The Exile and the Sorcerer (17 page)

“I understand that.”

“It’s important that the mark of the guild mean something. Our livelihood depends on people trusting our integrity. The time a nominee spends here constitutes part of a general appraisal, which has been all the more important in your case, as you haven’t served a formal apprenticeship. But we’re quite satisfied. In our judgement, you will not do anything to bring the guild into disrepute, and we’re willing to accept you. The final decision lies with you. We don’t allow people to desert the guild once they’ve accepted its mark. Those we expel leave their tattoos, and their hands, behind.”

The assessor stood and walked to the door. “I’m going to suggest you think about it for this afternoon; then come and see me first thing tomorrow. If you decide to join, we’ll move you to the junior members’ quarters. You’ll need to be instructed in the first level of guild passwords, which shouldn’t take you too long to learn.” The assessor rolled her eyes to the ceiling with a sigh. “Unlike some other nominees. And we’ll make an appointment for you with the tattooist. So...unless you have any questions?”

“No, thank you, ma’am. I think I know all I need in order to make my mind up.”

“Whatever you decide, I wish you well.”

The assessor held the door open. Tevi gave a respectful nod and walked back into the autumn sunlight. Her aimless steps took her out of the guildhall and into the streets of Lyremouth. She spent the afternoon wandering and thinking, although in truth she had little choice. As a mercenary, she could earn a good living. Without a guild, she could be nothing more than a poorly paid labourer.

Standing by the main docks, she watched the ships sail across the harbour. If she closed her eyes, from the sounds and smell of the sea she could imagine herself back on Storenseg. Guild membership would be one further, irrevocable step away from the islands. Tevi shook her head at the folly of her thoughts and left the quay, heading into the busy streets of the city. There was no going back.

By the time Tevi returned to the guildhall, the evening meal was in progress. Luckily, Perrin had not yet embarked on his third helping, so there was still food left. The others shifted along to make room for Tevi. Even before she sat down, it was obvious Cayell was in high spirits.

“They’ve decided I’m more help than hindrance in a fight. Now they’re going to see what I can do as a scout.” Cayell was bouncing up and down with excitement.

“What tests do you get now?” Tevi asked.

“Oh, dreadful, awful things that would make you shudder just to hear about.” Despite her words, Cayell was grinning. “I’ll be dumped in the middle of nowhere and have to survive off the land while hunters try to catch me.”

“You’ll have to eat spiders,” Perrin said, taking a large bite of his food.

“Big, juicy, tasty spiders?” Dale asked innocently.

The young woman Tevi had seen leaving the assessor’s rooms was sitting at the table. She now joined in. “There’s no such thing as a tasty spider. Believe me. I speak from experience.”

“Are you a scout as well?” Perrin asked eagerly.

“Er...yes. My name’s Aroche.”

“Right. Well, while Cay’s away, do you mind making it your job to find shortcuts to the refectory?”

Aroche smiled. “I’ll do my best, if you think it’s important.”

“We’re talking about Perrin’s stomach. Of course it’s important,” Rymar said.

When the table had quieted, Tevi asked Cayell, “How long will you be gone?”

“About ten days. You can take my bed, if you want.” Predictably, Cayell had wangled the best position in the dormitory.

“I won’t need it. I’ve been accepted into the guild. I’m moving to the members’ quarters tomorrow.”

Cayell cheered and punched the air, drawing stern looks from other tables. She pointed at Tevi. “Promise you’ll save the celebration until I get back. There’s not time to do it justice tonight, and with luck, we can celebrate my acceptance as well.”

Confronted with such exuberance, Tevi could do nothing but agree. As she got ready for her last night in the nominees’ dormitory, lighthearted banter was flying around—as were pillows and items of clothing. Tevi joined in, mainly by ducking at the appropriate points. For the first time since childhood, she felt like an accepted member of a group. The camaraderie of the guild enveloped its members. Although she had been fond of Marith and Verron, they had been more like an aunt and uncle. Cayell and the other nominees were her friends.

*

Eleven days later, Tevi was wandering along a colonnaded walkway that she hoped would lead her back to the junior members’ quarters, when she was startled by a loud whoop. Running towards her was a figure—presumably Cayell, on account of the size and shape, though the exterior was so covered in mud that almost anything could have lurked beneath.

“I passed,” the figure screamed, confirming its identity.

Cayell would have flung herself onto her friend, but Tevi held the mud-covered scout at arm’s length.

“Cay! Look at the state of you!”

“I’ve only just got back,” Cayell said, as if it were an explanation.

“I hadn’t realised mud fights formed part of your appraisal.”

“It’s camouflage. I had to blend into the countryside.”

“You’ve been somewhere where walking cow pats are commonplace?”

“Um...actually, most of it is due to an accident just outside town.” Cayell grinned mischievously

“Why don’t you tell me about it on the way to the bathhouse?”

“I’ve got to see the assessor.” Cayell paused and inspected herself. “Or do you think I should get cleaned up first?”

“I’ve seen more presentable scarecrows thrown out as scrap.”

“You’re probably right.” Cayell grabbed Tevi’s hands. Holding them palm down, she inspected the tattooed red and gold swords. Her eyes met Tevi’s. “Very pretty. We’ve got to celebrate. Get some of the others to meet up tonight.”

“Dale and Rymar will be keen, and probably Perrin as well.”

“That’ll be great.” Cayell walked away backwards.

“You can tell us all about the accident.”

“Only if you promise not to laugh. It was a touch unfortunate.” Cayell raised one hand to her head in a melodramatic fashion and then grinned before disappearing in the direction of the bathhouse.

*

The Golden Swan was a noisy tavern with splintered tables and lanterns burning foul-smelling oil. The straw on the floor looked as if it had not been changed since the founding of the Protectorate. The only heating came from the largely unwashed bodies of the customers. However, the beer was cheap, and the staff kept selling it long after more respectable establishments had closed.

In a poorly lit rear corner, the five young mercenaries were studiously trying to get drunk and meeting with considerable success. A succession of toasts was made to the new guild members. These included Rymar, who was also sporting tattoos, only two days old and still itchy.

Putting down his tankard, Perrin leaned across to Tevi. “Do you remember us talking about women with axes? As a good example, have you seen that Big Bron is back in the guildhall?”

Tevi shook her head.

“You must have seen her,” Dale chipped in. “You know the one, six foot two, square, long blond hair and wears a copper torque that could double as a wagon wheel. She always scowls like she’s just sat on something uncomfortable.”

Tevi groaned; she had been mistaken yet again. “I thought that was a man.”

“Now that’s unusual,” Cayell said seriously. “Most people mistake her for some sort of architectural support structure.”

Rymar nudged Tevi’s shoulder. “You wouldn’t make that mistake if you’d seen her naked.”

“You what!” Cayell was the only one not stunned speechless.

“Oh, no, no. Nothing like that.” Rymar held up his hands in denial. “She was in the baths, and someone swiped her clothes as a joke. It wasn’t me. I’m not suicidal. But I was there when she stormed out, looking for blood.”

“That could have been a cute beginning to a beautiful relationship,” Dale said.

“The words ‘cute’ and ‘Bron’ do not belong in the same sentence.”

“You did it just then.”

“Don’t be a fool. She eats boys like me for breakfast.” Rymar ran a finger around his collar.

“And you wouldn’t like that?”

“Look...just take it from me, romance was not in the air. Murder, yes. Romance, no.”

“Probably just as well. They say Bron doesn’t have much in the way of a sense of humour,” Cayell said.

“And...?” Rymar prompted.

“From what I’ve heard, she’d need it with you.” Cayell grinned.

Rymar acted hurt. “That’s a nasty, malicious rumour. I am a lover of great sophistication and skill, as I’ll demonstrate to anyone here.” His expression changed to an idiotic leer. “Come on, any takers?”

“I would, but...” Perrin clasped a hand to his breast in a flamboyant gesture. “I am sworn to another.”

Dale put his arm around Perrin’s shoulder. His voice oozed sincere concern. “Look. You’ve got to be adult about this. One night of passion with a mange-ridden sheep does not constitute a binding commitment. For either of you,” he finished, as everyone gave way to yelps of laughter.

Tevi wiped her eyes. Sometimes, she was unable to tell whether people were being serious. Even when she had that sorted out, she was often unsure what the point of the joke was, but this she realised, was an invented leg pull.

Summoning her self-control, she looked at Perrin. “Take no notice. They’re just being silly. I’m sure she didn’t have mange, and even if she did, there are medical treatments. There’s no reason why the two of you can’t be very happy together.”

At the sight of Perrin’s expression, Cayell curled forward, holding her sides. Perrin rose to his full height and looked down sternly. “If you’re all going to act the fool, I’m going to buy another round of drinks.” His features broke into a grin.

Dale hugged him round the waist. “Your logic’s flawed, but I’ll love you forever.” And then he fell backwards off his stool.

*

By the time they left the tavern, they were incapable of walking in a straight line. They formed a row, five abreast, with arms wrapped around each others’ shoulders to provide mutual support, and marched back to the guildhall to a song about a mercenary called Mighty Marrick. The lyrics told of the hero’s encounters with, among others, a ship full of pirates, a family of hill trolls, and one very surprised dragon. Tevi had trouble understanding the slang phases and euphemisms, but she made enough sense to know that the tale was both obscene and biologically impossible.

Cayell took three attempts to get up the steps to the side entrance. Tevi stayed to help. In the end, Cayell literally crawled up and then collapsed at the top, giggling. Tevi dragged her to her feet and propelled her forward. Some distance ahead, the three men were embarking on a spirited repetition of the fourth verse.

The singers were crossing a courtyard when a door was flung open. A large shape blocked the light, filling the entrance. Tevi was about to step into the open, but Cayell pulled her back behind a pillar. “It’s her. Big Bron.”

While the two young women hid, biting their knuckles to stop from laughing, Bron loudly extolled the virtues of peace and quiet. She proceeded to give an unflattering account of the men and, by implication, their parents. Bron seemed to know only one adjective, but used it to great effect.

When they heard the door slam, Tevi and Cayell peered cautiously around the pillar. The courtyard lay deserted in the moonlight. With exaggerated care, they tiptoed across, then rushed all the way to the junior members’ quarters, where Tevi had her room. They stumbled to a halt outside.

“I’ve got to see the assessor again first thing tomorrow,” Cayell gasped. “Then I can move my things down here. Is there a spare room near yours?”

Tevi nodded. “I’ll meet you in the dormitory and give you a hand.”

By way of acceptance, Cayell flung her arms around Tevi, which threatened to send the pair of them sprawling. They regained their balance, and Cayell stepped back. “Right, then. Tomorrow, midmorning. See you there.” She staggered away, heading towards the nominees’ dormitory, while humming the chorus of “Mighty Marrick” under her breath.

*

The dormitory was deserted the next morning, when Tevi and her hangover entered. A muted grey light fell over pale blankets on the row of empty beds. To Tevi’s bloodshot eyes, the effect was dazzling, forcing her to squint. The pulse throbbed at her temples with hammer blows, and waves of nausea threatened her hold on her stomach contents—or would, had there been any.

She groped her way to Cayell’s bed, fell down, rather than sat; and then wrapped her hands about her head as if her skull might split. The only sound was of her sucking air into her lungs through clenched teeth.

The door swung open with a crash. “Oh, dear, oh, dear. Look what the cat’s dragged in.” Cayell’s voice boomed mercilessly.

“Go away. I hate you,” Tevi mumbled, drawing a peal of laughter.

“I can see you’re going to be a bundle of fun.”