Stonewielder by Ian C. Esslemont Read Free Book Online Page B

isolated, in pockets here and there, despite the best efforts of all those who have stolen your lands.’
    ‘Stolen? Strong language for an outlander.’
    Now the Priestess hugged her angular frame, the lines at her mouth deepened in shadow. ‘It is a story not unfamiliar to me.’
    Ivanr stared wonderingly. So, a vulnerable side. An opening up. Careful. Seduction bears many faces . ‘Immaterial. What’s done is done. Nothing can bring back the past.’
    ‘I would never seek that.’ Her words were softer now, her tone closer to that of her true tender age. He felt the wounds that she carried and something within him ached to hold her, to soothe that pain.
    Dangerous indeed .
    ‘The question is how to proceed into the future. You, Ivanr, the warrior champion who defied the call to the Stormwall. I have heard many rumours as to why. But I have my own theory …’
    His gaze found a flight of crows crossing over the face of the distant Jourilan central plateau. Smoke obscured the north horizon; he shielded his eyes, squinting. Burning already – damned early . ‘It was cowardice – leave it at that.’
    ‘No. It would be cowardice to leave it at that.’
    He let his hand fall. She eyed him levelly, almost coolly, and he felt himself shrinking under that steady gaze. Such suffering scoured into that lined hatchet face that should be unmarred! And a haunting glow as well- the lingering hint of the revelation everyone whispers of? Who is he to dare dispute this one’s choices? But surely he must be unworthy! How could he, who once gloried in conflict, possibly serve Dessembrae, the Lord of Tragedy, or any of these foreign gods?
    ‘I couldn’t. I’m not—’
    ‘Not worthy? Not pure enough? Not dedicated enough? Not … certain? None of us is. And none who is certain interests the Lord of Tragedy. Those minds are closed. He requires the mind be open.’ She now seemed to eye him sidelong, almost mockingly. ‘It was your open mind that led you to your conclusion, to that intuitive flash that so changed you, yes?’
    ‘I don’t know what you’re talking about.’
    ‘You saw instinctively, on your own, the uselessness of it all.’
    Gods, this woman was dangerous! How could she know? And yet – wasn’t this the essence of her sermonizing, her own message? He ran a hand across his slick forehead and said, his voice hoarse,‘Dangerous talk, Priestess. Talk that can get a man, or a woman, put to death.’
    ‘So you are afraid …’
    He offered a half-smile. ‘Of the Jourilan Emperor’s torture pits, yes.’
    ‘ They aren’t the enemy. The enemy is ignorance and hate. Aren’t these worth opposing?’
    Pure idealism. Ye gods, where does one begin with such a one? His gaze found the peppers ripening at his feet. ‘Priestess,’ he began, slowly, ‘you don’t really think you’re the first, do you?’ He waved to encompass the fields. ‘The Lady Our Saviour has kept a tight watch on her garden all these generations. She weeds thoroughly. And ruthlessly. No unwelcome invader has been allowed to take hold. I’ve seen it before.’
    The Priestess raised her gaze, and perhaps it was day’s late argent light, or a reflection of some kind, but the eyes flared as if molten.
    ‘Have you not wondered,’ she asked in a low voice, ‘why you must constantly weed in the first place?’
    He cocked his head, uncertain of her tack.
    ‘It is because the weeds are far hardier than the crop you’re trying to raise.’
    Ivanr found that he’d flinched away. He paced the field, stepping between the plants. Damn you, woman! How dare you plague me with such outrageous demands! Haven’t I done enough? But perhaps walking away wasn’t enough. Perhaps walking away was never enough . He stopped his pacing. Turning to her, he could only offer his mute denial.
    She approached gently, as if afraid he would flee, and proffered a hand. ‘Take this. And come to my fig tree. Sit at my side. Listen to the message that has come to