The High Priest and the Idol Page 2

  “I can go with you anyway. I’ll help you turn the book’s pages.”

  “If I obey his orders to the letter it’ll make me an irreproachable victim of an abuse of power, and my case will be all the stronger. Don’t worry. I can guarantee we’ll be back together again soon.”

  “If you don’t come back, you know I’ll follow you. Wherever you are.”

  “Yes. I’ll be counting on it.”

  Tevi pursed her lips, clearly not mollified. “When will you go, and for how long?”

  “I’ll leave tomorrow, but I can’t say when I’ll be back. I’ll leave Klara with you. I can use her to pass on messages.”

  “And a damn sight more effective than the grey gimp over there.” Klara fluffed up her feathers.

  Jemeryl reached out and stroked Klara with her forefinger. The magpie was her familiar. The bond between them was so close that, effectively, she was doing some of her thinking in Klara’s head. “By the time I get to Lyremouth, it will be too tiring to mind ride her for long. But no matter how far away I am, I’ll be able to make contact, if only for a few minutes a day. I’ll be able to let you know where I am, and what’s happening. The rest of the time, she’ll be quiet.”

  “That’ll be no bad thing.” Despite her manifest discontent with the plan, Tevi gave a half grin.

  Klara hopped onto Tevi’s wrist. “And I love you too, sweetie.”

  *

  The anteroom to the Guardian’s quarters had not changed since the first time Jemeryl had seen it, more than two decades before. Dark wood panelling peeked between the same hanging tapestries. The row of ornate chairs at one side would not have needed replacing. They were so uncomfortable that most visitors chose to stand, ensuring a lack of wear on the seats. Heavy leaded windows gave a view over Lyremouth harbour—a scene blurred by a haze of sea-mist, as it had been on the day of Jemeryl’s first visit.

  Back then, she had been an eleven-year-old child, recently confirmed as being able to perceive and control all three paranormal dimensions, and sent to Lyremouth to study as an apprentice sorcerer.

  Jemeryl had felt few regrets in leaving the village of her birth, and none at leaving the family, who had shunned her from the day it become apparent that she was able to work magic. Growing up had not been easy. The other children in the village had known she was different, and had shown it in various spiteful ways, until Jemeryl’s growing power made provoking her too dangerous. Even then, some children had always been ready to see just how far she could be pushed. The memories of rejection and ridicule still hurt. Looking back, the main cause for surprise was that nobody had been killed, or turned into a frog.

  Loneliness had been the worst of it. Coming to the Coven at Lyremouth had been the start of a wonderful time in Jemeryl’s life, surrounded by people who saw the world with all the same multidimensional complexity that she did. For the first time, Jemeryl felt she belonged. She had friends. She had not wanted to leave. Meeting Tevi had changed that—had changed her outlook in many ways.

  Jemeryl knew her childhood did not count as unusual among sorcerers. They were all born into families that were not like them. They grew up, through their formative years, surrounded by people who appeared weak and stupid, unable to see the obvious. In return, they were feared and ostracised. Was it any wonder that so many sorcerers were emotionally scarred by their childhoods and held the ungifted in disregard, bordering on contempt?

  The laws of the Protectorate granted rights to all its citizens. Members of the Coven were sworn to defend those rights, with their lives if need be. They were supposed to watch over and lead the citizens in their care, like shepherds watching their flocks. For many sorcerers this analogy was all too apt and they viewed the ungifted masses as no better than sheep. So when it came to her and Tevi? Jemeryl’s lips twisted in a wry smile. Yes, the analogy fitted pretty closely there as well.

  The door to Alendy’s rooms opened and a junior witch appeared. “The Guardian can see you now.”

  Send in the sheep-shagger. Jemeryl tried to dismiss the thought from her head. The meeting carried enough potential to get awkward, without any undue flippancy on her part.

  Alendy was a portly man, a few years shy of seventy. His bald head made his face seem all the rounder. Jemeryl had always thought that he took himself too seriously and being elected as Guardian was unlikely to have softened this trait. When she entered, he was seated in a high-backed chair beside a window. His pose gave the impression that he was working a little too hard at appearing relaxed.

  Alendy waited until she was also seated before speaking. “Thank you for coming. I was wondering how things are going in the borderlands near you.”

  The topic was not what she had expected and Jemeryl took a few seconds to consider her answer. “It’s getting calmer. With Revozik’s new empire expanding from the east, the dragons are retreating. Trade is picking up. Nine caravans had already passed through when I left, which is up two from this time last year.”

  “How do you judge Revozik?”

  Regimes outside the Protectorate were always in a state of flux. In the case of the lands north of Horzt it had been a period of exceptional turbulence. For the common population, the dragons had been no more deadly than the wars between aspiring sorcerers, seeking to step into the void left by Bykoda’s death and the collapse of her empire. So far, Revozik was showing no sign of being more despotic than the former empress, and regardless of what he was like, most folk would welcome his rule, if it could provide a measure of security.

  “He’s young, but learning. I think he’s someone the Coven can work with. I’d been toying with the idea of visiting him in person this summer.”

  “And in Horzt itself?”

  Jemeryl continued to answer the questions, sure they were not the real reason she had been summoned. Much of the information, Alendy must have already known. The rest could have been answered in a written report. Possibly, Alendy wanted time to gauge her mood before getting to his real objective. Jemeryl forced herself to stay calm, to wait and be patient, but it was a bad sign if the Guardian felt he needed to sidle into the discussion.

  At last Alendy leaned back in his chair and steepled his fingers. “You must be wondering why I summoned you.”

  Such an obvious statement needed no reply. Jemeryl tilted her head to the side, surprised at how tense she felt. Alendy had finished prevaricating.

  “When you were here as an apprentice, there was one of your fellows, Ciamon. You remember him?”

  “Yes.”

  “You got on well together and parted on good terms?”

  “Yes.”

  “That’s what I thought. I don’t suppose you’re still in contact with him.”

  Jemeryl’s previous tension solidified in a knot of anger. Alendy was still sidling around the subject. The waste of time would be bad enough, even if the end goal was legitimate—which it was not. Already, she could guess where the trail was heading, and it was all the more insulting if Alendy thought he could string her into going along with it. Why could the man not come straight out and say what he meant?

  “Is this about my relationship with Tevi?”

  “No. Why should it be?” Alendy’s denial came a little too quickly.

  “Because, as I’m sure you know, Ci and I were lovers for a while. And no. I don’t want to give up Tevi in favour of another sorcerer. Not him, or anyone else.” Jemeryl knew her tone was not as deferential as it should be when addressing the Guardian, but he had no right to meddle in her personal affairs.

  Alendy’s face darkened, either in anger or embarrassment. “All right. If that’s the way you want to deal with this. You know how I feel about your liaison with a common mercenary. It’s highly undesirable, as one day you’ll realise. However, I accept you’re not going to take my advice, and there’s nothing I can do about it.” He took a deep breath. “I’m asking you about Ciamon because he’s had an accident.”

  “Accident? How serious is it?”

&n
bsp; “Serious enough that he needs help. Unfortunately, it’s left him disturbed and he’s not going to accept this help from someone he doesn’t trust.”

  And he doesn’t trust you. That’s two of us. The thought shot through Jemeryl’s head, although all she said was, “What sort of help?”

  “That will be for the healers to gauge, when they see him. I want you to talk him into returning to Lyremouth.”

  “Where’s he now?”

  “Outside the Protectorate. The desert town of Kradja, you know of it?”

  “It’s got a big temple, that specialises in…” Jemeryl frowned, probing her memory. “Oracles?”

  “Yes. That’s it.”

  “Why has he gone there? Is he after a prophecy?”

  Alendy shook his head. “I don’t think the temple has anything to do with it. He was working in Serac. Kradja lay on the quickest route out of the Protectorate.”

  So Ciamon was fleeing, but from what? Jemeryl bowed her head, thinking. She was sure that Alendy was not telling her everything. What approach would have the best hope of producing worthwhile answers?

  “Why send me after him? Surely he has friends in Serac who could get to him quicker.”

  Alendy took a moment before replying, clearly picking his words. “Ciamon has not had a happy record since finishing his apprenticeship. He has strong views which put him at odds with most other sorcerers. He’s held a number of posts, but I regret to say he’s had trouble fitting in wherever he’s been. You shared a close bond in the past. There’s a better chance he’ll listen to you than anyone in Serac.”

  Ciamon had been idealistic, a passionate dreamer. He had been compassionate to the extent that Jemeryl was sure some latent telepathy was involved. He had been quick to make judgements about right and wrong, and had not been afraid to challenge the Coven leaders when he found something he thought was wrong. He annoyed a lot of people. It sounded as if he had not changed much.

  “You said he’d had an accident. What happened?”

  “I don’t have all the details.”

  And you don’t want to tell me the ones you do have, Jemeryl thought in frustration. That much was clear.

  Alendy continued. “Just over a year ago, Gilliart sent him to Serac as assistant to an elderly sorcerer. Ralieu is brilliant, but she’s also a little eccentric, as some very talented sorcerers are. I think Gilliart hoped the two nonconformists would get along together. He joined Ralieu just before Gilliart died and what with my election and the transition period, I regret I wasn’t able to keep as close an eye on things as I’d have liked.”

  Why would the appointment of an assistant require the personal attention of the Guardian? There had to be something more to it, and whatever that something more was, Alendy’s admission provided one obvious conclusion and a partial answer in explaining his unease. It was a dangerous situation that you knew required monitoring, and you let it slip.

  “What state is Ciamon likely to be in? I’d appreciate any preparation before I meet him.”

  “There was no physical damage to him, although regrettably, a few other people lost their lives. At first, Ciamon seemed unharmed, but a short while later his behaviour became increasingly erratic. After making a series of wild threats he vanished. We traced him to Kradja, but I’m afraid I don’t know anything else. I’ve recalled Ralieu to Lyremouth, to find out more.”

  “When is Ralieu due to arrive? Can I speak to her?”

  “Ralieu is hard to predict. She’s assured me she’s on the way but…” Alendy shrugged. “I’m certain nothing she has to say will help you.”

  You don’t want me to talk to her. Was she being too suspicious? Jemeryl chewed her lip, but then another niggling thought wormed its way into her head. “You said Ciamon had been making threats?”

  If so, then something had definitely changed him. Ciamon was always willing to argue his case with passion and persistence, but he had never been violent. He had never let his battle against perceived injustice become a vindictive attack, even on those he believed guilty.

  “Not against anyone in particular. To be honest, they were nothing but mad ravings. They only show how badly disturbed he is. The only person he’s likely to hurt is himself. Which is why I want him here. Ciamon was injured as a result of his assignment from the Coven. This explains something of the grudge he now clearly carries. As Guardian, I owe it to him, to see that he is cared for and receives treatment. You are one of the few people I think he might listen to.”

  I’m also too junior to challenge you if I dig up anything. And if I start making noise, since everyone knows you and I are in conflict over Tevi, you can try to pass my report off as biased. I ought to think up an excuse to say no, head back to Horzt and leave you to stew. It was what common sense told her. But common sense was not the only voice in Jemeryl’s head.

  She closed her eyes. Without effort, she recalled Ciamon, running down a street while laughing at a shared joke, playing with a puppy they found, kissing in a doorway at dawn. She remembered his face, artless and innocent, sleeping beside her. She remembered him, ardent and unswerving, wanting to set the world to rights, and believing that he could. Dreams rarely came true. Ciamon’s had clearly evaporated more than most.

  Alendy was not telling the whole truth. Of that, Jemeryl was sure. And she was equally sure that, whatever he might say, separating her and Tevi played some part in his motives. Yet Ciamon was in trouble and she could not abandon him. Not because he had been her lover, but because he had been her friend, and because she knew, despite all the years separating them, that if their positions were reversed, he would not desert her.

  Jemeryl raised her head. “When do you want me to leave?”

  *

  Iralin had aged in the eight years since they last met, to an extent that shocked Jemeryl. The old tutor had lost so much weight that she was little more than a skeleton sitting hunched in a chair. Her hair had been white for as long as Jemeryl could remember. Now it was thinning as well, looking like a halo around her head where the sunlight hit. Despite her frailty, she got quickly to her feet when she saw Jemeryl and her eyes were as sharp as ever.

  “Jemeryl. I wasn’t expecting to see you here. Have you been recalled from Horzt?”

  If Alendy had not discussed the matter with Iralin, it was unlikely that he would have spoken to anyone else. Iralin’s former role as tutor meant she was familiar with all that had gone on regarding Ciamon, and she would thus be the obvious person to seek out for advice. However, Iralin also had the seniority to ask probing questions. Was Alendy really so keen to avoid scrutiny? Regardless of his intention, he had neglected to give instructions about confidentiality, so there was no reason for Jemeryl to keep silent. After guiding Iralin back to her seat, she proceeded to recount the details of her meeting with the Guardian earlier that day.

  “I’ve said I’ll do it, but I don’t trust Alendy. I wish you’d become Guardian instead of him.” Jemeryl concluded.

  “Please! Don’t wish that on me. I have enough trouble keeping my room in order. I wouldn’t want to be responsible for the whole Protectorate.”

  “You didn’t always feel that way.”

  “I wasn’t always this old.” Iralin sighed and settled back in her chair.

  “Then if not you, someone else. I know he’d been deputy for years, but that’s no reason to…” Jemeryl finished in a contemptuous pout.

  “Alendy’s not that bad. He’s not dishonest, stupid, or weak-willed. And he’ll always do what he thinks is right for the Protectorate.”

  “I guess that’s my big problem with him. He thinks the future of the Protectorate depends on splitting up me and Tevi.”

  “I think you’re overstating the situation. Alendy has strong views about maintaining the status of sorcerers.”

  “And my relationship with Tevi debases the whole Coven.”

  “Maybe it does, in his eyes.”

  “There’s no maybe about it. He’s a narrow-minded bigot.”


  “Bigot?”

  “He thinks sorcerers are better than everyone else.”

  “And you don’t?”

  “No.”

  Iralin smiled. “You answered that too quickly. Take a moment and think. Are you sure you don’t feel just a little bit superior to the person who washes your clothes?”

  Jemeryl paused, poking around at her conscience. Admittedly, she could spark a few reactions she was not so pleased with, but on one point she was certain. “I don’t feel superior to Tevi.”

  “I’m pleased to hear it. But Alendy isn’t having an affair with her and has no desire to start one.”

  “He better not have.”

  Iralin laughed. “It’s all right. I think you’re safe. But you have to allow his attitude towards her won’t be the same as yours.”

  “True. And that’s one thing I worry about. He sees her as a worthless pawn who’s upsetting his vision of how the world ought to be. I’m scared he might do something to her while I’m away.”

  “Alendy won’t step outside the law.”

  “There’s enough he can do from inside it.”

  “Such as?”

  “He could get her guild to send her on a very dangerous mission.” Jemeryl could feel her stomach tightening at the thought. She swallowed, wishing she could also swallow her fears. “I want her to be here when I get back.”

  “You’re worrying too much. And being unfair on him.”

  “I’ve left Klara with Tevi, so we can keep in contact. But it’s becoming more of an effort to mind ride. Once I’ve crossed the Middle Seas, it’s going to get harder still.” Jemeryl bit her lip. “Can you keep an eye out for Tevi and make sure she’s all right?”

  “I’m not exactly in the thick of things anymore. Even if Alendy did do something—not that I can imagine he would—but I wouldn’t know anything until it was too late.”

  The words were not comforting and it was not something Jemeryl wanted to discuss at length. She met Iralin’s eyes and held them until the elderly woman sighed and said, “All right. I promise to do what I can.”