Besieged (36 page)

‘This is Baron Matxin,’ Zabier said. ‘Scholar Osk... High Priest Oskane sent him, so you could explain how you speak to the gods.’

Zabier introduced Sorne and Izteben, and they made their bows.

Matxin took a seat by the fire. ‘Come here and sit down, so I can get a good look at you.’

He gestured to the hearth in front of the fireplace, and they knelt like students before the teacher.

‘Between us, Oskane and I seek to restore our family fortunes,’ Matxin said. ‘Baron Nitzel is responsible for the murder of my sister, Queen Sorna.’

‘We know,’ Sorne said.

‘Did you know that after Prince Cedon, I am next in line to the throne?’

Sorne nodded. ‘We know who you are, and what Scholar Oskane wants to do.’

‘Good,’ Matxin said. ‘Now Oskane has made the mistake of believing his own lies. He thinks you speak to the gods.’

‘But we do,’ Izteben protested, and Zabier nodded.

Matxin’s sharp eyes noted Sorne’s lack of reaction.

‘And the visions, are they real?’ the baron asked. ‘Come now, you can tell me the truth.’

‘The visions are real,’ Zabier insisted.

Izteben looked down.

Sorne shrugged. ‘I saw the things I described, but whether they are visions from the gods...’

‘Just as I thought. This summer’s cusp, Oskane is going to have Izteben contact the gods in front of the church leaders to prove he’s speaking the truth. If this fails, we lose everything, and you will be–’

‘Sent to the Wyrds,’ Izteben said.

Matxin shook his head. ‘Oh, no. Executed, at the very least. You dared to trick the True-men. They’ll be furious.’

‘We’re not tricking them,’ Sorne said. ‘We did contact beings of great power.’

‘They are the gods,’ Izteben insisted. ‘Whatever the she-Wyrd might have said.’

Matxin’s sharp eyes fixed on Sorne. ‘What did the she-Wyrd say?’

Sorne told him how, according to the Wyrds, there was a higher plane filled with predators that craved the T’En gift, and blood.

‘Blood?’ Matxin repeated.

Sorne nodded. ‘Both times I bled. The first was an accident, the second was deliberate. This time I won’t be here, so Izteben will have to do it alone.’

‘I can help him,’ Zabier insisted.

‘I’m not worried,’ Izteben said. ‘As long as we are on a holy site at season’s cusp, I can contact the gods.’

‘But he must have something that’s imbued with gift residue,’ Sorne said. ‘Or...’

‘Or?’ Matxin prompted.

‘Or the gods will take me,’ Izteben said. ‘Once I call them, they must have their offering.’

‘I see.’ Matxin nodded. ‘That’s why, when True-men venture into unclean places, they disappear or lose their wits.’

‘Oskane said it was because the gods were too magnificent for them to gaze upon,’ Izteben said.

Sorne sought Matxin’s eyes. The baron was under no illusions.

Matxin came to his feet. ‘I see I don’t need to worry.’

Sorne sprang up. ‘I sail with the king in a matter of days. Please, Uncle, look after my family.’

Matxin looked down, and for a moment, Sorne thought he would refuse to acknowledge their relationship. But he nodded.

After he left, Zabier paused at the door. ‘This evening, I’m going down into the crypts again. It’s amazing, the tunnels go on forever. Do you want to come?’

Sorne grinned. ‘I’ve had enough of dark tunnels to last me a lifetime.’

Zabier laughed and left.

‘See,’ Izteben said. ‘We do have supporters. Once I’ve proven we can contact the gods, we’ll be safe.’

Sorne let out a sigh of relief. ‘And I’ll be back by winter.’

Five days later, Sorne packed his travelling bag and said his goodbyes to Hiruna and Valendia.

‘Don’t worry,’ he told them, seeing their tears. ‘King Charald is certain he’ll have Khitan conquered by winter.’

‘I wish I was going with you,’ Izteben said. ‘You get to sail across the Secluded Sea and ride with King Charald’s army.’

Sorne had to admit the idea was appealing. ‘By the time I get back, you’ll have impressed the church officials, and will be well on your way to winning the respect of True-men for half-bloods.’

‘I hope to,’ Izteben said. ‘Meanwhile, you’ll win the respect of the king and his barons for the half-bloods.’

They both grinned.

Chapter Twenty-Nine

V
ITTORYXE LEANED AGAINST
the door jamb, pleased with the way her students were attending to their studies. Not one head rose from the long tables under the windows. She prided herself on keeping a tight rein in the training chamber. It used to annoy her, the way the last gift-tutor permitted nonsense and play.

Gift power was dangerous, not something to be treated lightly.

Seeing Imoshen leave her seat and wander through the tall shelves of scrolls and books irritated Vittoryxe. Surely the girl couldn’t have finished the set texts already?

One season had passed, and it would be summer’s cusp in a few days. Vittoryxe had to admit, Imoshen worked hard. But what was she up to now?

Threading her way through the shelves, she came up behind Imoshen who was reaching for a book. ‘Don’t waste your time with
The Theories of Scytheon
, Imoshen. He’s been discredited.’

‘Then why is his book here?’

Why did she have to question everything? ‘Did you finish the texts I set you?’

Imoshen nodded. ‘That’s what made me look up Scytheon.’

‘He wasn’t mentioned.’

‘No, but his student Edune was, so I read about him and that made me look up Scytheon.’

‘You can’t have read the works of Edune. At least, you can’t possibly have taken them all in.’

Imoshen looked away.

Vittoryxe expelled her breath in a huff of annoyance. ‘Come with me.’

She led Imoshen into her private chamber and gestured for her to kneel on the carpet in front of the empty fireplace. If Imoshen was reading Edune, then she was dabbling in adept-level theory, which would provide a plausible explanation for her over-reaching herself and getting into trouble. But first, Vittoryxe needed to test the limits of Imoshen’s knowledge. ‘Do you have any questions?’

‘Well...’ She folded her hands in her lap and paused to collect her thoughts. ‘If each T’En only has one gift, then how could Egrayne have been a gift-warrior, when she is now the empowerer?’

‘A gift-warrior is able to perceive power on this plane and manipulate it on the higher plane. A near-death experience on the higher plane triggered the further development of Egrayne’s original gift. An empowerer perceives the different types of power nascent within the young T’En. Opening the child to his or her power is a form of power manipulation. You see, it is another step up the ladder.’ A very big step.

Imoshen nodded. ‘So I couldn’t be both a gift-warrior and a raedan?’

‘Exactly.’

Imoshen nodded. ‘The common male gift is mind manipulation. And females can’t have this gift, because it is rare for male and female gifts to overlap?’

‘It almost never happens. If they do share a common gift, the gift is expressed differently. For instance, in females the gift of seeing the future appears in a scryer, who can search for specific events. In males, the gift of seeing the future appears in a seer, who has visions that he can’t direct.’ Vittoryxe gestured. ‘Now, prove you understand Edune’s theories. Tell me what he said in your own words.’

‘It was more what he didn’t say that interested me. We have these gifts that are more powerful on the higher plane. But to gift-work on that plane is dangerous, because it attracts the predators. On this plane, most gifts require touch to be effective. The power of the gift is innate and it builds up, like water pouring into a cup. The gift must be used or the cup overflows.’

Vittoryxe nodded. ‘Right so far.’

‘If we do segue to the higher plane, our bodies are vulnerable, and we must be defended on this plane. It seems to me that the main purpose of our gifts on this plane is to make us aware of other T’En, and whether they are a threat. Other than that, they are not actually very useful. In theory, the gifts surface to protect us, but in reality the gift is protecting itself, because if we die, it ceases to exist. To me, the gifts seem to be almost parasitic.’

‘You’re quoting Scytheon and he’s discredited,’ Vittoryxe snapped. ‘Do you think me a fool? You couldn’t have come up with that on your own.’

Imoshen’s mouth opened in dismay. ‘I haven’t read Scytheon’s–’

‘I’m not interested in your lies and excuses.’ Vittoryxe studied her. Without the training, it was hard to distinguish between the higher plane and a construct that a gift-tutor had created for training purposes. Vittoryxe had created several constructs, where she trained her students in safety.

If she told Imoshen that she was taking her to one of these, but actually took her to the higher plane, the girl would not be able to detect the difference and would not be on her guard. When Imoshen got herself killed, Vittoryxe could claim Imoshen had lost control, segued to the higher plane and been devoured before she could find her.

‘Tomorrow, I’ll take you into my higher plane construct and show you the different predators. Read the relevant descriptions.’

‘Yes, gift-tutor.’

I
MOSHEN KNEW IT
wasn’t a normal training day when she arrived and found the chamber empty. It was mid-afternoon, and shafts of sunlight streamed through the tall windows, reaching deep into the aisles between bookshelves. Dust motes hung on the golden light.

She’d been studying nonstop since she arrived, but the more Imoshen read, the less she understood.

People tended not to talk about their gifts, almost as if it was private, like sex.

That was the other thing; the attraction between male and female gifts. When she and Reothe had made the deep-bonding, it had seemed perfectly natural.

It had been a good thing. Wonderful.

Yet Vittoryxe seemed certain the bonding had addicted Imoshen to the male version of the gift; that she was flawed.

‘There you are. Come through to my study,’ Vittoryxe said.

Imoshen read the gift-tutor. Vittoryxe was so very determined she was having trouble controlling her gift.

They took up their positions, kneeling in front of the empty fireplace.

Imoshen wiped her hands on her thighs. ‘Why don’t our kind make the deep-bonding anymore?’

Vittoryxe’s mouth twitched as if she’d said something crude.

‘I don’t mean any disrespect. But if men are drawn to female power and vice-versa, then it seems to me that bonding is a natural part of gift-working.’

‘T’En men cannot be trusted. Look what they did to you.’

Heat raced up Imoshen’s cheeks and her gift surged, prickling over her skin. She’d never revealed how her father died to save her, and she wasn’t going to reveal it to Vittoryxe. But this was about bonding, and Reothe deserved his due. ‘My bond-partner died to protect me. Not all T’En men are the same.’

‘And one of my mother’s lovers murdered her. So don’t talk about things you don’t understand.’ Vittoryxe’s eyes glittered with anger. She rolled up her sleeve jerkily, and raised her left arm. ‘Now, lower your shields.’

Imoshen swallowed and mimicked her. With their hands linked, skin touching from elbow to palm, Imoshen tried to lower her walls. Ever since she’d started training, she’d found this particularly difficult, and today she had to make several attempts. Vittoryxe grew more impatient each time.

Finally, Imoshen managed to establish a link and the gift-tutor took control, segueing to the higher plane construct.

Vittoryxe’s construct was like her: bleak and hard-edged. They stood in a town square on a cloudy day. Buildings three and four storeys high lined the square. A row of trees at each end cast shadows that seemed too deep for the dull day. It was bitterly cold, and Imoshen sensed a storm about to break. Fear made her stomach clench, and she had to remind herself that this place was only a construct.

Imoshen looked around for any sign of empyrean beasts, but they were alone. Behind them was a fountain, with a statue of a woman astride a horse, her long hair covering her body like a cloak. The fountain was dry and edged with lichen.

Imoshen felt her gift stir and the fountain sprang to life, clear water sparkling in a sudden shaft of sunlight. Joy filled her. If this had not been a construct, she wouldn’t have attempted such a thing, for fear of attracting predators.

When she took the gift-tutor’s arm to show her the fountain, Vittoryxe’s skin felt like cool smooth leather, alive with an undercurrent of power.

Before she could point to the fountain, a screech tore through the air. Sound behaved differently here. The cry rippled over Imoshen’s skin. It registered as waves of pain, reverberating in her ears. She’d read of the harrowraven’s cry and how it triggered fear in those who heard it.

Above them, a harrowraven circled and Imoshen’s hand tightened instinctively on the gift-tutor’s arm. Just as the empyrean bird dived towards them, Imoshen saw three scraelings creep out from the shadows of the trees.

Vittoryxe focused her gift to form a spear and hurled it towards the harrowraven. The spear caught the bird mid-chest and the creature dropped, falling amongst the scraelings, which tore it to pieces.

As Vittoryxe recalled the spear, her gaze travelled past Imoshen’s shoulder and she stiffened.

Imoshen turned to see a T’En man walking towards them, long hair loose on his shoulders, broad chest bare, breeches worn low on his lean hips. What was she supposed to learn from this?

She glanced to Vittoryxe, but the gift-tutor had gone utterly still. Then, to Imoshen’s amazement, Vittoryxe shrank, becoming a child of seven or eight.

The man sauntered towards them, a half smile on his lips. There was something about him that made Imoshen uneasy. She glanced to Vittoryxe for a sign, but the child was frozen in terror.

Imoshen’s instinct was to protect the little girl, but when she took her arm, the child’s flesh burned like cold fire. As if from a great distance, she heard a keening cry. Even though she did not move, the little girl wept as if her heart was breaking. Imoshen knew the feeling. She still experienced it whenever she was reminded of Reothe and her dead son. The pain nearly brought her to her knees.