Angel of Storms (Millennium's Rule, #2)(75)

“And sometimes you don’t. Sometimes an early setback is all it takes to kill interest in resistance. Besides, we’re not ready for a battle.”

She looked at him and nodded. “No, we’re not. This will require careful preparation. Keep gathering information. We need to know the allies’ strengths, and if they are ever in a place where other allies or the Raen can’t come to their aid. If that means luring one of them into a trap, we need to know what sort of bait will work.”

Tyen nodded. He rose. “Frell says he spotted some potential recruits among the pilgrims in his house,” he said. “I’ll check them out. Then I’ll ask the people who have already given us information about the allies’ strength and movements if I could safely visit the worlds they frequent.”

Yira frowned. “Visit them? Surely the most dangerous area to travel between worlds is near the allies’ homes?”

“Possibly less so than going to any other worlds. I’d be surprised if the allies didn’t have some agreement with the Raen that allows their world to trade with others. That would create plenty of well-used paths between them.”

She looked thoughtful, then suddenly smiled. “Thanks, Tyen. I don’t know how I’d do any of this without you.”

He bent in a lazy bow. “An honour to serve you, lady.”

She rolled her eyes. “Get out of here.”

As he made his way to the house Frell was staying in, the tranquillity of his surroundings no longer soothed him. While all of the rebels dreamed of defeating the Raen, most thought the chances were very slim. The allies had to be weaker than their leader, so the possibility of killing them seemed better.

Trouble was, nobody knew how strong the allies were. They could be almost as strong as the Raen if rumours and stories were true. Several had lived for more than a few hundred cycles. If that was an indicator of strength, then the rebels should target allies showing their age or who had been born sufficiently recently that their youthfulness might not be due to magic.

Like himself. He shivered. Some allies appeared to deserve the rebels’ hatred, but what if their actions hadn’t been as terrible as the stories told? What if they’d had no other choice? What if they’d been trying to protect someone or something else? What if they hadn’t anticipated the consequences of their actions?

Reaching the house Frell was living in, he met with two potential recruits. Frell had been scanning the minds of returning rebels and noticed that two of the women in the house, a mother and daughter, were sorcerers with a grudge against the Raen. Their husbands had been visiting a world some distance from their home when the Raen returned, and had not been seen since. The women had come on a pilgrimage in the hope of meeting someone from that world who had seen their men, and had instead learned of their murders.

“I am sorry for your loss,” Tyen said as he guided them to Yira’s house. “Are you sure you want to do this? My father used to say you should never make a decision when angry, drunk or grieving.”

The women exchanged a look. In their minds Tyen saw that they were wondering how to explain that their marriages had not been love matches.

“We are past the shock,” the daughter, Moro, told him. “It has been many days since we learned of their deaths.”

“You do not want to return home to inform their families?”

The pair shook their heads, their elaborately looped plaited hair swaying. “If we return we will become the property of the patriarch,” the mother, Domo, explained.

Tyen smiled to show he understood. “Their loss is our gain.”

They described their world to him as they continued across the city. Little furred animals with long fluffy tails rode on their shoulders and the women explained they were poi-poi, both a pet and a defence against an insect of their world that laid eggs in the ears of sleeping humans. He brought Beetle out of the pocket of his aircart jacket when they asked if he had a pet, but the two poi-poi tried to attack it.

When they finally arrived he was glad to find food had been laid out for Yira and her endless stream of visitors. He ate as the women repeated their story.

“So all women learn magic on your world, if they have the ability, but it never used to be so?” Yira asked.

Moro nodded. “Inekera founded a school for women sorcerers thirty cycles ago, with the permission of the Raen. There was no education for us before then.” The woman’s smile was cold and steely. “From us she selected women to serve her, and some she sent away to serve the Raen and his allies.”

Yira’s eyes narrowed. “What was the nature of this service?”

The blonde plaits swayed. “For her, merely domestic duties. For the rest, we do not know exactly. None of those women have returned.”

“I count myself lucky that my daughter and I are not strong enough to have been selected,” Domo said. “I did not foresee I would lose my husband and son-in-law instead.”

“I acknowledge your grief,” Yira said, then leaned forward. “What else can you tell me about Inekera? What does she look like?”

“Closer to my age than my daughter’s,” Domo said. “Black hair. Pale skin. Tall.”

“So she has not learned to halt ageing?”

The mother shook her head. “I do not know. Perhaps she did not learn it until she was that age, and cannot make herself appear younger.”