Ingella’s face came up with a jerk, horror in her dark eyes.
Temar indicated the others who betrayed new terror with rapid jabs of his finger. “Those, take them and lock them securely in the bottom hold of the Dulse. No one will escape punishment for their crimes here. As for the rest of you, I won’t hang any who don’t deserve it. You may work or you may be confined in the cargo deck of the ship.”
Some looked at him with faint hope rising above their despair and Temar walked briskly away before anyone could see the sudden tremor in his hands or the quake in his spine as the full weight of his responsibility bore down on him.
“What is it?” Halice appeared at his side. He hadn’t even seen her approaching.
“My grandsire was always determined to tell me rank brings duty as well as privilege. Now I know why.” Temar gritted his teeth. “I must see Guinalle. We’ll have to set up a proper assize. If we’re to separate those who went willingly to Muredarch from those who were coerced, I need her to work a truthsaying and a powerful one at that.” Temar saw Halice was looking even grimmer than she had before. He wouldn’t have thought that was possible. “What is it?”
“Darni’s died,” Halice said shortly.
Temar realised it was possible to feel worse than he did already. “Perhaps it was for the best,” he said after a long pause. “His face was smashed beyond hope of repair.”
“And his arm. I was all but ready to give him a clean death myself once he’d seen us kill Muredarch.” Halice sighed. “Then I wondered if Artifice might save him.” She scowled. “It was easier when there was no chance of such things.”
Black despair threatened to overwhelm Temar. “He has a wife, doesn’t he? And a child?”
“Two.” Halice bit the word off.
“I wish Ryshad was here.” The words came unbidden from Temar’s lips.
“And Livak.” Halice scrubbed a sketchily washed hand through her short, unruly hair. “Have you been aboard this morning? Usara might be awake by now, or Allin.”
“I think Guinalle would have sent word.” Temar looked at Halice. “We should see how they are though.” They were walking towards the shingle strand, pace increasing with every step, Temar matching Halice stride for stride.
“You there!” She hailed a sailor pushing off a laden longboat with a single oar over the stern. “We’re for the Dulse.”
Temar stayed silent for the short crossing to the ship, nothing to say as he climbed the rope ladder up to the deck.
“Demoiselle Guinalle?” Halice caught a passing sailor with her question.
“Cabin.” He nodded backwards before going on his way.
Temar’s feet felt leaden. Halice looked back at him. “Not knowing won’t make any difference.” She opened the door like the best-trained lackey in his grandsire’s house. He took a deep breath and went in.
“Temar.” Female voices greeted him, both fraught with emotion and exhaustion.
“Guinalle.” He felt weak with relief. “Allin. How are you, both of you?”
The demoiselle sat on a low stool, leaning back against the wooden hull of the ship. “Weary but time will mend that.”
Allin was sitting on her bunk, hair tangled around her pale face. Temar knelt and held her close. The mage-girl drew a long shuddering breath, slipped her arms around him and held tight.
“If you’re going to hug me, Halice, do be careful.” Lying on the other bunk, Usara attempted to prop himself on one elbow. “I feel as if I might snap.”
“You look like a death’s head on a mopstick,” Halice told him with friendly concern.
“I rather thought I might.” Usara gave up the uneven struggle and lay back down.
“What happened?” Temar realised that was a foolish question even as he sat on the bunk beside Allin.
“Guinalle saved us.” Allin’s reply was muffled as she hid her face against Temar’s neck.
“I couldn’t let any mage suffer Otrick’s fate.” Guinalle did her best to sound matter-of-fact. “And your own defences proved themselves against the Artifice.”
“Nice to know I hadn’t been wasting my time with Aritane,” remarked Usara.
“Larissa’s dead, isn’t she?” Allin clung to Temar. “I felt her die, didn’t I?”
He eased free of her embrace so he could see her face. “Yes, my love. I’m so sorry.”
Grief welled up in Allin’s eyes. Temar held her close again and felt her warm tears on his skin.
“The adepts found her first,” Guinalle explained with bitter regret. “That’s what alerted me to their plan for you all to share their death. She held out long enough for me to ward you two from the worst of their malice.”
“That’s scant consolation for her loss.” Usara rolled his head to look at them all. “There must be some reason we’re so cursed vulnerable to Artifice when we’re working wizardry.”
Temar opened his mouth to try and describe what he had seen of Larissa’s fate but Guinalle spoke first. “I believe I have some insight into that now.”
Allin stiffened in Temar’s arms, her words putting any other considerations to flight. “If the pirates are dead, can’t we get them home, Livak and Ryshad and Shiv?”
“And Sorgrad and ’Gren.” Halice did her best to contain her impatience. “When might one of you be strong enough to bespeak them?”
“No time like the present,” said Usara with grim determination. He swung his legs over the side of the bunk and pushed himself upright with visible effort.
“You’re hardly in a fit state for magic,” Temar protested but Allin was already moving out of the protective reach of his arm.
She knelt on the floor to pull a small coffer out from beneath the bunk. “Let me, Usara. Fire’s my element.” Allin had already summoned a modest flame from the candle she took from the coffer. She handed Temar a small silver gilt mirror and her expression warned him not to protest. He swallowed his objections as the rising golden light of magic played on Allin’s face. Temar wondered again how he could ever have thought her plain. The amber gleam turned the brown of her eyes into a pleated tapestry of light and shade looking into this mystery he could never comprehend.
“Curse it.” She blew out the candle with a chagrined puff. “I can’t reach either of them.”
“Is there something wrong?” demanded Halice. “With them, I mean.”
“No, I’m just too tired.” Allin looked absurdly cross.
All at once Temar was hard put not to laugh. “Will you mages ever accept someone else’s word without having to prove a thing for yourselves?”
“Not before we get our third set of teeth, according to Otrick.” Usara managed a grin. “I’ll try scrying. That’s an easier spell.”
Allin reached into her coffer for a shallow silver bowl and Guinalle fetched the wide-bottomed, narrow-necked ewer from the table. Usara rested the bowl carefully on his knees and studied it as she filled it.
“Let’s see what we can see,” Usara murmured, taking a small vial from Allin with a nod of thanks. He let delicate drops of herb-scented green oil fall on to the water before cupping his hands around the bowl, taking a deep breath.
Temar waited tensely for the glow of magelight in the water. His heart sank as a feeble radiance barely reached the low rim of the bowl. Usara scowled and the circling swirl of oil began to whirl faster but just when Temar thought the shimmering light might break into the unearthly brilliance of magecraft, the spiral broke to leave blobs of oil floating aimlessly on the stubborn water.
Usara’s lips narrowed to invisibility. “I’m faring no better than you, Allin.”
“We just need some rest.” Woebegone, the mage-girl looked at Temar and Halice. “I’m so sorry. It’s just we’ve—”
“Hush, sweetheart.” Temar reached for her hand. “No one blames you, either of you!” He was about to elaborate on all that the fighting men owed the wizards when Guinalle began a soft incantation. “What are you doing?”
“Seeing wh
at my skills can do for us.” The demoiselle sat on her stool, eyes closed as she concentrated. “Tiadar velaesar lei, Livak eman frer. Sorgren an vel arimel, lek al treradir.”
Her rhythmic chant was the only sound in the cabin. Usara leant forward, eyes fixed on Guinalle and full of questions. Temar put his arm round Allin’s shoulders as she still agonised over her own failure to work the magic he needed. Halice folded her arms and leaned against the door, face impassive.
“I cannot find either of them.” Guinalle threw up her hands in uncharacteristic exasperation. “So much for the superiority of Artifice over wizardry.”
“You’re weary, just the same as Usara and Allin,” Temar pointed out.
“Could you seek out Ryshad instead, or Shiv?” suggested Usara.
Guinalle shook her head. “Any wizard is horribly hard to find—unless he’s working magic of course, and Ryshad’s distrust of Artifice is such that it’s almost a defence in itself. Anyway, that’s not the problem.”
“Then what is?” Temar asked, frustrated.
“Livak’s working a charm to conceal them.” Guinalle’s brows knitted. “She doesn’t want to be found by anyone’s Artifice, not just mine.”
“But Ilkehan’s dead,” began Temar.
“So she’s hiding from someone else,” said Halice from the door. “Which likely means some trouble’s chasing them.”
“Someone probably took offence at them killing Ilkehan,” Usara said drily.
“What can we do?” cried Allin.
“Rest and restore yourselves and then you can bespeak Shiv or Sorgrad.” Temar tried to keep the vexation he felt out of his words.
“There’s only so much you can do before you overtax yourself. That’s what the masters say, isn’t it, Allin?” Usara let slip a wordless growl of anger. “This is a pissing inconvenient time for Otrick to be proved right!”
Halice snapped her fingers with exasperation and dug in her breast pocket. “Would this help either of you?”
“Where did you get that?” Usara was astonished.
“Otrick’s ring,” said Allin in the same breath.
“Otrick’s and Azazir before him.” Usara held out a hand and Halice handed it over. “But polished like new. Planir’s ensorcelled it.” He looked at the unblemished circle with wonder.
“Which means what?” asked Temar keenly.
“This is a ring of elemental power.” Usara slipped it on the central finger of his off hand and studied it. New colour rose in his drawn face and he laughed. “Kalion would have four kinds of fit if he knew about this!”
“Why so?” Guinalle sat forward, curiosity getting the better of her weariness.
“Wizards haven’t instilled inherent magic into things for a handful of generations, maybe more.” Usara held up his hand. “People like Kalion have decreed it degrades the mystery of wizardry to allow the non-mageborn any sense of magic.”
“One of us could cast spells wearing that?” Halice was incredulous. “That sounds like something out of a bad ballad!”
“No, that’s truly a minstrel’s myth.” Usara took off the ring and tossed it to Allin who fumbled but caught it. “But a mage can bespeak a non-mageborn person wearing such a thing.”
“That could be useful.” Temar’s interest grew.
“Oh!” Allin blushed with surprise as she tried the ring on. Temar looked at her with some concern.
Usara grinned. “What Kalion and his ilk don’t appreciate is the main use of such things isn’t to favour the mundane with some taste of mageborn power but to share and renew elemental powers between wizards.”
“Does it give you the strength to scry for Livak and the others?” Halice demanded at once.
“It’s worth another try.” Usara held out a hand to take the ring from Allin but paused and looked intently at Guinalle.
“What is it?” She coloured slightly.
“I was just wondering,” the mage said slowly, “what might happen if you tried it on.”
Rettasekke, Islands of the Elietimm,
11th of For-Summer
Are you ready?” Sorgrad looked at Ryshad and Shiv.
“It’s all right. We’ve done this before.” I smiled at Ryshad with a reassurance rather more feigned than sincere. Beneath his studied calm, I could see enough concern for both of us.
“Come on!”
’Gren was already barely concealed by the thorn bushes fringing the long pond between us and Olret’s demesne. Water lapped at the dam. The recent tide had brought it surging through the open gates and now the sluices held it until it was needed. We had plans for that water.
“Go,” Sorgrad ordered and ’Gren ran, long knives out and ready. Sorgrad and I were a bare stride behind him, boots scuffing dust from the trampled top of the causeway. The tall block of the mill house shielded us from the keep’s view but we weren’t about to take any chances.
The door wasn’t locked; there was no need, after all. ’Gren went through it without pause for breath, cutting down the man gaping at our unexpected arrival. He fell hard, blood dark against the flour spilling all around, mouth gaping like the sack he’d been filling from the chute beside him. I didn’t wait to see if ’Gren took a second stroke to kill the man, racing after Sorgrad up the ladders to the upper floors of the wide building.
The miller tending the great millstones heard the commotion below but with nothing to serve as a weapon at hand, he had no choice but death beneath Sorgrad’s impersonal blade. When we were done I could spare a pang for two poor bastards dead for simply being in the wrong place but, for now, I was more concerned with saving my own skin.
“Shut off the grain,” ordered Sorgrad.
I was already at the chute carrying kernels down from the hopper on the floor above. The bone slide poised to stop the cascade was immediately apparent and I rammed it home. Sorgrad was busy with the levers that governed the cogs driven by the shafts and axles turned by the waterwheels far below us. As he worked, I heard the rising roar of water gushing through the sluices.
’Gren found the right ropes.” I had to raise my voice above the rumble of the mill now rapidly gathering pace.
“He’s no fool.” Sorgrad did something that set the grindstones racing. “Not when he sees the chance of this kind of fun.”
I watched the grain already between the stones being ground to fine powder falling over the edge of the stone in dwindling trails. “We’re nearly done here.”
Sorgrad was pulling open the trap doors serving the various hoists that carried sacks up and down between the floors of the mill. Pale clouds puffed up from below and he coughed. “Close those shutters.”
Doing as he bade, I kept a close eye on the grindstones. A squeak like a knife scraping across an earthenware plate told there was barely any grain left for the rough-keyed gritstone to bite on.
“Time to go,” I warned him.
Sorgrad knew as well as I did what would happen when those harsh stones struck sparks from each other for lack of grist. We didn’t bother with the ladders, each grabbing a braided leather rope and sliding through the nearest trap to the floor below. I coughed and squinted through air opaque with flour. ’Gren was still slashing sacks with his knife, tossing handfuls into the air. “Come on!”
He didn’t need telling twice either. As white as if he’d been caught in a snowstorm, ’Gren ran for the door without delay. I was hard on his heels with Sorgrad a scant pace behind.
“How sharp were those stones?” Sorgrad yelled as we hared back along the causeway. “How hard?”
“I didn’t stop to look!” Ahead, I could see Ryshad’s set face behind the thorn bushes, Shiv rose beside him, apprehension more plainly written on his raw-boned face.
“Get down!” I waved to them.
As I spoke, the mill house behind us exploded. The noise was incredible, a thunderclap that struck like a box to the ears and left my head ringing. A buffet like a sudden wind made me stumble, ’Gren ahead of me was jarred just the same as a
surge of air ran past to rattle the bushes where Shiv and Ryshad waited, racing beyond to be lost in the scrubland. Birds rose in startled shrieking clouds from the rippling waters of the pond and the rocky shores beyond the causeway.
Debris rained down all around. Shutters from the ranks of unglazed windows were ripped off whole, sailing far out across the millpond or splashing into the newly liberated waters racing for the sea. Shards of slate hissed through the air, rattling on the rocks of the dam. A sizeable piece struck me full in the back and I hunched my shoulders as I cursed it. Lesser pieces pattered against my head and shoulders. A monumental crash made the causeway shudder beneath our feet and told us a floor or a wall had given way. I didn’t turn to look until we reached the comparative safety of the thorn bushes. Ryshad stepped out to catch me as I flung myself off the edge of the causeway. I rested in his arms, panting for breath.
’Gren threw himself to the ground beside us, chest heaving, face alight with exultation. “There you are, Shiv. Not a sniff of wizardry needed!”
Shiv gazed at the wreck of the mill with a nice confusion of shock and laughter. “No wonder you don’t feel a need to study in Hadrumal, Sorgrad.”
He was looking back with a curious expression. “You mages could probably tell me why a spark can make powder in the air go up like firedamp.”
I twisted round in Ryshad’s arms to see just what we’d achieved. The only time I’d let ’Gren talk me into this before, it had been a little windmill we’d reduced to kindling. I was startled to see how comprehensively such a big, solid building had been wrecked.
“These people don’t use enough wood to fuel a really good fire.” ’Gren sounded disappointed.
“We can settle for this.” Ryshad shook his head at the devastation. Each side of the mill had a gaping hole punched through the wall, masonry still tumbling down. The beams and struts of the roof were broken and falling into the midst of the ruin of the shafts and axles and cogs that had driven the millstones, hoisted the sacks and worked all the other mysteries of the miller’s craft. A rapidly growing fire filled the hollow heart of the stricken building, voracious flames licking ever higher. As the ever-present breeze helpfully fanned the blaze, its greedy roar rose above sharp sounds of further collapse.
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