The Thief's Gamble

Taken from:

The Lost Arts of Tormalin Argulemmin of Tannath Lake

Chapter 7: Priestly Magic

Before the fall of the House of Nemith brought the Dark Generations to our unhappy world, many and wondrous were the arcane arts of Tormalin priests. While we may lament the loss of much that brought grace and beauty to the life of the lost Empire, such arts as these are best left hidden in the darkness of the Chaos.

It is said they could look into a man's mind and read his very thoughts. Most could do this face to face and, more terrifying yet, some adepts could do this from rooms apart from their target, or even, hard though it is to believe, from some leagues away. What the priests could read was dependent on their level of proficiency. A novice might gain merely the sense of his victim's mood, his fear or pleasure. One more skilled could see where such emotions tended and identify the object of terror or lust. The most accomplished priests could pick the very words out of their hapless subject's heads, repeating their innermost thoughts and secrets back to them. Some could even invade a man's dreams, searching his memories and desires, leaving their victims sickened with pain.

By such methods, the power and influence of the priesthoods, particularly those of Poldrion and Raeponin, grew and spread. When brought to answer charges of some crime, few men would have the hardihood to deny evidence given by a priest and if one should, how was he to be believed, when all present knew the powers

of their magics? Can we believe that this power was never abused, that false witness was never given when no man could be believed if he gainsaid a priest? Alas, the fallibility of human nature is one thing that has not changed through the generations.

Once a youth had joined the priesthoods, his life was lived at the commands of the higher priests. Dreadful oaths were sworn in rites now lost to us, doubtless so terrible that no record was kept lest it should be revealed to profane eyes. Fasting and privation was used to purify the body and to break the spirit, bending the will of the acolyte to his master's behests. Should a youth repent of his decision and seek escape, the priests had many magics with which to weave a net around him.

It is said they could speak with each other over many leagues, from shrine to shrine. That which one priest was seeing could be revealed to another, and the face of a man sought by the priesthoods could be carried across the Empire in days. His very steps could be traced by sorcery immune to the vagaries of weather or attempts at deception. The emanations left by his very spirit would be revealed by mysterious means, an unbreakable trail. Small wonder that so few left the priesthood in those days.

Islands of the Elietimm, 2nd of For-Winter

The sun rose higher and we saw no sign of our pursuers which was a relief and also something of a puzzle. The village buzzed with activity and luckily it seemed the demands of living in this place outweighed honouring the dead. This close to Solstice and this far north the days were shorter than any I had known. As noon came and went sooner than any of us expected, I began to wonder if we might be able to wait until the early onset of night and scout out to find a boat. We sat and watched teams of men dragging ploughs across the stubborn ground beyond the village and I realised I had seen no sign of any beast larger than the goats anywhere. No wonder the men attacking us back home had had no horses. Groups of women were gathering what I thought was spite nettle, apparently oblivious to the stinging leaves, and dumping it in a long stone trough. Others were emptying a similar trough and I observed they were retting the stuff in the same way we would treat flax to make linen at home. There was something disquieting about seeing such industry devoted to making cloth out of a weed that everyone at home simply ignored or hacked down as a nuisance.

The children, even the very smallest, were busy — cleaning, fetching, carrying. I could see down into the neat yards behind one group of houses and every one had a pen for some sort of furry animals, not coneys but something about the same size with long bushy tails. Cisterns for rainwater were being skimmed for leaves and the like and every dwelling had a small patch of yard where I could just make out older girls and boys tending greenery. These gardens backed on to each other, separated by thick walls with flues running through them, wisps of blue smoke rising into the sheltered air in lazy curls. No wager, but they weren't growing exotic flowers like the fiercely competitive botanists of Vanam. These people weren't spending fuel to flower lace-purples a week earlier than anyone else, this was survival. Thinking about Vanam brought my ever-present worry about Geris charging to the front of my mind and our inactivity began to press still more heavily on me, the more irritating because I knew it was the most sensible thing to do. The sun marched relentlessly across the sky and I began to worry that I might be forced to go back alone after all.

Ryshad must have seen me fidgeting and came to sit by me.

'Busy, aren't they?' he murmured, nodding down at the village.

'There's something odd about this place but I just can't place it,' I said as one aspect of my discomfort came into focus in my mind's eye.

We stared down the slope and now I was looking for it, I saw what was wrong. 'Where are the old people?' While we could see a few bald heads here and there, a couple of grey and white, as busy as everyone else, there was no sign of the oldsters sitting and gossiping on benches that you find in the smallest village at home.

'Come to that, where are the cripples or beggars?' Ryshad was leaning forward now, frowning as he peered at the bustle of people. He passed me his eye-glass and I saw he was right; there were no twisted limbs, no deformities from old illness or accident, no sign of the everyday bad luck that Misaen puts in so many birth runes.

'I'd say they have either very good medicine or very bad.' Activity caught my eye and I swung the glass over to a group busy around a midden. A gleam of white in the muck shone on the sun and, as I looked through the lens, I saw a spread of bones that looked horribly like a little hand. The implications of this were so unpleasant that the appearance of brown-liveried men over the far crest came as a welcome diversion.

'Don't move,' Shiv said unnecessarily. We crouched in the long grass like leverets afraid of a coursing party.

All activity stopped as the hunting party came into the centre of the village. The men with the gorgets snouted something and the villagers gathered without protest but, for all that, there was no fear in their movements, no doffing of caps and tugging of forelocks like you would expect back home. The leaders of the hunt spoke briefly and I was relieved to see shrugs and shaking heads answer them. The pack stood in a moment's tense indecision then, at a word from their handlers, they spread out among the villagers, visibly relaxing as they drank deeply from proffered jugs. I really wished they hadn't done that since I immediately developed a raging thirst.

'Time to leave,' Ryshad murmured. We crawled towards the far side of the circle, bellies flat to the grass.

Shiv was the first to reach the gap facing the coastal road we'd identified earlier, but a flare of white fire suddenly flashed between the stones. The cursed things rang like temple bells, a great hollow sound like Misaen's own hammer blow. Shiv recoiled with an oath, hugging his hands to himself, face screwed up with pain.

'Arseholes!' Aiten ran at the gap full-tilt, like a man charging down a door. He disappeared unexpectedly over the lip of the rise as no resistance halted him.

There was a moment's confusion as Ryshad and I both went to grab Shiv's shoulder and then stopped to let the other do it.

'Stuff this, move!' Shiv spat at us and we ran all together, heading down the path to find Aiten dusting himself off after what had evidently been a lengthy tumble. He was upright and conscious which is all I needed to know, so I sped past him and led the way down the coast road. The sounds of alarm and pursuit faded as the land fell away before us but I knew we had scant time before the hounds were on our trail again.

Shiv was muttering to himself as he ran. 'How did that happen? There was no magic, those stones were as dead as the bones they put under them. I know I'm not an earth adept but I can tell that much. What did they do?'

'Does it really matter?' I turned to snap at him, my voice suddenly shrill. 'Just run.'

We turned a curve in the road and I nearly ended up wearing a goat as we met another of those inconvenient herdboys. Aiten drew his sword with a steely rasp.

'It's not worth the time.'

'Forget it. They know our direction anyway.' Ryshad and I spoke in the same instant and Aiten settled for swearing at the lad and pushing him into a thorn bush.

I spared a glance for him and realised that Aiten at least had decided the time to be seriously frightened had arrived. I was hard put to disagree but I saw Shiv was still more concerned about his stinging hands and injured pride, and Ryshad was managing to keep his customary cloak of composure, even if it was a little ragged round the edges. I decided I could wait until panic struck the majority before I cast my lot.

The grass gave up in the face of shingle and sand and we came out on to an open strand where the westering sun gilded the shallows of a broad channel split with sand banks. I realised the tide was out; Dastennin must had decided to send Ryshad or Aiten a lucky throw.

'Wait a minute.' I cast around, looking vainly for any distinctive landmarks in scenery at first glance as varied as a field of corn. Curse it, I had seen a map, hadn't I? I forced myself to slow my breathing, ignore my racing heart and concentrate. In a few breaths, I had it — a line of cairns marching down from the forbidding hills opposite and a massive stone something-or-other in the middle of the channel.

'Spy-glass!' I demanded. I used it to study the stones; I was right, the insignia were different.

'If we can cross this channel, we'll be in another domain,' I said crisply.

Ryshad nodded in rapid comprehension. 'Breaking a boundary won't be something done lightly. Even if they don't turn back, they'll need to send word or get orders, surely?'

We were moving as we spoke and Shiv led the way into the icy sea water, eyes intent on staring below the surface to find us a safe path.

'Arseholes!' Aiten had regained some of his usual poise as he took up the rearguard so I stifled a smile when the others momentarily paused for a deep breath as the bitter water reached groin level.

We pressed on. I fixed my gaze between Shiv's shoulder blades, resolutely ignoring crawling fears about where I was putting my feet on the softness of the unseen seabed and how to avoid the unnerving tug of the current. The water level dropped after a while but this was not much of an improvement as the dusk breeze pressed against our wet clothes and chilled us like muslin-wrapped meat in an ice-house. Still, as soon as we were out on the sandbank, we could run, clumsy in wet boots and clothes, but at least it got our blood moving.

The clatter of boots on the shingle made me look back and realise the runes had just landed for the other hand. Shouts rang out over the water. Chief Gorget and his pal were sending men into the water after us. I hated the triumph on their faces but just as I was wishing to kick in their smirking teeth, the two in the lead disappeared, dragged below the surface without so much as time to scream.

'Shiv!' I looked round but he was not facing my way, his hands were still by his sides. His expression was one of numb horror and as I turned right around, I saw why. A spearhead of men in gleaming black leathers had crested the ridge line above us and a white-haired man with a black mace was standing at the tip. His arms were raised above his head and, as the wind shifted, it brought us a dissonant, ringing chant. Dread sank like a stone in my stomach as I recognised the studded patterns and cut of the livery from our encounter in Inglis.

Any panic in our original hunters evaporated faster than I would have believed possible. Crossbows appeared from nowhere and I flinched as quarrels hissed overhead. Some got through but more bounced uselessly off some invisible canopy. The leather-wearers replied with bows of their own and surprisingly effective slings but as a second volley came in, their reply was scattered as a handful fell to the ground like poleaxed cattle, bleeding from ears and nose.

The man with the mace shouted and some sort of acolyte joined his chanting. Suddenly a squad of his men disappeared and yells of outrage pulled me round to see them now somehow on the other side of the water, hacking into the bodyguard around Junior Gorget. Several of them fell back, faces exploding in showers of blood but Junior Gorget was forced to do his own aetheric leap a good way back up the hill. Now he was exposed, the mace-wielder sent blasts of power directly at him. Earth and stones flew into the air and one unfortunate soldier was ripped quite literally limb from limb. White-hair seemed oblivious to the fate of his squad, who were suddenly held motionless and cut to pieces where they stood. Once he'd dealt with them, Chief Gorget tried to hit back directly at his enemy with shafts of blue-white fire. These flared wildly in all directions as they hit some kind of shield around the mace-holder, but a few men took minor wounds from this and, as I watched, surface cuts ripped themselves open into ragged gashes and grazes disintegrated into open sores. Another acolyte stepped forward and redoubled the chant, the tone harsh and bloody.

'Move.' Sword drawn and ready, Ryshad made to lead the way off the sandbank as troops were advancing from either side. I hoped forlornly that they would be more interested in killing each other than us. Perhaps moving was a mistake; we were certainly noticed.

I screamed in sudden shock as irresistible, invisible hands began to pull me upwards. Ryshad seized my thigh as my feet left the ground and I grabbed wildly for his shoulders and curly head. Blue-white sparks crackled in my hair until an icy blast of wind knocked me back to the ground. Strange angular beams of light darted from side to side but were foiled on each pass by the brilliant blue fire shooting from Shiv's hands. Green gleams around us shoved at the advancing soldiers; wherever they stepped, the sand turned liquid and treacherous under their boots.

'Try your old book-magic then,' I heard Shiv mutter savagely. 'I'm in my element.'

Unaccountably dizzy, I clung to Ryshad. We huddled together as Shiv wove a shimmering net of power around us and Aiten drew his sword with an awkward gesture of defiance. Men in brown and black were advancing from both directions now and Shiv began to throw spears of lightning at them, sending them reeling back blackened and hissing as their charred flesh landed in the water pooling on the sands. Now I heard a sob of frustration in his voice as he cursed them; for every one he blasted to Saedrin, the aetheric enchanters were simply lifting two more over the channel, abandoning attacks on each other in favour of the real prize. As I realised this, I wondered if this was the time for abject terror but somehow, it didn't seem worth it.

We stepped back, shoulder to shoulder, facing oncoming death, swords drawn and hands steady. My bowels were turning to water inside me and a scream was trying to rip its way out of my chest without bothering with my throat, but I felt a mad surge of pride.

Shiv let his assault falter for an instant and, in that breath, an invisible hand knocked him backwards, clean off his feet. As a massive purpling bruise erupted across his forehead, he landed, boneless as a rag-doll, on a scatter of rocks hidden in the shallows. Blood stained the water behind his head and I took a futile step towards him.

My feet slipped and stuck under me. I twisted wildly and was held in an impossible position, hanging in the empty air, pinned like a fish gutted and racked for smoking. I waved my arms helplessly but felt like I was struggling in thick honey; I soon lost any ability to move at all. With the last of my strength, I twisted my head to an agonising angle and was just able to catch sight of Ryshad and Aiten. They were caught like me, held motionless halfway through a step and a fall. In Aiten's case, his head was only a hand's breadth above the water; I could see the ripples of his breath on the surface.

Battle cries screamed around us as the real fight was joined, now we were immobilised. The sands blushed red and the charnel smell of slaughter mingled with the salt scent of the sea and the sweaty reek of fighting men. High above I could hear the seabirds crying, attracted to this sudden unexpected bounty. Whatever magic had numbed my feet was creeping up my body; I was feeling increasingly remote from the mayhem all around me. My mother had once dosed me with an Aldabreshi pain-syrup after the surgeon had cut an abscess from my back. I had woken fleetingly in the depths of the night to see her by my bed, face drawn tight as she watched every breath I took, but I had been as far away from her anguish then as I was now from the men dying all around me.

I vaguely realised that the screams were changing, losing any sense of words or coherence. I saw one man in brown turn on his neighbour, and abandoning his sword, attack like an animal with teeth and nails, oblivious as they drowned together in the foam of the returning tide. The wavelets rolled a corpse past me, hands clasped tight on the dagger the man had used to tear open his own throat. Two men staggered across my bleary gaze, each bleeding from a handful of mortal wounds as the madness in their eyes drove them to fight on.

Rough hands grabbed me and I was slung across some leather-clad shoulder, my head bouncing helplessly, studs scoring my cheek. In a brief moment, as I was passed to someone else, I saw the path we had come down such a little time before. Brown-liveried corpses were strewn across the shingle and Senior Gorget was moving among the wounded. Some were being helped up but, as I watched, he came to his junior and with a brief shake of his head and a dagger through the eye despatched him to whatever Otherworld awaited these people. Bloody-handed, he screamed a curse that chilled even my numbed and uncomprehending mind but the pace of the black-clad men carrying us did not so much as falter as they turned their backs on their defeated foes, kicking the enemy dead aside with evident contempt.

I realised dimly that this should frighten me but as I was trying to work out why, the creeping insensibility finally reached the last of my mind and everything dissolved into nothingness.

It was quite some time before it occurred to me that I was conscious again. I could not move, not even my eyes, and it took a while for me to realise the featureless white expanse that I could see was actually a plastered ceiling. That thought hung in my numbed mind for a while and then, as my wits slowly awoke, I began to notice tiny cracks, missing flakes, a spider's web clinging optimistically to an inaccessible corner. I was just getting interested in the textures of the ceiling when I realised my hearing was coming back, not that I'd realised I'd been missing it until then. Footsteps marched briskly along wooden boards some way off to the side and an unidentifiable clatter rose from somewhere below. As I tried to establish what these sounds might be and what they might mean, all with my wits as useless as a three-day drunk's, a tearing scream ripped through the silence, ending with shocking abruptness.

It woke me up more thoroughly than a bucket of stable water. That had been a man's scream, not a yell or shout of outrage, but a scream of pure terror. An instant of fear for my companions filled me but vanished in fear for myself; mentally, the shock of that scream might have made me jump twice my height in the air but in reality, I hadn't moved a muscle. I was as helpless as a stunned hog waiting for the butcher's knife.

In the same instant, almost as if my thought had been a signal, the door opened and I heard the soft scrape of boots on the floorboards. I strained uselessly to turn my head but need not have bothered; the newcomer came over to where I lay and leaned over me so I could see his face.

It was the white-haired man from the beach, the mace-wielder. He was handsome in an angular sort of way. The long bones of his face carried no spare flesh and the skin was drawn smoothly over them, patterned with tiny wrinkles and a few small scars. His eyes were deep brown, almost black, pitiless and as alien to me as an eagle's, dispassionately regarding its prey.

He spoke but his words meant nothing. They carried something of the cadence of Mountain speech and a few similar sounds but, at that speed, I was going to make no sense of anything. I tried uselessly to shrug, to widen my eyes, to turn down my mouth to convey my incomprehension. Unpleasant amusement flickered in my captor's eyes and he spoke a slower mouthful of gibberish with a subtly familiar metre.

Sensation returned to my arms and legs. I felt restraining bands around ankles and wrists anchoring me to a hard table. Twisted muscles all began to protest at once and I found I could now grimace with the pain. The confusion inside my skull began to subside, leaving me with a feeling like the worst morning-after head I've ever suffered and I had to concentrate on not throwing up, a bad idea when you're flat on your back. White-hair was still leaning over me, supercilious amusement in his eyes, and I decided that if I were to vomit, I'd do my best to give him a faceful.

'So, I must welcome you to my home. I hope we can reach an accommodation over your visit here.'

He was speaking Tormalin, not the Old Tongue of books and parchments that he might have pieced together from first principles, but the everyday language of that country, accent flawlessly of the south, dialect that of the merchant classes. Any ideas of petty gestures of defiance seemed suddenly ridiculous.

'You have come uninvited to my domain and I have rather strict rules about that sort of thing,' he continued pleasantly. 'However, you are from Tren Ar'Dryen and that is presently an interest of mine. Information useful to me might well count in mitigation of your offences.'

I frowned over the unfamiliar term: Tren Ar'Dryen? Mountains of the Dawn? Something like that anyway; it struck me as odd that these people should have a Tormalin name for our homelands.

He struck the table by my head with a leathern fist, mail-links scoring the woodwork. 'Please pay attention when I am speaking to you.' His mild tone contrasted chillingly with the violence of his gesture. 'You are travelling with a wizard of Hadrumal and two mercenary warriors,' he went on calmly. 'What is your purpose here?'

I could not think of any useful reply so kept silent. He raised an eyebrow in eloquent disappointment.

'You are working on a commission for Planir the Black. Please tell me what it is that you are doing for him.'

I kept as mute as a statue on a shrine.

'You made contact with the thief Azazir. What did he tell you about the lands of Kel Ar'Ayen?'

As I still made no reply, he leaned closer and I could smell soap and bath oils on him. His breath was fresh with herbs, teeth even and white as he bared them in a threatening snarl.

'If you co-operate, things will go well for you. If you resist, you will wish you were dead a thousand times before I let them release you to the shades.'

This might sound like one of the speeches every black-cloaked villain makes in a Lescari drama but he meant every word and I knew it. He must have seen the fear in my eyes; he smiled in calm satisfaction and turned away to pace the room in measured steps.

'What can you tell me of Tormalin politics at the present? Who are the patrons with real influence? Who has the Emperor's ear?'

Why ask me that? I had no idea and couldn't even have come up with a convincing lie.

'What about Planir? What are his relations with, say, the Relshazri, the Caladhrian Council, the Dukedoms?'

What did I know about any of that? Shiv and Ryshad might have some idea but—

As I framed the thought, his boots scraped to a halt. 'Good, so at least some of you have the right connections. Now, what do you know that's of use to me?'

I tried frantically to empty my mind but he crossed the room in a few swift paces and seized my head in his hands, fingers pressing into the sides of my skull, his breath warm on my face, flecks of spittle stinging my cheeks.

'Don't try and fight me, young woman. I can walk in and out of your mind as I please and take whatever I want. If you resist, you'll just get hurt, so be a good girl and keep quiet, and perhaps I won't kill you just yet.'

The words were those of a rapist and he violated my mind more thoroughly than that perverted bastard in Hawtree could ever have dishonoured my body. He tore away the self-possession of my adult life and stripped bare the child

I had been, frightened and rebellious by turns as I sought to fit in with a world where others had whole families and their own homes. He ripped through precious memories of the happy times with my father and mother, defiling them with his own derision. Having reduced me to a weeping child, he turned to my meeting with Darni and Shiv, forcing apart my memories to extract whatever knowledge he might find useful. His contempt for my ignorance of their plans seared through me but before he could pursue my activities further, I felt a salacious curiosity invade me. The intimacies of my rime with Geris and others were laid open before him and I felt his lascivious amusement penetrating my mind; I felt soiled beyond belief. My very mind throbbed, bruised, swollen and torn, but he continued to force his questing intellect into me until I feared for my reason. It felt like an ordeal of hours though I doubt it took more than a few breaths.

The shock of release was almost a physical pain. He stood over me for a long moment, a repellent satisfaction and satiation curving his thin lips. I clamped my teeth together to stop myself begging, pleading with him not to hurt me, not to do it again, but I could not control the tears that ran down to dampen my hair.

He leaned down again and whispered confidingly into my ear like a lover, 'There's more I want from you. Now decide if you're going to tell me yourself. Or whether you want me to try and find it inside your head again. Or whether you'd prefer I turn you over to my guards.' He pinched my nipple in merciless fingers and I gasped at the pain. 'There are more ways than one to make people talk and, believe me, I use them all.'

He left abruptly and I heard the door lock behind him. As it did, the bands around my wrists and ankles loosened but when I sat up to rub them, there was no sign of any restraints. I stared at the red lines denting my flesh where I had struggled against the cuffs and shook as I realised they had existed only in my mind. I fought to control the hysteria that threatened to overwhelm me, my breath coming in shallow pants like a cornered animal's. I don't know how long I sat there, incapable and incoherent, but eventually the fear receded and I began to hear more normal sounds filtering up to the narrow window of my prison. My grandmother had called it bloody-mindedness, my mother had called me stubborn; I have always preferred to call it strength of character. Call it what you will, it finally dragged me to my feet.

I crossed the room and examined the casement; it was barred, so offered no chance of escape, and in any case, I saw I was four storeys high up a sheer stone wall. It belonged to a keep, square and defensible from the little I could see by craning my neck all around. Below I saw a busy court surrounded by a thick wall, topped with parapet and walkway and regular patrols. We seemed to be some distance from any high ground and on a rise as well; whoever had built this place understood defensive architecture.

I tapped the glass of the window. It was uneven and discoloured but it was still glass. Down beyond the compound, I could see the glitter of a whole range of hot-houses on the south-facing wall of an enclosed garden. I looked down on the patrolling guards, their black leather uniforms patterned with gleaming metal studs. By local standards of wealth, we had to be in the hands of a major player, which had all sorts of worrying implications — for us in our present predicament and later for Planir and whoever else might find these jokers on their seafront. I realised the tall things sticking up in the distance beyond the wall were ships' masts, ocean-going vessels at that.

So what now? I have to admit I came very close to simply giving up. Part of me could see no way out beyond telling what little I knew and hoping for a quick death. Luckily, the larger part of me is the gambler, and that kept reminding me that the game's never over until all the runes have come up. Eventually, I began to listen. I crossed to the door and examined the lock. It was good, but I reckoned I was better. I was about to detach the tongue of my belt buckle, which is incidentally a useful lockpick, when I heard footsteps in the corridor. I shifted quickly to a corner and sank down, head on knees and buried in my arms, the very picture of fear and despair.

It was not the white-haired man but six of his foot soldiers; this had to be an attempt to intimidate me since they surely knew by now that I worked no magic. I looked suitably terrified and believe me, it was not hard. They marched me off wordlessly and we descended three flights of stairs and featureless, whitewashed corridors. In another empty room, an older man in a soft grey robe stripped me with impersonal disdain and gave me the most thorough search I've ever had. The guards watched with occasional flickers of lust but, by this stage, rape was way down the list of things I feared. I'd had worse when I'd had to visit an apothecary with a dose of the itch in my younger, more ignorant days. When the man with the grey robe and the cold fingers was done, they marched me down more stairs and threw me into what had to be the cleanest dungeon I'd ever seen. I was not chained; I suppose they figured a stark naked redhead would be easy to spot if I were to escape.

I examined my new prison. It was about the size of a stablebox and lit by a grating open to a yard high up on one wall. The walls were whitewashed and scrubbed but stains told me blood had once pooled on the floor and spattered the walls. There was a pail, a pitcher of clean water with bone beakers and a basket of bread and cheese; I noticed the floor was warm here too. I had just decided I would have preferred a filthy Lescari forgettory where I might have stood some chance of being overlooked and thus escaping when the door opened again and Aiten was shoved through it.

'Livak!' He was as naked as me but in a far worse state; fresh bruises and cuts stood out starkly across his pale skin and one eye was purpling. He stared at me and the unbruised bits of his face went scarlet as he waved his hands vainly in an attempt to cover himself.

'Don't be a fool,' I snapped. 'Neither of us has anything new to hide, have we?' It was typical that Aiten, with his store of dubious jokes, would turn out to be as shy of naked flesh as a virgin sworn to Halcarion.

The awkward moment was broken by Ryshad's arrival; he had no obvious injuries but looked shaken and drawn and, like me, behaved as if lack of clothes was the last thing he had to be concerned about. His few days' growth of beard stood out starkly black against his unaccustomed pallor.

'Are you all right?' Aiten and I spoke as one as we helped Ryshad to sit down. I fetched him a cup of water but he waved it away with an expression of nausea.

'Have you been taken to that white-haired man yet?' he asked us shakily, unable to meet our concerned glances.

'I have.' I could not keep the tremble out of my voice. Ryshad looked up and I saw my own ordeal reflected in his warm amber eyes. That instant of shared experience somehow gave me strength and I saw an answering spark of determination rekindled in Ryshad's gaze.

Aiten looked at us, fear in his face. 'I take it this is bad?'

'Yes,' Ryshad said slowly. 'And I guess we're supposed to tell you how bad so that the fear will make it ten times worse.' A trace of the usual steel strengthened his voice. 'So I won't. It's bad, Ait, very bad, but nothing you won't be able to handle.'

I wondered at the conviction in Ryshad's tone and from the fear remaining on Aiten's face, he did too.

'So what happened to you?' I wanted to distract him and to find out what I might be facing when the next set of games were played.

Aiten shrugged. 'I was handed over to a handful of them who did their best to knock me senseless. They must have thought they'd softened me up so some rump — some old man started asking questions about why we were here. I didn't say anything so I was stripped and — and searched,' he blushed furiously, 'and thrown in here.'

'Don't feel bad about it, Ait.' I could see it was bothering him. 'Six guards can swear I'm a genuine redhead now. They're just doing it to try and break us down.'

Ryshad looked up from the floor as if our naked state had only just occurred to him. He stared at me rather like a thoughtful horse dealer.

'Did any of them try anything? Do you think any of them might be persuaded—'

'Rysh!' Aiten's tone was outraged.

'It's all right, Ait, honestly.' I put a reassuring hand on his arm. 'Don't take this the wrong way but I'd let them stuff me six ways to Solstice if I thought it would get us out of here. But none of them did so much as help themselves to a quick handful.'

Ryshad flashed me a half-smile. 'Well, that tells us their discipline is better than most troops I've ever met.'

'Sadly,' I agreed with a faint grin.

Ryshad got to his feet and began to examine the cell. As he was looking up at the grating, the door opened once more and Shiv was thrown unceremoniously in. Luckily Aiten was in position to catch him since he was unconscious, hair still matted with blood and clothes stained with seawater.

'How come he keeps his breeches?' Aiten muttered crossly as he laid Shiv gently down, stripping off his jerkin to pillow his head.

'Because there's not much point in humiliating an unconscious man.' Ryshad knelt beside him. 'Which means he's not come round since we were taken.' He looked grim as he examined the wounds to the back of Shiv's head, gentle fingers teasing apart the long black hair crusted with blood.

I shivered. 'I'd be happier if someone wasn't taking the trouble to think things like that through.'

Ryshad sat back on his heels. 'Whoever's in charge here is a clever bastard. Why do you think we're being put together one by one like this? Assume everything is being calculated to disturb us, to eat away at us. And fight it.'

I don't know if we were being listened to somehow, either our words or what we were thinking, but I can't believe it was coincidence that the door opened again a breath later and the guards threw in another limp body.

I recognised the fur-trimmed cloak before Ryshad rolled the corpse over to reveal what was left of Geris's kindly, freckled face. I choked on something halfway between a wail and a scream and clapped my hands to my mouth to stifle any further outburst.

Ryshad came and put his arm around my shaking shoulders.

'It's Geris?' he asked softly, already knowing what the answer must be.

I nodded numbly and then broke into shattering sobs. I had been dreading this moment. Logic had told me to expect it but my gambler's blood had kept urging me on to hope for the kind of improbable ending Judal used to stage at the Looking Glass. I had lost friends before but the danger had been part of the wager, part of the game, and we'd all gone in eyes open. I had not been able to shake the conviction that Misaen would somehow look after Geris, in the same way he cares for drunks and little children. He was too nice a person for anything really bad to happen to, surely?

Grief for Geris welled up inside me and flooded my mind. It fed on fears over my own fate, the shock of the violation I had endured, the sense of failure of our mission for Planir and biting dread at what might happen when this white-haired man led his cursed yellow-heads over the ocean. Irrational guilt that this was somehow all my fault lashed at me; I knew how the world works, I should have taken care of an innocent like Geris. My defences, my hard-won optimism, the hope that we might somehow survive this crumbled utterly. I wept as I had never wept before, sobbing like a little girl whose world had collapsed over a broken doll. I cried until I felt hollow inside, trembling with spent emotion, my head pounding, eyes swollen and sore, insensible of anything beyond the all-encompassing pain of the moment.

Gradually, the storm passed, as all upheavals do. I reached the point where wailing was an indulgence rather than a relief and I became aware of Ryshad's strong arms around me, his masculine scent and the fine curled hairs of his chest that I had soaked with my tears. I drew a deep, shuddering breath and allowed him to sit me against the wall. In some remote corner of my mind it occurred to me that we should all be finding this acutely embarrassing but I really could not be bothered. Ryshad fetched me water and Aiten wordlessly handed me a scrap of linen torn from Shiv's shirt. I wiped my face and leaned back, exhausted. That was when I again wondered if we were being spied upon and a faint spark of anger began to fight back against the chill deadness of grief in my mind.

I looked over at Aiten and saw he was glancing between Shiv and Geris, shame and defiance confused on his face. He felt my eyes on him and bit his lip but met my gaze squarely.

'They don't really need all their clothes, do they? To be honest, I'll be able to think a lot straighter without my stones swinging about in the breeze.'

'True enough.' I fought to keep my voice calm when inside I was screaming at him to keep his stupid hands off my friend and my lover.

Ryshad gave me a glance which made me think he understood my feelings. 'We can't give Geris any kind of burning but we can lay him out and say the rites over him,' he said softly. 'He deserves that, at least.'

So we stripped Geris, washed his poor broken body as best we could and wrapped him in his good wool cloak, achingly redolent of the herbs he'd used to sweeten his linen. I wept again as I saw the ruin of the fine delicate hands that had given me so much pleasure; all his fingers were broken and one had been completely cut away. Nails were missing on hands and feet while soles and palms showed the thin welts of repeated beating with some hard, fine rod. Blisters and burns showed where hot irons had been used on his face, the insides of his arms, and thighs, and groin. His firm, full lips, so well suited to kisses and being kissed, were split and bruised. One of his arms was broken in a couple of places and his jaw and several of the bones in his face were too. He had lost most of his teeth, either smashed or ripped bodily from the gums. Slow tears ran down my face as I closed those soft brown eyes that I had grown used to seeing alert with curiosity and keen with innocent goodwill.

My sorrow was not diminished but my anger mounted as we did not find the one thing I was looking for, the final dagger stroke, the mercy blow that would have released Geris from his agonies. It was not there and I began slowly to burn with a determination to somehow repay the white-haired, ice-hearted bastard responsible, to strike back in some way before I died.

Looking at the shattered corpse that had once been Geris, I finally realised we would never get out of this alive.

None of us had any coin, of course, so we pried dirt from the treads of Geris' boots and made mud to write our names on his palm so Poldrion could record the debt to us. I added Shiv's name and, after a moment's hesitation, Darni's; I didn't think he would mind. We spoke the words of farewell over him, Dastennin's rites proved similar enough to the ceremonies of Drianon that I was used to and I figured Poldrion would know what we wanted. I covered his face for the last time with the hood of his cloak and sat, head bowed, at his side. It was the lowest point of my life.

'Tell me about him.' Ryshad handed me Shiv's over-tunic as he laced on Geris' breeches and sat beside me.

I shook my head in mute pain but Ryshad gripped my arm and I looked up to see intensity in his face and tears standing in his eyes.

'Talk to me, tell me what he was like, remember the good things, the happy times.' A single tear fell down his cheek, unregarded. 'If you don't, you'll only ever be able to remember him like this. I sat with my sister while she sickened and died with the dappled fever and believe me, I know. I couldn't see her past her death pains for a year or more. That's what started me on Thassin.'

I could not think what to say but Ryshad persisted. 'I never knew him. Do you think we would have been friends? What was he like?'

'He was a good lad, genuinely good-willed,' I said eventually. 'Quite innocent in some ways; no idea of the real value of money and too trusting for his own good. He was loyal, loving.' My voice shook.

'Were you…' Ryshad did not know how to continue but I knew what he meant.

'We were lovers but more by accident than anything else,' I said frankly. 'I think it meant more to Geris than it did to me. He's from a big family and from what I saw, he loved children. He may have had ideas about settling down with me but it would never have come to anything.'

Regret for the loss of something I'd never actually wanted was stupid but it still cut me like a knife.

'Saedrin, who's going to tell his family?' Fresh tears tumbled down my face; I would not have believed I had any left in me.

'Were they close?'

'I think so. He talked about them a lot.' I was suddenly uncertain. How much had I really known about Geris? It hadn't seemed important before; now I wondered what I might have found out, if I'd taken the trouble.

I told Ryshad about Judal and the Looking Glass, about Geris' endless curiosity, his artless chattering on about everything and anything, Calendars and Almanacs, different systems of electing kings, writers ten generations dead and burned. As I talked, I realised how incompletely I had known Geris; where had his fascination with his stupid tisanes begun? I wondered. I recalled the fight at the Eldritch ring, Geris' bravery and his unexpected coolness in a crisis; where had he learned such courage?

When emotion threatened to choke me, Ryshad countered with his own stories, talking about his brothers and his lost sister, about horses he had owned and scholars he had met, anything that followed on from what I had been saying.

I don't know how long we talked. The room darkened and later was illuminated by the glow of torches from the yard above but, at the end, I was calm and Geris was at least alive in my memories again; I could see him as I had known him, not as the broken thing at the side of the room. Geris had told me the Aldabreshi reckon no one is truly dead until the last person who knew them is dead as well. I realised I might have some idea now of what they meant.

The Guest-house at the Shrine of Ostrin Bremilayne, 2nd of For-Winter

Allin sighed at the triangular rent in the knee of Darni's breeches. She was sitting in the window seat, knees drawn up, glancing intermittently out into the narrow rain-dark street. She thought she'd escaped tedious tasks like doing everyone's mending and she did miss the hard, clear winters of Lescar, so unlike this drizzly place. A knock at the door startled her and she hastily put her feet to the floor, straightening her skirts.

'Come in.'

'Good day.' A man about Allin's father's age opened the door, lowering a wet hood to reveal neatly cut dark hair and a clean-shaven face. 'Are you Allin?'

'Of course she is.' A shorter man pushed past to warm himself at the meagre fire; he shed a tattered cape to reveal disordered grey hair and a ragged beard, and turned piercing blue eyes on Allin.

'This is a piss-poor fire, lassie. Ring for more coal!'

Allin didn't like to admit she hadn't dared to.

'Never mind that.' The dark man smiled at her, his grey eyes kindly. 'We're here to see Casuel and Darni.'

Apart from the Gidestan accent, he reminded Allin of her Uncle Wan-in. 'I'm afraid they're both out at present, sir. Can I tell them you called? You could leave a note.'

She put her sewing aside, remembering the social graces her mother had striven to teach her. 'Shall I ring for wine or tisane?'

'Thank you, wine would be very welcome.' The dark man hung their cloaks on the pegs and went to warm himself. His hands were white with cold, nails blue-tinged.

Allin clasped her own hands tight together and went to ring for a maid. The echo of the distant bell rolled around the silence in the room.

'Are you seafarers?' Allin hazarded an attempt at polite conversation.

'Of a kind.' The little man shot her a wicked grin and, to her chagrin, Allin felt her inevitable blushes rising.

'We are wizards, colleagues of Darni and Casuel.' The dark man smiled at some private amusement.

The door rattled and saved Allin from having to find an answer.

'Fine, tell me something I don't know, Gas!' Darni stormed in.

'Good day.' The dark man turned from the fire and Allin was treated to the rare sight of Darni at a loss for words.

'There's no—' Casuel's words trailed off as he entered. 'Planir?'

He swept a hasty bow and Allin managed a ragged curtsey before her knees failed her and she landed on the window seat with an audible thump.

'Archmage, Cloud-Master.' Darni made the deepest and most sincere bows Allin had seen him perform yet. 'You are very welcome.'

'What have you done about a ship?' Otrick scowled at him.

Darni scowled right back. 'No one's prepared to risk the currents, the storms, the sea-monsters, you name it.'

'Messire D'Olbriot is going to see if he can negotiate something for us,' Casuel added hastily.

'I'm sure someone would change his tune if Messire started issuing a few direct orders,' Darni grumbled.

'That's not how things are done in Tormalin,' Casuel snapped, before he remembered himself and looked nervously at Planir. 'Pardon me, Archmage.'

Darni ignored him and turned to Otrick. 'Who else is with you? How many swords?'

'At present, it is just the two of us. We thought we should come on ahead,' Planir answered with a glimpse of authority which stifled the waiting questions on Darni's lips. 'I was concerned about the potential problems of acquiring a ship at this time of year.'

'I'm sure we'll manage, I mean, Messire D'Olbriot has offered us every co-operation and I'm sure he'll get permission for us to approach other sailors,' Casuel insisted.

'If D'Olbriot's mariners won't sail in this season, I can't see any others agreeing.' Planir's tone was gentle enough but Casuel still looked as if he'd been kicked in the shins.

'Right, then we'd better try someone else.' Otrick rubbed his hands together gleefully.

'Who else is there?' Darni was clearly puzzled.

'Pirates!' Otrick said with relish.

The door opened before anyone could respond and the maid looked curiously round.

'Wine, please,' Allin said faintly. 'And more coal,'

'May I ask how your discussion involves pirates?' Esquire Camarl stepped around the maid and took his time hanging his wet cloak over a chair.

'Oh, Esquire, that is, well, my, that is…' Casuel looked from Otrick to the young noble in an agony of indecision.

'Esquire Camarl D'Olbriot,' Darni stepped forward, 'may I introduce Planir, Archmage of Hadrumal, and Otrick, Cloud-Master of the New Hall.'

Camarl swept a low bow which Planir returned while Otrick contented himself with a curt nod.

'I was saying that the only way to get a ship at this season is to ask a pirate.' Otrick's eyes shone with a challenge.

'That is an interesting proposition,' Camarl said cautiously.

The wine arrived and Camarl took his time adding warm water and honey; Planir joined him, which effectively silenced Darni.

'It is certainly possible that a pirate would agree to put to sea when a regular mariner will not.' The Esquire sipped his drink. 'However, we should have to pay an extortionate price for that rather dubious privilege.'

'Coin's not a concern,' Darni said robustly, refusing water for his wine and tossing it down.

'I confess I would not know how to contact a pirate.' Camarl shook his head with a slight smile. 'My acquaintance has been limited to watching them swing on dockside gibbets.'

'Oh, I can take care of that. I've sailed with half the rigging-slashers in these waters.' Otrick grinned with relish at the shocked expressions all around him.

'I can see that you find this a startling proposal,' Planir said smoothly as he looked around the room. 'However, unless any of you have new thoughts, I fear it is our only remaining option.'

There was a glum moment while everyone exchanged enquiring glances and rueful shakes of their heads.

'But what's to stop some pirate just taking us out of sight of land, cutting our throats and dumping us overboard?' Casuel burst out suddenly.

'Me, for a start,' Darni snarled. 'Saedrin's stones, Cas, what kind of a wizard are you?'

'Caution is all very well, Casuel.' Planir moved swiftly to fill the awkward silence. 'However, your colleagues are in some considerable peril and we must act swiftly to have any chance of saving them.'

'What do you mean?' Darni looked-at the Archmage in consternation before rounding on Casuel. 'Haven't you been scrying them?'

'They've been captured, you oaf.' Otrick was barely Casuel's height but he still shrank away from the old mage's contempt.

'I've been, that is, I meant to, but there's been so little time…' Casuel's voice rose to a despairing bleat.

'It does seem to have happened rather suddenly.' Planir moved to sit at the table, breaking the circle which was closing in on the hapless Casuel. 'That's why we've come on ahead.'

'That, and so you could avoid all sorts of awkward questions in Council!' Otrick sniggered as he refilled his cup.

Casuel looked horrified as Darni and Camarl laughed with him.

'Sadly, that is also true.' Planir winked at Allin, who was watching the whole conversation wide-eyed. She giggled, caught by surprise, and clapped her hands to her mouth, mortified.

'Right, if you've quite finished flirting with the new talent, oh revered Archmage, let's go.' Otrick drained his goblet. 'You'd better stay behind, blossom. If I take a pretty girl like you to the places we're going, I'd like as not have to pay to get you back!'

Otrick caught up his cloak and marched out. Planir swept Allin a florid bow and sauntered after Darni and Camarl, leaving Casuel hovering in the doorway like a badly trained footman. He lifted his chin and tried unsuccessfully for a look of quelling disapproval.

'Don't you get yourself into any foolishness,' he snapped.

Allin managed to wait until he was out of earshot before she laughed.

Casuel looked wildly round until he saw the valiant green of Esquire Camarl's cloak heading down the hill. He made after them hastily, nearly slipping over on the wet cobbles of the steep street.

'This way.' They followed Otrick down a narrow alley where the houses looked like heaps of boulders that had unaccountably sprouted chimneys. The ordure underfoot grew more and more acrid, while heaps of refuse whispered with the rustle of rats. Inn-signs were clearly out of fashion in this neighbourhood but the doorpost formed into a crudely carved woman holding a flagon between her naked breasts conveyed her message clearly enough.

'Here we are.' Otrick gave the whore a familiar slap on her smooth wooden buttocks.

The others followed, Darni scowling blackly, Camarl's expression a well-schooled blank, Planir smiling as if he were enjoying some private joke and Casuel patently horrified.

The buzz of conversation stopped dead. Casuel trod on Darni's heel as the bigger man stopped, folded his arms and glowered at the assembled company.

'Stop looking as if you're daring someone to spit in your eye, Darni,' Otrick said acidly. 'If I wanted to start a dog-fight, I'd have brought a mastiff.'

Darni transferred his gaze to the assorted women hovering around the rickety stairs and his look became more of a leer. One came over, her bodice sporting a frill of dirty lace which patently failed to conceal the rosy jut of her nipples.

'Hello, old man. Haven't seen you here for a good few seasons.' Closer, the daylight betrayed the wrinkles beneath her whore's rouge.

'I've been busy, sweetheart.' Otrick waved an expansive hand.

Darni sat stiff-backed on a settle against the wall; the Esquire and the Archmage took stools, conveying an impression of being completely at ease, although Camarl did betray a certain loss of poise when he turned in response to a tap on his shoulder to find himself looking straight down the cleavage of a rumpled blonde, bending down to offer him a cup of wine.

'Thank you.' He took the cup and offered the girl a copper which she dropped between her grubby breasts with a slow wink.

'This is certainly a side of Bremilayne I haven't seen before,' Camarl murmured to Casuel who was sitting, knees together and cloak clutched round him. Casuel nodded and sipped absently at the wine, astonishment replacing his expression of distaste.

'What did you expect, Cas?' Otrick laughed. 'Free trade is all about getting the best goods without paying coin to all the middlemen!'

The harlot in Otrick's lap giggled like a girl and stroked his beard. 'We certainly offer the best here.'

'Our time is limited, Otrick,' Planir reminded the old wizard, with a touch of steel in the velvet smoothness of his manner.

'Now then, sweetheart, I'm looking for Sanderling.' Otrick clasped the trollop round the waist.

The whore's eyes were wary. 'He was in here a few nights ago but I haven't seen him since.'

Otrick squeezed her thigh with a knowing grin. 'Just tell him Greylag was looking for him.'

'If I see him, I'll tell him.' The woman nodded.

Planir rose and bowed. 'Thank you for the wine, madam.'

He handed her a discreet handful of silver which caused a rustle of petticoats round the stairs. Otrick slid the whore off his lap and stood for a farewell squeeze of her buttocks and a lengthy kiss. The others made their way outside and waited for a moment, blinking in the daylight.

'Fancy coming back later, Darni?' Otrick wiped his beard, eyes bright blue with mischief.

'I'm a married man, Cloud-Master,' Darni laughed. 'I don't think Strell would thank me for the sort of gift I could get for her in there.'

They soon regained the wider streets of the more savoury quarter of the town and were able to walk abreast.

'I'm curious, Cloud-Master Otrick,' Camarl began hesitantly. 'Sanderling and Greylag are birds' names, aren't they?'

'Would you use your real name if you took to free-trading?' Otrick's eyes flashed at the young noble.

There was another silence.

'What exactly was your involvement with these pirates?' Planir asked delicately. 'Everyone's curious but I'm the only one with the rank to ask and I feel it may not be a tale fit for young Allin's ears.'

Otrick chuckled with an evil grin. 'You don't get to be called Cloud-Master by sitting under trees and throwing handfuls of leaves into the breezes. Out there on the deep ocean I've learned more about the winds than any mage alive. How else do you expect we're going to go after Shiv and your men?'

Camarl looked at Planir. 'I've been meaning to ask you about that. I really can't see how we can hope to arrive at these islands in time to be of any assistance.' The Esquire's face was serious, the unconscious authority of rank in his words. 'I can't see how we can hope to make such a crossing in under twenty-five days.'

Planir looked casually around before answering. 'Trust me, Esquire, if need be we can cross that ocean in as many chimes.'

His voice carried absolute authority.

Camarl nodded. 'So, what do we do next?'

'We hope Otrick's old shipmate makes contact and all prepare for a sea voyage,' Planir replied crisply. 'In the meantime, I contact Kalion and a few others in the Council and we hope they find this minstrel's tale sufficiently intriguing to come and join in the fun.'

The Ice-man's Keep, Islands of the Elietimm, 3rd of For-Winter

We might have gone on talking round the chimes but Shiv began to stir and groan. Aiten had been sitting silently by him after borrowing his breeches, checking his breathing and heartbeat from time to time and squeezing water into his mouth from a scrap of linen.

'How is he?' I held Shiv's hand, feeling useless once more.

Aiten shook his head. 'We won't know till he wakes, that's the problem with head injuries.' His calm tone reassured me. 'Still, I can't feel a skull fracture and, to be honest, if he were going to die, I reckon we'd be seeing him sinking, not stirring.'

It still seemed like half a day before Shiv finally opened his eyes and they were blurred and lazy when he did. His pupils were different sizes and when he tried to sit up he began retching helplessly. Some water helped and we managed to make him more comfortable but it was a while before he could talk.

'Just relax, go with it,' Aiten said firmly. 'Your wits have been knocked halfway to Saedrin and it'll take a while for them to get straight again.'

I could see the helpless frustration on Shiv's face so I gripped his hand. 'We're not going anywhere.' I hoped no Elietimm soldiers would turn up to make a liar of me.

He coughed. 'I take it we're in some dungeon?' he said with a weak flash of his old humour.

I shrugged. 'Compared to some of the lock-ups I've been in? I've stayed in worse inns but yes, we're locked in.'

Shiv focused on Aiten with obvious difficulty. 'Either you've fallen under a herd of pigs or they've been trying to get information.'

'They are keen with their questions, I'm afraid.' Ryshad hesitated. 'They've got ways of getting inside your head too.'

Shiv groaned and not from pain. 'So they're users of aetheric magic? We were right?'

'Sorry.'

'So what do we do now?' Ryshad looked around at all of us questioningly.

I held up a hand. 'Should we talk? I'm sure the Ice-man, that white-haired bastard, was somehow listening in to my mind.'

Aiten and Ryshad looked at each other and at me uncertainly.

'It's well past midnight,' Shiv said weakly, eyes closed. 'I can't find a wakeful mind anywhere close. Anyway, what choice do we have? I don't fancy sitting here in silence until they come for us again.'

'Can we get out of here?' Aiten stared dubiously at the grating, now just a pattern of paler shapes against the darkness as the torches above had been quenched. 'Where do we go if we can?'

I went to examine the door and found another lock, well secure by local standards but only a challenge to me since I'd be working without tools. I looked thoughtfully at the bone beakers and wondered how much effort and noise smashing one would take.

Shiv shifted himself with an effort and grimaced. 'If we can get out of this room we need to find a hole to hide up in until I can contact Planir. Once I've made the link he can get the Council to meld power through him so I can get our warning across at very least.'

'Could they get us home?' I tried not to sound too beseeching.

Shiv sighed. 'Perhaps, but it's unlikely. I can't lie to you.'

Aiten and Ryshad covered their disappointment well but I actually felt my spirits rise. Some chance is better than none and I'm a gambler. As long as I didn't ask Shiv the odds, I could kid myself they were worth the throw; after all, it's only the long runes that get you the heavy coin.

'Could you hide us, Shiv?' Ryshad asked after a moment's thought.

'I think so,' he replied slowly. 'I've been thinking about how they might have been tracking us and I reckon I can create some illusions to throw them off the scent for a while at least.'

Ryshad nodded. 'If we stay in or near the keep, they shouldn't be able to pick us up so easily.'

'Every castle I've ever been in has dead space and places to hide.' Aiten's expression had finally lightened a little so I did not see any profit in pointing out the basis of this plan was about as solid as a horse trader's warranty.

'We need to reconnoitre.' I looked at Shiv. 'You're not going anywhere fast so we need to know where we're going. If I can get out and scout the place while they're all asleep, I can look for a good place to hide up.'

Ryshad did not look convinced and I wondered if he was making a guess as to my real intentions. I did not meet his eye but crossed over to the door and peered at the lock again.

'Ait, can you try and break one of those beakers? I need long splinters, not too fine at the ends if that's possible.'

Shiv coughed weakly. 'I think we can do better than that. People clearly don't do much by way of breaking out of lock-up round here; any Watch back home would never have let me keep my boots.'

He chuckled softly and I looked down at him with faint exasperation.

'Check the seams, Livak, inner and outer.'

Sudden hope warmed me as I picked at the stitching with careful nails and slid out four fine steel probes with neatly shaped ends.

We turned our head to the door in a single movement to see if any eavesdropping bastard was going to come bursting in but, after a long moment of still silence, I dropped a soft kiss on Shiv's forehead.

'I'll be able to go anywhere in the place with these. We may even be able to get right out of here.'

'Be careful.' Ryshad looked sternly at me.

I gave him a faint echo of my old smile. 'When am I anything else?'

Before Ryshad could pursue me or his suspicions, I was out of there and padding noiselessly in my bare feet along a corridor lined with more cells to either side. We seemed to be White-hair's only guests at present, which was a relief. Cold draughts reminded me I was still only wearing a woollen tunic but that was an irrelevance at the moment. I had more important things to think about and, with Shiv's lockpicks in my hands, I could do a lot more than I had been hoping.

I would certainly look for a place where we might hide, and more importantly I would find the quickest route out of there. Whatever Shiv might say, I had no faith in his ability to conceal us for any length of time. It was not that I did not trust his capabilities, but these people had skills we knew nothing about. How in Saedrin's name was Shiv supposed to counter them? The Ice-man's confidence had me convinced of his pre-eminence in this strange magic and we were in the heart of his lands. Even if we did get out of here, where would we go? His hounds would be after us before we had gone half a league and, with Shiv so weak on his feet, we would be wounded deer waiting for the final arrows.

Drianon might be smiling on us so it was worth a try, but I intended to make more valuable use of my time while I was loose in the sleeping keep. I climbed swiftly up the back stairs, resolutely quelling fear as I passed the room where I had been held; there was no time for such luxuries. Pausing at each door, I listened carefully for sounds of any sleepers within. This was easier than most places I work where I have to contend with the night sounds of a busy town and I was soon confident none of the rooms on this level were occupied; these were rooms for business, not living. My confidence was returning after so long feeling like a spare horse tied to the wagon tail; Shiv could spell rings round me if he chose and I was never going to equal Ryshad or Aiten with a sword, but I'm still the best I know at discreet investigation.

Still, no harm in checking; caution keeps you alive. I went up one more flight of stairs with agonising caution and felt the carpet under my feet grow thick and softer at the turn. I swept careful toes from side to side and found it reached the walls here. This was luxury — were these living quarters? By now my Forest sight was used to the faint light filtering through the narrow gaps in the shutters and as my eyes reached the level of the floor above I made a brief survey of the hallway. I could see the warm sheen of polished wood, a bright glimpse of blue ceramic, the rich sparkle of a bronze mirror hung on a far wall. Our host might only have been reckoned middling wealthy back home but I judged he was the biggest cock on this dunghill. So, he not only had ambition but the talents, magical and otherwise, to make things happen his way.

Moving with all the stealth I could muster, I listened at the nearest door. After a long moment of silence, I heard the faint rustling of bed linen as someone stirred, the creak of a bed then stillness once more. Was it the white-haired, ice-hearted bastard who ran this place? I flexed my hands in preparation before remembering I had no blade. Had I had a weapon, I would have been in there and slitting his throat without a moment's pause. Perhaps it's a good thing I was unarmed but I'm still undecided on that one. I would probably have lost my life but I would give a sack-weight of noble coin for a chance to sink a blade into that evil neck, then and now. Would one of the lockpicks through an eye or ear do the job? Perhaps, but it wasn't enough of a certainty to be worth the risk. A good gambler knows when to throw and when to hold the runes. Anyway, I had no idea who else lived here; I could find myself having to silence some woman or child and I don't like unnecessary killing.

I stamped down hard on pointless frustration and slipped silently down the stairs again, ears alert for the slightest sound. There wasn't so much as the hint of a patrolling guard within the keep and when I pressed up against a crack of a shutter to squint down into the compound, I could only see a couple of sentries doing little more than stamp their feet occasionally against the cold. On an impulse, I promised myself that if by some god's grace we got away from here, I would come back with Halice, Sorgrad and Sorgren, Charoleia too if she was free, and pick this place clean, just to show the bastard the point in taking decent precautions.

Indecision hovered around me for a few breaths and then I

set to work on the door next to the room where I had been held. For White-hair to hear my thoughts and reach me so fast, he must have been somewhere close. Perhaps, but it hadn't been in that room, I decided, after opening the second set of ledgers. Saedrin knows what they where about but numbers are numbers, whether they're Tormalin or Mountain script. I investigated the door on the far side and this looked more hopeful. This lock was the best I'd seen outside Relshaz, decent steel and well oiled. It was good but I am better and my efforts were soon rewarded. The room was a study or library; I slipped in and carefully locked the door behind me; I didn't want to be disturbed.

Tapestries of undyed wool softened the walls and muted the draughts. It would have been churlish to criticise their limited range of colour as they were beautifully worked, intricate patterns in all shades of brown from nearly black to palest beige. Thick rugs caressed my painfully chilled toes and the furniture was smoothly carved wood, glowing with beeswax and seasons of devoted polishing. The gloom was a problem and I wondered about light; I soon found a candle-end in a fine Gidestan silver stand and decided to risk it. Was any sentry going to question a light in his master's study? I didn't think so, not here, whatever the hour.

I looked around in vain for steel, flint, spark-makers, anything. Impotent with frustration, I tried all the desk drawers but found nothing beyond pens, ink and knives. I took the sharpest; it wasn't much but it was better than nothing. The smell of beeswax teased at my memory and I had a sudden inspiration. Staring hard at the wick, I whispered at it, 'Talmia megrala eldrin fres.' Glee quite inappropriate to our plight thrilled me when it leaped to life. Get a grip of yourself, I told myself sternly, you wanted light, now use it. My spirits rose absurdly for what seemed like the first time in seasons.

Now I could see better, I studied the packed bookshelves. Volumes of Old Tormalin histories were arranged by reign; there were collections of letters, works of natural philosophy, ethics, drama, endless volumes. I recognised some of the names I had heard Geris mention and realised much of the trove of books and treasures that the Ice-man had stolen from us had to be here. I was hardly in a position to reclaim anything.

I turned my attention to the desk and sat in the softly padded chair to examine the neat stacks of parchment. I was not too concerned about leaving any traces; what was the worst that could happen to me, after all? I could be captured and tortured? That was hardly news. I was still convinced we were all going to die here; what I wanted to do was somehow knock the axle-pins out of this caravan before it got on the road. This was partly for Planir, and partly in a general sense for all my friends and family who might fall foul of these people if they invaded. But mostly I was looking for revenge, to pay the bastards back for what they had done to me and for Geris' lonely, agonised death. I ignored the small voice in the back of my head that wanted to remind me that looking for revenge was what brought me here in the first place.

I was considering setting fire to everything but I decided to wait until I had scouted a way out of the keep for us all, when we could make best use of the distraction. I would take a quick look and see if I could glean any useful information. Tidy minds seemed to be bred into these people like long legs on a deerhound and I soon identified the different stacks of notes. Ice-man had much the same information on the Inglis coast as the commander of the brown liveries but less on the Tormalin coast, which was the faintest suggestion of good news. What he did have was a large sheet dedicated to the collapse of the Empire, the years marked down the centre and events noted on either side. This was clearly something he'd been working on for a good while; the edges were a little ragged and the entries were written in a variety of inks. He seemed particularly interested in the activities of the various noble families Azazir had said were involved in the founding of Kel Ar'Ayen. Underneath I found genealogies and other records, clearly pieced together over a long period.

Another sheet had names of various Tormalin, Dalasorian and even some Caladhrian cities on it. Each city had its own list of people attached and numbers beside each name. It meant nothing to me initially and I put it aside for another list of the

Elietimm domains here in these islands with what I eventually decided must be personal names associated with them. Some were crossed through, with numbers written by their sides.

I stared at both lists until a new picture emerged, like one of those Aldabreshi carvings that are a tree from one side or a face from another. If I were looking to leave these rocks in the middle of the ocean, I'd be looking for information about the place I was going to; I reckoned White-hair had quite a network of informants back home and, by the look of it, was paying them well. I looked thoughtfully at the second list. Rivalry here was intense and since no one seemed inclined to take an enemy on face to face, I'd bet assassination was a popular option. Maybe, maybe not. Wouldn't that mean they'd have guards up to the rafters, like a Lescari noblewoman trying to avoid 'marriage' by abduction? I'd seen no sign of that. Perhaps they had magic defences they could use? I shrugged and put the lists aside; there was no time for this.

Another stack proved to be sheets each headed with the name of an Elietimm domain. I couldn't make any sense of them even though I was regaining familiarity with the angular Mountain alphabet, so I moved these to one side and reached for a pile I judged more recent by the shade of the ink. A chill crept up my back as I recognised Ryshad's name and picked out the names Zyoutessela, D'Olbriot and Tadriol in the notes. I couldn't blame him for giving up the information, knowing the Ice-man's methods, but I was concerned to see just how much the bastard seemed to have picked out of Ryshad's head. The sheet headed 'Aiten' had a few terse lines and it seemed he had not got much of real worth out of me either. I didn't exactly know much worth having, did I?

I turned over the page and my hand shook suddenly as Geris' name leaped off the page at me. I could not face trying to decipher the record of his interrogation so put it quickly aside and stared stupidly for a moment at what I had uncovered. Several sheets were covered in neat Tormalin and I recognised Geris' expensively educated script. What had I found?

'Calm down,' I scolded myself. I quelled my trembling hands and forced myself to breathe more slowly until the words emerged from meaningless jumble in front of my eyes. It proved to be a carefully presented discourse on the collapse of the Empire. I skipped the references to writings and people I knew nothing about but, in the careful argument, I could hear Geris' enthusiasm and learning so clearly that it brought tears to my eyes. I blinked them away crossly and began scanning through the document for anything useful for those of us still alive. A mention of aether caught my eye and I read that passage more fully.

Having studied the works of Trel'Mithria and the annals kept by the Order known as the Hammers of Misaen (now lost in the Western Lands), it is apparent that magic in the Old Empire was predominately that which we now refer to as aetheric. Elemental magic was a subordinate science deemed of little practical use. This aetheric magic draws on the potential for power contained within the minds of individuals which explains its affinity with forms of mental communication and control which are unusual in elemental magic.

'Stick to the point, Geris,' I breathed as I skipped a few paragraphs speculating on mental powers in legend and tradition.

The power is enhanced when a number of minds are focused on one object. The evidence of Argulemmin and Nemith the Learned proves that religion provided that focus in both the Old Empire and the Ancient Elietimm cultures, which explains why priests were the main practitioners of such magic in those days.

And explains why these bastards were razing every shrine they came across back home. There was a complicated passage of Rationalist argument and Geris was even speculating that our ideas of gods may have originated in no more than early and especially proficient wielders of aetheric magic. There was more in the same vein but I scanned ahead until a mention of Kel Ar'Ayen halted me.

From these passages, taken from the Elietimm histories, the existence of an eastern continent and the location there of the Tormalin colony of Kel Ar'Ayen cannot now be denied. If the following evidence from the Annals of Heriod can be taken as accurate, it suggests the battle for control of these lands was bitter and heavily reliant on magic.

I skipped swiftly through the densely detailed argument proving this, it meant little to me and I was prepared to take Geris' word

If we accept the amendments of Gar Pretsen and add the Elietimm record, it is clear that when the Tormalin settlers were finally trapped they struck not at the magic the Elietimm were wielding but somehow at the source- of their power. However in doing so they not only removed the foundations of their enemy's magic but those of the Tormalin Empire back home. Aetheric magic in the western lands never recovered in the chaos that followed the disintegration of the Empire or in the subsequent Dark Generations. The Elietimm clan system, however, continued to provide a mental focus for the loyalties of the inhabitants and so a reserve of power, albeit seriously diminished, for the practitioners of aetheric magic who were both priests and rulers.

I ignored the passages which followed, detailing the state of religion in Tormalin and elsewhere at home. If we needed priests and faithful to give us aetheric magic to fight these bastards with, we were lost before the Elietimm had even landed. I couldn't think of anyone I knew under middle age who did anything more devout than keep a few festivals and make their oaths by some or other deity. Priests didn't need to worry about the arguments of the Rationalists turning people away from religion; apathy was doing a fine job on its own.

I ignored the rest of Geris' neatly argued treatise, intensely depressed. So now I had answers. Did that help me? Would it help Planir, even supposing we could get any of this information to him? Would he be able to get any co-operation from the Emperor? If he did, could Tormalin and the wizards hold off an invasion backed by unknown magic? Half the Dukes in Lescar would probably ally themselves with the Elietimm just to get an advantage over their rivals and, by the time the Caladhrian Council of Nobles had debated the matter, they'd have the Elietimm camped at their gate houses. Saedrin knows what the Aldabreshi would do but I'd swear it would be anything but co-operate.

As I straightened the piles of documents, a new thought ignited fierce anger inside me, driving away these fruitless musings. Geris had spent time here, he had been given the run of these books, had been asked to write down his conclusions. He had to have co-operated. There was no way he could have done this kind of work with his skull full of the Ice-man's control. I could hardly blame him, given the situation he found himself in. Had he bargained his learning for freedom? Perhaps, but I guessed being let loose among so much information had been a powerful temptation in itself.

Had he expected to be killed once he'd finished the job? I hoped not; I would have anticipated it but I would probably have still gone along with the game, hoping for a lucky throw of the runes to get me out. If I looked at it from White-hair's point of view, killing Geris made sense; no point risking him telling all to a rival or getting free to take Elietimm information home. That was all very well but if Geris had been co-operating there had been no point to the torture, no reason for it that I could see other than black-hearted sickness of mind. Stuff it, I just didn't have time for this. I seized any papers that I thought might prove useful — might as well be flogged for a loaf as a slice after all — and snuffed the candle end and left.

I stood in the corridor wondering which way to go when I noticed another fine lock. Given my history with secured doors and boxes, it can come as no surprise that I was in there in a few breaths. A smile cracked my dry lips when I saw I had found our clothes and some of our gear. You'd have thought these would have gone as booty but Ice-man obviously kept his troops on a tight rein, or he was keeping our presence a close secret. A number of items had been unpicked or cut apart but it seems shirts and breeches are the same the world over and were of little interest. I was in my breeches and boots faster than a lover who's heard the husband's horse ride up and quickly sorted out Ryshad's and Aiten's.

Saedrin seize it, there were no weapons. I looked around the room; there had to be some close at hand, I was certain of it though I could not have told you why. Crossing to the window to crack open the shutter for some light, I found a deep wooden coffer in the embrasure. Once I had it open, steel, silver and gold glinted in the starlight.

'Thank you, Poldrion,' I breathed in exultation.

The swords were not our own but anything with a handle and sharp edges would suit me. There were two good blades, heavy and longer than the usual, as well as a handful of daggers. Lack of scabbards and belts was going to be a problem but we'd just have to live with that; a sword in each hand certainly improved my morale.

A noise outside froze me to the floorboards. Through the crack in the shutters, I saw the sentries meet at the top of the stairs to the parapet. A second pair were coming up and they paused, presumably to swap notes, before the original two hurried down, doubtless to warmth, food and sleep. I squinted round the edge of the shutter to follow them and saw the bright glow of a brazier as they went into the gate-house. I scanned the stars; Trimon's Harp was directly overhead and if guards were changing the shift again we had to be well on the way to dawn. Nights here might be long but I didn't have time to waste. I quickly rummaged among the velvet packages at the bottom of the coffer. One turned out to be full of rings and I shoved two or three on to all my fingers; there had to be some people around here who'd take a bribe.

I swept quickly round the room in case I'd missed anything but all I found was a privy closet in a niche behind a curtain. I had turned to ignore it when a thought struck me. I looked at it, at the ewer of water standing ready to sluice it, and then peered down into the privy itself where an open drain fell away into darkness. I'd heard of water closets, though never seen one, but this seemed to be halfway between that and the seat, pail, box of ashes to shovel in after yourself arrangement that I was used to.

Water. I racked my brains but I couldn't think of any standing fresh water that we'd seen on our trip. Come to that, the streams we'd crossed had been mean little things and that village had had rainwater cisterns on every roof whereas I couldn't remember seeing a well, not in the open anyway. This was a rich household but while they might have water to spare for rinsing out the privy, I'd wager that it was put to further use after they were done with it. I decided to follow both that thought and the drains.

I found my way rapidly to the lower levels, moving cautiously in case of wandering servants. They were conspicuous by their absence and I wondered briefly why this was but came up with no answers. A cat prowling for vermin nearly gave me a seizure when it silently rubbed round my legs but other than that the place was deserted. I don't know where the kitchens were; the lowest levels of the keep were bathing and laundry rooms. As I had hoped, these all had large drains set in the middle of sloping floors and it was quick work to prise up a cover. I checked a few and sure enough, they were all heading south. It took me a few moments to get up the courage to crawl along one but the pressure of time was now beating relentlessly on the back of my head.

These drains were large, and I supposed they had to be in a place so obsessed with washing. Small hand- and footmarks in drifts of silt also suggested that hapless maids or children were sent down here to keep them clear. I could move along easily enough but I was a little concerned about the others. Aiten should be all right, as should Shiv, despite his height, given his skinny build. Ryshad might find it a squeeze but if it were a choice between risking a few grazes and getting out of this cursed place, I felt sure he'd opt for the former. I pressed on, hopes rising as the drains joined and continued to head south. My nose told me when a foul-water sluice joined the flow but I could not let that stop me. I tried to keep out of the mire and made a mental note to warn Aiten; we couldn't risk him getting this shit in his cuts, else they'd fester in no time.

With the load I was carrying and the necessity of walking bent double, my back was aching fiercely and my eyes straining uselessly in the dark when I came up against what I first thought was a corner. I felt carefully round the walls but it soon became apparent it was a dead end. So where was the water going? I reached reluctantly under the surface and discovered a spread of smaller pipes; this was clearly as far as I could follow. So why have such a large space here? Why not spread the pipes out before this?

After racking my brains for what seemed like an age, I felt above my head. After a few false starts, I found what I suspected must be there — a hatch. I pushed at it cautiously but it had no fastening and when I had it open just enough to see out, I found I was in the walled garden with the hot-houses. I bit down on an exclamation of success and concentrated on looking all around to see where we might go from here. We would have to be careful over a route, I realised. The tall winter-killed stems of a corn crop were coiled around with the remnants of bean plants while the ground was covered with the flat leaves of something I didn't recognise. Three crops on the same ground; in other circumstances it would have been admirable, but here all that concerned me was the potential for noise in such a dense mass of dry vegetation. I identified the outer wall and was delighted to see a postern gate in it. It was barred and bolted against intruders but that was no problem since we would be leaving, not entering. The unwelcome scrape of boots on the wall walk reminded me of the sentries and curbed my elation. I frowned; would Shiv be up to masking us with a concealing illusion, if only long enough for us to get through the gate and clear of the walls?

Delay gained us nothing. I hurried back as fast as was silently practical and scolded myself sternly as I felt optimism rising irresistibly within me. I had a route out, we had clothes and weapons, and I was starting to think we might actually have a chance of getting out of this bear-pit.

'Be realistic,' I told myself. 'Whose bell are you ringing? What you've got now is a chance of dying on your feet with a blade in your hand and that's the best you can say.'

Maybe so but that would be a cursed sight better than dying at Ice-man's hands with him ripping through my head, or under his tame torturer's irons. I shivered as I remembered some of the passages in Geris' writings, the bundle cold against my skin as if the inhumanity of the words had soaked into the very parchment.