Besieged (20 page)

Reothe remained silent for so long that Irian wondered if he was going to refuse.

‘Is there something you don’t understand?’ Ardeyne asked.

Reothe shook his head.

‘Will you accept?’ Rohaayel asked.

Reothe glanced over his shoulder; he’d been aware of Irian’s presence all along. ‘If I refused, I imagine I would become acquainted with the fish.’

Irian grinned. Rumour had it that if an initiate or adept gave him trouble he killed them, tied weights to their body and dropped them in the lake. The fact that people believed him capable of this meant he didn’t have to do it.

‘If you refused, you would have to lower your defences so that Ardeyne could remove your memory,’ Irian said. ‘You can refuse. Do you want to?’

Reothe frowned. ‘What if she doesn’t like me? What if I don’t like her?’

‘She’s kind-hearted and smart,’ Rohaayel told him. ‘Her idea of a treat is a Sagora treatise on philosophy.’

‘Pretty,’ Ardeyne assured him. ‘She’s unaware of the trouble between the sisterhoods and brotherhoods. There’s no deception in her.’

Reothe looked to Irian, who remembered finding her on the cliff top, watching the waves crash upon the rocks, the day they left.

‘I think she has hidden depths.’

Chapter Sixteen

S
ORNE TOOK HIS
usual chair at the kitchen table with Izteben at his side. Zabier sat opposite. Their mother was so heavily pregnant, now, that she had to sit back from the table.

Seeing he had their attention, Kolst began. ‘Your mother is pregnant–’

‘We noticed,’ Izteben said.

But Kolst didn’t smile. He held their eyes until they sobered. ‘Your mother is pregnant, and it will be a True-man baby. I’m getting on. If anything happened to me, there would be no one to look after your mother, Zabier and the new baby. We need to go home, where my brother and his family can help us –’

‘We’d look after them,’ Izteben insisted, and Sorne nodded.

‘You’re half-bloods. Besides, you won’t be here much longer. Scholar Oskane has some grand task planned for you. So, when the baby comes, we’ll be heading back to our village.’

‘You’re leaving?’ Izteben whispered.

‘But Da–’ Zabier protested.

Kolst signalled for silence. ‘Zabier needs to meet a suitable wife’ – Zabier’s laughter interrupted their father, who silenced him with a look and kept speaking – ‘and he won’t meet one here. Izteben will be fifteen next birthday, a man. I was supporting my mother and brother at eleven.’

‘You’re really going.’ Sorne was stricken.

‘We always were. It’s just come sooner because of the baby,’ Kolst said. He reached over and covered Hiruna’s hand. ‘I have a responsibility to see that my wife and children are cared for.’

‘Can’t you stay until Oskane closes the retreat?’ Sorne asked.

Kolst glanced to Hiruna. ‘If we stay here, Zabier will never fit in back home. That’s another thing. No more teaching him to read and write.’

‘But–’

Kolst held up his hand. ‘All he needs to be able to do is write his name and figure numbers. Anything more, and the other villagers will resent him.’

After dinner, their mother prepared a tray for the she-Wyrd. Sorne offered to take it, but she told him not to worry. Since it was his turn to do the chore, he waited until she’d crossed the courtyard, and then followed. Izteben caught up with him on the stairs. Only the faintest of glows from the passage illuminated their bare toes. Hiruna’s worried voice reached them.

‘...so there is no way of telling if the babe will be born a True-man or a half-blood?’ Hiruna asked.

‘Not if you don’t know when it was conceived. What will you do if it’s a half-blood?’

‘I don’t even want to think about it. Kolst has his heart set on going home.’

‘We can both go home. Set me free,’ the she-Wyrd urged. ‘I’ll take the baby and your boys to my people.’

Izteben would have left their hiding place and confronted the she-Wyrd, but Sorne caught his arm, and a moment later Hiruna found them on the stairs.

‘You heard?’

They nodded. Sorne asked, ‘Why is Da so sure the baby won’t be a half-blood?’

‘He’s served the church for thirteen years as a penance. He thinks this baby is a sign the gods have forgiven him for being arrogant when he was a young man.’

‘What will happen if the baby is a half-blood?’ Izteben asked.

Their mother shuddered. ‘I don’t know.’

‘O
NLY ONE BROTHERHOOD
warrior.’ Imoshen shaded her eyes but the distance to the boat, and the glitter of sunlight on the sea, made it impossible to identify the lone T’En. If her father had sent only one of his two seconds, then...

‘It will be Hand-of-force Irian,’ Frayvia said.

Imoshen chewed her bottom lip. ‘My father’s never failed to visit before.’

‘Perhaps he is ill.’

Baby Iraayel was sitting up now. He waved a chubby hand and sang out. Imoshen smiled and planted a kiss on his dear little neck. He wriggled with delight. This last half year, she had never been happier. Not only did she have Iraayel to love, but Frayvia had proven to be a true friend. Even so, she had been looking forward to seeing her father and uncles.

Shading her eyes, Imoshen stared across the sea. The boat was close enough now for her to see the lone T’En wasn’t either of her uncles. Only something serious would keep Irian from seeing his son. ‘Not Irian or Ardeyne.’

‘You’re sure?’ Frayvia asked. ‘Has this ever happened before?’

Imoshen shook her head.

‘I hope...’

‘Me too, Fray.’

When the boat drew close, Imoshen asked, ‘Do you know this T’En?’

Frayvia shook her head. ‘I didn’t have much to do with the T’En. My brother made sure of that.’

She hadn’t said who her brother was, but Imoshen gathered he was a high-ranking Malaunje. Then it struck her, he might be T’En, which would explain why Frayvia never mentioned his name.

As the boat pulled into the shallows, Imoshen studied the lone T’En. He was more boy than man: long legs, soft cheeks, rather pale. By the way he carefully climbed out of the boat, she concluded he wasn’t used to the sea.

The island’s Malaunje had gathered on the beach and now hung back, whispering. She detected an undertone of worry.

As the lone T’En came up the beach towards her, Imoshen set off to meet him. ‘Who are you, and where is my father?’ Then she recalled her manners. ‘Welcome to Lighthouse Isle. May your stay restore your balance. Is something wrong with the all-father?’

He hid a smile. Did he think her gauche? Imoshen bristled.

‘Is Voice-of-reason Ardeyne safe?’ Frayvia asked, adding quickly, ‘and Hand-of-force Irian?’

‘They’re well.’ He gave Imoshen the formal obeisance of equals – no one had ever bothered before – then removed a message from under his vest. ‘But it was not safe for them to leave the city.’

Imoshen passed Iraayel to Frayvia before accepting the message. The moment she touched it, she sensed the youth’s gift. The message contained no more information than she already knew. It was written in formal language, and addressed to the cook, which made it most unsatisfying.

He stepped closer, lowered his voice and explained kindly, ‘In case I was killed on the road and the message discovered, it’s made out to the cook to keep your identity–’

‘...hidden. I’m not stupid,’ she told him, and stepped back. Why couldn’t he keep his gift reined in?

‘I’m to stay to check the catch and the island’s tithes. They said you might send a message with me when I return but it would have to be written as if you were the cook.’

She rolled her eyes. ‘How old are you?’

He drew himself up. ‘Eighteen.’

A youth then, not much older than her. It seemed she was no longer important to All-father Rohaayel, otherwise why would he send an errand boy?

Imoshen sighed. ‘I suppose you’d better come up to the lighthouse. Cook will get you something to eat and I’ll show you to your room.’

She turned to find the gathered Malaunje waiting. Of course, they wanted to know what was going on.

‘Brotherhood business has prevented All-father Rohaayel’s visit,’ Imoshen announced. ‘Bring your tithes to...’ She glanced to the T’En errand boy. ‘What’s your name?’

‘Initiate Reothe, tithe-collector for Tithe-master Ysanyn.’

As Imoshen led him towards the lighthouse, a Malaunje followed with his travelling kit. She recognised him as Netaric, a regular visitor, one who might know more – if she could just get him alone for a moment.

Once inside, Frayvia took Iraayel upstairs for his nap while Imoshen showed Reothe into his bedchamber.

Netaric put his things down. ‘Will that be all, Initiate Reothe?’

‘Find me a study so that I can collect the tithes and check the catch records.’

Netaric nodded and left.

Imoshen went to follow him.

‘Imoshen?’ Reothe called after her.

Why was he staring at her like that? ‘What is it?’

‘They didn’t tell me you were beautiful.’ He flushed, and she felt his gift surge.

Immediately she raised her defences. When her father called her lovely, she’d always assumed that he was biased because he loved her. Reothe’s observation surprised her. It also confused her, because she couldn’t see the relevance. Perhaps this was how they talked in the city.

She gave the obeisance of equals, as he had done earlier, and tried to formulate a polite reply. ‘Thank you. You are very beautiful, too. I have work to do now. If you need anything, Cook can be of assistance.’

And she left him, running downstairs after Netaric. Through the door to the kitchen, she could see him chatting to the cook. Imoshen hung back, eavesdropping on their conversation.

‘...don’t be worried. All-father Rohaayel is the smartest of the lot. Now tell me how you’ve been.’

‘This initiate, what is he to the all-father? Isn’t he a bit young to be entrusted with this task?’

‘He is, but the all-father’s taken a shine to him. He’s clever and gifted, and I know he’ll go far. I’ve missed you, Melli. Come here and give me a kiss before the others get back.’

The cook laughed like a girl, and there was no more useful conversation.

Sighing, Imoshen turned to find Reothe watching her from the end of the hall. Her face grew hot; she gestured to him to hold his tongue as she approached.

‘You were listening at the door.’

‘How else am I going to find out what the Malaunje are saying? Now come along and I’ll find you a suitable study.’

She opened a door and stepped into a dusty room. ‘I’ll have a table and chair brought up here. That way the Malaunje won’t have to give up one of their rooms in the big house.’

‘T’En don’t usually worry about inconveniencing Malaunje.’

‘They would if they could hear what the Malaunje think of them.’

He stared at her blankly for a moment.

‘What now?’ she asked.

‘The things you say... I don’t know what to make of you.’

Imoshen laughed. ‘Then it’s just as well you don’t have to make anything of me.’ He might be from the city and her father might be grooming him for greatness, but she wasn’t impressed.

‘So, you have all the answers, do you?’

‘How could I, when I don’t have all the questions?’

He laughed at that.

She grinned. Now things were getting interesting.

S
ORNE ALWAYS LOVED
fishing. The moment Oskane declared it a rest day, he had taken off with Izteben and Zabier. That afternoon, they returned with five fine trout. The air was warm, with the promise of the summer to come, the mountainsides green and the shadow of their family’s imminent break-up made every moment precious.

‘Wait ’til I show Da the fish I caught,’ Zabier crowed. He ran on ahead and pushed open the kitchen door.

There was no sign of their mother, and nothing cooking on the stove for dinner. A baby’s cry made them run to the door to their parent’s bedroom.

Hiruna sat up in bed with a newborn at her breast. ‘You have a little sister.’

Zabier ran to the bed and threw his arms around their mother. ‘I don’t want to go. Can’t we stay here?’

The baby was all wrapped up, and Sorne couldn’t make out if it had six fingers or the Wyrd eyes. ‘Is it a half-blood or...?’

‘Half-blood,’ Hiruna said, voice raw as if she’d been weeping.

‘Good.’ Zabier hugged her. ‘That means we can stay.’

But Sorne knew there was no easy answer.

O
SKANE OPENED THE
report from his port agent and read it swiftly. King Charald’s queen had delivered another blue baby. Good. So far the king still had only one heir, in Cedon. The lad was three and a half years younger than his half-brother Sorne, which made him around Zabier’s age.

Next he read Matxin’s report. His cousin’s youngest son had inherited the barony after the elder brother took a wound that turned septic. Matxin was always urging Oskane to make his move, but Oskane would not be rushed. Both half-bloods needed to be fluent in T’En before they could blend in to the Malaunje of Cesspit City. From his research about the brotherhoods and sisterhoods, he was leaning towards using the boys to assassinate key leaders, then plant incriminating evidence so the T’En would turn on each other. This would weaken them and make them easier to conquer. According to his sources, the king’s debt to the T’En was mounting. The day Oskane came to Charald with a way to defeat the Wyrds would be the day his family was restored.

There was a knock at the door.

‘Come in.’

Franto opened the door for Kolst. Oskane had heard the birthing screams and, from the carpenter’s troubled expression, knew the news was not good.

‘I don’t understand,’ Kolst said. ‘Why are the gods punishing me like this?’

Oskane had no answer. The more he looked for answers, the more questions he found.

Kolst ran his hands through his receding hair. ‘Hiruna won’t part with the babe. It’s like a madness with her. As long as she keeps it, we can’t go home.’ He turned to Oskane. ‘Do you have need of another half-blood?’