Well of the Damned Page 3

  Halfway down on the left sat Jophet Renaun, formerly Captain of the Guard for the Lordover Tern. Lilalian Whisperblade of the Viragon Sisterhood sat across from him, her hard, blue eyes unwavering beneath a pale-blond brow while she waited for him to begin. Beside Lila was Tennara, an experienced battler with wisdom lines beside her eyes and thin mouth. Edan sat on Gavin’s right, quill in hand and paper and ink before him. He’d taken it upon himself to record meetings until he could interview and hire a suitable scribe. The ever-watchful Daia Saberheart was present as well, sitting in her customary seat to his left. Her eyes were so pale a shade of blue that nearly everyone who found themselves a target of her steady gaze couldn’t help but squirm. The candidates kept their eyes on Gavin, conspicuously not looking at each other, or at Daia.

  “We’re here to form the new Council o’the Militia,” Gavin said, “starting with me naming the new Supreme Councilor. Afore we start, does anyone have anything to say?” No one spoke. “Awright. We have three people interested in the job: Jophet Renoun, Lilalian Whisperblade, and Tennara Sikuaral. Let’s start with Jophet.”

  He looked at Jophet, a man he’d first met when attempting to free Daia from wrongful imprisonment by her father, the Lordover Tern. Though his brown hair had grayed at the temples, and his blue eyes were framed with wrinkles, he exuded strength and competence.

  Jophet cleared his throat and stood. He talked about receiving instruction in swordsmanship from his father, who’d been an armsman for the Lordover Lavene. He’d been a warrant knight in his youth, giving aid to people on the hope of payment by valour-gild. After taking a bride, he pledged service to the Lordover Tern and was promoted through the ranks, eventually earning the title Captain of the Guard thirteen years earlier. “In my eighteen years of loyal service, I’ve trained many armsmen, some of whom were happy to join the royal army, and some who preferred to remain warrant knights. I believe I’m most qualified for the position because of my many years serving in a similar capacity for the lordover.” He nodded and took his seat.

  Next, Gavin looked at Lilalian, a stern blonde whose unwavering stare matched the sort of intensity and perseverance he looked for in a leader. She’d inherited command of the Viragon Sisterhood when its previous leader had been murdered by Brodas Ravenkind, but she’d also turned the Sisterhood against Gavin and his allies under Ravenkind’s influence. She’d recently begun cropping her hair very close to her head, probably to eliminate the need to braid it or otherwise keep it out of her way. Though Gavin could understand the practicality of it, he found himself hoping Daia wouldn’t do that to her hair. “Lilalian,” Gavin said, “you’re next. Tell us why you’re the right person for Supreme Councilor o’the Militia.”

  Lilalian stood and bowed to Gavin, thanking him for his consideration. She spoke of co-founding the Viragon Sisterhood with Aminda Battlehard and serving as second-in-command for twelve years, of developing the training program, sash hierarchy, and the trials to determine promotion readiness. “In my capacity as captain, I was personally responsible for training most of your guards as well as your champion. Anyone can see they’re impressively strong, skilled battlers.” She hesitated as if she were about to say something else and then sat down.

  Finally, Gavin lifted his chin at Tennara. He liked the calmness he saw in her haze, admired her strength and maturity, and appreciated her skill as a fighter on the mornings he watched from a window while his battlers exercised and practiced in the courtyard. “Go ahead, Tennara.”

  The elder battler stood. Like Lilalian, she bowed to the king, and then also nodded at Daia and Edan. “I have a great deal of respect for both Jophet and Lila for their accomplishments. As for myself, I have no experience leading groups of battlers, nor training them in swordplay. I was the first woman ever to serve as a warrant knight in Thendylath, and I did so for eleven years. When I heard about the formation of a guild of women battlers in Sohan, I relinquished my warrant and joined the Viragon Sisterhood. I was the third battler to join the guild, and I was witness to many of the problems Aminda faced. I became her confidant and sounding board, though in an unofficial capacity, and helped to make most of the policies and choose some of the officers.”

  “That’s a lie!” Lilalian blurted.

  All eyes turned to Lilalian. The hush of shock settled over the room. Even Edan’s quill stilled for a moment before it took up its scritch-scritch across the paper once again.

  “May I continue?” Tennara asked calmly.

  “Go on,” Gavin said. “Try to control yourself, Lila.” He meant it as a jest, but no one even smiled.

  “Though I don’t have the experience of group leadership in an official capacity, I believe I have the qualities you’re looking for: perseverance, integrity, and the understanding of what it takes to be an exceptional battler.” With that, Tennara looked directly at Daia and gave a slight nod. “I’ve identified such individuals whom others wanted to dismiss, and advocated for the dismissal of women our trainer promoted — women who, when faced with difficult circumstances, embarrassed the Sisterhood with their cowardice or lack of expertise.” She sat back down, and all eyes turned to Gavin.

  “That’s unfair,” Lilalian said, standing. “Biela was accepted into the Sisterhood on a trial basis, and paid for her training with no guarantee that she’d ever be accepted. She was on her first mission — with two other, more experienced battlers — when that incident happened. She ran off, ending her provisional membership.”

  “Lila, the details don’t matter right now,” Gavin said.

  “She just attacked my credibility and suitability for this position. The other woman—”

  “Sit down.”

  Lilalian took her seat but shot Tennara a glare first. “I beg your pardon for my outburst, Your Majesty. I stand behind my decisions as captain.”

  “Including the decision that led to Aminda’s death?” Tennara asked. “You’ve never had to account for your actions that day.”

  Gavin looked at Daia. “Is that true? Have you ever heard the story o’how the guild leader died?”

  “No,” she said. “Cirang named me a murderer, and the Sisterhood was hunting me, remember? By the time you released Lila from Ravenkind’s influence, I’d already left the Sisterhood and pledged fealty to you.”

  “Shall we get back to the matter at hand?” Edan asked. “If King Gavin sees the need for a hearing, we should schedule it for another day.”

  “Yeh, you’re right,” Gavin said. “This is going to be a tough decision. I have three excellent candidates here. Is anyone present willing to speak on their behalf?”

  Daia stood. “I am. I have personal experience with all three. Jophet served the Lordover Tern with honor and dignity for many years. In the last three weeks, he’s been invaluable in coordinating assignments for the battlers who’ve come to join the king’s service, providing structure to a somewhat chaotic environment.

  “Lilalian served as captain at the Sisterhood during the eight years I was a member. She has provided exceptional training, discipline and guidance to me and dozens of battlers and prospective battlers.

  “Tennara is an excellent battler, and she stood up for me when other officers in the guild were inclined to dismiss me solely on the basis of my family name. She’s calm and rational, able to quickly evaluate any situation and respond appropriately to get it under control.”

  Gavin nodded as he stood, and Daia retook her seat. Each had qualities he valued and needed, but one stood out from the others as the best choice. “Jophet, you got a lot o’experience leading and training men as the lordover’s captain. You gave me your loyalty the first time we met, risking imprisonment for defying the Lordover Tern’s order, without any guarantee o’support from me. You’re a natural leader, and when you see something needs doing, you do it.

  “Lila, you have many years of experience that would be very useful, but I have concerns about your judgment. We don’t know the facts o’what happened to Aminda, but we know she was
murdered in your presence.

  “Tennara, your experience, skill and calm head make you invaluable to me, but you’re more suited to serve as my wife’s champion. I’ll be considering battlers for the role soon. I hope you submit your name.

  “My choice for the Supreme Councilor o’the Militia is Jophet Renaun.”

  Gavin offered Jophet his hand, which the new Supreme Councilor shook firmly and enthusiastically, while maintaining an optimistically stern expression. “Congratulations, Jophet.”

  “I’ll serve you to the best of my ability for as long as you would have my service, my king,” Jophet said, pumping Gavin’s hand firmly.

  Lilalian reached across the table and offered her hand as well. “I respect the king’s decision, and I offer my service in whatever capacity would suit you.”

  Once everyone had offered his congratulations to Jophet and took their seats, Gavin said, “As Supreme Councilor o’the Militia, you’ll report directly to me. You’ll attend the cabinet meetings every week and be ready to report your status. You can say a few words now if you want.”

  Jophet stood and bowed to Gavin before beginning. “I humbly thank you, Your Majesty, for this tremendous honor. And for the rest, thank you for your support. The first thing I have in mind for the militia is to appoint two council members to aid me in developing and implementing a training program, so that all our soldiers will be not only skilled battlers, but men and women who unite around a set of rules of engagement and conduct both on the field of battle and off. I believe experienced battlers with leadership skills will be most appropriate for these positions, and I’ll increase their number as our militia grows.”

  He went on for a while, talking about his strategies for training people and promising to judge all battlers on their skills and not their gender.

  Gavin watched Lilalian with his hidden eye the way the mage Jennalia had taught him. He hoped Lilalian would put the decision behind her and work to make herself invaluable to Jophet in his new role, perhaps as one of his new councilors. While on the outside, she appeared to accept and even support Jophet, her haze, the mystical bubble around her body, said differently. It was white, like most human hazes were, but with sparks of red like bloody lightning in the clouds.

  Chapter 6

  The lordover’s office was tidy, almost to the point of being stark. He had neither paintings of his family on the walls nor honors he’d received in his youth for bravery or intellect or skill with a weapon. The deep red cherry desk was wide and heavy, possibly built or assembled in the sizable room, for it looked too big to carry through the doorway. In fact, everything looked bigger than usual — the chairs, the bookcase, even the oil lamp on the desk looked large compared to similar items in other homes and offices.

  “Couldn’t you have cleaned her up before bringing her into my office?” the lordover asked. He wiped the dark ink from the tip of his quill and set the pen on a wooden plate as he looked Cirang over.

  Dashel Celónd was a lean redhead with light-blue eyes under highly-arched brows. His finely chiseled features made him a handsome man by any standard, but his age showed plainly in the deep-set squint lines, the worry lines on his forehead, and frown lines framing his chin. He had an admirable set of square shoulders that added to the determined look of him. Cirang wondered whether he could be seduced.

  The notion of willingly lying with a man shocked her. As the Nilmarion man Sithral Tyr, she’d never thought of men in an intimate way, yet as Cirang, the thought had come naturally. She didn’t know whether she could bring herself to lie with one now.

  “I did, my lord,” the guard said. “She refused to wear the dress, and so the stink in her clothes follows her.”

  Then again, seducing him could give her the advantage of extortion to win back her freedom. It was an idea worth considering further, though now she wished she’d worn the dress. He was apparently one of those men who believed a woman had no business in men’s clothing or carrying a sword, and so, regardless of her smell, he’d surely find her entirely unappealing dressed as she was.

  The lordover scrunched his face in disgust. “Next time, put it on her yourself or bring her naked.” He leaned back in his chair and folded his hands over his belly. “So the mighty Viragon Sister falls from grace. I remember you. You’re the sharp-tongued shrew who wanted my guard towers for free. You should have let your companion do the talking.”

  Cirang remembered it differently. She and fellow Sister JiNese had tried to negotiate a lease on behalf of the Sisterhood for the guard towers at the city gate, which he wasn’t even using at the time. He’d been rude and arrogant, refusing to hear their proposal. She’d lost her temper, it was true, but by then, he wasn’t going to listen to reason anyway. An apology now would sound disingenuous.

  “Now, Cirang,” he said, “it’s to your advantage to tell the truth. I’ve brought in someone who can discern your lies.” Celónd gestured to a man standing behind her.

  He was a wisp of a fellow without a single hair on his head or face, not even eyebrows or lashes. Drab beige clothes hung on his frame like rags over a line. Even from where she stood a full two paces away, she could smell the man’s foul breath. She didn’t know any diseases that caused loss of hair and flesh or sour breath, but she inched closer to the lordover’s desk, not wanting to chance catching it.

  “If you lie, I’ll tell the king,” Celónd said, “and that will only serve to harshen your sentence.”

  Cirang was unconcerned. She had two sets of memories, and both were real and accurate. She considered using only Cirang’s memory because she was in Cirang’s body, but those recollections were just as false for Sithral Tyr as his were for Cirang, and, in truth, she wasn’t Cirang Deathsblade, despite appearances. The best approach, she reasoned, was to choose the truth that made her look less culpable for whatever crime he accused her of committing. No matter which she chose, the shadow reader shouldn’t take her words for a lie because they would be true. Cirang spread her hands. “Ask your questions. I’ll tell the truth. With the help of your shadow reader, you’ll see I’m innocent of the charges against me. Before we begin, however, I have a complaint.”

  The lordover sighed. “What is your complaint?”

  “Your warden tried to ravish me,” she said. “I want charges brought against him and his puppet there. The two of them attacked me while I was asleep and overpowered me. If they were real men, they would take me on one at a time and see how well they managed against a woman in a fair fight.”

  Celónd looked at black-beard. “Is this true?”

  The warden feigned shock. “No, my lord. I would never. She’s either mad or a liar.”

  “It’s the truth.” She raised her shackled hands and pointed at the man behind her. “Ask your shadow reader.”

  The scowl on the lordover’s face deepened, and a red flush entered his cheeks. “Do not presume to instruct me on how to investigate my own men. I’ll look into the matter. Now mind your tongue or I’ll send you back to the gaol.”

  “It’s the truth,” Cirang said again under her breath, shooting the warden a dark glare. “If you dare touch me again, don’t doubt you’ll be the one to pay.” He couldn’t very well do his job if he were blinded. If she were to be taken, it would be on her own terms and by the man of her choosing.

  “Don’t threaten me, wench,” the black-beard said with a growl in his voice.

  “Now,” the lordover said, “we’ll start with a simple question.” Celónd deftly rolled a gold coin over the tops of his fingers back and forth across his hand as he studied Cirang with his icy blue eyes. “Who are you?”

  Cirang scrunched her brow for a moment while she thought. The answer to his question was more complicated than he expected, and she didn’t care to explain. “I’m Cirang Deathsblade, of the— formerly of the Viragon Sisterhood.”

  She expected to feel a prickling sensation on the back of her neck, but she felt nothing. As Tyr, she’d had the ability to sense when a mage was
reading her shadow. Apparently, as Cirang she didn’t — yet another inconvenience of living in this female body.

  “State your real name, not your epithet.”

  Cirang sighed. “Cirana Delusiol.” She’d changed her given name when she joined the Sisterhood because it sounded too girlish to her ear.

  The lordover’s eyes darted to the man behind her. He knitted his brow momentarily and flicked his eyes back to her. “What part did you play in the murder of Rogan Kinshield?”

  “Pardon, who?”

  “King Gavin’s brother.”

  Although the original Cirang had been present for the beheading, she hadn’t helped kill him. In fact, she’d tried to reason with Ravenkind to spare the man’s life. Still, she chanced telling Tyr’s tale so as not to be implicated at all. “I wasn’t present, and therefore I didn’t witness the murder.”

  When Celónd’s eyes went to the shadow reader, Cirang started to turn in order to see him, curious whether he sensed a lie.

  “Ah-ah!” Celónd said. “Face forward and don’t look back. When did you first meet Brodas Ravenkind?”

  Because both Tyr and Cirang had known Ravenkind, she thought it best to relate the story of Tyr’s first meeting because it occurred first. “It was seven years ago when I sought a cure for the illness to save my son and the other children of my village.”

  “Which village is that?”

  Inwardly, she cringed, wishing she could take back her previous answer. If Celónd was going to dig that far into her past, he might find out Cirang had no children, but to name a Nilmarion village would be confusing and suspicious. Instead, she named Cirang’s birthplace of Ivarr Ness and hoped he left it at that.

  “I’m not familiar with Ivarr Ness. Where’s it located?”

  “It’s a paltry, fetid fishing village on the coast south of Delam. Is that what you wanted to talk about? Where I was born? If that’s so, I’d rather rot in my cell. Gnawing my own arm off would be more interesting.”