Sanctuary Read online

  Praise for Rowena Cory Daniells

  “A fast moving, gripping fantasy.”

  Fantasy Book Critic on The King’s Bastard

  “Rowena Cory Daniells has a splendidly devious way with plotting.”

  SFX

  “It’s a story of kings and queens, beasts and warriors, magic and religion. If you like any of the aformentioned things, then you’ll probably join me in loving this book.”

  Den of Geek on The Chronicles of King Rolen’s Kin

  “The King’s Bastard is a cracking read and the pace never lets up.”

  Geek Syndicate

  “Royal intrigue, court politics and outlawed magic make for an exciting adventure.”

  Gail Z. Martin, author of The Chronicles of The Necromancer, on The Chronicles of King Rolen’s Kin

  “Pacy and full of action and intrigue.”

  Trudi Canavan, author of The Black Magician trilogy, on The Chronicles of King Rolen’s Kin

  “The King’s Bastard is a fabulous, rollicking, High Fantasy adventure that will keep you up at night, desperate to find out what happens next.”

  Jennifer Fallon, author of The Demon Child trilogy

  Also by Rowena Cory Daniells

  The Outcast Chronicles

  Besieged

  Exile

  Sanctuary

  The Chronicles of King Rolen’s Kin

  The King’s Bastard

  The Uncrowned King

  The Usurper

  The King’s Man (ebook)

  Rowena Cory Daniells

  SANCTUARY

  Book Three of the Outcast Chronicles

  First published 2012 by Solaris

  an imprint of Rebellion Publishing Ltd,

  Riverside House, Osney Mead,

  Oxford, OX2 0ES, UK

  www.solarisbooks.com

  ISBN: (epub) 978-1-84997-440-0

  ISBN: (mobi) 978-1-84997-441-7

  Copyright © Rowena Cory Daniells 2012

  Cover Art by Clint Langley

  The right of the author to be identified as the author of this work has been asserted in accordance with the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988.

  All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording or otherwise, without the prior permission of he copyright owners.

  This is a work of fiction. All the characters and events portrayed in this book are fictional, and any resemblance to real people or incidents is purely coincidental.

  All my life, I’d been told the Wyrds were ungodly creatures, born without a soul or a conscience. It wasn’t until I collated the information on their gifts that I realised they were just people like us, both good and bad. When I was offered the chance to sail with the Wyrds and write the story of their exile, how could I refuse?

  Taken from Scholar Igotzon’s journal

  Chalcedonia and the Five Kingdoms

  Prologue

  ‘YOU’RE A TRUE-MAN. What’re you doing with the Wyrds?’

  He could ask her the same question; she was no more than fifteen, and also of True-man stock. When he had been taken aboard the Wyrd ship, he hadn’t expected to find one of his own race living amongst their ancestral enemy. The Wyrds had put them in a cabin together and ignored them, which was not surprising considering the chaos last night.

  ‘I’m making notes to write a history of the Wyrd exile –’ He stopped himself. ‘Sorry, the T’Enatuath exile.’

  Her eyes widened. ‘You know their language?’

  ‘Only a few words, so far. For instance, they call us Mieren, so don’t refer to yourself as a True-man. They’ll take insult. We’re –’

  ‘Mieren, I get it. I’m not stupid. My husband could do no more than write his own name, but he was awful proud of it. When he caught me trying to make my letters, he hit me so hard I had a bruise for a week.’ She held his eyes defiantly. ‘After that I practised in secret.’

  ‘Good for you.’ Igotzon did not see any point in keeping women ignorant. She seemed determined to learn and he needed an assistant. ‘I could teach you to read and write. What’s your name?’

  They’d shared a bed last night, and he hadn’t thought to ask. Not that they’d done anything; he was a scholarly priest and she was the mother of a newborn, which had slept between them.

  ‘I’m Masne.’ She followed his gaze to the infant, with the distinctive mulberry eyes and six–fingered hands of a halfblood. ‘And that’s Soihana. But I suppose she should have a halfblood name, since she’s one of them.’ Determined blue eyes lifted to him. ‘I never lay with a Wyrd, if that’s what you’re thinking. I swear –’

  ‘You don’t have to convince me. Even the best minds don’t know why some True-man couples produce halfblood babies.’

  ‘That’s what I told my husband.’ Tears of anger glistened in her eyes. ‘After my pregnancy went beyond six small moons, he beat me. When that didn’t bring the baby on, he denounced me before the whole village and turned me out.’

  ‘Typical.’ He regarded her curiously. ‘Why didn’t you hand the baby over to the Wyrds? They take in halfbloods born of True-man parents.’

  ‘And go where?’ she countered. ‘My village wouldn’t have me back. I’d have to go to port and sell my body to buy bread.’

  ‘You could have offered to serve the Mother.’ It was the only religious institution that accepted women and, now that he thought about it, it was probably full of women who had nowhere else to go.

  ‘I didn’t think of that. Besides…’ She raised her chin. ‘I couldn’t bear to part with Soihana. She’s all I have in the world. You understand.’

  He didn’t. He’d never understood the incoherent emotions that troubled others. For him, the world was logical. Take the True-man – Mieren – parents who kept their halfblood sons or daughters, hiding them from their villages. He saw no point. They were always discovered, and the villagers always went hard on them for harbouring the halfbloods. Perhaps by observing Masne with her infant, he would come to understand.

  ‘King Charald’s ship approaches.’ The cry came through the open cabin window.

  Igotzon put his ink and pen away.

  ‘Now what’re you doing?’

  ‘Going to watch the handover of Prince Cedon so that I can record my observations for posterity.’

  She looked suitably impressed, then frowned. ‘After everything that’s happened, the Wyrd queen is still going to return the prince?’

  ‘Yes. Look, if you’re going to live amongst them, you have to learn their language and their ways. She’s not their queen. She’s their causare. It’s an elected position, and she holds it only as long as they need someone to unite them behind a cause.’

  ‘Silverhead ways are strange.’

  ‘Don’t call them silverheads and copperheads. The full-bloods are T’En and the halfbloods are Malaunje.’

  Masne nodded. ‘But their ways are still strange. The way full-bloods divide into brotherhoods and sisterhoods. And the women run things; I would never have believed it if I hadn’t seen it for myself. Why do their men let them –’

  ‘They don’t let them. Power rests with the powerful. T’En women have more powerful gifts than the men.’

  ‘Gifts…’ She shuddered.

  He was tired of ignorance. ‘There are good and bad amongst the T’Enatuath, just as there are good and bad amongst True-men.’

  ‘I guess so, but with their T’En gifts, the bad ones are more dangerous.’

  He blinked in surprise. ‘Good point.’

  ‘I watch and I learn.’ Masne moved closer to him, lowering her voice. ‘I like it with the sisterhoods. These two are run by the most power
ful of the T’En women. Yet…’ She glanced to the cabin door. ‘Yet, even they are afraid of the T’En men. If the women are more powerful than the men, why are they afraid of them?’

  ‘They’re afraid of T’En men?’ He hadn’t known this. He scented a mystery, and the chance to uncover the truth. His heart raced with excitement. ‘I’ll discover things no True-man has ever known. This is an amazing opportunity!’

  She stared at him, then laughed. ‘I’ve never met anyone like you.’

  ‘Of course not. I am a true scholar.’

  PART ONE

  Chapter One

  JARAILE WOKE TO a thumping headache and nausea, made worse by the motion of the horse. Above her she could see a canopy of leaves. It was dawn and her breath misted in the cold air, but she was warm in Baron Eskarnor’s arms. A surge of panic filled her. ‘Put me down.’

  Eskarnor laughed. ‘Oh, no, my queen, you’d just try to run away.’

  ‘Put me down. I’m going to throw up.’

  He stopped the horse and slid off the saddle. She made it three steps before she leaned against a tree trunk and emptied her stomach.

  When she lifted her head, he offered her watered wine. She swilled some in her mouth and spat it out, then took a mouthful. Meanwhile, Eskarnor joked with his honour guard. She gathered they’d slipped out of port and ridden all night.

  Did the baron suspect she was pregnant? Back in the palace he’d raped her, boasting he planned to sit on King Charald’s throne by spring.

  ‘I shouldn’t have hit you so hard,’ he said, cupping her cheek and tilting her face to the light. ‘But you shouldn’t have stabbed me.’

  No, she should have cut his throat. When he’d thrown her over his shoulder, she’d panicked and pulled the paring knife. Unfortunately the two blows she’d gotten in had done little more than annoy him.

  She should have been cool-headed, but she’d been waiting all day for news of her son. In exchange for safe passage to their ships, the Wyrds had promised to return Prince Cedon with his club foot healed. But when the Wyrds had arrived in port, they’d been attacked on the wharf. She’d sent Nitzane with every available man to help them, which left her vulnerable to Eskarnor, who had snatched her from the palace.

  Would the Wyrds think the attack on the wharf was evidence the king had broken his word and take out their anger on her son? Her stomach churned with desperation. Sorne said the Wyrds were ruled by women. Surely they would not hurt an innocent little boy? She should be back in the palace trying to organise her son’s safe return. Instead she was here, headed for…

  Jaraile returned the watered wine. ‘Where are you taking me?’

  ‘Somewhere safe.’ He grinned, looking younger. ‘I can’t have someone stealing what I’ve stolen, Raila.’

  ‘My name is Jaraile. And I have to pee.’

  ‘Go right ahead, but if you think I’m turning my back you’re a fool.’

  He followed her into the woods and leaned against a tree.

  She squatted down, held her pleated trousers out of the way and emptied her bladder. ‘They’ll come after me.’

  ‘I’m counting on it. I hope they bring every man-at-arms they can muster. I’ll choose my ground and I’ll rout them. I spent years serving King Charald during the Secluded Sea campaign, studying his every move. Back then, he had a genius for strategy, but the king is not the man he was and Baron Nitzane is more a lap-dog than a wolfhound. The only man who could have stood a chance against me has been banished because he’s a halfblood. So resign yourself to becoming my queen, Raila. I promise you won’t regret it.’

  She stood and adjusted her clothing. She walked past him, keeping her eyes downcast.

  He caught her arm. ‘They all think you’re the sweet, dutiful wife, but I’ve seen your fire, Raila. I don’t know why you’re loyal to that cruel old king. I was there the night he wedded and bedded you. I know he bullied your father into giving you away. I could have sworn you hated him.’

  She did. But she loved her son, and Eskarnor would have to kill Prince Cedon to put his own son on the throne. She said nothing. The baron led her back to his horse. He climbed astride then hauled her up to ride before him.

  ‘I hate him,’ Eskarnor said. ‘I was nineteen when Charald invaded Dace and captured my family’s estate. My father and older brothers died serving the Dacian king. I had two choices: die pointlessly trying to defeat the Chalcedonians, or turn my coat and survive. I made the only decision I could. But I’ve never forgiven Charald or his halfblood advisor. So we have a lot in common.’

  They didn’t. She would kill to save herself, but she didn’t kill in cold blood to achieve her goal.

  Except… she had told King Charald’s manservant to resume treating him, even though Sorne believed the arsenic based medication was slowly killing him. And when the manservant had suggested doubling the dose, she’d agreed.

  She was hoping King Charald would hurry up and die, leaving her free to marry Baron Nitzane. She’d planned to make Nitzane believe the child she carried was his and use his wealth and men-at-arms to ensure her son lived to grow up and sit on the Chalcedonian throne.

  Instead, she was being carried across the kingdom in the arms of a treasonous war baron, who would be jubilant if he knew she was pregnant with his child. Lucky for her, most mornings she managed not to throw up. Today he had assumed her nausea was due to the blow to the head she had received at his hands. If she could just keep her breakfast down while he was watching, he wouldn’t guess.

  She had to escape, get back to port and secure the kingdom for her son. Nothing was going to stop her.

  Unless the Wyrds had already killed her little boy.

  But she refused to entertain that thought.

  GRAELEN HAD PINNED a blanket across one corner of the cabin to curtain off their sleeping area, but it provided very little privacy. While Valendia slept in his arms, he could sense at least twenty T’En adepts sleeping on the other side of that blanket. Only two had devotees like him. These were both young Malaunje men, who’d been accidentally imprinted with their gifts. It was frowned upon, these days. If a T’En’s devotee died, he’d be weakened, and if the T’En died, the devotee died with him.

  He didn’t regret binding Valendia to him. She was the best thing that had ever happened to him. But with so many male gifts packed into a tight space, everyone was on edge. And with Valendia pregnant, his instinct was to let no one near her.

  ‘I miss my pipes,’ Valendia whispered. She wasn’t asleep after all. ‘Would the brotherhood have a spare zither or set of pipes?’

  ‘I can ask.’

  The curtain-blanket swung back and Graelen sprang to his feet, going for his knives, his gift rising in response.

  The brotherhood’s saw-bones lifted his hands palm-up and Graelen sheathed his knives.

  ‘Fast as ever, Grae,’ Ceyne whispered and reached out to him. ‘My… but it’s good to see you.’

  And Graelen found himself pulled into an embrace, cheek to cheek. The hug lasted for only two heartbeats yet, in that time, the saw-bones could have tried to create an illusion or plant a compulsion.

  But Graelen’s mental shields were strong and the saw-bones had made himself just as vulnerable with the embrace. It was an intimacy Graelen had not shared with another T’En man since Paryx had died. Back then, they’d been young initiates together, at sea in the dangerous waters of the brotherhood.

  Now he was at sea again, in the waters of exile, with Valendia to protect.

  ‘Let me look at you, lad.’ The saw-bones pulled away, tears glistening in his eyes. ‘We believed you dead. When they said you’d come back…’ He shook his head. ‘You look well, remarkably well, considering you’ve spent a year underground in the crypts.’

  ‘Thanks to Dia.’ Graelen helped Valendia rise. ‘She’s the only reason I’m still alive.’

  Valendia smiled with the open friendliness of someone who had never known brotherhood politics, someone who had a good heart. Grae
len was terrified for her. Since arriving last night, he’d discovered their brotherhood’s leader was more paranoid than ever.

  ‘A devotee, Grae?’ Ceyne looked concerned.

  ‘She carries my child.’

  ‘I think I should examine her.’

  ‘I’m fine,’ Valendia said. ‘As soon as I find something to make music with, I’ll be happy.’

  Graelen took her arm and Ceyne led them out of the adepts’ cabin, picking their way through sleeping bodies, down the passage and into the ship’s infirmary. Already there were several patients, those who had been injured in the mad scramble to escape the wharf.

  The saw-bones led them through to the bathing chamber, bolted the door and turned to Graelen, speaking in an intense whisper. ‘You haven’t been locked away in a crypt this last year. You’ve been somewhere safe. Why did you come back, Grae?’

  ‘I had no choice. King Charald threatened to execute any of our kind who remained behind after winter’s cusp. It’s not like we can hide amongst them.’

  ‘But with a devotee? Kyredeon will hold her life as surety of your cooperation.’

  Valendia took Graelen’s arm. ‘What going on?’

  ‘Yes, what is going on, Ceyne? I’ve already reported to Kyredeon and he believes I was locked up for the past year.’

  ‘I’ve heard the story you spun the all-father. I want to know what happened to Kithkarne.’ Ceyne named the old tithe-master, whom Graelen had escorted to collect on the king’s debt. ‘Last message Kith sent, he claimed the Mieren king was about to negotiate payment.’

  ‘The king never intended to pay off his debt to our brotherhood. In fact, that debt is what prompted King Charald to attack our people,’ Graelen said. ‘The king kept putting Kithkarne off. When Charald finally agreed to see us, we were drugged. I came round locked up in the crypts. Later, I overheard the priests talking. Kithkarne took five of the enemy with him when he died.’

  ‘Kith…’ Ceyne shook his head. He cleared his throat. ‘So you escaped with Dia and hid?’

  ‘For a year in the mountains, in a deserted retreat.’ Graelen drew Valendia close to kiss her forehead. ‘It was the best year of my life.’