Besieged (42 page)

Now, with the fall of Navarone, Charald had the might of five kingdoms behind him, and Sorne’s plan to buy his uncle time to consolidate his hold on the Chalcedonian throne had backfired spectacularly. King Matxin would be quaking in his bed.

Sorne hadn’t heard from Zabier since Khitan, but the Father’s-voice had often been mentioned in reports from Charald’s loyal spies. It appeared Zabier held much the same position in Chalcedonia as Sorne did here.

Meanwhile, as King Charald’s prestige rose, so did Sorne’s. He hadn’t been called a half-blood for years, at least not in his hearing. He was the Warrior’s-voice, advisor to the king, leader of the holy-swords. But soon, Charald would return to Chalcedonia, and Sorne needed to decide which king deserved his loyalty.

The uncle he hardly knew, or the father who had denied him at birth? Once he had admired Charald’s tactical brilliance, but now he knew him for the flawed human being he was. As for his uncle, they called him a despot, but they were Charald’s spies.

‘There you are.’ The king joined him, followed by a servant who filled two goblets before retiring. ‘To Navarone, last to fall.’

‘To Navarone,’ Sorne repeated. He leant against the railing so that he didn’t tower over King Charald. Hopefully, now that he was twenty-five, he’d stop growing.

‘You’re white as a sheet and you’re favouring that arm again,’ Charald observed. ‘What happened?’

‘Three thugs thought they’d take my head and hands back to King Matxin. I convinced them otherwise.’

‘For a priest, you’re mighty handy with a sword.’ Charald laughed.

Sorne grinned. ‘What will you do, now that Navarone is yours?’

‘Reclaim Chalcedonia and crown myself High King of the Secluded Sea. I’ve proven myself worthy, and the Warrior has rewarded me with victory after victory. Matxin put his trust in the Father, and look what it got him!’ Charald laughed with malicious delight. ‘They tell me he has the honey-piss. The saw-bones have to keep taking slices off his rotting leg. Soon they’ll get to his balls and that’ll be the end of him. They say his daughter is so old and plain, no baron will marry her, and his son is so busy whoring, gambling and drinking that the barons have started preying on each other.’

Sorne watched as Charald paced, unable to stand still.

‘When I sail home, the son will turn tail and run, and the people will welcome me. I’ll take my pick of the barons’ daughters and plant an heir in my new wife’s belly.’ Charald reached down and adjusted himself, aroused by the prospect. ‘You must make an offering and seek guidance from the Warrior.’

‘I would...’ Sorne hid a smile. The king was an odd mix of superstition and practicality. ‘But the gift residue has worn off the remaining T’En artefacts.’ He didn’t mention the orb of power. Only a fool would use a tool he didn’t understand when dealing with hungry empyrean beasts.

He’d half expected Charald’s temper to flare up – they hadn’t had an episode for a while now – but the king was watching a man ride across the square. The rider arrived at the palace steps.

‘What news?’ Charald asked, leaning over the balcony.

The recent assassination attempt prompted Sorne to add, ‘Is King Matxin dead?’

‘No. It’s his son. Killed in a duel. Stuck his prick in the wrong man’s wife. Just got the news from a merchant ship’s captain. Happened ten days ago.’

‘It’s a sign from the Warrior!’ Charald told Sorne. He called down to the rider. ‘Send the ship’s captain to me.’

The man rode away.

‘To Chalcedonia.’ The king drained his glass. ‘I’ll sail as soon as I can load the ships.’

‘Who will you leave to rule Navarone?’ Sorne asked. ‘It must be someone you trust to guard your flank.’

Charald put his glass down. ‘How would you like to be king?’

For one impossible moment, Sorne actually considered it. He’d watched Charald’s barons wrestle with various problems in Khitan, Maygharia, Dace and Welcai. With their experiences to draw on, he could...

What was he thinking? While True-men might fear him and respect him, they would never bow to a half-blood king. When Sorne opened his mouth to refuse, Charald’s reaction cut him off. The king clutched his belly and roared with laughter.

Cold fury solidified inside Sorne. He had to force himself to produce a rueful smile.

‘Ah...’ Charald caught his breath and wiped his face. ‘That was priceless. I had you for a moment, there.’ He adjusted his belt. ‘Send in Nitzel’s grandsons.’

When King Matxin came to power, Charald’s queen had retired to one of the Mother’s abbeys. But first she had pleaded for the lives of her two sons from her original marriage. They had been young men of nineteen and twenty-one at the time. Matxin had confiscated their family’s estates and banished the brothers.

The two brothers had promptly sailed for Khitan and offered their services to King Charald. The elder had proven himself a good leader on the battlefield, and had earned the title of war baron. The younger was loyal to his brother, but he opposite in nature. Inclined to be impetuous, he was popular with the young men.

‘Right away, my king.’ Sorne bowed and left the balcony. He told the servants to send in Baron Dantzel and Nitzane, then went down the corridor.

As soon as he entered his own chamber, he let his guard down. He wanted to break something and roar with rage. He wanted to strangle King Charald and wipe that stupid grin off his face.

He did nothing, as a cold sweat of fury and pain soaked him. This was his answer. Charald did not deserve his loyalty.

But Charald was undefeated, and his uncle was dying.

Nursing his broken collar bone, Sorne stripped and strapped his shoulder. The pain was a constant nagging ache.

He hesitated. He could take one of the soothing powders, or...

After making sure his door was bolted, he opened the chest containing the last T’En artefact, a neck torc. He’d told Charald the gift residue was all used up, but it was a lie.

Stretching out on the bed, he held the artefact to his chest, and let its gentle warmth ease his pain.

Chapter Thirty-Four

A
RMS FOLDED,
G
RAELEN
leaned against the verandah, watching the procession. The sisterhoods had come down from the island’s peak, into the free quarter, for Empowerment Day. After the ceremony, the T’En children would have free run of the park, and their excitement was palpable.

While Graelen had not fathered a T’En child himself, some of the brotherhood’s men had, and they leant over the balcony, watching for their choice-sons. Sweet voices and innocent laughter filled the air.

Graelen felt nothing.

It was the only way to survive in Kyredeon’s brotherhood. Any emotion was a sign of weakness, and the all-father would use it as a lever. In the years since he’d become all-father, Kyredeon had called on Graelen and Paryx several times, ordering them to perform tasks even his own hand-of-force wasn’t aware of.

They’d carried out the assassination that had almost destabilised Chariode’s brotherhood, and they’d planted the rumours which led to the suicide of another brotherhood’s gift-tutor and the rise of All-father Hueryx. But Kyredeon had not gained from this, as Hueryx had proven more than a match for him.

Being all-father of his brotherhood was not enough for Kyredeon. He had his sights on becoming leader of the greatest brotherhood, and to do this, he had to weaken the other all-fathers. Eventually, one of the brotherhoods would falter, and he would step in to acquire their wealth and remaining warriors, which would make him the most powerful of all the brotherhood leaders.

Now Kyredeon wanted Graelen and Paryx to abduct and murder an all-father’s devotee. They’d spent most of the winter observing Paragian and his devotee, looking for a pattern and a chance to strike. It had to be silent and it had to be in secret. And, according to Kyredeon, it had to be done. He believed the all-father was so much in love with his devotee, her death would destroy him and leave his brotherhood ripe for take over.

Graelen did not mind killing a warrior, with blood on his hands, to remove a threat to their brotherhood but killing an innocent was another thing entirely.

Paryx leant close to Graelen. ‘Time’s running out. What will we tell him?’

The thin T’En warrior had never been strong in gift, mind or body, and the strain of being Kyredeon’s assassin was wearing him down; he laughed too loud and drank too much. It had earned him something of a reputation.

Paryx’s troubled eyes flicked towards the all-father and his two seconds. ‘He expects an answer today.’

‘He’ll have his answer.’ Graelen would think of something. ‘Trust me. Watch the procession.’

Below them, T’En youngsters were passing on their way to being empowered. All six of the sisterhoods were represented, and each child was accompanied by his or her choice-mother, brothers and sisters. The sisterhoods’ leaders, inner circles and gift-warriors were also in attendance. Everyone wore their finest, including the Malaunje, who carried refreshments for the celebration in the park afterwards. Amongst the sisters were groups of T’En youths. The lads stuck together, teasing each other and showing off.

To be so young...

Graelen spotted Egrayne the empowerer and, not far from her, the gift-warrior who had saved his life just before he joined the brotherhood.

Back then, he hadn’t realised how easily the gift-warrior could have drained him. She’d saved his life, and the very next day he had insulted her. He’d been impatient to leave the sisterhood and start his adult life. When Egrayne had announced he was a gift-warrior, he’d thought his future would be filled with honour and glory, not the assassination of innocents. A deep and abiding anger ignited his gift, and the young initiates edged away from him.

When had he become someone to fear?

Once the procession had passed, there was a rush to get down to the park. Graelen followed Paryx and the others.

‘...oldest original building and the envy of the other all-fathers,’ Paryx was telling a young initiate. ‘The theatre was built during the first ten years of settlement. Many a famous play has opened here, to great acclaim.’

In the throng of brothers heading down to the park, Graelen felt the jostle of gifts empowered by excitement, but the potential for violence was also there.

They passed the empowerment dome, its doors firmly closed. The only adult males who’d been allowed in today were fathers who had been invited to witness their sons’ empowerment.

Graelen saw Paragian ahead of them, an arm around his devotee, laughing with his inner circle. Why couldn’t Kyredeon be more like him?

The thought shocked him. His brotherhood was his life; he’d given his vow. If Kyredeon suspected a brother of treason, the all-father would be within his rights to have his hand-of-force execute him.

They came to the street bordering the park, which was the largest open space in the city. Some lucky fathers of empowered youngsters would be invited into the park to spend the afternoon with their children. If there was any drunkenness or violence, the sisterhood gift-warriors would eject the men responsible, and they would never be invited back.

Already the brotherhoods were pouring into the buildings overlooking the park, to claim their places on the verandahs.

Several dozen Malaunje stood at the entrance to the park, holding formal invitations to join a sisterhood for the afternoon. One approached All-father Paragian.

He consulted his devotee, then sent her off with an escort.

‘There,’ Kyredeon said, startling Graelen. ‘That is the kind of moment you were supposed to watch for.’

‘We could not know Paragian would be invited–’

‘His son’s choice-mother is the healer, Reoden. She has a daughter about a year older who is being empowered today. The healer sees the best in everyone, so she invited Paragian to join her. You should know all this, and should have anticipated her actions. You’re no use to me if you can’t think for yourself.’

‘You’re right,’ Graelen acknowledged. ‘But I’m not a master strategist like you.’

Kyredeon gave him a sharp look.

‘All-father, the dome’s doors have just opened. You won’t believe what I –’ Hand-of-force Athamyr broke off when he saw Graelen.

‘Go on,’ Kyredeon said.

‘Reoden’s daughter is a sacrare. The empowerer–’

‘A sacrare?’ Graelen repeated. ‘Why didn’t the healer announce it when the child was born?’

‘She must have told the all-mothers. They weren’t surprised,’ Athamyr said. ‘The empowerer said the girl would be a gift-wright.’

‘Not surprising, considering her mother’s a healer.’ Kyredeon’s eyes narrowed thoughtfully. ‘A sacrare has the potential for great power. If the girl will be able to heal gifts, then she’ll also be able to destroy them. She’ll be even more deadly than Imoshen the All-father-killer. Who was the father?’

‘He wasn’t invited.’

Kyredeon nodded and gestured to the stairs. ‘You go ahead. I’ll be up in a moment.’

Athamyr hesitated as if he would like to argue, then nodded and left.

‘Do you want me to follow the devotee?’ Graelen asked.

‘Forget Paragian,’ Kyredeon said. ‘Think. Why did the healer hide the identity of the sacrare’s father?’

‘Reoden must feel something for him. He’s not just a casual trysting partner.’

‘Exactly. I want to know who he is. I want you and Paryx to abduct the sacrare. Reoden will contact the father.’

Graelen swallowed. ‘What will knowing the father’s identity achieve?’

‘When you know what someone wants, you can control them.’

Graelen nodded. But the more he thought about it, the more he didn’t like it. ‘Abducting the sacrare girl... that’s poking a nest of snakes. The all-mothers will strike back.’

‘They would if they knew who to strike. Besides...’ Kyredeon shrugged. ‘We won’t hurt her. We’ll let her go in the free quarter. Make it look like someone took her in a misguided attempt to claim stature. But in the meantime, we will have flushed out the sacrare’s father.’

I
MOSHEN HID HER
excitement, keeping her gift tightly reined. She’d never been backstage in the brotherhood’s theatre before. After five days of festivities, the celebrations were winding down, and Rutz’s latest play had been performed for the last time tonight. She’d watched it herself two nights ago, and now she wanted to confront the playwright and ask him if he knew he’d written a tragedy. If he was aware of it, then it meant that one other person could see their society’s flaws. And she would have someone to talk to.