Priestess of the White

  She shrugged. “A day, perhaps two, to get across, and the same in returning. How long they spend scouting once they’re there depends on how many Siyee I send and how difficult it is to see into this forest. How large is the area they need to search?”

  Juran pointed at one of the mountain ranges on the map. Sirri nodded as he circled his finger over the map to indicate an area.

  “I’ll send twenty pairs. That should reduce the searching to a day.”

  Juran nodded. “Can they leave tonight?”

  “There is no moon tonight. It is dangerous flying in the mountains during times of such darkness. They can leave before dawn, however. By the time they reach the mountains there will be enough light to fly by.”

  Juran smiled. “Then we must wait. Thank you, Speaker Sirri.”

  Sirri chuckled. “I should thank you, Juran of the White. I have too many energetic young men itching for excitement and adventure. This will keep some of them occupied.”

  The landwalkers smiled as Dyara translated this.

  “Perhaps you should choose the more sensible of them,” Auraya suggested. “Ones who won’t reveal themselves unless they have to. We’re hoping your people will be a nasty surprise for the enemy.”

  Sirri nodded resignedly. “You’re right, unfortunately. I will have to be careful in my choosing.”

  “Are there any other changes or decisions we need to make for your benefit?” Juran asked. “Are your people happy with the arrangements made so far?”

  “Yes,” Sirri answered. “I do wish to apologize again for our mistake in hunting the lyrim. If we had known—”

  “There is no need to apologize,” Juran soothed. “If we’d encountered these herds I would have ordered them caught and slaughtered myself. Herders and farmers have always understood that such things happen in times of war. If they did not, they would never have had the courage to come to me and ask for compensation.”

  “I see.” Sirri looked thoughtful. “Should we continue hunting, then?”

  Juran smiled. “If you wish, but take only half from each herd you encounter, and leave the males and the pregnant females so that the lyrim may quickly replace their numbers through breeding.”

  Sirri grinned. “We will.”

  “Do you have anything else you wish to discuss?”

  She shook her head. Juran glanced around the room. He spoke to the other landwalkers.

  “He’s asking if anyone has any questions,” Auraya translated.

  None of the landwalkers spoke, though a few of them looked as if they’d like to. As the discussion turned to other matters, Tryss felt himself relax as everyone’s attention moved away from him. Now, with Auraya translating, he would learn more about how these landwalkers planned to wage this war.

  A young Hanian soldier stared into his campfire. He saw in the flames the shapes of fierce warriors and great sorcerers. What is it going to be like? he wondered. I only joined the army last year. That can’t be enough training, can it? But the captain says a disciplined fighting spirit is all that I’ll need.

  :And a great deal of luck, Jayim added.

  :Move on, Leiard told his student. You look in order to learn, but if you linger for the sake of entertainment you are abusing your Gift.

  Jayim was learning fast. He had achieved the trance state needed for mind-skimming the night before, but had not been able to converse with Leiard at the same time without losing concentration. Now he was faring better.

  The next mind was more lively. A Siyee male, his thoughts distorted by tintra. He and two others of their tribe had invited a few Somreyan soldiers to their bower. They had not been prepared for the effect the alcohol had on their small bodies.

  :I hope the Somreyans don’t take advantage of them, Jayim worried.

  :They may, they may not. You cannot help them without revealing that you looked into their minds. They will not understand why we do this. Move on.

  The thoughts they caught next were less verbal and more physical. This Siyee’s attention was entirely on her partner, on touching and feeling. She thought neither of fighting nor of the coming battle. Jayim was finding this all very, very interesting.

  :Move on.

  Jayim felt a rush of embarrassment at his hesitation. He turned his mind from the lovers.

  :The Siyee have women fighters. So do the Dunwayans. Why don’t Hanians?

  :Why do you think?

  :Because our women are weaker?

  :They could be as strong as Dunwayan women if they wanted to be. It only takes training.

  :Because someone has to look after the children and homes?

  :What of the Siyee children and homes? You know from the many minds we have touched that they have left their offspring in the care of the elder Siyee.

  :I don’t know, then. Perhaps Hanians just don’t need to. We have enough men to fight for us.

  :Or so we hope.

  :There’d be no point bringing women if they were untrained. Women don’t have time to train if they marry and have children young.

  :The Siyee marry young, too.

  :So what is the reason?

  :I don’t know for certain. We can’t read the mind of a race like we are reading the minds of individuals tonight. Customs and traditions accumulate over time and are resistant to change. Only a great need for change can alter the way a people live, or their sense of morality.

  :So if we didn’t have enough men to fight, women would learn to?

  :Probably. The trouble is, by the time the situation forces women to fight there is no time to train them. Now, seek another mind.

  Leiard followed Jayim. The boy brushed past the minds of Dreamweavers camped around their tent. From one came a sharp jolt of alarm, but not at their touch. Something else. A shape in the darkness beyond the camp…

  :Wait. Go back.

  Jayim paused, then returned to the alarmed Dreamweaver’s mind. Through her eyes they saw a figure walking out of the darkness. A priestess. A high priestess. As the woman drew closer, the Dreamweaver recognized her and felt a wary relief. It’s the friendly one. Auraya.

  :Auraya. Leiard felt a thrill of both pleasure and fear rush through his body. She has come looking for me.

  :Looks like my lessons will have to end early tonight, Jayim said smugly.

  :We’ll make up for lost time tomorrow, Leiard replied.

  :Then I expect you to make sure my sacrifice is worth it.

  Leiard sighed. The boy was as bad as Mirar.

  :Enough, Jayim. Assert your identity.

  As Jayim followed the ritual, Leiard concentrated on his sense of self. I am Leiard, Dreamwe—

  And a fool, a voice in his mind interrupted. You knew she would join the army, yet you still tagged along with your fellow Dreamweavers when you should have run in the other direction.

  Mirar. Leiard sighed. When am I going to be rid of you?

  When you regain your senses. It’s not your identity you’re having problems with, it’s your loins.

  I am not here to see Auraya, Leiard thought firmly. I am a Dreamweaver. I have a duty to treat the victims of this war.

  Liar. You have a duty to protect your people, Mirar retorted. If these Circlians whom you feel a duty to treat discover you seduced their high priestess, they’ll pick up their swords and slaughter every Dreamweaver they can find. It’ll be a nice little warm-up to the battle with the Pentadrians.

  I can’t just disappear, Leiard protested. I have to explain to her why I must leave.

  She already knows why you must leave.

  But I have to talk to—

  And say what? That you know of a nice little remote spot, perfect for those times she fancies a bit of rough and bumpy? You can tell her that in a dream, just as you can explain why you can’t—

  “Leiard?”

  It was Jayim. Leiard opened his eyes. The boy was staring at him.

  “It hasn’t got any better, has it?”

  Leiard rose. “I have not lost control to h
im in weeks. That is an improvement. I expect it will take time.”

  “If there’s—”

  “Hello? Leiard?”

  The voice sent a shiver down Leiard’s spine. Auraya’s voice. He had not heard it in months. It brought memories of dreams they’d shared, echoes of that first night together. His heart began to race.

  All he need do was invite her in. He drew breath to speak and paused, waiting for Mirar to protest, but the other presence remained silent. Perhaps out of caution. If Mirar spoke, Auraya would hear him and…

  “Leiard?”

  “I am here. Come in, Auraya.”

  The flap opened and she stepped inside. He felt his chest slowly tighten, realized he was holding his breath, and exhaled slowly. Her hair was pulled back into a plait, but wisps of it had blown free in the wind—or more likely in flight—and hung about her face. She was even more beautiful like this, he decided. Tousled, like after that night of…

  “Greetings, Auraya of the White,” Jayim said.

  She looked at the boy and smiled.

  “Greetings, Jayim Baker. How is your training progressing?”

  “Well,” the boy replied.

  Her smile was warm, but it faded a little when she turned to regard Leiard.

  “I heard you had resigned.”

  Leiard nodded.

  “It was nice to meet you again, Auraya,” Jayim inserted. “I’d best be going.”

  She watched as he hurried from the tent, then turned back to Leiard.

  “He knows.”

  “Yes. A weakness of our mind-link teaching methods. I trust him.”

  She shrugged. “Then so do I.” She took a step toward him. “I understand why you resigned. I think I do, anyway. You had to in case we were found out and my people reacted badly.”

  “I did not resign only to protect Dreamweavers,” he told her, surprising himself with the force of his words. “I also did it so that we might…we might continue to meet.”

  Her eyes widened, then she smiled and her face flushed. “I have to admit, I was a little worried. The dream links stopped and it’s taken me two nights to find you.”

  He walked to her, then took her hands. Her skin was so soft. She looked up at him, and her lips curled into a small, sensual smile. The scent of her was teasingly faint, making him want to breathe in deeply.

  What was I going to say? He blinked and thought back. Ah, yes.

  “I had to make some decisions,” he told her. “Decisions best made alone.” He could feel the tension within her through her hands.

  “And what did you decide?”

  “I decided…” He paused. Until this moment he hadn’t realized how close he had been to giving in to Mirar. Life would be easier if he simply ran away. Now that he was with Auraya again—seeing her, touching her—he knew he couldn’t run from her. She would haunt him day and night.

  “I decided that what mattered was that we be who we are,” he told her. “You are one of the White. I am a Dreamweaver. We are lovers. To be otherwise would be denying who we are. To allow others to be harmed because of our love would be wrong. We both know that. So…”

  “So?”

  “We can only meet in secret.”

  “Where?”

  “Far from Jarime. I have a place in mind. I will send you the location in a dream.”

  The corner of her lips twitched. “Just the location? Nothing else?”

  He chuckled. “You were getting a little too fond of those dreams, Auraya. I was afraid you would put me aside for them.”

  Her fingers tightened around his. “No, I still prefer the real thing. Or…at least I think I do.” She looked over his shoulder, in the direction of the bed. “Maybe I had better make sure.”

  He glanced toward the tent flap. Jayim had closed it well, he noted. No gaps.

  “Don’t worry,” Auraya murmured. “Nobody will hear a sound. I’ve already made sure of it.”

  As she drew him toward the bed, Leiard could not help wondering at the irony. What did the gods think of one of their most favored priestesses using her Gifts to hide her secret affair with a Dreamweaver?

  He sobered. There was little chance they didn’t already know. If they’d disapproved, they would have done something about it long ago.

  Then Auraya kissed him and all thought of the gods fled his mind.

  35

  Emerahl pulled the fur collar of her tawl close. Turning to face the tent’s entrance, she sighed deeply, then straightened her back and strode outside.

  At once she felt eyes upon her. The first were those of the guards charged with watching her. They were supposed to be her protectors but their role was more akin to jailors. She had endured their polite attention since the day the brothel had left Porin.

  When Rozea had heard of Emerahl’s “accident” with formtane she had decided that she must announce her new favorite that day to prevent any more “foolish and destructive habits.” Since then Emerahl had travelled in Rozea’s tarn and was given the best of everything—including her own personal guards.

  The other whores stood farther away. Emerahl had barely spoken to them since leaving Porin. She knew from short snatches of conversation with Tide that they believed she had planned her little “accident” with formtane in order to get an audience with Rozea and persuade the madam into promoting her.

  It didn’t help that Rozea wouldn’t let Emerahl visit Tide or Brand, or allow them to see her. She knew that Brand had purchased the formtane for Emerahl, and didn’t trust either of Emerahl’s friends not to smuggle something else to her.

  There was one dubious benefit to her new position. Her customers were always the richest nobles of the army. The few priests who did visit the brothel’s tents could not afford the services of the favorite. So far.

  Emerahl almost wished she hadn’t told Rozea she didn’t want to go on this trip. Once Star had related Emerahl’s gloomy predictions for the trip, Rozea had decided there was a chance her favorite’s fears might get the better of her. The tents were arranged each night in a way that ensured Emerahl’s was watched from every direction. No sharp tools were allowed, and her customers were asked to remove all weapons before visiting. Rozea loved fanciful adventure stories and knew that a stolen knife and quiet slash of an unwatched tent wall had given many a fictional heroine the means to escape her captors.

  None of these precautions were keeping Emerahl from leaving, however.

  It’s not the guards or the tent walls, she thought as the servants deftly removed the tent poles and the structure collapsed. It’s been the neighbors.

  She looked around at the empty field they had camped in. The remnants of an already harvested crop had been trampled well into the ground—first by the army and now by Rozea’s caravans. She felt a twinge of anticipation. So far they’d managed to keep up with the Toren army. The troops often disappeared into the distance during the day, but the brothel caravan always managed to catch up late that night.

  Last night they hadn’t. A small party of wealthy customers had ridden back to visit them and had left in the early hours of the morning. Emerahl’s customer, a second cousin of the king, had told her that the army was now travelling as fast as men could be driven so that they would join the Circlian army in time for the battle.

  Every night of the journey before this last, the brothel had camped among the troops. Every night priests wandered among these soldiers, bolstering spirits and keeping the general sense of purpose high. It was this that had prevented Emerahl from leaving. Any confrontation between herself and her guards was bound to draw attention. Even if she did manage to slip away unnoticed, the news that Rozea’s prize whore had run away would fill many soldiers’ heads with ideas of a free roll with a coveted beauty, and a reward when they brought her in. She could defend herself easily enough, but doing so would, again, attract attention, and she didn’t have much chance of avoiding that if the entire army was looking for her.

  Now that the army had moved ahead of th
e caravan the danger was gone. Soon the brothel would be too far behind for nobles to visit it at night. She had only to arrange a distraction for her guards and slip away, and with no customer in her bed all night her absence probably wouldn’t be noticed until morning.

  “Jade.”

  Emerahl looked up. Rozea was walking toward her, her high boots caked with mud. The woman was obviously relishing this travelling lifestyle and always spent each morning stomping around the camp issuing orders.

  “Yes?” Emerahl replied.

  “How are you feeling?”

  Emerahl shrugged. “Well enough.”

  “Come along, then.”

  Rozea led her to the lead tarn and ushered her inside. A servant handed them goblets of warmed spicewater. Emerahl drank hers quickly, intending to lie down and sleep as soon as she was finished. She was in no mood for conversation with Rozea today, and if she had the chance to escape tonight she wanted to be as rested and alert as possible.

  “You’re quiet this morning,” Rozea noted. “Too early for you?”

  Emerahl nodded.

  “We have to start early if we’re going to catch up with the army tonight.”

  “Do you think we will?”

  Rozea pursed her lips. “Perhaps. If not, at least we’ll keep ahead of Kremo’s caravan.”

  Kremo was one of Rozea’s competitors. The man’s caravan was larger and he catered to all but the poorer soldiers, who could only afford the lone, sick-looking whores that trailed the army like carrion insects.

  “I’d better get some sleep, then,” Emerahl said.

  Rozea nodded. Emerahl lay down on the bench seat and fell asleep straightaway, waking only briefly when the tarn jerked into motion. When she woke next, the tarn had stopped. She looked up and discovered Rozea was gone.

  Closing her eyes, she started to drift into sleep again. Shouting male voices jolted her awake. She opened her eyes, cursing the noisy guards.

  Screams erupted somewhere beyond the tarn.

  Emerahl scrambled upright and yanked the door flap of the tarn-cover open. Trees crowded the road. Men she did not recognize were rushing through them toward the caravan. Emerahl heard Rozea somewhere in front of her tarn, bellowing orders to the guards, who were already moving to meet the attackers.