Priestess of the White

  What is this weapon? Leiard wondered. The idea that the Siyee might become warlike dismayed him. He had always been heartened to know there was at least one non-violent race in the world.

  A non-violent people created by Huan. Now there’s an irony for you, Mirar muttered.

  “She asked me to visit you,” Danjin added. He drained the mug of tintra.

  Leiard smiled. “So she hasn’t forgotten us yet.”

  “No.” Danjin chuckled. “I suspect that if it wasn’t for her commitment to her position she would settle in Si.”

  “She is infatuated,” Leiard said. “It happens to some new travellers. They discover a place and fall in love with it. They believe everything there is done as it should be. Eventually they come to see that place for what it is—both the good and the bad.”

  Danjin regarded Leiard with an odd expression. Leiard sensed surprise and a reluctant respect. “In my early years as a merchant, and later as a courier and negotiator, I noted the same phenomenon.” Danjin looked at the empty mug in his hands, then set it aside. “I must continue home. It is late and my wife is expecting me.” He rose. “Please pass on my gratitude for the warm drink.”

  “I will,” Leiard assured him.

  Leiard walked with Danjin to the main entrance. As they reached it Danjin hesitated, frowned and glanced at Leiard almost furtively. Leiard sensed a sudden shift in the man’s mood. Danjin wanted to say something. A warning, perhaps.

  Danjin turned back to the door.

  Ask him if there is anything else, Mirar said.

  No, Leiard replied. If he was able to tell me, he would have.

  You can’t be sure of that. We both know his family have always hated Dreamweavers. If you won’t ask him, I will.

  Leiard felt something slip away, like the sensation of not quite catching a falling object in time and having it slide through his fingers. His mouth opened, though he hadn’t willed it to.

  “There is something else, isn’t there?”

  Danjin turned to regard Leiard in surprise.

  Not as surprised as I am! Leiard thought. He groped for control of his body, but he had never lost it before and had no idea how to regain it.

  “Something is bothering you,” Mirar repeated, holding Danjin’s gaze with Leiard’s eyes. “Something important. A possible threat to my people.”

  Danjin was silent and thoughtful, obviously considering what he would say, and oblivious to the change within Leiard. He let out a small sigh and looked up.

  “If your people have any reason to fear the Pentadrians, I would have them leave Sennon,” Danjin murmured. “That is all I can say.”

  Mirar nodded. “Thank you. For the warning and for the visit.”

  Danjin’s shoulders lifted. “I would have come sooner, if I could have.” He inclined his head. “Good night, Dreamweaver Adviser Leiard.”

  As Leiard heard his name he felt Mirar’s hold over his body fade. Back in control, he swayed with shock. Danjin was looking at him expectantly.

  “Good night,” he said.

  Leiard watched Auraya’s adviser walk up to a covered platten and climb inside. As the driver urged the arem into a trot, Leiard closed the door. He set his back against the wall and let out a long breath. His heart was racing.

  What just happened?

  Mirar did not reply.

  I just lost control of my body to a memory echo, Leiard answered himself. Can this happen again? Can Mirar take over permanently? He realized he didn’t know. I must find someone who does. But who? He smiled grimly. Dreamweaver Arleej. If the leader of the Dreamweavers can’t tell me the answer, nobody can.

  A movement in the doorway made him jump, but it was only Tanara. She peered at him in concern.

  “Are you well, Leiard?”

  He drew in a deep breath. “Yes. I am tired. I…I will go to bed now.”

  She nodded and smiled. “I will tell Jayim. Pleasant dreams, then.”

  Leiard expected a cheeky reply from Mirar, but the presence in his mind remained silent. As he passed Tanara, he paused.

  “Danjin asked me to give you his thanks for the drink,” he told her.

  She smiled. “He seems like a nice man. Nothing like what I’ve heard about the Spear family.”

  “No,” Leiard agreed.

  “Good night.”

  He entered his room, took off his vest and lay down on his bed.

  All Dreamweavers learned mental exercises designed to speed the transition to the dream state. Even so, more than an hour passed before the Dreamweaver elder responded to his call. He guessed she had only just fallen asleep.

  :Leiard?

  :Yes. Do you remember me?

  :Of course. One does not forget a Dreamweaver with so many of Mirar’s memories.

  :No, one does not. I am beginning to wish it were not so.

  :Oh? Why is that?

  He explained what had happened and felt her rising concern.

  :How often have you linked with your student?

  :Once or twice, he replied evasively. It is a little early to be doing so.

  :You are avoiding it, she stated, not fooled by his excuse.

  :Yes, he admitted. I have…I have found myself the holder of a secret I dare not risk revealing to him.

  :I see. Then you must find someone else to reveal it to. Someone you trust. Otherwise I fear you will lose your identity. You will be neither yourself nor this manifestation of Mirar, but a half-mad mixture of both.

  :I know of no one…

  :There are other Dreamweavers in Jarime. Will one of them suffice?

  :Perhaps. He paused. There is one other matter I should tell you of. I spoke to Danjin Spear this evening. He warned me that the Dreamweavers in Sennon may not be safe.

  :He speaks of the alliance between Sennon and the Pentadrians.

  :Ah!

  :Yes. We have nothing to fear from the Pentadrians. They have always treated Dreamweavers well. When you speak to this adviser again tell him to remind the White that we Dreamweavers do not take sides in war. If there is a conflict we will tend the wounded of all nations, as we have always done.

  :I will. Is there to be a war?

  :The more I learn of these Pentadrians, the more I fear a conflict is inevitable. She paused. What do you know of them?

  :I have no link memories on the subject, Leiard replied. What I know is based on comments from Auraya and the rumors circulating around Jarime. Are their gods real?

  :Nobody knows. The Circlians assume not, of course. Even if they are right, that makes the Pentadrians only a little less dangerous.

  :A little is something, at least.

  :Yes. I must go now. I have more Dreamweavers to contact. Take care, Leiard. Consider what I have said.

  The link ended as she turned her mind away. Leiard drifted in the nothingness, knowing her advice was sound, but fearing the consequences. If he allowed another Dreamweaver to know his secret, then the next Dreamweaver he or she linked with would discover the truth. Soon all Dreamweavers would know…

  :Leiard?

  His heart leapt as he recognized Auraya’s mental voice and he eagerly reached out to meet her.

  There is no undoing what we have done, he thought. We may as well enjoy it while we can.

  As Emerahl returned to her room, warm and relaxed from an hour-long soak in hot water, she considered how her situation had improved. She was still a whore, but at least she was a well-fed one, with customers of better quality than before. She was earning more money, though Rozea insisted on holding most of it in credit.

  While she had played the prostitute twice before in her long life, it was not a role she particularly enjoyed. Thinking back to the first time, more than five hundred years ago, she grimaced. A triad of powerful sorcerers had hunted her across Ithania, determined to extract the secret of immortality from her, even though they were too weak to achieve it. Singly they were no match for her, but together they were a potent enemy. In desperation she had changed her app
earance and taken on a role they believed she was too proud to consider.

  They had been right. Her pride had smarted with the touch of every customer. How could she, one of the immortal ones, be reduced to selling her body to men who saw her only as a moment’s entertainment?

  The three sorcerers eventually fell out, one killing the other two. She didn’t learn of it for two years. Two years of self-imposed humiliation she hadn’t needed to endure. What else could I have done? People on the streets don’t care about foreign sorcerers. That sort of news travels slowly.

  She sighed. People often assumed that just because she was immortal she must know a great deal. They expected her to be able to describe momentous historical events to them as if she had witnessed them. For most of her life she had kept quietly to herself, staying away from power games and the people who played them.

  Which was how she preferred to live. Fame and power had lost their charm within the first hundred years of her life. She had turned to prostitution the second time to escape both. Settling in a remote village, she had begun healing the locals as she always did. What started as a trickle of visitors come to see the healer sorceress had turned into a flood and the village had rapidly become rich. She was flattered at first, and reasoned that she was doing more good for more people this way. Her protests that she was just an old hag earned her an affectionate nickname: The Hag.

  A few people had offered to help organize housing for the visitors. Soon they were extracting money from the sick. Tiring of their greed and fanaticism, she had slipped away. She had underestimated how famous she had become. People in even the most remote places knew of The Hag. Her followers kept watch for her everywhere and whenever she was sighted the news quickly spread.

  It was the anonymity of prostitution that attracted her the second time, but she had not remained a whore for long. Mirar found her. She smiled to herself as she remembered how popular he had been with the girls and his surprise at finding her there. Though he understood why she had retreated from humanity in that way he insisted it was bad for her. He took her away into the Wilds, long before they were colonized by the Siyee. They’d been both lovers and friends, but she had never been infatuated…

  “Jade,” a breathy voice called.

  She looked up. Two women stood at the end of the corridor. One was Leaf, a friendly middle-aged woman who organized the girls for Rozea and had given Emerahl a tour of the brothel when she first arrived. The other was the brothel favorite, Moonlight, a curvaceous beauty with dark hair, pale skin and clear violet eyes. Those eyes were travelling up and down Emerahl’s body, and the fine nose was wrinkled in distaste.

  “Panilo just arrived,” Leaf said as Emerahl reached them. “He’s asking for you.”

  Moonlight’s eyebrows rose. “So this is the street whore Panilo took a liking to.” She met Emerahl’s eyes. “Don’t get too attached to him. His attention never stays on one girl for long.” A sense of bitterness emanated from the woman.

  “You speak from experience, then?” Emerahl asked mildly.

  Moonlight’s eyes flashed with anger. “Panilo’s kindness is the only part of my early years that I have in common with you.”

  Emerahl smiled, amused that this woman had taken offense so easily. “I doubt your early years were anything like mine,” she replied. “Excuse me, but I…” She paused. Her senses were telling her something else about this woman. She focused them on the woman’s belly. Something stirred there.

  “I have a customer to attend to,” she finished. Turning away, she strode back to her room. Before entering she paused and looked back. Moonlight had bent close to murmur to Leaf. One hand rested lightly on her stomach and her face was tight with worry.

  So she’s pregnant, Emerahl mused. I could use that to gain her trust, or to weaken her position if she proves to be a problem for me. She shook her head. Better to ignore her. I don’t want to attract too much attention to myself.

  As she stepped into her room she saw that both of her room companions were awake.

  “Look, Jade. Tide’s in,” Brand said, pointing to the other woman.

  Tide rolled her eyes at the joke. “Are you ever going to stop that? It’s not funny anymore.”

  Emerahl chuckled and sidled past the beds to a line of long, feminine tunics hanging from hooks on the back wall of the room. She took down a new green tunic, made of a cloth invented some time in the last century that shone like polished metal but was luxuriously soft to touch.

  “Panilo’s back?” Tide asked.

  “Yes.”

  Brand made a face and flopped back onto the bed, her bright yellow hair spreading over the pillow. “I’ve heard he’s nice, but he visits too early for my liking.”

  Emerahl took off her bathing robe and slipped into the tunic. “I’m not used to sleeping all day and staying up all night, so it suits me fine.”

  Tide stepped forward to pluck a piece of thread from the tunic. “You keep him as long as you can,” she advised. “He’s nice and rich.”

  “I’ll do my best.” She moved to the door, then paused to look back at them. “How is my hair?”

  “Magnificent,” Brand replied. “Get going, Jade, before some other new girl catches his eye.”

  Emerahl grinned, then hurried down the corridor. A few turns, stairways and doors later she entered a large, richly decorated communal room. The high ceiling and tasteful decorations on the walls and columns gave the room a feeling of formal respectability. The roof aperture allowed a view of blue sky, also reflected in the pool below. Paintings on the walls depicted men and women engaged in lovemaking. She rarely had time to examine them, but during each visit had glimpsed intriguing scenes, including some that looked quite improbable.

  Panilo looked up at her as soon as she entered, and was instantly on his feet, smiling.

  “Emmea.”

  “Jade,” she corrected, putting a finger to his lips.

  “Jade, then,” he said. “I preferred Emmea.”

  She glanced at the other two men in the room. One lounged on a bench with the air of someone waiting expectantly. A crowd of girls surrounded the other, flirting expertly. Both men had paused to stare at her.

  Their unconcealed admiration sent a shiver of both pleasure and anxiety up her spine. Perhaps I should make myself look a little dowdy, she thought. I must not draw too much attention…

  “Don’t let them frighten you,” Panilo murmured. “Galero over there couldn’t afford you, and Yarro wants only the house’s best, which, fortunately for me, is a position you haven’t yet attained.”

  She smiled at him, appreciating the compliment and wondering how much Rozea was charging him. “Let’s get out of here, so I can have you all to myself.”

  She drew him through a door into a complex of rooms. Leaf had told her to use one of the luxurious suites whenever she was with Panilo, and a smaller, humbler room when with other customers. It made Emerahl wonder just how highly placed in Toren society Panilo was.

  “Bath?” she asked. Each of the luxurious rooms had a large tub.

  He shook his head. “After.” Reaching out, he ran his hands through her hair. His eyes roamed over her face. “You are so beautiful, Emmea. I’m glad Rozea brought you here, even if it does cost me twice as much to have you.”

  She smiled and drew him toward the bed. “I’m glad she did, too. It’s a lot more comfortable than a wooden seat in a platten. Here I can take my time…” She began to loosen the ties of her tunic, undoing them with exaggerated slowness.

  He chuckled. “Not too much time,” he said as he reached out to help her. “I have yet another meeting to attend.”

  Another meeting? Emerahl reined in her curiosity, trying to smother it by concentrating on her work. His comment lingered in her memory. He had visited her nearly every night since she’d arrived at the brothel and each time he had mentioned a meeting. She was growing more and more certain that something important was happening in the city—something that only high-ranking
nobles and the whores that attended them knew about. By practicing her mind-reading abilities constantly, on both customers and fellow whores alike, she had regained her ability to pick up emotions. The dominant feelings she had been sensing around the brothel were anxiety and anticipation.

  She was sure Panilo knew what was going on and it was time he told her.

  Later, when he was relaxing in the bath, she considered how best to nudge the information out of him. He was not one for word games. He preferred honesty to trickery. A direct question might be all he needed.

  “So what’s got the city all stirred up?” she asked lightly.

  He looked at her in dismay and she began to apologize, but he silenced her with a gesture.

  “I’m not offended that you asked, but…” He sighed. “It’s not a pleasant subject. This last week…” He suddenly looked tired.

  “I’m sorry,” Emerahl murmured. “I’ve spoiled your night—reminded you of the things that worry you. Here.” She moved behind him and began massaging his shoulders.

  “You haven’t spoiled my night,” he told her. “That will come after I leave your company.” He paused, then shrugged. “I suppose you’ll find out eventually. Will you promise to keep this to yourself?”

  “Of course—but don’t tell me if you don’t want to,” she said.

  “I do want to. I have to tell somebody, and my wife isn’t the sort of woman who listens.”

  Wife, eh? “Then I have to warn you about something.”

  “What?” he asked sharply.

  “I think half the girls here have sworn to keep the same secret.”

  He laughed. “I don’t doubt it.” He hummed quietly. “That is good, what you’re doing.” A long pause followed, then she felt the muscles in his shoulders tense.

  “The White have asked us to prepare our army for a war,” he told her.

  “A war?” She felt a mingled dismay and hope. Wars brought danger, but also opportunity. Perhaps an opportunity for her to escape the city. “Who with?”