Abiath had just asked that first question and Hosh was answering.
‘Mentor Garewin says it will take another ten days so we won’t be home before the turn of the season.’
‘Will my lady’s Archipelagan visitors be gone by then?’ Abiath looked at Jilseth, along with everyone else in the tavern.
‘I imagine so.’ Jilseth couldn’t think what else to say.
‘What did you say?’ Corrain’s outrage rang through the spell.
Abiath answered him. ‘I was just asking the lady wizard—’
‘There are Aldabreshi in Halferan? Jilseth! Why haven’t you driven them back into the sea? What is Kusint thinking?’
Jilseth was relieved not to be explaining this to Corrain’s face, though on balance she would have preferred not to be answering him in front of this tavern gathering.
‘Lady Zurenne and Lady Ilysh have graciously agreed to receive three of the warlord Khusro Rina’s wives. They have agreed that Halferan’s ladies will help cleanse the Khusro domain of any magically ensorcelled weapons or jewels lurking unsuspected in their treasury. I am to identify any such artefacts—’
‘You must come here to bring me back to Halferan at once. Hosh can remain until his face is healed—’
‘No.’ Jilseth was pleased to find her flat refusal left Corrain speechless.
‘Kusint has proved himself entirely capable of commanding Halferan’s guard in your absence. Lady Zurenne is dealing with the Khusro wives with courtesy and good judgment and I believe I have proved beyond all doubt that I am capable of defending Zurenne and her daughters if needs be.’
The murmur of agreement around the taproom confirmed that these villagers remembered the magic which she had wielded in Halferan’s defence.
‘We have no need of you here and indeed, your precipitate return would do more harm than good, implying that we do not trust in Khusro’s good faith. Whereas we assuredly have need of you in Col. You can determine what the Jagai zamorin is up to and find out more about this Soluran who’s so keen to stir up mistrust of magecraft.’
‘We? You mean Hadrumal has need of me here. This is no business of Halferan’s. Nor is playing the go-between so that Planir can get his hands on more of those treasures which the Mandarkin coveted. How has he contrived this? Why have you dragged Lady Zurenne into such peril?’
Before Jilseth could reply, the scarlet-rimmed grey mist vanished. She saw everyone in the tavern gawping at the empty air.
‘What happened?’ Abiath quavered.
‘The mage in Col ended his spell,’ Jilseth said steadily.
She must remember to thank Olved, abrasive though she found the mage. She could only pity Hosh who must now be caught between Corrain’s fury and Olved’s scathing refusal to yield to the Caladhrian’s demands that he renew the bespeaking.
‘Some lamb’s wool, Madam Mage.’ The tavern keeper, Mistress Rotharle, appeared at Jilseth’s elbow, setting down a tankard of spiced ale topped with a layer of apple pulp.
‘Thank you.’ Jilseth was still trying to accustom herself to this local winter favourite. It was at least undeniably warming.
She took a careful drink as Abiath yielded to the entreaties of her sewing circle and accompanied them to their preferred table by the tavern’s fireplace.
The rest of the Halferan villagers withdrew into threes and fours, avid to speculate about what they had heard and what might happen the following day.
Jilseth was well content to be left alone. No, that wasn’t true, she realised. She wanted to know what the Archipelagan Kheda would make of this unexpected news of Jagai ships in Col. Would he have any idea why Khusro’s neighbouring warlord sought to hire Caladhrian swordsmen?
But she couldn’t possibly go to the manor to find him tonight. Planir had made it clear beyond misunderstanding that she must not set foot within the gatehouse while the Aldabreshi women were inside the encircling wall. She would have to send a note to Kheda in the morning, asking for a few moments of his time.
She wanted to ask Kusint why some Soluran adept might be encouraging all and sundry to think ill of wizardry. Could this possibly have something to do with the arrogant aggression which that magewoman, the Elder of Detich, had shown towards Hadrumal? But Kusint could know nothing of that, surely?
Jilseth also doubted that she would be able to get Kusint to address such questions with anything more than brusque dismissal. His attention was focused, hostile and suspicious, on the Archipelagans.
She reminded herself that the Forest youth had been enslaved like Corrain and Hosh, even if he had not suffered as brutally or for as long as the Halferan men. The presence of the Aldabreshi must be awakening painful memories. Moreover she’d do well to remember that Kusint was of an age with Hosh while Corrain could be father to them both. It was too easy to think of Kusint as much the captain’s own age, they had been so closely allied in escaping from the corsairs and searching for magic beyond the Great Forest to save Halferan.
Still, she would write Kusint a note in the morning as well, Jilseth decided. If he knew nothing, she could at least tell Planir that.
She had her own questions for the Archmage but she was still undecided about asking them, even in the privacy of the modest bedchamber Mistress Rotharle had prepared for her here in the tavern.
What was Planir doing, now that word of that dawn Council meeting was spreading through Hadrumal’s halls and wine shops?
Jilseth would have asked her friends but bespeaking them had only left her with still more questions which only the Archmage could answer.
Merenel was in Suthyfer, far away in the eastern ocean. She had insisted that she was merely there to help Usara assess how many newfound mageborn the remote islands’ wizards could take on as apprentices, in accordance with the Council’s decision.
That was undoubtedly true but they were close enough friends for Jilseth to know that the Tormalin girl wasn’t telling the whole truth. She must be laying the foundations for some scheme Planir had in mind while Jilseth was stuck here passing messages between Caladhria and Col.
Realising that her feelings were perilously close to envy, Jilseth rebuked herself. Merenel had travelled to Suthyfer the year before and she had made friends among the mages there. Add to that, she was Tormalin-born and those islands were the key stepping stones between the Imperial ocean ports and the untamed wilderness of Kellarin. So Merenel was ideally suited to serve as the Archmage’s envoy. By contrast, as widely as Jilseth had travelled across the mainland on the Archmage’s business these past couple of years, she had never had occasion to visit the islands.
What about Tornauld? Jilseth had been startled to find that he was now in Maubere Inlet, in Lescar’s most easterly province of Parnilesse, along with Mellitha, while Velindre was apparently in the Carifate enclave further south on that coast. The Carifate had been a mercenary stronghold all through Lescar’s festering strife while the now disgraced dukes fought for the mythical crown of high king. What were those sword companies doing now that Lescar’s rebels and exiles had put an end to the fighting?
More particularly, what was Planir doing to encourage those mercenaries to draw the Tormalin Emperor’s eye away from Hadrumal and its hoard of ensorcelled artefacts? To give the spymaster, the Sieur Den Dalderin, more urgent concerns closer to home than Solura? Jilseth hadn’t forgotten her abruptly curtailed exchange with the Archmage after the Council meeting.
Nolyen was still in Hadrumal but he was working with Flood Mistress Troanna, who had summoned the most proficient water-born mages to join in her endeavours to destroy the ensorcelled items. Jilseth had no idea if the Seaward Hall was making any progress. The price of being admitted into Troanna’s confidence had been Nolyen swearing a vow not to speak a word of their efforts beyond those walls.
All he had said was that Ely wasn’t part of that coterie so at least Jilseth needn’t fear the sly magewoman was learning some new and unprecedented wizardry to share with Galen and Canfor while Jilseth’
s own nexus had been scattered to the four winds.
Jilseth washed such sour thoughts away with a swallow of the spiced ale.
Why was she so out of sorts? She should be revelling in the prospect of searching through the Khusro wives’ treasures the following day. If there were indeed ensorcelled artefacts in the numerous chests which had reportedly filled that third carriage, she would be the first mage to lay a hand on them, to see what her wizard senses could tell her. Perhaps she would find some insight to answer Hadrumal’s questions?
Perhaps not. Jilseth ate a careful mouthful of the apple pulp. There might be nothing bespelled to find and she wasn’t at all sure how the Archipelagans would greet that news. Would they be relieved, or accuse Lady Zurenne of some deceit, or at least, of being deceived? Wizardry was so abominated among the Aldabreshi because it turned every natural omen into lies.
She looked up as Fitrel’s voice rang through the tavern.
‘How do we know we can trust the barbarians?’
The former sergeant-at-arms was sharing a flagon of ale with Reeve Gartas. Realising that his passion had silenced the tavern, Fitrel addressed the whole room.
‘They have offered affidavits swearing those are Bann and Damer Forey’s last remains but how can their family know that for the truth? I don’t say they are lying,’ Fitrel said earnestly, ‘but what about whoever gave them those bones? What better way to win favour with a warlord than give his men what they’re searching for? Those barbarians could have dug up any old corpse and no one would be the wiser.’
She could be. Jilseth stared into her ale and contemplated answering the old man. His distress was genuine and she had the magic to put his mind at ease. Necromancy’s arcane spells could reveal the unquestionable truth of the last living moments of those dead men whose bones the Archipelagans had returned.
She only had to offer. Moreover this would be her first opportunity to test her necromancy since the untamed magic surging through that all-embracing nexus had so expanded and extended her affinity. Jilseth longed to discover how much further and deeper her reach had become.
She sipped her ale, tallying up the arguments against making any such offer. Firstly, the dead men’s families might simply refuse her and that could cause ill-feeling among their neighbours who still felt entitled to demand such answers.
Secondly her magic might reveal some truly appalling suffering and death to bring unwarranted distress to those already bereaved.
Third and perhaps worst, the visions which her spells revealed to those brave enough to stand witness might prove that these remains were indeed some stranger’s bones. Giving the lie so publicly to the Archipelagans’ promises of good faith might tip the villagers’ anxiety over the barbarians’ presence into open hostility.
Fourth, the Aldabreshi might hear some rumour of what she had done. Given their hatred of wizardry, that could provoke them into leaving Halferan immediately, ruining any hope of reconciliation between mainland and Archipelago.
The Archmage would hardly thank her for that, after Velindre’s endeavours to make contact with Kheda and to help the Archipelagan devise the arguments which had persuaded the Khusro wives to make this unprecedented voyage.
Jilseth had far better leave those bones to burn on the pyre being prepared on the funerary ground beyond the brook, and no one would ever know the truth of those dead men’s fates.
She looked around the tavern. She saw the covert glances of awe and admiration she had become used to in Halferan. These people couldn’t imagine the power she had at her fingertips.
Did they ever imagine how often she was finding her magic of little use of late? Jilseth had never imagined that she would have such an opportunity to use her necromancy only to find so many compelling arguments against it.
She left the remains of her ale and went upstairs to write a comprehensive letter to Lady Zurenne giving every detail of Corrain’s news from Col. She didn’t hold back from mentioning the Jagai ships or the strange and suspicious behaviour of the unknown Soluran. She balanced that with Hosh’s encouraging report of his dealing with the scholarly healers.
If Jilseth’s own friends and allies were leaving her overlooked and half-informed amid so many uncertainties, she could at least ensure that she didn’t do the same to Lady Zurenne.
CHAPTER TWENTY
Halferan Village, Caladhria
32nd of Aft-Winter
ZURENNE WONDERED WHO felt more ill at ease; herself or Mistress Rotharle. She smiled graciously, nodding with approval at the taproom. ‘My thanks for making us so welcome.’
The tables were draped with white linen and every chair and bench gleamed with diligent polishing. There wasn’t a speck of dust on the floor or a wisp of cobweb amid the rafters. The fire crackling in the hearth had been lit long enough before their arrival to fill the room with welcoming warmth. If time had allowed Zurenne imagined that the walls would have been freshly lime washed, even though the inn wasn’t half a year rebuilt.
‘You honour me, my lady.’ Mistress Rotharle’s eyes still kept darting to the doorway where Kusint and Reven stood.
‘Shall we sit?’ Zurenne tugged at Ilysh’s elbow.
The girl was looking around, making no pretence of hiding her curiosity. In more normal times she would never have set foot inside a common tavern. More than that, as Halferan’s heiress she would have not needed to go in search of a husband. Her visits to the luxurious inns accommodating the nobility on their travels would have been few and far between.
‘Is this just as it was before?’
Zurenne couldn’t tell her. In all her years living in the manor she had never stepped across the tavern’s threshold. ‘Lady Ilysh,’ she said pointedly, ‘we must sit to receive our guests.’
Kheda had been very clear about such etiquette, just as he had insisted that the Khusro wives could not possibly remain within the manor’s encircling wall while Jilseth was examining the Archipelagans’ treasures chests.
Zurenne had been thrown into utter confusion until Kusint had suggested that they commandeer the village tavern for the day. Even then she had been aghast at the notion, until Kheda had approved it, explaining that the brook’s flowing water would be considered a safeguard against magic’s inexplicable contamination.
‘Here, my lady, my lady.’ Mistress Rotharle pulled two chairs out from a table and dusted them with her apron though there was no possible need.
‘Did Doratine did send word from the manor?’ Zurenne was seized with sudden apprehension. ‘You have the almond cup made ready?’
She didn’t want a repeat of yesterday evening’s embarrassment, when she had learned too late that the Aldabreshi shunned ale, wine and every other liquor. Zurenne had only been able to offer the Khusro wives well-boiled well water.
Thankfully Mistress Rauffe had recalled Lady Licanin’s taste for the orgeat that was so commonly drunk in Relshaz and Doratine had remembered a recipe, hurrying to ransack her store rooms for ingredients. Though making the almond syrup was a lengthy process. Had there been sufficient time?
‘Everything is prepared, my lady,’ Mistress Rotharle assured her.
A shadow darkened the doorway and the alewife hurried away to her kitchen.
‘My ladies of Halferan.’ The tall Aldabreshin Kheda entered the tavern with the clean-shaven Archipelagan who was as ever, dressed in a plain, bleached cotton tunic and trews.
Though now he had swapped his sheepskin jerkin for a shapeless, knitted over-tunic such as the village craftsmen wore on cold days in their workshops. Zurenne wondered who he had got that from and for what price.
Master Rauffe had drily informed Zurenne that half the Halferan guard had found some reason to visit family and friends across the brook this morning. She would have to ask what he heard of the villagers’ reactions, seeing the Khusro women and their bodyguards walk the length of their street.
At least Raselle had told her that most of the manor’s household were reserving judgement, given
the show of good faith by the Archipelagans in returning Ankelli’s son, Reeve Gartin’s nephew and Mundin’s grandson. Opinion was more divided over the bones, supposedly those of Bann and Damer, cousins from the village. Though their families had declared themselves content to light a funeral pyre this very evening.
Kusint and Reven retreated from the doorway, as the first two Khusro wives’ bodyguards followed Kheda into the taproom.
‘My ladies of Halferan,’ the first bodyguard said, his Tormalin speech heavily accented as he glanced between Zurenne and Ilysh. ‘Debis Khusro, Patri Khusro and Quilar Khusro humbly request the honour of admittance to your presence.’
‘We are most honoured to welcome Khusro Rina’s noble wives,’ Zurenne nudged Lysha’s ankle with her toe under the table.
‘We are—most honoured.’ Ilysh hastily remembered Kheda’s instructions.
As the armoured Aldabreshi turned back towards the door, Zurenne smiled encouragement at her daughter. Drianon bless them both, she knew how her daughter felt.
Zurenne still found the Archipelagan warriors fearsomely intimidating, even after Mistress Rauffe had told her, torn between astonishment and embarrassment, that the Khusro wives had brought no maidservants.
These warlike men were expected to wait on their mistresses hand and foot, doing every menial service from washing their most intimate garments to emptying their chamber pots. They even asked for blankets to sleep on the floors of their mistresses’ bedchambers like faithful hounds. When Kheda had confirmed this was entirely as he expected, Zurenne could only insist that Mistress Rauffe respect the Archipelagans’ mystifying customs, however disappointed Halferan’s bravest maids might be. To her astonishment, a handful of the most insatiably curious had volunteered to serve the barbarian women.
The Khusro wives entered, wearing short tunics and loose silken trews beneath padded satin jerkins sumptuously embroidered with gold and silver flowers. As well as ropes of pearls, they wore bracelets and necklaces of twisted gold and rings of intricately braided silver framing gemstones to match their silks; opals for Debis, sapphires for Quilar and emeralds for Patri.
Defiant Peaks (The Hadrumal Crisis) Page 25