Misery's Child (The Cadian Chronicles) Read online

  “What I remember most clearly is the squalling you set up the first time you actually saw a cadia! Oman’s beard, your mother was mortified!”

  Scearce remembered it, too, although he couldn’t have been more than two summers at the time. He’d had nightmares for next four or five seasons, terrible dreams he never recalled but for the sight of billowing robes and the feeling of unnamable dread they summoned. He had always thought it a symptom of Whimal’s calla mundies, but it suddenly occurred to him that Whimal hadn’t joined their household until he was seven. He was sure of it.

  He missed his mother. Alaida had been the only one who could quiet his hiccuping sobs and dry his tears. If she were alive, perhaps she could tell him when those nightmares had started and why.

  He realized with a start that his father had asked him a question.

  “Forgive me, father. What?”

  “I asked you to do me a great favor,” Tullus repeated gravely. He was not smiling any longer. “Keep a watch on Vidor Rowle’s group. His troops are small and....well, they are farmers, not soldiers. Most have no beards.”

  Scearce nodded, waiting for his father to continue.

  “It’s no disrespect intended for Rowle, of course. He’s one of my oldest and dearest friends. His present situation is no fault of his. But if there is any trouble along the way, I’d feel better knowing you were ready to go to his aid.”

  “Do you really think we might see bandits?” The thought both thrilled and repelled him. “Tors, I mean?”

  “Such pilgrimages are tempting targets for them. So much gold and precious tribute being carried out in the open, difficult to defend...”

  “Without meaning any disrespect, father, I don’t think Vidor Rowle has much to worry about on that account. They barely have a tent and food for the journey. That wagon looks ready to fall apart at the next bump in the road.”

  “On the contrary, he carries his greatest treasure with him. It sits in that curtained litter.”

  Understanding grew in Scearce’s eyes. There were dangers to the consecratia that no one ever spoke about out loud, only in distressed whispers and silent glances. Bandits kidnapped consecratia for ransom, knowing their families would pay anything, and quickly, to get them back unharmed.

  “For a Torian slave trader, a consecratia is the finest prize imaginable.” Tullus’ deep voiced rumbled barely above a whisper. “Though they rarely succeed, the rewards are so great that they try. Often.”

  “I thought I’d overheard something at the last pilgrimage. A consecratia from up north—”

  “She was from Sealles. Vidor Heubron’s only daughter.”

  “And she was taken? They didn’t ransom her?”

  Tullus shook his head, his eyes hooded. “No ransom demand ever came. Heubron sent men into Tor Abat to search for her, even to offer bribes just for word that she was alive. But they found nothing.”

  “The Tors, they wouldn’t have.... killed her? Would they?”

  “Killed her? No, Sweet Mother, they’d have done much worse but they would have kept her alive. It’s far more likely the girl took her own life as soon as she got the chance.”

  Scearce said nothing for a long moment. He thought of that slender slip of a girl whose eyes had met his for a tiniest of glances as she stepped back into her gilded litter. Wide eyes, the color of the Far Sea, like a flash of blue-green ganymite under golden lashes. She bore little resemblance to the seven-summers child, full of laughter and wonder, who’d passed a half-season at the Seat so long ago. How she had struggled to keep up with Scearce and her brother! Over fences, up into the trees—no matter what rough and tumble mischief Jonil led them into.

  “Yes, father,” he said finally, “I’ll make sure no harm comes to Rowle’s daughter. I swear it."

  Chapter 10: Bandits

  Excerpt from The Raiders of The Shumdan Mountains

  byBene Ricco:

  The raiders that frequently targeted Omani pilgrimages were widely regarded as Tors, but in fact most of them did not even regard themselves as such. Part of the nomadic tribes that once roamed that country and distantly related to the gyspies of Tor Abat, the raiders were actually a distinct people who had their own culture by the time of the Jeptallan and Mysirrati wars. They were as apt to attack and rob Tors as Omani, but as the raider chieftain Bort Cebat has been quoted as saying: “The Omani are easier pickings.”

  Yanna woke with a start at the thudding of her own heart. Then she realized it was not her heart she felt but pounding of hooves. Lillitha must have heard it too, for she sat bolt upright in the corner of the litter, her lips pale and eyes bewildered.

  The cadia ripped aside the muslin curtains, shouting for Rowle. But it was already too late. Her voice was lost in the screams rising all around them. The bandits were upon them, sending the pilgrimage scattering in every direction. Yanna had one glimpse of Rowle through the swirling dust, sword raised, before the litter lurched dangerously to one side and jerked forward.

  The farm boy who drove the litter lashed the mules furiously; in his panic, he was running away from the pilgrimage instead of deeper into it where Rowle’s soldiers could protect them. One of guard, quicker than his comrades, jumped onto the sideboard of the litter, blocking the door with his body.

  “You scriving arse, turn around! Turn around!” he was shouting.

  The point of a sword thrust through the door and a dark bloom spread across the fabric.

  Lillitha screamed. The sword point disappeared and the shadow of the young guard fell soundlessly away. There was a sickening thud as one of the litter’s wheels rolled over him.

  “Shut up!” Yanna shouted, “Shut up and take this!’

  The cadia pressed a small dagger into Lillitha’s trembling hands. Had Lillitha not already been in shock, the hot light in her teacher’s eyes would have terrified her beyond words. From out of nowhere, Yanna produced another dagger and held it ready in a hand that did not shake.

  Both women tumbled suddenly as the world seemed to slide and then stop with a bone-shaking crash. The sounds of screaming horses and splintering wood swallowed all others.

  Yanna landed on top of Lillitha. She did not even bother to check her young charge before she struggled to her knees and pushed open the opposite door.

  “Stay here, your father will come!” Yanna screamed at her. “Get out of this litter and I’ll kill you myself. Understand?”

  Then she disappeared into the evening sky.

  Lillitha shrank from the bloody curtain that now lay against her cheek. She wanted to do as Yanna had commanded, but she couldn’t. Not with the screams rising all around her. She scrambled to her feet and thrust her head out the door in time to see her cadia-techa pulling her dagger across a bandit’s throat.

  Hands closed on her shoulders; another groped for her mouth. She bit down hard, tasting blood and dirt, as a voice cried out. She did not understand the words but there was no mistaking the anger in them.

  Suddenly the hands fell away. She felt her body lifted off the ground. In the dust and the darkening night, she could see nothing but shifting shadows.

  “Put me down!” Her voice sounded childlike in her own ears, so choked with tears as to be unintelligible. “Take your hands off me—”

  “Lady Lillitha, be still and hold tight to me! Please!”

  The shadow said her name with reverence and spoke Shallanie. Surely, she thought, no Torian bandit would bother to say please, even if he spoke her language. She ceased her struggle and collapsed into the arms that encircled her as the horse bolted into the darkness.

  ***

  Scearce paced the lip of the small cave and stared into the darkness. Behind him, Lillitha sat on a stone and fought for control, muffling her tears behind torn veils.

  “I think we’re safe enough for now,” he said, barely visible in the blackness. “We’ll hear anyone who approaches. I’ll make a fire for us.”

  “Is that...safe, do you think?” Her own voice sounded str
ange and small, echoing against cold stone. “What if they see the smoke?”

  “They aren’t likely to come up here looking for us, not in the dark. These hills are too steep and the rocks too sharp. Besides, this cavern is well hidden. I hardly saw it myself. We’ll need a small fire to keep animals away. These caves are full of gregas, but they won’t come near a fire.”

  She shivered all over at the mention of gregas, the great striped cats of the hills. Weren’t Tors bad enough?

  Within minutes, he had collected a number of twigs and other debris, and spent a long time laboring over it with a flint. After a few sparks, the pile began to glow, softly at first, then with greater strength. As the light filled the tiny space, Lillitha saw her savior for the first time.

  She thought that she must have an injury unnoticed till now. She couldn’t breathe. She could only stare up at him.

  She’d had no idea men could be so fair or that eyes could be so gentle. Dark waves of hair tumbled over his forehead and framed his high cheekbones. The soft delicate features of the boy she remembered had toughened into a manly form, but she could still see the small graceful bow of his mouth inside the close-cropped beard, his nose straight and proud, like a sword. The sleeves of his muslin shirt had come unbuttoned and exposed the tanned, well-muscled forearms of a swordsman. She saw, with a guilty shock, the pulse at the base of his throat, and realized he was nearly as frightened as she.

  “Scearce.” It was all she could manage. “Scearce?”

  “Yes.” He hesitated before lowering himself before her on one knee. “I...I am at your service, milady.”

  She held her ripped veil over her mouth with one hand and lowered her eyes.

  “Are you all right? Are you hurt in any way?”

  “No, no..... I think I’m uninjured, but for fright and a few bruises.” She ventured a glance at him and the concern in his eyes stopped her breath again.

  “I thought—I beg your pardon, but I thought I saw blood on your face—”

  “Oh! Oh!” She shuddered, remembering the taste of dirty flesh between her teeth. She scrubbed her lips and chin with the veil, then unceremoniously leaned over and retched into the dirt.

  When her stomach ceased its heaving, she could not look at him. He pushed his flask toward her.

  “Please, take it. It’s quite all right. I feel a bit like vomiting myself, only I wouldn’t have you think me a copy-cat.”

  A weak laugh escaped her, as he had no doubt intended. So, his sense of humor had not changed. He shrugged, as if to apologize for so small a joke, but she was grateful anyway. She curled her feet beneath her and huddled into her robes, looking like a small child masquerading in her mother’s clothes.

  “You are kind, my lord. Please pardon my illness—”

  “Please, milady! No apologies are necessary. You’ve been through a terrific fright, it’s only natural that you would be...uh, unsettled.”

  She nodded and took the flask. “It’s just that I bit one of them. It’s not my blood, but his.” The very thought made her insides lurch. “I think...I do think I’m a bit shaky.”

  More than anything she wanted to cry, but she would not allow it. Crying was only helpful when there were strong arms of a father or brother nearby to comfort her. That was a luxury she had been denied for countless summers. She couldn’t remember the last time she’d been touched by a man, until tonight....

  “I’ll gather more wood for the fire,” he said, rising. “The night air is warm but these stones are very cold.”

  And oh, his arms had been so very comforting, so like the security she’d found in her father’s arms when she was small and frightened of some shadow. Like and yet.... Different. If only she could crawl back into those arms.

  She splashed a bit of the water into her hands, careful not to use too much, and then wiped her face. She felt the dried bits of blood flaking away beneath her fingers.

  She tried to straighten her wimple and realized she would have to take it off and start all over. She felt like crying again, this time in frustration. It was all well and good for Yanna to lecture her on correct behavior and dress, but the cadia had never taught her what to do in such an inappropriate situation as this. She wasn’t supposed to uncover her hair in front of any man, but did that include this one who’d saved her virtue, if not her life? Was she supposed to sit here all rumpled with her wimple and kerchief askew rather than straighten it? Sweet Mother Leah, she wasn’t supposed to be here at all!

  For all she knew, her father and Yanna both might be dead. Mother Leah, she prayed silently, let them be all right, father and mother and Marta and Paul.... All of them. Poor Iafrewn! Had the bandits tried to kidnap her, too? Or had they succeeded?

  She ripped the wimple, kerchief and veil from her head and folded the ragged mess into her lap. It was silly to worry about proprieties now. And if Oman didn’t like it, well.... Then He was a silly old god.

  She looked up fearfully as Scearce returned. He stopped short at the lip of the cave and her trained ears could not miss the sharp intake of breath. A violent blush crept across her face as she looked away. No doubt she’d offended him with her naked head. He must think her shameless.

  He dropped an armful of kindling to the fire. He sat down on the far side of the glowing embers with his saddlebag over his crossed legs.

  “I have a little bread,” he said, refusing to look at her. “And part of an paggie, if you’d prefer the fruit.”

  She shook her head, sending a shower of golden curls about her shoulders. She drew her knees to her chest and crossed her arms over them as if to hide.

  “I...I couldn’t eat. Nothing, thank you. You are most kind.”

  “Please stop telling me I am kind!” His voice slammed against the stone walls. Pain crossed his features. When he spoke again, his voice was much lower and carefully formal. “You are the daughter of my father’s oldest friend and more. You are consecratia, and as such, I am bound as a noble of the Omani to protect and serve you. Anything I have is yours.”

  Tears slid from her lashes. She tried to hide her face in her arms but he was suddenly beside her.

  “Please, Lillitha, don’t cry.” His hand reached out hesitantly to stroke her hair. “I am so sorry, I shouldn’t have shouted at you like that.... It’s just...”

  “I know! I know!” She was sobbing in earnest now as shock, fear and fatigue crashed in on her. “I’m the one who’s sorry, it’s all my stupid fault...I’m the one they were after! Because of me they might all be dead! Or if they are alive, my parents must think I am dead or kidnapped! I can’t bear it!”

  “Ssh, ssh, Lilli...It’s not your fault, you didn’t invite the bandits down from the hills! Your parents are safe, I’m sure of it.”

  She was in his arms, her tears wetting the fabric of his shirt. He cradled her like a fragile thing, rocking her gently.

  “The riffraff that attacked us wasn’t interested in killing anyone, only taking whatever there was to take. They’re all right, your father and mother and my father and all the rest...they scattered, as we did, to find shelter. At first light, it’ll be safe to go and find them. They may even be camped in one of these same caves nearby.”

  “You really think so?” she whispered, her head resting in the crook of his shoulder. She wanted to believe him despite what she’d seen. One of her father’s own men stabbed, Yanna welding her dagger...

  “I’m sure of it. You can’t cry, or I will cry too—you laugh? You think men don’t shed tears the same as women? Perhaps they don’t, but sometimes they’d like to.”

  “You’re only saying that to make me feel better.”

  “I would never tell a falsehood, not even for so noble a purpose. I’m sure your parents and all the rest are unharmed. So sure, I’ll bet you this ring—” he waved a finger bearing a thick gold band intricately carved— “that we’ll find them all safe and sound in the morning.”

  He lifted her chin delicately with just the tips of his long fingers a
nd smiled down at her.

  It seemed that the whole world was in that smile. Cool spring rain, warm summer breezes, the sound of the tides against the shore....

  She had to smile in return, then ducked her head in an embarrassment so acute as to be painful. He was joking to cover his discomfort, so she would joke, too, so he would not think her a sniveling fool. “My lord, Oman frowns on wagers.... Besides, what have I to wager against your lovely ring?”

  “A lock of your hair would be prize enough.... I’m sorry, please forgive me.”

  His brow furrowed, crinkling his eyes as if in pain. She couldn’t bear to see him so stricken on her account. Nor could she allow herself the luxury of remaining so close to his warmth. Surely, after tonight’s trials Oman would allow her this moment of weakness. A moment, but no longer.

  “I have an idea,” she said brightly, sitting up and away as she wiped her eyes. “Let’s agree to stop begging each other’s forgiveness every other moment. You have saved my life and I am very grateful. ’Tis a strange night and I hardly know how to behave. You must think me mad.”

  “No....I don’t think that.”

  “Though I’ll not take your bet, my lord Scearce...or should I address you as Prince Scearce?”

  “I don’t know.... Call me Scearce, just as you used to before time made strangers of us. Please.”

  “Then I am just plain Lilli. No more milady this and milady that.” She knew she was talking too much, but she couldn’t stop. Her heart beat queerly and her face seemed to be burning up. “I’ll not take your bet because I’m sure you are right. I just wish my mother could know that I am well and safe.”