Alastair Archibald: Dragonblaster

"Are you all right, Reverend Mother?” the two remaining nuns asked: Sister Weranda and the dumpy, obedient Sister Jass. They ran toward her, their faces washed with identical, wide-eyed expressions of concern.

For a moment, Lizaveta felt unable to speak, but she waved the two women away with an imperious gesture. They stood before the lectern, resuming their approved postures.

The Afelnor brat is close, she realised. I do not know where he is, but he comes with my idiot popinjay of a grandson. Whatever happens, I want Afelnor alive!

Loras’ grandson had almost become an obsession: she yearned to see him fall to his knees before her with adoration in his eyes. With him under her sole control, High Lodge, indeed the entire, patriarchal, woman-hating Guild, might be within her grasp. Thorn would be at its head, answerable to nobody but her. Nothing must be allowed to interfere with Lizaveta's heart's desire.

"I am well, dear Sisters,” she said at last, drawing a shuddering breath. Turning to the anxious-looking Weranda, she said. “It is the Afelnor whelp. I sensed his presence. He is close, and he has vengeance on his mind."

Still retaining her pose of religious modesty, the Sister said, “Is it permitted to ask a question, Reverend Mother?"

Lizaveta nodded. “Both of you may speak freely; within the bounds of Order protocol, of course."

Weranda asked, “Have you any idea of how we should deal with him, Reverend Mother? He may be dangerous."

"He is a man, Sister Weranda!” Lizaveta snapped. “I have had the will of two such beings since I was weaned. The One has seen fit to gift such creatures with strong arms and legs, but it is we women who have the true powers of the mind. These Questors may have strong bodies to dominate others of their own kind, and women denied their birthright and condemned to servitude by years of male suppression, but the minds of men are weak and pliable.

"I am dangerous; remember that!” she cried. “You know what men have brought to the world: violence, conflict and disorder!"

Lizaveta realised she was losing her customary composure. “In answer to your question,” she said, softening her voice to a gentle crackle, “I wish you to meet Questor Grimm before he ever sets foot in these grounds. I know he has others with him, but they are all men. You are to use the magic I have taught you on him and his fellows, and to persuade them to enter the Priory. I fancy we can then handle them with ease. Run to them in the guise of a poor, weak, helpless girl, and they will be no stronger than warm tallow in your hands.

"Sister Jass,” she continued, turning to the shorter, stouter nun, “I wish you to instruct the Score to assemble in my room within half an hour. When you have done so, I wish you to don Secular clothes and stand watch over Merrydeath Road; if the Questor's party makes any kind of move, I wish to know without delay."

"But it's time for Accusations, Reverend Mother,” Jass replied, her voice tremulous, confused.

Lizaveta bit off a sharp retort; imprecations would not help. Most of the Score, she knew, were dark-hearted, ambitious women who sought to overthrow her at the earliest opportunity, but she relied on Judan, Jass, and the newly-broken Weranda to be her eyes and ears within the Order. Jass might lack intelligence or initiative, but she was observant, honest to a fault and a diligent, useful tool.

"I know, Sister Jass,” the Prioress said, in a voice of pure reason, “but dark forces are afoot. Circumstances alter cases, as you have been taught."

"Yes, indeed, Reverend Mother,” Jass said, allowing a lock of red hair to escape her wimple, although the Prioress chose not to notice the minor error. “I will do as you order."

The dumpy nun curtseyed and left the chamber. Lizaveta was alone with Weranda, who had once been the object of Grimm Afelnor's affections and desires.

Can I truly trust her? she wondered, regarding the girl with doubtful eyes, doubt suffusing her mind.

Weranda appeared the very image of a dutiful nun, her hands crossed and her gaze fixed on the floor.

She was such an angry little spitfire when she came here, not so long ago, Lizaveta thought. Nonetheless, she took far more punishment than she would have needed to convince me that she was ready; indeed, she has exceeded my expectations in all regards…

"Now, my dear Sister,” she said. “Are you quite prepared to take on such a demanding role? You are aware, of course, just how important this is, and you were, after all, once enamoured of this male creature."

Weranda never moved from her modest, self-effacing position, and her voice was calm but intense. “If you so order me, Reverend Mother,” she said, “I will tear his heart from his body and offer it to you while it still beats. Grimm Afelnor is nothing but a dull, insignificant memory for me. This, now, is my home, and you are my saviour from a life of meaningless slavery at the hands of people like him."

The burning sincerity in the young nun's voice was undeniable, and Lizaveta nodded, convinced. “I do not want Afelnor killed,” she said. “I want him whole and functioning, Sister. Just get him in here. I want him to beg for my forgiveness and mercy while he still has a full, undamaged mind; is that understood?"

"It will be as you command, Reverend Mother.” Weranda's voice bore an unmistakable tone of wistful regret. “Afelnor will be left… intact, at least in his mind. However, may I damage his body, if required?"

"If that is required in order to subdue him, Sister; no more than that,” Lizaveta replied, an edge of steel in her voice. “You will have plenty of time with him once he is within our power-I have decided that you will be his trainer."

"Thank you for your faith in me, Reverend Mother. I will not let you down.” Weranda's voice vibrated with sincerity.

I am sure you will not, the Prioress thought. You have had ample opportunity to try to attack me of late. However, even if the sight of Afelnor stirs something within you, some deep-buried memory, there is little you can do to me. You are powerful as a witch now, but your Geomantic power cannot hold a candle to mine. I will not hesitate to destroy you if you are foolish enough to try to oppose me.

"You may forgo Devotions and your other duties for the rest of the day,” Lizaveta said. “I wish you to use your time to practice your magic and rehearse what you will say and do when you encounter your former paramour. If Sister Jass reports no encroachment this afternoon, I wish you to approach Afelnor during the night. I wish you to run to him in the guise of a poor, helpless, terrified little thing, and I want you convince him. You have my dispensation to use only vernacular speech until Afelnor and his companions are within our grasp. Remember, I would prefer Afelnor to enter alone, or in the company of my vainglorious grandson, Guy-I can handle him well enough. You are dismissed."

"As you comm… all right, Reverend Mother,” the girl replied. “I'll persuade him to come alone, one way or another."

Weranda sank into a deep, perfect curtsey, her forehead almost touching the floor. She held the pose for several seconds before she straightened up; as she did so, Lizaveta heard a respectful tap at the door.

"Enter, Supplicant."

The door opened to reveal the small, but quite portly figure of Sister Jass.

"I ordered you to summon the Score and then keep watch on the road!” Lizaveta snapped.

"Begging your pardon, Reverend Mother,” Jass said, wringing her hands, “but Sister Morlan is keeping watch from the East Turret-"

"I am well aware of that, Sister. I presume you have received some report from her?"

"Yes, Reverend Mother,” said the Sister in a breathy squeak. “She-Sister Morlan, that is-reports that some winged monster is flying around the Priory grounds. I thought it best if you were informed."