Besieged (69 page)

But Graelen wasn’t listening. Was Sorne hanging from a shop sign somewhere? Was that why he’d failed to return?

Chapter Fifty-Five

A
S ALL-MOTHER,
I
MOSHEN
received many messages from the sisterhood’s estates, but this one from their warehouse in Port Mirror-on-Sea was unusual.

‘They say a Malaunje staggered through their door, beaten and gravely ill,’ she told Egrayne. ‘He could be one of ours, but none of them know him and he can’t answer their questions. They say he has a silver torc of foreign origin, and a ball of glass that glows when they touch it. They also say he has a wound that won’t respond to their herbalist and they don’t think he’ll recover without help from Healer Reoden. I think I should bring him to the city and ask Ree to heal him.’

‘Every favour you ask of her on behalf of our sisterhood has to be repaid. She would not be a good all-mother if she didn’t hold you to this. Let me see.’ Egrayne held out her hand. Imoshen passed over the message.

They sat on the roof garden, enjoying the sun, while Imoshen’s infant daughter slept. The idea of holding the life or death of this unknown Malaunje in her hands made Imoshen uncomfortable.

Why did she think she would be good at this?

Egrayne returned the message. ‘If he’s one of our people, he might have important information. You have to weigh up whether that information is worth incurring an obligation to the healer.’

‘That’s easy. I’ll send for him. We have a duty to protect all Malaunje.’

Z
ABIER’S HEART RACED
as he realised this was what he’d been looking for. Night after night, he’d waded through reports compiled from analysing the Wyrd scrolls and Oskane’s journals. Tonight he had the solution to the Wyrd problem.

He’d read both the report and the original passage in Oskane’s journal. It had been an eye-opener for Zabier. He’d had no idea the scholar was so ruthless. The passage contained a description of Oskane’s experiments on a captive T’En female. These tests had proven his theories about the extent of gift power. From the scholar’s meticulous notes, it was clear he had been prepared to go to the king with this information just before Sorne had his first vision.

According Oskane, the Wyrds’ greatest defence was not their gifts, but True-men’s fear of their gifts. Bluff!

The scholar had given malachite pendants to the penitents who took part in his experiment. He’d told them the green stone would protect them from the Wyrd’s gifts, but he’d made it quite clear in his notes that the stone was useless. It was the
idea
of the talisman that was powerful.

Everyone believed T’En could enslave with the power of their minds if they trapped an unwary True-man with their gaze. Oskane had proven this wrong. They could not compel with words alone, and they could not bend metal. The power of the full-blood Wyrds was limited by touch. Silverheads needed skin on skin to work their gifts, so he recommended wearing long sleeves and gloves. He also advised avoiding contact with their blood.

If they did overcome a weak-willed True-man and turn him into their slave, this left their physical bodies vulnerable. And if they disappeared, stealing the life of the True-men who were in contact with them at that time, it meant they’d sacrificed themselves to kill those men. And their numbers were few.

For three hundred years they had used bluff and trickery to keep True-men at bay.

Oskane believed King Charald could take the Wyrd city, albeit with heavy loss of life.

Would the king baulk at this?

At least now Zabier knew why there was a bag of malachite in the chest. He retrieved one of the talismans and slid the report into a leather folder, then went out through his study. ‘I’m off to see the king.’

‘What about...’ His assistant glanced down towards the crypts.

He’d taken Valendia food and water again yesterday, but she complained she was lonely. ‘She’ll have to wait.’

The palace guards were used to him coming and going, and they ushered him through into the king’s chamber. When he saw two of the barons had come to the king to resolve a dispute, Zabier hesitated just inside the doorway.

Originally from Dace, Eskarnor and Hanix had attached themselves to the king’s army during the Secluded Sea campaign. They’d returned with him three years ago and been rewarded with estates close to each other. From what Zabier could gather, one was accusing the other of stealing his land. A forester had been killed, there’d been reprisals and now several men-at-arms were also dead.

Charald dismissed the barons with the injunction to ‘stick to the original estate boundaries and no more reprisals.’

The barons strode, out bristling like dogs. One of them looked Zabier up and down, with the contempt of a fighting man for a man of the church.

Zabier stiffened. Perhaps it was time for another demonstration, to remind them of his power.

Charald beckoned him. ‘Greedy, ambitious bastards. I suspect they’re testing me. They’ve heard about Cedon. They think I’m old and weak, and he’ll never sit on the throne. I should confiscate their estates and have them executed for treason.’

If it had been King Matxin, he would have had Zabier make an offering and announce the gods had told him of the barons’ treason. Who needed proof when the gods could point a finger?

‘A pox on the barons. In times of war, a king needs powerful barons. The rest of the time they’re nothing but trouble, always after his throne.’ The king paced, working himself up. ‘And now Nitzane’s returning to Chalcedonia, but he’s left his son in Navarone. If I’d known he was going to marry and produce a healthy heir... Twenty years from now his brat will try to usurp my Cedon–’

‘And there’s the Wyrd delegation.’ Zabier fed the fire.

‘Don’t get me started on the Wyrds.’

‘That’s why I’m here. I have good news, my king.’ Zabier opened the leather folder, removing the report and malachite pendant. ‘Oskane put the Wyrd gifts to the test and found their weakness. They need touch, skin on skin, to work.’

He handed Charald the report.

The king read it, then swore softly. ‘Who would have thought a pious priest could think like this? He was more brutal than a war baron.’

‘He anticipated you’d lose a lot of men taking the Wyrd city,’ Zabier warned.

‘Martyrs for the cause.’ Excitement lit Charald’s pale eyes. ‘But first we must test Oskane’s theory. There’s a Wyrd winery near Nitzane’s largest estate. I’ll send those two trouble-making southern barons. You’ll lead them–’

‘Me?’ Zabier gulped. ‘I know nothing about warfare. I can’t lead an army.’

‘You won’t need to. The barons and their men will do the fighting. You have to be there because this is a holy war.’

Zabier nodded, but he didn’t like it.

Charald grinned. ‘If Oskane’s precautions fail and the winery Wyrds kill the barons, they get rid of the barons for me.’

‘But won’t the attack anger the Wyrds?’ Sorne protested.

‘I’ll deny all knowledge and pay compensation. Meanwhile, they’ll blame Nitzane because I’ll give Eskarnor and Hanix one of his banners.’ Charald shrugged. ‘On the other hand, if Oskane’s precautions work and the baron’s kill the winery Wyrds, I’ll summon all the barons and attack Cesspit City.’

Zabier’s head spun as Charald went to the door and sent for Eskarnor and Hanix.

He strode back to Zabier. ‘You’ll march as soon as possible.’

S
ORNE NEEDED TO
wake up. There was something important he had to do, but the pain kept dragging him under. Cold fire burned in his belly. At times he thought he was with Hiruna in the stable and she was nursing him. Other times, he knew he was in a sisterhood warehouse. Although he couldn’t remember why, he knew it was important that they didn’t discover who he was, and he knew they hadn’t, because he heard them speculating as to his identity.

Someone tried to make him drink a tisane but he turned his face away.

‘It will bring you relief, I promise.’

It would make him stupid, and there was something important he had to do. If he could just remember what it was.

‘He won’t take it,’ the first voice reported.

‘He’s conscious again, then?’ Someone touched him with the impersonal hands of a healer, but it was a T’En and their gift brought him relief.

‘He’s coming around.’

‘Do you know who you are?’ the T’En asked. A face came into focus above him: square jaw, strong nose, intelligent mulberry eyes. ‘Do you know where you are?’

Sorne groaned.

‘We’re losing him again.’

‘Listen to me,’ the T’En commanded. He felt a little warming rush of power and was able to look up at her. ‘We’re sending you to the city, to Healer Reoden.’

He nodded, and hope flamed through his body, followed quickly by shame. Either he died of this wound, or the addiction he’d been fighting since he found that first artefact would make him a slave of the T’En.

He should kill himself now, but he didn’t have the strength.

They carried him out to a cart. It might have been the same day, it was hard to tell. He heard them talking of collecting others from the port warehouses, and for a moment he knew where he was. Then the jolt of being lifted into the cart triggered another spasm and he lost himself to the pain.

Z
ABIER HAD BEEN
utterly miserable on the journey to attack the brotherhood’s winery. He was not a man of war, and had never claimed to be. Since coming to port at thirteen, he’d spent years learning church and court politics. Back in port, Eskarnor and Hanix had come to Charald as rivals, but on the journey to the winery they had united against Zabier. He did not know how to speak to the barons and their men, and the barons made it clear they despised him.

But tonight was different. Tonight, they looked to him for guidance. He raised the two malachite pendants and blessed them, hanging them around the barons’ necks, saying, ‘These talismans will protect you from the Wyrd’s powers. While you wear them, you are strong.’

To each of their captains, he gave a malachite chip. Everyone had been warned not to let the silver-haired abominations touch them, and to avoid T’En blood. Then he went up and down the lines, blessing the men-at-arms. So many men, ready to kill for glory and reward. How many would still be alive tomorrow?

Zabier was grateful the barons did not expect him to take part in the attack.

He returned to stand in front of the church tent, raising his voice so it would carry. ‘This is a holy war, to rid our land of Wyrds. Every man who dies here is a martyr, assured of a place with the gods!’

And they cheered. Zabier rather enjoyed the sensation.

T
OBAZIM ACCEPTED THE
compliments with a sense of achievement. Today his bridge had been officially opened. It did not matter that it was only his brotherhood who’d attended, and most of them had been involved in the construction. He was content for now. The bridge would still be standing long after he had gone, serving the needs of travellers.

At Gift-tutor Nerasun’s signal, the kitchen staff cleared the meal away.

Tobazim looked around the courtyard. Lanterns hung from the tree, and a couple of braziers burned to warm old bones.

Tonight was unusual, in that not only was there the T’En table in the courtyard, but a long table had been set up for the Malaunje, and everyone celebrated together. Using hay bales for seats, mothers nursed babies, while elders watched little children dance in front of the musicians. Under the tree, two youths played pipes, three plucked strings, a boy kept time on the drums and three girls sang old favourites.

The T’En table consisted of him, Learon, the new youth and four scholars, all over eighty. Tobazim leant close to his choice-brother. ‘Poor Athlyn, after we leave, he’ll only have the scholars for company.’

‘And those three pretty song birds.’ Learon gestured to the girls. ‘He’ll have them all to himself. I almost envy him.’ He blew the lead singer a kiss, and Paravia made a moue of disappointment. Tobazim knew she’d been sharing Learon’s bed and was annoyed with him for leaving.

‘In fact...’ Learon drained his wine and came to his feet, dragging Athlyn with him. ‘Come on, lad. We’ll make a man of you tonight.’

Athlyn went bright red. ‘I really don’t–’

‘Yes, you do.’ Learon guided him over to the musicians. ‘You really do.’

Tobazim grinned.

‘Come on, Tobazim.’ Learon beckoned.

‘Leave the poor boy alone, Lear.’ But he joined them anyway.

Outside the villa a dog barked, then stopped abruptly.

They made their way through the dancing children to the musicians. Paravia finished the song and settled her hands on her hips.

As Learon tried to cajole her with sweet words, a great clatter came from the kitchen and someone cried out. Conversations faltered. Even though Tobazim’s first thought was that someone had dropped a pot on their foot, he felt his gift stir.

Over at the T’En table Tobazim saw Gift-tutor Nerasun send someone to check on the kitchen staff. Tobazim glanced to Learon. He had an arm around Paravia now, and was whispering in her ear. A smile tugged at her lips, and Tobazim knew she’d given in. Her two friends were eyeing Athlyn and whispering together. They giggled. The T’En youth looked like he was considering running away.

The drummer started a new rhythm.

The servant came running back, shouting. As he passed, Tobazim saw something protruding from between his shoulders. The servant’s legs faltered and he fell. A knife was buried in his back.

Gift-tutor Nerasun came to his feet. Clearly, he’d spotted something in the passage to the kitchen. Old Nerasun gestured urgently to Tobazim.

Before he could move, Mieren men-at-arms poured through every opening into the courtyard, blocking any chance of escape. Tobazim glanced to Learon, who reached for his long-knives, but they were all unarmed. Mothers called their children. The young Malaunje men sprang to their feet, demanding to know what was going on.