Blood Reunion Page 7

  She'd become more and more frustrated in the past few days—she knew Calebert was dissatisfied with the amount of time it took to finish what she was handed and three more daggers waited tomorrow. She was afraid she would only get one done and that wouldn't do. The royal house on Invardine was set to crown a new king and they'd dragged all the old ceremonial daggers from storage, asking Grey House to clean off the rust so they could be worn at the coronation. The deadline was approaching, Nissa was the one given the assignment and she was falling horribly behind.

  * * *

  "Look—the baby's made mud pies." Gren took full advantage of the fact that there weren't any adults around when he taunted Toff. Laral, Toff's former friend, stood behind Gren, sneering at Toff. One of the others—another Half with very little power, also stood behind Gren, laughing at his words. Toff was covered in drying mud—he'd dug up more clay for Mother Fern.

  Unfortunately, there wasn't a pond or stream near the old streambed so Toff could wash the muck away. Toff's cheeks were pink as he ignored Gren, carrying his two heavy canvas bags of clay past the bully and his two new sidekicks. Who knew that Laral would turn on him this way?

  "Hey, we're talking to you, eunuch." Gren reached out and poked Toff on the shoulder. Toff sidestepped and kept walking, although his temper was rising. Gren had never put a hand on him before—he'd always depended on Haldis and Sark to do it for him. He wondered what this meant—and also wondered about Laral and Clover—the other Halves who'd joined forces with Gren.

  "Look, he's running away, just like the scared little baby he is." Gren's words and Clover's laugh followed Toff as he made his way toward Mother Fern's pottery shed. Toff's shoulders drooped and he breathed a heavy sigh as he trudged along.

  * * *

  "Get in here—we need the roots taken out of that and what you brought in last time sifted," Mother Fern grumbled as Toff walked into the pottery shed. "Tiearan is going to force the rain tonight and I want the sifting done before the dampness gets into everything."

  "Yes, Mother Fern," Toff muttered and went to do as he was bid.

  Chapter 5

  Tory stared at Ry. Ry handed the comp-vid to him so he could read the account himself. Tory was holding his breath, there at the end. "Cloudsong tried to level a judgment against Le-Ath Veronis, because Glendes wanted Uncle Shadow to marry somebody else to get heirs?"

  "This is a huge mess," Ry nodded. "Glendes told Uncle Shadow he had to marry that woman to have heirs, only it turned out that her first husband had committed treason on Cloudsong and Cloudsong demanded compensation from his family. Taking on that woman's debts was part of the marriage agreement, so Cloudsong went after all parties, including Mom, since Shadow was one of her Inner Circle mates. I can't find any records that say the marriage was completed, just that the initial agreement was signed, leaving Grey House obligated for the debts. What I'm trying to figure out is how the crown prince was found alive later, when he was supposed to be dead. Nobody says anything about that—just that he magically appeared when the judge was telling Mom that all the profits from Le-Ath Veronis would be paid out to Cloudsong. And this was after Mom had given Uncle Shadow's ring back before he was supposed to marry the other woman. They passed judgment against Le-Ath Veronis when it wasn't even involved."

  "That's why Cloudsong wasn't allowed into the Alliance—did you see that?" Tory turned the comp-vid around so Ry could see for himself.

  "I saw," Ry nodded. "So that left the door open for Grey House a little while later, when Trell got blown to bits."

  "I wonder what Uncle Shadow had to do to get Mom to take his ring back." Tory wondered aloud. "And then convince her to get a surrogate so Sissy could be born."

  "Yeah—that must have taken some convincing, all right."

  "Cloudsong still got a lot of gold out of it," Tory pointed out.

  "Yeah. I saw that, too. I can't imagine that Cloudsong would be high on Mom's list, can you?" Ry was copying parts of the information into storage for his report.

  "They'll never be allowed to join the Alliance—not as long as the Founder and the Twenty have anything to say about it. They denied their application in perpetuity."

  "Which allowed Grey House to join the Alliance and replace all the taxes that Trell had been paying," Ry was following his brother's logic.

  "At least we know now why Mom is still pissed at Glendes and Raffian Grey and won't set foot in Grey House," Tory sighed. "Should we tell Sissy?"

  "We can let her read this herself—it's not like the information is hidden or anything. We found it, easy enough."

  "True. Why can't we use mindspeech?" Tory was grumbling over one of his and Ry's favorite complaints. They wanted communication with their sister. And each other. Life would be so much simpler, that way. Their fathers had muted the ability—afraid it might be used to cheat on tests or get into trouble. Ry and Tory managed to be in trouble often enough, even without mindspeech.

  * * *

  "I can't tell him this is a fool's errand. I just can't. He's old and it would kill him." Brandelin sat before the fire in his younger brother's bedroom. They were in the King's palace in the capital city of Cloudsong. The palace was in disrepair, as was most of the planet. Brandelin knew it was shortsightedness on his father's part—he'd kept the wrong advisors around him during his entire reign and now Cloudsong was destitute. Brandelin looked up at Jenderlin, his brother, who stood before the fire, trying to warm his hands. A very cold winter had come to Cloudsong and much of the population was starving.

  "He should never have gone near that rogue wizard—father has emptied the treasury trying to get back at Le-Ath Veronis. He believes everything that charlatan tells him, and Zellar blames the Vampire Queen for all our troubles. Zellar keeps assuring father that he has a way to destroy the Queen and her world and exact the funds he needs to keep Cloudsong from dying."

  "He should have concentrated on bringing industry to Cloudsong instead of placing his hopes on joining the Alliance. Being a member of the Alliance brings no guarantee of profitability." Brandelin rubbed his forehead—he'd been getting more and more headaches lately.

  "Look at Twylec," Jenderlin agreed. "They failed to diversify and when another Alliance world developed better technology, they almost destroyed themselves. The old Queen there invited Solar Red in when they offered to pay to set up their temples."

  Brandelin blew out a breath at his brother's assessment—Solar Red was a brutal religion that engaged in torture and sacrifice. It was outlawed by the Alliance and had been mostly destroyed by the ASD. "I'm glad they never approached father," Brandelin shuddered. He knew, as did his brother, that their father might have been persuaded to allow Solar Red to set up their temples on Cloudsong—for the right amount of money.

  "Brandelin—we have to be careful where we talk and what we discuss," Jenderlin said softly. "Father's mental state is not stable. He would not hesitate to imprison either of us, especially if Hedris brings the information to him."

  "Hedris." That word said it all, in Brandelin's opinion. It had been Hedris, acting as the judge in the Le-Ath Veronis matter who'd brought this fate down on all of them in the beginning. He hadn't been satisfied with Brandelin's rescue from the fire and explosion. He'd still demanded money from the Queen of Le-Ath Veronis. The money was paid, but Zellar's appearance and Cloudsong's complete downfall followed quickly.

  No other worlds wanted to do business with Cloudsong after the trumped up charges were leveled against both Grey House and Le-Ath Veronis. Hedris had attempted to extort money by manipulating Cloudsong's legal system. His efforts backfired, and once the money he'd demanded had run out, Cloudsong became a bankrupt world. They had nothing to offer to the non-Alliance planets and King Kenderlin, who still chose to listen to Zellar and Hedris, had embarked on an attempt to exact revenge against Le-Ath Veronis and its Queen.

  "Do you think Zellar is being truthful—that he has a contact, now, on Le-Ath Veronis?" Jenderlin was still worrying that bone of
information.

  "That old liar—you can't sort out his truth from fiction," Brandelin snorted. "Surely even Hedris can see that all Zellar has done is empty father's personal accounts. He hasn't produced a single bit of evidence that he's done anything for father and it's all illegal anyway. If the ASD finds him, he'll be connected to father and to Cloudsong. It will destroy what little is left."

  "It's too bad the Alliance doesn't know that Zellar still lives," Jenderlin pointed out. "I think there would be a larger price on his head, otherwise."

  "Are you thinking about letting them know?" Brandelin lifted an eyebrow at his brother.

  "Not on your life. I'd like to rebuild this planet someday, as your advisor." Jenderlin bowed to his brother, who was the crown prince and destined to be king one day.

  "And I would have to lean heavily on you," Brandelin agreed. "If there is anything left to rebuild."

  * * *

  Zellar? Gren's mindspeech was always tentative when he contacted the god. Zellar had introduced himself that way to Gren—Gren had allowed his mind to wander—something which Father Tiearan had warned him against. Gren had been rewarded instead of punished—Zellar inserted images into Gren's mind. Images of distant worlds and wondrous things. I am the god of the dark worlds, Zellar said and then began instructing Gren.

  Zellar had shown Gren how to tap into the core of Le-Ath Veronis and pull energy from there to do all he wanted or needed. The first time he'd caused the ground to shake beneath his feet but that had subsided quickly. Now that Gren was successfully tapped into that power, it was his to command.

  What is it, my favored son? Zellar's reply sounded sleepy, but he never failed to compliment Gren in some way.

  The poison weed was discovered, my lord. Tell me what I should do next?

  Zellar paused for a moment. Perhaps I should leave that to you and see how inventive you can be, my child. Bear in mind, your target must be eliminated before he reaches adulthood. Otherwise, the Queen will destroy you and all the others. That promise was made fifteen years ago. You tell me that he is nearing his eighteenth birthday. Destroy him before then or I will not be able to help you.

  Gren wanted to smash things. The god was leaving this to him? He'd made a vow of nonviolence to Father Tiearan. Now, Zellar wanted him to take care of this? Toff's eighteenth birthday was in four months. Gren's followers would balk if Gren told them to do what he'd told Haldis and Sark. Just the thought of his two best soldiers, sent off to a prison planet to die had Gren cursing. He knew the profane words; some humanoids who lived alongside the Halves and Fulls were well versed in cursing. Gren had listened carefully and then sought out meanings to words. He wasn't stupid. Perhaps that was what the god was counting on—Gren's intelligence. This was a test. Gren squared his shoulders and swore to come up with a way to rid his village of the baby-faced eunuch.

  * * *

  "Your reports, please." Morwin didn't waste any time, asking for their reports the moment Ry and Tory sat down at their desks. Ry handed his to Morwin as the Dwarf passed between both desks. Tory handed his in reluctantly.

  "Young sir, you seem to be holding back," Morwin admonished Tory.

  "I went in the wrong direction, instructor," Tory stared at the top of his desk.

  "How did you get pointed down the wrong path?" Morwin looked ready to tap a point-toed boot.

  "You asked us to write on the economic impact on the Alliance after Trell was destroyed. I got sidetracked on Cloudsong, and I'm afraid I wrote about the economic impact on that world more than the other." Tory had indeed gotten sidetracked. Cloudsong was now destitute, with none willing to bail it out.

  "So, you found the insect in the sugar cake, did you?" Morwin's lengthy eyebrows were wiggling again. "Cloudsong ensured its ruin when it attempted to reinterpret its laws to perform extortion. Does your report include that, young prince?"

  "Yes." Tory nodded, still not looking at his tutor. "I listed the laws and how they were bent so Cloudsong could exact retribution from uninvolved parties."

  "And how is Cloudsong faring now, young prince?"

  "Not well at all, instructor. They are on the verge of destitution and their people are starving. I learned that several factions have attempted to take over, but even they have not been able to oust the existing monarchy."

  "And what have you learned from all this?"

  "That the laws are in place for a reason and when you bend or break them to suit your purposes at times, it can adversely affect your world." Tory looked up at Morwin, now. Morwin seemed extremely interested in what Tory had to say, when it was normally Ry who had the better papers and deeper insight. "The Alliance refused their membership application and no other worlds were interested in working with or for Cloudsong after they saw how things went in this case. Cloudsong effectively isolated itself in that way and since they had no self-sustaining manufacturing or anything else to lure business to their world, their current situation is the result of their shortsightedness and greed."

  "I agree with Tory," Ry offered. "It was a lesson to the worlds in the Alliance, too—what happened on Cloudsong. The ones that didn't diversify now looked to do so. Twylec was one of the first, with several others following. I have a list of those in my report." Ry nodded to the comp-vid that Morwin held in his hand.

  "Very good," Morwin nodded to Ry. "Did you research the taxes from those worlds—before and after the diversification?"

  "No, tutor Morwin. But I can—that sounds interesting."

  "Why don't you both do that—five pages, due next week?" Morwin was almost grinning.

  * * *

  Toff only picked at his dinner. Gren had given him dark looks during classes all morning, didn't say anything to him as he trudged off to dig more clay afterward and had Laral taunt him as he was coming home after working all afternoon. Corent misinterpreted Toff's gloominess.

  "Son, she won't have you digging clay forever—you're the newest and therefore you have to start at the bottom. You've only been digging for a short time."

  Toff didn't even spare a glance at Corent. Redbird was eating and watching both Toff and Corent but declined to say anything. Toff decided that a noncommittal nod was the best way to go as he pushed squash and lentils around his plate.

  * * *

  "Can't you see he's miserable?" Corent asked Redbird later, when he was sure Toff was in bed. "We should have let him go with Willow—at least he might be eating instead of playing with his food. Fern doesn't like him and you know it."

  "This is the best thing for him; father said so." Redbird was adamant as she stood defensively with fists on hips. Corent couldn't argue with her when she was like this—Tiearan was her father and head of their clan. He couldn't expect either of them to listen when he was worried about Toff. "Besides," Redbird went on, "even Fern will have to teach him something after a while. She's obligated, since she accepted him as an apprentice."

  "But what will she teach him?" Corent knew the argument was useless. Toff would likely receive substandard instruction. He knew why none of the others would stand up for the boy. None except Willow, anyway. Willow had taken a liking to Toff, since Toff was good with Willow's animals.

  "I suggest you take this up with my father." Mentioning Tiearan was Redbird's way of having the final word more often than not. Corent had learned to dislike that statement very much, indeed. Even his mother wouldn't speak to him on this matter, although Rain held sway with Tiearan on many things. She wouldn't take any part that meant Toff might benefit. Corent wanted to grab his hair (which was now turning a dark purple) and pull it out by the roots. "Where are you going?" Redbird called after him as he stalked out of the bedroom.

  "Out," was Corent's one-word answer, and Redbird heard the front door to their cottage slam only a moment or two later.

  * * *

  Toff played with his protection jewel and thought about Nissa—the girl who'd given it to him. He wondered if he'd ever see her again. He was careful, not pulling it out while
others might see, including his adoptive parents. Things had seemed so much better when he was younger—the adults more amenable, the children willing to talk to him. Now, things were so much different. When he'd hit the age of sixteen, things started going downhill. As if the adults were all waiting for something awful to happen, only he didn't know what that might be. Nobody ever spoke to him and there wasn't any way he could comfortably ask questions. More than likely, his questions wouldn't be answered and Redbird would place another mind restraint. He'd heard Corent go out the door earlier and wondered where his foster-father was going. Toff sighed. He wasn't likely to find out, he figured, tucking the gray jewel inside his loose pajama top.

  * * *

  "I need all that pounded and finely sifted," Mother Fern pointed to the box filled with dried lumps of clay. Toff watched little puffs of clay dust rise around his boots as he walked across the multicolored flagstone floor to the shelves where the mallet and the sifting screens were. He would start out pounding dried clay with a wooden mallet and a folded cloth, then use the largest sifting screen and gradually work his way through to the one with the smallest holes.

  The clay dried his hands when he worked with it this way, but he was afraid to ask Redbird or Corent to approach Mother Rose for some of the lotion she made. He imagined that Mother Fern had some somewhere, but it hadn't been offered to him and he couldn't bring himself to ask.

  After pounding the lumps of clay and pulling out the largest bits of roots and detritus, Toff placed an empty, wooden box beneath the large screen before dipping out handfuls of dried clay. He then began to shake and rub it back and forth, allowing the clay to fall through while the screen kept tiny rocks, roots and other stray bits out. Preparing the clay for use was a painstaking process and Toff couldn't decide which he hated more—digging up the clay or sifting it afterward.

  Once it was sifted through the smallest screen, he would add water to it, allowing any stray bits of organic material to float to the surface. He could pour that off and begin working the lumps out of what was left. Then he would lay the clay in a thick layer on top of porous stone and allow the excess moisture to dry out of it. The clay would then be wedged by pounding it and rolling it slightly with the heels of his hands to get the lumps and air bubbles out. As a result, Toff went home with sore muscles on most days.