Besieged (76 page)

Cursing, Sorne skirted the camp, trying to get around to the far side of the hill. Between the wind, the racing clouds and the intermittent lightning, the night was full of movement.

As he reached the crest of the hill, a patch of moonlight illuminated the area. This close, the stones were enormous, each standing twice as tall as him; in the centre, he saw a crude stone table. Chains had been wound around it.

They were going to chain the warrior to the altar then spill his blood.

Trusting to the confusion created by the storm, Sorne crept to the corner of a standing stone and pressed his back to the black rock, watching the far side of the circle. He was just in time to see the first True-men enter the area.

Lightning flashed and thunder rolled over their heads. The men ducked. Sorne felt the stones reverberate with the low, angry roll of thunder.

More True-men followed the first few, moving towards the stone table. Short of dashing forward after a lightning strike, when the True-men were blinded, he did not see how he could reach the captive. And if he reached him, he did not see how they could both get away.

He should leave now and warn the city.

Lightning forked across the sky, revealing Graelen’s pale silver hair.

He’d been right. It had been Graelen’s gift he sensed in the crypt.

The T’En was bleeding from the nose, and one eye was nearly closed.

Sorne was not leaving Graelen to die.

Thunder hammered the Old Stones; they seemed to attract the lightning strikes. True-men ducked and cowered. Before they’d straightened up, lighting hit the stones again, sending sparks showering over them.

Some of the men dropped to the ground. Sorne could see nothing but the after-image of the lightning strike for several heartbeats.

The Warrior was in fine form tonight.

In that instant, Sorne made the connection with the man he’d seen in Imoshen’s mirror after they had healed him. He had become the white-haired, one-eyed man of his first vision, the man Oskane had identified as the Warrior.

And just like that, he knew how to save Graelen.

He tore off his beggar’s robes, and dropped the knife. Now he stood naked, his back pressed to the slick black stone. He waited, heart thundering, for the next lightning strike.

So far, the Warrior god had taken the ceremonial offerings in a flash of light. This time the god was going to give something back.

Almost as if the storm had been waiting for him to make this decision, a bolt of light streaked down and hit the stone to his right. Brilliant sparks flew into the air. The smell of scorched stone filled the night.

Blinded, he felt his way around the stone and took his place in front of it.

Thunder shook the skies, making the very earth tremble.

As Sorne’s sight gradually returned, the after-image of the lightning repeated every time he blinked. He knew the True-men would suffer the same effect. They would see him pale and naked against the black stone, between each blink. The barons shouted and pointed to where he stood.

Only King Charald did not stumble back in shock. In the confusion, Graelen could have escaped, but he seemed stunned.

Sorne ran and jumped onto the stone altar, lifting his arms.

Graelen’s eyes widened.

‘Is it really you, Sorne?’ The king had to shout to be heard above the elements.

‘Sorne is dead. I was Sorne in my old life. The Warrior has returned me to this world.’ And he dropped into a crouch, so that the True-men could see the smooth skin where his missing eye had been. ‘See! He has healed me, but I bear His mark.’

Many came closer. But others, including Zabier, hung back. The man who’d been raised as his brother stared in horrified fascination.

Lightning flashed, laying his face bare. The True-men pulled back with awestruck cries.

‘Your skin, the burns are all healed...’ Charald was almost speechless.

‘I’ve been reborn!’

‘See,’ King Charald roared. ‘The Warrior supports my holy war. He’s given me back my half-blood visionary!’

The barons and their men raised a tentative cheer, which was torn away by the wind.

Lightning struck the stones again, showering them with sparks. Too soon for Sorne’s plan.

Momentarily blinded, he had to wait for his sight to return, then he pointed to Graelen. ‘Bring the sacrifice here.’

They drove the male at spear point. He stumbled, and Sorne realised his arms were bound behind his back. Sorne reached down and caught the adept by the shoulders, felt the intensity of his gift. This was his one chance to speak privately.

Graelen beat him to it. ‘They’re going to attack the city.’

‘I know. Warn them. When the next lightning strike hits the stones, drop off the table. Behind the tall stone at my back is a knife. My horse is over the hill.’

Sorne caught Graelen by the hair and pulled him to his feet. The way Graelen’s gift beat on his skin, Sorne feared it would trigger a breach between the planes.

Lightning flickered through the clouds above them, as Sorne kept one hand on Graelen’s hair and pointed to a man-at-arms. ‘Give me your knife.’

The man obliged and Sorne held the knife high, praying lightning did not strike it. ‘We seek your guidance, Warrior.’

‘Praise the Warrior!’ King Charald roared.

Sorne took his time lowering the knife. The moment he spilled Graelen’s blood, the empyrean beasts would sense it and break the wall, coming for them both. He looked around, knife at the ready, waiting for the next lightning strike to hit the stones.

‘We are your weapons, Warrior,’ Sorne yelled, playing for time. Where was that lightning? He kept the knife poised. ‘We need a sign.’
We need a lightning strike.

The barons’ men crowded close.

Lightning struck the hillside just beyond the camp.

‘A sign!’ King Charald cried. ‘Make the sacrifice.’

Sorne looked up, praying for lightning to strike the stones, praying that the overflow of Graelen’s gift wouldn’t kill them both.

‘Kill him!’

‘Sacrifice him!’

‘Cut him. Spill his tainted blood,’ King Charald bellowed. Lightning forked in the clouds, but it was too far away to be useful.

‘You tried,’ Graelen said. ‘I won’t endanger you.’

‘No.’ If Graelen went to the empyrean plane, he’d die. Sorne felt the adept gather his gift.

Lightning flashed in the sky above but did not hit the stones.

‘Let go.’ Graelen met Sorne’s eyes. ‘Then pretend to cut me.’

He did. He had no choice.

Graelen disappeared. Even though Sorne had let go, he felt the wavering of reality as he was nearly dragged through to the empyrean plane.

The king cheered, the barons shouted and roared. No one seemed to notice that Graelen’s clothes and the binding ropes had fallen to the stone.

Lightning hit the stones, showering them with sparks.

Sorne could have wept.

Instead, he dropped to the stone table and sprawled as if unconscious.

The True-men cheered. Charald ordered them to bring him down to the camp. They rolled him onto a cloak and carried him between them.

He’d failed twice over. He’d failed to save Graelen, and gotten himself trapped in the process. And he’d failed to warn Imoshen. He’d have to escape after he gave the king the vision he wanted and they’d fallen asleep tonight.

He would steal a horse, ride for the city.

Z
ABIER WAITED UNTIL
Sorne had finished revealing his fake vision – the king’s heir, whole and undamaged, sitting on the throne of Chalcedonia – and the king had left them alone so he could share a toast with his barons before breaking camp.

One of Zabier’s holy-warriors had found Sorne the breeches, vest and thigh-length shirt of a priest. He sat on a chest and sipped a restorative wine that Zabier had asked another of his holy-warriors to bring. Now Zabier dismissed the two priests. ‘Wait outside. We’ll pack up the tent in a moment.’

Sorne looked up. ‘You’re not camping here tonight?’

Anger welled up in Zabier. He stalked over.

Sorne went to rise, but Zabier shoved him down. He did not doubt that the half-blood could best him in a fight, but right now Sorne was playing innocent.

‘I know what you did.’

Sorne looked confused.

‘I saw you two conferring. You didn’t sacrifice that Wyrd. He went willingly to his death.’

Shadows haunted Sorne’s face.

Zabier had to concede, he really was very good at appearing noble and troubled. But... ‘I’ve read Oskane’s journals. You and that Wyrd are up to something.’

‘The gods took him.’

‘There are no gods.’

Sorne looked up, surprised.

‘You thought I believed? I’ve felt their claws on me. I know we summon beasts, and I know you just played the king for a fool.’

‘Then why didn’t you speak up?’

‘And break the king’s illusion?’ Zabier shook his head. ‘The only thing I can’t figure out is why the Wyrd would go to his death without taking half a dozen True-men with him.’

Sorne looked away.

‘You think you’re so clever, but you’ve outsmarted yourself this time. Yes, you’ve got the king swallowing your visions again, but this time you’re going to be working for me!’

‘Why would I do that?’

‘Because Valendia is not dead. I have her.’

Sorne went very still. ‘You wouldn’t hurt her.’

‘Oh, no? I found her consorting with that Wyrd. She’s a slut. All she can think about is fucking and sucking.’

Sorne flinched. ‘How can you talk like that about our sister? She’s an innocent.’

‘Not anymore. And she’s not your sister. Never was.’

Sorne blinked and swayed. He glanced down to the wine. ‘What have you done, brother?’

‘I’m not your brother. You’re a half-blood. A tool, to be trotted out to perform sacrifices for me, and parrot my visions for the king.’ Zabier leant closer as Sorne collapsed. ‘You’re so smart. Yet you never thought to look for trickery from me? Shame on you!’

And he called the holy-warriors in. They wrapped Sorne in a blanket and took him out to the wagon. Zabier felt a glow of satisfaction. Things were finally going his way.

G
RAELEN WOKE IN
the dim grey of dawn with his arms wrapped around Dia. He was naked, but warm. For a heartbeat he lay there, luxuriating in her soft curves. His gift stirred and he let the power slide over her skin; felt her stir in response, then stiffen as she woke.

‘You came to me in the night,’ she whispered. ‘But you weren’t even conscious. How did you do that?’

He was about to say he didn’t know, when he remembered one of the stories he’d loved as a child.

‘It had to be transposition. It’s supposed to be a myth, but...’ He shrugged. ‘If I hadn’t imprinted you with my gift before we parted, I would have been lost on the empyrean plane. But I thought of you, and the link we share brought me here. You saved me.’

He sat up, and saw that her hands were chained to the backboard of a cart. He’d soon fix that. They were surrounded by chests, sacks and barrels. Canvas covered the cart’s frame. She shivered and he pulled up the blanket.

Life was good. He lived and he’d found her again. It was more than he deserved. Then he remembered the planned attack on the city, and urgency made his gift surge. ‘What day is it?’

‘I don’t know, but it’s six days since we left the port.’

That meant today was winter’s cusp feast. ‘Where are we?’

‘In a covered cart, being transported to Restoration Retreat.’

‘I meant, where in Chalcedonia?’

‘I don’t know. We went south, then east. We’ve been climbing since yesterday.’

If they were in the mountains bordering Navarone, then he had only a general idea of the area. He could take a horse and strike out for the city, but it might take him three days to find the route.

‘What’s wrong?’

Relief hit him as he realised he didn’t have to warn the city. Sorne believed he was dead. Sorne would do what he could not. ‘Nothing. Everything’s all right now.’

A horse whinnied. Someone grumbled about the cold and another person told them to build up the fire.

Graelen looked to Dia. ‘How many?’

‘The old priest, Utzen, and two even older penitents. No one else would come with him.’

He nodded. ‘I’m going to get the key to free you.’

‘Don’t get hurt.’

Her concern warmed him, but he wasn’t the one who would be hurt. His all-father had asked him to kill his own kind to further his private ambition. Dia asked nothing of him, but he felt no compunction killing to protect her.

When he climbed out of the cart, he found one man working over the fire. Another was off with the horses, and he heard a third in the bushes relieving himself.

A little later, he sat by the fire with Dia as they watched the beans cook. The camp perched on a natural lookout high in the mountains. Chalcedonia spread out below them, pristine in the fresh light of dawn. Mist lay in the hollows. Perhaps he was selfish, but he was glad warning Kyredeon was no longer his duty.

Dia warmed her hands. ‘Did you warn the city?’

‘Someone else is doing it.’

‘Good. Did you kill the three True-men?’

He didn’t want her to be frightened of him, but he had to tell the truth. ‘Yes.’

‘Good. We cannot afford to let them go back to port.’

Her frank assessment made him smile.

‘Why do you smile?’

‘Because I’m happy.’ And he hadn’t been happy for a very long time.

Chapter Sixty-One

‘G
UARD DUTY TONIGHT
?’ Learon grumbled, adjusting his long-knives. ‘When we should be celebrating?’

‘Come on.’ Tobazim glanced behind them as they crossed the brotherhood’s courtyard. He couldn’t see much through the archway into the next courtyard, but he could hear laughter, music and children singing. Soon the children would be in bed and the real fun would begin.

But not for him and Learon, nor for any of the Malaunje men who had escaped with them.

‘He’s punishing us,’ Learon muttered as they took up position on the street, outside the front entrance to their brotherhood palace.