The Awakening (33 page)

The city of Ajyne squatted like a sleeping bear amid the vast fields of waving wheat. Leone stared down at the Capital from atop the Mount of the Thane. Diplomat Cherise rode on ahead, unmindful of her, as he had been since leaving the house of the Tribesmen. He never mentioned the attempted rape or her near killing of Urtane. Neither did he explain how he came to know them.

Now, as they neared the Capital, she found herself becoming concerned about what was going to happen. She looked down at herself. Dressed in the borrowed clothes of a Tribeswoman, her right arm taken by an arox beast, and riding on a borrowed horse, the only thing about her that said Caldorman was the Thane’s Needle that hung at her hip.

Her fears were realised when they were challenged at the gate.

‘Diplomat Cherise and Caldorman Leone,’ the Diplomat said evenly. ‘Returning from the north with vital news for the Thane’s ears only.’

‘Diplomat Cherise is dead of Danan fever,’ the guard assured Cherise.

‘Oh, I see,’ Cherise murmured.

The guard dismissed Cherise and turned his attention to Leone. ‘I know of a
Coerl
Leone,’ he sneered. ‘But there is no Caldorman of that name.’

‘I was granted a field promotion by the First Son himself,’ interjected Leone.

The guard shot her a hard glare. ‘If you are going to impersonate an officer, lady, at least steal a uniform first.’

Rage built within Leone. Instinctively she went to whip her sword out, but only succeeded in unbalancing herself as the stump of her right arm flailed across her body. The guard saw her suddenly sway uncomfortably in her saddle. He roared with laughter.

‘As Caldorman I am giving you a direct order,’ said Leone in a low, controlled voice. ‘Stand down!’

‘You should have stolen an arm as well as a uniform, Caldorman!’ he bellowed, eliciting laughter from the other soldiers.

Her rage changed to fury. Without thinking, she dropped her left hand and pulled out her Needle. A controlled flick of arm and wrist sent it flickering unerringly across the intervening space to bury itself between the offensive guard’s eyes. For a moment, he stood, shocked into silence, then he sank dead to the ground.

‘Anyone else?’ Caldorman Leone called. ‘Anyone want to challenge my rank?’

Her challenge was greeted by the rustle of arrows drawn from quivers, followed by the simultaneous creaking of a dozen bows being drawn back.

‘Get off your horse, woman. Whoever you are,’ came a voice from by the gate. It was deep and drawling, with a Southern Province accent. Leone could not remember any Coerl from the Southern Province. He stepped out into the sun. ‘Who are you?’ he demanded.

Leone regarded the man. He was tall, but not exceptionally so, angular with long, brawny arms and a shock of auburn hair. He returned her gaze with an even intensity that unsettled her.

‘My name is Leone,’ she replied. ‘Caldorman Leone. I am travelling with Diplomat Cherise, returning from an important mission for the Thane.’

The Coerl waved a negligent dismissal. ‘Yes, yes,’ he said, ‘I heard all the “vital news” stuff. Any proof?’

Leone frowned. ‘Proof? Since when do travellers need proof to enter the Empire’s capital?’

‘Since they make wild claims about their identities, claim an audience with the Thane and,’ he paused to look down, ‘kill the Thane’s soldiers.’ He frowned as he looked down at the dead soldier. With a grunt of surprise, he stooped and dragged the Needle out of the dead man’s head. He held it up to examine it closely. ‘And with a stolen weapon, too, I might add.’

Leone sighed. ‘It is not stolen, it was handed to me personally by the Thane on my promotion to Coerl.’

‘Really?’ the Coerl said with feigned surprise. ‘If that’s the case, you would know what it is called and what inscription is traditionally hidden beneath the binding of the hilt.’

‘It’s a Thane’s Needle and beneath the binding is inscribed the Seven Steps unto Purity.’

The Coerl nodded. ‘That’s true but hardly clinching proof.’ He turned to the bowmen. ‘Stand down and arrest them on charges of murder, impersonation and, um, looking at me in a nasty way.’ He walked away, dismissing Leone and Cherise from his mind.

The soldiers swarmed around them and took them into the guardhouse. Cherise and Leone were searched and thrown into the small cells built by the gate for just such a purpose. Leone sat down on the single hard cot that ran along the full length of her cell. She stared at the opposite wall, a mere arm’s length away. By the light of the single slit window she could just read some of the names of those held here before her. It was a litany of anonymity. These were names of people from all over the Empire who had fallen foul of idiot Coerls like the one she’d just met. She read down the list, then stopped short when she read her own name.

Leone. captured. forgotten.

How long ago was that? she wondered. Who were you, you who shared both my name and my cell? Will your fate be my fate?

As she had discovered when Shanek fell on her in the Training Arena all that time ago, her mind and emotions were less easy to discipline than her body. She lay down on the cot and stared at the ceiling, her mind awash with fears and imaginings.

Night fell but sleep would not come. She heard Diplomat Cherise in the next cell as he muttered to himself. ‘Diplomat!’ she called.

‘Caldorman,’ he replied.

‘How are you?’ she asked.

‘I am well. You?’

‘I’m fine, but…’ Her voice trailed away; she was uncertain how to phrase the question that was on her mind.

‘But what?’ prompted the Diplomat.

‘Why didn’t you say anything at the gate?’ she asked.

‘It wouldn’t have achieved anything.’

‘You could have protested or something.’

‘You remember how the Coerl took your Needle?’

‘Yes,’ she replied, her latest humiliation still a fresh scar.

‘Why did he do that, do you think?’

‘They are valuable. He probably thinks I stole it.’

‘No, Caldorman, think. If he believed that, he would have ordered us killed, but he didn’t. He took the Needle for a reason. As you know, every Needle is individually made, with distinctive markings. I think he half-believed your story and took your Needle to verify it.’

‘Why do you think he believed my story?’ Leone was intrigued.

‘You’re a very impressive woman, Caldorman Leone. You carry yourself like a leader, you speak expecting to be obeyed, and do you have any idea how hard it is to throw one of those Needles?’

‘It’s easy enough,’ she said.

Cherise snorted with laughter. ‘There speaks one trained for years in every weapon known. The Needle is designed as a close-quarters thrusting weapon. It’s an assassin’s tool, yet you threw it, left-handed,
like a perfectly balanced throwing dagger.’ He paused. ‘That throw alone was almost proof enough. The guards all knew it.’

‘How can you say that?’

‘What is the penalty for killing a member of the Thane’s Army?’

‘Death,’ she replied.

‘Are you dead?’

‘No.’

‘What is the penalty for disobeying the order of a Caldorman?’ he asked.

‘The Caldorman has the right to strike the soldier dead where he stands.’

‘You see,’ the Diplomat went on. ‘Everything you did spoke the proof of your claims. The Coerl knew that but he had to check first.’ Leone heard Cherise lie down on his cot. ‘It won’t be long now,’ he said confidently.

He was right. Just after the changing of the night guard, their cells were unlocked and the doors thrown open. In the flickering torchlight Leone could just make out a figure standing in the open doorway.

‘Coerl Leone,’ the figure said. ‘The Thane wishes to see you.’

She scrambled to her feet and followed the figure out. The Coerl from earlier stood in the dimly lit corridor. He held out a Thane’s Needle in one hand.

‘Yours, I believe, Caldorman Leone,’ he said.

Leone took the weapon and sheathed it. ‘Yes,’ she said. ‘It is mine.’

The Diplomat was standing behind the Coerl with a faint smile on his lips.

‘You were right, Diplomat Cherise,’ she said.

‘You really should trust me, Caldorman Leone,’ he chided.

They were led to their horses and escorted through the night to the Thane’s Palace, where, even though it was just past dawn, they were ushered into an antechamber. Leone was ordered to wait while the Diplomat went in first.

While he was gone, Leone stood staring at the door. Inside she was a mess of conflicting fears and emotions. Although she was confident she had done nothing wrong, the facts were damning and it could all come down to what the Diplomat said about the events.

Who were those people in the house? And why did he visit them?

The door opened. A guard motioned her forward.

Leone strode in, her sandals slapping on the marble floor. At the prescribed seven paces before the throne, she dropped to one knee and went to make the ritual salute, which was usually done with the right arm. She hesitated, unsure of what to do.

‘Get up, woman,’ Kasimar IV snapped.

Leone scrambled to her feet.

‘Tell me everything that happened,’ the Thane commanded.

Acutely aware that she had not washed for three days, that she was wearing a bodice that barely covered her and that she was the one who was individually responsible to the Thane for the personal safety of the First Son of the Empire, Leone realised there was only one way this meeting could
end. In an act of personal courage unparalleled in her life so far, she told the Thane everything that had happened since they had left Ajyne.

When she finished, she looked the Thane squarely in the face, awaiting the inevitable.

‘Let me summarise events,’ said the Thane. ‘You left here with two Fyrds, a senior soldier, a senior Diplomat, the First Son of the Empire and several prisoners, whom you arrested and took with you for reasons not fully understood, correct so far?’

Leone nodded.

‘You left to undertake a mission given personally by me to the First Son that was of vital importance to the Empire. How am I doing, accurate?’

Leone nodded again.

‘You leave the normal route to follow some agenda of your own that you have not fully explained here, and whilst in the forest manage to lose most of the Fyrds, the prisoners, one of whom took a shot at you, the Caldorman and your arm. You also claim that the First Son read some mystical message in his orders that spoke of treachery.’ As the Thane spoke, Leone felt the first stirrings of grave misgivings. The path through the forest was the Diplomat’s idea, not hers! Why had he lied? One look at the Thane’s face told her that no matter what she said now, her fate was already decided.

All her adult life, Leone had prided herself on her ability to keep her face impassive, and it did not let her down now. She stared at the Thane as he continued.

‘Once you led the remnants of your party out of the forest, you were attacked by a warrior knot of
wild Skrin Tia’k and it was only the quick thinking of the Diplomat that saved your lives.’ Kasimar IV sat back on his throne and regarded Leone with hard eyes. ‘Not an impressive record, is it?’

Leone shook her head. ‘No, Sir. It is not.’

He held out his hand. ‘Your Needle,’ he commanded.

Leone pulled the poignard from its sheath and took the seven steps to the throne. Reversing it, she handed it to the Thane. He took it and stood up.

‘You are a disgrace to your uniform,’ he said. ‘You have failed in your sworn duty to protect the First Son and you have brought dishonour to your teachers. Your shame is to be unending.’ With a quick, savage motion, he slashed her face with the Needle, laying her cheek open to the bone. ‘I dismiss you from service.’ He slashed again, opening her other cheek. ‘I condemn you to lifelong poverty and ridicule. Never will your shame be expunged. Get out of my sight!’

With blood coursing down her face, she bowed, turned on her heel and walked out of the throne room. Her blood left a spreading stain on the marble. As she passed through the doorway she heard the Thane bellow for slaves to clean his floor.

The Commander was nervous.

It was not obvious, but everyone knew it. And it affected everyone. The
Misty Seal
was normally a tight, harmonious ship but it became a nervous ship. Things started to go wrong: rigging parted, sails tore, tempers frayed, and then a man died. There was no reason for him to die, no excuse. But he died, his blood staining the deck where he fell. And no amount of scrubbing could wash it away. It remained as a stark reminder of wrong.

But it was not that nor the fact that the crew was unsettled that made the Commander nervous. Nor was it the several days of clear skies and fair winds that had him on edge.

In fact, there were only two men onboard who knew why he was so nervous, and they stood in the bow talking in low, earnest tones.

‘It’s been weeks, Manno,’ the Commander said.

‘It’s a big sea, Commander,’ Officer Manno replied evenly.

‘Not that big.’

‘It doesn’t bother you that in all this time we have not seen one single ship of the Children?’

Officer Manno stared out at the horizon without answering. He dug his pipe out of his pouch, filled and lit it before answering. ‘Yes, it bothers me, Commander. But not for the same reason it bothers you.’

‘Oh? And why does it bother you?’

‘It bothers me because it is getting dangerously close to the Season of the Winds. And I fear you will not turn for the Archipelago before it is too late.’

‘Too late?’ exclaimed the Commander. ‘It is already too late! Where can they all be? I fear a trap, but I do not know why, or how. And the longer we stay out here, the more that fear becomes real. That is why I am staying out here. To find them.’

‘I know, but it cannot go on for much longer.’

‘Do you have any idea how important this is?’

‘No I don’t. And I have been wondering why we are out here, sailing around in circles.’

Both Officer Manno and the Commander turned, startled at the unexpected interruption. Hwenfayre stood nearby, uncertain, but curious.

‘Why are we out here?’ she repeated.

Officer Manno shot the Commander a hard glare. ‘I think you had better deal with this,’ he said. ‘I have things to do.’ He shuffled away without acknowledging Hwenfayre. The Commander watched him leave with a strangely relieved look in his eyes. When Officer Manno was out of earshot, he gestured for her to come and stand by him.

‘Look out there,’ he said, indicating the Sea with a wave of his arm. ‘What do you see?’

She looked away, savouring the beauty and wonder that was the Sea. ‘I see beauty. I see a mighty, untamed wildness that sings to my soul. I see mystery and love, peace and terror. What do you see?’

The Commander smiled. ‘I see the Sea, vast, bountiful and dangerous. But I also see the Children of the Raft.’

Misunderstanding, Hwenfayre spun around. ‘Where?’ she asked, her eyes wide.

‘Not literally,’ the Commander said. ‘But wherever I look they sail across my view.’

‘How so?’

‘Hwenfayre, I know so little of you,’ said the Commander. ‘You came to us like a creature out of legend. There is nothing even slightly normal about you. Officer Manno believes you to be mystical, did you know that?’

She shook her head, half fearing what he would say next.

‘Yes. He says you are a legend come to life, an offering from the Sea herself. You have even bewitched my crew. I believe old Kelsy made that dress for you.’

Hwenfayre blushed. ‘Yes, he’s so sweet. He said it wasn’t right that I should wear a man’s clothes. So he made me this out of some cloth he says was a part of his last payment.’

‘He was saving that for his own daughter,’ the Commander said. ‘We took it from a trading ship, along with some wood and woollen cloth.’

Hwenfayre turned to look at him. ‘Took?’ she asked.

‘Traded, actually,’ he said.

‘Traded? For what?’

‘Don’t jump to conclusions, but we had some people from their home town. They were happy to have them back.’

‘Are you slave traders as well as Raiders and assassins?’

‘I asked you not to jump to conclusions.’ He frowned. ‘And why assassins? We have never been assassins.’

‘Just something I heard,’ said Hwenfayre. ‘You were about to tell me why we are out here.’

‘A year or so ago,’ he started, ‘I met with Morag, the High Priestess of the Children of the Raft. Ah,’ he said, seeing her sudden start, ‘I see you have heard of her.’ Hwenfayre nodded, not trusting herself to speak. ‘She is a nasty piece of work, that woman. We met to discuss peace between our peoples. For too long we of the Southern Raiders have lived meagre lives, scraping an existence out of piracy and violence. Our families live on an extinct volcano that encloses a deep bay far to the west of here. It is little more than a rocky cliff that rears above the deep ocean. It is cold and bleak and nothing grows there. During the Season of the Winds many die from the cold and the brutal winds. But every year we increase. Our numbers grow, we have more mouths to feed and house. More children to care for and too many wives who become widows whenever a ship comes home. We are at breaking point. If we cannot find somewhere else to live, we will fall apart as a people. We will be scattered to the tides and cease to exist.’

‘Tell me why this is a bad thing.’

She was shocked at the sudden flare of naked fury that disfigured the Commander’s face. For a moment she feared he would strike her but his rage faded almost as quickly as it came.

‘I forget,’ he said. ‘You do not know us or our ways, and your views of us are coloured by stories you have heard.’

‘And things I have seen,’ added Hwenfayre.

The Commander nodded. ‘And things you have seen,’ he conceded. ‘I cannot deny there are violent and brutal things in our past. I will not attempt to evade or excuse our history. But I do wish to escape from it and create a better future for our children.’

‘How?’

‘That was what the meeting with Morag was about. For decades, the Children have harried us on the Sea and driven us off any island we have tried to settle. For years we tried to meet, to reason, to somehow try and share the bounty of the Sea, but they would not listen. And then suddenly she arranged to meet with me.

‘Of course I agreed. We met and she told me of an ancient legend of her people. She said that the avatar of a godlike woman in their past, the Danan, had returned. This Danan, she said, would bring with her vast, wild power that would incite the rogue elements of her priesthood to great acts of violence against us. We are only too well aware of what the Children can do with the Sea already, but with this new, wild power threatening, we would be doomed.

‘Then she offered me a trade. She would give me this Danan in exchange for freedom to expand into
the uninhabited islands far to the east. All we had to do was find her and keep her. Kill her if we wanted, but for proof of our side of the bargain she wanted the harp the woman would bear.’

‘The harp?’ asked Hwenfayre. ‘Why?’

‘She did not say.’

‘How were you supposed to find this woman?’

‘Morag told us which town she lived in. She had a man called a Finder who could track her mystically. So we attacked this town. But she never told us how much power this woman had, and she raised a storm like no one had ever seen. It wrecked our fleet. She fled in a small boat. Fortunately the vessel that held this mystical tracker survived the storm and followed her to an island.’

‘What happened then?’

‘That twice-damned bitch Morag betrayed us and killed my men. She murdered them and took this Danan for herself. By her treachery she sank my ships, killed hundreds of my finest men and left us vulnerable to utter destruction.’

‘But Morag didn’t kill the men at the town, this Danan person did that, surely?’

‘True,’ conceded the Commander. ‘But only because we attacked her home. She is not really to blame. She simply defended herself in the only way she knew. If Morag had not sent us there, she would probably have lived out her life in blissful ignorance of her destiny.’

‘What are you going to do now?’

‘The only thing left. I have sent the rest of my fleet out with instructions to engage and sink every ship of the Children they encounter.’

‘But if they have this Danan, how can you hope to succeed?’

‘Hwenfayre, my people are going to be destroyed! What choice do I have?’

Hwenfayre stared out at the Sea, lost in thought. ‘I don’t know,’ she said finally. ‘But I can’t accept all-out war. You will lose and Morag will win. No matter what else happens, that much I am sure of.’

‘Don’t be too sure,’ said the Commander. ‘We may not have the powers of the Children, but we have some fine seamen and they are fighting for their homes. We will not be too easy a target.’

Hwenfayre stared at him. She was torn between her past hatred of this people and what they had done to her and her home, and a strange desire to laugh in his face and taunt him for not seeing what was so clear. How could he not have recognised her for what she was? Manno had, and it seemed he had all but told his Commander. And yet he still did not see her.