‘Wait.’ Sorne swallowed. ‘Would you like to write the history of the Wyrd exile?’
Igotzon’s eyes widened. ‘How can you ask?’
‘It would mean leaving your home, sailing–’
He was already nodding.
‘We can’t take a Mieren,’ Graelen protested. ‘He’s not one of us.’
‘My Wyrd reports are in the chest.’ Igotzon gestured to the chest, then realised it was open. ‘Oh, I see you already found them.’
‘Do you need to pack?’ Sorne asked.
Igotzon nodded.
‘Make it quick.’
He collected ink, pen and paper, and added this to the chest. ‘Ready.’
Sorne had to smile. ‘Good. By now the road to the wharf should be clear.’
TOBAZIM CROSSED THE wharf. Clouds obscured the sun, bringing an early twilight. He could not believe the number of people and the amount of supplies they had ferried out to the ships, but looking around him there was so much more to load. He rounded the warehouse to find Ardonyx with Hand-of-force Reyne.
They’d put Hueryx’s brotherhood on the same ship as Kyredeon, simply because his brotherhood had arrived next. All-father Hueryx was not happy, but at least he could load his supplies. The rest of the brotherhoods and the sisterhoods had to to ferry people and the lighter stores from the two floating jetties.
Ardonyx sent Reyne off and turned to Tobazim. ‘I wish we knew how much time we had. If we don’t load the holds properly, the ships will be unstable in high seas, but we might be better off loading everything onto the ships’ decks and sorting the holds while we’re at anchor in the bay. I wish I knew where Sorne was.’
Before Tobazim could comment, they were hailed by Captain Vetus.
The veteran Mieren escorted two rough-looking brigands and a child of about five or six, who was wrapped in a stained travelling cloak. Stolid, wine-dark eyes looked up from under the hood and the child hugged a bundle under his cloak as if it was the most precious thing in the world. Tobazim noticed small, bare feet, blue with cold.
It started to rain and they stepped into the warehouse, where several Malaunje were preparing a meal for those who would not make it onto the ships in time for the evening meal. The smell of the spicy beans made Tobazim’s mouth water, and the child looked hopeful.
Vetus indicated the unsavoury-looking Mieren, who gripped his sword hilt aggressively. ‘They’ve come to claim the reward.’
Ardonyx pulled open his pouch. It was very light now. ‘That’s one silver coin.’
The two Mieren exchanged looks.
‘Five silvers,’ the older of the two corrected and he pulled off the child’s hood to reveal white hair. When the child turned his head, Tobazim saw that a copper streak grew above one ear.
‘Five silver coins for each of them.’ The Mieren flipped back the boy’s cloak to reveal the child held a baby with the wine-dark eyes and downy white hair.
Tobazim glanced to Ardonyx. This was the first time anyone had delivered a T’En child, let alone two. The boy and the baby had to be the only survivors of a sisterhood estate. Tobazim bristled. What had happened to everyone else?
‘So that’s ten silver coins you owe us,’ the older one said.
‘Which sisterhood did you come from? Where’s your choice-mother?’ Tobazim asked the child in T’En. Stony mulberry eyes stared up at him. Was the boy dimwitted?
‘Where’s our reward?’ the brigand asked.
Ardonyx beckoned the cabin boy, Toresel. ‘Go tell the causare two T’En children have been delivered. We don’t know which sisterhood they belong to.’
The lad ran off.
‘What’s he saying?’ the brigand demanded of the king’s guard. ‘What’s going on?’
‘I don’t have ten silver coins.’ Ardonyx jingled the pouch to show it was nearly empty. ‘So–’
‘Don’t you try to cheat us,’ the younger one warned and gestured to Tobazim’s arm-torcs. ‘What about them? They’ve got to be worth ten silvers each.’
Tobazim glanced to the silver arm-torcs. Embossed with the symbol of his brotherhood, they weren’t his to give away, and they symbolised much more than their worth in silver. ‘They’re not–’
‘Don’t try to cheat us!’ They younger one snatched the boy, and both brigands began to back off towards the door, knives drawn.
‘Here.’ Tobazim pulled the torc from around his right bicep. ‘Take this. It’s worth twenty silver coins.’
He tossed it to the older brigand, who caught it, inspected the workmanship and nodded to his companion, who shoved the boy aside, sheathing his knife. Tobazim darted forward, catching the child before he could trip and drop the baby.
During all this, the boy had not made a sound but, now that Tobazim held him, he could feel the child trembling. What had he seen and endured?
‘You’re safe now,’ he told the boy, kneeling to look into his eyes. ‘What’s your name?’
But again the child only stared at Tobazim.
Meanwhile, Ardonyx had stepped between him and the brigands. ‘Get them out of here, Vetus. And make sure they leave the wharf.’
As soon as the others left, Ardonyx came over to Tobazim. ‘Is he all right?’
‘Yes.’ Tobazim stood. ‘But he might be deaf.’
Ardonyx snapped his fingers. The boy’s eyes went straight to his hand. Ardonyx grinned. ‘I don’t think so.’
The boy smiled tentatively.
‘What’s this about T’En children?’ Imoshen asked, as she entered the warehouse with her voice-of-reason, and Healer Reoden. Tobazim came to his feet, but he kept a hand on the boy’s shoulder.
Imoshen glanced to the boy. ‘You said there were two children. Where’s the other one?’
Tobazim parted the boy’s cloak to reveal the baby.
‘Oh...’ As Imoshen dropped to her knees in front of the child to inspect the baby, her mouth parted in a delighted smile.
‘I should check the baby for injuries,’ Reoden said.
‘Give me the babe.’ Imoshen went to take the infant from the boy, but he stepped back, hugging the baby to his chest. This put him in contact with Tobazim and Ardonyx, and he seemed to take comfort from their support, because he remained there with his shoulders pressed against their thighs. As Tobazim rested his hand on the boy’s slender neck, he felt the child relax into his touch and experienced a protective surge that surprised him with its intensity.
‘Don’t worry.’ Imoshen spoke to the boy as if trying to calm a wild creature. ‘I won’t hurt you or your brother. Just give the babe to me.’
Even knowing how powerful she was, Tobazim was drawn to her, but the boy resisted.
‘Where did you come from, little man?’ Imoshen asked. ‘Who was your choice-mother?’
The boy stared at her, but did not lower his guard.
‘He can hear, but I don’t think he understands,’ Tobazim said.
Imoshen reached out to cup the boy’s cheek in her left hand. Tobazim felt her gift stir as a tendril of power curled through the boy and into Tobazim. It happened so fast there was no time to raise his defences and, by the time he realised what was happening, he didn’t want to relinquish contact. Instead, he revelled in her exotic feminine power as he lost track of everything but the intensity of the moment.
Imoshen let her hand drop.
Heart racing raggedly, Tobazim had to consciously repress his gift and rebuild his defences. It had been a long time since he’d come so close to betraying himself, not since he was a lad struggling for gift control. Embarrassed, he glanced to Ardonyx, but the ship’s captain had eyes only for Imoshen.
The causare stared at the child.
‘Well, Imoshen, what did you learn?’ the healer prodded after a moment.
‘He thinks we look odd. He has never seen adult T’En before. I caught a glimpse of his home and his parents. They were Malaunje,’ Imoshen said. ‘I’m guessing his parents were born of Mieren parents, who never gave them up to the
T’Enatuath. I got the impression there were others like his parents living nearby. No wonder he doesn’t understand our language.’
‘So the stories of the free Malaunje village are true?’ Egrayne whispered.
‘Maybe. There were mountains and no Mieren in the glimpse I had,’ Imoshen said. She switched to Chalcedonian. ‘What is your name, child?’
‘Light-of-my-Life,’ he answered in the same language, and love enriched his voice.
‘I’m sure you were,’ Imoshen said. ‘And where are your mother and father?’
‘Da didn’t come back from fur trading. Then bad people came and Ma told me to hide in the cave, but she didn’t come back for me. I’ve been looking for her ever since. Do you know where she is?’
‘Oh, you poor boy,’ Imoshen whispered, tears glistening in her eyes. She summoned a smile. ‘Don’t worry, you and your brother will be safe with–’
‘The baby’s not my brother,’ the boy said. ‘I found her hidden in the neighbour’s chicken coop.’
‘A T’En girl!’ Imoshen’s voice rose with excitement. She glanced over her shoulder to Reoden and Egrayne. ‘A baby girl!’
T’En girl babies were rare. Tobazim expected to see avarice in the causare’s mulberry eyes when she returned her attention to the boy, but he saw only joy.
‘A dear little girl,’ Imoshen marvelled. ‘Imagine that, free Malaunje producing two T’En children? Why, it’s just like the legend of how the T’Enatuath originated!’ She sprang to her feet, addressing Ardonyx. ‘The Mieren who delivered them, did they say where they found the children?’
‘I didn’t think to ask them. They demanded payment and, when I said I had no coins, they drew a knife.’ He gestured to Tobazim. ‘We gave them one of my brother’s arm-torcs.’
‘Egrayne, see that Kyredeon is recompensed,’ Imoshen said. Her happy gaze returned to the boy and the baby girl. ‘We’ll have to call an all-council to assign the children choice-mothers. And the boy will need a brotherhood when he grows up.’ She turned back to Ardonyx. ‘Should we hold the all-council on one of the ships?’
‘No time for an all-council. We’ll be loading and manoeuvring ships all night,’ Ardonyx said. ‘If we left our stores unattended, the poor from the rats-nest would strip the wharf bare by morning.’
Athlyn thrust the door open to report, ‘The first of All-father Paragian’s brotherhood has just arrived.’
‘Good. He’s the last one. The sooner we are all here, the sooner the ships are loaded and we can leave,’ Imoshen said. The baby started to cry.
‘She’s hungry,’ the boy said. ‘But I’ve run out of–’
‘Give her to me.’ Imoshen sat on a crate and began to undo her bodice. ‘I’ll feed her.’
The boy hesitated only for a moment.
‘The commander of the king’s guard wants to speak with you,’ Athlyn told Tobazim.
He climbed the platform by the gate, where Captain Vetus introduced him. ‘This is Commander Halargon.’
‘You’re Baron Tobazim?’ the grey-haired Mieren asked.
‘I’m not a baron. I’m a scholar,’ Tobazim corrected. ‘Thank you for escorting our people through port.’
‘The king sent me. When do you want to hand over the prince?’
Tobazim had no idea. ‘I’ll send a message up to the palace when we’re ready to sail.’
The commander nodded and rode off.
SORNE HAD THOUGHT all the carts would be at the wharf by now, but they came up behind another one as they neared the rats-nest. When it passed under a shop lantern, three little children stared out at him, two T’En and a Malaunje, and he felt a jolt of surprise. It had been over four years ago, but he recognised them; these were the Wyrds of his vision – the children he’d seen loaded into a cart by Mieren.
What was the use of his visions, if he couldn’t prevent them from happening?
Feeling as if he already knew them, he led his horse closer to the children. Igotzon walked on the other side of the horse, and the chest was tied across the saddle. Graelen and Valendia rode behind.
‘Are you all right in there?’ Sorne asked the children in T’En, then repeated it in Chalcedonian for good measure.
‘No,’ a voice called in T’En. A moment later a near-naked boy of about twelve peered through the slats. ‘My mother’s just had a baby. She needs a healer. Can you help us?’
‘Hold on. We’re nearly there,’ Sorne said.
They’d entered the rats-nest now. The Mieren seemed restless tonight. He caught them watching from dark doorways, heard shouts and swearing, a scream that was abruptly cut off. Then they were through to the far side. The open area before the wharf was packed with empty carts and wagons.
The cart stopped ahead of them, at the barricade gate.
‘We’ve come for the bounty,’ one of the cart drivers announced. The gates swung open and they entered. The wharf was packed with supplies, stacked higher than Sorne was tall in some places. Between the supplies on his left he saw a seven-masted ship being loaded by lantern light. Everywhere he looked, people moved with purpose.
‘What do we have here?’ Tobazim asked as he jumped down from the platform by the barricade gate.
‘We’ve come for the bounty,’ the cart driver repeated.
Sorne went to meet Tobazim. ‘We have several cold, hungry children and a woman with a newborn, in need of a healer.’
‘That’s lucky. The healer’s in the warehouse.’ He directed the cart to follow and fell into step with Sorne. ‘Did you find your sister?’
‘She was in the crypts beneath the church all this time.’ Sorne gestured to where Graelen was helping Valendia dismount. ‘Along with a brotherhood warrior. Where’s All-father Kyredeon?’
‘Over there.’ Tobazim pointed to the seven-masted ship.
‘And the causare?’
‘In the warehouse, with–’ Tobazim broke off as he caught sight of Scholar Igotzon. ‘What’s the Mieren doing here?’
‘He’s going to write the history of the Wyrd exile.’
Tobazim rubbed his jaw, then shrugged as if nothing would surprise him now. He signalled the cart driver. ‘That’s far enough. The causare will deal with you.’
When Tobazim moved off, Graelen caught up with Sorne. ‘I’ll take Valendia and report to the all-father. We’ll see you on Kyredeon’s ship.’
‘No, I’ll be with Imoshen’s sisterhood.’ As soon as he said it, he realised there was never any doubt.
‘You’re leaving us, Sorne?’ Valendia whispered.
‘You have Grae. I have someone in Imoshen’s sisterhood. Be happy for me, sister.’ He hugged her, kissed her forehead, then clasped Graelen’s forearm. ‘I am happy for you.’
‘And I for you. Although I don’t know how a wild Malaunje will take to living with the T’Enatuath.’
Sorne grinned and handed Igotzon the horse’s reins.
When he opened the warehouse door, he spotted the causare with Egrayne and Reoden. They were speaking to a little boy while several Malaunje prepared a meal. The smell of cooking made his stomach rumble.
‘Sorne!’ Imoshen hurried over. As she approached, he realised an infant slept in a sling across her body. ‘Did you find your sister?’
‘Yes.’ He was touched she’d remembered.
‘I’m glad. Is the king–’
‘I’ve no idea. I came straight here, but I sent a message to the palace. Imoshen, the children from my vision are outside in a cart. Their mother’s just given birth and she needs a healer. I–’
‘Where do I put this?’ Igotzon asked, as he arrived with his chest.
Imoshen turned to Sorne for an explanation.
‘This is Scholar Igotzon. He wants to write a history of the Wyrd exile.’
Imoshen blinked, then laughed. ‘Why not?’
Sorne felt relieved. He’d been afraid they would execute the Mieren scholar on the spot.
‘Do you have time to deliver him to my devotee?’ Imoshen asked.
‘She’s on the flagship.’
Sorne’s heart rose. ‘Where’s your ship?’
Imoshen smiled and pointed between Kyredeon’s ship and the end of the barricade. ‘Take the stairs down to a floating jetty, get in line and ask for the causare’s flagship. Do you know how long we have to load?’
‘No idea. The sooner the better.’
‘That’s what I feared.’ She beckoned the healer. ‘Reoden, we need you.’
He took one side of the chest and Igotzon took the other.
But he stopped at the cart. Three little ones looked up at him, and he saw two older children down the back with a woman. ‘The healer’s coming. Don’t worry. You’re safe now.’
‘Thank you,’ the eldest boy said, coming to the bars. His hands were swollen, his voice rasped and his nose had been broken recently. ‘Thank you so much.’
Since he was seventeen, Sorne had stolen power and used visions for his own advancement, causing death and disorder on the way. He did not deserve the lad’s gratitude. ‘I did nothing. Save your thanks for the causare and the healer.’
He turned back to Igotzon and, between them, they carried the chest towards the steps, dodging people, supplies and carts on the way. As they passed Kyredeon’s ship, Sorne saw Graelen and Valendia being escorted up the steps to the rear deck and into the cabins.
‘Look at the queue,’ Igotzon said.
When they reached the top of the stairs, they found a line of refugees leading down to the crowded floating jetty. Rowboats ferried people and their possessions out to the ships. It looked like they’d be waiting a while.
‘There’s another set of steps over near the cliff end of the wharf, but it’s probably just as busy,’ Sorne said.
He put the chest down and Igotzon promptly sat on it. The scholar seemed stunned, but happy.
Sorne looked along the length of the wharf. From here he could see the gang plank to Kyredeon’s ship. A steady stream of porters carried supplies aboard, while winches swung laden nets onto the decks. The same thing would be happening on the other arm of the wharf, but even if they worked all night and the ships took turns, they wouldn’t be finished loading for several days.
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