Besieged (12 page)

‘Sigorian’s brotherhood,’ Graelen said proudly.

Vittoryxe glanced to Egrayne. ‘That one...’ It had a reputation for cruelty and violence, but what was the point of warning him? He had no choice. He’d been born into his brotherhood, he would die in it.

‘What?’ Graelen asked.

‘That brotherhood has a long and proud history,’ Egrayne said. ‘But I would not rush to leave the safety of–’

‘I’m tired of safety. I want to prove myself. I want...’ His gaze strayed to Vittoryxe’s bare thighs as if he couldn’t help himself.

She felt Egrayne bristle at her side, and fought the urge to confront the youth.

‘We’ll speak with the all-mother,’ Vittoryxe said. ‘Go upstairs. Get cleaned up.’

Both lads gave obeisance and left.

‘We could ask the other sisterhoods,’ Vittoryxe suggested, turning to Egrayne. ‘See if any of their lads are due to join Sigorian’s brotherhood in the near future. It’ll be easier for the new initiates if they can back each other up.’

‘I’ll send word,’ Egrayne said.

Vittoryxe had meant the sisterhood as a whole. ‘The inner circle should...’

Egrayne looked down, but her devotee was not so modest.

‘Gift-empowerer Egrayne is now one of the inner circle.’

Of course she was.

Envy curled through Vittoryxe’s body, intimate as a lover.

She congratulated Egrayne and left before she said something she’d regret.

Vittoryxe wanted to rage, but there was no privacy in the chamber she shared with other sisters of her rank. So instead she went to the roof garden and inspected her prize birds. The challenge of breeding them delighted her, and their perfection soothed her. Breeding followed rules. And, if the birds did not breed true, she destroyed the chicks.

But today, the birds did not soothe her. Only working through the exercises to promote balance between body, mind and gift centred her.

T
HE NEXT DAY
, when she was called before the inner circle, Vittoryxe saw Graelen waiting outside the chamber. She had no trouble guessing what this was about. He looked nervous, but hopeful of success. He should have been worried.

Inside the chamber, Egrayne had a place on the inner circle. In this case it was a half-circle, because the sisterhood’s voice-of-reason and several others were attending the birth. When All-mother Aayelora fell pregnant at seventy-five, they’d been surprised. No one really expected her to carry the baby to term, but she had. When she had carried the babe past seven small moons, they rejoiced; the infant would be pure T’En. Everyone was hoping for a healthy T’En girl. No one wanted the heartbreak of handing a boy over to a brotherhood at the age of seventeen.

Vittoryxe dropped to her knees, sat on her heels and prepared to argue in favour of sending Graelen to his brotherhood early. She didn’t have to.

‘You will be pleased to hear another lad of the right age has been located. All-father Sigorian has been notified to expect two new initiates. Graelen will leave us this evening,’ Hand-of-force Mefynor said. ‘Empowerer Egrayne has informed us of events yesterday and the sisterhood regrets you were subjected to this indignity.’

Vittoryxe flushed. She would rather they did not know that she had been at a loss, even for a moment.

‘Gift-tutor Lealeni and Egrayne tell us you made your first empyrean kill and saved the lad’s life. Since Graelen’s choice-mother is not with us and he lives due to your bravery, you will be given the honour of handing him over to the brotherhood.’

Finally, after striving for so long to have her efforts acknowledged. She scrambled to come up with a suitably humble response. And floundered, because it was about time.

‘No, we insist.’ Mefynor misinterpreted her reaction. ‘Egrayne says the honour should be yours.’

When Vittoryxe sought the empowerer’s eyes, Egrayne gave her the slightest of nods. Did she think this crumb made up for the way she’d outshone Vittoryxe on the journey?

Assuming an appropriate expression, Vittoryxe leant forward, placed her hands on the floor, then her forehead on her hands. She forced out the words. ‘I am honoured.’

She straightened up.

Hand-of-force Mefynor nodded as if this was to be expected, then lifted her left hand in an elegant signal. Mefynor was a hand-of-force, trained to kill, but she moved with apparently effortless grace, like a T’En of old. Vittoryxe had long admired her and mirrored her.

A baby cried. Vittoryxe looked over to see the wet-nurse, Choris, enter with the T’En infant they’d just collected. He would need a choice-mother...

They could not mean to... she glanced to Mefynor. They did. Her heart sank.

‘The inner circle has been impressed with your presence of mind on the journey. To acknowledge your increase in stature, we appoint you choice-mother to this infant.’

Vittoryxe swallowed her protests. Rear a boy? See him every day, knowing that she would have to hand him over to his brotherhood? It was cruel.

But it would do no good to object. The inner circle had spoken.

Besides, this was an honour. It meant she would be given a private chamber. She gave a deep obeisance again.

‘I am unworthy,’ she said, not meaning a word of it.

As the wet-nurse glided over to join her, Vittoryxe saw the perfect opportunity to raise her stature even further. For at least a year, she and Choris would be sharing the intimacy of caring for the baby boy. She’d test the young Malaunje woman to see if she was smart and resourceful.

See if she was ambitious.

The sisterhood elders would not be happy if she slipped and imprinted her gift on Choris, but they would not condemn her.

Vittoryxe produced a smile. ‘I welcome my new choice-son.’

Choris went around behind her, and passed the infant through her legs.

Vittoryxe lifted him up, touched the tip of her left-hand little finger to his forehead and completed the ritual. ‘I swear to protect your life with my own. I swear to rear you to revere the heritage of the T’Enatuath and protect our Malaunje.’

‘What will you call him?’ Mefynor asked.

She considered. Never miss an opportunity to flatter those in power. ‘Mefeyne,’ she answered, combining both Mefynor and Egrayne’s name in masculine form.

‘Make a note in the Lineage Book,’ Mefynor told the Malaunje scribe.

The baby wriggled and Vittoryxe handed him back to Choris. As she turned to go, eager to take her pick of the private chambers, the door to the all-mother’s private chamber flew open.

Narisa, the all-mother’s devotee, looked shattered. The birth had drained her and, judging from her expression, it was not good news. The sisterhood’s inner circle came to their feet.

‘It’s a boy,’ Mefynor guessed.

Narisa shook her head.

‘A girl, stillborn?’ Mefynor’s voice broke.

Narisa shook her head.

‘A geldr?’

She nodded.

There were several soft moans.

‘Poor Aayelora,’ the gift-tutor said. ‘She wanted a girl so badly, she must have attempted to use her gift on the developing baby.’

‘Will it live?’ Vittoryxe asked. It would be kinder if the babe died, but it was not her place to say this.

‘She... he... it,’ Narisa corrected herself. ‘It looks healthy.’

‘Does it seem alert?’ Mefynor asked what they were all wondering. More often than not, geldrs grew up to be lackwits.

‘It cries and wants to suckle,’ Narisa said. ‘The all-mother’s called it Tancred.’

Vittoryxe’s new choice-son chose that moment to wail, and she slipped away, her mind racing. The all-mother would be heartbroken and, with this birth, her stature had been damaged. Most of Aayelora’s inner circle were her age or older. They had another ten years at most, and then they would step down. Time for her to gain stature and be ready when things changed.

Her new choice-son – would he never stop yelling? – added to her stature. If she was going to be all-mother, she needed to outshine Egrayne. Which reminded her – it seemed the empowerer had put in a good word for her.

Now that she thought about it, when she became all-mother, Egrayne would make a suitable voice-of-reason.

Chapter Ten

G
RAELEN COULD NOT
possibly sleep. Not when he knew what was going on outside the brotherhood’s palace. The howls and the clash of metal on metal clawed at his nerves. He wished they’d hurry up and kill the banished warrior.

Without a word, Paryx left his bedroll and climbed in next to Graelen. He could feel the other initiate trembling.

‘Do you think he was guilty?’ Paryx whispered.

Graelen didn’t know what to say. If Dekaron wasn’t guilty, it meant they could not trust the brotherhood’s leaders, and that was a frightening thought.

To think, he’d been so eager to say good-bye to the sisterhood.

Only this evening he’d stood straight and proud as the cloak was taken away to reveal his naked body. By custom, he left the sisterhood as he had entered the world. He lifted his chin, let the gathered sisterhood look upon him. He might have no hair on his chest or chin, but he was no longer a boy. He’d compared himself to the other lads in the bathing chamber and knew he wasn’t lacking.

When Gift-warrior Vittoryxe moved behind him to cut his plait he remained perfectly still. The cutting of hair symbolised death. His plait would be returned to his choice-mother. He felt a pang, but quelled it quickly. She’d pushed him away when he turned thirteen and began his basic gift training. He’d hardly seen anything of her these last few years.

She was the past.

Sigorian’s brotherhood was his future.

He would win honour, rise in stature and one day become Hand-of-force Graelen. But first, there was another sixteen years’ training to complete. He wouldn’t become an adept until he was around thirty-three. He would work hard to make his all-father proud.

He hadn’t looked back as he stepped through the gate of the sisterhood quarter. Five brotherhood warriors stood there. Their silver adept arm-torcs glinted in the lantern light.

All five of the brotherhood adepts were bigger than him. Scarred and hard-faced, they looked him up and down, made him feel inadequate. His heart thundered.

The sisterhood gate closed behind him, the bolts slid home. For one terrible moment he wanted nothing more than to go back. What had the empowerer said?

Safe.
The sisterhood was safe.

He didn’t want safe.

He wanted to win his brothers’ respect.

Sigorian’s warriors stepped apart to reveal another lad about to take his initiate vows. Short hair just brushing his shoulders, the lad stood draped in a cloak, his feet shod in simple sandals. He managed a nervous grin.

Graelen hoped he did not appear as frightened. T’En males respected strength.

One of the adepts handed him a pair of sandals.

He knelt to tie the straps around his ankles. When he straightened up, another wrapped a cloak around his shoulders and guided him to stand beside the other lad. The warriors closed ranks around them.

Without a word, they escorted the two lads down the great road that led all the way to the causeway gates.

In the free quarter, Mieren had already left for the day. Malaunje and T’En alike closed up shop, while eateries and dance halls opened for the night. Music drifted from a courtyard where he heard a poet reciting a saga from the days before the city. The scent of spicy peanut sauce made his stomach cramp. They passed a group of sisterhood scholars, who averted their gaze. Further on, half a dozen warriors from another brotherhood watched Sigorian’s men with cold, hard eyes.

Graelen looked straight ahead, past the shoulders of his escort, their long plaits swaying as they strode. His short hair felt strange, brushing his shoulders, tickling his neck. It branded him as new to the brotherhood, vulnerable and untried. He wished the next few years away, wished he had already earned his place and knew who his friends were.

‘Paryx,’ the other initiate whispered. ‘My name’s Paryx.’

Graelen studied him. Paryx was not particularly big, but maybe he was quick on his feet. Would he prove a good ally to have in the jostle for brotherhood stature, or would he be a liability?

He decided to take a gamble. ‘Graelen.’

‘Quiet,’ one of the warriors warned. ‘We can still turn you away at the brotherhood gates.’

If that happened, no other brotherhood would take them in. A brotherhood reject had nowhere to go, and every Mieren hand would be turned against them.

Paryx sent him a sickly grin.

Show no fear.

He settled for looking grim. At least, he hoped he did.

The road continued on to the causeway gate, but they turned left, entering the brotherhood quarter on the southern side of the island.

Sigorian’s palace wasn’t the largest, just as his brotherhood wasn’t the most powerful. The smallest of the great brotherhoods, it clung to its place in the hierarchy, always looking for ways to grow in power and size, while the larger brotherhoods were always looking for ways to crush it.

As with the other brotherhood palaces, it presented blank walls to the street at ground level, but on the second floor there were windows and balconies. Inside, there were courtyards filled with works of art, courtyards where Malaunje children played and courtyards for weapons practice. Four or five floors above him, Graelen caught a glimpse of palms on the rooftop gardens.

They arrived at a gateway where two warriors in ceremonial dress stood guard. The narrow passage opened into a courtyard. Several Malaunje youths were leading horses away. They cast curious looks over their shoulders.

By now, Graelen’s stomach was cramping so badly he was glad he had been too excited to eat. He had to get through this ceremony, make his vows, find a quiet spot and keep his head down until he knew who to trust and how to win stature.

Their escort took them up stairs, along passages, and down the verandah of another courtyard. Graelen tried to commit the route to memory, but after another set of stairs and a walkway between buildings, he was totally turned around.