by Tom Lloyd
‘True. Stupid question.’
Chapter 10
Sitain met the three injured Cards plus Lynx, Toil and Llaith in the bowl-shaped courtyard of a mage guild complex of Nquet Dam. It was located on the spur of the district’s smaller, central island where a massive, high-sided stone bridge partly sheltered it from the easterly breeze. Three-quarters of the bowl was mage-carved stone, apartments or offices on four levels above the courtyard floor. As Sitain entered, she turned full around, surprised by the grandeur.
A cloister ran around the courtyard, scalloped pillars bearing engraved prayers all draped in vines that grew from great troughs of earth after every fourth pillar. The open quarter of the bowl had ropes strung between two pillars and the side walls, from which hung an array of flags. Those alternated between green banners that seemed to bear the guild’s symbol and a whole range of others. Personal crests, Lynx guessed.
‘I assumed this magic was rare,’ Lynx commented as Sitain joined them, her eyes bright with anticipation. He pointed to the green-robed mages and novices of the guild, both in the offices that adjoined the courtyard and on the terraces of the upper levels. The men’s headscarves and women’s shawls were all white with symbols picked out in green, but less decorative than those they’d passed on the way there. ‘There’s loads of ’em here.’
‘There’s no healing magic,’ Toil explained. ‘They’re all of various disciplines.’
‘Like what? How can you tell?’
‘Why would they bother to advertise? Green’s the guild colour, that’s all anyone needs to know.’
‘What then?’
‘Earth and stone mages mostly,’ Sitain broke in, unable to contain her enthusiasm. ‘A few light mages, who’re rare enough, and a handful of tempests too. That’s for the healing itself though. There’ll be night and fire mages here too.’
‘But only you came?’
‘Atieno didn’t want to,’ she said with a nod. ‘Says he’s had the hard sell from a healer guild once before, didn’t much care for another.’
‘They teach here?’
‘Bloody hope so! I ran most o’ the way.’
‘Well you ain’t missed much.’ Lynx gestured all around. ‘They’ve been mostly looking at us like we’re something the cat sicked up.’
‘Are you surprised? Can’t you smell those three?’ Sitain demanded, pointing at Darm, Estal and Layir.
‘Aye, fair point. Mebbe you could do some magic though, wake these shitweasels up a bit?’
As though the mention of magic had been enough, a tiny black woman in a green robe that reached her ankles exited a shuttered room off to Lynx’s left and walked over.
‘Unerna Toil?’ the woman said in an imperious tone to Toil. The Princess of Blood nodded and replied haltingly in the same language.
‘We may speak in Parthish, Mistress Toil,’ the tiny woman said in a thick accent.
Her black hair had turned white, but she wasn’t too far past forty, Lynx suspected, with skin like creased leather and a faint dusting of blue on her eyelids. She held her hands across her belly, cradling one in the other almost protectively.
Toil grinned. ‘That’s lucky, only other thing I know how to say is “more wine”.’
The woman gave the mercenaries a sideways glance. ‘You teach this to your friends?’
‘Something like that.’
‘My name is Olen Siere,’ she said before turning to where eight others had gathered, five women and three men of various races that showed just how far the renown of the Mage Islands reached. There was even a Hanese man, something that got both Lynx and Sitain blinking, his features clear to see despite the headscarf. There seemed to be few Hanese in the Mage Islands, unusually few given the direct route between the states, but to find one in a healer guild seemed doubly unlikely.
‘My colleagues and I will assist your friends. You have enough money?’
There was a sceptical tone to her voice that Lynx understood. They were clearly mercenaries who’d been hurt in a brawl. That Toil would have the money for healing was in itself unlikely – that she’d waste it on common mercs just as implausible to most. Fresh meat for the companies was rarely difficult to find in any city. Round here mercs could be replaced more easily than the mage-guns they carried.
Toil offered a piece of paper, which Lynx glimpsed enough of to see it was a promissory note from the Oderich Bank – an institution that was largely owned and controlled by the Knights-Defender of Shain. Siere’s nose wrinkled with distaste, but she took the note all the same.
‘This will have to be verified.’
‘Of course, but that won’t take long so we can get started, no?’ As though to punctuate her point Toil slipped the mage-pistol from her holster and offered it forward. This Siere took also before giving Lynx an enquiring look. He sighed and handed his own gun over, which elicited a curt nod.
‘Very well. Do you wish to wait?’
‘I want to watch!’ Sitain blurted out. ‘I … I mean, if that’s okay?’
Siere gave her a level look. ‘You are a mage?’
‘Yes!’
‘Very well. Your craft?’
‘Craft? Oh, right. I’m a night mage.’
‘Ah yes. And you?’ she said, looked at Lynx.
‘No magic here. Got any coffee?’
‘Perhaps,’ Siere conceded, eyes darting to the promissory note.
‘Gods-in-shards, I’m all yours then!’
Lynx was careful not to pay any attention to the foul look Toil was giving him. He wasn’t really prepared for cheeriness, but the mention of coffee was a bright spark amid a dismal mood.
Siere gave a curt nod. She called over a passing mage, handed the young man the mage-pistols and promissory note before sending him off for coffee. ‘Do you wish to observe your countryman’s work? Lan Ifir is a very fine healer.’
Despite himself, Lynx felt the cheeriness evaporate. ‘No offence to him, but I’m done with my countrymen.’
‘I understand. Many feel this way.’
‘Tell me about it,’ Toil muttered. ‘Can we get moving?’
The mage nodded. ‘I will take him then,’ she said, gesturing for Darm to follow her. ‘Healing is painful and he must not shout. You may be useful.’ Two of the other mages stepped forward to direct Layir and Estal to other rooms while Sitain, Darm, Lynx and Toil all followed Siere. The remaining mages split up without needing instructions, two following each of the patients.
The room was a bare and functional stone box, just the door and a shuttered window looking out on to the courtyard. A long surgeon’s table surrounded by chairs occupied the centre of the room, but unlike some Lynx had seen this was scrubbed clean of any bloodstains. Water and clean bandages occupied a side table next to a tray bearing the usual brutal tools of surgery.
Siere directed Darm to sit on the table and her two attendants helped him lie down.
‘His name?’
‘Darm.’
Siere gave a curt nod. ‘Very good. Darm, this will hurt and you must try not to move. This is difficult, I know, but healing is not strong if a night mage makes you sleep.’
Darm managed a grunt and accepted a leather strip between his teeth with a wince. As the mages sat around him, Siere at the end of the table, Lynx pulled up another chair and offered Darm his hand.
‘You’re gonna need something to squeeze down on by the sounds of it.’
Darm grunted again, gratitude in his eyes as he clasped hands with Lynx. There was a spark of fear in his eyes too now. While the company were losing their fear of Sitain’s night magic, strangers performing something painful to your face was a whole other kettle of fish.
‘I will perform the work,’ Siere announced, more to Sitain than Darm. ‘My colleagues will contribute their power for me to use.’ She reached forward stiffly, using her left hand to place her right against the side of Darm’s jaw.
Lynx gasped as he got a better look at her hand. The fingers and wrist were rigid
, frozen at rest, and the skin was pale – greying at the tips of her fingers.
‘You’re a mage of tempest!’
‘Yes. This is problem?’
‘No, I … no, nothing. I just realised.’
‘Few recognise the signs. You know a tempest mage?’
‘We …’ Lynx coughed, remembering that Atieno had clearly wanted to avoid this place. ‘We met one, not long ago. His foot was going.’
‘It is our curse.’
Sitain leaned forward. ‘So your tempest magic can change the others?’
‘Correct. Pagarith there is earth mage,’ Siere said, nodding to the blond-haired man with a bushy moustache. ‘His energy is of, ah, things you hold. Saolas there is light mage.’ The round-faced woman with black hair and narrow eyes gave them a cheery smile. ‘Her power is of movement, energy. I combine these with change and some damage can be healed. Not all, but the first days of injury are hardest.’
Without waiting for a reply she bent over Darm’s face, gently probing the line of his jaw to feel the bone underneath. Darm stiffened under her touch, but that was all. Before long she sat back, satisfied that the line of the jaw was as she needed. Siere nodded to the two other mages and directed their fingers so each had placed their index and middle finger either side of the break.
Darm’s jaw was badly swollen after a night of not being treated, but Lynx guessed an approximate location was enough. Once they were in position Siere set her own fingers to the jawline and closed her eyes. A soft glow began to emanate from the light mage’s skin, illuminating all they were doing. It made the grey ossifying flesh of Siere’s right hand all the more obvious, but beyond that Lynx could see little happening.
Siere held her position for a full minute, her face lit from below. The skin of Darm’s face or the air around it, possibly both, trembled faintly. Only once was Lynx sure of movement, not least because Darm almost broke his hand as the broken part of bone shifted into alignment.
Once that was done, Siere broke off her efforts and sat back, flexing her fingers and scowling at the sensation in them.
‘All done?’ Toil asked.
‘No. We rest now.’
‘He needs to rest already?’
‘I need rest,’ Siere corrected her. ‘The more magic I draw, the more damage to my body.’
‘Oh, right.’
‘Two or three more times we must do this, then he will be able to eat and speak without pain, if he is careful.’ Siere raised an eyebrow at Lynx. ‘But first, we drink coffee, yes?’
Lynx unpeeled Darm’s fingers and rubbed his half-numb hand. ‘Coffee,’ he agreed.
Chapter 11
As evening fell, the mages set out again for the Shard’s Rest. The weather had turned over the course of the afternoon, thick cloud rolling in on a chilly breeze. It was a different city they walked through now. There was a gloom that seemed to mute even the mage-lit lamps, and the taste of a sea fog lingered on the air. The party made better time as Teshen took the sea-level route and arrived just as rain started to patter down. This time they were admitted without delay and the Shard’s steward, Fen Oe Tegir, was waiting for them in the grand hallway.
‘Come, be welcome, friends,’ the man intoned, bowing. ‘The Shard has agreed to hear your request. Your guide may wait here, should he so wish, but no non-mage is permitted in the Court of the Shard itself.’
‘The Court of the Shard?’ Teshen asked, sounding surprised. ‘Not somewhere private?’
‘The events of Jarrazir are of interest to many guilds. First-hand accounts are a rare luxury for the news we receive so several guild leaders have requested to attend. The Shard is representative of the court, I remind you, not its ruler.’
The big mercenary shrugged. ‘Guess that makes sense.’ He waved the others forward and headed for the most comfortable-looking chair, shrugging off his Knight-of-Stars-emblazoned jacket. ‘Good luck. Don’t be too long or you can find your own way back.’
Lastani and Atieno exchanged looks while Sitain just tried to quell her own anxiety. The finery of the hallway was just another reminder of how out of place she felt. The reflection each of the grand mirrors presented were of a girl pretending to be a mercenary and that only worsened the feeling.
Not a proper merc, not a proper mage, Sitain thought. Neither one nor the other, just stuck in the middle and fairly useless to both.
She swallowed and took a step forward. ‘Let’s get this over with then, eh?’
Atieno broke a rare smile and put a hand on her shoulder. ‘Shall we leave the talking to you?’
‘What? No!’ Sitain gasped. ‘Ah, you’re joking.’
‘I am,’ Atieno confirmed. ‘Apologies, you are nervous. I did not mean to make that worse. But of course – you’ve not met many mages before and are now presented with the Court of the Shard.’
‘Shut up and get in there, grandad,’ Sitain muttered. ‘Go do your job.’
Atieno sighed and inclined his head before extending a hand, offering Lastani the way. Lastani, not much older than Sitain, just looked startled. When she didn’t move, Atieno advanced on the great doors to the court, opening them himself.
Sitain and Lastani followed in his wake as the older mage headed into a large, well-apportioned meeting chamber that smelled of incense, leather and polished wood. There were raised tiers on either side and tall windows ahead – a bank of four behind a large trio of solid wooden seats at a long desk. Those weren’t quite thrones, but close, and the woman in the centre one was a worthy occupant.
The Shard was a dumpy woman in her fifties with chocolate-brown skin, hair cropped close to her skull and eyes like dark diamonds. She sat awkwardly to one side on her pretend throne, not lounging but hardly comfortable. There was an expression of irritation on her face, but Sitain didn’t get the impression it was at the newcomers and she recalled Teshen’s words about the obedience of mages here.
The Shard was in fact the least formally dressed mage there, aside from Sitain herself. She wore a plain shirt and the usual Islander loose-fitting trousers. If it wasn’t for a long coat of hundreds of strips of coloured silk, presumably incorporating the colours of each guild, she could have just as easily stepped off a fishing boat.
A dozen mages attended too, in clumps of two or three dotted around the tiers. They were mostly old, but of as great a mix of races as she’d seen at the healer’s guild. While none of them were dressed the same, they all seemed to follow a formal style of clothing that she was starting to associate with mages here in addition to tri-colour markers that Teshen had said indicated their guild.
Sitain took a breath and found the air warm and dry in her throat. For a moment she thought it was just nerves – her throat really was dry, after all – but then something else occurred to her. She’d never been in a room with so many mages before. They all drew magic from the air around them, it was present always and flowed through them naturally, but in the presence of so many, was there less power in the air here than she was accustomed to?
‘Be welcome to the Court of the Shard,’ called a small man with olive skin, rising from his seat to the left of the Shard’s. ‘Enter as free mages, leave as brethren.’
Atieno grunted and nodded, but instead of replying he stepped to one side. Sitain almost had to stop dead to avoid walking into him. Lastani hesitated a fraction longer then remembered she was the expert on the Labyrinth of Jarrazir. She was the one who had to tell the story.
‘Mistress Ufre, Mistress Sitain, Master Atienolentra – be welcome in my court. I hear you have a tale to tell us,’ the Shard called in flawless Parthish. ‘Entertain us and I shall entertain your request for access to our libraries.’
Sitain blinked at the Shard. It took her a while to realise that in the Mage Islands, the chief mage would hardly be without intelligence sources, but it was a surprise to hear her own name there still.
‘Shard, I thank you for hearing us,’ Lastani said, bowing. ‘I am Lastani Ufre, former pupil to Ishienne M
atarin of Jarrazir.’
‘Her name is known to us all and her loss is grieved,’ the Shard replied. ‘Mistress Matarin was a scholar of great renown, I believe she contributed several works to our library.’
‘She did – and considered it an honour that they would be housed here.’
‘You have my personal sympathy and that of all mages in these islands for her loss.’
That made Lastani falter for a moment. She bowed her head, clearly remembering that fateful night, but after a few seconds continued.
‘Thank you, Shard. I was present when Mistress Ishienne opened the Labyrinth, as was Atieno here. We assisted in the operation and barely survived the attack of its spirit-guardians.’
‘And your companion?’
Lastani glanced back and Sitain swallowed. ‘I’m just a mercenary, um, Shard. Well, almost a mercenary. Sort of anyway.’
‘Just so long as you’re sure,’ the Shard replied with twinkling eyes. ‘What is your part in all this?’
‘Sitain is part of a mercenary company in the employ of a relic hunter. That hunter had been informed by her contacts of what we were to attempt. They travelled to Jarrazir to offer their services and be involved in any exploration.’
Sitain gave a small snort at the word involved given how Toil had gone about it, but aside from a curious look the Shard allowed Lastani to continue speaking.
‘Part of the mercenary crew escorted us into the Labyrinth after matters … well, the situation deteriorated.’
‘Deteriorated?’
‘Went to utter shit,’ Sitain found herself saying. ‘Some of which was our fault, some of which was the bastard Charnelers.’
‘You will find no friends of the Knights-Charnel here, girl,’ the Shard said. ‘But most of this I have heard – as indeed I have heard that a cache of God Fragments was recovered from the Labyrinth. So what exactly do you offer for the privilege of accessing a library unmatched outside of the secure vaults of the Militant Orders?’
Lastani cast around the room for a moment, then pointed to an old man with leathery skin off to her right. ‘You, you’re an ice mage.’