So far the little girl hadn’t provoked Ilysh’s irritation or inconvenienced Master Rauffe but it could only be a matter of time. The last thing Zurenne wanted was Neeny’s hopping rabbit spilling ink over the steward’s ledger.
‘Yes, my lady.’
Zurenne watched Neeny agree to Raselle’s suggestion with telling alacrity. The little girl headed straight for the table where Doratine’s maids were now setting out dishes of honey cakes.
‘Lady Ilysh? Shall we join the feast?’ Zurenne turned to her daughter but before Lysha could push her chair back, a woman stumped heavily up the dais steps and approached the table.
‘Saedrin and all the gods bless you, my lady.’ Mistress Rotharle reached across the table to lay her age-spotted hand on Ilysh’s slender one.
‘Fair festival to you and yours,’ the girl replied with a smile.
‘And many more to come, Poldrion willing.’ Mistress Rotharle looked over Ilysh’s head to the narrow doorway at the back of the dais. Giving the young girl’s hand a final pat, she continued on her way to the shrine.
Despite the heat from the fires down in the hall and the logs smouldering in the smaller hearth up here on the dais, Zurenne shivered in the cold draft as the old woman opened the door. This festival-night would see a steady procession to the shrine as those who had survived the corsairs remembered loved ones sent to Saedrin’s judgement in brutal and untimely fashion.
‘Mama?’ Lysha twisted around in her seat as Mistress Rotharle called out, startled, within the shadowed shrine.
Zurenne instantly recognised the other voice. Just as swiftly, she was ashamed to realise she hadn’t noted his absence. She walked hurried into the shrine to see Hosh disappearing through the outer door.
Mistress Rotharle looked at Zurenne, distressed. ‘I just want a moment to remember my Tull but the poor boy can stay—’
‘I’ll tell him.’ As Zurenne opened the outer door, she looked this way and that. The cobbled expanse between the hall and the range of kitchen buildings was deserted. Had Hosh returned to the guards’ barrack hall opposite? She looked towards the gatehouse. Had he already passed beneath that arch and through the porter’s door in the barred and iron-bound oak, fleeing to his widowed mother’s house across the brook in the village?
‘My lady?’ Hosh was standing behind the shrine’s door.
‘Oh!’ Startled, Zurenne took a hasty step back. ‘No, forgive me.’
She reached out to lay a gentle hand on Hosh’s sleeve when the boy would have retreated. Stepping out into the night, she closed the shrine door behind her. ‘Please sit with me for a moment.’
‘As you wish, my lady.’ Reluctant but obedient, Hosh sat down on the bench by the shrine wall.
The rough-hewn seat had been set up while the manor was being rebuilt. So many folk had come to the shrine to beseech divine favour to speed their labours or to seek solace for their grief over slain kin and valued friends. The men nailed silver and copper pennies to the outer face of the door while the women pinned twists of cloth or scraps of lace and ribbon on the inside; tokens of faithfulness to each deity they prayed to.
‘Mistress Rotharle won’t be long,’ Zurenne assured the boy. ‘You can return to your prayers.
‘I can wait.’ He gazed up at the sky.
Zurenne looked up to see what fascinated him so.
‘They call it the Opal, in the Archipelago,’ he said, unprompted, pointing at the Greater Moon. ‘The Lesser Moon’s the Pearl, according their heavenly compass.’
‘Oh.’ Zurenne knew nothing of Aldabreshin stargazing.
‘I only learned to interpret the skies to keep watch for ill omens.’ Hosh turned to look anxiously at her. ‘Then I could warn the other slaves and maybe they wouldn’t give me a kicking so they could steal my food.’
‘That sounds very wise.’ As Zurenne smiled reassurance, she tried desperately to hide her pity.
Close to, Hosh’s injuries were cruelly visible, even in the moonlight. The deep dent in his cheekbone drew his eyelids askew while his sunken lips betrayed the loss of so many teeth on that side of his mouth. The cold night air prompted a trickle of moisture from his sagging eye and a glistening smear beneath his grotesquely broken nose.
Corrain had told her how a corsair’s sword pommel had smashed the boy’s face, when Minelas had drawn them into a deadly ambush. The wizard’s promises had all been lies; that his magic would bolster Halferan’s attack as her husband and Halferan’s best guardsmen fell upon the unsuspecting corsairs laired in the coastal marshes. Instead the waiting raiders had killed or enslaved them while Minelas had returned to make prisoners of Zurenne and her children in order to plunder Lysha and Neeny’s inheritance.
She and Corrain had been in the muniment room in the rebuilt tower’s ground floor. Zurenne had brought the letters and ledgers amassed during her sojourn at the Taw Ricks’ hunting lodge to be added to the scant manor records salvaged by Master Rauffe before they had fled the corsairs’ final assault.
Corrain had been writing the new muster roll of Halferan’s guardsmen. He broke off to take Zurenne entirely unawares with a sudden outburst. It was his fault and his alone that the corsairs had captured so many Halferan men. Hosh would have fought to the death, Corrain had insisted. He was the one who had ordered the boy and the rest to throw down their swords in hopes of living to fight another day. He had brought that disgrace on Halferan.
Falling silent as abruptly as he had spoken, Corrain had left his list unfinished, hurrying from the tower to call for a horse. Zurenne hadn’t seen him for the next two days. After that, Corrain had said nothing more of his time enslaved in the islands and Zurenne had no intention of asking him.
‘Forgive me, my lady.’ Hosh flinched and turned away.
Stricken, Zurenne realised he thought that she’d been staring at his injuries, rather than overtaken by recollection. But she couldn’t think how she might explain. She had to do something though or the boy would flee to hide himself away with his misery.
‘Tell me what you make of this sky, in the Aldabreshin fashion.’
‘My lady?’ Hosh was startled into looking back at her.
‘Is there anything in these heavens to encourage the southern savages to come north again?’ Zurenne looked up at the moon, realising why that question had come to mind.
Even though Corrain and Jilseth had assured her that all the corsairs were dead, she was still mortally afraid of seeing warning beacons lit on the seaward horizon.
‘The Aldabreshi don’t sail north in the winter, my lady.’ Hosh fell silent for a long moment then said slowly, ‘But looking to the future, the Amethyst is below the horizon, along with the stars of the Sea Serpent. That jewel warns against arrogance and anger while the Sea Serpent warns of unseen forces and foes. Both are in the arc of the heavenly compass where the islanders look for omens of home and family. You’ve shown yourself a worthy mother, my lady, and a steadfast defender of your daughters. Any Aldabreshin would consider those stars a warning against attacking you again.’
‘Truly?’
Zurenne wasn’t asking about the stars. Was that how the household saw her? She so often felt wretchedly inadequate, far from a worthy parent. Or was Hosh just echoing his own loyal mother, Abiath?
‘There’s the Ruby.’ Hosh was still intent on the skies. ‘See, my lady, over in the west?’
As he pointed, Zurenne saw a star glimmering faintly red amid a spray of white pinpricks. One outshone the rest.
‘That’s the Diamond along with it, both within the stars of the Canthira Tree.’ Hosh’s tone grew unexpectedly animated. ‘The Archipelagans hold that plant dear, my lady, not just for its flowers’ beauty and fragrance. It will regrow from burned stumps and black ash, even when fire sweeps right across an island and kills every living thing.’
‘What does such a portent mean?’ Zurenne was growing curious.
‘That’s the arc of foes, my lady. They count twelve such regions around the whole com
pass of the sky.’ Hosh gazed at the star-filled darkness. ‘Halferan is renewed, like a Canthira tree, and the Ruby is a talisman against fire. The Diamond is a talisman for leaders, and you and the captain have both proven yourself against the corsairs. Those are omens in your favour, not for anyone who would attack you.’
‘But surely the southern barbarians would read the skies to favour themselves?’ Now Zurenne was intrigued.
Hosh shook his head, pointing to the sky halfway between north and east. ‘Not since the Emerald moved into the arc of death.’
Zurenne shivered as she searched in vain for the merest speck of green. ‘That sounds ill-omened.’
‘Not for us,’ Hosh reassured her. ‘As long as the Emerald lies in that arc of the sky, the Archipelagans will look for warnings above all else in their heavenly omens. The stars of the Spear are there at present so that’s counselling caution for warlike men. A clear portent against aggression especially with the Opal in the arc of travel with the stars of the Walking Hawk.’
Hosh pointed but Zurenne could only see the pale round of the Greater Moon. She could make out nothing among the stars that might signify the exotic and unknown creatures which Hosh was talking about.
‘The Walking Hawk’s a sign for watchfulness and the Opal’s a talisman against magic, so that would warn of wizardly hazards facing anyone venturing to the mainland. The Pearl’s on the other side of the Emerald, in the arc of marriage and all things beloved. The Pearl’s another talisman against magic but the Winged Snake with it is an emblem of courageous defence. So that means if they stay close to home, such omens should keep them safe. With three heavenly jewels in the same quarter of the sky, the Aldabreshi will take those omens to heart.’
Hosh fell silent and then shrugged. ‘For whatever good such hopes may do them.’
Had he ever seen anything to uphold the savages’ faith in such stars? Zurenne’s chattering teeth cut off that question. She stood up, rubbing her hands briskly together to warm them. ‘I should return to the feast, but come back into the shrine. You have as much claim to the gods’ and goddesses’ favour as anyone else. Then you must come and have your share of the food and ale.’
‘Very well, my lady.’ Hosh was clearly reluctant but more unwilling to gainsay Zurenne.
She opened the shrine door to find that Mistress Rotharle had departed. Ushering Hosh inside, she left him to his private devotions and went through the inner door onto the empty dais.
Zurenne lingered, ready to deny entry to anyone else stepping up to enter the shrine, just for a little while. She searched the gathering down on the hall’s floor, looking for Lysha mingling with her people. Kusint’s red head soon indicated her daughter’s presence. The young captain was standing close at her shoulder as the throng circled around them. Everyone in the household was eager to offer their lady a festival greeting.
A few moments later Zurenne heard the outer door to the shrine open and close. So Hosh would rather go hungry than show his wounded face to this hall full of people, even if the demesne folk should surely be counted as friends and his own mother was here among them.
She saw Abiath smiling in the midst of a circle of the village’s elder matrons. Hosh might be only a handful of years older than Lysha but Abiath had been all but past hope of children when he had been born. Since her husband had been killed so soon after in an accident, life’s burdens had weighed the diminutive woman down further. Did the return of her only son, given up for dead, balance those scales? Hardly.
Zurenne found her joy in the festival tarnished. It was so unfair, that Hosh should have endured so much, that he should have survived such travail, only to return and find himself still distanced from his kith and kin by disfigurement.
The poor boy couldn’t leave his tribulations behind him as this new year started. If only someone could take away Hosh’s sufferings as quickly and as easily as Madam Jilseth and the tall blonde magewoman had relieved him of that strange arm-ring which the Mandarkin wizard had used to enslave him.
CHAPTER FIVE
The residence of Mellitha Esterlin, Relshaz
Winter Solstice Festival, 3rd Evening
THIS TIME VELINDRE called a halt to their endeavours. ‘Jilseth, unless you see some crack in the ensorcellement, I suggest we abandon this approach.’
‘There might be something—’ Seeing Merenel’s involuntary grimace, Jilseth broke off and nodded her agreement. ‘I may well be imagining it.’
‘It is long past time we had something to eat and to drink.’ Mellitha looked towards the side table and a silver hand bell stirred itself to ring a summons.
‘Madam?’ As always, a handsome lackey answered her call within moments.
‘Wine for us all, if you please, and whatever festival delicacies have been waiting in the kitchen. Please offer my profound apologies to Seomina,’ Mellitha added ruefully.
Tired as she was, Jilseth smiled. On her earlier visits here she had seen how Mellitha’s cook would forgive her mistress anything.
‘At once, Madam, and this arrived just before the last chime.’ The lackey presented an ink-smudged and hastily sealed letter.
Mellitha read it and frowned as the servant headed for the door. ‘Master Resnada says that Kerrit Osier has taken a turn for the worse. He asks for your help, Jilseth.’
‘Help with what?’ Velindre demanded. ‘Resnada’s the apothecary.’
‘He merely asks for Jilseth’s assistance. See for yourself.’ Mellitha passed the grimy reed paper to Velindre and snapped her fingers to attract her lackey’s attention before he left the room. ‘Nishail! Who brought the note?’
‘One of Master Resnada’s boys. He wouldn’t wait for a reply.’
‘Intent on his festival fun,’ Mellitha wondered aloud, ‘or unwilling to be seen loitering at a wizard’s gates?’
‘The latter, I would guess, Madam,’ the lackey said unhappily.
Velindre looked over her shoulder. ‘The mood on the streets is still ugly?’
‘Yes, Madam Mage.’
As Nishail nodded, Jilseth was already rising to her feet. ‘I’ll go. I’m unlikely to be recognised.’
She had visited Kerrit often enough in his convalescence through the fading days of For-Autumn. When news had first broken of wizardry loose in the Archipelago, Aldabreshi hotheads had attacked a number of Relshaz’s better-known wizards. Kerrit had suffered by far the worst assault. The scholarly mage had been so badly beaten that his life had hung in the balance.
‘I’ll come with you,’ Merenel offered.
Jilseth shook her head. ‘I’d rather you stayed here, ready to bespeak Planir once I know if there’s truly cause for concern.’
Alas, she had no doubt that there would be. Master Resnada wouldn’t send such a note for no reason, still less write it in such haste. The apothecary was as level-headed as he was skilled.
‘Send word as soon as you can.’ Mellitha exchanged a look with Velindre suggesting they both thought the same.
Nishail opened the door to usher Jilseth into the marble-floored hallway. ‘Shall I fetch you a lantern, my lady?’
He knew better than to ask if a wizard needed him to summon a carriage in this emergency.
‘No need.’ She pulled her grey cloak from its peg beside the front door, mindful of the cool of the cloudless night outside.
Nishail opened the front door and Jilseth stood on the white stone house’s steps. She looked with some misgiving at the heavy wooden gates in the high wall encircling the residence. This prosperous and decorous district was normally so peaceful that the lyrical songbirds in the orchard beyond Mellitha’s lawns could be clearly heard inside the house. She glanced at the bare-branched fruit trees framing the immaculate flower beds sleeping through the short Relshazri winter. Elegant redcanes waved fronds like scarlet feathers.
This evening it sounded as though the modest tavern on the corner of the broad road at the end of this quiet side street was packed to the rafters. The cheering, jeeri
ng and shouts had an unpleasantly harsh edge.
‘Is this the usual revelry?’ Jilseth reminded herself that she had never spent a solstice holiday in Relshaz. Festivities in Hadrumal were bound to be decorous by comparison. Those mainland-born still cherishing fond memories of their families’ rites made their seasonal observances before whatever statues they kept in their rooms. Few wizards paid much heed to whatever liturgies and deities they had been raised with.
‘There seems to be more excitement than usual.’ Nishail looked apprehensive.
Jilseth was tempted to ask him to open the gate, so she could look outside and judge for herself. No, Master Resnada had asked for her help. Kerrit was a mage and Hadrumal’s interests must always come first.
‘Tell Mistress Esterlin that I’ll be as quick as I can.’
Her affinity reached down through the flagstones to the delta mud far beneath. That rich darkness was resonant with every fragment of rock and earth which the mighty River Rel had carried down from its springs amid the broken uplands where Dalasor butted up against Ensaimin and Caladhria. More than that, Jilseth could trace every successive tributary’s load of silt added to this great city’s shifting foundations.
With her wizardry solidly rooted, Jilseth reached upwards into the air. Not so long ago, this had been one of her least favourite workings, the elemental air so irritatingly elusive. Now she wove her translocation with ease and assurance, deftly blending the hints of fire and water that were integral to the spell. Now she could thread her knowledge of the streets around Master Kerrit’s house through the interstices of the air-born wizardry that would carry her there.
The yard and Mellitha’s gardens disappeared as white light enveloped her. Jilseth felt her feet leave the flagstones. In the next breath, she felt cobbles and something unpleasantly slimy beneath her leather half-boots’ soles.
Defiant Peaks (The Hadrumal Crisis) Page 5