Corrain forced himself to breathe slow and deep until the blood racing through his heart and head slowed. He was Baron Halferan, not some nameless slave. Even the Archipelagans would know him for a Caladhrian as soon as he opened his mouth. That Jagai warlord’s underlings wouldn’t risk offending Col’s Elected by shackling Corrain without testing the truth of this claims.
Then of course, he would have to explain to everyone from the Elected downwards why a Caladhrian baron had been presenting himself as a sword for hire to these Aldabreshi and lying about his name and allegiance. No, Corrain concluded with a resentful sigh, there was nothing he could usefully do at the dockside.
‘What omens could Jagai Kalu possibly have read in the heavenly compass?’ The woman in the neat cap was perplexed. ‘Aren’t the skies ill-favoured above their islands now? On account of their Emerald star?’
Corrain looked at her. She was right. Hosh had said that only the Sapphire crept around the sky more slowly than the Emerald. Any shift of these slowest jewels was considered most significant.
Hosh had said that the Emerald would linger in the heavenly compass’s arc of death until the third For-Spring to come, as measured by mainland almanacs. The Archipelagans would read the most gloom-laden and ominous interpretations into the portents they saw around the earthly compass with this hanging over their heads. This Jagai warlord sending his envoys to Col became even more of a puzzle.
The tavern’s front door opened. Hosh halted, aghast, on the threshold as every face turned towards him. The room fell silent but for the crackling fire. Hosh shied away, pulling his cloak hood across his maimed features as he fled into the night.
Corrain hastily wrapped the rest of his bread around the mutton and hurried out into the carillon square. To his relief, he saw Hosh hesitating halfway to the fountain. Where was the lad to go in this strange city with so few friends?
‘Hosh,’ he called out, low-voiced. The last thing the lad needed was more turning heads.
‘Why must they stare so?’ Hosh spun around and Corrain was relieved to see anger as well as humiliation burning in his eyes. He hid his disappointment at seeing no visible change in the boy’s disfigured face.
‘They were only wondering who was coming through the door next. Three Archipelagans had just been in to announce that they’re looking for swords for hire.’
‘What?’ Hosh stood open-mouthed.
‘Let’s go and tell this mage Olved.’ Corrain knew full well that The Goose Hounds’ customers would subject Hosh to searching looks if he returned after he’d recoiled so publicly. Better to let a chime or so of the night pass before they came back to the inn.
‘We’ll see what the Archmage makes of that news. Then we can see what Madam Jilseth has to tell us of home. The blacksmith’s pied bitch must have whelped since we took ship.’
As he walked across the square, Corrain held out the meat-stuffed roll. Hosh took it without a murmur.
‘Did you have a wager on the litter? I put my coin on the pups being brindled. That black-eared hound from the village was always sniffing around the gatehouse.’
When Hosh didn’t answer, Corrain moved on to speculating about the prospects for the year ahead’s deer hunting around the Taw Ricks lodge.
They had walked down three of Col’s long streets before Hosh spoke. ‘Master Sirstin’s pups will be pied. He put the bitch to Reeve Gartas’s dog as soon as she came into season.’
‘Care to wager a copper penny on that?’ Corrain challenged.
‘I’ll bet you a silver mark.’ Hosh halted and looked around. ‘Where are we?’
‘Looking to knock on this wizard’s front door.’ Corrain moved closer to the lantern hanging from a house frontage in accordance with the Elected’s mandates, to check that he was following Master Olved’s instructions correctly.
‘This way.’ He led Hosh to the fourth of the terraced houses, each one double-fronted with bay windows and three storeys tall over a basement level lit by half-windows at ankle height. It seemed that wizardry paid well in Col.
So it had in Relshaz until the Magistracy had decided that they needed Aldabreshin coin more than Hadrumal’s friendship. Corrain reminded himself to tell the Archmage that some Soluran seemed intent on seeing Col go down that same path.
He walked up the steps and rapped on the varnished wood. A thin-faced man with receding black hair opened the door.
‘Good evening to you. We’d like to see Master Olved.’
‘Finally.’ The thin-faced man said sourly. He turned around. ‘Mentor Micaran! At least your evening hasn’t been wasted this time.’
‘Is this the wizard?’ Hosh whispered uneasily on the step.
‘If that sneer is any guide.’ Add to that, the man’s shabby maroon doublet and breeches were assuredly no servant’s livery.
Corrain walked warily into the house, Hosh half-hiding a pace behind him.
‘Come on, come on. You’ve wasted enough of our time.’ Master Olved snapped impatient fingers and the hall’s outer door slammed shut behind them.
He led the way into a book-lined study, Corrain offered a bow to the man in one of the chairs framing the fireplace. His straight dark hair and similar features suggested he had some blood tie to the wizard. He wore a dark grey scholarly mantle over a long brown tunic and the university’s silver ring, though he looked at least a double handful of years younger than Mentor Garewin.
‘Mentor Micaran, sealed to the School of Rhetoric and one of their most proficient aetheric adepts.’ Master Olved snapped his fingers at a four-fingered candlestick on a table in the window bay. Flames blossomed on the wicks, bright crimson and then burning honest yellow.
‘Baron Halferan, good evening.’ The mentor rose to his feet and offered a welcoming hand.
Corrain shook it and noted the firmness of his palm as well as the breadth of the scholar’s shoulders. This man didn’t spend every waking moment hunched over old books.
‘Master Hosh.’ Micaran greeted him warmly. ‘Mentor Garewin speaks highly of you.’
‘He does?’ Hosh was startled.
‘Now you have finally deigned to come here, shall we pass on your news to Hadrumal?’ Scowling, Olved took a silver mirror from a chest of drawers’ cluttered top and sat at the head of the table.
‘By all means.’ Corrain curbed an urge to answer the wizard’s sarcasm in similar fashion.
He and Hosh sat on either side of Olved. To Corrain’s surprise, the mentor Micaran came to join them.
The wizard laid the mirror on the table. Corrain glimpsed the four candle flames reflected before a swirl of scarlet magic swept them away to leave an opaque grey mist rimmed with magefire.
‘Master Olved?’
Corrain recognised the Archmage’s voice.
‘The Caladhrians have finally turned up,’ the Col wizard answered, irascible.
‘Have they indeed?’
Planir sounded amused. Corrain didn’t imagine that would improve the wizard’s mood.
‘Good evening, Baron Halferan. What news do you have?’
‘Some Soluran adept is spreading mistrust of wizardry in Col and some Aldabreshi have risked a winter voyage here on business I’ve yet to fathom.’
Corrain related what he’d learned these past few days with precise detail. Let this arrogant wizard accuse them of idle tarrying now.
‘This is most interesting.’
Planir’s approval rang through the spell.
‘The fat Archipelagan will be a eunuch, in their tongue, a zamorin. He will be a trusted advisor to Jagai Kalu and highly valued for his loyalty and learning. This business must be important for the warlord to risk the man’s life on such a hazardous voyage.’
‘Perhaps that means—’ Mentor Micaran looked eagerly across the candles and mirror to Olved.
‘Later,’ the wizard snapped.
Before Corrain could challenge them to explain, Planir spoke through the circling magic.
‘Let us make a start
on repaying you for your efforts on our behalf. Mentor Micaran offers his Artifice to help us find this man from Wrede, so we can learn more of his interest in Halferan.’
‘Using Artifice?’ Corrain looked at the mentor, startled. ‘Not scrying?’
He had expected elemental magic would search for the man. Madam Jilseth’s wizardry had found him in the far north and east of Solura, much further away than Ensaimin.
‘No mage can scry for someone he doesn’t know,’ Olved said, exasperated, ‘unless he has something which the quarry has handled.’
‘The Archmage says that you saw the man’s face clearly.’ Micaran held Corrain’s gaze. ‘Once I have seen him through your recollections, I can use aetheric enchantment to search for him.’
‘How long will that take?’ Would this Artifice be as slow as whatever healing Mentor Garewin was working on Hosh? Corrain had been hoping for something with elemental magic’s immediacy.
‘It will take as long as it takes,’ Olved cut in, ‘and if you had answered my first summons, such questing enchantment would already be two days in hand.’
The wizard stretched his hand over the mirror. ‘Farewell, Archmage—’
‘Master Mage, we were promised news from home.’ Hosh insisted before looking anxiously at Corrain.
Planir answered through the spell.
‘Quite so. Master Olved, please bespeak Madam Jilseth. She’s lodging in Halferan village, Hosh, so she’ll have more recent news for you than I do.’
‘Thank you, my Lord Archmage.’
They heard Planir’s chuckle.
‘You are most welcome, and please tell her about these Archipelagans in Col and this Soluran adept. Let’s see what Captain Kusint makes of that. Now, I won’t delay you any longer. Good evening to you all.’
Olved reached forward but the Archmage had already swept away the spell to leave the silver mirror empty.
Micaran looked at Corrain. ‘May I work my Artifice with you first? Then I can work further enchantments while you are bespeaking Madam Jilseth.’
Corrain squared his shoulders. ‘Very well.’
Olved nodded and rose. ‘I will fetch some wine.’
Corrain was startled to find Micaran taking his hand, interlacing their fingers.
‘Look at me,’ the mentor commanded. ‘Recall where you were and who you were with when you saw this man’s face, as clearly as you can.’
As Corrain closed his eyes, the better to concentrate, he heard Micaran muttering something under his breath. The words had the rhythm of music as well as a rising and falling lilt though he could make no sense of the language.
Micaran broke off. ‘Concentrate on your memories, not my enchantment.’
Corrain nodded, doing his best to close his ears to the oddly seductive murmur.
A sensation of falling overwhelmed him. He gasped and tried to open his eyes only to find that he couldn’t. He tried to pull his hand free but Mentor Micaran’s grip tightened.
Corrain opened his mouth but before he could speak, he found himself in Ferl with Vereor by his side. He could see every detail of that street even though he knew for a certainty that he still hadn’t opened his eyes. He could still feel the pressure of Mentor Micaran’s fingers between his own even though he looked down to see that insulting letter from Baron Karpis in his hand.
He looked at the man on the horse as the mentor had asked. Vereor, motionless at his side, became as faint an outline as an inn sign’s faded paint after a generation’s wind and weather. The buildings around slowly vanished and Ferl’s cobbles melted away into nothingness. Regardless, Corrain could still feel the floorboards under his boot soles.
Only the man on the bay horse remained. Who was this spy from Wrede and what did he want? As Corrain focused on the man’s unremarkable face, he knew that he would now remember it until his own deathbed. Whatever enchantment was enabling Micaran to share his recollection was now engraving that visage indelibly into his mind.
‘Very good!’
Mentor Micaran’s congratulations broke through the Artifice holding Corrain in thrall.
Snatching back his hand, he opened his eyes to see Hosh staring across the table at him.
‘Where did you go? Inside your head, where did you go?’
Corrain had more urgent questions for Mentor Micaran. ‘I’m sure this Soluran has looked into my mind. Is that how he will see my memories, if he locks eyes with me again?’ He looked around the room. ‘Will he see this place and the two of you?’
‘That will depend on the precise nature of his Artifice,’ Micaran looked thoughtfully at Corrain, ‘and on your will to resist him.’
‘My will?’ Corrain frowned. ‘You mean I can simply guard my thoughts against him? How?’
‘By thinking of something else with such single-minded intensity that there is no room in your thoughts for anything else,’ Micaran explained. ‘But please remember that something can be simple without being in the least easy.’
‘Do you know who he is, this Soluran?’ Corrain steeled himself for another intrusion into his mind, so that the mentor could see the unknown adept’s face.
‘No, but I can find out readily enough,’ Mentor Micaran assured him. ‘I may even contrive to fall into conversation with him, since he seems so interested in those sealed to my discipline.’
‘Wine.’ Olved arrived at Corrain’s side with an inlaid rosewood tray carrying a crystal decanter and goblets of finest Archipelagan rainbow glass.
‘Thank you.’ Micaran rose and reached over to take the first golden glassful which the wizard poured. ‘I will take this into the parlour, so I can work undisturbed and you can work your bespeaking. Good evening to you both.’
The mentor nodded to him and Hosh before departing.
‘Wine, from Kadras.’ Olved handed them both a goblet before sitting down and passing his hand over the silver mirror a second time. ‘Madam Jilseth?’
‘Olved?’
The magewoman’s voice was almost lost amid the babble surrounding her.
Hosh leaned forward, intrigued. ‘Are you in the Halferan tavern, Madam Mage?’ He leaned forward to peer into the mirror even though there was still nothing to be seen through the translucent grey mist.
‘I am.’
The noise abruptly silenced. Corrain could only imagine the astonishment on people’s faces as they saw the bespeaking spell’s scarlet circle blossom in the empty air.
He sat back and sipped his wine as Master Olved told Jilseth about the Soluran adept spreading mistrust of wizardry and what little they had learned of the Jagai ships’ purpose in Col.
Corrain no longer wondered why Hosh was so reluctant to relate his experiences. Aetheric magic’s intrusion into his own thoughts had been profoundly unnerving and that must surely be a trivial enchantment compared to whatever Garewin and his fellow mentors were using to mend the lad’s face.
Artifice might indeed seem paltry compared to elemental wizardry working such marvels as the bespeaking before them. Corrain reminded himself how often first impressions could lead a man fatally awry.
CHAPTER NINETEEN
Halferan Tavern, Caladhria
31st of Aft-Winter
‘HOW IS MY mother? How is the village faring?’
‘Halferan and its people prosper, Hosh.’ Jilseth looked across the tavern to see the door still standing closed after whoever had hurried to fetch Abiath from her own fireside.
‘Has Sirstin’s bitch whelped yet?’
Jilseth had to stifle a laugh at the astonished expressions around her as Corrain’s question rang through the floating magefire circle.
Old Fitrel was the first to answer. He had been regaling Jilseth with stories of better days in Halferan.
‘Five healthy pups, two dogs, one pied and one black, three bitches, two pied and one white.’
‘That’s a silver mark I owe you.’
As the entire taproom laughed, the tavern door opened. Jilseth raised her hand.
‘Abiath? Would you like to speak with your son?’
‘Hosh? Are you truly there?’ The old woman gazed in wonder at the spell, sinking into the seat which Fitrel vacated for her.
‘Mother, I have met with the mentors for two days now—’
Jilseth watched the fascination on the Halferans’ faces as Hosh related his experiences to his mother. After all, how many of them would ever have the chance to sail the length of the Caladhrian coast, let alone visit somewhere as distant and foreign as Col?
Then again, she reminded herself, no one here would ever have expected to see Aldabreshi noblewomen welcomed into the manor across the brook. The only sure thing in life was surprise.
She focused her attention on the bespeaking again as she realised that Hosh had finished detailing the Red Library’s interior in exasperating detail. Now he was talking about Mentor Garewin’s Artifice. Jilseth listened, intently curious.
‘We go to a garden, only we don’t, not really. That’s just the enchantment woven around us. It’s like a dream, except that we know that we’re awake and truly somewhere else. But Mentor Garewin tells me to remember what my life was like before—before I was injured—’
Jilseth saw everyone listening in the tavern grimace and exchange sympathetic glances. Why did they find it so much easier to show their compassion when the boy wasn’t here to see it?
‘The whole day passes without it seeming like more than a chime. My pain is dulled already and I can breathe easier—’
‘I can hear it in your voice.’
As Abiath beamed with joy, Jilseth realised that she was right. Hosh did indeed sound less congested. She wondered how long the whole healing process would take. Would he let her explore the remade bones in his face with her own wizardry on his return?
Defiant Peaks (The Hadrumal Crisis) Page 24