Expiation (Shadeward Book 4) Page 2

  ‘Might I ask your name?’

  ‘My name is Guerrun. Guerrun Sandatch.’

  ‘A moment.’

  The servant retreated within the hall. Another man walked out, limping and leaning on a stick. His face was pale and jowly, the skin marked by a pox.

  ‘Greetings to you traveller,’ the man said. His voice was rough, but not unpleasant. ‘What is your business at my hall?’

  ‘Do I have the pleasure of addressing Lord Tarq?’ Guerrun asked.

  ‘You do,’ Tarq replied, looking at him, his eyes narrowed.

  ‘I understand you house and care for children,’ Guerrun said. ‘I was recommended to you by those in Serenia.’

  ‘Aye that be so,’ Tarq said, ‘We take in those upon whom misfortune has ventured. Many have lost their fathers to the sea, or their mothers to sickness and disease. They work though, from the youngest to the oldest, ’til they can make their own way in the world.’

  ‘Would you take a babe? A girl?’

  ‘A babe? Tarq frowned. ‘No. Too young, sir! A babe cannot–’

  ‘What if there was payment?’ Guerrun interrupted. ‘Forgive me, but I am in haste.’

  ‘Payment you say?’ Tarq said, licking his lips. ‘I would not wish to insult you, sir. But such care would not be cheap.’

  ‘Name your price.’

  ‘Ten koins a pass,’ Tarq said, without a pause. ‘For nursing such a young ’un.’

  Guerrun sighed, but nodded.

  ‘Agreed,’ he said. ‘I will pay you for half a round now, then I will return.’

  ‘A hundred …’

  ‘Yes.’ Guerrun led them round to where the herg was secured. He took a satchel from the saddle and counted out the money into a small bag, holding it out before him. Tarq reached for it. Guerrun pulled it just out of reach.

  ‘I will expect her to be well cared for. Food, cleanliness, washing, medicine. She will want for nothing, is that understood?’

  ‘It is sir, I will instruct my best maids to look after your daughter.’

  ‘She is not my daughter,’ Guerrun said. ‘I am her … guardian.’

  ‘She will be well cared for.’

  Guerrun nodded and dropped the bag into Tarq’s outstretched hand. Guerrun turned to the herg, gently lifting the baby out of the sling in which it lay. A faint cry of protest sounded from it and it wriggled in his arms. Guerrun gently comforted the child, planting a kiss on its forehead.

  ‘There there …’

  Tarq whistled and two women emerged, moving to his side, their heads bowed.

  ‘We are to tend to this child,’ Tarq said. ‘See to it that a cot and linen are prepared. Summon a wet nurse at once.’

  ‘Sire.’

  Both the maids bowed. One immediately skipped away. The other held her arms out towards Guerrun.

  Guerrun handed the swaddled child over to her and she took it in her arms, rocking it back and forth.

  ‘She is a treasure, sir,’ the maid said. ‘We will tend her well, do not fear.’

  ‘So I trust,’ Guerrun said.

  ‘What is her name?’

  ‘She is called Zoella,’ Guerrun answered and then looked at Tarq. ‘I will return in half a round as promised. You will care for her, or I will hear about it.’

  Tarq swallowed, but nodded.

  Guerrun took a deep breath, kissing his fingers before placing them on the child’s forehead.

  ‘Bless you, little Zoella,’ he said. ‘I will be back.’

  Guerrun jumped astride the herg and spurred it up the path at a gallop, leaving Tarq and the maid standing outside the hall.

  CHAPTER ONE

  The Border of Drayden and Scallia

  Round 2307, Third pass

  She had no idea how long she’d been there. She propped herself up on her elbows, coughing up water and spluttering.

  I’m alive! I escaped!

  She was lying on the edge of the river, washed up on the bank. Her clothes were ripped and torn, full of sand and dirt.

  That priestess, she was going to kill me … she tried …

  Gemma shook her head and wiped the muck out of her eyes. She coughed again, pulling herself up to her knees and looking around.

  The river was a gentle bend behind her, the banks soft and shallow, water lapping about her. It was a far cry from the foaming torrent she had thrown herself into.

  But it worked. I got away …

  Gemma recalled how a young priestess had saved her from the torture inflicted on her fellow prisoners. How she had feigned unconsciousness as she was carried out and how she had been flown out of the city of Daine on the back of a dach.

  She brought the young priestess to mind. There was one particular vivid memory; blue eyes and dark black hair.

  At great risk to herself the priestess had smuggled Gemma out of Drayden and flown her to the borders, leaving her there to make her own way into Scallia and to freedom.

  Gemma remembered what she had said.

  ‘I’ve come as far as I dare. You must make your own way now.’

  Gemma nodded, shedding the heavy riding gear. The priestess handed her a sack of provisions.

  ‘Be quick, it is only a few stretches march to Viresia from here,’ she said. ‘Hide in the forests and don’t let yourself be seen in the open until you are close.’

  ‘Thank you,’ Gemma replied. ‘For everything.’

  ‘Just stay alive,’ the priestess answered. ‘That is the only thanks I need. Beware the priestesses. Don’t use your gift if you can. It will bring attention to you.’

  ‘But what of you?’ the woman asked.

  ‘Do not fear for me,’ she replied.

  Gemma hoisted the sack. ‘Why?’ she asked. ‘Why did you save me?’

  The priestess licked her lips.

  ‘For Scallia.’

  Gemma frowned.

  ‘There’s no time to explain,’ the priestess said, gesturing for her to go. ‘I am of Scallia myself. Quickly! We may have been followed, run and hide.’

  The memory faded. It left more questions unanswered.

  Gemma still didn’t understand what had happened. How could a priestess be of Scallia? What did the woman mean? Maybe she had been stolen from Scallia too and had become a priestess? Whatever it was that had driven her to this daring rescue, Gemma was grateful to her.

  Then she shivered, recalling what had happened next.

  A second priestess had appeared once the first had gone, this one with a shock of red hair and fierce expression.

  Gemma had tried to run, but pain savagely cramped up her thigh. She had fallen, rolling into the tall rushes at the edge of the river, hearing the rushing water nearby.

  When Gemma had looked up, the second priestess was there, her staff jutting forward at Gemma’s throat. That memory was full of fear.

  ‘Don’t move,’ the priestess said. ‘I’ll make this painless.’

  ‘Please, don’t hurt me! Please …’

  Gemma saw the priestess roll her eyes and then stretch out her hand, palm outwards.

  She’s going to torture me … kill me!

  Gemma had tried to scream, but found she couldn’t. Her whole body was caught in the priestess’ strange power. Then, like a burning knife cutting into her skull, she heard words.

  Who are you?

  Gemma … my name is Gemma … please!

  Why did she rescue you?

  I don’t … I don’t know …

  There was more pain, but she couldn’t cry out.

  Why did she rescue you?

  Gemma hadn’t been able to stop the priestess from invading her memories. The conversation was replayed. Gemma could sense the red haired priestess’ astonishment at what she had found in Gemma’s memory.

  Then the priestess’ mental grip slackened.

  Gemma didn’t pause. She stumbled to her feet and ran.

  The river wasn’t far away. She reached a rocky edge, pausing before throwing herself over the precipice. She felt t
he priestess clasp at her mind, but the grip was faint and unsure. Wind roared in her ears …

  She hit the water hard, it was freezing and the current dragged her along and down. There was the brief sensation of pain, perhaps the priestess had tried to attack her again, but then it was gone. Soon there was nothing but the chill torrent churning about her. It was all she could do to drag her head above water to catch a breath before she was swept under again.

  Her body crashed against unseen objects. Every moment she expected to be dashed against a rock and for her life to end. Every time she came up gasping she thought it would be her last, her arms and legs ached as she struggled.

  Just as she thought she would drown she felt the current slacken and then …

  She forced the memories out of her mind and sat up.

  I must have passed out and washed up on the bank.

  She took a good look around her. The river was wide and slow now, the water lapping around her. She felt stiff and bruised, but a quick check seemed to indicate she wasn’t hurt, nothing was broken. She could feel the warmth of Lacaille on her, drying out what remained of her clothes.

  She felt her heart hammer in her chest.

  That priestess might be looking for me. I’ve got to get away. Got to hide.

  The first priestess had told her to travel shadewards into Scallia. She looked behind her to see the warm disk of Lacaille visible over the opposite bank. Before her the forest was thick and dense. She got to her feet, nursing her stiff legs and staggered into the vegetation. Within, it was dark; she had to wait for her eyes to adjust to the gloom. The tall shades carried on as far as she could see. Wearily she began to walk.

  * * *

  Lord Crenech stood atop the veranda of his home. It was a grand affair, mimicking the architecture of the capital city of his homeland, Viresia in Scallia. Built of white stone on the banks of a river it overlooked his lands, a series of well-cultivated fields bordered by the deeper forests of Scallia which stretched out sunward and shaderight to the limits of vision. His lands bordered another land to the sunward, that of the priestesses. Drayden itself.

  Not that there is much distinction now. Scallia belongs to them.

  He looked to the shadeward. A few dozen marks away lay the capital itself. Viresia was an ancient city, built in ages long forgotten, using techniques that no crafters could match in modern times. Much of it was empty and abandoned; it housed far fewer people than it could hold, and fewer now than in recent rounds.

  The priestesses saw to that.

  Scallia had been its own kingdom just a round before. Old King Marek had ruled for many rounds, a time of relative peace, though the king had a strange mercurial side to him. He had always counselled complete obeisance to the wishes of the Drayden priestesses to the sunward. He always obeyed their commands to send the cream of their young women to that strange land every five rounds.

  But the priestesses had not been satisfied with the last tithe. They had demanded more and came to enforce their mandate.

  And with the news of their arrival, Old King Marek had breathed his last.

  His son Ioric had taken over, a man many Scallians had great respect and fondness for. Much of the aristocracy were less enamoured, for Ioric was a man of few words and straightforward thinking, whereas his father had ears for their schemes and politics.

  And then the war came.

  Lord Crenech hadn’t been present in the city when the priestesses had descended and the fires rose, he’d ridden in on seeing the fires. The battle had been short and brutal, all was lost before he’d even arrived.

  Viresia was left in flames, King Ioric and his half-brother Torin were dead and, according to the stories, his daughter, Lady Liana had been kidnapped never to be seen again. Hundreds of refugees had spilled out of the city and into his lands, looking for shelter and food having lost everything in the attack.

  It wasn’t long before the lords were summoned by the priestesses. Crenech had looked on while Lord Sequon defied the will of the high priestess herself, a woman who called herself Nerina Helios.

  Sequon had faced her down and paid the penalty, the others had watched as he was crushed down to his knees, tortured and despatched by the high priestess’ otherworldly powers. None had dared to defy her again.

  So she thinks.

  Crenech permitted himself a smile.

  It was clear that direct confrontation was not the way. The priestesses’ abilities were way beyond anything anyone in Scallia could hope to counter. Sequon had been brave, but foolish. He’d achieved nothing but his own death. If the priestesses were to be resisted, it had to be by more subtle means.

  Crenech had overheard some talk about a conflict with an island far out in the sea to the sunright; that problem was occupying the priestesses.

  Perhaps something has not gone to plan …

  The priestesses who remained couldn’t be challenged directly, but it was easy enough to ensure they were kept busy with the minutia of Scallian administration. The priestesses’ intentions were the same as before. They were seeking more young women like themselves, now with a great deal of urgency.

  Crenech knew of the old five round tithe. How high born girls from each aristocratic family had been summoned by order of the king and sent to Drayden, never to be seen again. Young women were still being caught by the priestesses and wrenched from their families, subjected to some strange check and then either being released or taken away by dach, presumably to Drayden.

  According to the rumours, many women, regardless of where they were born, had the potential to manifest powers such as the priestesses displayed.

  The priestesses are taking our women … our kin, then brainwashing them, indoctrinating them in their ways, turning our own against us.

  Whatever this power was, it was the core of the priestesses’ purpose.

  If we could retain these powers, perhaps we could defy them and reclaim our homeland from them.

  And such, behind closed doors, had been the thinking of the lords of Scallia.

  Crenech looked up, seeing one of the dachs circling in the sky above. It was descending in sweeping arcs. He quietened his thoughts, unsure of whether the priestess above would be able to hear what he was thinking. The limits of their powers weren’t known.

  But at least I knew this one was coming …

  He strode forward across the veranda, waiting for the large creature to land. It came down with a heavy thump, raising a gust of wind as it back-flapped its wings to reduce its speed. The priestess aboard leapt down with a lithe movement and strode towards him. She was dressed in leather armour as was custom for the priestesses, though it was covered in a dark cloak. She held a staff, the priestesses’ primary weapon, in her right hand. Crenech knew it was called a kai.

  ‘A fine stretch,’ Crenech said, with a bow.

  ‘I come to search your lands,’ the priestess replied.

  ‘Again?’ Crenech asked. ‘You did so barely a pass ago, no more girls have been born or come of age in such a short time.’

  The priestess stepped closer, her expression one of annoyance and arrogance.

  ‘Do you defy me?’ she snapped.

  ‘Not at all,’ Crenech replied. ‘I merely fear you will waste your time.’

  ‘My time is not wasted,’ the priestess replied. ‘Prepare food and water and follow me.’

  Crenech bowed and gestured for her to proceed. The priestess strode across the veranda and entered his house, Crenech following behind. He gestured to his staff and they went to prepare provisions for his visitor.

  ‘How goes your search?’ Crenech asked.

  ‘Well enough,’ the priestess snapped at him.

  ‘I heard some talk of trouble in faraway lands,’ Crenech said. ‘I hope it has been dealt with.’

  ‘We will deal with them in the same way we have dealt with Scallia,’ the priestess returned, her pace not slackening. ‘Resistance to our rule is foolishness.’

  So … not dealt with
yet. Interesting.

  ‘Viresia was humbled in a single stretch,’ Crenech observed. ‘Surely these adversaries of yours have already been subdued?’

  The priestess glared at him, but didn’t deign to reply.

  So, there do exist some who can defy the priestesses! Who are they, and how have they managed it?

  The priestess continued her walk through the halls and corridors of Crenech’s house. Wherever she encountered a woman she would stretch out her hand, her fingers reaching forward. The women would stand obediently, knowing any defiance would be punished with a pulsing headache. The priestess was disappointed with each one, turning on her heel with a tut or a sigh before moving on, with Crenech trying to keep pace behind her.

  She came to the end of her search of the rooms.

  ‘Are there no others?’ she demanded.

  ‘None within the household,’ Crenech said. ‘Stablehands and urchins in the fields perhaps, if you wish to …’

  The priestess turned to him. ‘I will not traipse through muck and filth. I will be back in five stretches, have every woman in your household from the youngest to the oldest assembled for my inspection at the first chime on that stretch.’

  ‘All of them?’ Crenech asked in dismay.

  ‘Every single one,’ the priestess replied, emphasising each word with a curl of her lips. ‘And they should be clean as well.’

  ‘Of course,’ Crenech said. ‘It shall be done as you request.’

  The priestess turned on her heel, striding away, her dark gown billowing out behind her. The servants who had brought food and drink scattered out of her way. She ignored them completely and strode to the veranda, mounting her dach. With a sharp cry it arched its back and, with its wings flapping mightily, rose out of sight.

  Crenech watched it go before picking up a ripe corcun from a table and crunching down into it, a grin upon his face.

  A waste of time for you perhaps, but I have learnt something from your visit.

  He finished the fruit and gestured for the rest of the repast to be cleared away. Then he strode into his house and down into the halls below.

  ‘Open the cellars,’ he asked two of his staff.