The Deathless Ones, page 17
Miran moved as if to stop him, but she took a step forward towards the traitor.
“My Lady,” He bowed. “Do you happen to have a healer with you? He needs help.”
It was then Myra noticed the man the soldiers were carrying. It was Mylwin, and he was injured too. There was a bandage around his torso and also one on his shoulder, but he appeared to have bled through both of them. He was unnaturally still and his face was flushed.
“What happened to him?” Miran sheathed his sword as he ran forward to his friend. Syamin shook his head disapprovingly, but said nothing to Miran.
He turned to her instead. “Do you have a healer, my Lady?”
She shook her head numbly, as Pelmeya said. “Perhaps I can have a look at it.”
Syamin bowed to her, looking relieved. “Radik did have a look at him,” he said as they went into Myra's shelter, the soldiers carrying Mylwin following them. “But he said he was no healer, and that Mylwin needs one.”
The soldiers lowered Mylwin onto the bed meant for Myra. Pelmeya knelt by him, and removed the bandages from around his shoulder and torso. Miran was kneeling on his other side, his anxious gaze fixed on Mylwin’s face. Myra was dimly aware of Vasry and the two men who had carried Mylwin standing at the entrance of the shelter. Syamin too moved to kneel beside Mylwin, watching Pelmeya as she removed Mylwin's shirt.
“I need some hot water,” she said. Vasry gave a terse command to one of his men.
“Perhaps I could have a look at that shoulder of yours too, my Lord,” Pelmeya said.
He smiled and shook his head. “It’s nothing. It's him I'm worried about.”
“His wounds are fresh,” she said. “Were you attacked?”
Syamin smiled softly. “We attacked each other, actually.”
Vasry gasped. “He injured you?” He demanded in a voice of suppressed anger that made a shiver run through Myra’s spine, and made her heart beat faster. She clenched her clammy palms together, and hoped she wasn’t shaking.
Syamin brushed a lock of hair away from Mylwin's forehead. “I taught him well,” he said, a tender expression in his eyes, and pride in his voice.
“Not well enough, apparently,” Miran said, his voice harsh.
Syamin lifted his eyes to look at him, amusement in his eyes. “Well enough,” he said. “But I've more experience.”
The men brought the hot water, which Vasry directed to be placed near Pelmeya, a fierce scowl on his face. Pelmeya took a bottle from inside her robes and dropped two drops of a green coloured solution into the water. She dipped a piece of cloth in the water and started wiping the wounds with it. Afterwards, she applied a paste to them and bound them up.
“I would agree with Radik,” she told Syamin. “He does need a healer, but I’m not sure if a healer can help. The wound on his side is more severe than expected. It needs more than my skill or art or that of any healer I know of. What I did will bring the fever down, and stop the wounds from bleeding or festering for a while, but he needs a miracle, and as soon as possible.”
“Don’t worry,” Syamin said. “I do know someone who can work miracles. I just have to get Mylwin to him in time.” Syamin rose effortlessly, but a fresh red stain spread across his shoulder. Vasry gave it a pointed glance and Syamin chuckled. “All right, you mother hen. Stop fussing. I shall have it looked at.”
Myra felt bile rise in her throat. He had been like this with her and her men too, in Rhenon, and that it was his real character not an act didn't make it any better.
“You'll be staying the night, my Lord?” Vasry asked stiffly and still frowning.
Syamin looked at Pelmeya. “Will it cause any problems if we stop tonight and start tomorrow? It will take a day's hard riding without stops to reach Mirrel. If we start early tomorrow, we'll be there by the first moonrise and I can take him to the healer.”
Pelmeya frowned. “I dare not say, my Lord. Whether he has that much time... I do not know.”
“Then I shall have food, change my bandage and start again,” Syamin said. He looked at Vasry. “Give me a fresh horse. Radik is following on mine. Wait here until he joins you.”
Myra spoke. “I want to come with you. Mylwin is my responsibility.”
Syamin nodded, though he said. “We'll be riding hard, my Lady.”
Myra nodded back. “I can keep up.”
“I'm coming too!” Miran said. “I cannot leave Lady Myra.”
Vasry opened his mouth, probably to object, but Syamin said. “Very well, but I hope you two will remember that I can wield a sword just as well with my left hand!”
The Sisterhood
The door opened silently and a woman entered, leading a little girl by the hand. She froze as she saw Aadron, his arrow aimed at her heart.
“Ellora!” Layla exclaimed, lowering her sword. She turned to Aadron. “She's a friend.”
“Friend to you, maybe,” he said even though he lowered the bow. He smiled at the child who smiled back.
“King Aadron,” Ellora bowed to him.
“You have the advantage over me, my Lady,” he said as he returned the bow.
“My name is Ellora. I... I live here. Layla is my friend.”
“And the child?”
The child had tugged her hand free and was at a corner where a table stood with a chair nearby. She was attempting to climb on to the chair. She might have been four or five years old. Layla went to her, standing near her, probably to make sure she wouldn’t fall.
“An orphan,” Ellora said. “Who might have been taken by the slavers if I had not found her.”
“And what do you propose to do with her?” he asked, watching the child.
She had climbed on to the table by now, and Layla was hovering about her, anxiously. Aadron liked children, but he had no idea how to behave towards them, and was slightly nervous around them.
“Raise her,” Ellora said raising her eyebrows at him, as if it was even a question. “Teach her some skill, if she is interested.”
“Including skill in arms?” he asked as an old story he had read in his father's library came to his memory.
Ellora shrugged. “That too is a skill.”
“The Sisterhood.” he said as he slapped a hand to his head. “The Night of Weeping. Of course. Now I remember.”
Layla had picked up the child from the table and was carrying her. She lifted her head in surprise as she looked at him.
“Remember what?”
“Histories that I've studied. Tales I've read and heard,” Aadron said. “The Sisterhood was the name of an ancient group consisting of women who banded together and fought for the justice of women all across the empire. It was said the Emperor was initially favourable to them and allowed them to rear orphan girls, many of whom were trained in arms. Some councillors, who were probably bribed by the slavers, poisoned his mind by imputing that the Sisterhood sought to overthrow him and that was why they were training the girls in arms. The Sisterhood was declared illegal by the Emperor, though he relented years later and allowed them their former status. After his passing, the Sisterhood was again declared illegal and they are believed to have been broken up.”
Layla's face was inscrutable. Ellora looked surprised, but both were quiet for a moment.
Layla spoke. “You seem to have been a diligent student.”
Aadron smiled and shook his head. “I wasn't, but my foster-brother used to read to me. He sometimes read my lessons in the guise of stories.”
“Your narration is essentially correct,” Ellora said.
“What was the Night of Wailing you were speaking about?” Layla asked. “I’ve never heard of that.”
“Me neither,” Ellora affirmed.
“The Night of Weeping,” Aadron corrected them. “The night when the Emperor exiled his closest friend and trusted Councillor, the magician, Allayne, because she didn’t agree with his decision to outlaw the Sisterhood. It is said, she took more than half the female population of Atoth and left the continent. You’ve never heard of it? I would have thought she would be a big part of whatever you studied since she formed the Sisterhood in the first place.”
“We were taught that the Emperor killed her,” Ellora said, shaking her head. “I always thought there was something fishy about that story.”
“So, what you are trying to do is to revive an obsolete and illegal organization.” Aadron said.
“It won't be illegal if the Kings declare it legal,” Layla said shrewdly.
Aadron laughed. “None of us are actually Kings, and though our men might call us that, none of us have styled ourselves such.”
“You still decide the law in your dominions,” Layla pointed out.
“We do,” Aadron said. He looked at the child, staring at him with wide eyes. “I suppose your intentions are good, but no ruler will be comfortable to learn a private army is being trained in his lands.”
“No King's army has ever protected us,” Layla said, bitterness creeping into her voice. “We cannot trust anyone but ourselves.”
“You have reason enough to think that, I suppose,” Aadron said. “Very well, my Lady. I shall do nothing to thwart you at the moment, but I suggest you keep your activities hidden. As long as you take only orphan girls, I shall turn a blind eye. I have no love for slavers, but I shall not have you openly fighting them in my lands. They are legal. You are not. Until this fight is decided one way or the other, I would rather maintain the status quo regarding that.”
Both women nodded.
Aadron stroked the girl's curly hair. “What's her name?”
“Lynis,” Ellora said.
He nodded. “I need to go. I need to make arrangements to put down those Assassins. Are you coming, my Lady?”
Layla nodded. “I know their hideout, but they'll be on the way to the Thieves' hideout by now.”
“But you know that too.”
“Yes. I can give you directions.”
They walked out of the tunnels, Aadron blinking as they went out into the sunshine. Arwi was about to set, but it was still bright. Aadron went to the right, Layla following. Inside a thicket, some distance to the right was tethered a horse. Layla gave a snort of disgust.
“Something wrong?” he asked, untethering the horse.
“I'm disgusted at my own carelessness,” she said. “You followed me on a horse, and yet I never noticed.”
“It's a well-trained horse,” he said, mounting it and holding out his hand to her.
She grinned as she climbed behind him. “Thank you, Lord Aadron, for saving my life back there, and... and for being ready to accept us.”
“Saving your life is a my pleasure, my lady,” he said. “The Sisterhood... Don’t give me a reason to regret it.”
“I won’t,” she said before lapsing into silence.
Aadron wondered what Syamin would say if he knew what he had done. He smiled as he imagined his reaction. Syamin would shake his head in exasperation and call him foolish, but Aadron knew that in his place Syamin would have done almost exactly the same thing. Syamin might even have made the Sisterhood legal in his province. After all, he had already declared the slavers illegal in Ceatin, and no slaver was allowed there any more. So, his declaring the Sisterhood legal might not be a far-fetched idea. Aadron didn’t dare take that step because he didn’t fully trust the Sisterhood, not after listening to that fanatic old woman. Turning a blind eye was more than he wanted to give.
He thought of the child, Lynis. How many like her had these women rescued? He couldn’t believe she was the only one. They probably had another hideout. One that was hopefully more spacious and better hidden, and hopefully one that wasn’t underground. Children needed to be able to play in the open. Of course, with the war going on, it might have been almost an impossibility, but now that there was a semblance of peace, it wasn’t so difficult. There were also houses which had inner courtyards where children could play. He found himself wondering how big such a structure would need to be if it was to house all the orphaned girls this Sisterhood could rescue. Would it be possible to make some similar arrangements for the orphaned boys instead of allowing the slavers to take them, as was the practice? Wouldn't they make a formidable army once trained?
“You may leave me here, my Lord,” Layla said breaking into the train of his thoughts as they reached the gates of Hardin.
“You're coming with me, my lady.” he said. “You haven't given me the directions yet.”
“I thought you didn't abduct women,” She teased.
“I'm making an exception for you,” He smiled.
The City at the Foot of Nadais
Mylwin was being carried by Syamin's horse, though Miran had offered to take him. Myra wondered why Syamin was so concerned about Mylwin, unless it was out of guilt, but he didn’t act like a man suffering from guilt.
Miran rode close to her, "My Lady," he said, dropping his voice. "This is our chance. We can attack him."
Myra slackened her horse’s pace so that she and Miran were behind Syamin who rode ahead, as if he had no cares.
"You heard what he said back when we started, didn’t you?" She asked, her voice equally quiet. “He can use a sword just as well with his left hand, as we both know.”
It was something he had tried to teach them too, but she had never been able to master it. She was passable, and she had to be content with that.
"But there are two of us!"
"And only one of us is armed," she said. "And what about Mylwin? What if he gets caught in the middle?"
"Perhaps," Miran said hesitantly, "We could ride off? Go to Rhenon and come back to rescue our people?"
"The armies won’t listen to me," Myra couldn’t help the bitterness from creeping into her voice. "Not that they ever did, but I didn’t even make an effort... It’s my own fault, I know. But... it is how it is. They are loyal only to him. The only ones who are loyal to me are now under the custody of his Captain."
"Let's ride off then, and we can try to ambush them. Our men are still armed. We might succeed."
"With one sword between the two of us, you think we’d succeed in ambushing an armed troop of seasoned soldiers? Even if we do ride off, do you think he's that devoted to Mylwin that he would let us escape while he takes Mylwin to Mirrel? He would follow us, and you heard what Pelmeya said. Mylwin needs... he needs a healer, and quickly too."
“You don’t know what he’s going to do to us!” Miran argued. “To you!”
“He could have done it anytime these past six years,” she said, sighing. She wasn’t afraid of Syamin, she didn’t think he would cause her harm. Perhaps she should, but she didn’t. She was disappointed, angry, but not afraid.
Miran’s voice was even quieter, as he spoke. “Syamin has his back to us.”
Myra was shocked, but she still managed to keep her voice down. “We’re not stabbing him in the back!”
“My Lady,” Miran started but stopped, quailing as she stared at him angrily.
“Whoever he is,” She said in a furious whisper, “He saved Rhenon. Whatever his motives, he helped our people. I’m not stabbing him in the back!”
She rode forward to reach Syamin's side. Despite what she said to Miran, she was still furious with Syamin, and as she reached his side, she wished she had her sword with her. Or a dagger. Miran had his sword, but no other weapons, not even his throwing dagger. Vasry had stripped them both of all their weapons when he realised they were going with Syamin. He had allowed Miran to keep his sword only after Syamin ordered him to. Vasry had given them both dark looks, all his previous affability evaporating. Myra wondered how it was that a man like Syamin inspired so much affection and loyalty in his men, but was it so surprising? Hadn’t Lyam won her and her men over completely? Had she not discovered his deception, he would still be on the pedestal on which she had placed him.
Syamin's face was grim in the moonlight. The last moon had risen some time ago, and the light of the five moons were enough to illuminate the road. The road was in very good condition and Myra was surprised to see farms some distance away. The farms in Sarshap were all walled in, and guarded day and night, but here, they were in the open, as if there was no war. Myra had heard that it was so in Sarshap too, but once the war started, the farms had to be protected.
Mylwin moved a bit, and Syamin slackened the reins of the horse while his hold on Mylwin tightened slightly. Myra could only wonder at the man's endurance, because he was holding Mylwin with his good hand while handling the horse with his injured one. The fresh bandages around his shoulder were still pristine, but he must be in a world of pain, though none of that showed on his face. She might hate and despise him for his deception, but she had to admire him for his endurance.
Mylwin opened his eyes, tensed and shook his head slowly from side to side.
"Keep still," Syamin said softly, before Myra could say anything.
"What are you doing here?" Mylwin muttered, as he relaxed. "Where am I?"
"On the way to Mirrel. You fainted. I was worried," Syamin said quietly, but his words carried clearly in the still night air.
"Mirrel!" Mylwin tried to struggle, but was too weak, and Syamin's grip was tight.
"Be still," Syamin said. "And if you can, turn your head to the left. So you will know that there is no need for all these- heroics."
Mylwin turned his head, wincing slightly, and caught sight of her. She tried to give him a reassuring smile. "My Lady!" He gasped. "He's the traitor! I was coming to warn you!"
"I know," she said, trying to sound soothing. "But you must now relax and be still. We can't have the horse throwing you off."
"Where's my horse?" Mylwin asked.
"Back with my men," Syamin said. "They'll bring her to Mirrel, safe and sound."
Mylwin leaned his head against Syamin's good shoulder. "You haven't told me what you are doing here."
