The Exile and the Sorcerer

  Synopsis

  Two women, ensnared by the conspiracies of their rulers, become reluctant allies in a dangerous quest.

  Monsters, sorcerers, and treacherous journeys all await Tevi on her quest to find the stolen Chalice. If this isn't enough, her search leads her to join forces with Jemeryl, a tempestuous sorcerer who dreams only of the day when she will have completed her studies and be able to return to the sanctuary of Lyremouth, with her books and her research. It is all very straightforward—until she meets Tevi. Romance, adventure, and intrigue abound. New Revised edition.

  Previously issued as Parts One and Two of Lorimal's Chalice - the Gaylactic Spectrum Award finalist for best novel of 2003.)

  The Exile and the Sorcerer

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  By the Author

  Wolfsbane Winter

  THE LYREMOUTH CHRONICLES

  The Exile and the Sorceror

  The Traitor and the Chalice

  The Empress and the Acolyte

  The High Priest and the Idol

  THE CELAENO SERIES

  The Walls of Westernfort

  The Temple at Landfall

  Rangers at Roadsend

  Dynasty of Rogues

  Shadow of the Knife

  The Exile and the Sorcerer

  © 2006 By Jane Fletcher. All Rights Reserved.

  ISBN 13: 978-1-60282-356-3

  This Electronic Book is published by

  Bold Strokes Books, Inc.

  P.O. Box 249

  Valley Falls, New York 12185

  New Revised Edition, February 2006

  Originally Published as Part One and Part Two of Lorimal's Chalice, By Fortitude Press, 2002

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

  This book, or parts thereof, may not be reproduced in any form without permission.

  Credits

  Editors: Cindy Cresap and Stacia Seaman

  Production Design: J. Barre Greystone

  Cover Image: Tobias Brenner (http://www.tobiasbrenner.de/)

  Cover Design: Julia Greystone

  Acknowledgments

  Thanks go to everyone at Bold Strokes Books, especially Rad, Stacia and Cindy, for their support, professionalism and for being great people to work with. I would also like to thank Pam and Ads for helping with earlier drafts of this novel.

  Dedication

  In memory of my father

  Tom Fletcher

  the one who first talked me into reading a book that had no pictures

  Part One

  The Exile

  Chapter One—A Bad Joke

  Predawn light filtered through chinks in the stone walls, so faint it did little more than hint at the sleeping figures. Tevi lay awake on the earthen floor, staring bleakly at nothing, tormented by memories of a dozen miserable events over the past month. A hard day’s work loomed ahead, yet sleep eluded her. She felt utterly alone despite being surrounded by her family. A grimace crossed Tevi’s face at the thought. Her family. She was an enormous disappointment to them. How could she not be? She was an even greater disappointment to herself.

  The light strengthened slowly. Then came the wailing of seagulls. Tevi rolled onto her back. There was no point trying to sleep now, and as if hearing her thought, several bodies stirred. A woman by the hearth sneezed and sat up. Whispered words rippled around the hall.

  “Hey, who’s taken my boots?” The first loud voice of the morning belonged to Laff. It always did. The question provoked several retorts; the wittiest were greeted by laughter.

  Tevi closed her eyes. She did not for a moment think her sister’s boots were missing. It was just Laff’s excuse to be noisy and claim everyone’s attention. What Tevi never understood was why people were so tolerant of her sister, and so irritated if she tried similar childish ploys herself.

  A man stepped over Tevi’s legs. She watched him weave towards the hearth, between shifting bodies. He knelt and began coaxing the fire back to life. All around, people were getting to their feet, brushing dust from their clothes, rolling up blankets and sleeping mats. Noise in the hall rose. The double doors were pushed open. A sudden shaft of daylight glittered on eddies of smoke rolling under the thatched roof.

  At the centre of the hall, Laff was standing by the hearth, making a show of stretching her muscles while teasing the men preparing breakfast and exchanging boisterous good mornings with the women. Everyone seemed to like her. It was a trick Tevi had never been able to master, no matter how much she tried to emulate her sister.

  The differences between them were not in their looks. Both were tall, with brown eyes and straight black hair, hacked short. They had small, oval faces, on the bland side of good-looking, with thin noses and wide, straight lips. But that was where the similarity ended. Laff was loud and assertive, quick to argue, quick to make friends. Tevi was unsure of herself, subdued in company, uncomfortable with the swaggering bravado that other women put so much effort into. “Weak and soft” were their mother’s words to describe Tevi. The comparisons with her sister made it worse. Maybe, if Laff had been the firstborn, it might not have mattered that she was the natural leader, but at nineteen, Tevi was the elder by two years.

  Tevi sat up and looked around. She was not the last to rise; a few still slept at the edges of the hall. One couple lay nearby with their arms around each other. The man was sprawled lazily on his back. The woman, one of Tevi’s many aunts, was up on an elbow looking down on him. Tevi’s movement caught the aunt’s notice. For a moment, Tevi was subjected to a critical stare before the aunt bent to whisper something in her companion’s ear. The man’s eyes brushed over Tevi as he twisted to giggle into the aunt’s shoulder. Tevi felt a flush rise on her cheeks. She scrambled to her feet and hastened towards the hearth, but she knew she was being oversensitive. Judging by the noises last night, the couple had plenty of topics to laugh about.

  Laff had her arm around the waist of the young man she had spent the night with. A selection of cousins were matching her in good-natured banter. Something Laff said made the man blush and raised a howl of laughter from the women. He smiled shyly at Laff, who hugged him closer.

  Despite Tevi’s attempt to join the group unobtrusively, Laff noticed her approach and yelped, “Watch out! Don’t tread in the porridge!”

  Tevi froze and looked down, but her feet were nowhere near the pot. It was a joke. Laff sniggered.

  “You fall for it every time.”

  Tevi met her sister’s eyes. “Yes, I know. It’s sad. I always forget that you still have a toddler’s sense of humour and haven’t grown up yet.”

  “Oh, I’m quite grown up.” Laff squeezed the young man and asked him playfully, “What do you think?”

  “Everywhere except between your ears,” Tevi said.

  Laff’s face twisted in a scowl, but their mother’s approach stopped the argument before it could escalate. Red was tall, a trait inherited by both her daughters. Her body had once been strong and agile, before an ill-fated skirmish four years previous. Now she hobbled across the hall, leaning heavily on a wooden crutch. Never again would Red lead the war band to victory. Her naturally stern face was creased in pain, but she managed to smile indulgently at Laff. If Red noticed he
r older daughter, she gave no sign.

  A slight bustle announced the emergence of Tevi’s grandmother. As Queen of Storenseg, her status was marked by a wicker partition around her sleeping area. It was the nearest thing to a private room on the island. Two of Tevi’s cousins hovered in attendance while the Queen settled herself on a bench. People paused to nod respectfully in the Queen’s direction before picking up their conversations again. The hubbub flowed from group to group, the friendly family chaos binding everyone in the room from laughing grandmothers to squealing babies—everyone except Tevi.

  The group around Laff had subtly closed ranks so that Tevi stood outside. Her mother and grandmother were in conversation. They glanced once in Tevi’s direction, but their expressions were not warm. Nobody else in the hall even looked in her direction. The whole family was happy to ignore her existence.

  Tevi considered the porridge heating over the fire. It would be some minutes before it was boiling, but she had no wish to hang around. A nearby basket held several loaves of dark rye bread. She tore off a chunk, dipped its corner in a bowl of honey, and headed for the doorway.

  At the entrance, Tevi paused and glanced back. The Queen’s eyes met hers briefly in shrewd appraisal. Once her grandmother had been an ally, but that had changed. Tevi was not sure when, or why, she had lost the Queen’s favour. Now, of the whole island, only Brec was ever on her side. Tevi ducked through the doorway and escaped.

  The sky to the east was awash with pink. Sunlight hit obliquely on the surrounding hills. Seagulls overhead called raucously as they wheeled around the valley, and pitched below the sound of their squabbling, the hissing roar of surf carried cleanly on the crisp air.

  Tevi rested her shoulder against the stone wall of the hall and breathed in deeply, tasting salt. The smell was comforting. Soon she would be on the water, with the solid timbers of her boat beneath her feet. Captaining a fishing boat was the only thing she was good at, and the women respected her ability even if they did not respect her.

  Thinking about her boat eased the knot in Tevi’s stomach. She lowered her gaze and began eating the bread. Abrak’s chapel stood in the middle of Holric village square. An armed woman was posted at the door. Tevi allowed herself a cynical smile. Setting a guard after the chalice was gone served little purpose. Obviously, a sorcerer had wanted the artefact and had sent an enchanted bird to steal it. Nothing now remained in the chapel worth taking. In truth, even the chalice had been purely symbolic. Abrak’s legacy lay in her potion, the magic brew that gave the women their strength. Without it, they would be even weaker than men.

  Unconsciously, Tevi grimaced at the memory of being forced to take her daily dose throughout childhood. The potion tasted foul, but it had done its work. Her enhanced strength would stay with her forever. Typically, Laff claimed to like the taste, but Tevi was pleased she would never need to take it again. However, at that moment, it was the only thing in her life that Tevi could think of to be grateful for. Her situation was hopeless. The friends of her childhood had deserted her until only Brec remained. Even her family scorned her—not that anyone thought she was a bad person, just a bad joke.

  The round chapel marked the spot where Abrak had been burnt many years before. Now the ancient sorcerer stood, in spirit, at the side of Rangir, goddess of the sea—or so the myths claimed. Tevi was sceptical, but she needed whatever help she could get. On impulse, her lips moved as she silently offered a prayer. “Please, Abrak, speak on my behalf to Rangir. Give me the chance to prove myself, so people will speak of me with respect. Show me how to end the scorn.” Was it too much to ask?

  Around the square, clusters of people stood by doorways, soaking in the spring sunlight before beginning their day’s work. One group was looking in Tevi’s direction, although it was unclear whether she, or her grandmother’s hall, was the topic of conversation. Either way, Tevi felt self-conscious. She was about to walk away when the focus of attention shifted abruptly. Voices were raised in shouts, and heads turned.

  Tevi moved away from the wall just as a running woman burst from a pathway between two buildings. It took a second for Tevi to recognise the runner: Anvil, a senior member of the war band. It took less than a second longer for the significance to dawn. Anvil was due to be on lookout duty on the Stormfast Cliffs that morning.

  “Rathshorn,” Tevi whispered. It had to be the explanation. The season was early for raiding, but Anvil would not be running so frantically just to bring a report on the weather.

  Tevi spun back through the doorway. People looked up, startled, from their breakfasts. “Anvil, from the lookout...she’s coming.”

  While most leapt to their feet, the Queen remained impassive, looking at the doorway. Tevi stepped aside as the drumming of running feet grew louder. Anvil charged in and skidded to a stop before the Queen, gasping for breath.

  A cacophony of questions greeted the sentry. “What have you seen?”

  “Is it Rathshorn?”

  “What’s wrong?”

  The Queen waved her hands for silence. “Let her catch her breath.”

  The questions stopped, although the noise did not. Feeling strangely detached, Tevi leaned against the doorpost and surveyed the hall, taking in the fear on the faces of the old and the excitement of the young. Laff looked happy, as if she had received a gift. Tevi watched with something between irritation and sorrow. Maybe not a gift, but a prize, the thought came to Tevi . Just one more game for Laff to win.

  Anvil had a hand pressed to her side, but the heaving of her shoulders had eased enough for speech. “There’s a boat...it must have...come close...during the night.”

  “Just one?” the Queen asked.

  “That’s all I could see. There might be more around the headland.”

  “Anything else?”

  “There’s a green pennant on the mast.” Anvil’s words drew a sigh of relief from some corners. The green flag was a sign of parley.

  “They want to talk,” the Queen said thoughtfully.

  “They’ve got shields on display.”

  “They want to talk while reminding us what they back their words with.” The Queen’s face twisted in irony as she amended her words. “Did you recognise the shields?”

  “It’s Rathshorn.” Anvil confirmed everyone’s guess.

  “It might be a diversion while they attack elsewhere,” Red said from her position at the Queen’s shoulder.

  “True,” the Queen agreed. “Send scouts to Hanken Ridge and the Skregin to see if any other boats are lurking. And for this parley, we can play their game. Muster the war band on the beach.”

  “The whole band?” Red questioned.

  “Oh, yes. It never hurts to bargain from a position of strength.”

  Laff was at the weapon rack even before the Queen finished speaking. The family broke into groups. Men herded children to the back of the hall, old women stood in the centre talking in low voices, councillors gathered around the Queen, and the young women of the war band assembled by the weapons.

  Tevi joined them, her heart thumping. All her life, there had been relative peace—only a few minor raids, such as the one in which her mother had been hurt. However, word was that the new Queen of Rathshorn was looking for trouble.

  Swords hung in scabbards under the shields. Tevi slipped the strap over her head and evened out a kink in the leather so it would not dig into her neck. The weight of the sword against her leg was familiar, but not at all reassuring. Around her, women were putting on helmets and greaves. It was all so serious, deadly serious, yet the mood was like children playing on the beach.

  “Tevi, what do you think? Is it war?”

  Tevi glanced over her shoulder. In the enthusiasm, Laff’s hostility was forgotten. It was the first time in months she had addressed Tevi without a sneer.

  “Hopefully not,” Tevi said quietly.

  “Not?”

  “I don’t want to see women killed for no good reason.”

  “You’re frightened.”
Laff’s voice returned to its usual contempt.

  Tevi cursed herself; she should have held her tongue. “It isn’t that—”

  Her words were cut off. “I’m sure it is. And in your place, I’d be frightened. It’s only because the handle sticks out of the scabbard that you know which end of your sword to grab hold of. And you’re supposed to lead the war band. It’s going to be embarrassing following you. You’re the worst fighter we have. You’ll be dead within minutes.”

  “Then you won’t have the embarrassment of following me for long,” Tevi snapped back. She rammed the helmet onto her head and left the hall.

  Of course, Laff was right. If it was war, then Tevi knew she would be dead within days. Her incompetence at fighting was a running joke. The sight of Abrak’s chapel made Tevi remember her prayer. Give me the chance to prove myself, so people will speak of me with respect. Another bad joke. No one would talk ill of a woman who died in battle, no matter how quickly or incompetently.

  The Queen’s retinue marched towards the beach, gathering the war band from their family halls as they went. The women were in high spirits and laughing, but only Brec had a smile for Tevi.

  “I hear we have visitors,” Brec said as she joined the line.

  “Just one boatload, from Rathshorn.”

  “So we’re all going to pose prettily on the beach for them.” Brec’s laughter rang out.

  “I think that’s about it.” Despite her bleak mood, Tevi found herself smiling.

  Unfailing good humour was possibly Brec’s most valuable trait—that and the simple, uncritical friendship she offered. Tevi was aware that her own feelings for Brec were far more complicated. Everyone liked Brec. She was witty and good looking, skilled with both sword and fishing net, easygoing but not weak willed. So why is she eager to be my friend, when anyone in Holric would welcome her company? The thought sprang from Tevi’s bitter mood.