Waterborne Exile by Susan Murray Page A

weakness.”
    “And you have seen some things of the world that few others have, I think?” The woman watched her intently.
    “You are referring to the grey brethren?” Alwenna knew the answer, but she asked anyway. Just how perceptive was the old woman?
    “Yes.” She nodded. “I am referring to the grey brethren. Once-dead men who walk among us again.”
    She knew – this woman understood. Suddenly Alwenna had the urge to unburden herself. “But they don’t just walk. They talk and reason, and pursue their goals as if they had never died. Except…”
    “Except, my lady?” The prompting was gentle.
    She was revealing nothing the elder did not already know, Alwenna was convinced. “My husband, Tresilian. He was changed. His nature was altered, so deeply I could not at first believe it. Neither, I think, did Marten. Before, Tresilian was always kind. It was he who taught me so much about forgiving, before I learned to master my temper. He was loyal, and a true friend as we grew up. Even when he returned from battle he had matured, and perhaps hardened, but he was in essence the same steady character – kind to a fault.”
    “You think of kindness as a fault?”
    “In a monarch, perhaps? It is better not to reveal too much of the kindness at your heart.”
    “Perhaps.” The elder did not appear convinced. “Tell me more about Tresilian. It might help you, as well as the rest of us. Any detail, however tiny, might be key to understanding what should best be done.”
    Alwenna tucked her knees up beneath the blankets, wrapping her arms around them and leaning her chin on her knees. Her thickening midriff meant it was not quite as easy as it had once been. But she needed to talk about Tresilian now. She’d allowed herself no room to deal with what she’d witnessed at the summer palace, and she sensed this woman would not judge her as many might.
    “Even the death of his father – which hit him so badly at the time – he dealt with that and he was still the same understanding man. I sometimes thought him old beyond his years, but I suppose he had little choice once his father had died.”
    “He was killed on campaign in the Marches?”
    “That’s right. Putting down a simple rebellion. After all he’d been through…” Alwenna recalled his disfigured face, last glimpsed through the smoke at the summer palace. She glanced at the woman.
    “Go on.”
    “His father… He was one of the grey brethren. I– I saw him in a vision first, then… that last day, he was among those who burst into the throne room. We fled, Marten, Erin and I, leaving Weaver to hold them back.” She’d almost forgotten someone else was listening to her words. “I thought he would turn and follow us in an instant, but he never did. To this day I don’t know what happened to him.”
    “I have heard of this Weaver – a warrior of some repute.”
    “I knew none braver.” Alwenna took a deep breath to gather herself. Some things she would not share with the inquisitive elder. It was more than possible she’d heard the rumours already, and guessed the rest. Or Marten may have told her. But he said he had not and Alwenna preferred to believe him. Doubting Marten had not thus far been helpful to her. That day in the king’s chambers she’d sensed that Marten was crucial to her survival and she to his. She should ask the elder woman about that. But Jenna’s next words drove all thought of Marten from her mind.
    “There may be ways of finding out what happened to this soldier. There are certain rites. Not practiced here, for they are frowned upon. But there are people who could help you find out. Freemerchants of a sort, who chose a different path many generations ago.”
    “Who are they? Could I send a message to them? Where might I find…” But she already knew the answer. “In the mountains to the north.”
    Jenna nodded. “In the mountains to the north. I think you’ve sensed their presence ever since you arrived here,