The Exile and the Sorcerer (13 page)

“How do people with different languages communicate?”

“With great difficulty. Although I think Marith can haggle in every language in existence.”

“It’s not me; it’s money that can talk any language,” Marith asserted.

Kimal joined in. “Even where languages start out the same, they drift apart. The Coven keeps the Protectorate constant, but you hear some strange accents from time to time—like yours. Another few centuries of isolation, and no one will be able to understand a word you islanders say.” He spoke the last sentence in a fair imitation of Tevi’s soft drawl, and then he elbowed her in the ribs.

The playful scuffle that followed ended quickly when Tevi caught Kimal around the waist, flipped him over, and effortlessly held him upside-down by his ankles. Kimal yelped, his arms flailing and hair brushing the ground.

“I think, my son, the moral is that if ever you meet a woman with an accent like Tevi’s, you should treat her with respect,” Marith said, laughing.

Tevi returned the boy to his feet, and they continued strolling through the streets. Yet she could not help thinking that there was little chance of Kimal’s meeting anyone else with her accent. She alone was exiled forever.

*

The traders’ route went from town to town, with the value of their merchandise growing steadily. Autumn was approaching as they returned north. A last caravan took them to the city of Villenes, within sight of where the Aldraks trailed away into the Merlieu hills. On the other side were Serac and the Protectorate.

Over the months, a genuine affection had grown between Tevi and the traders, as if she were a favourite niece. She felt more accepted than had ever been the case with her own family, although there were things about herself she dared not reveal. Tevi was also aware she could not stay with them forever. She would have to find a way to make her own living.

While Verron and Marith completed arrangements for the next stage, Tevi wandered through the market with the two boys. The shops were piled high with clothes and rolls of material. Villenes was famous for its textiles. At one stall, the beaming owner extracted a crimson shirt from the nearest pile and held it against Tevi. She shook her head, abashed. On the islands, bright colours, particularly red, were reserved for men. Women wore neutral tones. It took little to imagine her family’s comments if they saw her wearing anything the colour of the shirt—but there was no chance of them seeing her again, and trying to fit in had never stopped them talking. In a mood of defiance, Tevi commenced bartering and shortly walked away carrying the shirt. She felt like a naughty child.

The traders were lodging with an old friend. Tevi was assured that the woman had been a little wild in her youth, although she was now a highly respectable merchant. Her home was a rambling building set among gardens by the river. At the door, Tevi and the boys were greeted by servants who took their parcels and offered the traditional soft slippers. They found Marith in the central courtyard, surrounded by potted ferns and talking to two unfamiliar men.

One was about thirty, strongly muscled, with a bull-like neck and a round, good-natured face. His older, taller, and leaner companion had weathered skin and close-cropped grey hair. Both men wore mail-reinforced jackets. Swords hung at their sides and on their hands were tattooed red and gold crossed swords—the mark of the Protectorate Guild of Mercenary Warriors.

The men glanced around as Tevi and the two boys approached. Marith performed the introductions. “These are my sons, Kimal and Derry, and this is a friend of ours, Tevi.” She gestured to the mercenaries. “This is Cade.” The younger nodded. “And this is Alentris. They’ll be escorting us to Serac.”

Both men’s eyes fastened on the sword hanging by Tevi’s side.

“Do you know how to use that?” the mercenary called Alentris asked.

“A little,” Tevi said diffidently.

Derry piped in, “We met Tevi in Torhafn when she rescued Mama and Papa from a gang of footpads.”

The mercenaries looked satisfied. Evidently, their concern was solely with assessing the party’s defensive capability. Only Tevi caught the relief that flitted across Marith’s face.

“It never hurts to have—” Alentris was interrupted by Derry tugging his jerkin.

“I’m going to be a mercenary when I’m older.” Derry’s defiant tone made the adults laugh.

Cade grinned at Marith. “Don’t worry. They grow out of it—most of them.”

*

The road to Serac led over a dusty plain of low-lying shrubs and windblown yellow grass. After travelling so long in large caravans, it was strange for them to be on their own again. The monotony of the landscape also subdued the traders. Only the two mercenaries were unaffected. They rode ahead of the wagons, swapping anecdotes and laughing.

On the third day, they left the plain. That night, they pitched camp beside a weathered rocky outcrop crowning a low hill. The ground was dotted with the same coarse bushes as the lowlands, but at the bottom of the hill were a small stream and the first greenery they had seen since leaving the irrigated fields around Villenes.

While the others arranged the campsite, Tevi and Cade went down to replenish their water supply. In the wet mud was a single row of footsteps. The pair examined the track.

Cade spoke first. “We’re on a reasonably well-used route.”

“We haven’t seen anyone all day, and they’re very fresh.”

Cade shrugged and knelt to fill the water container. “It’s probably a fur trapper or goatherd. And it should help sharpen the concentration of whoever’s on watch tonight.”

After the evening meal, Derry was put to bed inside one of the wagons, and Alentris sat first watch on top of the rocks. Leaving the lowlands had lifted the traders’ spirits. The lighter mood kept the group talking around the campfire, well past the time they normally went to sleep.

Marith was affecting a comic burlesque of indignation. She tapped the ground with a forefinger. “Right. Who’s pinched the last of the cinnamon biscuits?”

“Would I do a thing like that?” Cade asked, pretending to sound hurt.

“From the way you wolfed down the rest of them, I’d say it’s more than likely.”

“But the guild guarantees my honesty.”

“So we’ll put in a claim.”

Verron laughed. “I can just imagine the response if I submit a claim for one cinnamon biscuit.”

“Three!” Marith corrected, mock-righteously.

“The honour of the guild demands that I confess.” Alentris’s voice drifted down from above their heads as he joined in the performance. “It was I who took the biscuits, but if you forbear to submit your claim, I will make good the loss when we get to Serac.”

“You see, Marith? It pays to hire mercenaries with two swords,” Verron said. He caught sight of Tevi’s puzzled expression. “Their tattoos. Junior mercenaries only have a single sword. It’s not until they’ve proved trustworthy that the guild gives them the second sword. After that, the guild guarantees to refund any losses if they prove dishonest.”

“Which is why they feel they can charge such an exorbitant fee,” Marith concluded.

“We’re excellent value for money.” Cade spoke with heavy irony.

“What stops thieves from tattooing their hands to pass themselves off?” Tevi asked.

“We do,” Alentris said. “If ever you’re in Dresinton, you can see the remains of a couple that tried it.”

Cade grinned up at his colleague. “Are the skulls still there, then?”

“Oh, yes, they’re wedged in. They’ll never—” Alentris’s voice stopped. Something about the arrested speech instantly drew all eyes to him. His attention was fixed on the bottom of the hill. Cade scuttled to the side of the wagons and stared down the slope.

“By the bushes.”

“I see them.” The two mercenaries spoke in taut whispers.

Without a word, Marith leaned forward and doused the fire. Water hissed furiously for a second, then suddenly, it was very dark. The moon was low, lighting the hillside but not touching the campsite in the shadow of the rocks. Alentris scrambled down. The scuffing of his feet was the only sound.

The traders slipped into a wagon. Verron reappeared immediately, carrying two crossbows. Tevi’s mouth was dry as she drew her sword and joined the mercenaries, shielded by the wagons but with a clear view down the hillside. Her eyes ached from staring into the dark. Nothing was moving.

Marith was whispering quietly to Derry. She emerged and took the second crossbow from Verron. A tap on her shoulder made Tevi look back. Kimal held up her hunting bow with an unspoken request on his face. She nodded her consent; Kimal strung the bow and then stood by his parents in the shelter of the wagons.

Alentris and Cade were conferring quietly. “About a dozen of them, do you think?”

“Maybe less.”

Tevi bit her lip. “So what now?”

Alentris spoke grimly. “If they’ve got any sense, they’ll realise we’ve spotted them, and they’ll give up and go away.” At that instant, there was a shout from the bottom of the hill and nine figures burst from the undergrowth. “Damn. They’re idiots.”

Cade caught Tevi’s arm and hissed urgently. “There may be more in the bushes with bows. Stay back until this lot are close enough to shield you.”

Tevi nodded to show she had understood.

The bandits continued their charge. To Tevi, it seemed as if they were running in slow motion. A succession of twangs erupted as the traders started shooting. One of the figures fell with hands clasped against a thigh. As the attackers got within twenty yards of the wagons, Alentris shouted, “Right!” and leapt forward with Cade close behind. Tevi took a deep breath and followed.

The nearest bandit took a defensive stance, planting both feet on the ground. With no attempt at subtlety, Tevi swung her sword down hard. Her opponent’s blade rose, but the bandit was completely unprepared for the force. The attempted block was knocked aside, barely deflecting Tevi’s sword, and the sharp edge sliced into flesh. With a cry, the bandit staggered backwards, then slipped and stumbled down the slope.

Her momentum carried Tevi some way after her foe until she regained her footing. Before she had time to turn, Tevi heard footsteps behind her. In her head, Blaze’s voice screamed, “
Duck!
” By instinct, she obeyed, and a blade whistled harmlessly over her head. Tevi spun around on her knees. Directly in front of her face was a pair of legs. Tevi’s hand tightened on the hilt as she drove her sword up into her assailant’s body.

Only then did she raise her eyes. It was a young man. Surprise on his face turned slowly to horror. His sword slipped from his grasp. His hands twitched towards his chest and then stopped. Slowly, he keeled over and hit the ground with a soft, dull thump.

Tevi wrenched her sword free and looked around. Ten yards away, Cade was hard pressed by three attackers. The nearest did not even turn as Tevi ran towards them. Again, her sword swung in an arc, hitting the joint between shoulder and neck with enough force almost to sever the bandit’s head. The body collapsed with a sharp, guttural sigh—a sound that froze the other outlaws. Cade lashed out, severing the sword, and possibly a few fingers, from one of the stunned bandits. Suddenly, the battle was over. The two turned and fled, followed by their surviving allies.

“Quick! Back to cover!” Cade cried.

They raced up the hillside and skidded to a stop behind the wagons. In a second, Alentris joined them. The older mercenary ran his hand through his cropped hair and then slumped, hands on his knees, breathing deeply.

“Are you all right?” Cade asked.

“Not a scratch. They were amateurs. But I’m getting too old for this game,” Alentris said between gasps.

“How about you, Tevi?”

“Oh, I’m fine.” Yet she was aware that the right side of her face felt wet and sticky.

Cade also noticed and reached over to wipe her cheek gently. He rubbed his fingers together. “That’s a lot of blood.”

Alentris looked up. “Is it yours?”

Tevi saw again the young man crumpling above her, blood gushing from his chest. “No. It’s not.”

Alentris nodded. “Good. That’s the important thing.”

*

The crescent moon had climbed high. Tevi sat on the rocks and stared at it. She had volunteered for watch, knowing she could not sleep. Every time she closed her eyes, she saw the young bandit’s expression, his eyes wide open with astonishment and fear. Each time she relived the sight, he looked more like Sparrow.

She heard scrabbling and then Cade’s head appeared. He climbed to sit beside her and offered a mug of hot soup. Tevi took it with a mumble of thanks and sipped in silence. Cade shuffled back, leaning against a rock.

Cade let her finish the soup before he spoke. “Was that the first time you’ve killed someone?”

Tevi nodded, not trusting her voice.

“You know you had no choice?”

Again, Tevi nodded.

“No. I suppose it doesn’t help much.” Cade’s nose wrinkled. “Didn’t help a great deal when someone said it to me.”

“But it didn’t put you off becoming a mercenary?” Tevi’s voice cracked.

“It made me think long and hard for about a month. Still does, sometimes.”