Read Online Exile by Rowena Cory Daniells - Free Book Online

her kind.
    Years ago, when she’d escaped the brotherhood and failed to save her infant son, she had travelled across Chalcedonia with Frayvia and Iraayel, who was only four at the time. She’d experienced first-hand the hatred of the Mieren. And today she had looked into the mind of the man who’d attacked her and found, behind all the logical arguments, a deep irrational fear of her race.
    How could they fight this primitive fear?
    A warm hand cupped her cheek.
    She opened her eyes to find Frayvia watching her fondly. ‘Your mind is racing. It makes my stomach churn. Sleep.’
    ‘Sorry. Do you think Sorne would betray us?’
    ‘Why? What’s happened?’
    Imoshen gestured to the window seat and they retreated there. As they settled under a blanket, she told Frayvia about the meeting with King Charald.
    ‘Sacrificing T’En?’ her devotee repeated. ‘Poor Sorne.’
    ‘You think he has no choice? King Charald is awfully proud of him.’
    Frayvia exhaled slowly. ‘I don’t think he would willingly betray us. You read him when you healed him, surely you know?’
    ‘Usually I read a momentary emotion, which only gives me a glimpse and I have to interpret it. With Sorne I read his core, and he is pure of heart. But what if he discovered something that made him hate us? A person of principle can do terrible things, if they believe what they do is justified. Remember how Kyredeon sent his warriors to murder Reoden’s daughter? True-men are right to fear us. We are stronger than them and our gifts can shatter their minds.’
    A wave of tiredness swept over Imoshen and Frayvia yawned. Imoshen realised she was unconsciously draining her devotee through their gift link. ‘Enough talk for now.’
     
     
    S ORNE WAS NOT used to being confined.He’d spent all day in the tent with Zabier. Now he paced. Soon the Wyrds would meet with the king. He didn’t understand why they’d made Imoshen their causare. Other than her gift, she had no qualifications. They were blinded by their reliance on the gifts to interpret the world. Surely one of the all-fathers would be better qualified? Then again, maybe not; the Wyrds lived segregated in the city or on their estates. Few went out into the larger world. Even those who sailed their trading vessels were limited in what they could observe. None of them knew True-men, or strategy, or King Charald like he did. He would have made a better causare.
    The realisation stopped him in his tracks.
    Since he was seventeen, he had been observing King Charald, the greatest living commander – perhaps the greatest ever, since no one else had succeeded in uniting the Secluded Sea under one leader before. He knew Charald was single minded and utterly ruthless.
    The Wyrds were trapped in an ever-tightening noose, and it was up to Sorne to find a way out.
    ‘I swear, if you don’t stop pacing I’ll...’ Zabier rubbed his face and shoved his notes aside. ‘What’s the matter with you?’
    ‘I need to walk.’ He did his best thinking that way.
    ‘Go. Then maybe I’ll get some peace.’ Zabier seemed edgy as he gestured to the chest. ‘Wear the cape and hood.’
    Zabier stood and went to the entrance, where an awning protected a table and chairs. When Sorne joined him, he found half a dozen of the new order of priests intent on dicing. They looked more like men-at-arms than priests.
    ‘You didn’t have these priests before,’ Sorne said.
    ‘My holy warriors? I wasn’t sacrificing silverheads before.’ Zabier raised his voice. ‘Two of you are to escort the Warrior’s-voice wherever he goes.’
    ‘Don’t trust me?’
    ‘No, I don’t. But then I don’t trust the men-at-arms, either. Some of them might forget you are the Warrior’s-voice and see only your tainted blood.’
    Zabier had a point. Last time he had walked the army camp, King Charald had not been making war on Wyrds.
    As Sorne set off with his escort of priests, he was reminded how Oskane used to call him and Izteben his