The Singers of Nevya (91 page)

“Is she alive, then?” He came to sit beside her on the flat stone, and Theo followed to stand behind him. At the fire, Berk offered Mreen a handful of dried fruit from his saddlepack.

Sira said, “She is alive, but her sending is weak.”

“She is rather old, after all,” Zakri said.

“And she must be frightened,” Theo added.

Sira nodded. “She has reason. No doubt Cho controls her by threatening her people.”

“It is imperative he not know, then.” Zakri took out his
filla
and looked at it, then smiled and put it back. “I think I can deal with our friend Cho. I am in the perfect mood for a game of knuckle and bone. Any wagers on the winner?”

Sira looked to Theo. “Will you follow, at a little distance? I do not know what will happen. His abilities are so odd, and now he has help. Zakri . . .” her voice trailed off.

Theo smiled down at her. “I will follow,” he said.

“And no heroics,” she warned. Theo chuckled, and winked at Zakri, but they promised.

She put her
filla
to her lips again. She played through the
Iridu
tune once, giving Zakri a chance to begin, before she sought out the captive Singer.
Cantrix Elnor? I think it will be all right now, at least for a time. Are you well?

Again the thread of Elnor’s thought was thin, but perfectly intelligible.
No one in this House is completely well,
she answered.
It is cold, and we are hungry. Our nursery gardens no longer grow.

Your
filhata?

They took it from me, and my senior’s too. He is dead.

I heard. I am sorry.

Elnor was silent for a few seconds. When she sent again, it was like listening to someone whisper. Sira’s brows drew together as she poured all her strength into listening.
Are you here to help us?
Elnor asked.
What can I do?

Sira explained. The Cantrix was quick to grasp their plan, and eager to do her part. Sira wanted to ask her more, but Theo touched her arm in warning. She broke the contact.

“What is it?” she asked.

Zakri and Theo exchanged a look. “He knows we are here,” Theo said. “He was at his evening meal, and at first he was not sure anything was taking place, but at the end—”

“He knew me,” Zakri said. “He has grown much stronger. He cannot actually send clear thoughts, but he hears a great deal. I tell you, I hate feeling his mind anywhere near mine! It is like putting your hand into something rotten. And he is expecting a fight. As soon as he knew I was there, those others were there, too. Carvers, I am sure. Their psi is similar to Cho’s—that sort of wide focus . . . strong, but dull. The way they use it—it is like trying to cut bread with the side of your hand, sort of plowing through instead of slicing it neatly.”

Theo gave a short laugh. “A colorful turn of phrase, my friend, but it describes the sensation well enough.”

“Theo—now you have felt their power—do you think we can do this?” Sira asked.

“We can do it,” he said. “We must. But there are none too many of us.”

I want to fight, too.

All their eyes turned to Mreen, kneeling by the fire with Berk. She looked back at them with her little chin lifted.

“Mreen,” Sira began. Berk looked around, startled.

“It is not safe for you, little one,” Theo said firmly. “If you were listening, then you heard what Cantor Zakri said. This is an evil man, and he would not hesitate to hurt a child.”

He is already hurting one,
she sent.

“Let us not put another at risk, then,” Theo told her. “Cantrix Sira and I will help Cantor Zakri, and Cantrix Elnor will do what she can. Your job is to help Berk with that
keftet
before we all starve!”

Mreen turned obediently to the fire again, but her face was grave. Sira rubbed her forehead with a weary hand.

“We will make it work, Sira,” Theo assured her. “Between us, and Elnor. We will free Soren, and the little Gifted one. By this time tomorrow, it will be done.”

“By the will of the Spirit,” she sighed.

Theo patted her shoulder. “Exactly.”

The task of getting into the House by way of the waste drop fell to Zakri. He crept around the frozen mound of offal and refuse, moving on silent feet past the inner wall of the eastern wing. It was early, and the narrow door was in near-darkness. The sun had risen above the mountains, but the space behind the House, between the two wings, was still in shade. Zakri shivered in his furs. Soren’s inadequate warmth did not reach past its walls. There was no spill from the
quiru
to warm him.

Theo came to the stable door at the same time, leading two
hruss
. They reasoned that even if the stableman recognized him, it would be from his early years, when he was an itinerant. The stableman might be surprised, but hardly alarmed. Theo would stay with the
hruss
while Zakri slipped inside.

When they were in position, Sira walked boldly up the front steps and pounded on one of the tall doors with her fist. In the stables, Theo bent over one of the
hruss’s
feet, ostensibly looking for a stone. He pressed his forehead against the shaggy flank, and listened. Zakri, inside the House now, flattened himself against the corridor wall, also following Sira with his mind. Cantrix Elnor was joined with them, the thread of her psi as fine and slender as a single hair of a
hruss’s
tail. Together the four of them spun a web of power, wove a snare for their prey. Zakri tried to believe it was enough.

As they had hoped, Cho himself came to meet Sira in the hall. He was flanked by three others. Sira judged them to be carvers, since they, like Cho, wore long
obis
knives slung about their waists in slim leather scabbards. Two itinerants hovered on the stairs. All five were men, their faces rigid with tension. Since the day before, Sira was sure, they had known something was coming. Their fear was a presence, a cloud like the patches of darkness that marked the corridors. Nevyans were born and bred with deep reverence for a fully trained Gift, and they understood what Sira was.

Only Cho had no misgivings. He sneered at Sira. “Well, Conservatory. You’ve got nerve, coming into my House alone.”

Sira lifted her head high to meet his eyes, confident that hers were as cold and hard as his own. She flicked a glance over the carvers, then the itinerants. “Are these your converts, Cho? Your faithful?” She spit out the words as if they tasted evil in her mouth. One of the carvers dropped his gaze to his feet, and the itinerants glanced at each other.

Cho’s laugh was too high, a kind of adolescent snicker. His voice had almost no lower register, and it offended her ear. “So they are, Cantrix.” He smiled. “Is that what I call you? Or is it Maestra?”

“It matters nothing to me what title you use.” Sira’s tone rang through the hall, and the itinerants shifted their feet, recognizing the power of it.

Cho shrugged, and stroked the thin plait that hung over his shoulder. “Fine—I’ll just call you Conservatory, then. We’ll go up to my apartment, and you’ll be treated just as any courier might be, coming from one House to another. But remember—this is my House. I rule here.”

Sira took a long and measuring look around her at the fractured
quiru
. She looked back at Cho with as challenging a glance as she could muster before she started up the stairs on her own, her long legs spanning two at a time. The itinerants jumped back hastily, to get out of her way, and she stopped, straddling three steps. “Do you really think,” she asked them, “that I would indulge in the kind of abuse that your leader does?” She spoke over her shoulder then, to Cho. “But I suppose fear is a potent persuader if you have no other.”

He laughed again, a titter as thin as his braid. He followed her up the stairs. At the top, he strode past her, leading the way. The carvers and itinerants followed at a cautious distance.

Inside the apartment, a plain woman with graying hair lay stretched on a couch. She leapt to her feet when they all trooped in, and Sira eyed her.

“This is Bree,” Cho said. “Gifted, like yourself.”

Bree flushed, and bobbed her head in a semblance of a bow. Sira turned away without responding and looked about her. “The
quiru
is little improved, even in your own rooms,” she commented. “It looks to me, Carver, as if you have serious need of Conservatory.”

Cho’s smile faded, and he flipped his braid over his shoulder with an angry gesture. “You have nothing we want.”

Sira pulled out a chair and sat down, stretching her legs out. “I wonder if your House members would agree,” she murmured, and raised her scarred eyebrow at the others in the room.

Cho went to the window to lean against the casing. He tipped his head back to sight down his long nose at Sira. “I should warn you,” he said with a smile. “My aides are ready this time, so none of your tricks . . . your Conservatory tricks.”

“Tricks?” Sira said. “We call it training. Discipline.”

He shrugged. “Call it what you like. Much good it does you now.”

Sira folded her arms. “I have come for the child,” she told him. “And for Cantrix Elnor.”

“You can’t have them.”

“Since when on Nevya have innocent people been imprisoned?”

“Cantrix Elnor is sworn to serve Soren.”

“But you are not allowing her to perform her duties.”

Cho pulled a chair out with his foot. He sat in it and leaned far forward over the table until his face was level with Sira’s. “She is there to serve if we need her. When I say. If I say.”

Sira met his eyes. “Ah—so you do not have faith in this patchy mess of a
quiru
.”

“Certainly I do,” he said. “Just now, we are learning how to do things—many things—our own way, not Conservatory’s way, not Lamdon’s.” He glanced around at his uneasy troupe. “It’s a question of cooperation, isn’t it, my friends? Teamwork.”

“Indeed,” Sira said dryly. “And the child? The little Gifted one?”

“He doesn’t know what is best for him.”

“And you think you do?”

“So I do.”

Sira pushed back her chair and stood, her hands on her hips. The itinerants and carvers who leaned against the walls or waited in the doorway watched her warily. “Do you all want to live this way?” she demanded of them. “Your House cold, your freedom gone—”

“Gone?” Cho shrilled. “Their freedom isn’t gone! They’re just winning it now!”

“Truly?” Sira strolled around the table, and stopped in front of Bree. “Tell me, Singer. What freedom do you have now that you did not have before?”

Bree’s plain face creased with misery. “Cantrix . . . “ she murmured. “I’m sorry . . . “

“Oh, no need, believe me. This will all be ended soon.” Sira stepped past Bree to address the man next to her. “You are a carver, are you not? Much call for your skills just now?”

“Don’t say a word!” Cho snarled from behind them. “Nobody says anything!” The carver dropped his eyes to stare at the floor.

Sira went to the next, a heavy man with dark hair. “What is your name?”

His eyes pleaded with her, and she felt the tremble in his mind. “Ah. You are a Singer.” she said. He nodded. “Your name?”

He began, “I’m Klas, Cantrix . . . “ and then broke off. He sagged against the wall behind him, and his knees began to bend. His face went utterly pale, sweat beading quickly on his fleshy cheeks. Sira whirled to look at Cho.

Cho was on his feet. His eyes were narrowed, fixed on Klas. “Stop it!” Sira ordered. When Cho did not respond, she widened her own shielding to stop his attack on the itinerant. Cho turned the full force of his assault on her.

The brute force of his psi shocked her. Meeting it with her own was like being shoved head first into a stone wall. She stiffened her shields with an effort that made her head ache and her vision blur. It was no wonder these itinerants were cowed into submission.

Theo, who had followed everything, joined his energy to hers, and seconds later Zakri and Elnor did too. Together they broke off Cho’s onslaught. With a gasp and a flaring of his thin nostrils, he gave it up. He stared triumphantly at Sira.

“So!” he exclaimed. “Conservatory didn’t come alone, after all!”

Zakri! Theo!
Sira sent swiftly.

On my way,
Theo sent immediately.

And I,
from Zakri.

Cho heard both. Before Sira understood his intent, he lunged for a door at one side of the room, thrusting back the bolt and going inside. Sira thought he was fleeing, and she was about to reach out for him with her psi, to attempt to force him out as she had the day before, when he appeared in the doorway, holding the girl Sook by the arm. He caught her close to him, at the same time pulling his long knife out of his belt with his free hand.

“Cho, no!” the Singer Bree exclaimed. Sira heard the terror in her voice, and her own anger flared again.

“If you do anything to harm this girl,” she snapped, “I will break your mind like snapping an icicle over my knee, and the pieces will never mend!”

“I don’t think you can do it, Conservatory,” Cho answered. “But you’re welcome to try!”

Cries and pounding feet from the corridor heralded Theo’s arrival. He burst through the door, a crooked grin on his face, a cringing itinerant Singer dragged behind him. “Sorry to be late,” he said breathlessly. “I had to pick this one’s brain to find out where you were.”

The itinerant pulled away, rubbing his arm, and casting fearful glances at Cho. “I couldn’t help it,” he whined. “I don’t know how to shield myself!”

“Get out!” Cho commanded. With his eyes on Theo, he brought the long knife up to rest on Sook’s breast, a hand’s breadth from her slender throat. Despite the nearness of the black blade, the girl’s dark eyes shone with a sudden flash of joy. Zakri had just appeared in the doorway.

“Singer Zakri!” she cried, and Sira’s heart turned over at the poignancy of her welcome. The girl did not know, did not understand.

“Let her go,” Zakri growled. His voice was lower, older than Sira had ever heard it. Both Theo and Zakri took two steps closer to Cho.

The knife moved up, just under Sook’s chin. The haft of it pressed into her skin, and her eyes widened. She made no further sound.