Holy Sister (Book of the Ancestor 3)

The abbess continued, unmoved by the shocked faces before her. ‘Mistress Shade will select three Sisters of Discretion to scout ahead of us. We will act on their reports. If need be the defenders on the wall will bring us over with ropes.’

‘How many Grey Sisters do we even have with us?’ Ruli hissed.

‘Two,’ Nona said. ‘If you don’t count Sister Apple.’

A hand fell on her shoulder. ‘Sister Cage.’ Apple turned Nona to face her. ‘I’m appointing you to the Grey temporarily. Get out there with Kettle and Cauldron and try not to die. Also, anything you can do to keep Wheel from marching us into ten thousand Scithrowl while singing at the tops of our voices will be much appreciated.’

Nona gave a curt nod. She let Ruli and Jula hug her, bracing herself against their combined impact. Over her friends’ heads she met the eyes of Ketti, Ghena, Alata, Leeni, and others of her former classmates. They all looked frightened. A weight of responsibility settled on her as her friends released their hold.

Kettle went by grim-faced but as she passed Apple her fingers trailed across the other woman’s hand, and Apple, turning bright-eyed to watch her go, whispered something after her.

Kettle joined Cauldron who was already changing into clothing taken from the dead Scithrowl on the Vinery Stair. It was more convincing than what they’d brought with them from the Shade stores, less than a uniform but more than random garb: the soldiers had worn similar tabards that had once sported bright designs, and their garments had elements of design that set them apart from what was common in the empire.

‘Take the bloodiest stuff, Nona. You’ll be the injured one if we’re challenged.’ Kettle tossed a rough shirt her way, stained with crimson at the breast. ‘No mail for you. We’ll be bringing you back to be bandaged up. It’ll also hide the fact you can’t speak Scithrowl.’

‘And you can?’ Ghena asked from the ranks of watching novices.

‘Yar, irh ken hem gutya.’ Kettle didn’t look up from fastening the buckles of her chainmail shirt.

Within a few minutes they were ready to leave.

‘Watch. Take your chances. We left Sweet Mercy behind us, show none to the enemy.’ Apple handed Nona the standard Grey Sister field kit: a bandolier holding all the poisons, antidotes, wires, picks, and tricks of the order.

‘I will, Mistress Shade.’ Nona fixed the belt beneath the heavy shirt. Kettle and Cauldron were already moving off.

Nona glanced once more at Jula and Ruli, then back at the convent, almost invisible in the distance on the edge of the Rock. A deep breath and she took off running, hard on Kettle’s heels.

Kettle led the way into the next field where the corn grew to chest height, the husks withering. Bhenta veered across to join Nona, corn stalks whispering their complaints behind her. Cauldron! Nona hadn’t grown used to Bhenta’s bride name. She made a mental note to get it right when they spoke, then settled into her running and her clarity trance, letting the countryside ahead open itself to her and shout out its secrets.

To their right the walls of Verity curved away. Here and there the ancient blocks of the original wall were replaced by sandstone quarried from the plateau and the wall dipped to as low as fifty feet in height, but in the main the structure was the one that had stood for centuries, an even seventy-foot barrier broad enough to support a walkway along the top with a guard wall to protect those who patrolled it.

The defenders weren’t exactly thickly clustered. Nona imagined that most had been called upon to join the battle to the east where the city wall came closest to the emperor’s palace and the Ark within. Even so, the helmed heads of guards studded the wall top at regular intervals and no doubt reserves waited to rush in reinforcements where called for. Sister Rule had taught them that Verity had never suffered the attack of another nation but had held against sieges during several insurrections. The most recent of those had been over a hundred and twenty years ago, however. Plenty of time for the lessons taught in blood to have been forgotten.

Nona had trained under Apple’s supervision in fields not far from the ones they now moved through, but watching Kettle’s advance taught her that she still had much to learn. Kettle had been the length of the empire, to both fronts of the war, and had gambled her life against her stealth more times than she could remember. She took them around small bands of Scithrowl scouting for weaknesses along the walls, and past watchers concealed deep within crop, copse, or cottage. Some of these were skilled out-runners for the Scithrowl force, marjal shadow-workers among them, but none had been pushed into shadow like Kettle had and their weaving of the darkness sent out ripples that she could read as no other save the Noi-Guin. Nona knew she would be reporting their positions to Sister Apple along their shadow-link.

‘We could get a clear view from Malden’s Mount,’ Bhenta said.

Kettle shook her head. ‘It’ll be covered with Scithrowl. There’s a lone pine by Eld Stables. We’ll take a look from there.’

She brought them the quarter of a mile to the pine, crossing fields, ducking along lanes, skirting burning farmsteads. Nona had never seen a taller tree.

‘You’re up, Sister Cage.’ Kettle lifted her chainmail to show she had no intention of climbing in armour. ‘The shadow-worker hiding in the branches is all yours. We’ll take the ground troop.’

Nona had seen the Scithrowl irregulars concealed around the empty stables block. The shadow-worker had escaped her notice. ‘How far up?’

‘Right at the top. Must be a little one to climb so high. Give us a minute then go.’

Kettle lifted both hands and the shadows rose around her like a mist. Cauldron reached out to snare some of the shadows, wrapping them around herself. The pair wove themselves in, not simply clothed in darkness but robbed of colour and distinction so that the eye wanted to slide across them without pause. Moments later they were both on the move, a smooth advance towards the stables.

Nona made a silent count. She didn’t expect any screams. When she reached her target number she ran for the tree. A flat sprint without any attempt at concealment. The watcher hadn’t chosen so high a position to then stare at the ground around the trunk.

A leap brought the lowest bough into reach and Nona swung herself up, climbing rapidly through the branches. As she rose the branches became narrower and closer together and she had to force a passage through thickly packed needles. Smaller branches snapped around her, scratching at exposed skin and leaving her sticky with their sap. The only chance she had at remaining undetected was if the general sway of the pine and the seething of its limbs in the strengthening wind was hiding the racket she was making.

Higher still and the density of branch and needle thinned a little, though now she needed to think about where she chose to step as many of the tree’s limbs would be unequal to her weight. Nona paused some twenty feet shy of the top.

Have the Scithrowl put a child up here?

Very little space remained where the watcher could be concealed and if she got much higher she would be open to any missile they might throw her way. Nona strained her senses, her clarity biting so hard it made her whole body tingle. She felt every tiny cut on her skin, the light sliced across her eyes, the clamour of wind and creak of wood assaulted her ears. She knew each ridge of the bark beneath her fingers. And she saw the slow upward flow of shadow all around her.