“If I have to cross the ocean, I’d rather do it in a well-built three-master with the mightiest of the Council subduing wind and wave, I have to admit,” Shiv grinned back at me. “It’s a sight better than that fishing boat, isn’t it? Even Livak only got a little seasick.”
I didn’t want to discuss Livak at the moment. “When will the rest of us be going ashore?” I nodded at the ship’s row-boat, which was unloading a group of mercenaries on the nearby beach.
Shiv frowned. “There still seems to be some disagreement about that. Most of the mages want to stay aboard for a while, let Halice and her—er—‘associates’ scout out the terrain first.”
“Surely the search would get done faster and more effectively with magic to help?” I turned to Shiv, puzzled.
He shook his head ruefully. “I think it’s going to take a while for my esteemed colleagues to become used to working cooperatively with fighting men, whatever Planir may require of them.”
I looked along the rail, to where Halice stood with the commander of the mercenary force, a massive man called Arest with an uncompromising attitude and an ill-educated Dalasorian accent. Lack of education didn’t mean lack of intelligence however; his narrow eyes were alert with practical cunning, and from what Livak had told me he’d been a major player in the endless games of the Lescari wars for a good few years. More importantly he had no problem treating Halice as an equal, leaning his blunt head close to hers as they discussed their next moves. I wondered briefly if they might have been lovers at some stage; they had that air of familiarity about them but discarded the notion as irrelevant. I looked at Halice’s leg, now much straighter and able to bear some weight, though still far short of being fully healed. I wondered what part she would be playing in this particular game.
When Planir had got his decision from the Council and instantly set about organizing this voyage, he had been momentarily wrong-footed by the discovery that all his own most valued agents, men whose skills and sword arms were retained for his use by liberal amounts of coin, were absent on other commissions. It had been Halice who had suggested looking for mercenaries spending the Summer Solstice in the Carifate. It seemed the battles of Aft-Spring and For-Summer between Parnilesse and Triolle had been bloody, vicious and inconclusive, hardly a surprise in itself, and the self-declared neutral region around Carif had been full of the disgruntled remnants of scattered corps, looking around for a hire that offered them a better than even chance of ending the summer with coin in their hands, instead of as ashes in an urn.
Halice had made herself extremely useful to the Archmage, using her many contacts to weld together a troop of hardened fighters sharp enough to have seen the way the fish were running and get clear of the futile slaughter that was overwhelming the central dukedoms. The roll of Raeponin’s runes had brought bloody chaos back to Lescar once more after a few years of comparative peace. I spared a thought for Aiten’s family, hoping Messire’s gold was giving them either a measure of security or the means to flee.
Shiv and I watched a second group of fighting men and women getting their gear together, tightening straps and adjusting sword-belts. The mercenaries were a battered lot, I had to admit, which was probably what was disconcerting the wizards. Nearly all bore scars on faces and hands, old and white as well as new and purple, some ugly and puckered, betraying a lack of the skilled treatment a sworn man can justifiably expect. Their clothes were mostly leather, black and brown with only rare touches of color, covered with cloaks of fur and crudely tanned skins rather than the good broadcloth that a true patron provides. 1 stifled a pang of muted sorrow, remembering Aiten arriving to take service with Messire in similar rough attire.
“Halice was saying these are among the best she could hope to find.” Shiv smoothed his own immaculate tunic unconsciously and adjusted the ornate silver belt buckle that Pered had given him before we left. “It doesn’t look as if they spend much of their loot on clothes, does it?”
“Who needs to look smart to fight? I reckon their money goes into their swords.” The quality of the weapons each warrior carried had been the first thing I had looked for. “Workmanship like that doesn’t come cheap.” The ragged and stained garments worn by the mercenaries contrasted sharply with their armor and weaponry, ready for anything they might discover in this untrodden land. Most wore two swords as well as daggers in belts and in boot tops, while many carried bows, a mace or a spear and more besides. Well-honed metal scattered bright reflections from the hot sun, in sharp contrast to the dull sheen of plate and chainmail, newly scoured free of the biting rust that had gnawed at the metal on the long voyage, fed by the damp, salt air. I was having to burnish the steel of my mirror almost daily if I wanted to shave without cutting myself, but at least my own armor required little maintenance.
Arest started down the ladder into the ship’s boat and Shiv and I both involuntarily held our breath as rope and wood creaked with protest under his weight; the man wore a full hauberk and coif, greaves and vambraces, as well as carrying swords, a shield and a pack. He reached the boat and sat on a bending thwart without mishap and we breathed a sigh of relief.
“I wouldn’t fancy anyone’s chances of dragging that lot off the river bed if he went in!” Livak said cheerfully as she came to lean on the rail next to us. I turned to her with a smile. I’d seen precious little of her on this voyage as she’d rapidly allied herself with the mercenaries, leaving me tied by my oath to continued attendance on Planir.
“What do you reckon then? Do they look as if they’d be useful in a fight?” she asked me, a tentative smile on her face.
“I’d say so.” I had been watching the warriors covertly on the voyage, wanting to make sure of the quality of help I’d have at my back, if need be. Most had the cock-on-a-dunghill arrogance that any mercenary picks up along with a sword paid for by the season, but the intensity of the regular drills and exercises they had undertaken with unspoken consent during the crossing had won a measure of my respect. I certainly felt more comfortable with them than I would have with the Archmage’s agents, if the man Darni whom we’d met the previous year was anything to go by. Learning that individual was employing his abrasive arrogance in Solura to further Planir’s ambitions had been no loss. “They look as if they could take on most things and force a draw, if not an outright win. So, what’s the plan?”
“Let’s ask her,” Livak whistled sharply. Halice looked round, raising a hand in acknowledgment as two female mercenaries stopped her with some question. Both were shorter than Halice, one slightly built with masses of curly chestnut hair and a delicate, heart-shaped face curiously at odds with her chainmail vest and crested helmet. The other was one of the few mercenaries not in armor of some kind, wearing stained and patched black leathers with a surprising number of daggers about her person. Black-haired and with an open, friendly expression, she looked as if she should be running a market stall or a busy household rather than hiring out her services to the highest bidder.
Halice disposed of their query briskly and came down the deck to join us. Her gait was more even but still unbalanced, and I wondered again about the extent that her injury had been healed. Was this as good as her leg was to get? If so, her future looked as if it would be in organizing a corps rather than fighting with it. Perhaps this was her start in that line of work.
“So what’s the plan?” asked Shiv at once.
“Rosarn takes her scouts and begins quartering the ruins, trying to get a line on major landmarks and buildings, to get ourselves oriented correctly.” Halice waved at the woman in black who was now poring over a freshly pale parchment with a lad I recognized as one of Mentor Tonin’s pupils, called Parril or something similar. “Minare and his lads are to clear the wharf, try and get an anchorage prepared so we can bring the ship in close and not have to ferry people on and off with the boats all the time.” She looked sharply at Shiv. “That would be a cursed sight quicker and easier with some help from you mages, you know.”
I cursed and clutched at the ship’s rail as my vision suddenly swam and shifted, thickets of matted vegetation vanishing to show me stout wharves of dressed stone where now a crumbled bank slid crookedly into the water, sturdy houses lined up around a flagged market square, unsuspecting people busy about their everyday lives, all unaware of the approaching Elietimm threat.
“What is it?” Livak was watching me warily.
“D’Alsennin,” I said curtly, making a conscious effort to loosen my whitened knuckles. “I’m remembering things he knew here.”
A fleeting look of unhappiness came and went in Livak’s eyes.
“You really don’t like this, do you?” I challenged her, knowing it was probably a mistake but sick of the way she had been avoiding me.
“What do you think?” she spat back. “I know it’s not your fault and I’m sorry for it, but that aetheric magic killed Geris, and it killed Aiten. One of those Elietimm bastards got inside my head and nearly pushed me into madness as well. Just the thought of someone else’s mind lurking inside yours makes my skin crawl.”
“I’ve got it under control,” I replied, just about managing not to raise my voice in frustration and anger.
“I don’t think so.” Livak shook her head, her face pale beneath the freckles raised by sun and wind. “Last time we shared a bed, when you melted in passion, your eyes changed and you called me Guinalle again. I keep seeing someone else looking at me through your eyes, especially when you’re tired.”
I managed to hold my tongue, getting a firm grip on the outraged denial that had to be Temar’s, but that very realization brought the truth of Livak’s words home to me. I saw tears standing in her emerald eyes, belying the firm set of her jaw. I took a deep breath, knowing any more argument between us would be as destructive to us both as two eagles locking their talons in battle only to crash together on to the rocks below. A tremor threatened my composure as I realized I could not say whether the memory of such a sight in boyhood was Temar’s or my own.
Drawing a deep breath, I looked at Shiv, who was shifting from one foot to the other, looking acutely embarrassed. Halice’s expression was unreadable as always.
“Arest will be going with Lessay and his troop,” she continued, as if there had been no interruption. “We want to find some defensible position, somewhere with a vantage point on the shoreline would be best.”
“You want Den Rannion’s steading.” The words were out of my mouth before I could help myself and I gritted my teeth.
Halice looked at me, keen speculation in her hard eyes. “Where’s that? What’s it like?”
I looked landward but the unfamiliar lines of river and shore meant I could not place any of Temar’s memories. “So much has changed.” I frowned.
“The lay of the land shifts over the generations,” said Shiv thoughtfully. “It won’t be so marked on the ocean coast, where you come from, Rysh, but big rivers like this carve the land over time and the sea carries sand along the shoreline with every season.”
I ignored him. “It was a good stone-built hall by the end, with a sound perimeter wall and a gate-house. Even if the roof’s come in, I’d say the masonry should still be standing.” I blinked as judgments learned at my father’s elbow mingled oddly with Temar’s memories of Den Rannion’s sturdily built home. “It was on the other side of an inlet from the main wharf, with its own river access.”
“Let’s see if we can find it.” Halice turned and waved to Lessay, the third of Arest’s troop commanders. He headed for us without further ado, nailed boots ringing on the decking. About a full hand’s width taller even than me, he was thin as a rail, long blond hair pulled back into a ratty braid with humorous blue eyes and an indeterminate accent dominated by recent years in Lescar. I was still finding it hard to see how he and Arest managed to work together so well, given the contrast between the commander’s uncompromising use of his authority to achieve things and the way Lessay accomplished his results with good-humored jokes and encouragement.
“Ryshad thinks he knows somewhere that might make a secure encampment,” Halice explained.
“Go on,” Lessay urged us to elaborate.
I was grateful he was prepared to take Halice’s word at face value; Arest was the sort to test word or coin in every way short of melting it down. Taking a deep breath, I tried to look at the river bank through Temar’s eyes, or was that wrong? Should he be looking through my eyes? I shook my head absently, searching my memory for any dreams of the settlement that Temar had inflicted on me. The scene before me melted abruptly away and the daylight faded to be replaced by a winter’s dusk. Bright radiance put the darkness to flight, warm orange flames denying the chill of the year’s end. The stiffening wind carried the scents of incense and perfumed woods burning on braziers, while more purposeful fires sent the savor of roasting meat into the air. Laughter and snatches of music rebounded from the stony heights to carry the festival to the ships. I flinched as a gust threw a handful of sleet into my eyes, but when I raised my hand I found my face was dry.
“Ryshad?” asked Livak gently.
I looked down at my fingers, the nails blued with cold, now fading fast in the hot still warmth of the morning as Livak laid her own hand over mine in mute reassurance.
“It’s over there.” I looked at the view with new eyes, Temar’s memories overlaying the indistinguishable hummocks and thickets to show me houses and alleys in a disconcerting manner that I didn’t want to examine too closely. “Do you see that crag on the skyline? Take a line down from there—see where the rock outcrops at the water’s edge. The inlet used to run pretty much from that lone tree to the thing with the yellow blossoms. The steading should be just about in the middle of those stands of that long grassy stuff.”
“Let’s get to it.” Lessay let loose another of those piercing whistles the mercenaries used among themselves and waved in the rowing-boat from the shore. “Maraide, Jervice, fetch some axes and the like.”
The longboat was uncomfortably laden when we pushed off from the ship, with entirely too little freeboard for my peace of mind. We landed without mishap, however, and gathered some more help from Minare’s troop, who were only too glad to leave off wrestling with fallen blocks of masonry knee deep in the mud. I led the way confidently across the hidden remnants of the settlement toward Den Rannion’s steading, my feet on oddly familiar ground. My boot heel rang on stone and I halted, looking down to see the flagstones of the marketplace, broken and tilted at odd angles.
“Watch your footing,” I called back over my shoulder, moving more cautiously and testing any slab before I put my weight on it. A curse from behind made me turn and I saw one of the mercenaries up to his shin in a hidden pit of dirty water. Arest drew level with me, sword in hand as he scanned the increasingly dense undergrowth on all sides. A large bird with a curious twisted beak burst out of a nearby bush, squawking in harsh alarm.
“That’s it.” I raised a hand to sketch the outline of the ivy-covered walls, almost invisible against the dense leaves of the close set trees all around, blurred by the man-high grasses that clumped thickly where the flagstones were absent underfoot.
Arest nodded slowly. “Where’s the main gate?”
I pointed with my off hand. “Round past that bush with all the purple fruit on it.”
As we drew closer, the outlines of the steading became clearer and I had to fight to keep Temar’s memories from overwhelming me. I drew a deep breath and concentrated on seeing it as it had been, without letting the waves of sorrow and regret that were hammering at the doors of my mind sweep over me.
“Here’s the gate-house!” The mercenary Minare, a short but thick-set man of unquenchable optimism with the reddish hair of some old Forest blood in his line waved his billhook to summon help. Standing back to let the others hack down the vines and bushes, I saw the still intact arch of the doorway, now low enough to touch as the generations of windblown soil had suffocated the entrance, raising the ground level. The stout hardwo
od of the gate was still there, now dark and immovable, tied close with creepers and debris.
“Should we put it in?” Minare’s usually cheerful face was doubtful as he hefted his sturdy billhook.
“Not just yet,” Arest mused as he looked up to scan the walls thoughtfully, still well above our heads in their shroud of greenery. “We might want it intact. Is there another way in? There’s no point in putting a hole in our own defenses, if we don’t have to.”
About to ask what he thought he might be defending against, I blinked away Temar’s recollection of the Elietimm attack. I thought carefully. “There was a sally port on the off side of the hall.”
Arest took a pace backward and studied the long curve of the wall. “I’d like to know what’s inside,” he murmured to himself.
“Let me.” Livak pushed past a mercenary who was examining a scratched hand with an expression of distaste. She gave the finger-thick vines an experimental tug and grinned at us. “If I start yelling, just blast that door in, will you, Shiv?”
“Be careful.” I stifled a protective urge that had to be Temar’s; I knew well enough how Livak could take care of herself, didn’t I?
“Of course,” she said dismissively as she climbed deftly up the obscured stonework, gloved hands finding fingerholds with the ease of long practice, albeit at getting into other people’s houses uninvited. Reaching the top, she peered over before swinging herself cautiously down to what remained of the walkway.
“This looks a bit doubtful,” she commented. “I think I’ll climb down.”
I glanced around to see a ripe mixture of frustration and anticipation on the upturned faces of the mercenaries all around me as we waited in silence, long moments sliding past like the sluggish waters of the broad river.
“Come on, lads, let’s try and find that sally port.” Minare laid his billhook on his broad shoulder, looking to Arest for his approval. At the big man’s nod, he and a handful of others began slashing down the undergrowth to carve a path around the base of the wall.
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