The Swordsman's Oath

Taken from the First Appendix to the Transactions of the

Merchant Venturers of Col,

Volume 8,

126th Year of the City’s Freedom.

My esteemed brothers in commerce,

This leaves me well and in hopeful spirits, and I hope it may find you in health and prosperity. You will be surprised at this, I do not doubt, given my last missile from the chaos of Triolle.

So, to business. In the debit columns, I will not disguise from you that we face heavy losses. The port at Triolle Bay has been comprehensively sacked by the troops of the Duke of Draximal. The goods and profits of this year’s trade between Triolle and Aldabreshi are now being gambled in the camps and sold to adorn the troopers’ grubby trollops. Moreover, this war of theirs is no mere summer storm; if anyone tells you it will all be settled by Solstice, insist on recording odds at a gaming-house and take that fool for every Mark he has in his strongbox. It may have started with ambition for the throne but it is turning into a struggle for the most fertile land, access to the rivers and the sea, say what you will. I cannot see how Parnilesse will escape being dragged in, and with that the last decent anchorage this side of Tormalin will be no safer than a nest of pirates. Commerce in Lescar is as dead as a man with a sword through his neck.

How then can I be hopeful? Let me explain. This finds me in a tillage called Relshaz, no more than a collection of muddy huts on the delta of the Rel itself. Thus far the place has but one thing to recommend it: its position. Consider the advantages of a port so situated; the Rel is navigable for sizeable vessels as far as Abray and barges could penetrate even further, virtually to Dalasor. A settlement here could draw trade from most of eastern Caladhria, if the word were circulated discreetly, and should commerce in Lescar revive at all such a port would be ideally placed to garner the business and the ensuing profits.

We must be bold and move fast or we will lose this chance to control the future of trade in the Caladhrian Gulf. My sources tell me Lord Metril of Attar Bay wants to extend his anchorage and Lord Sethel of Pinerin plans to build a series on jetties along the Ferl Roads. Both proposals will be put to the Parliament at the Equinox Sessions and in this instance I do not think we will see the interminable talking in circles that those gentry commonly excel in. Both Lords have been working hard to make sure they get the backing to vote them permission; a cunning stroke has been to cooperate. I will do what I can to loose a fox in their hen-run and, in the meantime, you must find the means to start construction of a harbor before the winter storms set in. I know it will go hard with us, to find such coin in this leanest of years, but we must look beyond short-term losses to the long-term gains.

Your partner in trade,

Jeram Gilthand

The Relshaz ferry, Caladhria, 27th of Aft-Spring

No one could decide what to make of Nyle’s interest in my sword, but I was soon confident we’d left that problem behind along with the mule train when we took the road west of Adrulle. This was partly to cut off a long curve of the river and partly to take in a stretch of the Linneyway, to see if we could get any scent of the second group of possible Elietimm. There was no word at any of the inns and we concluded they must have been heading for Ensaimin, if they had in fact been Ice Islanders. I didn’t forget them but I certainly reckoned I could put them to the back of my mind.

Our route took us through a succession of those tedious Caladhrian market towns that become hard to tell apart after a while. Shiv’s mood improved as the mages spent their evenings dabbling in their scrying bowl and determined the Elietimm that had robbed Viltred were still heading toward Relshaz. The weather grew steadily warmer as we moved south; we found ourselves riding through the heat of the days in shirt sleeves and Viltred’s mood improved markedly as the sun soothed his aches and pains. The recent generation’s trend for enclosure had started in southern Caladhria and the land was increasingly regulated and confined with hedges and walls, the stock sleeker and stronger as a result. We saw fewer cows and cornfields and more sheep and vineyards, the towns grew large enough to have slums and beggars and traffic on the road became more frequent. I could almost have convinced myself I was on the road running south down the lee of the mountains toward home.

My own mood improved as the weather and the countryside reminded me more and more of home. With Livak’s assistance I was sleeping more soundly but had no more idea of her feelings, both of us preferring good sex to any potentially unsatisfactory conversation about what the future might hold for us. Finally the dank, murky breath of the great mouth of the Rel was carried over a rise on the morning breeze, a blend of mud, rotting wood, weed and fish. We crested the line of hills that dominated the shore to look down on the glistening city of Relshaz, a dense accumulation of whitewashed buildings clustered securely on a delta between the broad black arms of the river. The silt-laden waters from the hills of Caladhria and the plains of Lescar swept around the city and carried a great dark stain out into the shimmering sea. In the late spring sun the Gulf of Lescar was blue as a bankfisher’s wing as the waves rolled in from the indistinct islands of the Aldabreshi hovering on the far horizon. I drew a deep breath and relished the tang of salt in the air; it didn’t have the clean sharpness of my own rugged ocean coast, but at least it was the scent of the sea.

I soon lost even that suggestion of open waters as we followed the track winding down from the hills. The Spice Road and the River Road meet here in a broad trampled marketplace where some traders opt to do their buying and selling rather than spending time and coin taking one of the ferries to the city. We pressed through the throng of men, mules, oxen and carts with some difficulty, a handful of languages clamoring around us, dust rising to catch in our throats, taking knocks from all sides.

“Let me go first.” Shiv had his own evil-minded horse firmly in hand now Halice had taken the stitches out of his arm and I let him take the lead gladly. The thick-necked beast shouldered a brace of neat-footed mules aside and I slipped in behind, ignoring their owner’s oaths. I was glad Viltred’s horse did not have the brain to be unsettled by the chaos as I saw Livak having to take the harness horse by the bridle to help get it moving. Halice snapped the whip over its ears and it skipped forward reluctantly.

“How long will we have to wait for a ferry?” I shouted above the racket as we drew to a halt by the weed-draped wooden walkway, now beached on the noisome mud as the tide drew the river down into the central channel.

Livak shrugged. “Anything up to a full chime, probably.”

As she spoke the sound of bells carried across the turbid waters.

“I do like to be somewhere with proper clocks and regular chimes,” she commented. I had to agree my own city-bred blood preferred it.

As it turned out, we crossed the river in less time than I had feared, for once I had the measure of the press of traffic I slipped ahead to greet the lading-master, giving him a warm handshake with a Caladhrian Mark in it. When a carrier’s coach rattled down the walkway to the broad, flat deck of a ferry, leaving just enough room for us and our gig, he waved us on ahead of a very put-out wine merchant.

“That was lucky,” Shiv commented.

“No such thing.” I shook my head. “The trick is knowing how things get done on a dockside.”

We stood at the rail and watched the gangs of shackled and sweating slaves pushed forward into their oaken staves to drive the giant capstans that wound the great chains carrying the ferry across the dark and swirling waters of the river, the bustle of traffic waiting to leave the city seething behind them. Mud-covered children skipped and scavenged among the detritus on the exposed flats, hurrying to the ferry as it drew close to the shore, little hands upturned for any coppers.

“You’d think they’d build a real bridge nowadays,” Viltred remarked sourly. “On the Caladhrian side at least.”

Halice joined us, her limp more in evidence than usual thanks to Shiv’s horse treading on her sound foot.

“You can get fined for that kind of talk,” she warned. “Relshazris take their independence very seriously and the river’s saved them more than once. Anyone trying to build a bridge here gets executed.”

I nodded, “I’d heard that—”

“When we get clear of the ferry, we will be heading for the Arril district,” Viltred interrupted with an air of importance. “I’ll drive,” he added, turning his back on Halice to climb into the gig.

“Where are we going?” I asked with some surprise.

“I have quite a few contacts here,” smiled Viltred with a somewhat irritating superiority.

“So do Livak and I,” said Halice mildly, yielding the reins without fuss.

“That’s right.” Livak spurred her horse forward when it threatened to balk at the planks of the walkway. “It’ll save time if we split up; we’ll see what we can find out and meet you—where?”

“No, absolutely not,” Shiv spoke over her decisively. “Let’s stick together for the moment. There are some people I have to talk to before I decide what we do next. In the meantime, I don’t want to alert anyone who might have a loose mouth to our presence here.”

Livak exchanged a glance with Halice that suggested they were going to take this about as readily as a purse of Lescari Marks. I’d have to keep an eye on the pair of them, I decided; Livak had a real problem with taking orders, I knew that, even from someone as easy-going as Shiv. I looked across as she stood staring down into the nameless debris that the water was bringing back to the end of the floating jetty. How were we ever going to reconcile my oaths and duty with her stubborn independence and love of life in the margins? The carrier’s coach took its weary passengers off on the last leg of their journey and we soon cleared the ferry area. Halice and Livak exchanged a quiet word and rueful glance at Shiv’s back as we passed an inn whose sign was a plume of feathers.

“Good ale there?” I inquired casually.

“Good ale,” confirmed Halice. “Reasonably honest gambling, fairly safe beds and generally reliable information as well.”

“Wizards’ fancy magic is all very well,” Livak edged her horse closer to mine. “I’d like to back it up with some local knowledge bought and paid for.”

“You’ll get no argument from me.” I looked around curiously. “How well do you know Relshaz?”

“We’ve been here a couple of times over the last year or so.” Livak reined in her horse suddenly as a man stumbled in front of her. “Festival gambling mostly, it depends how the runes are turning. The thing is, we know people here and they know us.”

“Make sure you tell Shiv,” I said firmly.

“Is he going to listen?” countered Livak sourly.

Viltred wove the gig through the busy streets, pausing frequently as traffic bunched around the narrow bridges crossing Relshaz’s innumerable canals. I have to say, the more I saw, the less and less impressed I became. Close up, the famous White City of the Gulf is distinctly grubby and chipped, especially on the landward side. I saw green stains smudging the painted walls and garbage in the waters, the smell rising with the temperature as the sun climbed. Furtive beggars lurked in the shadows of narrow alleys and entries and I was glad we hadn’t arrived at night. I sat straighter in my saddle and twitched my cloak back from my shoulder to clear my sword to deter anyone who might be thinking of trying his luck.

We entered an area of warehouses, manufacturies, stores being winched to the tops of tall buildings by teams of horses sweating to draw ropes through lines of pulleys. Women moved handcarts of identical sections of furniture and metal-work, segments of tables, chair legs, all on their way to the next workshop for the following artisan to earn his pittance at piece work. Children ran messages, held horses, swept crossings. The press of traffic distanced Livak and me from the gig a little and I tugged at her sleeve to get her attention.

“What’s the Arril district like?”

Livak shook her head. “I don’t know it, not as such; I’m usually in and around the inns and gambling houses and the Arril quarter is strictly solid houses for respectable merchants and the like. We manage the odd venture into the smart addresses along the Gulf front, but that’s about it.”

“Where do you suppose some Ice Islanders would be making a den in this labyrinth?”

“Any one of a handful of places.” Livak turned to look at me, her expression intense. “Halice and I know people who could find out. Shiv’s got to let us use our contacts.”

Viltred took a side street, the gig bouncing over the cobbles between tall houses that promised rather better things of the city. The white shining walls of the brick houses were freshly painted, their balconies already bright with pots of flowers and noisy with people enjoying the sunshine. Women dressed in fine silks passed us with clean and sometimes cheerful children in tow as they bargained with hucksters, gossiped with friends and ordered their servants around.

Viltred halted in front of a broad, high gate set in a wall of fine-dressed stone and climbed down stiffly from his seat. “Wait here.”

His knock was answered almost immediately by a neatly uniformed porter.

“Please tell Madame that Viltred Sern is here,” said the old man in flawless Relshazri and with a courtly air that seemed to add five fingers to his meager height. I realized with some surprise that this was his native tongue; given the fluency of his Caladhrian, I’d assumed that was his birthplace.

Livak raised a speculative eyebrow at me as the gates were opened. We were ushered into a spotless courtyard that gave in turn on to a broad swathe of lawn, ornamented with a sparkling fountain and blossoming fruit trees. Two grooms hurried out from the stables that separated the stone-built house from the street and took our horses while the porter led us toward a highly polished door. He opened it and ushered us onto a long sunlit salon with fine muslin curtains billowing around tall windows open to the spring breeze. My dusty boots rasped on the polished floor, and I noticed I was not the only one avoiding the silk rugs that splashed turquoise and leaf green across the dark wood. Watered silk hangings softened the walls with the same tones and framed an interesting collection of statuary and ceramics, nothing extraordinarily valuable but each piece chosen with an expert eye to the composition of the room. Elegance hung in the air with the scent of fresh flowers.

Viltred strode over to an elegant silk-upholstered day-bed and settled himself with enviable aplomb. “Wine, thank you.” He waved a dismissive hand at the flunkey who took himself off at some speed.

I took a chair at a satiny fruitwood table and tried to match Viltred’s air of ease, fighting a feeling that I should be standing at the alert as I would in formal attendance on my patron at home.

“Viltred, my dear!” A door opened and a superbly built woman swept in with a rustle of yellow silk and perfume. She embraced the old wizard with some passion and sat herself beside him, tucking her dainty feet under her before sweeping a queenly gaze around the rest of us.

“This is Mellitha.” Viltred kissed her hand with a courtly grace at odds with his travel-stained appearance and I had to curb an unexpected smile of admiration for the old mage.

“Who are your companions?” She arched a finely plucked eyebrow in a face as flawless as the porcelain vase behind her head. I wondered how old she was; her chestnut hair was finely brindled with white and I could see a tracery of fine lines around her keen gray eyes.

Viltred introduced us. The flunkey returned with the wine and was dismissed, our elegant hostess pouring for us herself.

“How are the children?” inquired Viltred with what sounded like genuine interest.

“Tref’s traveling through Ensaimin, painting portraits of all the little lordlings with pretensions of grandeur.” Mellitha smoothed her expensive gown, bright with embroidered flowers, over her generous curves, and seated herself again.

“Tia’s still in Hadrumal with her father; she’s learning the book-binding trade and they’ve agreed she’ll take over when he retires in a year or so. Sanan is getting married soon, a lovely girl from Col; her father owns a string of inns so they’ll move there after the wedding. Patrin’s soldiering in Lescar, which I’m less than happy about, as you can imagine, but I heard from her a few weeks since. She’ll be back in Relshaz for Solstice and I’m going to try and persuade her to come into the business with me now.”

“I would certainly be happier if she did that,” nodded Viltred.

Mellitha laughed. “There’s no use you sounding so fatherly; I’ve told you often enough I’ve no idea if she’s your daughter.”

I looked at Viltred; so the old bird had spread his wings in his younger days, it seemed, raising his crest to good effect, and he must have had some song to charm a woman like this. Mellitha was evidently a woman of substance and independence, no mere ornament in her silks and scents.

Shiv coughed. “I’m afraid this isn’t just a social call, ma-dam.”

She dimpled a smile at him. “I didn’t think it was. How can I help you?” She smoothed a hand over her immaculate coiffure and was suddenly all business.

Shiv told her our tale with admirable conciseness, given the frequent interruptions by Viltred, not all of which I thought relevant. Mellitha surprised me a little by asking for my observations and I could see her eyes were alert, notwithstanding her demure self-possession. In a way it reminded me of conversations with my patron’s current paramour, Lady Channis, one of those daunting women whose beauty is nevertheless a lesser asset than her wits. Halice and Livak sat silently sipping the cool white wine and occasionally exchanging a glance. I saw Mellitha looking at them as they shared one of those moments and realized this was a woman who was going to want to see both sides of this coin before she put it in her purse “Do you think you can help us?” Shiv said finally.

“I can certainly make some enquiries about foreigners in black livery for you.” Mellitha moved to seat herself at an elegant desk and took out smoothly expensive reed paper and ink. “People like that should stand out, even in Relshaz ”

“Be careful about drawing attention to yourself,” warned Shiv. “These are dangerous men, killers.”

“I’m a tax contractor,” said Mellitha confidently “I’m supposed to ask questions and I have plenty of people working for me who understand discretion.”

“You mean you don’t get all your information through cunning spells and infallible sorcery?” Viltred laughed “That’s what I heard last time I was here ”

“You’re a mage?” I couldn’t help the surprise in my question.

“I am, but that’s not my main business. Still, I make sure I’m seen working enough magic to keep the rumor mill fed. It comes in useful.” Mellitha smiled sunnily. “Most folk don’t see any point in lying about their income when they’re convinced you can see through desks and read their ledgers.”

Livak laughed and I saw she was looking more at ease recognizing Mellitha as a woman molded from the same clay as herself. Should that worry me, I wondered wryly?

“I should scry for the thieves,” Viltred broke in. “You might see something which you recognize.”

“It could help you direct your inquiry agents,” Shiv agreed and I murmured my own assent.

Mellitha rose and smoothed her gown over her ample hips. “That’s something we can do now. I’ll need a few things, so please build me a picture of these people while I fetch them.”

She rang a silver bell and doors opened to admit a pair of maids who rapidly laid a selection of elegant lunch dishes on the sideboard.

These went initially ignored as Viltred sat forward and concentrated on creating an image of the Elietimm in the air above the table. Livak, Halice and I watched, absorbed as the old mage wove skeins of blue light into first wisps, then sketchy shapes, then solid figures with every color and detail precise. Mellitha collected a bowl, a flagon of water and some small vials. Shiv was watching her preparations with interest.

“What are you using?”

“Perfumery oils.” Mellitha dripped precise amounts into the water. “I’ve been working on a few new things lately and this has been producing very good results.”

Viltred came to sit beside her and the three mages peered into the fragrant bowl. Mellitha looked at the image of the Ice Islanders for a long moment then set the water spinning, the oils on the surface gleaming in the green glow of her magic. Dark, indistinct images half formed and then dissolved. Faces loomed out of the depths and then floated away into nothing. A stone floor suddenly appeared sharp and clear, and then vanished just as quickly.

I looked over at Halice and Livak; we exchanged a shrug and went to get something to eat.

“How very odd.” Mellitha sounded distinctly put out. “I can’t keep the spell focused and I know I’m not doing anything out of the ordinary. The best I can say is they’re definitely in the city but I can’t even begin to guess where.”

Shiv sat back and ran a hand through his hair. “I don’t think you’ve been doing anything wrong. There’s something interfering with the spell. I’ve seen it before, this is what has been happening to us—”

“Are you quite sure it’s an external problem?” asked Viltred, doubt plain in his eyes.

Mellitha gave Viltred a level look. “Who’s the one with water affinity here?”

“What do we do now?” Shiv’s face was a study in frustration and I couldn’t blame him. We were finally in the same place as our quarry and the wizards’ magic chose now to desert us again. I wondered how soon we could make contact with Livak and Halice’s associates.

“Wait a moment,” Mellitha held up a brightly ringed hand. “You know, I came across something like this a few years ago.” She rummaged through a pile of small journals in her desk drawer. “Here it is, a fine art dealer whose income didn’t add up. I tried to follow him on a journey to Formalin and something fouled up my magic for a couple of days.”

“What was it?” demanded Viltred.

Mellitha shrugged, leafing through her notes, a frown marring her forehead. “I never was exactly sure. It was all rather odd; he was trading in religious art, shrine statuary, the sort of thing people used to keep in their houses. As close as I could tell the problem was caused by something in his possession. I wasn’t even sure he knew about it. I mean, as soon as he’d sold on all the votive figures, the scrying came clear and I was able to see just how much coin he was making above his voting declaration and where he was banking it with a goldsmith in Toremal.”

She looked up at the stillness in the room and glanced at each of us in turn. “I take it I’ve just said something significant?”

“It’s complicated,” Shiv temporized.

Mellitha fixed him with a steely gaze. “Young man, I am one of the leading tax contractors in this city. In order to purchase the rights to collect taxes, I have to calculate a tender that the Magistracy will accept while setting taxes that people will pay without too much objection. Expenses are the contractor’s responsibility, so making my own profit adds a further complexity. I spend my life dealing with complicated matters.”

Shiv had the grace to blush and started to explain what the Archmage had discovered so far about the largely unknown, aetheric magic that the Elietimm could wield with such frightening ease.

The ocean dock at Zyoutessela, before the watchtower was built on the heights and while the old fishmarket still stood

The circle of the harbor was packed with vessels and not the fishing boats that usually swung from the quay sides. Tall-masted, high-sided ocean ships clustered awkwardly along docks built for smaller craft, each busy with sailors and less agile folk loading and stowing a wide variety of gear.

“Where do you want this, then, Esquire?” A docker halted, red-faced as he balanced a weighty sack on one shoulder.

“That’s beans, is it?” Temar checked the stamp on the leather tag and then ran a careful finger down his list. “Fore-hold, next to the little casks.”

The man grunted and moved away, several others following him.

“Wait a moment.” Temar moved to check their loads. “Fine, go with him.”

He watched a second line of porters carrying caskets and leather bags down to the accommodation deck, making sure each had the charcoal mark that signified official permission. As the last man disappeared down the ladder he heaved a sigh and glanced up to check the sun; with all the noise, he hadn’t heard any chimes since dawn and had no idea how much of the day had passed. At least it wasn’t too hot this early in the season, he mused, and the rain that had plagued their previous days’ labors was holding off.

Just as he thought this, a chance shift in the wind brought a faint brazen ringing to Temar’s ears. Dockers and porters turned to look at him expectantly and he tucked his list into the breast of his jerkin.

“Noon break!” confirmed Temar with a loud shout, the workmen’s faces mirroring his own relief at the prospect of a rest and something to eat.

He tucked his lists into the front of his dull-green jerkin and made his way through the crowds toward one of the fisher-inns, opening a waxed note-tablet pulled from one pocket and carefully scoring through the tasks he’d accomplished that morning. More were left than cancelled but at least it was all progress. Temar smiled a little ruefully to himself; what would Lachald think if he could see him now, ink-stained hands and charcoal smudging his plain cuffs?

“You’re looking very cheerful, Esquire D’Alsennin.”

Temar looked up to see he had nearly walked into a thin man with a shock of gray hair swept back from a hatchet-thin face. Green eyes, pale as a cat’s, stared at him, unblinking.

“Messire Den Fellaemion.” Temar made a quick reverence and wiped his palm on his breeches before offering it.

“How goes the loading?” Den Fellaemion acknowledged Temar’s courtesy with a brief handshake.

“Very well, Messire, we should have all the dried goods aboard by the end of the day and almost all the accommodation problems have been resolved.”

“Good,” the lean man nodded approvingly. “Do you have a current lading list for my clerks?”

“You’ll have it by sunset,” Temar promised, hesitating a moment then taking out his note-tablet again to add it to his list of things to do. Better look like a child learning letters in a dame-school, he felt, than risk forgetting.

A faint smile flickered across the nobleman’s pallid lips. “Take some refreshment with me, D’Alsennin.”

“Gladly.” It may have sounded more like a command than an invitation but Temar was too thirsty to worry about that.

Den Fellaemion looked around the quayside and signalled to a lackey with a wicker basket slung over one shoulder. “Let’s find a quiet corner.”

That was an easier task than it would have been before the noon chime, but the dock was all but deserted now as the toiling throng pressed into the taverns and clamored for a meal. Temar led the way to a ledge cut into a rocky outcrop where he’d seen women mending crab traps. He took the wineskin offered and quenched his considerable thirst gratefully.

“Ah, excellent.” Den Fellaemion opened the basket and took out fresh bread, spiced chicken, dry-cured ham and a yellow cheese wrapped in butter muslin. He passed Temar a dish with its lid tied and sealed. “See what’s in that, will you?”

It proved to be a medley of fruits in sweet wine, and Temar’s eyes brightened.

“Den Rannion’s lady still seems convinced I need feeding up,” observed Den Fellaemion in an amused tone. “I think there’s enough for two here; do help yourself.”

“Thank you.” Temar pulled his knife from his belt and cut himself a generous slice of the crumbly cheese.

“There’s something I need to mention to you.” The older man leaned back and closed his eyes as he enjoyed a gleam of spring sunshine that picked out the subtle brocade in his severe gray clothing.

Temar hurriedly ran through his recent duties in his mind but was unable to find any immediate cause for concern. “Yes?” Perhaps the Messire had some new responsibility for him.

“With your House providing four ships, provisioning several more besides and many of your tenants signing on for the colony, you are suddenly one of the major sponsors of our expedition, did you realize this?”

“My grandfather is the Head of our House; he deserves that honor.” Temar wondered what Den Fellaemion meant.

“Your grandfather is not here. You are.” The green eyes opened and fixed Temar with a piercing stare. “Many people will be looking to you as their patron, both before we sail and once we settle across the ocean. You will have a significant client base, if you choose to exploit it. What are your intentions in that area?”

Temar spread his hands uncertainly. “I hadn’t really thought about it.”

“It is time that you did,” said Den Fellaemion crisply. “If you are intending to live off the backs of your tenants in the style of such Houses as Nemith, I think our venture can do without you, despite the resources you offer. If, however, you intend to take a full part in leading the colony, shouldering your obligations and responsibilities, then I can see you could even hope to become a valued deputy to Den Rannion and myself. There are precious few of the noble class involved in this expedition and since the commonalty will look to us, as they are used to doing, how we conduct ourselves will have a major impact on the success or otherwise of the colony.”

Temar abruptly snapped his mouth shut. “D’Alsennin has always been a House most conscious of its duties to its tenants and the interests of the Empire,” he said stiffly.

Den Fellaemion regarded him, unsmiling. “Then would you care to explain why you have been sampling the favors of nearly every willing maiden who has crossed your path since you arrived here? There are many outmoded traditions that I intend to leave behind on this dockside and the right of a Sieur or his designate to make free with the female tenantry is certainly one of them.”

Taken completely unawares, Temar said the first thing that came into his head. “My grandfather wishes me to marry—”

“I do not recommend choosing a wife by trying her paces between the sheets; you test horses before purchase, not women, if you want peace at your hearth side anyway.” Den Fellaemion’s sudden smile wiped away his stern expression. “Keep your breeches laced, Temar. We are a small community and I don’t want you raising expectations or outrage by mistaking a lass’s meaning.”

Temar blushed and ran a hand through his hair. “Of course, Messire, I hadn’t been thinking—”

“No harm done.” Den Fellaemion stood suddenly and waved to someone on the far side of the harbor. “Guinalle; come and join us!”

Temar looked around to see a young woman wrapped in a blue-gray cloak picking her way carefully across the cobbles slick with spray. She was of less than common height but neatly made with an open, heart-shaped face.

“Messire, Esquire,” she greeted them each in turn before seating herself composedly on a crab trap.

“Do have something to eat.” Den Fellaemion wiped his knife on a scrap of muslin and sheathed it with a decisive gesture. “I have much to do, Guinalle; I’ll see you at seventh chime, at the colony warehouse.”

“As you wish.” The girl took some bread and felt under her cloak for her own knife.

“Let me.” Temar cut her a slice. “Cheese, ham or chicken?”

“Cheese, thank you.”

“The ham’s very good.” Temar’s knife hovered over it. “Let me cut you some.”

“Not today, thank you.” Guinalle’s tone was polite but firm. “Perhaps another time.”

She looked up to see Temar’s puzzled frown. “At the dark of both moons, I make due observance to Ostrin.”

“You’re a priestess?” Temar couldn’t think of anyone less likely to be sworn to the god of blood-letting than this mild-faced female.

“An acolyte, of Larasion, but I observe the courtesies to all the gods.” Guinalle’s self-possession did not waver and a glint of gold sparked in her warm brown eyes.

Since Temar could not think of any response to that, they ate in silence for a little while, Temar looking past Guinalle to the harbor wall and the open seas beyond. It made sense to have some priests and acolytes along, he supposed; seeking divine favor could certainly do no harm. He looked at Guinalle’s modest cloak and her long nut-brown hair, unadorned with any clasp or jewel. The girl was probably one of the foundlings or orphans taken in by a large shrine and educated by them; without kin, she’d have no ties to this side of the ocean. He smiled at her. She was a tempting armful, no question.

“If you need any help, any advice, any introductions, don’t hesitate to ask.” He moved a little closer. “Do you have a lodging organized?”

“Thank you, but I’m sure my uncle will see to everything.”

Temar’s gaze followed her gesture and saw Den Fellaemion’s narrow back, an arm pointing emphatically to something in a sack.

“The Messire is your uncle?”

“His late wife was my father’s sister.” Guinalle untied her cloak to replace her knife, its plain sheath on a girdle of gold chain, complete with jewelled pomander, silver mesh purse, several keys and a chased silver note case. Her dove-gray dress, though plainly styled, was of unimpeachable cloth.

“I didn’t realize.” Temar hurriedly tried to remember what he knew of Den Fellaemion’s family. His wife had been a daughter of For Priminale, hadn’t she? Even from a cadet line of the House, this demure girl could claim precedence over half the nobles at a Convocation, if she was so minded.

Temar stood and made a formal reverence. “I must be about my business, but I am at your service, should you require me.”

Guinalle looked up at him, squinting slightly into the sun.

“Thank you, Esquire,” she said gravely, but Temar had an uncomfortable feeling a smile was hiding behind those full lips.

He walked briskly back along the quay, growing busy again as people hurried to complete their tasks. There was an air of expectation now. The moons would soon be sending a double tide to speed them on their quest and the ships had to be ready to reach the unknown lands with as much summer as possible left to them.

“Temar!”

“Not now, Vahil.” Temar’s step did not falter as he continued on his way.

“Oh, come on, let’s find a drink.” Vahil matched Temar’s stride and looked around with lively interest. “These inns must have done more trade since Equinox than they’ve had in the last generation,” he observed with a laugh. “So, what are the bawdy-houses like? Where does a fisherman go to plant his anchor around here?”

“I’d stay well clear, if I were you,” advised Temar, his expression serious. “You’ll end up with a dose of the itch or crotch lice the size of blackbeetles.”

“You’re not serious?” Vahil’s square jaw fell slightly, his hazel eyes dismayed.

“No, I’m not.” Temar shook his head with a grin. “I’ve no idea what the brothels are like; I’ve not been looking for whores.”

“Plenty of girls looking to start their adventures before they set sail?”

“I wouldn’t advise that either; it’ll only lead to inappropriate expectations or misunderstandings.” Temar kept any tremor out of his voice but was glad Vahil kept looking in the other direction until he felt the faint wash of color ebb from his face.

“What’s a man to do for excitement then?” Vahil turned and his expression of broad good humor faded a little. “The road’s too bad to get to the Gulf side of the city and back in an evening, and Mother will raise three kinds of riot if I stay out all night.”

He stared back up the long slope where a tree-lined track wound up to the low saddle of land that broke the line of mountains marching down to the Cape of Winds. Temar looked too; tempted by the thought of a night sampling the entertainments offered by the larger part of the town on the far side of the isthmus.

“I only came over to bring Mother a message from Elsire and now Father’s saying I should stay until we sail.” Vahil was grumbling, but Temar’s thoughts had already moved on.

“Someone’ll have to do something about making up that roadway when the colony really takes off,” he said slowly. “Hauling sleds full of fish up gravel is all very well, but we’ll really need a decent footing for carts and mules, proper cobbles at very least.”

“Saedrin save me, you really are taking this seriously!” Vahil laughed in disbelief.

“It wouldn’t hurt you to do the same,” replied Temar, nettled. “This colony’s going to be the future of your House, isn’t it?”

“Oh, my father takes care of all that,” Vahil said airily. “Come on, let’s get a drink, there must be a game of runes going somewhere.”

He draped a long arm around Temar’s shoulders, who shook it off in sudden irritation.

“I’ve got work to do; I’m the only one there is, since Saedrin saw fit to find his keys for my father and uncles.”

Vahil stood dismayed, contrition in his rough-skinned face. “I’m sorry, singing out of tune again, you know me. All right then, what can I do to help?”

“Pick up that bale?” Temar suggested with a suspicion of malice.

Vahil’s brows rose as he hefted the weight awkwardly on to one shoulder and followed Temar down the quayside.

“Put it in the forehold.” Temar pulled out his lists and began giving concise instructions to the men who were drifting back from their break. Vahil looked at him for a long moment, shrugged, shed his precisely cut and satin-trimmed jerkin and joined the line of porters moving the stacks of cargo steadily on to the vessels.

“I’ll want you as a witness,” he warned Temar after a while, taking a pause to wipe sweat from his blunt-featured face. “You’re to swear to my parents that I put in a day’s honest work, vows to Misaen and everything, if necessary.”

“Half a day, if you see it through,” Temar corrected him with a wicked grin.

“I see I should have got involved in this sooner,” Vahil shouted back as he lifted one of the dwindling number of bundles on the cobbles, “then I could be the one sitting there chewing my pen-holder.”

“Get on with it, or I’ll dock your pay.” Temar waved his list in a fine gesture of dismissiveness.

This sort of by-play kept the other workers amused and Temar was pleased to see the day’s cargo loaded and securely stowed before the sun started sinking into the mountains that dipped down to the isthmus before rising again to form the savage cliffs and reefs around the Cape of Winds.

“You can’t say I haven’t earned a drink now?” Vahil looked ruefully at his reddened hands as Temar dismissed the dockers with thanks and instructions for the morning.

“I’ll buy,” nodded Temar.

Vahil slung his jerkin over one shoulder and they made their way to an ale-house. “I am interested in this colony idea, you know,” he said abruptly. “The Empire needs something like this, to give people hope, something positive to work for and to build upon, now that our respected Emperor, Nemith the Witless, has managed to lose us the provinces. My father says the land out there is good for crops and stock, there are metals and even gems to be had, everything we need. That’s where our future’s going to be, Temar, and it’s going to be more than we could ever imagine, I’d lay coin on it.”

“With your luck at wagers lately, that’s not much encouragement.” Temar pushed a mug across the sticky table-top.

“Do I hear the mule criticizing the ass for his ears?” Vahil raised his thick eyebrows. “Remind me, just how much was it you lost in that brothel game last time we went to Toremal together?”

Temar’s reply was lost as Vahil turned to a messenger who tapped him on the shoulder.

“You are expected to dine with your parents, Esquire and the D’Alsennin too.” The lackey nodded a quick reverence to Temar.

“Dast’s teeth, that’s what I came to tell you. I clean forgot, we were having such a lovely time hauling your sacks around for you.” Vahil hastily drained his tankard and stood, wrenching his jerkin on with a nasty sound of snapping stitches. “Come on, I think we’ve got a guest coming, niece of Den Fellaemion’s or something.”

“You really are hopeless, you know that!” Temar fumbled in his belt-pouch for his hair clasp as they hurried through the town after the servant. He tugged at his jerkin to try and lose some of the creases and folded back the cuffs of his shirt to hide the worst of the grime.

“Vahil!” Messire Den Rannion was waiting on the step of the modest house he was renting, displeasure plain on his usually genial face.

“I was helping Temar with loading his cargo.” Vahil was unabashed. “It’s a marvelous way to work up an appetite! Just let me have a quick wash and we’ll be right down.”

“Lend Temar a clean shirt!” his father shouted up the stairs.

“Take your time, dear.” Maitresse Den Rannion’s placid voice followed them. “It’s all right, Ancel,” she reassured her husband. “I allowed time for them to be late when I gave Cook the menu.”

It never ceased to amaze Temar that someone as persistently disorganized as Vahil could be born of two such efficient and capable parents. He grabbed the ewer and took possession of the washstand with scant apology.

“Find some clean linen, will you?” he demanded.

“Yes, Messire, at once, Messire, anything else Messire?” Vahil pulled open a drawer and tossed a couple of shirts onto the bed.

Temar shivered, bare-chested as he reached for one of them. He pulled it on and grimaced at his reflection in the inadequate glass; he’d have to wear his work-soiled jerkin to hide the fact the shirt was both too short in the body and too wide in the shoulder. At least it was clean and, with luck, the quality would be more noticeable than the fit.

“Come on.”

Vahil was sorting through a tray of oddments with unhurried good humor. “Just a moment, where did I put the cursed thing? Ah!” He pulled a scrap of leather thong out of his hair and snapped a rather florid gold clasp into his wiry, chestnut locks. “The perfect gentleman!”

Temar smiled, shaking his head. Vahil took great pleasure in assailing the heights of fashion, unbothered by his incongruous stoutness or the pockmarks pitting his cheerful face.

A bell rang and they hurried downstairs to find Messire Den Rannion enjoying a quiet glass of wine by the fireside with his guest.

“This is Guinalle, Demoiselle For Priminal.” He rose and bowed to her, Temar and Vahil doing the same with the instincts borne of childhood training. Guinalle answered with an elegant curtsey, spreading her flame-colored skirts in a rustle of silk.

“I gather you have already met, D’Alsennin?” Den Rannion passed Temar a fine glass goblet of richly fragrant red wine.

“We have.” Temar was heartened to see a friendly answering smile oh Guinalle’s face.

“I don’t see much point in Imperial ceremony when we’re eating in the parlor; do sit yourselves down.” Maitresse Den Rannion swept in ahead of several servants with laden trays; for all her claims to informality, she was splendid in a full-skirted sapphire gown, silver combs glinting in an immaculate coiffure.

“Demoiselle.”

Temar watched with some irritation as Vahil managed to offer his arm first and escort Guinalle to a seat at a comfortable distance from the hearth. Temar took the chair across from her, despite the warmth of the fire on his back.

“So, my dear, you are recently arrived from Sarrat, I hear?” The Maitresse’s eyes were wide in her plump, powdered face.

“Two days since.” Guinalle smiled politely as she reached for a dish of spiced beans and served herself a modest portion.

Temar passed her a plate of cheeses lightly fried in herbs and noted that the table bore an unusually wide choice of meatless delicacies. The Maitresse had always enjoyed a reputation among other women for being remarkably well informed, although at the cost of being dismissed as an inveterate gossip by men such as his grandfather.

“Your uncle and I are extremely grateful that you agreed to leave your studies and join us.” Messire Den Rannion regarded a glazed onion tartlet with some suspicion and took a slice of bloody beef instead. “We are sorely in need of expertise in the higher techniques of Artifice.”

Temar managed not to drop the plate of baked beets he was trying to offer Guinalle but it was a close run thing. He cleared his throat and tried not to stare at her as he took a drink of water.

“I thought you’d said you had plenty of message-takers and the like?” Vahil commented as he skewered a couple of slices of peppered lamb with his knife point.

“Indeed?” Guinalle’s attention sharpened slightly. “What manner of people are they, Messire?”

“Oh, mainly clerks, stewards and the like, people with sufficient instruction to send messages to another trained mind, but little beyond that.” Messire began pouring everyone more wine. “Many of them have been displaced as the Empire draws in and, frankly, there is less need for such accomplishments these days.”

“Just how far can one send a message using Artifice?” Vahil looked expectantly at Guinalle.

“As yet we have discovered no limit in terms of distance,” replied Guinalle easily. “The attainments of the practitioner are what determine how far and with what clarity he or she can reach another’s mind.”

“We will have people with the expertise to send messages across the ocean, won’t we?” A faint shadow of concern flickered in the Maitresse’s eyes as she looked to her husband. “We shan’t be cut off from home? That’s what you told me, Ancel.”

“That is one thing that my uncle has requested I ascertain.” Guinalle smiled with serene confidence as she reached for a tray of stuffed apples.

Temar passed her a bowl of onion sauce. “You’re not actually joining the colony, then?” Of course, it would be stupid to expect such a well-connected and evidently well-educated girl to give up all her advantages.

“Oh, I am,” Guinalle assured him. “It’s a tremendous opportunity for me.”

“How so?” Vahil looked intrigued.

Guinalle wiped her fingers on her napkin before continuing. “These days, Artifice is mainly used to send messages, to find those lost or absconded, for truth-saying in the Justiciary, things like that. All of this is essential work and in recent generations has been vital in maintaining the Empire. Don’t think I don’t value those trained in such skills, I do, but there are far more uses of Artifice that we simply have no need for in the present day. Joining your colony should give me opportunities to test their efficacy.”

Temar got the impression this was a speech she had given before.

“What sort of thing are you talking about?” Vahil leaned his elbows on the table, intrigued, waving away his mother’s offer of a portion of chicken.

“Well, for instance, there are ways to understand the speech of people who don’t know your tongue; how are we to try those when everyone this side of Solura speaks Formalin? Even the Forest Folk and Mountain Men use it as the language of commerce and learning these days.”

“There has been no trace of people living in Kel Ar’Ayen, the land across the Ocean.” Messire Den Rannion looked up from his plate, faint concern in his eyes.

Guinalle smiled demurely. “That’s merely one example. Would you find it useful if I could tell you exactly where game was hiding in a thicket? If we find predators there, wolves and the like, would you like me to hide your trail from them, set wards to keep them clear of your stock?”

“You could do that?” Temar began to feel Vahil was overdoing the keen interest just a little.

“Talagrin granting,” Guinalle nodded confidently. “There are ways to request that Saedrin open the way between the worlds and to travel from place to place or to move goods, covering many leagues in little more than a breath. One can request Maewelin to quit her rights of decay in food, to purify water, to hasten the rotting of waste to put fresh heart into soil. The correct incantations to Ostrin can staunch mortal wounds or fell a beast painlessly in its stall for the butcher. Drianon’s care can keep women from conceiving and then ease them into child-bed at the time of their choosing; Larasion’s mercies will keep frost from tender crops or send rain in time of drought. Artifice gives us the means to call upon such bounties.”

She looked at the awed faces around the table and Temar saw a faint blush on her cheekbones as she helped herself to some salt.

“I had no idea.” Maitresse was plainly astounded, social graces notwithstanding.

“These days medicine and good husbandry mean we have practical remedies for such things,” shrugged Guinalle. “In many ways that is preferable.”

“And anyone can learn how to do these things you mention?” Vahil was gaping, his meal forgotten.

“Misaen marks some folk for his own, for some reason, and they cannot; but most people can learn the lesser tricks of Artifice, if they care to.” There was a serious undercurrent to Guinalle’s light tone. “It is a question of scholarship, of applying oneself. The demands become greater the more complex the tasks that are undertaken and so, inevitably, fewer people find they have the mental aptitude for such rigorous study.”

“But you do.” Temar looked at her, wondering if she ever stepped down from the lofty heights of such learning to tread a measure in everyday dances.

“I have found so.” There was appropriate modesty in Guinalle’s reply but no hint of apology. Her eyes met Temar’s across the candles with a hint of a challenge.

He smiled at her, sufficiently intrigued not to be daunted by her talents or her relations. “I think you will be a valuable addition to our expedition, as well as one of its leading ornaments.” He raised his glass gallantly.

“You’d better not let my sister hear you saying that!” Vahil laughed robustly. “Elsire’s determined she’s going to be the leader of beauty and fashion; I reckon it’s the only reason she’s coming, to get away from the competition at court.”

“Never mind that,” Maitresse Den Rannion looked around the table. “If everyone’s served, let us eat.”

The House of Mellitha Esterlin, Relshaz, 28th of Aft-Spring

It must have been the touch of salt in the air, muddy though it was; I realized I had been dreaming of home when a servant’s discreet knock woke me the following morning. It was a strange dream, though; something felt not quite right about the city, but as I opened my eyes the thought evaporated. I smiled as I shaved at an elegant marble washstand; my father would certainly be impressed with the quality of Relshazri stonecutting, for all that the city was largely built on little better than a mire.

“Good morning.”

I turned to see Livak watching me, fresh in a pale-lemon linen tunic over a loose divided skirt in something like the Aldabreshi style that was fashionable in the summer seasons last year back home. The soft folds paradoxically revealed her shapely legs in a more tempting fashion than her usual breeches and the color set off her red hair nicely.

“You look very elegant,” I said approvingly.

Livak smiled briefly then wandered over to the window where she began to finger the ornaments catching the early sunlight. She looked unusually ill at ease and I began to feel a little concerned. Mellitha, a woman of tact as well as discernment, had given us rooms not only adjacent but with their own connecting door; when I had woken alone, I had simply assumed Livak had returned to her own bed.

“Who’s Guinalle?” she asked abruptly.

“Who?” This meaningless question was a complete surprise.

Livak turned a searching emerald stare on me. “Who is Guinalle? That’s a Formalin name isn’t it? You were muttering in your sleep last night, I heard you mention her.”

I shook my head before realizing I still had my razor in my hand and cursed as I nicked myself.

“Yes, it’s a Formalin name, but I don’t know anyone called that.” I hastily ransacked my memory; it rang of the sort of outdated elegance a whore might fancy as a working name. No, I couldn’t remember any past conquest or purchase calling herself that.

Livak shrugged. “No matter, then.”

I was not so sanguine. “Really, I don’t know anyone called Guinalle.”

Livak dropped her eyes. “I couldn’t remember what your sister’s name had been.”

I caught my breath on a sudden memory of that face, twelve years burned on her pyre but still vivid in my mind. “No,” I said shortly. “Her name was Kitria.”

“So why would you be talking about someone called Guinalle?”

I was relieved to hear the taint of jealousy in Livak’s tone turn to puzzlement.

“It must have been a dream.” I shook my head, the razor held at a safe distance this time.

We both stood still at that remark and our eyes met again in mutual uncertainty. This time it was me who turned away, pulling my shirt over my head, not wanting to pursue the implications of that idea.

“Don’t mention it to Shiv,” I warned Livak. “I honestly don’t remember anything and I’m not at all sure I want any aetheric magic getting inside my head again, Archmage’s orders or no.”

“He won’t hear about it from me.” Livak slipped her hand in mine as we went down the stairs, sympathy in her comforting grip. She knew better than anyone else what a foul invasion that cursed sorcery could be. Shiv, being unconscious for much of our captivity by the Elietimm, had escaped having his memory turned inside out by the bastards but, as Livak had memorably commented, no bodily rape could ever equal that violation of the mind.

Mellitha was working her way through a stack of letters at the breakfast table, smiling with satisfaction over some, frowning at others in a manner that I suspected promised retribution of special significance. She was dressed today in the sober style befitting her position, formidable in dark-blue linen, high-necked and firmly laced.

“I sent someone out to make enquiries yesterday,” she announced without preamble as Shiv entered the room. “It’ll take a couple of days to weave the whole tapestry, but I have heard the market in Formalin antiquities is unusually busy; prices are rising and dealers are starting to look around for anything connected to the House of Nemith the Last. I’ve let it be known I’d like to be made aware of anyone who’s buying and of anyone new in the city who’s selling.”

“You’re sure no one will think it strange that you’re asking questions about these people?” Viltred was evidently still worried.

“I’m putting together a tender for a new contract at the moment,” Mellitha reassured him. “Everyone in the business will be asking questions about anyone and everything.”

“We can ask around as well.” Livak looked at Halice, who nodded her agreement, temporarily silenced by a mouthful of excellent, soft white bread and glossy cherry preserve.

“No, we don’t want to draw attention to ourselves,” frowned Shiv, his fingers busy reducing a sweet roll to an inedible heap of sticky fragments. “I don’t want anyone going off on their own just yet, either.”

Livak scowled. “I thought the whole point of my being here was getting Viltred’s little trinkets back! I’ve got the contacts to track down the Elietimm for you and I’m the one who’ll be cracking the shutters to get them back. If I’m risking my neck for Planir again, I’m the one who’s going to be cracking the whip as well.”

“When we’re looking at trying to take back the goods, then of course you’ll be the one to do the planning.” Shiv pushed away his plate. “There’s someone I want to talk to before then, someone who might be able to help in other ways.”

“I take it you mean Kerrit Osier?” Mellitha finished her meal and her hand hovered over the silver bell by her glass. “He’ll be in the Temple today. He’s got an appointment with the priestess of Maewelin.”

Shiv stared at her. “How did you know who I meant?”

Mellitha stood up and pulled an ocher silk shawl over her shoulders, the splash of color adding an interesting touch to her outfit.

“I keep a weather eye on mages visiting the city.” She smiled at Shiv with complacent superiority. “I like to know what stones they’re turning up, just in case something interesting comes to light. He’s been here since Equinox, going through the Archive and talking to the older priests.”

She looked around the table, including us all in her commanding gaze. “Tell the servants if you want anything; I will be in my offices until the noon chime and then I have meetings with some of the magistrates. I will be dining out but I should be back around sunset to dress and I’ll let you know what I’ve found out.”

She departed with a swirl of her lace-trimmed underskirt and the rest of us turned to Shiv, who looked back defensively.

“So what are our orders?”

I couldn’t tell if there was a taint of sarcasm in Halice’s words or if I was just imagining it. No matter; from Livak’s expression, which she was not even bothering to conceal, Shiv was spending from a very lean purse if he was expecting that pair to continue taking orders from him without question. I would have to find time to talk to them each about it before our fragile alliance was grounded on disagreement.

“So who is this Kerrit?” I passed Livak some fruit and handed Shiv a fresh roll.

“He’s been investigating magic in the Formalin Empire for Planir. I don’t know much about that side of the work, but Kerrit’s been visiting all the major temples that survived the Dark Generations. He’s been looking into what the priests call miracles since that seems to be the only survival of aetheric magic that we have on this side of the ocean.”

“Sideshow chicanery,” sniffed Viltred.

Shiv ignored him. “He may be able to explain why we can’t scry for the Elietimm; he may know how to rework the spells to get around the aetheric influence.”

I could see that Livak looked completely unconvinced, but as she went to argue I laid my hand on her thigh under the table. She closed her mouth to give me a quick glance of warning before opening it again to say what she intended to Shiv.

“We’ll see what this Kerrit has to say for himself, but after that I’m going to contact some of my own acquaintances to get a scent on the Elietimm for myself. We can’t waste time like this, Shiv; for all we know they could be planning to leave today and then what will you have to tell Planir?”

From Shiv’s unhappy expression, that shot certainly struck home.

“Let’s get moving, then,” he snapped uncharacteristically. “I’ll meet you at the gates.”

Halice rang the little silver bell and servants appeared to clear the table. We all dispersed to our rooms; I filled my purse and then stood, the sheathed sword in my hand, wondering whether or not to belt it on.

“Ready?” Livak appeared in the doorway.

“Does one wear a sword before noon in Relshaz?” I tried to make light of my indecision.

“This one does.” Livak tapped the short sword on her own waist. “She also keeps plenty of daggers about her person as a rule, but I’m not usually paying calls around the Temple so I’m keeping it to two this morning.”

I answered her grin with a half-smile of my own and buckled the sword-belt, following her down the broad marble stairs. I was letting this whole business with the sword unnerve me unnecessarily, I decided; it wasn’t as if I could remember any of these cursed dreams anyway. Planir had been wasting his time, trying to manipulate Messire and myself. If it drew the Elietimm to us, well, what could happen in broad daylight with half a hundred people within arm’s length? At least we would have found them and I couldn’t see Livak or Halice losing their scent, given such a chance.

We made our way through the swarming city, now thronged with people trying to go about their morning business and we were soon separated, Shiv escorting Viltred and the rest of us tailing some way behind, Halice finding it slow going with her crutch in such a crowd. I was enjoying the sights and sounds of the city, but I could see Shiv was chafing at the frequent delays as we were held up by traffic, the sheer press of bodies around the footbridges over the canals and, somewhat to my surprise, old acquaintances of Viltred’s greeting him. Livak and I took the opportunity of one such delay to buy a handful of chicken bits from an old man with a cook-pot bubbling on a charcoal brazier; the taste of green oil was a welcome reminder of home after a season or more eating food fried in mutton fat or worse. I glared at a woman as she rammed me in the ribs with a basket and I nearly dropped the rough reed paper wrapped around the meat, but all I got was a dismissive sneer in thick Relshazri for a reply.

“Where do all these people live?” I muttered to Livak as we were halted yet again and I picked the last of the chicken from the wrapping.

“The landlords pack them in like salted fish.” She licked her fingers and pointed down a side alley, where a double line of tenements was tall enough to close the sunlight from the cobbles.

I blinked as I counted six levels of windows. “That’s only mud brick and wood, isn’t it?” I shook my head. “My father wouldn’t risk building that high with the finest Bremilayne stone.”

Halice confirmed my suspicions with an acid comment. “Some people certainly end up as flat as a stock-fish; there’ll be a major collapse a couple of times a year, fires too if they’re unlucky.”

I shook my head but I shouldn’t have been surprised; it’s all too often the way in these cities where elected rulers are only really concerned with their own profits. Commerce is everything in Relshaz, goods from a hundred leagues away or more bought, sold or turned into finished wares by gangs laboring in garrets, never seeing a tenth of the price the woodwork, bronzes or glassware sells for.

“Your father’s a stonemason, then?” inquired Livak as we were halted by a donkey deciding to be difficult in the middle of a narrow bridge.

I looked at her in some surprise. “You knew that, didn’t you?”

She shook her head. “I’d no idea.”

“I must have mentioned it; he’s in business with two of my elder brothers. The next eldest to me, Mistal, is in Toremal, training to be an advocate in the Justiciary.”

“You mentioned him, that I remember,” allowed Livak.

The traffic moved on and the moment passed, but as we went further through the city I found myself thinking just how little Livak and I really knew about each other, about our families and the ties that held us, or not, in her case, to home. What would this mean for any chance of a future we might have together? I was still pondering rather fruitlessly on these questions when the cluster of people ahead of us suddenly melted away and we stood, awestruck, as the sight caught us unawares.

The road opened into a great expanse of flagstones. I squinted against the glare of the sun and realized we had reached the far side of the city now. A massive white marble edifice faced us, framed against the sparkling sapphire of the sunlit sea. I was staring like a shepherd fresh off his mountain, I’m not ashamed to admit it. After the destruction of most of the major temples in the Chaos, shrines in Lescar and Caladhria are invariably small places, served by virtual hermits, and I suppose I’d expected something fairly modest, for all the size of the city.

This opulent building wouldn’t have looked out of place in the center of Toremal, though I have to say our Emperors have generally had more taste in their architecture. Massive stone pillars with extravagantly decorated capitals held up a long pediment adorned with a frieze of improbable leaves, statues above showing the gods in scenes from myth and legend beneath a roof of ceramic tiles, startling colors woven into garish patterns. The entrances between the pillars were twice the height of a man, each door loaded with bronze and carving, the metal polished and gleaming. A broad flight of white stone steps ran the width of the building, drawing in the crowds from the square.

This temple certainly seemed to have as many people crowding around its steps as any Imperial Palace I’ve ever seen; ragged beggars, citizens pushing through, presumably to their devotions, suspiciously prosperous-looking priests accosting all and sundry. As we drew nearer peddlers approached with trays of votive offerings and sticks of incense, waving handfuls in our faces, voices rising as they tried to outbid each other. Their clamor mingled with the exhortations of a sizeable group of Rationalists intercepting those trying to get to a fountain for a drink and having little luck in trying to persuade the thirsty people to debate their theories on the irrelevance of the gods in the modern age. It was with some surprise that I realized these were the first Rationalists I’d seen since leaving eastern Lescar; their complicated philosophies must be finding few takers amongst the perennially unimaginative Caladhrians.

“I hope we can find Kerrit in all this foolery.” Viltred looked hot and aggravated and I couldn’t say I blamed him. Relshaz seemed a remarkably windless city for a port and the heat of the sun was reminding me how far south we had traveled. We were still a fair way north of home, but in Zyoutessela we have the ocean breezes to keep us cool.

“Let’s try inside,” I suggested. “Mellitha mentioned the shrine of Maewelin, didn’t she?”

I pushed a way past the insistent peddlers, the others tucking in behind me as we went up the broad steps. The cool of the interior raised sudden gooseflesh on my arms and it took a few moments for my eyes to get used to the gloom. The haze of candle smoke was mingled with incense and for a moment I thought I was going to sneeze, a problem I frequently encountered in temples and always a grave embarrassment to my mother.

Shrines at home are individually dedicated to a single deity, but the Relshazri seemed content to pack their gods and goddesses in like their tenement classes. The temple had a multitude of small chapels, each with its own icon watched over by a few sharp-eyed priests. This left the broad expanse of the floor to the crowds of people patiently queuing to make their intercessions, and even here they were harried by persistent beggars. The priests were dressed in well-cut robes belted with braided silk cords, jewelled amulets around their necks. The quiet murmur of prayers was accompanied by the steady chink of coins. I shook my head; the destitute go to Formalin shrines for alms from the priests, not to try and beat them to a share of suppliants’ coin.

Shiv was scanning faces. Viltred followed closely, doing the same. Since I had no idea who we were searching for, I looked for Maewelin among the dedications written above the shrines. The archaic Formalin script was not easy to read, long obscured by candle soot and fading into the darkening limestone. I frowned. Dastennin, Master of Storms? That wasn’t a title I had seen before. Raeponin, that was easy enough, the Judge. Pol’Drion, Lord of Light, that was a very ancient style for the Ferryman. Relshazri religion seemed to have taken a few turns of its own since the fall of the Empire, I concluded. At home Ostrin’s domain is husbandry, hospitality and care of the sick; here he was merely a fat and jolly figure cast in bronze, vine leaves in his hair, wine skin in hand. Next to him Talagrin stood severe, crowned with horns of black Aldabreshi wood, a hunter with bow and quiver, his care and dominion of the wild places forgotten.

One statue that did not have any worshippers caught my eye and I moved for a closer look. It was an emaciated youth, wretched in a ragged loincloth, badly carved in poor stone: Dren Setarion. Child of Famines? The prosperous-looking priest moved toward me and rattled his offertory dish; I gave him a rather hostile stare.

“What is this? How can you worship a god of starvation?”

“All powers were honored by the ancient Formalins, who first discovered how to move them with supplication and offering. As their Empire spread, so they brought enlightenment to the conquered and all people learned to pray for help and favor in the difficulties of life.”

The fat man’s complacency irritated me; I know the rote of the gods as well as anyone else, but that was irrelevant here. “This was no cult of the Empire!”

The priest was unperturbed. “Much wisdom was lost when the dark ages of Chaos came, but people are making their way back to the truth. Have you ever seen such hunger, when babies die at their mother’s breast for lack of milk? Famine is a great power in many lands and we try to reach that power so that it will not visit its dreadful destruction on our people.”

I could not think what to say to that, so I moved on with a snort of disgust. With priests taking this kind of opportunist attitude, maybe Rationalism would find adherents in Relshaz after all.

“There’ve been several poor harvests in Ensaimin lately,” commented Halice. “That sort of thing always leads to new cults. They don’t last.”

We crossed to the other side of the vast hall and found the same mix of the familiar and the strange in the ranks of the female deities. Here a weeping Arimelin was somehow the Mother of Sorrow, not the Weaver of Dreams, which effectively stifled my sudden urge to light some incense with a plea to have Planir’s schemes frustrated. We moved on and I saw that Larasion was carved in red-brown heartwood and crowned with a garland of wheat, styled Mahladin, Harvest Queen. Drianon’s role seemed limited to the supplications of pregnant women, while presumably unmarried girls were queuing in front of the icily remote Halcarion in her more traditional guise of the Moon Maiden. She looked to the beams with a blank marble stare while, next to her, grandmothers waited patiently to bring their entreaties to Ahd Maewelin, the Winter Hag, an ancient slab of oak bearing a primitive image with sharp, quelling features.

“There he is!” sighed Shiv with relief, pushing through the throng toward a stout man with a pale face and stooped shoulders. As we drew nearer I was a little startled to realize this Kerrit was scarcely a handful of years older than myself or Shiv, rather than half a generation as I had first thought. He was deep in conversation with a mild-faced little man in a rather dusty and faded robe; I wondered how this ancient acolyte managed to avoid being forcibly taken to a tailor by the other elegantly turned-out priests.

“Shivvalan!” Kerrit smiled at our mage with broad recognition. “I’ll be with you in a moment.”

He turned to bid the old priest a sincere farewell and to tuck a sheaf of notes into a smart leather satchel slung over one shoulder.

“So, what brings you to the delta city?” He made his way through the press of people, pushing without compunction or apology.

“Can we talk somewhere a little more private?”

I glanced at Shiv in some surprise; anyone trying to eavesdrop on us here would either have to be standing under our noses or rely on us shouting at the tops of our voices.

“This way.” Kerrit led us to a comparatively quiet corner behind a representation of Saedrin at the door between the worlds. This offered excellent cover for anyone who might want to creep up and overhear our discussions, but before I could move to watch the approach Halice had stepped forward to deal with it. I added this to the growing list of things I was going to have to discuss with Shiv before he drove the rest of us demented with his growing paranoia.

“So, do you have a letter from Planir for me?” Kerrit’s eyes were still on the icon of Maewelin, his mind clearly busy elsewhere.

“No. We’re here on the trail of some Ice Islanders who’ve stolen some artifacts,” said Shiv baldly.

That got Kerrit’s undivided attention. “They’re here, in the city?”

Shiv nodded. “But they’re using some kind of aetheric influence to evade our scrying.”

“Are they now?” Kerrit breathed, eyes bright. “That’s something I’d—”

“Can you help Shiv get around it?” interrupted Livak as she saw the bookish mage’s expression grow remote with speculation.

“Pardon? No, not as such, my dear. You see, being mage-born myself, aetheric incantations are ineffective when I try them.”

I could see that Livak’s patience, never very long, was rapidly shortening.

“Do you have any knowledge that one of us could use to try and counter whatever it is they are doing?” I had some difficulty keeping my own tone level.

A slight frown wrinkled Kerrit’s bland forehead. “I’d need to see what they were doing, really, but I think there are a few things we could try.”

“Can you come with us?” asked Shiv politely.

“It’s not really very convenient.” Kerrit looked distinctly put out. “You see that old priest, he has six of what he calls miracles that he claims he can use to heal illness, old wounds, even some birth defects. I really must get some more details from him, try to—”

“What about broken bones?” Halice broke in suddenly. I felt a pang as I saw the desperate hope on her plain face.

Kerrit looked momentarily puzzled until he registered her twisted leg and crutch. “He didn’t say so. The thing is, Shiv, he seems to be able to make effective incantations on every attempt. I really do need to find out more about him, discover what he’s doing, examine some of his cures and see how valid they are.”

“He’s something special, then, the old man?” Livak’s curiosity was inevitably getting the better of her. At least that was keeping her temper reined in.

“Oh yes,” Kerrit assured her, his expression animated. “You could take ten priests from here and ask them all to perform the same rite and you’d have anything from five to ten different results. I’m trying to find out why.”

“I appreciate that’s important—” began Shiv.

“I don’t suppose the old priest is going anywhere,” I spoke over him firmly. “The Elietimm might well do so. I’m sure you can spare us the rest of the day to help with something so crucial to Planir’s work.”

The idea that he might find himself answering to the Archmage evidently weighed a coin or two with Kerrit. “Very true, very true.”

“Let’s go then.”

I stepped forward to help Halice force a way toward the doors. As I did so a disturbance in the corner of my eye made me turn my head. Some way off in the press of people a tall man in a dark cloak was caught up with a fat woman who seemed determined to prevent him getting ahead of her. As Viltred looked, the man stared past me, straight at the old wizard, recognition evident and expression hostile. He pushed the fat woman aside, ignoring her cries, and headed straight for Viltred.

“Viltred, do you know that man?” I nodded my head in what I hoped wasn’t too obvious a gesture.

“No.” Viltred frowned and fear flared in his faded eyes. “I’ve never seen him before.”

I saw the gray-cloaked man looking to his left and right as he came toward us; following his gaze with growing apprehension, I saw that he was not alone. I spotted three more of the gray-clad men and as one forced his way past a group of children, his cloak was swept back to reveal a familiar black livery.

“Elietimm,” I concluded tersely. “We need to get out of here now.”

“This way.” Kerrit turned and hurried along behind the line of icons, leading the five of us to a small door presumably for the use of the priests.

I found a knot of fear was tying itself in my stomach and fought to calm my suddenly ragged breathing. Silently cursing the memory of Elietimm magic that could reduce me to this, I glanced at Livak and was at least a little comforted to see she too was unnaturally pale and gripping her sword hilt with white knuckles.

“Can you hide us?” I snapped at Shiv.

“Give me a moment.” He paused and I caught a flicker of blue light between his fingers as he closed his eyes in concentration. “Viltred, can you help me?”

The mages stood, working together with some difficulty as they had to conceal the magelight that manipulating the elements usually called forth. I watched with Livak and Halice as the gray-cloaked men began to move in a line down the length of the temple, searching for us like beaters springing game for a hawk.

“There, that should shield us.”

The air around us shimmered, like haze on sun-scorched sand, and we moved cautiously into the open, heading for the open door. I held my breath as a thin-faced Elietimm scanned the crowd encircling us, his eyes passing over the wizards. I was about to breathe a sigh of relief when the man’s gaze returned to us; he started visibly and evidently saw right through the concealing spell. The Elietimm looked around for his colleagues and caught the gaze of one. I felt certain some sort of communication must have passed between them; the second man started to push his way unerringly in our direction, despite having had no clear sight of us because of the statues in the way.

“They’ve seen us. Move.” My hand hovered over my sword hilt but I really didn’t want to draw a blade in here, not knowing how the priests would react. The last thing we needed was to be held up by an outraged religious rabble.

“Curse it.” Shiv dropped his spell with a muttered handful of obscenities and began forcing a path to the door. Seeing him abandon stealth, the gray-cloaked men did the same. Taking the rear guard I heard gasps of outrage and then screams as one of the Elietimm answered a priest’s remonstrance with the metallic rasp of a drawn sword. Looking back I saw people hurrying to get out of the way, but the crowd was sufficiently thick that we still made it to the door ahead of our would-be captors.

“Run!” I commanded as we ran down a flight of steps into the comparatively open expanse of the temple square. Livak caught Halice under one arm and they half ran, half hopped together. I tried to stifle my irritation. This was just the sort of situation I had feared, where a cripple must either be abandoned or put everyone in danger.

We put a fountain between us and the temple and I snatched a glance backward. The gray-cloaked men had fanned out, drawing a cordon through the crowd. I turned and looked at the far side of the square; if these were the beaters, where was the hawker? Putting my hand to my sword, my senses suddenly swam. Dizziness threatened to overwhelm me and I clapped one hand to my head, cursing. When I opened my eyes I gasped and real panic threatened to stifle me. I was no longer in the midst of a crowded city square but standing in some wilderness, thickets all around me, tussocks underfoot, placid birdsong and skeins of mist replacing the bustle of the Relshaz morning.

“Get a grip on yourself,” I cursed viciously, gripping my sword hilt. I thought I heard a soft sigh behind me and spun round, sword drawn in an instant, but there was no one there. I gritted my teeth and concentrated on my rage rather than my fear and the world dissolved around me again, my sight clearing to reveal Livak staring at me with dismay naked in her own eyes. I swallowed on a sudden rush of nausea and felt sweat beaded cold between my shoulder blades.

“Your eyes, Rysh, your eyes! They went completely blue!”

Our gazes locked, frozen on the memory of the black pits that had been Aiten’s eyes when the Elietimm sorcerers had reached inside his mind and taken over his body to try to kill us all.

“There is someone using aetheric magic on us again, Shiv!” Livak’s voice was shrill as she looked over my shoulder and I turned to see the pursuit was drawing closer.

Sudden memory spurred me to action. “The gorgets! Shiv, Viltred, their magicians wore gorgets at their necks. Can you see one?”

We halted suddenly in the midst of the bustling crowd, looking all ways, Halice and Livak ready with their daggers, my hand on my sword.

“There!”

I turned to look where Shiv was pointing and my heart sank as I picked out a handful of Elietimm on the far side of the square, gold bright at the throat of the central figure. The hunter evidently had his fowling dogs with him, as well as his beaters.

Viltred drew a deep breath and his eyes lost their focus as he began to draw power into himself.

“Getting out of this is going to take direct action, I think,” he murmured. He flung his hands at the enemy in an abrupt gesture. I saw the air in front of the man’s eyes glow and shimmer, effectively blinding him. A man next to him stumbled and fell and, even at this distance, I could see confusion reflected in his colleagues’ faces.

“Rope of air?” Kerrit asked in genial inquiry.

“Round their feet,” confirmed Shiv with a grim face.

“Can we discuss the finer points of magecraft later?” Livak snapped with understandable irritation.

I spoke in almost the same breath. “Come on!”

We moved fast, Shiv forcing a path through the crowd with scant apology. When he saw another gray cloak ahead of us Viltred sent a sudden blow that stunned the man like a clubbed fish. As his colleague fell, a second hunter broke from the line and headed for the spot. We hurried for the gap in the cordon, shoving people aside with increasing force.

The old wizard suddenly doubled up, gasping for breath; Halice and Livak grabbed him and I looked around for the source of the attack. One of the gray-clad men had climbed on to the fountain’s pedestal and was staring at us, mouth moving, a silver sheen at his collar. Shiv wasted no breath on curses, but green light glittered in his fingers as a long arm of sparkling water snatched the enchanter and held him down in the basin. Water splashed high above the pedestal as a despairing hand rose and was dragged down again by greedy splashes, soaking the bystanders. People began to move away from the fountain, exclamations of confusion rising sharply above the murmur of the square.

I tried to move but Kerrit was in my way, staring in confusion.

“For all the elements revealed, that man was working no magic at all.” He sounded positively affronted and turned to rummage in his satchel for paper and ink.

“Later,” I snapped, grabbing his arm. “Viltred?”

“I’m all right.” He didn’t look at all well, with a bluish tinge around his lips and incipient panic mingled with the pain in his eyes.

“Shiv!” Livak’s gasp pulled all our heads around and the throng parted for a breath to show us a gorget-wearer thrusting bodies aside as he headed directly for us. All three wizards spat incoherent exclamations at the Elietimm and he exploded in a scatter of azure and scarlet light. Shock scattered the crowd away from the smouldering corpse, and sudden panic began to race through the square. Where people had pushed, they began to land blows; where they had been jesting, they began to curse and shout abuse. The sound began to turn ugly and screams rose from the center of the growing stampede, rising with the dust above the accelerating smack of boot soles on the flagstones. We were buffeted from all sides, tossed like crab-boats caught in a winter squall; I struggled to keep my footing.

“We have to stay together.”

I grabbed Kerrit’s tunic and reached for Livak, who was in turn linking her arm with Halice, who was using her crutch on nearby shins to clear a path as Shiv dragged Viltred over to us. Viltred was struggling, fruitlessly trying to resist the force of the crowd.

“Let yourself be carried along, we have to go with the flow,” I yelled at him.

The last thing I wanted was to be noticeable in this mob; there was going to be no question but magic had started the panic and I didn’t want to be caught on the streets with three wizards when the local Watch or whoever came looking for a culprit. A riot like this was going to leave bodies in its wake and the Relshazri would want someone to blame. When a city elects its officials, keeping the mob happy tends to be more important than justice and I wasn’t about to have my head clamped in a pillory just for having a Formalin accent.

Since we had been heading for a side street anyway, the tide of fleeing Relshazri soon washed us into a dank alley between an inn and a gaming-house. I looked around to make sure we were all all right, but I wasn’t too reassured; Viltred was still recovering from the assault he’d suffered and Livak was supporting Halice, who’d lost her crutch in the crush by now.

“Wait here.”

I moved cautiously back down the muddy street, taking full advantage of any cover offered by doorways and a few abandoned vehicles and hand-carts. The square was largely clear by now, save for two knots of weeping women clustered around prone bodies and a few dazed individuals staggering to their feet. Black-headed gulls were wheeling overhead and a few of the bolder birds were already pecking at fallen fruit, an abandoned loaf of bread, a peddler’s tray of sweetmeats scattered in the dust; others looked speculatively at a motionless body in a huddle of soiled rags. Their thin cries were suddenly lost beneath a child screaming hysterically on the temple steps, flailing thin arms as a red-robed priestess tried ineffectually to calm it. I looked for gray cloaks and saw at least one of our pursuers had been trampled, unable to rise as his feet were still caught in Shiv’s spell I realized with some satisfaction.

“Rope of air is a cantrip any novice could dispel.”

I turned to see that Kerrit had followed me, pen in his mouth as he fumbled with the lid of his ink-horn.

“It should have presented no problem to someone able to see through a complex illusion or to send a direct attack over such a range,” he mumbled, rifling through his notes for a clean page.

“Come on.” I grabbed him with rising irritation, ignoring his protests as ink spilled down the front of his breeches as I dragged him back to the others. Was I ever going to meet a wizard with the sense to run a whelk stall?

“Shiv, do everything you can to hide us. We need to get back to Mellitha’s at once!”

Shiv nodded, and the air around us began to shimmer again as the air wove itself to conceal us.

“I’ve something here which is supposed to hide a trail,” Kerrit piped up.

“Do it then!” I snapped.

“Well, I can’t; you see, it’s an aetheric incantation. I’m fairly sure it should work though; if my notes are correct, it should prevent them using their magic to find us.”

Kerrit beamed and held out a page of precisely written syllables. I reached for it but sudden qualms stayed my hand in mid-air.

“Livak? You did some of these before, didn’t you? You said something about the rhythms?”

I could see my own reluctance reflected in her grass-green eyes as our gazes locked for a still moment.

“Give it here.” Livak suddenly snatched the paper and spat out the words, a Forest cadence in her voice.

“Ar mel sidith, ranel marclenae.”

As far as I was concerned, we had no way of knowing if it would do any good. I would rely on the methods I’ve used before.

“Viltred, do you know a way back to Mellitha’s, using the back streets?”

The old mage dragged a weary hand across his face and nodded. “This way.”

No one stopped us as we made our way back across the city, more slowly than I would have liked in order to maintain the spells woven around us. The Arril streets were as quiet as anywhere in Relshaz and since the people were going about their business, unconcerned, we all began to breathe a little easier. I was starting to think I recognized some of the houses when Viltred stopped abruptly and I nearly trod on his heels.

“I’m not going back to Mellitha’s house until I’m sure we’re not being pursued,” he said brusquely. “I’m not risking leading people like that to her door.”

His lined face was set with grim determination. I had to concede he had a point.

“Let’s find an inn then.”

I shook my head at Shiv to quell his protest and we made our way to a nearby inn where we sat under a vine-laced portico, sipping an aromatic Ferl River white wine until noon had come and long gone. Viltred’s color had improved by then and Halice’s eyes were no longer so shadowed with the pain from her leg. The sixth chime of the day was carried across the city on a sequence of bells and I caught Livak’s eye.

“If they had followed us, they’d have us by now.” She drained her glass and did not refill it. “There’s been no sign of anyone; trust me, I’d have seen them.”

Shiv nodded, sweeping aside a pool of seemingly accidentally spilled wine that he’d been staring into intently. “I’ve been scrying all the neighboring streets and everything’s clear and safe.”

“I suppose that will have to do,” Viltred yielded with ill grace. “Though they could still be spying on us from somewhere else.”

I nodded to the wine waiter and dropped some coins on the table. “If they are, there’s nothing we can do about it. Come on.”

As we entered the courtyard, Mellitha strode out of the porter’s room. She wasted no time in greeting or questions, but hurried us into a precisely organized office.

“I heard what happened by the temple; I arrived to find half my meetings cancelled and the Magistracy in an uproar. What’s been going on?”

I looked at Viltred, who glanced at Shiv, who looked around for Kerrit, so I spoke up with a rapid summary of events.

“So now you’re the hunted, not the hunters,” observed Mellitha dryly as she opened a calfskin folder on her desk. “I’ve had some interesting reports back, though I don’t know quite how they will further your cause. There seem to be two groups of these foreigners in the city. As far as anyone can tell me, they’re not working together. The first lot arrived just before the last lesser full moon and they have been trading in Tormalin antiquities. No one’s quite sure where they’re from; I’ve several different guesses, they’re dressed in local cloth but no one can place their accent. The majority opinion is that they’re from Mandarkin.”

“In other words, from a place so far north and west, no one here is going to have ever seen anyone from there, let alone have heard the accent,” I said sourly.

“Quite so,” Mellitha continued placidly. “They’ve also been seen spending a lot of time in the temples, talking to the priests, but I can’t find out why. They seem to have plenty of money and are paying good prices, so no one’s too bothered about them. The second group arrived four days ago, and I think they could be the ones who are giving you trouble. People are steering clear of them; they’re soldiers by the look of them, all black leather and doing everything by the five-count.”

Mellitha looked up with an impish smile. “They must be sweating like colts around a brood mare, wearing leather like that in this climate. Anyway, their leader has put around the word that he’s looking for a pair of thieves and, wouldn’t you know it, he’s giving out a very good description of Livak and Halice.”

They exchanged a rueful glance.

“It’s not the first time,” sighed Halice. “Are they offering a reward?”

“I’ve not heard so far, but I’ve sent out an enquiry.” Mellitha’s eyes sparkled. “I wonder how much it might be.”

“I can dye my hair, I suppose,” said Livak with some asperity. “You’re going to be stuck in here unless we hire you a carry-chair, Halice. That leg’s just too cursed noticeable.”

Mellitha smiled at them. “You’re supposed to have stolen a valuable weapon, by the way, an Empire long sword with a green-figured scabbard and gilt filigree work on the pommel.”

Viltred cursed. “It’s valuable all right, Toremal-work made by Delathan. It’s the one Ryshad here is wearing.”

“So they’ve given themselves an excuse to seize us on the street,” I said grimly.

“I don’t think the magistrates would look too favorably on that,” frowned Mellitha.

I was not so convinced; enough coins in a handshake usually removes any objections an elected official might raise.

“I imagine they want the sword for itself; we know it’s tied into the lost colony somehow.” Shiv glanced a little apologetically at me.

“Delathan was working in the reign of Nemith the Seafarer, wasn’t he?” Mellitha looked thoughtful.

“At the end of his reign and in the early years of Nemith the Reckless. Why?” inquired Viltred.

“These foreigners dealing in antiquities are concentrating on that period too. In fact it’s the only common factor in their trading,” explained Mellitha. “I mean, most people concentrate on buying jewelry or silverware, something like that, and worry about reign marks later. These people are trading earlier pieces worth much more for quite small items from the decades just before the Empire fell. That’s what’s been pushing up the price, but they don’t seem at all concerned about that.”

Shiv cursed with exasperation. “All we come up with are more questions. I need some answers.”

“Can you lay information with these magistrates of yours without having to reveal your source?” I asked Mellitha.

“Of course,” she nodded. “My unsupported word’s good enough; it has to be if they want their ledgers passed without too much scrutiny.”

“Let them know the foreigners who are looking for the sword are the ones who started the riot outside the temple, the black-leathered troop. At least one of them was trampled and there should be some witnesses who can support your information.”

“Do I know why they are after you?” Mellitha made a note on a clean, square-cut leaf of reed paper. “These people aren’t exactly making themselves popular but the Watch aren’t too inclined to arbitrate in private quarrels.”

“I’d rather you didn’t mention us at all,” objected Shiv.

I certainly agreed with that. “Don’t involve us. Just say they were out for robbery, rape, stirring up trouble to discredit the current authorities, whatever you think will be most unpopular and get them stamped on as soon as they show their faces again.”

Mellitha smiled. “We’ve got elections due at greater full moon. I think I can hint they might be in the pay of a couple of people with a vested interest in unnerving the populace.”

“That should hobble them for a while.” Viltred’s expression lightened with malevolent satisfaction.

“A round of chimes should be all we need.” Livak’s impatience drove her to her feet; she crossed to stare out of the window into the courtyard. “Mellitha, do you think you could send a maid out get me a herbal rinse? Black or brown, I don’t mind.”

“I want everyone to stay here and do nothing until I’ve contacted Planir,” said Shiv with some heat.

“So go and bespeak him.” Livak stared at him, challenge in her cold green eyes.

“Viltred, Kerrit, come with me.”

The older mages followed Shiv with unexpected docility; Livak ignored them as she bent over a letter, paper and ink taken from Mellitha’s desk without apology or request. She finished her writing and double-folded it, looking around a little blankly until Mellitha passed her a wax wafer to seal it.

“Thank you.” Livak scribbled a quick direction on the outside. “Can you send another servant out with this?”

Mellitha raised one exquisitely plucked eyebrow as she read the address. “I think one of my less reliable grooms will probably know this tavern.”

Livak grinned despite herself. “That sounds about right.”

Mellitha rose. “I’ll see to it directly.”

I folded my arms and looked sternly at Livak, who met my gaze with untroubled assurance.

“Who were you writing to?”

“Someone I can trust to put around the word that it’ll be worth more to keep quiet about Halice and me being in the city than it will to try turning a coin from these Elietimm,” she smiled grimly. “Shiv had better be ready to spend some of Planir’s coin closing a few mouths with decent wine.”

I half shook my head doubtfully. “We’ve only been here a day.”

“And at least a handful of people we know will have seen us by now,” Halice spoke up from her chair on the far side of the room. “If they don’t hear otherwise they’ll see no harm in trying to take the Ice Islanders’ coin.”

“I need to get out on my own and start doing things my way,” Livak warned me. “If they’re after us, the quicker we find their nest and lift Viltred’s trinkets, the better. The sooner I can let the local shutter-crackers know I’m interested in these bastards, the sooner someone will chalk their door-post for us.”

I sighed. “Can’t you wait until Shiv’s contacted Planir?”

“I’ll give him till morning and see what he has to say,” Livak conceded slowly, seeing the appeal in my eyes. “But if he wants me to go thieving for him, he has to let me set things up my way, using people I know. I’m not risking a swing on the gibbet because those three wizards come up with some daft plan.”

“If Shiv doesn’t want our help, we’ll see if we can’t get a scent of Arle Cordainer’s trail. I’d say that’s starting to look like being a cursed sight more profitable than staying with you lot.” Halice’s tone was uncompromising as she stared at me, defying me to mention or even glance at her leg.