Besieged (30 page)

‘You heard her.’ The words spilled from Vittoryxe. ‘She admits to sharing the deep-bonding with a male. No matter how powerful she is, no matter how useful her raedan gift is... we can never trust her. I am your gift-tutor. Her gift has been polluted. She’s not one of us!’

‘O
NE, TWO, THREE,
’ Sorne said.

On
three
, Izteben stood up with Sorne’s foot in his hand, propelling him straight up the wall. Sorne caught the windowsill and pulled himself up. Lucky for them, the scholar had left his shutters open. Once inside Oskane’s chamber, he signalled Izteben, who would watch the courtyard.

In a couple of days it would be spring cusp, and the walls between this plane and the next would grow weak. Before then, King Charald would arrive with a T’En artefact to offer to the gods. The king expected a visitation from the Warrior god: at the very least a flash of blinding light, at best a vision to guide him.

King Charald had been fighting wars since he was fifteen. He was belligerent, paranoid and deeply religious. Sorne intended to prove to the king that he had been wrong to discard his half-blood son. To do this, he needed to know which southern kingdom the king feared most. He needed to read the agents’ latest reports and catch up on Oskane’s plans for him and Izteben.

Chalcedonia’s neighbouring kingdoms were constantly on the verge of war. They clustered around the Secluded Sea like piglets around a sow’s belly. To the east, a huge semi-circle of mountains protected the kingdoms from invasion, which meant they concentrated all their enmity on each other.

Any sign of weakness in a neighbouring kingdom was an invitation to strike. The royal families had intermarried so many times that any of the kings could prove a claim to rule another.

Two kingdoms had the advantage of natural defences. Mountains protected Chalcedonia from the other five kingdoms on the mainland, and Ivernia was an island – actually, two islands – to the west.

The rulers of the other kingdoms resented King Charald, and were waiting for him to die. At forty-four, he did not have many years left in him. His only son would be thirteen soon, and the kingdoms with suitable brides were vying to offer a marriage alliance.

Any one of the six kingdoms could build a fleet and sail their army across the Secluded Sea to attack Chalcedonia. All Sorne had to do was pick the kingdom the king most feared and King Charald’s wrath would descend upon them. The thought was electrifying.

He found what he was looking for in a message from his uncle, Matxin. A moment later, a mountain hawk called twice, then called again once more.

Sorne swung his legs over the sill and dropped to the ground.

Izteben steadied him. ‘The king is coming!’

They ran to the wall. Far below, on the steep switch-back road, a party of horsemen plodded uphill, followed by the familiar cart from Enlightenment Abbey.

‘So, did you find anything useful?’ Izteben asked.

‘Baron Matxin writes that the ruler of Khitan would happily see King Charald dead. He offered Matxin an alliance and mercenaries to take the throne from Charald.’

‘From the king? But he’s the king!’

‘Matxin’s claim to the Chalcedonian throne is almost as good as Charald’s. That’s why Charald’s first wife was Matxin’s sister,’ Sorne explained. It was on the tip of his tongue to add that Queen Sorna had been his mother, but he lost his nerve.

‘So you’ll tell King Charald it was Khitan he conquered in your vision?’ Izteben asked.

‘I’ll take my cues from the king and Oskane.’

‘The king... here!’ Izteben gave a shiver of excitement. Then he gestured to Sorne’s hair. ‘Every time I see that white streak in your hair...’

Sorne reached around to the back of his head. The streak grew from the place where he’d hit his head when they went down the mine.

‘What if the T’En artefact doesn’t appease the god?’ Izteben asked. While Izteben accepted that the thing they’d seen in the mine was one of the Seven, he refused to believe Sorne had had a vision. As he put it, Sorne was the brother he’d known all his life. Something as marvellous as a vision could not happen to him.

‘The she-Wyrd says the... gods’ –
beasts
was what she’d said – ‘are always hungry for T’En or Malaunje blood. So we have to be very careful. I’ll keep well back and throw the artefact towards it.’

‘And then you’ll have your vision. It needs to be a useful vision for us. How does sending the king across the Secluded Sea to wage a war undermine Baron Nitzel?’

‘The king takes the army, leaving Nitzel as regent. Cedon won’t be fifteen for another two years. Oskane returns to the court. Next thing you know, Nitzel catches a chill and dies.’

‘Murder?’ Izteben baulked.

‘Nitzel poisoned Oskane’s nephew.’
And my mother.
Every chance he missed to say it made it harder.

‘What is it, boys?’ Franto called from the courtyard. Izteben’s brother was with him again. Since Zabier’s return, Oskane’s assistant had been training him. Sorne suspected the True-men were trying to separate Zabier from them. Or maybe they saw his potential, and were giving him a chance of a higher station in life, one that did not include living with half-bloods.

‘King Charald is coming,’ Izteben called.

Zabier and Franto headed for the steps, where the boy easily outdistanced the old man.

Zabier leant over the wall-walk. ‘There’s twenty riders and a closed cart.’

Franto puffed as he reached the wall-walk and leant over to have a look. ‘Hmm, even with the cart in tow, the king rides. If he can spend all day in the saddle, he’s doing well for a man of forty-four. Come along, boys. We’ll get you cleaned up.’ He nudged Zabier. ‘Let Hiruna know the king is arriving.’

Sorne looked up to see Scholar Oskane watching them from his study. Surely now the scholar would reveal his true identity? With his royal father at the gate, how could he not?

Chapter Twenty-Four

O
SKANE HEARD THE
excited shouts. The king’s arrival must be imminent. A mixture of satisfaction and trepidation filled him; the moment had arrived. Sorne’s ability to seek out the Seven made all the years of scourging and disciplined study worthwhile.

Oskane went to the window of his office. ‘Franto, prepare to welcome the king,’ he called. ‘Send Sorne up here.’

The season’s delay had been well-spent. He’d ordered material: serviceable cotton for the servants, good brocade for himself and plain black for the two holy warriors.

Going into his private chamber, Oskane stripped. Then he opened the chest, dressing in his new white breeches and a calf-length undershirt. He draped the brocade robe over his shoulders, and settled the stiff cap on his head. Immediately, he stood taller. Strange how clothes made a man feel the part.

‘Scholar Oskane?’ Sorne spoke from the study.

‘In here.’ Oskane unpacked the two sets of breeches and thigh-length shirts. ‘Put yours on. Braid your hair and wear this cap.’ It was an acolyte’s cap and would hide his hair colour, but he could do nothing about the Wyrd eyes and extra fingers. ‘There’s a set for Izteben as well.’

Sorne did as he was told, tying the cap under his chin. Oskane tried to look at him as if for the first time, but he knew the youth too well. ‘Before you go, I have something important to tell you.’

Sorne raised his face to Oskane, mulberry eyes glistening with excitement.

‘You are not the son of a carpenter. You are King Charald’s half-blood son,’ Oskane said, then waited for Sorne to react.

The youth nodded. ‘The Warrior told me.’

‘What?’ Oskane’s knees went weak and he sat on the bed. ‘You knew? Why didn’t you say something?’

Sorne shrugged. ‘The Warrior showed me a silver neck band.’ He held up his hands. ‘About so big, with a blue stone in the centre. He said it would be given to me when the time was right.’

‘And so it shall.’ Oskane went to the chest, found Sorna’s torc and unwrapped it.

‘That’s it,’ Sorne said, as if pleased to be proven right.

‘Wear it,’ Oskane told him. ‘It was your real mother’s. You’ve heard me mention Baron Nitzel?’

Sorne nodded, concentrating on trying to do the catch behind his neck.

‘Turn around.’ Oskane fastened the torc, then turned the youth around to face him. Sorne was half a head taller; easily as tall as his father. ‘This will be hard to hear, lad. Your mother was murdered by Baron Nitzel. He–’

The gate opened, horses entered, hooves clomping on the paving. Men called for the stable boys.

Oskane had meant to say more, but he’d run out of time. ‘Tomorrow evening, we will go down the mine. The vision you have there will decide our futures. If we are to take revenge on the man who killed your mother, we must go back to court, and to do that, we must impress King Charald. Do you understand me? Nothing can go wrong.’

Sorne nodded and picked up Izteben’s clothes.

‘Very well.’ Oskane escorted him out of the bedroom.

And there was the carpenter’s son. From his stunned expression, he’d overheard everything. His gaze went to the torc around Sorne’s neck, visible evidence of the gulf between them.

‘Get dressed,’ Oskane said, but neither half-blood moved.

Oskane took the clothes from Sorne’s unresisting hands. Izteben accepted them automatically. ‘Go get dressed.’

The deep voices of King Charald and his men echoed up from the courtyard.

Izteben turned on his heel and left.

Sorne would have followed, but Oskane caught his arm.

‘Let him go. You are about to start a new stage of your life. Time to leave the past behind. Come, the king is waiting.’

And he led Sorne down the stairs, going as fast as his bad knees allowed.

As they stepped out into the sunshine, Oskane looked across to see around twenty men unloading their saddle bags. About a dozen were men-at-arms, the rest influential barons, no doubt warned by Nitzel to beware of trickery.

But this time, Nitzel would be the one who backed down.

The biggest of the True-men turned around. Seventeen years... Charald had aged well.

‘Oska!’ The king strode towards him, grinning. His smiles had always been charming; it was his temper you had to watch. ‘When did you get so old and ugly?’

‘My king.’ Tears stung his eyes and he blinked them away. ‘You look as fit as ever.’

Charald laughed and pulled him into a hug.

As the king drew back, he looked past Oskane to Sorne.

‘That’s him?’ Charald whispered. ‘The Warrior’s voice?’

Oskane glanced over his shoulder and saw the half-blood hastily lower his eyes, as he’d been taught. ‘Sorne, this is–’

‘...the half-blood you’ve been training all these years?’ a familiar, hated voice asked.

Oskane turned to see Baron Nitzel approaching.

But this time, Oskane had the upperhand. He smiled, relishing the chance to confront his old rival.

‘Prince Cedon, come along.’ Nitzel beckoned a skinny youth with pale hair and equally pale eyes. The king’s heir was shorter than Zabier and slighter of build. He swaggered over, draped in finery even more ornate than the king’s.

Oskane felt Sorne stiffen beside him; he should have warned him the prince might come.

‘So this is the half-blood who has visions from the Seven,’ Nitzel said, mocking laughter in his eyes. Clearly, he thought Oskane had hoodwinked the king.

‘The Warrior has spoken,’ Oskane said with dignity. ‘As you will see–’

‘Oh, we will see, all right.’ Nitzel’s gaze rested on Sorne for a moment. ‘We will all see how things really are.’

‘Enough, Nitzel,’ the king growled. ‘So this is Restoration Retreat.’ Charald spotted Hiruna with Izteben beside her and Valendia in her arms, watching from the open stable door. ‘What’s this? I didn’t expect an entire nest of half-bloods.’

‘Strange company you keep,’ Nitzel said.

Oskane flushed. ‘Someone had to look after the boy’s needs.’

‘Who is this half-blood, Father? And why is he dressed like a dark priest?’ Cedon seemed tired as he joined the king. Next to Charald, it was clear Cedon took after Nitzel – small and slight, with none of the energy that drew every eye to the king. In his over-elaborate clothing, he seemed ridiculous. He looked Sorne up and down, then dismissed him. ‘You promised me a vision of the future, Father.’

‘And you shall have one. Tomorrow.’ Charald put his arm around the prince, who fitted neatly under his shoulder. ‘But right now we will see an illustration of the first vision. Come, Oskane, show us the drawing.’

The scholar led Nitzel, Cedon and the king up the steps.

A
S
S
ORNE FOLLOWED
them, he was aware of his choice-family watching from the far side of the courtyard, separated from him by the king’s powerful barons and their men-at-arms. He might be Malaunje, but he wasn’t an outcast. Oskane needed him to win over the king and defeat Nitzel.

‘So this is the vision?’ Charald was saying, when Sorne entered Oskane’s study. The scholar had pinned the drawing to the wall.

Charald, Nitzel, Oskane and Sorne’s half-brother – the skinny, pompous little runt – crowded around to inspect the drawing.

‘That’s definitely me,’ Charald said. ‘There’s my scar.’

‘He wears a helmet with cheek-guards.’ Nitzel pointed out. ‘Almost the only thing we can clearly see is his scarred chin.’

‘The Warrior sent this vision, so that the half-blood could be his voice,’ Oskane stated. ‘He sent it in a flash of power that stunned the half-blood, and when he woke up, this is what he’d seen.’

‘You saw this flash of power, too?’ Nitzel asked.

‘Yes, as you will see for yourselves, tomorrow night when the Warrior returns.’

‘
If
the Warrior returns,’ Nitzel countered.

Charald laughed. ‘It’s been seventeen years, yet you two still bicker like old women.’ He tapped his finger on the drawing. ‘It’s definitely a port. Do you recognise it, Nitzel?’

‘It could be any number of ports along the Secluded Sea.’

‘You say my men were cheering?’ Charald asked. But he asked Oskane, not Sorne. No one had so much as glanced in Sorne’s direction since he entered the room.