However anyone studying wizardry soon knew of Sannin and not merely for her glorious chestnut tresses, her shapely figure flattered by her elegant gowns in every vibrant shade of red.
For the last decade and more she’d travelled between Hadrumal and the mainland, wherever and whenever some curiosity hinted at an elemental mystery as yet unfathomed by wizardry. Pupil mages would swap stories of their studies being sent down unexpected paths after Sannin had accosted their mentor. Apprentices longed for such a privilege.
Jilseth had also heard more than one middle-ranked fire mage, indiscreet after a glass of white brandy, looking forward to the day when she might serve as their Hearth Mistress.
‘You’ve been working quintessential magic.’ Jilseth was surprised into uttering her sudden realisation aloud.
Planir’s smile deepened the creases around his eyes. ‘You think we should let Kalion run around stirring up trouble without keeping an eye on him?’
Sannin laughed with rich amusement. ‘Forgive me.’ She waved an apologetic hand. ‘But the notion of our esteemed Hearth Master running...’
Jilseth couldn’t help a smile. The thought of Kalion hitching up his flowing mantle to scurry across a courtyard was funny. Which was all very well but Planir had summoned her. ‘You sent for me, Archmage?’
He nodded. ‘Indeed—’
A sonorous bell interrupted him. It tolled a second time, and a third, the sound rolling across the rooftops to echo back from Hadrumal’s towers.
‘The Council bell?’ Herion looked puzzled.
Rafrid leaned his weight on broad, workman-like hands as he stood up from the table. ‘Kalion’s been threatening to summon us for days.’
Sannin rose to her feet. ‘Shall we be prompt to unsettle our esteemed Hearth Master or tardy so he can irritate as many people as possible with his pomposity?’ The glint in her eye spoke of no great respect for the Master of her affinity.
‘Does it matter?’ Planir turned to Jilseth. ‘We’ll talk later. Let’s see what our honoured Hearth Master wishes to lay before the Council today.’
‘Archmage.’ Jilseth moved aside to let the other mages through the doorway.
‘After you.’ Planir gestured.
As she went ahead, Jilseth noticed him locking his door with a brush of his fingers. She couldn’t recall seeing him do that before.
He didn’t lock the door at the base of the tower. As they walked out into the sunshine, Jilseth could taste the dusty heat rising from the flagstones. For-Summer still lay ahead and then the Solstice festival, when the full heat of the year would bear down on them. Thankfully Hadrumal’s encircling seas would soften its ferocity.
The four wizards and Jilseth walked out of Trydek’s Hall’s outer quadrangle in silence. The Council Chamber wasn’t far, a modest building compared to the later edifices hemming it in. The sweeping curve of its walls defied their rigid angles, undaunted by their lofty towers.
The bell tolled one last time, no rope to stir it. Only the magic of those granted a Council seat by their peers could give it voice.
The age-darkened oak door stood ajar, mages of all ages and affinities filing through it and up the stairs beyond. As she followed Planir and the others, Jilseth noted spots of rust on the iron banding. She brushed them away with a scour of magic.
A second door at the top of the short flight of steps was further slowing the assembled wizards’ progress into the council chamber. Questions rose to the barrel vault.
‘Were you told of this meeting? This morning?’
‘Comair mentioned getting a note. Did you?’
‘I thought we were gathering tomorrow? That’s the turn of the season.’
‘Perhaps Kalion misread his almanac.’
‘Oh, I knew there was something in the wind.’
Jilseth shifted to see who said what. Sannin caught her eye and leaned close to confide in her ear.
‘Walever’s pretending he’s more important than his friends might realise. But Kalion has definitely been gathering allies.’
Jilseth nodded. She could see for herself how many faces showed no hint of surprise but rather expectation and even some spiteful anticipation. Were they expecting to see Planir finally worsted?
Sannin strode ahead, skirts flowing seductively as she headed for her own seat on the far side of the round Council Chamber.
Forty-eight seats, the number fixed by Trydek himself. When a vacancy arose through death or retirement, each new council member inherited a wooden chair set in a niche carved into the stonework. The pilasters between each one soared upwards, branching into an austerely beautiful vaulted ceiling.
Jilseth ran a finger over the moulding of the doorframe. Like those niches and the roof vault, the golden stone had been carved by magic, not tools. She never came here without wondering which early mage sharing her birthright had wrought such beauty.
Despite the lack of any record, some insisted it must have been Loynar, first Stone Master and staunch ally of Trydek. Jilseth would have thought a Stone Master had more urgent calls on his time. She liked to think that some lesser earth mage had taken on the tedious task of fitting the masonry close together against whatever storms might buffet the island, in return for the opportunity to work such glorious artistry with his, or her, magic.
Not all the encircling wall was carved. On either side of the door three chairs stood against plain stonework, for the ease of any guests or witnesses invited by the council members.
Jilseth wasn’t going to get a seat. Canfor and Ely already occupied two of them. Galen was standing beside them, glowering at the oblivious back of a thin-faced magewoman in blue. Perched on the edge of the third chair she was intent on her conversation with a balding wizard absently combing his beard with stained fingers. A double handful of other men and women were trying not to block the doorway. The Council rarely saw so many attending their deliberations.
Forty eight council members and one Archmage. Jilseth watched Planir cross the flagstones, pausing to greet someone, to lay an apologetic hand on a silken sleeve, to acknowledge a knot of self-conscious wizards breaking apart as they saw him approach.
He skirted the dais in the middle of the room. A ball of magelight hung above the stone platform, offering illumination as bright as the sun outside this windowless room.
‘Are we all present?’ Planir didn’t need to raise his voice to command silence. Those wizards who’d been deep in conversation broke off and quickly headed for their chairs. While every seat was filled, Jilseth noted more than a few proxies. Every council member had the right to send such a representative, though in theory any wizard deemed worthy of this coveted rank should be able to return to Hadrumal the instant they heard the Council bell. Quintessential magic would carry its ringing to their ears, however many thousand leagues distant they might be.
Jilseth looked across the room to Sannin and saw her own questions reflected in the fire mage’s face. Why weren’t those mages here? To stay aloof from whatever quarrel Kalion might try to force on the Archmage, or to avoid lending Planir their support?
She looked as discreetly as she could at Flood Mistress Troanna but saw nothing in the thickset woman’s face to give any hint as to what she might be thinking. Not that that was in any sense unusual. Troanna kept her own counsel more effectively than any other mage of Hadrumal.
Planir nodded. ‘Let us secure against interruption.’
Every seated mage looked at the entrance. The door’s metal bonds shone with subtle magelight. Running together like quicksilver and glowing like molten bronze, the iron remade itself into a solid sheet.
Jilseth looked at Canfor, Ely and Galen. Even quintessential scrying wouldn’t penetrate the ancient enchantments warding this place, so they must be present to see whatever transpired. With luck one of their faces would betray something useful for Planir’s purposes. That said, Jilseth realised, she didn’t know what Planir’s intentions might be.
‘Hearth Master.’ Planir wasted
no time, gesturing towards the central platform. ‘You summoned us here.’
Kalion was more than ready for this challenge. He strode to the centre of the chamber and stepped onto the dais so promptly that Jilseth would swear he used a jolt of ensorcelled air beneath his kidskin half-boots.
He spoke without preamble. ‘All of us in this chamber know how thoroughly Minelas has disgraced wizardry by offering his sorcery for hire to Triolle, even if that knowledge is not yet common gossip in the wine shops.’
He shot a warning glance at those standing by the door.
‘When we last gathered to discuss this shameful episode, we could hope that mageborn and mundane alike might long remain ignorant of the details. Our Archmage assured us that all who knew the truth could be trusted or otherwise convinced to remain silent.’
He shook his head. ‘Alas, he was wrong. There’s a man in Caladhria, one of Lord Halferan’s household, who’s escaped from the corsair galleys and returned home.’
Kalion paused to allow astonishment at that to run its course, his fleshy lips pressed tight together.
‘This man knows that Minelas was a wizard. He saw magic openly used to kill and to betray Lord Halferan to these corsair raiders. Minelas had taken their gold as well as Lord Halferan’s coin, long before he sold himself in Lescar.’
Kalion paused once again to allow indignation free rein. Then Rafrid rose to his feet a scant breath before the Hearth Master would have continued.
‘Minelas is indeed proven a traitor thrice over,’ he said dourly. ‘I offer no excuses as to why those of us sharing his affinity had no inkling of his true depravity.’ He looked around the chamber. ‘It may be offering hay to a dead donkey but I’ve let it be known I’m eager to learn of any straws in the wind that we might have noted in the past. I will share my conclusions in due course.’
As he moved to sit down, Kalion drew breath. This time Herion beat him to it.
‘Thank you, Cloud Master. All those of us involved in the governance of Hadrumal’s halls—’ his sweeping gesture encompassed almost everyone present ‘—will do well to learn whatever lessons we may from this sorry business.’
Kalion flushed with annoyance. ‘A far more immediate concern is this disgrace spreading across the mainland!’
‘You fear this captain will tell tales?’ Sannin evinced more doubt than concern. ‘How far can one man’s voice reach before its echoes fade away?’
Satisfaction narrowed Kalion’s eyes. ‘We are no longer dealing with one man’s voice. This captain of guards is rallying troops from every neighbouring—’
‘Excellent.’ Planir clapped soft hands.
‘Archmage?’ Kalion rounded angrily on Planir.
Planir stood up, entirely at ease. ‘We’ve long hoped that the Caladhrians would form an alliance to safeguard themselves.’
‘Quite so, Archmage,’ Rafrid agreed. ‘The news of their sufferings has distressed me sorely; for all that I acknowledge Hadrumal’s edicts make it impossible for us to offer aid.’
Jilseth was pleased by murmurs of agreement on all sides. Then she caught sight of Galen’s obdurate expression and looked a second time, for those who didn’t share the Archmage’s satisfaction.
‘Whatever success this alliance may or may not achieve,’ Kalion said bitingly, ‘this captain will be spreading word of Hadrumal’s disgrace to tens of men, to hundreds before he’s done. What of wizardry’s standing on the mainland then?’
Sannin raised a hand, silver bracelets sliding down her forearm. ‘This remains a tale of only one man’s misdeeds. We’ve all encountered a bad egg from time to time. The folk of the mainland know as well as we do that one cannot tell the addled from the wholesome still in the shell. I don’t make light of Minelas’s crimes, far from it.’ She offered Kalion an elegant bow. ‘I will keep an open ear on my travels to see how much discredit is laid to Hadrumal’s account. But we must address the most serious questions first. If you’ll forgive more kitchen wisdom, one bad apple can spread rot through a whole barrel. We must make certain that no future pupil mage’s lusts evade our suspicions as Minelas so clearly did.’
Jilseth saw the magewoman’s words prompt widespread agreement.
‘Quite so.’ Kalion said, with ill-concealed irritation. ‘But to return to our disgrace on the mainland—’
‘How thoroughly are we insulted?’ Rafrid was on his feet again. ‘What do your mainland allies say, Hearth Master?’
Jilseth was intrigued to see Kalion’s already high colour deepen.
‘I have no specifics,’ he replied stiffly.
Rafrid folded his arms. ‘Then what prompts your concern?’
Kalion squared up to him. ‘I am reporting what I have seen on the mainland.’
‘Through scrying?’ Rafrid looked pointedly at Ely over by the door.
‘Obviously,’ Kalion said testily.
‘Your nexus has had no success with auditory enchantments?’ Rafrid’s gesture taking in Canfor and Galen provoked a wider murmur of interest and some indignation.
Jilseth tried to assess who had already known of the Hearth Master’s quintessential magic. Some Council members hadn’t looked seriously affronted.
‘Not thus far,’ Kalion admitted with ill grace.
‘Forgive me, Cloud Master, Hearth Master.’ Herion rose though Rafrid showed no sign of sitting down. ‘What prompted you to scry after this man in the first place?’
Kalion lifted his chins. ‘I have been scrying along the Caladhrian coast since the turn of For-Spring, to gauge these corsairs’ depredations. I think a case can be made for intervention which doesn’t challenge Hadrumal’s historic edicts.’
More than one groan rose to the vaulted roof.
‘That debate is done and dusted.’ A white-haired fire mage withered by his years reached for his silver-topped cane. ‘If you wish to waste your time again, you won’t waste mine.’
‘Master Massial, by your leave,’ Sannin interjected, ‘I see a far more pertinent question. What will these mainland barons think, Hearth Master, when they discover you’ve been spying on them? You know how jealously the Caladhrian parliament guards its dignities.’
Rafrid was on his feet again. ‘They’ll be wondering where you’ve blabbed their secrets. You speak often enough of your friends among the noble and wealthy from Selerima to the Tormalin Imperial Court.’
‘I do not blab,’ Kalion said indignantly. ‘Nor am I beholden to any mainland prince or power.’
‘But will you convince mistrustful Caladhrians of that?’ Sannin looked anxious. ‘They may even ask where you’ve soldtheir secrets, if they think all wizards are as venal as Minelas.’
Rafrid’s laugh was a harsh bark. ‘I’ll wager any coin that tales of wizardly snooping will spread further and faster than any Caladhrian trooper’s claims of Minelas’s malfeasance.’
Kalion’s chest swelled with outrage. ‘How dare you—’
‘You dared to scry on me.’ Rafrid’s jaw jutted, belligerent. ‘On Madam Sannin, on Master Herion and even on the Archmage. How many more Council members float across your minion’s scrying bowl?’
Jilseth saw Ely pale at the disdainful flick of the Cloud Master’s hand. Galen scowled.
‘It’s a shame you weren’t scrying after Minelas,’ Sannin observed unhappily.
‘That’s hardly fair,’ Herion objected. ‘No one had reason to suspect him, as we’ve already established. Unless you’re proposing that every mage be subject to constant scrutiny?’
There was an instant of silence as the assembled mages tried to decide whether to laugh at that ludicrous notion or to voice their disapproval in case anyone might seriously consider it.
Planir stood up. ‘We are not here to question the Hearth Master’s motives. He acts, as he always has, in Hadrumal’s best interests.’ The Archmage looked pensive. ‘If we cannot get the measure of mainland sentiments through our own magic, perhaps we should consider alternatives. Aetheric adepts—’
‘Artifice?’ Appalled, Kalion jabbed a fat finger at Sannin. ‘She fears mundane outrage if they discover that we keep watch on their coastal waters with our magecraft? How much more offended would the mainlanders be, to have their innermost thoughts rifled through from afar?’
Jilseth saw more than half the wizards shared the Hearth Master’s astonishment that Planir should suggest such a thing.
‘You misunderstand me.’ The Archmage raised placating hands. ‘I would never advocate such a gross intrusion. But our friends in Suthyfer tell me that Artifice can read a gathering’s mood without any need to invade an individual’s thoughts.’
‘That would require a gathering of Caladhrians who’ve heard this trooper’s tale.’ Herion looked thoughtful. ‘As well as an Aetheric adept brought from Suthyfer.’
‘I think we can learn all we need to by more usual methods,’ Sannin objected.
With most of the wizards nodding, one of the youngest councillors raised a hand. At Planir’s nod, he stood, his aptitude for elemental air discreetly declared by his unbuttoned grey jerkin’s sapphire lining.
Jilseth remembered his name. Urlan, a mage who divided his time between Hadrumal and the distant ports of Tormalin’s east coast, using his skills to guide ships across the far ocean to the unexplored lands beyond.
‘Our friends and colleagues in Suthyfer have discovered many ways for Artifice and elemental magic to complement each other. We should not be so quick to dismiss aetheric magic merely because its mysteries are closed to us. I would not be standing here if Artifice’s healing hadn’t salvaged my broken legs.’
Jilseth recalled hearing he’d suffered appalling injuries when his ship had fallen foul of a catastrophic storm.
‘That’s another debate which I have no wish to revisit.’ An ancient magewoman rose laboriously to her feet. Despite the heat outside she was wrapped in a mossy cloak. A mage by the door stood up, ready to hurry forward and assist her.
‘I have no interest in mainlander affairs.’ She looked around the great chamber, her sunken eyes glittering. ‘Let us not forget why Archmage Trydek brought his first apprentices here, those men and women in whose chairs you sit. Look at the defences enveloping this hall which they wrought with the first quintessential magic, blending their spells in desperation born of fear for their very lives.’
Dangerous Waters Page 20