“Couldn’t we offer each other a little solace?” she asked defiantly.
“You’re a fine one to talk about the ethics of Artifice, if this is how you’re going to behave!” Temar said crossly.
“You wanted to share everything with me.” Guinalle rebuked him with a memory of uncovering her nakedness in a secluded glade. “You wanted to marry me.”
“You declined that honour, Demoiselle,” Temar retorted, stung. But that wound was not as tender as it had been, he realised with some surprise. “Anyway, you were right; we were never meant to be more than friends.” The sour taint of Guinalle’s unguarded jealousy surprised him. “What’s Allin ever done to you?”
“Oh, no more than any other mage. Just dismissed my Artifice as quaint enchantment from a forgotten age, good for healing but no challenge to their crude and gaudy magic.” With the Artifice linking them, Guinalle’s sarcasm could not hide her hurt.
Temar found he wasn’t inclined to sympathy. “You’re exaggerating and you know it. Usara’s all but split his skull trying to work out where aetheric magic and wizardry might meet. He has nothing but respect for your lore. Saedrin’s stones, Guinalle, Artifice can leave a wizard mindless! Isn’t that enough superiority for you?” Temar fought a desire to take the demoiselle by the shoulders and give her a good shake.
“Once Usara’s worked out how to defend himself against such things, how much more interest will he have in me then?”
Temar saw she was mired in confusion over her feelings for the mage.
“Don’t you dare pity me!” she gasped, dropping his hands at once.
“We can’t go back, not any of us, Guinalle.” Temar rubbed at bruises left by her fingertips. “I’m not doing this with you, not now, not ever again.” He swallowed hard and glanced involuntarily across the beach. Mercenaries, yeomen and sailors were all going unconcerned about their business while he was knee deep in anguished emotion. “Let’s concentrate on the matter in hand, shall we? Debates over present, past or future will be entirely pointless if we’re dead at the hands of these pirates or their Elietimm friends.”
For a tense moment, he wondered if Guinalle was going to weep, storm off, or slap him in the face. Instead she girded her customary self-possession tight once more and held out her hand. “Halice will want to know what far-seeing has shown us.”
Temar seriously considered not taking it. Then he recalled what fits of pique had cost him in the past. Abandoning his aetheric studies to pay Guinalle back for her rejection of his youthful love, for instance. If he hadn’t done that he could work this far-seeing himself. If he were to truly lead these people as their Sieur, he had to know what their enemy was doing. Temar set his jaw, took Guinalle’s hand and tried to summon up every defence she’d taught him in case her feelings got the better of her again.
But Guinalle had turned her back on her own inner turmoil. Her seeking mind rose high above the islands of Suthyfer, intent on the echoes of hopes and desires whispering through the unseen aether. Her stern purpose brought them to the Nenuphar, captain and crew keeping alert watch. Guinalle wove their myriad thoughts into a vision of the empty sea between the headlands that marked the strait between the islands, bright sunlight dancing on the water. Temar saw the Eryngo reassuringly massive in the water, bright red paint weathered to a satin coral hue. Pennants at every masthead declared the ship’s determination to bar the way to any pirate. The Asterias cut broad circles in the sea a little way off, foam scoring the rippling surface as the lesser ship made sure no pirate lurked in the hidden corners of the coast. Her master stood by the foremast, feet solid, watchful and at one with his ship and men.
“This looks well enough,” Temar said with relief.
“Let’s see what else they’re up to.” Guinalle sounded as if her adamant discipline had never so much as splintered, let alone cracked to reveal her vulnerability.
Temar silently thanked Ostrin for his long-dead adepts and the way they had trained her and then winced as the poisonous discord around the pirates’ camp rang like a tocsin in his head. “Can you find Naldeth?” Allin was sure to ask him.
“I daren’t go so close.” Guinalle held herself aloof, the gravel strand a distant vision. “There’s precious little subtlety to their Artifice but even they’d feel me coming any nearer. I daren’t lead them to him.”
“That’s their sloop being rigged and readied.” Temar closed his eyes the better to study the picture painting itself inside his mind. “They’re up to something.”
“He’s not sure what he’s dealing with as yet.” Guinalle watched dispassionate as Muredarch walked to the water’s edge. “He can’t make a plan until he does.”
“We’re not dealing with a fool.” Temar didn’t need Artifice to tell him that.
“They’re coming north.” As Guinalle spoke, Muredarch stepped into a battered longboat with pale new wood hastily patching its wounds. The oarsmen pushed off for the deeper water of the channel. “His enchanters have told him we’re here.”
“What are they doing?” frowned Temar.
“Waiting for instruction.” Satisfaction coloured Guinalle’s thoughts. “It seems Ilkehan doesn’t encourage initiative.”
Temar watched the pirates coaxing the sloop against the discouraging wind Larissa was carefully spinning from the breeze of the open ocean.
“He’s going to offer a parley.” Guinalle dropped Temar’s hand.
He opened his eyes. “We’d better tell Halice.”
The corps commander’s reaction was immediate and uncompromising. “Vaspret! Signal the Dulse. We want her underway as soon as maybe. Ros! Get your troop together and ready for anything. This Muredarch wants to talk.”
“I’m coming too.” Temar caught Halice’s sleeve.
She looked at him, considering. “All right. Darni! You’re in command here. I can’t see how they could try anything but that doesn’t mean they won’t.”
The mercenaries sprang into action leaving Temar and Guinalle looking apprehensively at each other.
Usara and Allin came out of the cabin.
“What’s all the commotion?” the mage-girl asked, concerned.
“Muredarch’s sailing to parley with us,” Guinalle replied, voice steady.
Usara was watching her closely. “Do you suspect some deceit?”
Guinalle’s brow creased. “I don’t believe so.”
“I would welcome your presence.” Temar looked from Allin to Usara. “Both of you. Just in case.”
“You’ll need me.” Larissa had come, unnoticed, to stand a few paces off.
Temar was uncertain. “Darni won’t like it.”
“Darni’s not my keeper,” snapped Larissa.
“No, I mean that will leave him without a mage, should he need one, should we need to send him some message.”
“Any mage can bespeak Darni,” Larissa said quickly. “He’s an affinity, for all it’s too weak to be any use.”
That left Temar on the wrong foot. Before he could think what to say, Allin spoke.
“It’s all right. I’ll stay.”
Temar found either prospect bothered him; taking Allin into possible danger or leaving her here where some unforeseen trouble might come down on her.
“It’s better you take Larissa,” Allin continued. “Her element’s the air, after all.”
“Very well,” he agreed reluctantly.
“Come on!” Halice was waiting by a longboat on the water-line. “We want to be waiting to meet the bastard. He needs to know we’re wise to his every move.”
Temar hurried down the beach, flanked by Usara and Larissa. He managed not to look back for Allin until he was on board the Dulse. Then he found her close by Darni’s reassuring bulk.
“He’ll keep her safe.” Usara stood by him at the ship’s rail.
“And she him, no doubt.” Temar turned to look at the afterdeck where Larissa stood by the helmsman, ill-concealed triumph on her face as she raised her arms and summoned skeins
of sapphire power to swell the sails. “Just what is she trying to prove, ’Sar?”
“I’m not really sure.” The mage paused. “I don’t think she is either.”
Whatever drove Larissa, Temar had to acknowledge her skills as her wizardry drove the Dulse through the water so fast that foam surged beneath her prow. By the time the labouring pirates had coaxed their sluggish ship all the way up the strait, the Dulse had been waiting long enough for Halice to become visibly impatient.
“At last,” she muttered as the lookout hailed the expectant gathering on the aftdeck.
“They look exhausted,” remarked Temar with satisfaction.
Larissa giggled, bright eyed. “Shall I slacken the breeze a little?”
“Can you encircle them?” Temar asked. “Make sure they’ve no chance to make a run for it?”
“Oh yes,” Larissa said confidently.
“Mute your magelight,” Usara said suddenly. “He knows we have magic but not necessarily who are the mages.” Larissa blushed and did as she was bidden.
“Temar.” Halice nodded to the pirate’s snake-crested pennant, which was sliding to halfway down the sloop’s single mast. “Time to play the Sieur for all you’re worth.”
Temar took a deep breath as the mercenary ushered him down the steps to the main deck. Usara followed him to the side of the ship as, at Halice’s nod, the helmsman skilfully swung the Dulse closer to the pirates. Not too close. Not within the reach of a grapnel.
“That’s a rich man’s plaything,” commented the Dulse’s boatswain. He gestured towards the gilded carving all around the sloop’s stern, the leaded glass in the cramped single cabin’s windows. The aftdeck above it was barely big enough to give the helmsman room to wrestle the whipstaff but it was adorned with two highly polished lamps and a carved dolphin springing along the stern rail. Another one arched beneath the bowsprit.
“I wonder who he killed to get it,” Temar murmured. He took a deep breath to calm his stomach. This was no time to get seasick.
Muredarch stood amidships by the leeboard that could be lowered or raised to adjust the vessel’s draught. He gave Temar a lordly wave that set sunlight striking blue fire from the diamonds studding his rings.
“Dressed fit for an audience with Tadriol, isn’t he?” Usara leaned on the rail and studied their foe.
“He’s certainly prospered since he met those enchanters in Kalaven,” said Temar. “What is it?” He saw concentration furrowing the wizard’s brow, which did nothing to calm his nervousness.
“I’m making the water run counter to Larissa’s spell.” Usara kept his attention fixed on the sea. “Just so they’re going nowhere without our permission.”
Guinalle appeared on Temar’s other side. “None of the Elietimm are aboard.”
“That’s good to know.” Though Temar hadn’t thought they would be.
“Esquire,” Muredarch called. “I’m offering a parley as you see. May I come aboard?”
“No!” Temar’s reply rang out half a breath ahead of a chorus of refusal from the Dulse.
“You will address the Sieur D’Alsennin with proper courtesy,” bellowed Halice.
“Messire.” Muredarch bowed from the waist and the sloop’s sparse crew did the same. Temar felt sure he was being mocked and anger drove out the qualms in his belly.
“Can you work a truth charm for me?” Temar murmured to Guinalle. “Just for a little while.” She nodded and stepped a pace back, murmuring an incantation under her breath.
“That’s close enough,” warned Halice from the aftcastle as the pirate vessel came almost within reach of the catheads supporting the Dulse’s anchor.
“So, Messire D’Alsennin, what can I do for you?” Muredarch stood up, strong legs in black broadcloth and polished boots set wide to balance easily on the swaying boards.
“It’s your parley.” Temar rested his hands lightly on the rail. “It’s for you to offer me something, isn’t it?”
“I feel I should explain myself first.” Muredarch’s words carried easily across the water, a resonant note to his voice. The man could probably make himself heard in a hurricane, Temar thought.
“You doubtless think me merely a pirate.” Muredarch held up a hand though no one on the Dulse was disputing this. “Well, perhaps. In my youth, yes, I strayed among the free traders but that’s my point really. Pursuing letters of marque, bounties and the like, that’s a young man’s game and you can see my grey hairs from there, can’t you?” His self-deprecating laugh invited them to join in. Temar stayed stony-faced, Usara unmoved beside him, Guinalle’s expression unreadable on his other side. The pirate scanned their countenances, glancing up to Halice high on the aftdeck. His face hardened and Temar looked to see the mercenary commander wasn’t bothering to conceal her disdain as she sneered down on the pirate.
“I’m looking for a new role for myself, something more suited to my years and experience,” Muredarch continued conversationally. “These islands belong to no one and I’ve a mind to set up here.” He smiled amiably before adding with a first hint of menace, “You can’t show me any writ of yours running here, nor yet Tadriol’s.”
Temar ignored that. Halice might not think much of his training with the Imperial cohorts but even he knew better than to pick a fight on hopeless ground. “What exactly are you hoping to set up?”
Muredarch’s smile broadened with growing confidence. “You’ll be hoping to trade across the ocean, when you get this colony of yours on its feet. I could run a nice watering station for you here, offer a place where cargoes could be bought and sold maybe. That would cut everyone’s journeys. Surely, that would be worth a share in the coin you’ll all be earning? Good anchorage, secure warehousing and the men to make sure everyone keeps honest would look a handsome offer to most merchants I know.”
“I find it a remarkable offer from a pirate who’s been preying on our ships,” Temar replied with chilly formality.
“What if I agreed to leave your ships well alone? You don’t bother me; I don’t bother you. No, wait, I can do more for you than that.” A confiding note warmed Muredarch’s voice. “You’ll be a powerful rival to Inglis inside a few years, if you’ve any sense. They won’t like that, now will they? There’ll be letters of marque issued against your ships; they’ll find some reason to do it. If I were to be sitting here, a few good ships to back me, I could turn hunters into hunted. Curtailing the Inglis trade at your nod, I could improve your markets just when you needed it.”
“I hardly think so,” said Temar coldly.
“You know what they’re saying around Inglis, do you? And Kalaven, Blacklith?” Muredarch challenged him, beard jutting. “That you’re an untried boy holding one small corner of a vast land, gold in the rivers for the picking, gems in the sands of the beaches. They’re saying land and riches are for the taking, for anyone with the courage to risk the ocean. What are you going to do when ships land up your coast and set up a town for themselves? I could put a stop to all that before it starts and no one will write me off as some weakling.” The threat in his last words was unmistakable.
Temar matched his forcefulness. “Why should I grant you anything when you have stolen my colony’s goods and made slaves of innocent people?”
“You do have some spirit!” Muredarch laughed. “You want those people back? They’re building my trade town for me just now.” His face turned sly. “Well, perhaps that’s a trade we can discuss. I need rope, sailcloth, pitch for a start.”
“You misunderstand me,” Temar told him coldly. “You surrender your prisoners and your loot and then I will consider letting you live rather than hanging you for the crows for your crimes.”
“There’s spirit and then there’s foolhardiness, lad.” Muredarch scowled at Temar. “Don’t think you’ve got the hand on the whipstaff here. What makes you think you can do anything to stop me?”
“This parley is over.” Temar addressed himself to Halice, striving to equal his long-dead grandsire’s auto
cratic manner.
She nodded and turned to the helmsman.
“You’re young and you’re foolish, boy,” Muredarch shouted angrily. “Shame you won’t live to learn the error of your ways.” As quick as the snake on his pennant, he whipped a hand back and threw a knife at Temar. The small blade flew hard and accurate before a gust of wind suddenly flung it upward. As it fell to the water, everyone saw the blade bend back on itself, crushed by unseen hands before it disappeared into the depths.
Temar shook his head slowly. “You forget that I have other advantages to counter your years and experience. You’re as much a prisoner here as those unfortunates you’ve kidnapped. Don’t think your little ship can slip past our blockade.” He flicked a contemptuous hand at the sloop, barely two-thirds the beam or length of the Dulse.
“You’d do that, would you?” Muredarch sounded interested. “Run away and leave your men to die unheeded? No, my lad, I’ll be leaving here with all my men and all your goods and in my own good time.” The pirate didn’t look in the least disconcerted. “I have magic to call on too, boy.”
“We’re leaving.” Temar gestured to Halice. The Dulse surged forward, heeling away from the single-masted ship. Temar hurried to the afterdeck, to keep the pirate in sight. “None of you let any magelight slip,” he said anxiously as Usara joined Larissa and an implacable swell gathered to drive Muredarch back between the islands.
The mages looked at each other with some amusement. “No, we’ll be careful,” Larissa assured him.
“I wish I knew I could set a magic working and just leave it like that.” Guinalle watched the seas push the sloop down the strait.
“It’s not an easy as it looks,” Usara said with feeling. “And a spell left unchecked can cause chaos, believe me. Azazir—”
“Magical theory can wait.” Halice tapped him on the shoulder. “Where does this leave us, Messire?”
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