Waterborne Exile Page 14

  Behind Rekhart the woman guffawed with laughter.

  PART III

  CHAPTER ONE

  “You want the truth, Marten? The truth is there’s bad blood in that woman’s line and you should sever all connections with her. Is that plain enough for you to understand?” The words were spoken in a low voice, brusque with anger, but Alwenna had no trouble hearing them; it was almost as if she had been intended to all along. She tried to turn away, to close her mind to them, but somehow she couldn’t.

  Marten’s boot heels scuffed on the floor of the cave as he paced back and forth. “Damn it, Rogen, we can do better than that. We must. She is key to regaining everything we’ve lost these past weeks.”

  “I always knew you were stubborn to a fault, Marten, but blind as well? It’s as well your father isn’t alive to hear this.”

  “He may not be, but my children are. Keep your voice down.”

  Rogen laughed bitterly. “Why should I? They should know what manner of a man fathered them. By the Hunter, I swear if I’d known then what I know now I’d never have let my daughter be taken in by you.”

  “Stop now, old man. You go too far. Your daughter made her own choice and she’s more than capable of telling me herself if she’s had second thoughts.”

  “She never will. She thinks she owes you some kind of loyalty because she’s given you no children. Truth is she should find a real man who can get them on her – one who will provide properly for his family and isn’t always chasing around the peninsula on mad schemes that’ll be the ruin of us all.”

  For a moment there was silence. Alwenna could no more close her mind to it than she could have climbed out from beneath the rubble that had buried her at Highkell. And now she was suffocating under the weight of the two freemerchants’ anger.

  “It’s as well for you, Rogen, I was raised to respect my elders. Because of that I’ll only tell you how wrong you are. I brought the Lady Alwenna here because I believed the elders were best placed to advise her on how to proceed. And there’s been nothing but backbiting and acrimony.”

  “You should have known better than to bring a landbound witch among us. Nothing good can come of it. Nothing.”

  “I’ve been working towards this for years. You know that. And with Tresilian gone, she’s our only hope of gaining redress. You know that, too. Stop to think, just for a moment, Rogen. For the sake of our people: we can’t go on scratching out a living here, not the way we have been. There are fewer and fewer children born among us. We need to act now, or there’ll be no freemerchants left because the remnants will be scattered to the furthest corners of the Peninsular Kingdoms. And we will have no history, because no one will speak our names.”

  “And so be it, if the alternative is to become landbound breeding stock, fattened for some lordling’s profit.”

  “Sometimes I forget how old you are, Rogen. But tonight I see it: your age has addled your wits. It’s time you stepped down from the council, before you lead everyone down roads that aren’t clear.”

  “I’ll leave the council the day I go to roam with the Hunter and not a day sooner. So it was with my father, and his father, and his father before him.”

  And they were all inbred fools, the lot of them. Even though Marten didn’t speak the words out loud they rang clear in Alwenna’s mind. Hadn’t she heard those words before, somewhere? She shivered, and became aware of her surroundings.

  She was seated on the bench, slumped over the rough table that was one of the few furnishings in their home with the freemerchants. A few vegetables were scattered about the table. Before her was a bloodstained eating knife, while a small amount of blood had pooled and begun to congeal on the tabletop. She straightened up, pressing her hands on the table for support, and was rewarded with a twinge of pain from her finger. She’d cut it. Must have cut it while she was chopping vegetables. And… what? Had she fainted? The child twisted in her swollen belly. Was this what pregnancy did: made invalids of perfectly healthy women? Was she really such a weakling?

  And then there was the dream… Marten and Rogen arguing.

  Except she knew it was no dream. The sight had found its way to her despite all her determination to fight it. She had no control over her own body and even less over her own will.

  But there was one thing she could do: she could leave this Goddess-forsaken place before her enemies closed in around her.

  She pushed herself to her feet, stretched, and moved over to the clay basin to wash her blood from the knife. It was time for her to leave – she could ignore the troubled visions no longer. There were those outcast freemerchants in the mountains. She should have sought them out weeks ago, instead of tarrying here. She picked up the clay basin to tip out the fine layer of dust that had accumulated in it. She couldn’t depend on Marten’s protection, oughtn’t remain here, not while her presence caused difficulties with–

  Footsteps scuffled in the doorway behind her. Instinct told her this was danger, and she spun round, basin in one hand, the knife in the other. Rogen stood there, clutching a cudgel, breathing heavily.

  “Well, old man? What are you waiting for?”

  Rogen took a step forward, flexing his fingers about the grip of the cudgel. “As the Hunter is my witness, witch, I’ll put an end to you.”

  “Indeed? This is your legendary freemerchant hospitality?” She twisted the knife about in her hand so she was holding it as she’d seen Weaver and Tresilian do in their training bouts.

  “This is how we deal with a threat against our own.”

  He had Alwenna cornered, blocking her route to the door, giving her no option. She hurled the clay basin at his face. It caught him a glancing blow, but it was enough to make him duck and she dived forward, grabbing the cudgel and hacking at his right hand with the small knife. He bellowed in anger as more footsteps came running up outside. Goddess, let them not belong to supporters of Rogen.

  An instant later Marten burst into the chamber, shouting. “Let her go!” He grabbed Rogen by the shoulders, pulling him away and Alwenna stepped back, hands beginning to shake as she dropped the cudgel. It bounced on the stone floor, rolling over and over until it came to rest against the ever-present drift of dust by the doorway.

  CHAPTER TWO

  Durstan set the account books to one side. The tale they told was not a happy one. To think they had been so close to success, before Tresilian’s queen had been brought into their midst.

  “Curwen, put these ledgers away and fetch me parchment and ink.”

  The slightly-built priest jumped as if startled. “At once, your holiness.”

  The summer palace had been a good place for the order, but without Tresilian’s patronage they couldn’t hope to continue there. They had few enough resources at their disposal now, never mind taking on repairs to the damaged portions of the palace. They needed tithes, a more populous region to draw their supplies from and to pay them their due. Land that could be turned to food and profit. They needed the support of a wealthy new royal patron: he had one such in mind. One who had the resources and the power to find the Lady Alwenna, wherever she may be.

  “Thank you, Curwen.” Durstan stirred the ink. It was a poor batch, too watery, but it was all they had at their disposal.

  “I will need to undertake a journey of pilgrimage which I hope will secure the brethren’s future. I will be leaving you in charge.”

  Curwen bowed his head. “Your holiness, you do me a great honour.”

  “I shall expect you to continue our work in my absence. There are, I believe, two soldiers still in the infirmary who are ready for the rebirth rites?”

  “Yes, your holiness. I believe they will make good candidates. If you wish to inspect them for yourself–”

  Durstan waved his hand and the monk fell silent. “All in good time. What progress have you made with the soldier, Pius?”

  “He is always biddable, your holiness. He asks no questions, never speaks out of turn. His strength is returning – eac
h day I see an improvement in him.”

  Durstan nodded. “Then he has passed the most critical stage. When will he be ready to travel?”

  “To travel, your holiness? I do not understand.”

  “Pius will be accompanying me on my journey, Curwen. I need him as an example of our work, to show our king Vasic what benefits would accrue to him if he were to take the order under his kingly wing. Pius will be the proof I was unable to offer Tresilian or his father before him. What monarch would not welcome an elite guard, not only blessed by the Goddess, but loyal to the death?”

  “Your holiness, this is an ambitious plan.”

  “It is time the order was brought back into the light. We will skulk no more at the edge of the kingdom, but take our place at the heart of all things, that the Goddess shall receive her dues once more as is her right. The whole of the Peninsular Kingdoms will return to the one true faith.”

  Curwen murmured, “Praise be to the Goddess. Bringer of life and bringer of death.” He shuffled his feet. “Holiness, I have heard it said that many call this Vasic a usurper and would sooner bend the knee to the Queen Alwenna than swear loyalty to him.”

  “That is why we must find the Lady Alwenna before anyone else does, Curwen. And that is why Vasic might be persuaded to provide us with the funds to do so. As long as she lives she will be a thorn in his side. And as long as she lives she will carry the power that she has stolen from the grey brethren. We will have that power back, Curwen. And then none can hope to stand in our way as we re-establish the old order of the Goddess.”

  “But, your holiness, how can we hope to achieve that? We have not food to carry us through another–”

  “The Goddess spoke to me in a vision, Curwen. She spoke to me, and told me we have her blessing. And she told me what we must do, every last detail. If we prepare our ground carefully and remain faithful we cannot fail.”

  Curwen bowed. “Praise be to the Goddess.”

  “Praise be to the Goddess,” Durstan echoed. “And now, Curwen, we have much to do if I am to set off for Highkell in timely fashion. Show me these two soldiers. We will treat them as we did the man Weaver, and by the time I return they will be ready to serve the order.”

  Durstan strode over to the door, throwing it open and stepping out into the corridor. He’d set Curwen’s doubts to rest, now a bold stratagem needed bold gestures to carry it through. The corridor was empty, but he could have sworn he heard the swish of skirts as someone hurried away.

  The image of the priestess Miria sprang unbidden to his mind. This was becoming unsettling. He must repeat his devotions to the Goddess, and perform them nightly, to rid his mind of this spectre. He would not be turned from his purpose by any living woman, however much she preyed on his mind. He would remain true to the Goddess.

  CHAPTER THREE

  Jervin’s library was a place of peace for Drew. He suspected Jervin hadn’t the faintest notion of the true worth of half the volumes in his collection. There was a rare gazetteer listing the reports of a high seer and his clerics who had examined all the precincts in Highground, itemising the value of tithes and comparing the merits of their various buildings. This orderly, who hailed from Lynesreach, had taken a dim view of the provincials with whom he found himself breaking bread as he did his rounds.

  Sometimes Drew turned to the listing for Vorrahan and read through it, comparing the pictures in his mind’s eye to the rather basic description. “A refectory building, of rudimentary structure but more commodious than the size of the community at Vorrahan currently warrants.” The prelate had been reprimanded for excess and a replacement sought as a matter of urgency. The refectory had been draughty enough, certainly. Always a chilly contrast to the heat of the kitchens where Drew had been given duties on first arriving at Vorrahan. The librarian had requested a likely young novice to help him sort and catalogue the collections and Drew had been only too glad to escape the bustle of the kitchens, not to mention Brother Irwyn’s less than kindly attentions.

  The librarian had never spoken of it, of course, but Drew guessed he knew… Yes, the library had always been a place of peace.

  “A curiosity on the lower slopes of Mt Vorrahan is the chamber whence the holy well springs forth from the ground, gathering in a capacious chamber wherein it forms a pool. This pool has a local reputation for promoting visions of the future. As such the Order of Seers has long had a presence allied to the precinct on Vorrahan. Once a popular site of pilgrimage, the spring chamber has fallen into disuse of recent years. The prelate has requested a suitable seer be sent to serve the precinct and instructions have been sent for a candidate to be chosen and prepared without delay.”

  This may well have been the process that led to Brother Gwydion’s selection. Drew reckoned up the years – it would have made Gwydion seventy years old at the very least by the time Drew had come to Vorrahan. He had never imagined it would be such a mundane process to select a high seer – far from the spiritual journey he had imagined. The whole book seemed to be a record of imagined slights and petty grievances, with concessions demanded to appease the pride of those affronted by the high seer’s findings. And yet Gwydion had truly been gifted with the sight – Drew had no doubt of it. Gwydion had told him of the Lady Alwenna’s journey in the weeks before her arrival. No, Drew thought, Gwydion had been a true spiritual, dedicated to serving the Goddess. Had he foreseen the disasters that would overcome Alwenna if she had returned to Highkell? If he’d had some hint of it, that might cast the agitation of his final days in a different light.

  Drew had the distance now to see that the precinct’s treatment of Gwydion had been lacking. The seer had been given scant respect by Garrad and kept at arm’s length from the main precinct. Even his dedicated servants had been looked at askance by their brethren. And he had even been sent to Vorrahan at what seemed little more than a whim by a higher authority. What might Gwydion have been if he had remained in the south and not been sent into effective exile on the grey, windswept island? Or was this how destiny worked – through such trivial chains of consequence? If Alwenna and Weaver had tarried even one day more on the road to Vorrahan, Gwydion might have died without passing on the knowledge of ages. Or Drew himself might have been the recipient.

  A raucous burst of laughter intruded upon Drew’s thoughts. The traders from Ellisquay were downstairs in Jervin’s study, ostensibly discussing important business. They disturbed the evening calm of the house. Jervin had made it clear to Drew that he was not included. Sensitive matters were involved, he had said, that must go no further than the walls of the room in which they were discussed. Their business didn’t sound sensitive. Not at all. It sounded drunk. It didn’t sound anything like business at all. Drew tried to concentrate on his book again, but rather than distract him the subject matter served to vex him. He might go and select another from Jervin’s library. It was far too early to think about going to bed and sleep was doubly unlikely with Jervin’s noisy visitors in the house.

  Mind made up, he hurried down the stairs. The hallway was empty, all the servants clearly having been banished as he had. He could listen at the door and there would be nobody to see him. He took a couple of steps past the library door before doubling back. What was he thinking? Ten to one he’d be caught peering through the keyhole as a servant brought more refreshments for the party. Jervin had impressed upon Drew the importance of providing generous hospitality for one’s business associates. No matter how tight times might be, he had said, it was vital such connections should see only success: a man at the top of his game; a man they wished to be associated with; a man whose wealth couldn’t help but rub off on them simply because of that association.

  From the household accounts Drew had seen that wealth wasn’t so much rubbing off on them as being poured straight down their gullets. And – going by those same accounts – those traders from Ellisquay had an appetite second to none. With a sigh he opened the library door and stepped inside. The voices were almost as distinct
in here as they had been in the hallway. He set his book down on the table, considering. There were built in cupboards flanking the fireplace that backed onto Jervin’s study. Shelves in the top half housed Jervin’s collection of ceramics from all corners of the peninsula and beyond, the whole being protected by glazed doors. The bottom half contained cupboards, closed off by pairs of panelled doors.

  The sound was far more distinct from the right side of the fireplace. Drew hesitated, then stooped down and gently opened the cupboard doors. The cupboard was more or less empty, containing a few folded cloths and nothing else. And when he peered through to the back he could see a tiny chink of light from the room beyond. On closer inspection he realised that side was closed off by a wooden panel which had split along the grain. It was through this crack the sound of conversation was reaching him. He couldn’t help himself now, and leaned closer.

  The Ellisquay traders were doing most of the talking. Drew struggled to follow the thick Ellisquay accent at the best of times, but now, well-lubricated, they were talking faster than ever, and talking over one another. He could make out odd words, but could not get the gist of what they were saying at all. Occasionally Jervin, seated at the far side of the room, interpolated a lazy comment in his low voice, but mostly he was letting them run on. Drew could picture him sitting there, glass in hand, smiling to himself as the drunken traders spilled their secrets. It was not the orgiastic scene he’d half expected to find – his initial flush of relief was rapidly followed by shame that he hadn’t trusted Jervin in the first place. Goddess, what was wrong with him these days? How could he have doubted him? Jervin was simply sitting there, smiling to himself, with murder in his heart.

  Drew shivered and pulled back out of the cupboard. Where had that thought come from? He had no idea, but he did know he ought not be eavesdropping like this. He closed the cupboard doors as softly as he could, fastening them with care and retreated to the bookshelves where he grabbed another book at random and hurried out of the room, mortified by his own behaviour.