“I’ve obtained assurance from Karavek they’ll be left in peace, provided they don’t venture into New Kethia.”
Weaver gave a slight nod, his eyes roving the ruin. “Did you know, the people of this city would choose their own king? Every man who owned house or livestock was given a single black stone every four years. A vase would be placed before each of the candidates who would stand there,” he pointed to the head of the chamber, “and each man would reach his hand into every vase, keeping his fist closed whenever he drew it out, so none would know into which vase he had dropped his stone.”
“What if you dropped two stones?” Frentis asked.
“A great blasphemy punishable by death, for this was a rite as well as a custom, ordained by the gods. All shattered and lost when the Volarians came of course, but Queen Lyrna found it interesting. From a historical perspective.”
“Do you truly hold her memories?”
Weaver gave a small laugh and shook his head. “Her knowledge, her insight you might say. They are not always the same as memory.” He turned to Frentis, his humour fading quickly. “You dreamt again.”
“More than a dream. We spoke. She wants me to bring you to the arena in Volar. For what purpose I can’t imagine. But I doubt she means you well.”
“And if you don’t?”
“She holds Lady Reva, makes her fight in the arena. I’m certain she’ll face worse if we do not come.”
“You care for her?”
“I barely know her. But my brother sees her as his sister, which makes her my sister. I do not wish to tell him I turned my back on a chance to save her. But I can’t command you in this, nor would I wish to.”
For a time Weaver said nothing, his face gradually clouding into an expression so troubled it seemed his youth had vanished. “When I was a child,” he said, “I didn’t understand the nature of my gift. If I saw a wounded creature, a bird with a broken wing or a dog hobbling on a twisted leg, it seemed such a wondrous and simple thing to restore them with a touch. But for a long time everything I healed became a shadow of what it had been, an empty-eyed husk plodding through life and often shunned by its own kind. I didn’t know why until I came to understand that my gift doesn’t just give, it takes. Those I heal are opened to me by the touch, everything they have is laid bare and there for the taking. Their memories, their compassion, their malice . . . And their gifts. Although I try to stop it, something always comes back, bringing with it the temptation to take more, to take it all.
“I first met your brother years ago, when my mind was . . . less clear than it is today. I had occasion to heal him, Snowdance being so hard to restrain.” Weaver looked down at his hands, spreading the nimble fingers. “His gift was great, brother, and the temptation stronger than ever. So I took, just a little. If I had taken it all . . .” Weaver shook his head, shame and fear mingling on his face. “The song is faint,” he continued, “but if I listen hard enough, I can hear it, and it guides me, tells me where I need to be. It led me to follow him to Alltor, guided me to the queen when she needed healing, and to the ship that brought us to this land. And now, brother, it tells me to go to Volar, and its tune is far from faint.”
He patted Frentis’s knee and got to his feet, casting a final glance around the council chamber. “They also killed children here,” he said. “To seal the people’s choice with a blood offering to the gods. The sacrifice would be chosen by lot, their parents considering it a great honour.”
He turned and started up the steps. “I should speak to the Politai, they’re becoming ever more insistent on explanations.”
CHAPTER SIX
Vaelin
The red man’s lips had been part seared away, exposing teeth and gums in an obscene grin. Vaelin couldn’t escape the sense of being laughed at, the Witch’s Bastard enjoying his final triumph.
A series of gurgles came from the ruined face, spittle and blood spraying as the red man’s lidless eyes stared up at him. Was he begging? Taunting? Vaelin crouched, leaning close to try to discern some meaning amongst the choking babble. The red man jerked and convulsed, tongue sliding over his teeth as he attempted to shape the words. “O-one . . . left. Stiiillll . . . one . . . moooore . . . leeeeft.”
“Where?”
“K-kuhhhh . . . killlll . . . meeee . . .”
Vaelin stared into the thing’s bloodshot eyes, unable to read any expression as the surrounding flesh had been seared to the bone. “I will.”
The thing choked, tongue twisting behind the teeth as it fought to shape an answer. “Alpiraaah . . .”
Vaelin rose and went to Wise Bear and Erlin. “He says there’s another,” he told the shaman. “Far from here. Will it matter?”
“Matter to what?” Erlin asked.