The Warrior's Tale Read Online Free

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    The sweet strings of a lyre coaxed me out of my reverie. It was Omyere - who'd left my side unnoticed - and was now sitting on a stool by the shrine playing that wonderful instrument of hers. She looked at me across the others as she played, and began to sing a gentle song I knew was meant for me. I saw the soft fall of her red hair - as bright red as Amalric's - and thought my brother a lucky man to find such a woman. I had a lover once, I thought, who'd touched me like Omyere must touch my brother. Not Tries - but Otara, she of the throaty laugh, soft arms, and fingers that could stroke the demons from my head. She was my lover for many years before she died and I suppose in many ways she'd replaced my mother.
    Forgive me, if I weep, Scribe. But do not smirk, as if to say that is the nature of a woman. If you dare do such a thing - or even think it-I'll forget my vow and you'll not leave this room to smirk at another. Otara is close to my heart, and when I swore I'd speak only the truth, I knew very well I'd have to reveal things that are against my nature to uncover. There may be more weeping before this book is done - so beware, lest some of the tears that fall become yours. Now, let me wipe my eyes and gather my thoughts ...
    As Omyere sang, I mourned Otara - just as she'd meant. The song changed and I felt cleansed. The lyre took up a playful tune. It made me think of my mother's laugh and I reflexively looked at the shrine. I watched the water running along the moss that clung to the stone and imagined the shape formed by moss, water and rose-petal shadows to be my mother's face. It seemed to come alive and I saw her eyes open and her lips move. There was the heady scent of sandalwood - my mother's favourite perfume. I felt a warm hand touch my neck and thought I heard a whisper - my mother's voice. It was so low I couldn't make out what she said, but I knew if I listened closer I could hear quite easily. I think I became afraid ... Actually, I'm sure of it, for I suddenly thought, This is nonsense. It's the hangover still at work. Your mother was an ordinary mortal, like yourself. Certainly not the kind to play at ghosts. I snatched my head back, and the whisper broke off. The scent was gone and when I looked at the shrine, so was the face. Omyere had stopped playing. I saw her frown, and shake her head. I felt like I'd missed something very important - and the loss was painful.
    Then all thoughts of loss, lovers and ghosts vanished in a thundering of hooves outside the villa walls. Amalric was back from the Evocators' Palace.
    He'd returned with news that war had been declared. The remainder of my mother's feast day collapsed in a babble of fright and excitement. Every citizen of Orissa was expected to gather at the Great Amphitheatre that night to hear the public announcement, undoubtedly to be accompanied by various morale-boosting displays.
    My brother soothed everyone as best he could and tried to keep his temper as they deluged him with stupid questions: how long did he think the war would last; what kind of financial suffering did the family face; what goods did he think would become scarce, so they could begin their hoarding now with an eye to black-marketeering in the future. Although Amalric is the youngest of my father's children, he's the unquestioned head of family. My father had wisely passed over my other brothers - all as weak and lazy as they were foolish - to bequeath his merchant empire to Amalric. Obviously, a lot of jealousy and hard feelings were stirred up, but my brother's force of personality, plus his fame as the discoverer of the Far Kingdoms, kept the weasels cowed in their dens. Eventually, he caught my eye and motioned to meet him in his study. Then he shooed them all home with reminders to attend the great meeting.
    As I took a seat near his writing desk a few minutes later, I could see from the grim set of his mouth and high colour of his skin, there was more news than just the