The Exile and the Sorcerer

by Jane Fletcher

  “I’ve got to see the assessor.” Cayell paused and inspected herself. “Or do you think I should get cleaned up first?”

  “I’ve seen more presentable scarecrows thrown out as scrap.”

  “You’re probably right.” Cayell grabbed Tevi’s hands. Holding them palm down, she inspected the tattooed red and gold swords. Her eyes met Tevi’s. “Very pretty. We’ve got to celebrate. Get some of the others to meet up tonight.”

  “Dale and Rymar will be keen, and probably Perrin as well.”

  “That’ll be great.” Cayell walked away backwards.

  “You can tell us all about the accident.”

  “Only if you promise not to laugh. It was a touch unfortunate.” Cayell raised one hand to her head in a melodramatic fashion and then grinned before disappearing in the direction of the bathhouse.

  *

  The Golden Swan was a noisy tavern with splintered tables and lanterns burning foul-smelling oil. The straw on the floor looked as if it had not been changed since the founding of the Protectorate. The only heating came from the largely unwashed bodies of the customers. However, the beer was cheap, and the staff kept selling it long after more respectable establishments had closed.

  In a poorly lit rear corner, the five young mercenaries were studiously trying to get drunk and meeting with considerable success. A succession of toasts was made to the new guild members. These included Rymar, who was also sporting tattoos, only two days old and still itchy.

  Putting down his tankard, Perrin leaned across to Tevi. “Do you remember us talking about women with axes? As a good example, have you seen that Big Bron is back in the guildhall?”

  Tevi shook her head.

  “You must have seen her,” Dale chipped in. “You know the one, six foot two, square, long blond hair and wears a copper torque that could double as a wagon wheel. She always scowls like she’s just sat on something uncomfortable.”

  Tevi groaned; she had been mistaken yet again. “I thought that was a man.”

  “Now that’s unusual,” Cayell said seriously. “Most people mistake her for some sort of architectural support structure.”

  Rymar nudged Tevi’s shoulder. “You wouldn’t make that mistake if you’d seen her naked.”

  “You what!” Cayell was the only one not stunned speechless.

  “Oh, no, no. Nothing like that.” Rymar held up his hands in denial. “She was in the baths, and someone swiped her clothes as a joke. It wasn’t me. I’m not suicidal. But I was there when she stormed out, looking for blood.”

  “That could have been a cute beginning to a beautiful relationship,” Dale said.

  “The words ‘cute’ and ‘Bron’ do not belong in the same sentence.”

  “You did it just then.”

  “Don’t be a fool. She eats boys like me for breakfast.” Rymar ran a finger around his collar.

  “And you wouldn’t like that?”

  “Look...just take it from me, romance was not in the air. Murder, yes. Romance, no.”

  “Probably just as well. They say Bron doesn’t have much in the way of a sense of humour,” Cayell said.

  “And...?” Rymar prompted.

  “From what I’ve heard, she’d need it with you.” Cayell grinned.

  Rymar acted hurt. “That’s a nasty, malicious rumour. I am a lover of great sophistication and skill, as I’ll demonstrate to anyone here.” His expression changed to an idiotic leer. “Come on, any takers?”

  “I would, but...” Perrin clasped a hand to his breast in a flamboyant gesture. “I am sworn to another.”

  Dale put his arm around Perrin’s shoulder. His voice oozed sincere concern. “Look. You’ve got to be adult about this. One night of passion with a mange-ridden sheep does not constitute a binding commitment. For either of you,” he finished, as everyone gave way to yelps of laughter.

  Tevi wiped her eyes. Sometimes, she was unable to tell whether people were being serious. Even when she had that sorted out, she was often unsure what the point of the joke was, but this she realised, was an invented leg pull.

  Summoning her self-control, she looked at Perrin. “Take no notice. They’re just being silly. I’m sure she didn’t have mange, and even if she did, there are medical treatments. There’s no reason why the two of you can’t be very happy together.”

  At the sight of Perrin’s expression, Cayell curled forward, holding her sides. Perrin rose to his full height and looked down sternly. “If you’re all going to act the fool, I’m going to buy another round of drinks.” His features broke into a grin.

  Dale hugged him round the waist. “Your logic’s flawed, but I’ll love you forever.” And then he fell backwards off his stool.

  *

  By the time they left the tavern, they were incapable of walking in a straight line. They formed a row, five abreast, with arms wrapped around each others’ shoulders to provide mutual support, and marched back to the guildhall to a song about a mercenary called Mighty Marrick. The lyrics told of the hero’s encounters with, among others, a ship full of pirates, a family of hill trolls, and one very surprised dragon. Tevi had trouble understanding the slang phases and euphemisms, but she made enough sense to know that the tale was both obscene and biologically impossible.

  Cayell took three attempts to get up the steps to the side entrance. Tevi stayed to help. In the end, Cayell literally crawled up and then collapsed at the top, giggling. Tevi dragged her to her feet and propelled her forward. Some distance ahead, the three men were embarking on a spirited repetition of the fourth verse.

  The singers were crossing a courtyard when a door was flung open. A large shape blocked the light, filling the entrance. Tevi was about to step into the open, but Cayell pulled her back behind a pillar. “It’s her. Big Bron.”

  While the two young women hid, biting their knuckles to stop from laughing, Bron loudly extolled the virtues of peace and quiet. She proceeded to give an unflattering account of the men and, by implication, their parents. Bron seemed to know only one adjective, but used it to great effect.

  When they heard the door slam, Tevi and Cayell peered cautiously around the pillar. The courtyard lay deserted in the moonlight. With exaggerated care, they tiptoed across, then rushed all the way to the junior members’ quarters, where Tevi had her room. They stumbled to a halt outside.

  “I’ve got to see the assessor again first thing tomorrow,” Cayell gasped. “Then I can move my things down here. Is there a spare room near yours?”

  Tevi nodded. “I’ll meet you in the dormitory and give you a hand.”

  By way of acceptance, Cayell flung her arms around Tevi, which threatened to send the pair of them sprawling. They regained their balance, and Cayell stepped back. “Right, then. Tomorrow, midmorning. See you there.” She staggered away, heading towards the nominees’ dormitory, while humming the chorus of “Mighty Marrick” under her breath.

  *

  The dormitory was deserted the next morning, when Tevi and her hangover entered. A muted grey light fell over pale blankets on the row of empty beds. To Tevi’s bloodshot eyes, the effect was dazzling, forcing her to squint. The pulse throbbed at her temples with hammer blows, and waves of nausea threatened her hold on her stomach contents—or would, had there been any.

  She groped her way to Cayell’s bed, fell down, rather than sat; and then wrapped her hands about her head as if her skull might split. The only sound was of her sucking air into her lungs through clenched teeth.

  The door swung open with a crash. “Oh, dear, oh, dear. Look what the cat’s dragged in.” Cayell’s voice boomed mercilessly.

  “Go away. I hate you,” Tevi mumbled, drawing a peal of laughter.

  “I can see you’re going to be a bundle of fun.”

  Tevi only groaned.

  “Don’t worry. Sit still. I haven’t got much to pack.”

  When Tevi still made no reply, Cayell sat on the bed opposite and studied her. “Feeling rough? I wondered how you were when you didn’t show
up for breakfast.”

  “Don’t mention food.”

  “Best thing for you. Come on.”

  Cayell thrust a hand under Tevi’s armpit and yanked her to her feet. She pushed and coaxed Tevi all the way to the refectory. The smell from the kitchens made Tevi’s stomach heave, but her protests were ignored. She collapsed at the table where she was dumped and listened with half an ear as Cayell browbeat the staff into providing breakfast and a mug of the “chef’s special.” The food and drink arrived shortly. Tevi could only stare in horror.

  “I can’t eat.”

  “Yes, you can,” Cayell said firmly.

  “I feel ill.”

  “That’s obvious. Look, take this. It’s the chef’s special remedy. Mercenaries swear by it.” Cayell thrust a mug into Tevi’s hand.

  “By it or at it?”

  “Down it in one. It will make you feel better.”

  Resisting was too much hard work. Tevi drank the potion and started gingerly on the food. She hated to admit it, but Cayell was right. Her stomach settled, and the pounding in her head eased.

  “That’s better. You’re getting some colour back in your face.”

  “Hmmph.”

  “You’re supposed to say, ‘Thank you, Cay.’” Cayell’s tone was cheerful but hardly sympathetic.

  “You can’t expect gratitude from the dead.”

  “Oh, you’ll survive.”

  “I’m not certain if I want to.”

  “It’s amazing the philosophical insights alcohol can bring. It took Keovan forty years of meditation to question whether life was worth living. One night and twelve pints of beer, and you’ve matched him.”

  Tevi managed her first real smile since waking. “Was that how much we drank?”

  “I lost count. If it’s any consolation, Dale and Perrin both looked green this morning, and they were due at the archery butts after breakfast.”

  “You’re looking all right.”

  “Practice,” Cayell said primly.

  Tevi finished off the bread. The blinding headache had shifted to a throb at the base of her skull. Tevi massaged it with one hand, then grinned ruefully. “I guess we can collect your things now.”

  “If you’re ready.”

  “Sure...and thanks, Cay,” Tevi said softly.

  “Any time.”

  Dark clouds hung low over the guildhall; rain was not far off. The wind was cold and damp. People scurried along with heads down and collars up. Seagulls sat despondently on the roofs. As they walked through the gloomy maze of pathways, Cayell slipped her arm through Tevi’s. Despite the beneficial effects of breakfast, Tevi was grateful for the additional support.

  Back in the dormitory, Cayell began to assemble her belongings, not that she, or any nominees, had much. A chest at the foot of her bed held everything she owned. There was little need of Tevi’s help—fortunately. Although she was feeling better, her overall condition remained decidedly fragile.

  Tevi wandered to a window and stared out. The first splats of rain struck the glass. “You had no doubts about joining the guild?” she asked over her shoulder.

  “No. It’s what I’ve always wanted.”

  “Don’t your parents mind? Or were they mercenaries as well?” Even as the words left her mouth, Tevi bit her tongue. It seemed an unspoken rule that nominees did not mention their families.

  Cayell paused and her face grew sombre. “Little Papa is worried sick. But he won’t stand in my way.”

  “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to pry.”

  “It’s all right.” Cayell shook her head, as if trying to clear her thoughts, and returned to packing. “Little Papa is a forester. He taught me how to live in the wild. He hoped I’d follow him. When he realised I wasn’t interested in trees, he wanted me to be apprenticed to a fur trapper. Big Papa helped me talk him round. I want to pit myself against an enemy who’s my equal, not an animal. I think all scouts feel like that.”

  “Does Aroche?”

  “She’s no scout.”

  “She said she was.”

  “She may have said it. Doesn’t make it true. My guess is she’s an assassin.”

  “Assassin!”

  “There are politer names, like ‘personal security guard.’”

  “Why did she lie?”

  “Force of habit. It can become a way of life with those people. Or perhaps creating a false identity is part of her assessment. I don’t know if anyone else has twigged, but she can’t fool a real scout.”

  “I know the guild has assassins, but I thought—”

  “That we’re always good guys?” Cayell suggested. “Don’t worry, ‘security guard’ isn’t such a euphemism. Most guild assassins are hired by Protectorate traders who are going to places where murder is part of everyday business practice. Her training is all about poisons, traps, and breaking into places. The knowledge works both ways—doing or preventing. In general, guild members go for the latter. I’m sure she’ll spend most of her working life stopping people from bumping off her employer.”

  “But not all of it?”

  “Maybe not. But in theory, there’s nothing to stop thieves hiring you or me. However, the guild masters don’t like members fighting each other and we provide most of the guards. They’ve also decided that theft doesn’t contribute to long-term economic growth, and the more money honest citizens make, the more they can afford to pay us. So traders are in and bandits are out.” Cayell’s things were folded neatly in two piles. She looked at Tevi and asked, “Are you all right to help carry?”

  “I’ll survive.”

  Outside, the rain had arrived in full force. Large drops pounded the flagstones. Water washed down the walls and dripped from the doorway. The distance was lost to the grey falling sheets.

  Cayell grinned. “We’re going to have to run. Last one there gets wettest.”

  The two women raced between buildings, hurdling puddles and rivulets pouring from downpipes. Cayell charged through the entrance to the junior quarters at full pelt. Tevi was close behind. Their shoulders were soaked, and hair stuck to their foreheads. Laughing and wiping water from their eyes, they walked down the narrow corridor.

  The quarters had originally been one large open dormitory. During an expansion of the guildhall facilities some years before, it had been divided into individual small rooms by thin wooden partitions. Tevi halted outside one door and pushed it open. “This one’s empty, and you’re just three along from me.”

  The furniture consisted of a narrow bunk and a chest. A wide shelf ran the length of the wall above the bed. There was not much in the way of floor space. Light came from half a window, which the partition had divided in two.

  “It’s small enough. They’re certainly not splashing out on us lesser mortals,” Cayell stepped into the room.

  Tevi deposited the pile she was carrying on the chest. “It’s pure luxury. In the village I came from, only the Queen had her own room, and she still slept on the ground. I hadn’t seen a proper bed before I reached the mainland. At first, I used to lie awake at night, frightened I’d roll over in my sleep.”

  Cayell laughed and turned to face her. The scout’s expression changed to concern. “You’ve gone very pale. I don’t think the run helped you.”

  “It’ll ease.” However, the sick pounding had returned. Specks of light danced before Tevi’s eyes.

  “Why don’t you lie down while I put my things away? You’ll only get under my feet if you stay standing.”

  With relief, Tevi dropped onto the bed and scrunched her eyes shut. The pressure built in waves, as if her skull was about to crack open.

  “Do you want me to get some water for you?” There was an uncharacteristic gentleness in Cayell’s voice.

  “I’ll be all right.”

  At the touch of something soft on her face, Tevi opened her eyes. Cayell had knelt beside the bed and was using a shirt off the pile as a towel. Tevi was surprised. Her friend’s face was serious, even tentative, both rare emotio
ns for the exuberant extrovert.

  “You don’t need to worry. I’m only hung over.”

  “I don’t want you passing out on me. Or throwing up. There’s not enough room for me to get out of your way.”

  “I won’t.”

  Cayell’s mouth opened, as if she was building up to say something important. She squeezed Tevi’s shoulder. “You know, I think I...er...You have...” Cayell’s mumbling ground to a halt.

  Tevi was confused. It was not like Cayell to be tongue-tied.

  Abruptly, the scout stood and busied herself about the room, unpacking her clothes. She started talking quickly. “I suppose we’re lucky to get rooms to ourselves. If more people wanted accommodation, they’d shift us juniors into a dormitory quickly enough. It’s only because winter’s a slack time. Not much happening, so folk take the chance to visit their families.” She looked at Tevi stretched out on the bed. “I guess you won’t be going home much.”

  “I’m not planning on it.” Even with the headache, Tevi could hear the bitterness in her own voice.

  Cayell hurried on. “It will be great here in Lyremouth. The midwinter festival is one big party.”

  “Perrin told me about it.”

  “Big Papa brought me here one year. I’m really looking forward to it. Since there’s no work to be had, we can have fun without being accused of shirking.”

  Although lodging at the guildhall was nominally free, Tevi was familiar with the guild rules requiring its members to take whatever work was offered. Tevi frowned, not at the thought of work, but at the feeling Cayell was using the festival as a diversion and that her friend had been about to say something else. But with the state she was in, it was easy to get confused.

  “I’m not sure how much fun I can stand,” Tevi said with feeling.

  “You could stick to drinking milk. Though I’m not sure what it’ll do to the reputation of mercenaries.”

  “I could threaten to thump anyone who laughed.”

  “Now that would be more like the way a warrior is supposed to behave.”

  “How long do you think the guild will let us stay here without working?” Tevi asked after a while.