all she wanted to do was hold her.

  Imoshen found her devotee curled up with Umaleni. She stretched out beside her baby daughter; so small and vulnerable. A fierce love welled up in her. She would do anything to protect her child, her children, her people. But realistically, what could she do? Charald seemed set on a kingdom free of her kind.