Sanctuary (38 page)

Sorne rolled to his feet and hamstrung the horse. It screamed, collapsing. He felt sorry for it, even as Aingeru’s men pulled the rider from his mount, driving their swords through the joints in his armour.

Another horse shouldered Sorne aside. He fell to his knees and covered his head as a mounted rider leapt over him. Springing to his feet, he glanced around, saw some of Aingeru’s men dragging riders from their mounts, while a core of mounted men slashed and hacked from their superior height. He pulled one of Aingeru’s lancers out from under the hooves of a circling horse, then caught the rider, unseating him. The horse reared up and took off, running back the way it had come through the ranks of men-at-arms about to pour through Aingeru’s crippled centre.

It was almost time to start to the retreat.

A fallen rider tried to slash Sorne’s thigh. He diverted the blow and cut the man down before he could get to his feet.

Someone collided with him. He turned, ready to strike, only to find it was one of Aingeru’s men and steadied the fellow instead.

Over the heads of the men struggling around him, he saw the knot of riders had made it through Aingeru’s men-at-arms and were battling the baron’s honour guard. Sorne tried to spot Aingeru to give the signal to fall back, but the baron was nowhere in sight.

On the hill, he saw Jaraile astride a horse in front of the banner. Sorne was shocked to see that several of Eskarnor’s elite mounted men had made it that far and were riding for her. Mozteben would surely call up the cavalry to protect her.

‘Fall back,’ Sorne cried. ‘Fall back.’

No one heard him amidst the yelling, the crashing of metal on metal and the screaming of the wounded.

He grabbed the man he’d steadied. ‘Fall back, tell them.’

He shoved the man in one direction and Sorne went the other way along the line. ‘Fall back. Steady now, fall back.’

They started to back up.

Seeing this, Eskarnor’s men charged.

Quicker than Sorne would have thought possible, Aingeru’s men fell back, some tripping over fallen horses and men. Sorne spotted Aingeru’s horse and found the baron pinned under the fallen mount. He hauled him out, slung an arm around his shoulders and staggered with him.

Behind them, Eskarnor’s men cheered. Sorne spared a glance and saw them pouring into the opening left by the retreating centre. He realised he stood a very real chance of being cut down as he tried to lead the retreat.

Ahead of him, Sorne looked up to see the knot of mounted men battling at the base of the hill. The cavalry were finally protecting the queen’s position. Unfortunately three riders had already made the crest and were battling with the banner-men, Dekornz and his tutor. Jaraile struck right and left as a man tried to pull her off her horse.

‘Leave me,’ Aingeru shouted, shoving him away.

Sorne grabbed a nearby riderless mount, leapt astride it and turned the horse towards the hill.

Sorne glanced behind him. Eskarnor’s army cheered as the centre bulged forward.

He skirted the mounted men skirmishing at the base of the hill, and rode for the crest. Grabbing the queen’s standard, he waved it to signal Barons Kerminzto and Ramanol were to close the trap.

As the two arms of the queen’s army closed in on Eskarnor and his barons, the rest of Aingeru’s men poured out from behind the hill to cut off any who had made it through the broken centre.

Seeing that the pincer movement was working, Sorne dropped the banner and turned to defend the queen.

Young Dekornz and his tutor had dealt with one of the riders and were struggling with the second, but the third had hauled Jaraile off her horse and was about to ride off with her across his saddle.

Sorne rode his mount straight at the man, whose horse reared. The rider tumbled backwards and the horse took off with Jaraile hanging across the saddle. She fell before Sorne could reach her.

He jumped down and went to help her up, but the unseated rider staggered towards him, sword drawn. Sorne had to duck and weave as his sword clanged on armour and skipped over the rider’s helmet.

Jaraile struggled to her feet, picked up a shield and slammed it into the rider’s back. He barrelled forward, falling on Sorne’s sword, which punched through a joint in his armour.

As Jaraile stared, stunned, Sorne grabbed the reins of the horse and hoisted her into the saddle. ‘Sit there, so your army can see what they’re fighting for.’

Dekornz was on his knees, bent over the body of his old tutor, weeping, but there were no more of Eskarnor’s men on the hill top. Sorne studied the flow of the fighting below. As he watched, the first hornets’ nest of arrows streamed into the air, falling into the tightly packed ranks of Eskarnor’s army, which had now been surrounded. Some men raised their shields in time, but many fell to the deadly hail.

Sorne grabbed Dekornz. ‘Help me raise the queen’s banner.’

They secured it and Sorne found the lad’s pipes.

‘Play for the queen. Make your tutor proud.’

Sorne returned to Jaraile’s side.

‘It’s working,’ she cried.

‘There’s still Eskarnor’s reserves to consider.’ Sorne pointed to the men manning the first row of defences around the port’s walls. ‘If they come in from behind before Kerminzto and Halargon attack, they’ll cut our men down and Eskarnor’s warriors will –’

‘The gates are opening.’ Jaraile kicked the horse in her excitement and it protested, sidling sideways.

Sorne caught the bridle and soothed the beast as he studied the port gate. For a moment, all he could see was the darkness within the gate tunnel before the mounted men poured out. They rode hard for Eskarnor’s defenders. For a moment it looked like the men would hold. Then they turned and ran.

The moment they did, it became a rout. Commander Halargon, leading the remains of Nitzane’s men and the palace guard, dealt with the fleeing reserves.

The surrounded army had contracted into a tight knot of men, who threw down their swords and surrendered.

‘It’s over, my queen,’ Sorne said. ‘And it isn’t even lunch time.’

She started to laugh, which turned into sobbing as exhaustion took over.

He helped her dismount, carried her into the tent, sat her down and poured her a glass of wine. ‘Here, drink this.’

She gulped a mouthful, hiccupped and wiped her chin. ‘Make sure Eskarnor doesn’t get away.’

‘Yes, Queen Jaraile.’

He walked outside.

I
MOSHEN STOOD ON
the high rear-deck as the T’Enatuath fleet sailed out of Shifting-sands Bay. It was mid-morning, the first day of winter – the first official day of exile.

About half of their estates had made it to Shifting-sands Bay. So many had been lost, and the worst of it was the children, both Malaunje and T’En. She felt as if she had personally failed them.

She did not know where Sorne was, or even if he lived, but he knew she planned to go to Ivernia and approach the Sagoras. He would make his way there when he could.

The only problem was that she had not heard back from the Sagoras and she had no idea what awaited them in Ivernia.

I
T WAS LATE
, and Tobazim was tired. They had dropped anchor for the night, but it seemed brotherhood business did not stop. Tonight he had the cabin to himself. Deimosh was still recovering, Ceyne was down in sick bay and Ardonyx and the hand-of-force were patrolling the ship.

Tobazim dismissed the all-father’s-voice with instructions, and turned to the cabin boy. ‘Toresel, see if there’s any dinner left over. I’m starving.’

The lad ran off and Tobazim cleaned his pen nib, remembering the silver nib his choice-mother had given him. As he’d neared his seventeenth birthday, he’d feared going into the brotherhood with his non-martial gift. She’d told him it was easy to kill and destroy, but much harder to build and grow. He wished she could see him now, but everyone who lived on the sisterhood estate where he’d grown up had been massacred.

When he’d heard, he’d had to carry on as though her death meant nothing to him. Once their choice-mothers declared them dead and they joined the brotherhood, T’En men were never supposed to acknowledge the women who raised them.

Tears burned his eyes. He rubbed his face, stood, stretched and went to the windows across the stern of the ship.

Someone knocked on the cabin door.

He turned. ‘Come in.’

‘Ceyne sent me to fetch you,’ Iraayel said. ‘Valendia won’t wake up.’

Tobazim’s heart sank. He gestured for Iraayel to lead the way.

The young initiate paused at the infirmary door to whisper, ‘Athlyn hasn’t left her side for days. We’ve dribbled water into her mouth and she swallows on reflex, but....’

Tobazim prepared himself for the worst.

The infirmary was packed, but Ceyne had rigged a curtain across one corner to give Valendia some privacy. Lamplight glowed through the muslin, silhouetting two figures.

When Iraayel held the cloth aside for him, Athlyn looked up. He clasped Valendia’s left hand in both of his, as if he was afraid to let her go. Now he looked to his all-father with hope.

Tobazim knelt next to Ceyne and asked, ‘What can I do?’

‘At first I thought she was in a deep healing sleep,’ Ceyne said softly. ‘And perhaps she was, but this is no longer normal sleep. If I didn’t know better, I’d say she had segued to the higher plane to search for Grae, but...’ He took her hand. If she’d been on the higher plane, he would have been drawn through to join her.

‘Besides, Malaunje can’t take themselves to the empyrean plane.’ Gently, he placed her hand on her chest, which rose and fell with each breath. ‘She hasn’t eaten or taken more than a few sips of water for three days now.’

‘Has Athlyn tried to reach into her mind?’

Ceyne gestured to the young initiate who said, ‘Her mind is full of long dark tunnels, which she seems to be searching, but I can never quite catch up with her. And when I call to her, she can’t see or hear me.’

‘He lacks the skill to pierce her preoccupation,’ Ceyne said.

Tobazim was not sure he had the skill, but he had to try.

‘Take his hand,’ Ceyne advised, moving aside so Tobazim could kneel opposite Athlyn. ‘Use Athlyn’s link to her, to find her.’

Tobazim grasped Athlyn’s other hand and prepared to...

He found himself in a long tunnel, following a figure who held a guttering candle. And he remembered how Valendia had saved Graelen, when he’d been chained in the crypts far below the Father’s Church.

Tobazim took off after her. At first, no matter how fast he ran, he couldn’t catch up with her, but – driven by Athlyn’s determination – he gradually closed the distance.

Then she turned the corner, taking the light with her and leaving him in darkness. He sprinted around the corner only to find her further away again.

In desperation, Tobazim called out to her.

She stopped and turned to him, her face full of hope. The distance between them contracted until he stood next to her and he sensed Athlyn’s relief.

‘Grae?’ Her face fell. ‘Oh, it’s you, Athlyn.’

Tobazim realised she saw him this way because he was using Athlyn’s link to reach her.

‘You have to help me,’ she pleaded. ‘I can’t find Grae. I know he’s down here somewhere. He needs me.’

Tobazim sensed Athlyn was at a loss.

He took her hand. It felt solid in his, if a little chilled. ‘You already found Grae, Dia. You saved him. He told me the time he had with you was the happiest of his life. Remember?’

Her gaze became distant as she looked inward.

He lifted her hand to his mouth and breathed warm air on her skin, imbuing it with his gift. The candle flame grew brighter.

She smiled. ‘Yes, I remember.’ Then she frowned. ‘Why I can’t find him this time?’

‘He had to go. He asked Athlyn to look after you until you could be together again.’

She started to shake her head.

Tobazim stepped closer and put his hand on her belly. ‘He said you had to come back to the brotherhood so that his child could grow up under our protection.’

‘There is the child... But I can’t leave Grae.’

At this, a small True-woman appeared beside Valendia. Her red-gold hair shone in the candle light.

‘Of course you can leave him. Your child needs you, Dia,’ she said in a kind, but firm voice. ‘Didn’t I choose you over your father?’

‘Ma?’ Incandescent joy lit Valendia’s face. ‘Oh, Ma, I’ve missed you so much.’ She hugged the woman, then pulled back. ‘But you can’t be here, you’re dead.’

Her mother laughed fondly, cupping her cheek. ‘Silly Dia. I’ll always be with you. I’ll be there in the way you love your child. And that child needs you now.’

Just like that, they were back in the infirmary. Valendia woke with a gasp. For a moment, she looked stunned, and then she sobbed as if her heart would break. Athlyn took her in his arms, weeping with her.

Tears burned Tobazim’s eyes, because he’d felt his own choice-mother’s hand on his cheek. He looked to Ceyne, who held his hand to his face, eyes full of wonder.

‘What was that? I... I heard my choice-mother’s voice, and I haven’t seen her since she declared me dead almost seventy years ago.’

‘That was Valendia, choosing to live,’ Tobazim said and came to his feet.

Ceyne walked him through the infirmary, past the injured initiates and adepts, who whispered in wonder. They’d felt it too.

When Tobazim came to the door, the saw-bones caught his arm. ‘Kyredeon couldn’t have done what you just did. I’m proud of you, lad.’

Chapter Twenty-Eight

J
ARAILE WAS TIRED
and slightly shaky. The euphoria of battle had drained away, leaving her glad to be alive, but utterly exhausted. She was sure by tomorrow she would ache all over. Right now, she had to be strong; they were bringing Eskarnor to her.

She stood on the rise outside her tent, impatient to be done with this so she could ride into port and see her son. She hadn’t seen Cedon since spring cusp, when the Wyrds had abducted him. Did her little boy think she had abandoned him? Sorne said Cedon had asked after her...