Heritage Of The Xandim

15

A FAMILY AFFAIR

Iriana caught her first sight of the frontier town of Nexis through the eyes of a mighty mountain eagle. The magnificent bird of prey she had named Boreas long ago had started out as a gift from the Forest Lord to Cyran, in the days when relations between Eliorand and Tyrineld had been less strained. Little more than a fledgling, the young bird had officially been lodged in the menagerie at the Academy, only to be appropriated somewhat unofficially by Iriana, who had trained him, gradually and patiently, to be her watcher from above. In bringing him with her on a journey that would take him so close to the mountains of his birth, the young wizard knew she was taking a risk, but she hoped he was sufficiently imprinted on her that their bond would be enough to counteract the lure of his own kind. Now, through his keen eyes, her vision could pierce even the thin film of mist that clung low to the ground, and she could see four tiny horses cresting the ridge below him: three with riders - Avithan, Esmon and herself - and the fourth a packhorse carrying an assortment of baggage, including the basket that contained Iriana’s owl Seyka, who helped provide night vision for her, and who slept as they travelled through the day.

Though the sun was obscured by grey clouds that were producing a fine drizzle, an hour of daylight remained as Iriana and her companions crested the last windswept ridge of the rolling green downs, and caught their first sight of the town. Iriana’s view through the eyes of the eagle was better than that of the others. Seen from above, this northern outpost of the Wizardly civilisation was an unimpressive sprawl of primitive wooden buildings, centred on an island in the midst of a broad river that flowed through the valley, and spreading out along the banks and up the slopes on either side. According to Esmon, the buildings on the island now belonged to the northern branches of the Luens, providing housing as well as buildings set aside for teaching, study and experimentation. They seemed to have been erected with more thought and care than the remainder of the town, which was being constructed more with a view to speed, utility and expedience than any consideration of either beauty or permanence.

As the travellers rode down the last slope and into the outskirts of the town, Iriana shifted her vision from the lofty perspective of the eagle, changing to the eyes of the cat Melik, who was perched on the saddle in front of her. With a shrill whistle, reinforced by a mental summons, she called Boreas down from the skies. Esmon had warned her that one of the main sources of income round here was sheep, and she didn’t want anyone shooting the great bird out of the skies because of the threat he undoubtedly posed to the half-grown lambs that dotted the hillsides. The eagle took his accustomed perch on top of the baggage on the patient packhorse - though as she dropped back to fasten the jesses, Iriana shuddered at the memory of the trouble she’d had teaching Boreas to ride there, and training the horse to accept the bird.

At close quarters, the differences between this raw, young northern settlement and stately Tyrineld were even more numerous and marked. In the ancient city of the Wizards, life proceeded on its orderly course, calmly and unhurriedly, with little changing from day to day. Here in Nexis, everything seemed to be in a constant state of flux as people worked hard to establish a new town in the wilderness.

Around the perimeter of the settlement, a thicket of tents had sprung up. ‘Those are to house the folk who are still building, and the traders who are earning their stake to settle here,’ Esmon pointed out. When Iriana looked more closely, she realised that the tents were a community of their own. Many folk were trading from the flimsy shelters, and in addition to merchants, she saw grog-shops, gambling dens and bawdy houses.

New buildings, in various stages of construction, were going up wherever there was a space, particularly around the edges of the settlement as it spread out into the countryside. Massive tree trunks, the branches of which must have been lopped off at the site where the trees had been felled, had each been chained down to two pairs of great wooden wheels, and were being drawn by teams of horses along the well-travelled track that led across the moors between Nexis and the edge of the forest. Their destination was a timber yard: a generously sized stockade that boasted a large, barnlike building and a collection of smaller sheds. Here the trees were stripped of their bark, planed smooth and sawn into the struts, planks, logs and shingles that would be used in the many structures that were currently in various stages of completion around the town by the teams of human slaves that swarmed all over the crude, skeletal frameworks of homes, stores and workshops.

As they rode along the rudimentary street that led down to the river, Iriana shivered in the cold wind that gusted down from moor and mountain, and felt the prickle of the moisture-laden air against her face as she pulled up her hood against the grey, misting drizzle. In this place, it was impossible to believe that it could be summer. ‘If it’s like this now, what is it like in winter?’ she asked Esmon.

The Warrior Wizard made a wry face. ‘Believe me,’ he said, ‘you don’t want to know.’

Iriana was finding Nexis something of a disappointment. She missed the benign breezes of home; the cleanliness and order; the beautiful, ancient buildings and the mingled fragrances of ocean, blossom and herb with which she had grown up in her own temperate city. In Nexis, the predominant smell was woodsmoke, mingled with tar, new timber, the mixed aromas of supper cooking in the houses that she passed, animal dung and the damp, fresh odours of river, mist and rain. The inhabitants of the place appeared rude and uncouth to her: it hardly seemed possible that these rough-hewn people could be of the same race as the cultured inhabitants of Tyrineld.

As Iriana and her companions entered town, all sounds faltered for a moment as a wall of curious and sometimes hostile eyes stared at Iriana’s animal companions, and the winged mask that Esmon still wore openly on his face. Over and over again, Iriana had to tell herself sternly that they weren’t staring at her; that they couldn’t know, just from looking at her, that she was blind. But no matter how much she tried to reassure herself, it was still unnerving, and sometimes even frightening, to be the focus of so many eyes. Once they had passed, the clamour broke out again behind them, made all the louder by the buzz of gossiping voices.

It seemed to Iriana that no one in this place could do anything quietly. She found herself actually flinching from the ear-bruising din: the rasp of saws; the rhythmic tapping of hammers; the scrape of planes smoothing wood; the loud clunks and thuds as the great baulks of timber were raised into position by levitation spells and the sturdy logs were dropped into place to form walls. Workmen bawled orders and curses; cartwheels rumbled; harness jingled and hooves clopped on the hard-packed surface of the road. People shouted greetings, instructions and imprecations at the tops of their voices, and shopkeepers stood calling out their wares in the doorways of their shops or from their roughly built stalls, which were little more than a wooden table with a canvas awning stretched above on a rickety frame.

Melik’s ears flattened and he growled softly to himself as dogs ran about everywhere, barking loudly and adding their own contribution to the unearthly racket, with the pigs, chickens and other livestock doing their best to compete. Children yelled and shrieked as they raced around, getting under the feet of builders and risking the wheels of the carts with such reckless disregard for danger that they brought Iriana’s heart into her mouth again and again. In a stone-built forge near the river, a sweating blacksmith was fabricating tools with the ear-splitting clangour of metal being hammered, followed by a long, searing hiss as its glowing heat was quenched in water.

As Iriana observed the Nexians, she suddenly felt very far from home. The people here were not just noisier than those in Tyrineld. She could sense something more: there was a rough-and-ready exuberance among the bustling inhabitants of the young settlement. Wizard and mortal alike went about with quick, purposeful strides, as if there were too many tasks to fit into their day. There was no sign of the brightly coloured, flowing robes worn by the Wizards of the great southern city. Here folk wore sturdy, utilitarian garb of leather and wool that allowed for quick and easy movement, as well as providing warmth and protection from the cold, damp northern climate. Even most of the women were clad in jerkins, shirts and trousers, just as Iriana and her companions, on Esmon’s advice, had clothed themselves for their journey.

As far as the Wizard was concerned, there was one good thing about the place - the animals. Ducks and geese, magically marked with the colours and symbols of each owner, fished and swam in a rainbow flock at the river’s edge, guarded by a barefoot little girl armed with a long stick, while three smudge-faced, ragamuffin boys, aided by a pair of rangy dogs, kept watch over a straggling flock of goats on the hillside above the town. In Tyrineld, no one would think of keeping farm animals in the city: butter, cheese, meat and eggs, as well as wool and hides, all came from farms beyond the city’s bounds. Here, there seemed to be pigs and chickens in every back yard - and even, to her astonishment, the occasional cow. People kept their horses right beside their houses in rickety lean-to stables. Iriana approved of that. How often had she wished she could keep Dailika closer, instead of being forced to house her in the stables on the outskirts of Tyrineld?

Esmon led them down to the ford on the southern bank, but instead of wading their horses across the river to the island they turned left, and went a little way downstream. The only inn in Nexis was here, beside a simple bridge of planks balanced on piers of stone; just wide and robust enough to be crossed on foot.

Avithan viewed the flimsy-looking structure with a frown. ‘Why don’t they build a better bridge?’ he asked Esmon. ‘One wide enough to take carts and horses, instead of making people get wet sloshing through the river?’

The Warrior shrugged. ‘I expect they will, eventually. Right now, though, their priorities are shelter, security and the means to make a living. Once the town has been established a little longer, I dare say they might get around to a proper bridge. There’s one that you can’t see from here, however. It goes from the northern bank to the other side of the island. The river there is too deep to ford, but here on the south side, the water is so shallow and silted that it’s easy to get across - for most of the year, at least.’

By that time, Iriana had lost track of the conversation. She was scarcely listening to her two companions. Now that she had seen Nexis for herself, she was even more puzzled as to why Challan had abandoned his home and family in Tyrineld to come to this rough, isolated place. Why would anyone want to exchange the luxuries of Tyrineld, with its beautiful aspects and temperate climate, for this cold, wet backwater at the far end of nowhere? Why would Challan abandon a kind soulmate and a loving family for this?

It only supported her conviction that his leaving had been her fault. Her real parents hadn’t wanted an abnormal child, so why had she expected more from her adopted father? She knew this notion was souring her relations with others, but she couldn’t help it. For Iriana, to love someone held the very real risk of driving them away, and she would not chance that hurt again. As she grew up, she had learned to build barriers to hide her true feelings, and had always been careful to keep a slight but perceptible distance between herself and even her closest friends. It was safer to be close to her animals. At least she could be sure that their love was unconditional, and they didn’t give a damn whether her eyes worked or not.

For years, she had tried not to think of the foster-father who had abandoned her, but now that she had come to Nexis, she could afford that luxury no longer. Challan was here, and though she was dreading the meeting, she could not avoid it. She didn’t plan to seek him out because of love. All her regard and affection for him had perished a long time ago. But this might be the only chance to clear up some of the questions and doubts that had tormented her family for so many years, and she was determined not to miss the opportunity.

The inn was so new that Iriana could still smell the freshly cut timber with which it was built. A few extra coins from Esmon had ensured the innkeeper’s cooperation in the matter of her bringing her animals into her room with her, though when he saw Boreas, his eyes grew so wide that Iriana was surprised they didn’t fall out.

Iriana’s chamber was fairly clean and very basic, containing only a bed made up with hairy and grey woollen blankets, a rickety wooden washstand with a pewter jug and bowl, a roughly built table and chair and wooden shutters to cover the windows. A row of nails was driven into the wall for hanging up clothing and equipment. She fed Melik and released Seyka from her carrying basket before feeding both birds of prey. As they travelled, it had already become her self-imposed task to tend to the horses, but for one night, it made a pleasant change to have someone else feed and groom them. Instead she washed and dug some clean clothes out of her pack, and when Esmon came to call her downstairs to eat, she was more than ready - she was ravenous.

The food was plain but solid, and there was plenty of it. Iriana had her first taste of moose meat - strong, rich and gamey - in a stew with onions and beans. It was good, she decided, once she got used to it. As she ate, she decided that this would be as good a time as any to tell her companions about her plans. With a hand on his arm, Esmon stopped Avithan from exploding into speech when she announced that she planned to visit her foster-father that evening, and looked at her with a flicker of concern darkening his eyes. ‘Does Zybina know you’re planning this?’

‘Yes. We talked about it.’ Iriana was glad, now, that they had. ‘She’s uneasy about the idea, but she understands that I have to try.’

Esmon nodded. ‘Well, it’s not my business. I barely knew Challan when he lived in Tyrineld.’ She could sense his sympathy as he leant towards her. ‘Iriana, sometimes people just change. It’s like avalanches in the mountains. Sometimes any number of seemingly insignificant things, barely noticeable at the time, will build and build until—’ He made an abrupt sweeping gesture. ‘And like a real avalanche, the results can be very hard on the innocent bystanders in its path. Of course—’ He took another mouthful of stew, chewed and swallowed. ‘Of course, other avalanches are triggered by a single, major event: a falling rock, maybe, or a loud noise. However they start, it makes no difference to the people in their path. You still get the loss, the damage, the pain.’ He looked at her very directly. ‘After all this time, does it really matter how the avalanche got started?’

Iriana was impressed by his words and the understanding behind them. They invited serious thought, and she remained silent, keeping Melik’s eyes fixed on her plate, while she considered. This would be an easy way out for her, she realised. Was Zybina right when she said that no good would come from digging up the past? Yet . . . All those years of wondering, of not knowing, of blaming herself. And what about Yinze, the brother who was as much a part of her as if they had come from the same womb? How could she not make the most of her chance to spare him the pain of this meeting?

And I’m fooling myself. I know that whether I do this or not, Yinze will come anyway. All these years he has just been waiting for the time to be right - and so have I.

Iriana turned back towards Esmon, and trained Melik’s gaze on his face. ‘I have to do this. Zybina warned me that whatever I hear from Challan will make me unhappy, and I suspect she’s probably right. But I have to know. Only then can I put him in the past, where he belongs.’

Esmon nodded. ‘I understand, and in your position I’d feel exactly the same.’

Throughout the conversation, Avithan had been fidgeting by her side, plainly bursting to have his say, but held to silence by Esmon’s hand. At last, however, he exploded. ‘Are you insane, Esmon? You can’t seriously be allowing her to do this.’

‘Allowing?’

Iriana turned on him furiously, but Esmon overrode her. ‘Don’t be an ass, Avithan,’ he said firmly. ‘It was never a question of allowing her or not. Iriana is an adult, capable of making her own decisions and dealing with the consequences. I only wanted to be sure that she had thought this all the way through - it’s a serious matter - and I am convinced that she has. I know you’re in the habit of protecting her, and I can understand why you want to, but there are times when it’s simply not appropriate. This is Iriana’s private family business, and it’s none of your affair, or mine. Stay out. I mean it.’

Avithan scowled thunderously. ‘My father trusted me to take care of her. If he knew—’

Esmon’s words had given Iriana a chance to get her own temper under control. ‘You think he doesn’t?’ she said coolly. ‘I told you I discussed this with Zybina, and she tells Sharalind everything. But as Esmon said, this is private family business, and we shouldn’t lose our sense of proportion. I am going to visit the foster-father who abandoned me. I want answers. I need them. Then I’ll put it behind me, and get on with my life.’

‘If you’re lucky,’ Avithan muttered, but he said no more.

‘I’ll talk to the innkeeper and do some asking around for you,’ Esmon said. ‘This is still a small town. Someone will know where Challan lives.’

‘Thank you, Esmon,’ Iriana said. ‘For everything.’

By the time the Warrior had found out what they wanted to know, darkness had fallen outside, and Iriana knew that she could put off her meeting with Challan no longer, though now that the time had come to confront him, nervous tension was gripping her stomach like a clenched fist. Seyka glided above her like a silent white ghost, and Melik curled around her shoulders like a warm fur collar. Both of them were providing sight for her in the dimly lit streets, so that she had no problem making her way to Challan’s house. Nexis was not a large place, and the innkeeper’s directions had been very clear, so she found the right street with no trouble at all. It was on the island, where the buildings were more densely packed together, and the inhabitants thronged the boarded, lamplit walkways.

Iriana walked faster than she would normally have done on a dark night in a strange town. Firstly, because she was anxious to get the dreaded meeting over and done with, and secondly, she was walking off her annoyance at Avithan and Esmon, who had insisted on accompanying her. Fighting, as always, for her independence, she had wasted a good half-hour convincing Avithan that she would be perfectly all right on her own, only to be overruled by Esmon, who had insisted that all three of them should go.

At least the Warrior’s bluntness had taken some of the sting out of the decision. ‘Look,’ he had said, ‘this has nothing to do with your blindness, Iriana. I know that as long as you have your animals, you can manage very well on your own. But this isn’t Tyrineld. It’s a frontier town on the edge of civilisation, and it’s inhabited by all sorts of rough, unsavoury types. These aren’t the sort of Wizards we know at home. If they were, they probably wouldn’t be here. In the main, these folk are misfits and adventurers, or worse, and most of them left our society and its rules behind with good reason. Even if you had your sight, a lovely young girl like you wouldn’t be safe alone in the streets after dark. In fact,’ the Warrior had added, ‘I wouldn’t be too happy about any of us going out alone tonight. Not even me, and I know how to handle myself in a fight.’

There was a tavern of sorts at the end of Challan’s street, a rough structure that was little more than an open-fronted shed with lanterns hanging from the beams, a counter for serving ale and several tables and benches that had been hastily knocked together from scrap timber. ‘We’ll wait here until you’re done,’ Esmon said. ‘This meeting with your foster-father is just between the two of you, and you certainly won’t want Avithan and me tagging along.’

‘Thanks,’ Iriana said, feeling infinitely relieved that Esmon understood. ‘I probably won’t be too long.’

The Warrior grinned at her. ‘You take as long as you need. Don’t hurry yourself on our account. Avithan and I will amuse ourselves here with a drink or two, until you come back.’

Alone at last, Iriana made her way down the street towards Challan’s house. When she’d found the right door, she held out her left hand, which was clad in the tough leather gauntlet that she always used for working with her raptors. At her whistle, Seyka floated down through the smoky night air and settled on her fist. For a moment, Iriana struggled with the temptation to turn around and return to her companions. When that door was opened, what would she find? ‘Iriana, pull yourself together,’ she muttered. ‘You haven’t come this far just to turn around and slink away again.’ She took a deep breath and steadied herself. She wasn’t a child any more. Challan owed her some answers, and by all Creation, she meant to get them. Trying to ignore the anxious churning in her stomach, she took a deep breath and knocked on Challan’s door with her free hand, wondering what sort of reception would await her inside.

Iriana had been thinking about this meeting throughout the journey, and playing out all sorts of different scenarios in her imagination. From the moment the door opened, however, nothing was the way she had imagined it might be. Instead of Challan answering the door, Iriana came face to face with a tall, dark-eyed human woman whose abundant brown hair was streaked with grey and whose weathered face betrayed the remnants of what had once been a delicate prettiness. Standing there in the lamplight, she looked vaguely familiar, and the Wizard had an uneasy feeling that she knew her from somewhere - yet how could that be possible? She eyed Iriana with a chilly look. ‘Yes?’ she demanded. ‘What do you want?’

Iriana was quite taken aback by her attitude. There was none of the usual respect or subservience that she had always seen in human slaves. What bare-faced effrontery! Why, this woman seemed to think that she was the equal of a Wizard. ‘Is your master in?’ she asked coldly.

‘My master?’ The woman laughed harshly. ‘That’ll be the day.’ Looking back over her shoulder into the house, she shouted, ‘Challan? There’s some girl at the door wanting to know if my master’s in.’ She turned back to Iriana. ‘Come in if you want, but you’ll have to leave those filthy animals outside.’

‘How dare you speak to me like that, human!’ Never in her life had Iriana struck someone, but this was too much. Just as she raised her hand to slap this temeritous slave, however, Challan appeared in the narrow hallway. As he took in the tableau on his doorstep, he suddenly started, stared at her, and his jaw fell open. ‘Iriana? Little Iriana? Is it really you? I scarcely recognised you.’

He looked different, and it surprised her. Wizards could look any age they wanted, and somehow, she had expected him to be as she remembered him: his angular face clean-shaven and his hair long and dark. Instead, he had allowed his face to age, and his hair, now silver, was clipped short to match his neatly trimmed beard. Only his hazel eyes were the same, and even in them, his wary, guarded expression as he failed to quite meet her gaze was something she had never known before.

Challan held out his arms as if to embrace her, but she ignored them. Melik, sensing her mood, hissed at him from her shoulder. Iriana took a deep, steadying breath. ‘I would like to speak with you, if you don’t mind,’ she said. ‘In private.’ This last was directed very pointedly at the slave-woman, who was standing close to one side, listening to everything that was being said.

For a moment an expression of deep sadness crossed Challan’s face. ‘Ah. I see. Well, come in, Iriana, and be welcome.’

‘Thank you.’ Lifting her chin, Iriana swept past the human, whose scowl was thunderous. ‘I told her she couldn’t bring those dirty animals in here,’ she snapped at Challan. ‘Making a mess of my nice, clean house.’

‘They won’t make any mess, Lannala,’ Challan said mildly, and at the mention of the name, Iriana remembered where she had seen the woman before. Why, she thought, when our family was still together in Tyrineld, this Lannala used to be a servant in our house. What in the world is she doing here?

What in the world was that wretched girl doing here? Lannala could only look helplessly at the two retreating backs as Challan and Iriana turned away from her and moved down the passageway into his study. When she tried to follow them, she found the door shut firmly against her. It was just like the old days in Tyrineld, she thought bitterly. The Wizards shutting out the lowly mortal slave.

A sensation like the cold, empty void of a winter’s night passed through her, settling in her belly and her bones. She and Challan had been here for so many years: they had been one of the first pairs of settlers in this lovely, sheltered valley, and had watched the community grow from one or two lonely cabins to the busy, thriving town it was today. Stunned, resentful, she wandered back into the kitchen where the scrubbed vegetables lay on the table ready for a stew, and began to chop savagely at an onion. No matter what was at stake, she told herself, she had too much self-respect to listen at the door. Or maybe she was just afraid of what she might hear.

When her eyes began to sting and blur, she knew it wasn’t just the onions. She’d thought they were safe here. She’d thought that time had erased the guilt that Challan felt at leaving Zybina and his children. The long, distant silences that Challan often fell into after they had left Tyrineld, which used to make her so unhappy and insecure because she knew he was missing his Wizardborn family, had tailed away long ago, until at last she had relaxed, felt less inferior, less dependent. She’d found her confidence, and truly believed she’d made a life for herself here as a partner and equal, not a slave. And if he had diminished a little since leaving Tyrineld, she had blossomed. So it all balanced out, and they’d had many happy years together.

She had never thought it would change. She’d been wrong. She hadn’t counted on opening the door and finding Challan’s past on the doorstep. Nor had she expected those old feelings of fear, inferiority and insecurity to come flooding back over her. The feelings of a slave. She knew that those uncomfortable emotions, not to mention jealousy and resentment, had made her shrewish and bad-tempered (and rude and ungracious to a visitor) but she couldn’t help it. How else was she supposed to react to such a deadly threat to her happiness?

Though he’d tried to hide it, she’d seen the haunted look of guilt on Challan’s face; heard the wistful emotion in his voice as he addressed his foster-daughter. Had Iriana come to ask him to return? Even though she didn’t think he would leave his Nexian family, she knew that the girl’s visit would stir up his emotions: feelings of regret, remorse, the ache of an uneasy conscience, the wondering what it would have been like if only he had stayed. If only she, Lannala, had not fallen pregnant . . .

No matter what came of Iriana’s sudden appearance, one thing was certain. Tonight would change everything.

Lannala’s fingers tightened around the hilt of the knife. Damn it, she wouldn’t give up without a fight - and not just for herself, or the love she bore Challan. She had her daughter to think about. Chiannala was loved by both of them, and indulged by her father - sometimes far too much for her own good, Lannala thought. It was as though Challan was somehow trying to compensate for abandoning Yinze and Iriana in Tyrineld. Challan had always given his new daughter anything she wanted, except for one thing. To Lannala’s mind, the most important thing of all. Though she showed every sign of having inherited her father’s powers, Challan refused to let Chiannala go to Tyrineld, and be properly trained in the arts of Wizardry.

New resentment against Iriana had her clenching her teeth. Why should Challan deprive his true - and plainly talented - daughter, when a blind nobody from who-knew-where had been accepted, taught, loved by the Wizards? Was he ashamed to face his peers in Tyrineld and recognise the girl he had fathered? Well, Lannala would see about that. No matter what it cost her, she would make sure that Challan did the right thing by Chiannala.

Just at that moment, the sound of voices raised in vicious anger, one of them belonging to her daughter, came down the passageway from Challan’s study, making her jump. Her hand slipped and the sharp knife nicked her finger. Damn! Ignoring the welling blood, she hurried to the door.

Challan ushered Iriana into the narrow passageway, unadorned but for a shelf that held the lamp. There were doors to the right and left, and another open doorway at the end of the passage, through which she could see a kitchen with signs of a meal in preparation on the table. Opening the door on the left, Challan showed her into a cosy study, with books overflowing the shelves and piled on the floor and table, and a fire glowing in the grate. He led her to one of the comfortable chairs by the hearth, and Iriana settled herself, letting the owl perch on the back of the seat and lifting Melik down from her shoulder onto her lap. Challan did not sit, but paced nervously back and forth in front of the fire.

There was a long moment of silence, broken at last by Challan. ‘My dear, you don’t know how good it is to see you again.’

‘Really. If you had wanted to see me that much, you knew where I was,’ Iriana replied flatly.

Her words brought him to a standstill, as though she had dealt him a physical blow. ‘Iriana, I cannot tell you how sorry I am about leaving; about everything. Please, try to understand—’

‘Understand what?’ Iriana’s voice was like a whetted blade. ‘You went off and left us without a word of warning. You didn’t even have the decency to tell Zybina to her face that you were going, you just left her a cowardly note. What I understand, Challan, is lying awake all those long nights, listening to the woman I regard as my mother sobbing in the room next door. What I understand is that poor Yinze was forced to grow up without a father.’ Suddenly she could bear to live in ignorance no longer. She had to know the truth, even if it destroyed her. ‘Was it me?’ she demanded. ‘Was it my fault? I have to know. Did you leave them because of me?’

He stared at her. Through Melik’s eyes, she could see the emotions crossing his face, one after the other: surprise, dismay and guilt. ‘By all Creation, Iriana, is that what you believed?’

‘Well, why else would you go?’ Iriana demanded harshly. ‘What other reason could there have been? I drove my own parents away as soon as I was born, because they didn’t want a child who wasn’t normal, and later I did the same with you. Only this time, it wasn’t just me who suffered.’ She was dimly aware, now, that tears were spilling down her cheeks. ‘Zybina and Yinze’s lives were ruined, too.’

Challan dropped to his knees beside her and gripped both of her hands. ‘Listen to me,’ he said. ‘It wasn’t your fault, I swear to you. It was mine; all mine. You see . . .’ He hesitated, as if groping for the words, then plunged on. ‘I fell in love with someone. Hopelessly, completely in love. I was besotted, spellbound. Forgive me, Iriana, but I had to choose her. She needed me far more than Zybina ever did. And things being as they were, with her expecting my child, we couldn’t possibly stay in Tyrineld, so—’

But Iriana was no longer listening. All those years of pain and guilt - and for nothing. A colossal anger boiled up within her. ‘Who?’ she growled. ‘Is she here now, this woman who was more important than your family?’

Prudently, Challan got to his feet again and stepped back from her. ‘You’ve already met her,’ he said. ‘It’s Lannala.’

The shock was like lightning jolting through her. ‘What?’ she shouted, scooping Melik into her arms and leaping to her feet in turn. ‘That housemaid? That human? You abandoned your family for a slave?’

‘Hush! She’ll hear you.’

‘I don’t give a damn if she hears me,’ Iriana shouted. ‘How could you? How could you do this to Zybina? To all of us? Rutting with a human - it’s perverted and obscene!’ She was aghast at such betrayal. All this time she had suffered. All this time she had lived in torture, blaming herself for destroying the family that had given her a home. And all this time the man she had looked up to as a father had been pleasuring himself with a mortal slave. Such things were done, of course, she was not such an innocent as to deny that, but never so openly as to actually set up home with one. And as for casting aside a loving family to be with the creature - why, such a thing was unheard of.

Challan sighed. ‘I’m sorry you feel this way, Iriana, and I’m very sorry for all the hurt I’ve caused you. But your reaction only goes to prove that I was right to come here, where folk are more inclined to live and let live. My love for Lannala would never have been accepted in Tyrineld, and I would only have brought misery and shame on Zybina and you two children, not to mention Lannala and Chiannala.’

‘Chiannala? Who in Perdition is she? Are you rutting with two of them now?’

Challan’s eyes flashed angrily. ‘Do not use that word again. For the love I bear you and the debt I owe you I’ve been patient, Iriana; but this is my family too, and I will not have you come marching in here and speaking of them in such offensive terms, as if they were mere animals—’

The door crashed open, cutting off his words. A thin-faced girl with flashing dark eyes and abundant brown hair stood there. Through Melik’s feline vision, which was specifically designed to pick up small, abrupt movements, Iriana could see that she was actually shaking with anger. ‘I can’t stand to listen to this another moment,’ she snapped. ‘Just who in Perdition do you think you are? What right have you to come here, to our home, and speak of us like this? No wonder your parents didn’t want you. No wonder my father couldn’t stand to live with you! Why don’t you go back to your stinking city, where you belong?’

Before Iriana could form a reply, Challan intervened. ‘Iriana, I want you to meet Chiannala - my daughter.’

‘His real daughter,’ Chiannala said spitefully. ‘His own flesh and blood, not some blind foundling freak with no claim on him at all.’

‘That’s enough, Chiannala,’ Challan said sharply. ‘It’s not true - any more than the things Iriana was saying about you and your mother are true.’

But matters had already gone beyond his control. Iriana felt as though she had been stabbed through the heart. Somehow this ferret-faced bitch had managed to strike at the root of her deepest childhood insecurities. The only thing she could do was lash out in return. ‘I may have been a foundling, but at least I’m not some half-blooded obscenity that should have been destroyed at birth,’ she spat. Turning back to Challan, she added: ‘The half-breed was right about one thing, though. You are no longer my father, and you never will be again.’ With that, she made for the door. Chiannala, her face livid, stood there as if to bar her way, but Seyka flew at her face, talons extended, and she leapt aside with a curse, leaving Iriana free to go. Thrusting the door violently open, she almost ran into the accursed slave woman who had caused all the trouble. She had clearly been eavesdropping. Hardly surprising from one of her kind. Fortunately, Iriana only cared about getting out of that place, and away from the lot of them. It was just as well. She was so hurt and enraged that there was no telling what she might have done.

It was also just as well that she had the vision of the cat and the owl to depend on as she made her way back up the street, for even if she’d been able to see, her own eyes were too awash with tears to be of any use to her. When she reached the open-fronted booth that served as a tavern, Avithan and Esmon leapt up in alarm at the sight of her, and for once, when Avithan put his arms around her and held her tightly, she did not object, but leaned against his shoulder, grateful for the comfort and support of his arms around her. When they asked her what was wrong, however, she stiffened in his arms and shook her head. ‘I don’t want to talk about it,’ she said in a cold, tight voice. ‘Not now. Not ever.’