The Storm Witch (34 page)

Dhulyn studied Xerwin’s face with some care. Like anyone who had trained others, and led soldiers in battle, she’d had every trick tried on her, and seen hundreds who were trying to lie. Xerwin showed none of the signs she was familiar with. Which either meant he was very good, or he was being truthful.

“The Witch seemed to be unaware that there had been storms at sea, that the Nomads are claiming they’ve been attacked through the medium of her magic.”

Xerwin shook his head. “So far as I know, she’s only been asked to adjust the weather here in Mortaxa. Little things, rain for the fields, a warm wind when frost threatened the wine grapes. Perhaps a few things farther afield, but nothing more that I’m aware of. Do you mean the Nomads have been lying all along?”

Dhulyn drummed her fingers on her knee. “You forget, Xerwin, I was myself shipwrecked. The Nomads on that vessel were sure they were attacked specifically to prevent our—
my
arrival.” How much did Xerwin, or any of the Mortaxa, understand about the laws of Sun and Moon, Wind and Rain? Anyone who lived, or had been Schooled on a ship understood firsthand the connections between wind in one place and rain in another. “I mean that the Storm Witch
is
responsible for the weather the Nomads complain of, but she seems to be unaware of it herself. Is it possible that she was not told of the Nomads’ complaints?”

Xerwin turned up his palms. “Who would tell a young girl of such things? And if such things are possible, how could the Storm Witch not know?”

“I assure you such things are possible. Heavy snow and rain in the mountains cause flooding in the valley; hurricanes in one place can mean days of high winds and rain even a moon’s march away. As for how the Witch did not know . . .” Dhulyn shrugged. “It has always been true that a little learning is a dangerous thing.”

Xerwin closed his hand around her wrist. Dhulyn froze, looked at his hand, and looked up, meeting his eyes. He swallowed, kept his eyes on hers, but took his hand away. “What do you mean?”

“The Marked can do damage, especially Healers or Menders, if they are not well trained. Even Finders may Find every horse in a town, and not the precise animal sought. So it is possible that the Storm Witch has talent and power, but insufficient training. It is also possible that in order to perform her magic well, she needs to be given information that has been withheld from her.”

“How were we to have known?”

Dhulyn refrained from shrugging again. Two things had worked against the Storm Witch. First, she had wanted everyone to think she was the Tara Xendra, so she hadn’t asked many questions. And second, as Xerwin had said himself, who in this place would have thought to tell a young girl—Tara or not—anything of importance?

“But if she is not guilty of the acts of malice the Nomads accuse her of—” Xerwin was frowning, not, as Dhulyn could see, because he could not follow the thought through to its logical conclusion, but because he could not see use in the conclusion he found.

“Will that make a difference to your father? He already sees his dominion spreading over the Nomads and their oceans.” Dhulyn decided to keep silent, for the moment at least, about the Crayx. “You’ve said yourself the Storm Witch is a sword to his hand. Will he stop himself from using it?”

Xerwin’s face had settled into the impassive mask that in itself was a sign he was hiding his thoughts. Not for the first time Dhulyn thanked the Mercenary Brotherhood from keeping her out of this kind of life. If she hid things from people, it was because they were strangers, not because she was afraid.

“We might reach the Storm Witch, if she is really just unpracticed and not evil,” Xerwin finally said. “But the Tarxin will never be persuaded to give up an advantage he’s long sought, that’s certain.”

“Then we must stick to our original plan,” Dhulyn agreed. Though whether she was trying to convince herself or Xerwin was something she did not want to examine too closely. “The Storm Witch is a danger to anyone who might cross her—still more so if she cannot control her magics. She is like a mad dog, or a child in a temper who sets fire to the house and kills his whole family. And if we speak of children,” she added. “There is the child your sister to consider.”

At this Xerwin looked up, and quickly looked away again, as if embarrassed. “I did not tell you. The White Twins, the Seers, told me they had had a Vision of you leading a young child by the hand. Could it be that you will restore my sister?”

“It could be.” Dhulyn nodded slowly. “It’s hard to be sure of the meanings of isolated Visions—or so I have read,” she added. “It certainly appears the possibility exists.” If nothing else, she thought, her own Vision showed her that the child Xendra was still alive, that her soul still existed, somehow, somewhere, in hiding. “And your sister deserves what chance she can have to be restored. That the Storm Witch refuses to consider the harm she does to your sister tells us much of her natural temperament—to say nothing of her honor. But it also points us to the way to overcome her.”

“How is that?”

“She is in a terror of leaving your sister’s body,” Dhulyn said, remembering the adult horror and desperation in the childish face. “Such terror leads me to think that she will be destroyed if we expel her from the body.”

“How can we do such a thing?”

“Can the Marked ones be brought secretly into the palace?”

#Lionsmane#

Parno set the bow he was oiling down on the tabletop, wiping his fingers clean on the scrap of rag. “Hear you,” he said. He still spoke aloud when talking with the Crayx, even though he knew he didn’t have to. Somehow, it kept things feeling normal for him. He supposed that one day, he would simply forget, and speak to them only with his Pod sense, as everyone else did.

#We have found someone who can tell you of the City# #We know you do not like to listen to another’s thoughts# #But Oskarn is of the Sunwaver Pod, their current is now in the Round Ocean, and he cannot be brought to face you# #He has been through the City of the Mortaxa more than once#

Parno winced. They were right, he didn’t like receiving someone else’s thoughts, or knowing that his were being sent. But that, too, was something he would have to get used to. He hadn’t known that the Crayx could convey the thoughts of someone as far away as this Oskarn was. Did this mean that any Crayx could talk to any Crayx, anywhere in the world?

#Yes#

“Let me get out parchment and pens,” Parno said, shaking his head and getting to his feet. The other cabin was still being used by whichever captain was not on watch, so Parno had had all maps and documents transferred to the one he increasingly shared with Darlara. The Crayx waited until he had fetched clean scraps to make notes on, and was seated once again.

“I’m ready.”

*This is many years ago* Somehow, the man’s thoughts, his voice, sounded differently in Parno’s mind than that of any Crayx. He could tell that he was conversing with another human, that the human was male, and even that he was very old. *When the Mortaxa were better disposed toward us* *The Crayx had told us of a Pod-sensed one to the south, inland, and our Pod was the only one near* *You know that they keep slaves*

“I know,” Parno said, wondering if the face he made was somehow transmitted to Oskarn along with his words.

*The slaves are many, especially away from the City, and the one we sensed was a slave child* *I volunteered to fetch her* *There was no other who would go so far from the sea, not even for a Pod-sensed child, but I was young, and felt myself invincible, and as it is, I was not harmed* *I hired guides who helped me find and buy the child, and I returned to my Pod with her*

“But you passed through the City to do so?”

*Twice* *And waited there while the sale was registered and sealed, lest there be some difficulty after*

“And you can describe the City to me? Particularly the land side?” Parno took up his pen in preparation.

*I can* *You have seen great palaces and buildings, such as might be seen in the vast cities of the Great King*

“I have.”

*From the sea, the City seems to be a palace, carved from the living rock of the cliff face, span after span, layer upon layer, showing windows and balconies, and here and there a staircase* *Docks, wharfs, and piers are built, floating upon the sea, and it is here that we dock, and hold markets* *There are four entrances, two at the dock level, and two others in the third level* *But the City itself extends past this facade, deep into the bluff behind it* *Wells and shafts, cut vertically into the heart of the rock from the summit far above, carry air and light into the lower levels*

What Oskarn described as Parno took notes and made drawings, did indeed sound like a huge, many-storied palace, with innumerable corridors that functioned as streets and alleys, and large open spaces that served the purpose of public squares and buildings. Parno learned that the seaward part of the rock held the homes of Noble Houses, with the Tarxin’s palace at the very top. The poorer or less important people lived lower down, and deeper into the rock—some might never see true daylight for weeks at a time, if ever.

“And the land approach? The entrances from the top?”

*The Upper City is laid out like a formal garden within a decorative wall, but instead of plots of flowers and trees, the High Nobles have winter houses out in the air* *At this time of year, there would be too much heat for these to be much occupied* *Few have permission to build* *The largest precinct is that of the Tarxin’s palace, and is truly a garden, with its own wall for the privacy of the ruler and his family*

Parno continued to draw as Oskarn described the Upper City. Particularly the parts around the public entrance to the Lower City, and the Tarxin’s walled garden. It soon became apparent that, extensive as the man’s knowledge was, and as detailed his memory, he had only seen limited parts of the city. Two items stood out. First, the Upper City was like an unfortified town, with low walls and no guards. Second, the wall of the Tarxin’s precinct was not high by Boravian standards. Nor was it ditched or moated. Nor, he was surprised to learn, was it usually guarded.

*The guards are all the Tarxin’s men, and keep to the inner City* Oskarn said.

“What can you tell me of the rooms in the palace itself?”

*Alas, nothing* *There was no reason for me, a common Nomad, neither captain nor chief trader, to be received by the Tarxin*

No help for it, Parno thought shrugging. Once he was in the palace precincts, it would be a question of capturing someone and persuading them to tell him where the Storm Witch might be found.

*Amusement*

D
HULYN KEPT ONE EYE on the movement of shadows across the jewel-bright patterns of the tiled floor in her sitting room, and the other on the pocket of thin leather she was sewing into the back of her new vest. The pocket would hold one of the daggers she’d picked out and had sharpened to her specifications. She’d asked the palace seamstresses for scraps of cloth and leather, waving aside as politely as she could their offers to do any sewing she might require with the declaration that Paledyns were required to do certain ceremonial things themselves. People would think that she had used these scraps to create, on the back of her vest, a larger version of her Mercenary badge. And so she had. What they wouldn’t see was how much she’d thickened the material, and what she had hidden there.

Dhulyn bit off the thread, slipped the vest on, and reached over her shoulder, first with the left hand, then with the right, to make sure she could reach the pocket. She then repeated the whole business with the dagger in place.

Satisfied, she took the vest off once more and began to work on four shorter, wider straps that she would attach lower down on the vest, closer to her waist. These would hold the small hatchet she’d liberated on her tour of the kitchens and honed herself on the edge of the stone window ledge. Unlike the dagger, the hatchet would be sewn into the vest, and be ready to hand when it was needed. Experience had taught her that unlike a hidden dagger, once a hatchet was out, you rarely had a chance to put it back.

As the last stitch went into place, Dhulyn looked up and, her head tilted, slowed her breathing, letting herself fall into the Stalking Cat
Shora,
the better to listen. Quickly, she stood, pulled on the vest, and did up the ties. The scraps of cloth, needles, and other sewing tools, along with the old vest she’d been using as a pattern she gathered up and thrust into the inner chamber. She was leaning against the worktable, sword in hand, when the expected tap came at the door.

“Come,” she said.

She’d expected Xerwin to be first through the door, but it seemed the Tar had some sense after all. Instead, it was Remm Shalyn, a wide grin on his pleasant features, who led the three Marked ones in, and Xerwin who waited in the outer corridor in case questions had to be answered. Not that there were many errands being run at this time of day, when most people were preparing for the midday meal.