Tyrant's Blood (28 page)

‘I don’t understand.’

‘You will, my child. Now, some facts you need to know. The Quirin is deformed…and old. So old, in fact, I wonder how much longer she will be with us. I see that shocks you.’

‘I suppose you never think of such gifted people being mortal.’

‘Oh,’ she smiled. ‘She is very mortal, I’m afraid. She can do nothing for herself. We feed her, bathe her, we are responsible for her every need and desire. But she wants for little, and asks for even less, so a lot of the time we have to guess what it is that is best for her. She has been with us since she was a little girl. She is much older than me.’ The Abbess beamed. ‘Even though I know that’s hard for you to imagine.’

It was a small jest but he couldn’t enjoy it. ‘Who comes after her? I mean, who will take her place?’

The Abbess shrugged. ‘No one, at this point. Quirins are born, not made. We may live decades, perhaps centuries before we see another. Or a new Quirin may find her way here tomorrow, born Vested, realising she is more.’

‘Vested?’

‘The people who—’

‘Yes, Mother, I know what it means. I haven’t heard that word in a long time.’

‘That’s because it is a Set word. I think, Regor, you were definitely born and raised in the Denovian Set. But rally your courage now and learn all that you can.’ She gestured at the door handle. As he reached for it, she added: ‘I should warn you, she is blind. She is also deaf and pratically mute.’

‘How will we communicate?’

‘She has her ways. Go now, Regor. I hope you find answers.’

He didn’t know why he embraced her, or even why she permitted it, but he bent and kissed her cheek. ‘Thank you, Abbess.’

‘I hope you’ll feel the same way later.’

He returned her sad smile. ‘Will you reassure Elka that I can’t help this?’

‘She already knows,’ the Abbess said, nodding gently with encouragement.

There was nothing else to say. He gripped the iron ring, twisted it and pushed the door open. It was dark and cold inside. When he turned to say something, the Abbess had gone. Taking a deep breath, he stepped inside, wondering why they would keep this woman in such dark surrounds.

I have no need of light
, a tetchy voice spoke into his mind. Surprised, he staggered backwards, grabbing for the door. The voice laughed.
I startled you. You shouldn’t think questions so loudly if you don’t want them answered
.

‘Quirin, I’m sorry for acting afraid. I don’t know what to expect.’

What? You’ve come here and now you’ve got nothing to say?
she demanded.

Of course—she was deaf! He frowned in concentration and thought his response to her.
Forgive me. I said I was sorry for acting afraid.

He heard her chuckle, not unkindly.
So they’ve given me a man.
She made a sound of pleasure.
I haven’t heard one of your kind since I was a young woman. How old are you?

I don’t know
. He was getting the hang of how to think his responses even though it was tempting to answer in the more natural way.

Guess
.

I would estimate I am in my third decade, though where in it I cannot say.

Come here. Let me feel you.

He obediently moved forward gingerly, with no real idea where he was headed. He must have thought his uncertainty because a flame suddenly erupted and a single tiny candle was lit.

The owner of the dislocated voice was hunched in robes, her head covered by a caul. She felt her way along a wall, back into the gloom of the shadows, and sat down.

Is that easier?

Yes, thank you
.

You have a nice voice over the seam
.

The seam?

That’s what we call speaking across minds.

How am I able to do this?

Because I permit it. You are drawing on my power
.

Then I thank you again
.

You are a polite man. Raised well. Noble, perhaps?

I have no idea. Do you have a name?

He could hear the smile in her mind-speak.
I did once. You are the first person to ask me for it in a long time
.

I would have thought the nuns would know it.

I am older than most of them. They know me simply as Quirin. But Quirin is a title, not a name. And names are so important, aren’t they? They unlock secrets
.

Yes,
he said,
my name is very important to me
.

I know. I have been told of your predicament. So come, let me touch you
.

He approached her.
Why do you hide yourself?

Because I frighten people with my appearance.

You do not frighten me
.

You have not looked upon me. You will need to bend down, my friend
.

He went down on his knees so she could reach out and feel the contours of his face. They both fell silent as she touched his cheekbones and chin, felt the length and texture of his hair, which hung loose today.

Finally, she sighed.
A beard, so you are not so youthful but you are hardly an old man. I think you are right in your estimation, although I would place you at twenty-seven or twenty-eight anni. And you are handsome but I don’t believe you’ve had many lovers.

He cleared his throat.
Why would you assume that?

I am told you have lived with the Davarigon folk for ten anni. Before that you would have been a young man, still a youth almost. Not enough years beneath your belt for much sexual adventure—although I suspect you are no virgin.
He knew he reddened, could feel the heat on his cheeks. She was right.
But living with the mountain folk probably means you haven’t engaged in much—

None
.

Why?

I have not felt inclined.

A man of twenty—seven or—eight not inclined to
—

Hush, Quirin, you make me blush
.

He heard her amusement. She sighed, as if making a decision.
My name is Vervine and I like your discomfort. I am blind but I see no pretension in you. And your embarrassment is like a small gift to one who has been starved of the opportunity to flirt
.

How old are you?
he said, his tone filled with bemused wonder.

Now she laughed deeply in his mind.
I will help you, Gavriel de Vis. Ask me your questions.

Gavriel rocked back. As soon as she spoke it, he knew the name was correct. It was as if a door had been unlocked and pushed open the tiniest crack. Through it he could see a thin glow of light. All the answers lay behind the door. All he had to do was push it open.

Where do I belong?
he asked.

And Vervine began to speak.

Kilt Faris was rounding the same bend in the road that Lily had only a day or two earlier. As Woodingdene came into view, he was struck by the beauty of the town. What the ancient Valisars had begun, Brennus had continued here but Faris hadn’t seen the region in the last six or seven anni and it seemed Loethar was the ruler who had made the real difference. All the buildings looked cleaned, freshly painted, and generally in such good repair that he stopped his horse, shocked, to gaze upon what had once been a village struggling to become a town and was now a thriving town destined to become a city. With the weather moving into easily the most temperate and enjoyable time, the sun made the pastel-coloured buildings sparkle. Faris smiled in spite of his mood.

He immediately looked for the inn, recalling it had once been called the The Golden Coin. It had been re-named The Emperor’s Head and displayed a portrait of a man, presumably Loethar, on its sign. Funny, he’d never seen the emperor in all these years. He cocked his head, wondering if the depiction was a true likeness; if so, it intrigued him with its strong jaw, dark looks and serious expression. He left his horse at the stable, paying for her to be rubbed down, fed and watered and for his saddle to be oiled.

Inside the inn, he began his mission of research, first ordering a jug of ale to please the innkeeper at this time of the morning when
business for ale was slow. A group of soldiers, bearing tatua, was drinking in the corner. But they were quiet and hardly looked up at his entry. Kilt deliberately didn’t let his gaze linger as he took off his distinctive hat.

‘You must be thirsty,’ the man commented as he banged the full jug down.

‘Oh, I think my eyes are always bigger than my belly,’ Kilt admitted, forcing weariness into his tone. ‘I’ve been dreaming of this ale for many hours.’

‘Ah, a long journey then?’

‘Yes, I’m up from the south,’ he lied.

‘Do you want a room?’

‘I’m not sure yet.’

The man nodded. ‘You let me know.’

Kilt poured himself a mug of ale and, although he wasn’t in the mood for it, made a big show of swallowing at least half the contents, burping politely but loudly enough that all heard and grinned. ‘That tastes good.’

‘That’s because it’s made here. We don’t take that stuff from Vorgaven…that overly yeasty brew,’ the innkeeper admitted with a conspiratorial air. ‘We brew right here. Well, the brewery is actually at Overdene just in the next town but it might as well be here.’

‘It’s excellent,’ Kilt said. In truth, he was unable to distinguish one ale from the next. He and his men were grateful to get any whenever they could.

‘How long are you here for?’ the man asked, making conversation as he hung up tankards in preparation for the busy evening ahead.

‘Again, I’m not sure,’ Kilt said, sipping again, acting nonchalant. ‘I’m actually here to find my…er, sister.’

‘Oh? She’s local?’

‘No. But I’ve news from home for her and I believe she passed through here recently. She might still be here if I’m lucky.’

The man frowned. ‘What’s her name?’

‘Lily Jeves.’

The man shook his head. ‘We’ve had no one in here of that name—staying, I mean.’

Kilt nodded. It had been a long shot and he hadn’t expected her to have been a guest at the inn but he hoped she might have been seen or heard of. He had to start somewhere, he told himself, feeling suddenly morose; it didn’t matter if his first probe drew a blank.

A soldier came to the counter and banged four mugs on the surface. ‘One more round, Arwin, and then we’ll be on our way.’

The innkeeper nodded. ‘Where are you off to?’ he asked the soldier as he filled the mugs.

‘Dregon.’

‘You haven’t heard of a Lily Jeves, have you?’

The man shook his head. ‘Should I?’

‘This…er, what’s your name?’

‘Rik Jeves,’ Kilt said, only at the last moment remembering that he was meant to be Lily’s brother. He swallowed some ale to hide his expression of relief. Then as an afterthought he held out his hand.

‘He’s looking for his sister,’ the innkeeper explained.

As the soldier was staring at his proffered hand, Kilt felt obliged to act more eager for information. ‘Er, long dark hair, about this tall,’ he said, indicating with his other hand. ‘Very pretty, although I would never tell her that.’ The man shook his hand and Kilt, relieved, continued, ‘Greenish eyes, probably wearing a blue cloak with—’

‘I think I have seen her,’ the man said, frowning, slightly confused.

Kilt’s heart flipped. ‘Really?’

‘Yes, well, it could be her. We brought her here, if it’s the same woman.’

Now Kilt’s heart began to hammer. ‘Brought her into Woodingdene, or to this inn?’ he asked shaking his head, deliberately looking muddled, trying to keep his expression even.
He knew full well Lily had been to this town. He just needed to know precisely where.

‘Into town. She was travelling with a man, right?’

Kilt shrugged. ‘Probably her—’

‘Husband, yes,’ the man said, his frown deepening.’

The mouthful of ale Kilt had just swigged stuck in his throat. He had to force himself to swallow. ‘Er, yes, probably.’

‘They were definitely travelling as a couple, this pair I’m thinking of.’

‘Yes, that’s right. She’s married,’ Kilt blurted. Was Lily pretending to be married to Kirin Felt? Why?

The soldier swung around. ‘Ho, Brimen, what was the name of that couple we escorted here the other day? You know, the one that the Wikken Shorgan was interested in.’

Wikken
. Kilt’s stomach clenched.

The man called Brimen shrugged. ‘Not sure I caught their names. Ronder will know, though. He spent most of his time talking with them.’

‘Ronder?’ Kilt queried. ‘Where can I find him?’

The man at the counter shrugged. ‘He’s coming with us later today so I know he’s here. He’s probably over at the barracks.’

‘Can I go over there and ask?’

The man nodded. ‘I don’t see why they’d give you trouble.’

Kilt smiled and tossed some coins across the counter. ‘That should cover my jug and the round for these good men,’ he said with a feigned grin at the innkeeper. ‘Thank you,’ he added to the soldier.

The soldier’s tatua moved as he smiled in return. ‘Tell anyone who may try to stop you that Shev said it was all right to let you speak with Ronder.’

Kilt squeezed the soldier on the arm in farewell. ‘Our mother’s very ill. I have to find Lily quickly. I know it’s probably meaningless to you but Lo blesses you.’

The man nodded and shrugged. ‘I don’t mind who blesses me, so long as I’m blessed,’ he said, grinning in the direction of the
innkeeper, who had been following the exchange and who returned the grin.

Once outside Kilt asked a passing woman for directions to the barracks, glad of his disguise as a member of the clergy. This costume always worked wonders at loosening people’s tongues…even barbarian tongues, it seemed, he thought.

The barracks was on the fringe of the town. Kilt walked there, marvelling once again at the beauty of the buildings he’d forgotten, reminding himself that the coin of the Set was now all minted here. Woodingdene was a wealthy town for sure, going by the number of people busy at their daily business and the number of elegant carriages plying the town.

At the barracks he was confronted by a huge soldier bearing the green tatua.

‘Ah, I’m Pastor Jeves,’ Kilt said genially.

The man didn’t look in the slight bit impressed. ‘And?’

‘And I’m trying to find one of your soldiers by the name of Ronder.’

‘Why?’ the man asked, his sombre expression unchanged.

‘I need to talk to him.’

‘About what?’

‘Well, I feel it’s best explained to him.’

‘Except I’m the man in charge of the gate, Pastor Jeves.’

‘Yes, indeed. Well, Shev, who I met at The Emperor’s Head, seems to think—’

‘Shev?’

‘Yes, wearing the green tatua.’

‘I know who he is. He sent you?’

‘Yes. We’ve just shared an ale together,’ Kilt said, skirting the truth. ‘He told me to tell whomever was on duty that it would be all right for me to speak with the soldier.’

‘Wait here,’ the man said. He called over a young lad and muttered something to him. The youngster ran off and the guard returned to the gate. ‘Ronder’s being called.’

‘Thank you. It’s lucky I ran into Shev.’

‘He’s one of General Stracker’s lieutenants.’

‘Ah, what a stroke of luck for me, then.’

‘Shev must have been in a good mood to offer help.’

‘I couldn’t tell you,’ Kilt said, his words genuine. ‘He didn’t look any different from his companions.’

‘General Stracker doesn’t look any different from us. He prefers equality.’

‘Truly. How very…er…spiritual,’ Kilt said. The man frowned at him. ‘Well, what I mean is, it’s not a creed one comes across often. I admire it.’ He smiled. ‘Naturally…being a man of Lo,’ he added.

‘General Stracker is a man to be admired,’ the Green said.

‘I’m sure. Have you met the emperor?’ Did he detect a soft sneer that was gone as quickly as it arrived?

‘Know him. I played with him as a boy.’

‘Really? How extraordinary. Our old system of kings and queens, well, they never played with commoners, I don’t believe.’ Kilt reached out and slapped the man playfully on the arm.

‘Too high and mighty,’ the man growled.

‘Mmm, well,’ Kilt contrived a self-conscious smile, ‘we’ve had ten anni of the emperor’s rule now and I have to say it’s—’

‘And turning too much into a Set man,’ the soldier continued as though Kilt hadn’t spoken. ‘Forgotten his roots.’

A spike of fresh interest moved through Kilt. ‘Is that an issue for the men?’ he asked, keeping his voice low, trying not to disturb the man’s musings.

‘We hate his wife,’ the man said. The venom in his tone surprised Kilt.

Faris nodded. ‘A Set woman, I gather.’

‘Worse. A noble from the old days. He should have taken a Steppes wife.’

‘I understand,’ Kilt soothed, seeing someone approaching in the distance. He looked down, not wanting to challenge the big
soldier with his gaze, but wishing he could keep exploring this conversation. ‘Perhaps the general would make a better leader?’

‘I’d follow him into the sea even if I had boulders tied to my feet,’ the guard helplessly answered. ‘Many of us believe it is time to overthrow our former ruler. It is time for change.’

‘You want General Stracker to be emperor?’

‘Stracker has not given over his heritage. He is Steppes through and through, which is more than we can say for Emperor Loethar these days.’

Kilt had run out of time. ‘Ah’. He tapped the man’s arm, releasing him. ‘Is this Ronder?’

The huge guard turned, looking momentarily confused. ‘That’s him.’ He beckoned to the approaching man, who hurried up to the gate.

‘You’re looking for me?’ the newcomer asked.

He was younger than Kilt had expected. Holding out a hand in welcome, he said, ‘I am. My name is Pastor Jeves.’

Ronder didn’t seem to notice the salutary gesture. Nodding at Kilt, he said, ‘We can talk over there. What is it you seek?’

Kilt inwardly sighed at his touch being ignored.
The hard way then
. As he and Ronder walked a little away from the gate of the barracks, he explained, ‘I’m looking for my sister. Her name is Lily Jeves and I was told that you might have escorted her into Woodingdene.’

‘I did. She was with her husband. They were only here a short time, just for their listing.’

‘Listing?’

‘Where are you from, Pastor?’

‘The south. I’ve been travelling a while, though,’ Kilt said carefully. He could feel a familiar tingling in his nose. It would happen soon. He would try once more. ‘Forgive me, could you hold this?’ he asked, handing over the small rucksack that he was carrying. ‘I’m going to sneeze,’ he lied, digging furiously in his pockets.

Astonished at the request but presumably feeling unable to ignore it, the soldier took the bag. Kilt miraculously found his
kerchief. ‘Thank you,’ he said and as the sack was returned to him, he touched the man’s hand in a move that was made to appear inadvertent. ‘Er, you were saying,’ he added. ‘About the list?’

‘Yes,’ the man said. ‘We are keeping a list of the Vested for the empire. Your sister and her husband were brought here to be listed with—’

‘Lily? Why?’ Kilt interrupted.

The man looked vaguely irritated. ‘Why would you ask? You’re her brother! Because she is Vested, of course.’

‘I see,’ Kilt said, grateful that his voice sounded normal.

‘Although we were mostly interested in her husband,’ Ronder added.

‘I can imagine that,’ Kilt remarked mildly.

Ronder nodded. ‘They were tested and permitted to leave.’

‘Tested? How so?’

Ronder smiled. ‘His name is Vulpan. You must have been away a long time not to know of him.’

Fear crept through Kilt’s body, beginning at the tip of his spine and working upwards and outwards. ‘Master Vulpan, that’s right, I have heard of him. The blood taster, right?’

‘That’s the one. He was here for a while.’

‘And now he’s gone?’

‘Preparing to leave, heading north.’

‘Why?’

‘General Stracker has given orders.’

‘Who are you hunting?’

‘The outlaw called Faris.’

‘No one’s seen him, to my knowledge.’

‘We don’t need to. We think Vulpan’s tasted his blood.’ Kilt knew he couldn’t push too hard. ‘Anyway, that’s not any of my business,’ he retreated. ‘So Master Vulpan “tasted” my sister?’ He tried to make it sound like a thoroughly normal query.

‘I assume so. They were certainly permitted to leave by Master Vulpan and that wouldn’t have occurred if he wasn’t satisfied.’

How in Lo’s name had Lily passed the test?
‘Where does Master Vulpan stay when he’s in Woodingdene?’ Kilt pushed.

‘In the mayor’s residence.’

‘I see. I don’t suppose you know which direction my family headed?’

Ronder shrugged. ‘I presume back to the palace. Master Felt told me quite firmly he was expected there.’ The man looked suddenly taken aback. ‘Your nose is bleeding, Pastor Jeves.’