The Thief's Gamble

Taken from:

Wealth and Wisdom

A Gentleman's Guide to their Acquisition and Keeping

BY Tori Samed

Most gambling revolves around the runes of the ancient races, their use for divination and other such superstitions having long been discarded in civilised countries. Some games are based purely on randomly drawing a predetermined number of runes; others rely on casting combinations that earn greater or lesser scores. In either instance, cultivating a memory for what has gone before is recommended.

The best place to gamble is with friends, in convivial surroundings accompanied by a good vintage, provided that the stakes and means of redeeming debts have been agreed beforehand. When travelling, many of the better inns in the cities and on the major coach routes will have a permanent gaming table with a resident host. Such games are generally played fair and can run to very high stakes. If you have sufficient skill, you may rise from the table, your purse heavy with coin. However, any debts incurred in such company must be honoured instantly if you wish to avoid having your goods and luggage seized in payment.

Do not be beguiled into a casual contest in a city thronged at festival time. Beware the amiable stranger who offers you a friendly game to while away a dull evening in a back-roads tavern. Such men prey on the unwary, turning the game mercilessly to their advantage with weighted runes and sleight of hand. Turned away from hearth and home, disgraced or fugitive, they are little better than mercenaries and thieves.

The Packhorse Tavern, on the Col Road South of Ambafost, Ensaimin, 12th of For-Autumn

Some opportunities ought to come labelled 'too good to be true'. Of course, ten years of living by my wits should have taught me how to spot them. You would have thought so anyway; so would I.

The night this particular opportunity came to wreak havoc in my life, I was sitting comfortably full of good dinner in front of a roaring fire, and listening to the wind tearing at the snug inn. I was wearing my usual nondescript travelling clothes and, with any luck, the other patrons in the tap-room would have been hard put to decide my age, sex or business. Being unremarkable is a talent I cultivate: middling height, middling build, nothing special — unless I choose differently. Feet up on a stool and hat over my eyes, I may have looked half-asleep, but mentally I was pacing the room and kicking the furniture. Where was Halice? We had been due to meet here four days ago and this unplanned stay was eating into my funds. It was unlike her to be late for a meet. On the few occasions it had happened before, she had always got a message through. What should I do?

I counted my money again; not that anyone else in the room noticed as I slipped my fingers into the pouch under my shirt and sorted the coin. I carry noble coin on me night and day; I've had to abandon my belongings a few times and being caught out with no money leads to bad experiences. I had thirty Caladhrian Stars, ten Tormalin Crowns and, reassuringly bulky, three Empire Crowns. They were more than enough to give me a stake for the Autumn Fair at Col and I had a heavy pouch of common coin upstairs which would cover my travelling expenses as long as I left in the morning. If I waited any longer, I'd have to pay carriers' coach fare and that would seriously eat into my reserves.

The problem was that I did not want to work the Autumn Fair on my own. Lucrative as it is, it can be a dangerous place and while I can take care of myself nowadays, Halice is still a lot handier than me with her sword and her knives. Working as a pair has other advantages too; when someone feels their luck with the runes is going bad, it's much harder to see why when there are two people adjusting the odds. As an added bonus, people never expect two women to be working the gambling together, even in a big city. I could hook up with other people but Halice is better than most as well as more honest than some.

Of course, the most likely explanation was that Halice was stuck in some lord's lock-up awaiting the local version of justice. I cursed out loud, forgetting myself for a moment, but luckily no one seemed to have noticed. There were only three other people in the tap-room, and they were deep in conversation with the innkeeper. They were merchants by their dress; this was a well-travelled business route and the chances were they were heading for Col. The filthy weather seemed to be keeping the locals by their own firesides, which was fine by me.

If Halice was in trouble, there was no way I could help her. Identifying myself as her friend would simply land me in shackles too. I frowned. It was hard to believe that Halice would get herself into trouble she could not get clear of. That was one of the main reasons we worked Ensaimin for the most part. Competition for trade guarantees a reassuring lack of inconveniences such as circulating reward notices or co-operative Watch commanders, which make prosy places like Caladhria so inhospitable. Here trouble is seldom so bad it cannot be left behind once you cross a local boundary, and we take care never to outstay our welcome.

So there I was, sitting and fretting and sipping rather good wine, when a very wet horseman strode into the bar and beckoned to mine host. I could not hear what they were saying, and that immediately piqued my curiosity, but I could not move closer without drawing attention to myself. The horseman passed over a small parchment and I heard the chink of coins. As he left, the innkeeper unfolded the letter or whatever it was and the merchants crowded round.

'So what does it say?' a thin man in a stained yellow tunic asked.

'Dunno. Can't read.' The innkeeper shrugged his fat shoulders. 'I'll need to know more before I tack it up though, money or no.'

I bit my lip with frustration. I can read, thanks to a mother determined I should have every possible advantage to offset my birth, but there was no way I was going to make myself conspicuous by offering help.

'Here.' The thin man's companion reached for the parchment and frowned at it. 'Where's the Running Hound?'

'It's the big coaching inn on the market in Ambafost,' the third merchant piped up, peering over the reader's leather-clad shoulder.

'Well, there's a trader staying there who's interested in buying Tormalin antiquities.' The bearded man smoothed out the notice and read it through, lips moving as he did so. 'This says he'll pay good prices and that he'll be buying on market day.'

'He must be doing well, to be paying to advertise like this.' The third merchant gnawed at a nail thoughtfully. 'Is there much doing in antiquities at the moment?'

The bearded man shrugged. 'Maybe he's got plans for the Autumn Fair. There are collectors in Col and there'll be traders from Relshaz and the Archipelago as well.'

The thin man stared at the parchment with greedy eyes. 'Perhaps we should try and get hold of a few good pieces if the prices are going to be favourable.'

They huddled together and the bearded man got out a map as they discussed the possibilities.

I drank the rest of my wine and pondered my next moves. I happened to know where you could find some very fine pieces of Tormalin Empire work, and if I could get anywhere near a realistic price for one, even allowing for a merchant's cut, I could wait for Halice until the very last hour, then hire a private coach to get me to Col and still have money over to stake me for a very high playing game. The trick would be getting the piece to the merchant without the original owner being aware of it and there it seemed that the gods were smiling on me for a change. I should have known better, but at the time all I could think of was the profit I could make. There was also the little matter of a very sweet revenge which would be a substantial bonus. Was it worth the gamble?

The merchants were absorbed in their discussion, and I went upstairs without anyone remarking on it. I unshuttered the window and peered out. Rain was still falling but the wind was slackening off and the waxing lesser moon was fleetingly visible through gaps in the cloud.

Should I do this? It would be risky but, then again, it could be very profitable. Well, I'm a gambler and no one ever struck it rich keeping their runes in their pocket, did they? The temptation was just too strong. I changed clothes rapidly, swapping homespun and leather for good broadcloth breeches and tunic, boots, gloves and hooded jerkin, all in charcoal grey. Black gives hard edges which can catch the eye even in the darkest night. The rough wooden beams of the inn made leaving through the window simplicity itself, as long as I took care not to mark the intervening plaster. I was soon jogging through the woods fringing the road to Hawtree.

It was cold and wet but the prospect of a little adventure warmed me. I did not do much thieving in those days. The difficulties of fencing goods in a strange place are formidable and while weighting the runes in a game of chance can get you flogged, getting caught stealing from a noble's house gets you the pillory at best and loses you a hand at worst. Unfortunately, only nobles have anything worth stealing. You may wonder why I was chancing it this time, but I happened to know this particular noble was not going to be at home, which did rather weight the odds in my favour. Raeponin's devotees can talk all they want about balance and justice and levelling the scales, but you won't ever find me making offerings at his shrine. After all, I gamble for a living, not for fun.

I had sat on my horse under a dripping oak tree earlier that week watching the gentleman and his entourage heading north with enough luggage to indicate a lengthy stay in another place. I would have recognised him anywhere, even after ten years. You do not easily forget the face of a man who has tried to beat and rape you.

Hawtree was not far and I covered the distance easily; staying fit is essential in my kind of life. I breathed in the damp green scent of the night happily. I love being out in the country at night, for all that the sun rules my birth-runes. It must be my father's blood coming through, despite my city upbringing. The village was mostly dark and a few of the wooden houses showed dim lights, but this was farming country and most folk here slept and rose with the sun. The larger brick and flint buildings round the market square showed more signs of life despite the fact it was now past midnight, so I ducked into an alley and waited to catch my breath. I walked noiselessly through the dark lanes, keeping an eye out for dogs who might advertise my presence.

The house was just off a garden square, a favourable position for a wealthy landowner's residence. The tall front showed heavy oak shutters barred with iron and a stout door with an expensive lock; this did not bother me as I worked my way round to the alley at the back. I found a dark corner and studied the kitchen and outbuildings round the yard. My mother said I was the most useless maid she had ever known but my years as a housekeeper's daughter had given me invaluable knowledge about the domestic arrangements of large houses. A scullery maid would be trying to sleep in the meagre warmth of the dying kitchen range while her more fortunate seniors would have chilled and cramped quarters in the garrets. The cook and chamberlain would have the better rooms overlooking the yard. I couldn't tell how many servants the bastard had taken with him so I had better avoid any of those areas. The room I wanted was towards the front of the house on the ground floor so ideally I needed to get in through a first-floor window. I studied them in the fitful moonlight and blessed the keen night-sight that my father had granted me. It did not look promising but I was reluctant to give up; I wanted the money this would provide and the more I thought about it, the more I liked the idea of finally getting my own back on the misbegotten swine who had first brought me to this house. I suppose, to be precise, quite a chain of events had brought me to this house; the bastard with the nice collection of silver simply happened to be the last link.

I had finally stormed out of what had once passed for my home after my mother had lamented once too often about the ruin of her life, saddled with the by-blow of a minstrel, one of the Forest Folk at that. I had already taken to gambling which I had always been good at and was working small deceptions to earn my meals. I had formed no real plans beyond some vague idea of trying to find my wandering father and, looking back, I am surprised it took so long for me to land in trouble. A panicking attempt to bluff my way out of an inn without paying had left me thrown on the road with a smarting arse and my few belongings taken in lieu of payment.

I had arrived in Hawtree two days later, tired and ravenous, dirty and desperate. Neither of the decent coaching inns had let me past their doors and I had ended up in a grimy hostelry next to the slaughterhouse. It had not taken me long to realise why there were so many women sitting around the tap-room and it was a measure of my ignorance and despondency that I decided to try for a customer myself. Lack of food must have softened my brain. It was not as if I was a virgin, I had thought, and my mother, ever determined I should not get caught like her, had taken me off to a reliable herbalist as soon as she had first caught the under-gardener fondling my bottom. It had not occurred to me to worry about disease and, looking at the competition, I had felt confident that I would be able to earn a meal at very least.

I combed my hair with my fingers as best I could — I wore it long in those days — and pinched my cheeks to heighten my colour. I was still using herbal washes to bring out the red in my hair and cosmetics to make my eyes reflect green rather than grey, and, despite its stains, my russet dress looked sufficiently exotic in the dingy bar. Chances were none of these yokels had ever seen a real Forest maiden so, their reputation being what it is, I decided to increase my asking price. The next customer to survey the waiting women was tall, dark and handsome in a sharp sort of way and he rapidly passed over the others to catch my eye. The other whores looked away and muttered among themselves. Naive as I was, I felt sure they were jealous.

'Well, well, you're not from around here, are you?' He came over and gestured for wine, which I drank thirstily.

'No, I'm just passing through.' I did my best to look mysterious and alluring.

'All alone?' His hand brushed mine as he poured more wine.

'I like to travel light.' I smiled at him and my spirits rose. He was clean and young and looked wealthy; I could have done a lot worse. As I said, I was very naive in those days.

'What's your name, sweetheart?'

'Merith.' Actually that's my oldest spinster aunt but who cared.

'This isn't a very comfortable inn. Could I offer you some hospitality?'

That was a new way of putting it but I wasn't going to argue. I smiled at him from beneath my dyed lashes.

'I'm sure we could come to some agreement.' After all, I wanted some coin out of this, not just a warm bed and food.

He offered me his arm and I flaunted out of the gloomy tap-room, attributing the sudden buzz of conversation behind us to disappointed hopes.

Ten years on, I stood in the dark and looked at the windows thoughtfully. That was the salon where he had taken me, I was sure. He had shown me in and told me to wait. My spirits rose at the thought of food and clean sheets and the business to come even promised to be quite enjoyable. I wandered round the room and noted the fine tapestries, the polished furniture and the superb Tormalin silver on the mantel shelf. Stories from the ballads I had heard my father sing began to echo in the back of my mind — virtuous maiden falls on hard times and is rescued by a handsome noble, that sort of thing.

When I heard the door, I turned with a welcoming smile but my host was not bringing the supper he had promised. He locked the door behind him and his lips curved in an ugly smile as he ran a dog-whip through his hands. He was stripped to shirt and hose and flushed with anticipation. I moved to put the table between us; from the glint in his eye, I would not have bet on my chances of talking my way out of this. I may have been naive but I wasn't that stupid. I realised I was in serious danger.

'Come here, whore,' he commanded.

'If you want something more lively than plain sex, I want more money,' I countered boldly. If he thought I was going to play, he might get careless and I would be out of there like a rat from a burning barn.

'You'll get what I decide to give you.' He was not talking coin; he lunged at me and the lash flicked my cheek.

I screamed as loudly as I could but all he did was laugh. 'My servants are paid well to be deaf, you slut. Scream by all means. I like it.'

I could see that he did too. He moved and so did I, we circled round the table and he began to frown.

'Come and see what I've got for you,' he leered, lifting his shirt.

I dashed for the window but he was too fast and grabbed a handful of hair. He threw me to the floor and raised the whip but I rolled under the table. He cursed obscenely and snatched at my ankle. I kicked and twisted as he dragged me out but he was too strong. He ripped at my skirts with his other hand and my head smacked against the chair legs. He laughed as he saw the blood and oddly, that was what finally made me lose my temper.

I went limp. As he relaxed his grip, I drew my knees up. He laughed again as he straightened up to unlace himself, then I brought both of my feet up into his stones. He collapsed, retching, and I scrambled to my feet. I grabbed a fallen chair and smacked it hard into the side of his head and ran for the window a second time. As I fumbled with the catches, I heard him groan and curse. I have never been so frightened in my life, utterly occupied with opening the window, not daring to lose a moment of time by glancing behind me. After what seemed like an age, I had the casement open and the shutter beyond. I risked a glance at the bastard on the floor; he had got to his knees but was clutching himself with screwed-shut eyes. I swung out of the window and dropped to the road. With the first stroke of luck I'd had in a long time, I didn't hurt myself, and I ran as far and as fast as I could.

The first time I'd told Halice that tale, she'd been astounded I could be so matter-of-fact about it. The memory could still wake me in a cold sweat if I was overtired or feeling low, that in itself was part of the reason I wanted some small measure of revenge. As for the rest, I'd learned I'd come out of it lightly if you could believe the broadsheets' lurid tales of mutilated bodies and the sad strangled corpse I'd once seen dragged from a river.

I stared at the window. I could still feel the terror but, more importantly for my present ambitions, I pictured the details of window- and shutter-catches, engraved on my memory. I had made it my business to learn a range of skills in case I should ever again get stranded with no money and I knew I could get in if I could find a place where I could work unobserved for a while. I walked round the house and saw a side window facing the blank wall of the stable-block; ideal. It took less time than I had feared and I found myself in a library. That was a surprise; who would have thought the ape could read. I opened the door cautiously but there was no sound or light from any direction. The house smelled of beeswax and possessed a chill that spoke of several days without fires. I moved along the corridor, my soft soles noiseless on the polished floorboards. The salon door was locked but that did not delay me for long. The darkness was troubling me by now, not even real Forest Folk can see in complete blackness, but I could still recall the layout of the room and put my hand unerringly on the mantel.

What should I take? The temptation was to sweep the lot into my little padded sack; I owed the scum for the scars on my cheek and temple and for the old man I had been driven to knock over for his purse further down the road. I dismissed that foolishness; I would take one of the smaller pieces, that would be enough. I ran my hand along the shelf and lifted a long-necked vase. No, too unusual, I could not price it reliably. Next along was a goblet, a coat of arms deeply incised on its side. Too easily identifiable. I passed over a platter and some spoons that felt too light to be genuine and then found a small lidded tankard. It was plain, apart from scrolls on the handle and lid, but had a reassuring weight. The handle was smooth and fit neatly in my hand; it was just the sort if thing I would have liked for myself. It was towards the back of the shelf, behind two ornate wine jugs; did that mean it was less likely to be missed? Perhaps, but I intended to be long gone before then. I pocketed the tankard and lifted the remaining pieces to dust the shelf; no point in leaving clues and a dozy maid might not notice the loss for a few days.

By now my eyes were aching from straining in the dim light and I left rapidly the way I had come. Refastening the window took some time and the sky was starting to lighten by the time I returned to the inn. It occurred to me that some hapless footman or the like would get blamed for the theft but I cannot say that bothered me; serve them right for working for such a turd. I only hoped his anguish when he discovered the loss was as deep as I wanted. My gamble was paying off nicely so far. I got into my bed for what remained of the night and slept deep and dreamlessly.

The Chamber of Planir the Black in the Island City of Hadrumal, 12th of For-Autumn

Share a bottle with an Archmage and you'll either be ruined or made for life — that's what they used to say, isn't it, Otrick?' The stout man speaking held out his glass for a refill and laughed fruitily at his own quip.

'I think those days were already long past when I first came here, Kalion.' Otrick poured him a full measure and then topped up his own drink, his steady hand belying the wrinkles carved in his face and the white hairs now outnumbering the grey in his steely hair and beard.

'How long ago was that, Cloud-Master?' the youngest man present asked, taking the bottle with a creditable attempt at ease, given the exalted company he found himself keeping.

Otrick's close-lipped smile was as about as revealing as a masquerader's guise. 'Longer ago than I care to remember, Usara,' he replied softly, raising his glass. His vivid blue eyes glinted under his angular brows.

'Anyway, Archmage, what was it you wanted to discuss?' Kalion half-turned on the deeply upholstered settle to address the neatly built man who was shuttering the tall windows and drawing the thick green curtains precisely together.

'Oh, it's nothing vital, Hearth-Master. You were in Relshaz for Solstice, weren't you? I was wondering if the antiquarians there have turned up anything interesting lately?' Planir lit a couple of oil-lamps and their yellow glow warmed the deep oak panelling around the room, a few gleams here and there revealing choice pieces of statuary in discreet niches. The soft light blurred the network of fine lines around the Archmage's eyes and made him look barely a handful of years older than Usara. He set a lamp down on the table.

'Do we want a fire, do you think?'

'I should think so,' Otrick said emphatically.

Kalion looked a little askance at the skinny old wizard, dressed neatly if unfashionably in grey wool broadcloth. He contented himself with loosening the neck of his own maroon velvet gown, new from the tailor in the latest style and shade and richly embroidered with a border of flames.

'You see, Usara thinks he may have turned up something new but, equally, it may just be a waste of everyone's time.' The Archmage snapped his fingers on a flash of red and dropped a flame into the fire laid ready in the spotless grate. He drew in the silken skirts of his own black robe and seated himself in a high-backed chair, warming his glass in his long-fingered hands as he leant back against the rich sage brocade. 'Sweetcake? Do help yourselves, everyone.'

'What exactly is it you're studying, Usara? Remind me,' Kalion asked the youthful wizard indistinctly round a mouthful of fruit-and-honeycake.

Usara's thin face flushed brightly, the colour clashing with his sandy hair and somewhat cruelly highlighting just how thin it was becoming above his high forehead. 'I've been working on the decline and fall of the Tormalin Empire for some seasons now, Hearth-Master. I met some scholars from the University of Vanam last year when they came to use the library at the Seaward Hall and they invited me to use their archives.'

Kalion shrugged with evident disinterest, the gesture creasing his chins unappealingly as he reached for more wine. 'So?'

Usara smoothed the linen ruffles at his neck, glancing fleetingly at Planir, who smiled reassuringly over the rim of his glass and inclined his sleek, dark head slightly. 'Go on,' the Archmage encouraged him. 'Well, when Sannin was there over the Winter Solstice, she went to a celebration where the wines were flowing pretty freely and tongues started getting loose as well.'

Otrick laughed abruptly, his thin face alight with mischief.

'If I know Sannin, that's not all that got loosened. She's a fun girl at a party.' He subsided at a glance from Planir but continued to chuckle into his straggly beard as he munched on a slice of cake.

Usara shot the old man an irritated look and spoke with a little more force. 'They started talking about history. Someone noticed her necklace, it's an heirloom piece, Old Tormalin, and one of the historians wondered what tales a necklace like that could tell, if only it could talk.'

Otrick coughed on his mouthful. 'That was an old excuse for looking down a girl's dress when I was a boy!'

Usara ignored him. 'There were scholars from all sorts of disciplines there, and a couple of wizards, and they started wondering if there could be any way to find out more about the original owners of antiquities.'

'What good would that do anyone?' Otrick frowned as he shook the empty bottle. 'Do you have another of these, Planir?'

The Archmage waved him to a collection of bottles on a gleaming sideboard but he kept his own grey eyes intent on Kalion.

Usara continued. 'Once they got talking, Sannin said, they started coming up with some interesting ideas for research.'

'Did they still look like good ideas when the wine had worn off and the headaches hit?' Otrick's tone was sarcastic.

'When she told us all this, we started to think about it ourselves. There are some old variants on scrying that we could try and some fragments of religious lore that we might be able to incorporate. We're coming up with some promising lines for further enquiry.' Usara leaned forward, face intent, unaware of Otrick's indignation at being talked over.

'You see, Hearth-Master, if we can find a way to use Tormalin antiquities to somehow look back through the generations, into the lives of ordinary people, we could have no end of new sources of historical information. Don't you see how it could help my studies? In all recorded history, the fall of the Tormalin Empire was the greatest cataclysm ever to befall a civilisation. If we could find clues to help us patch together the fragments of the written record—'

'None of which is of any more than passing interest and is of no use in the real world.' Kalion's disdain was clear as he reached for more cake and refilled his glass now that Otrick had located the corkscrew. 'Thank you, Cloud-Master.'

'Understanding our history is an essential foundation for looking to the future.' Usara's thin lips nearly vanished altogether as he squared his shoulders to contradict the larger man.

'Don't get pompous with me, young man. I can remember when you arrived here in your clay-stained apprentice rags,' Kalion said crushingly.

'Knowledge always has a value, Hearth-Master. It is—' 'Knowledge only has a value if it has an application.' Kalion spoke over Usara mercilessly. 'Why are we even discussing this, Archmage?' he demanded with a hint of exasperation.

Planir shrugged again and rubbed a hand over his smoothly shaven jaw. 'I was wondering if we should put some resources into following it up.'

'Oh, surely not.' Kalion looked as appalled as a man so well wined could hope to. 'There's so much else the Council needs to consider. You heard Imerald's account of how fast smelting is being developed in the north. That's a real advance, something we should be involved in. Look at the ways Caladhrian cattle stock is improving now that most of the Lords are enclosing their pastures. I could give you a handful more examples of other sciences where more progress has been made in the last generation than in the previous five—'

'Spare us the full speech, Hearth-Master,' Otrick yawned theatrically. 'We were at the last session of the Council, remember. We were listening.'

'You can't deny that some of my predecessors did take the isolation of senior wizardry rather too far, Cloud-Master.' Planir's rebuke was light but still unmistakable.

'That's what I've been saying for I don't know how many seasons.' The florid purple tinge on Kalion's cheekbones faded a little. 'Given the rate of the changes we're seeing on the mainland, if we don't find ourselves a role, we'll be left behind.

This prejudice against getting involved in politics, for example, is outdated and meaningless—'

'I'm not prejudiced. I just don't see the benefit to me of getting tangled up in helping to organise the boring little lives of the mundane. If I'm to spend my time on things that take me away from my own research and studies, it'll be on my terms and to achieve something I need.'

Otrick passed Kalion the wine which effectively diverted him. 'Anyway, save the speeches for the next session of Council, Hearth-Master. That's the place for important debate. Now, as far as I'm concerned, Usara, you can spend as many seasons as you like finding out who did what while the Empire was collapsing round their ears. What I want to know is whether this little scheme of yours is going to tell me anything about magical techniques and skills that were lost in the dark generations.'

'Now that would be knowledge worth having.' Kalion nodded emphatic agreement.

'I suppose we might discover such things, if we could work with artefacts that belonged to wizards…' Usara looked uncertainly towards Planir, '… if we can find a way of scrying into their activities.'

The Archmage leaned forward and refilled the younger mage's glass. 'If I were to support this project, I think I'd want to give it more focus and looking for lost magic seems most relevant.' Planir paused for moment and looked thoughtful. 'I think you have a valid point, Kalion. The time has come for the Council to consider our role in the wider scheme of things in the modern world. Equally, there's something in what Otrick says; if wizards are to become more involved in matters beyond this island, to avoid the mistakes of the past, we need to do so on our own terms.'

'If we were able to rediscover some of the magic lost during the disintegration of the Empire, we would certainly improve our bargaining position,' Otrick allowed.

'We could establish useful contacts if we were able to offer scholars solutions to some of the questions thrown up by the collapse of Old Tormalin power.' Usara spoke up boldly. 'Most of the tutors and court advisors to nobilities all the way across the mainland come from the various universities.'

'That's a fair point.' Planir looked enquiringly at Kalion. 'What do you think, Hearth-Master?'

'It might be worth looking into. What do you propose?' the stout mage asked cautiously.

'Hall records could give us the family names of the early wizards. We could enquire if those families have minor heirlooms they would be willing to sell,' Planir mused. 'Usara and his pupils could concentrate their researches on them.'

'It'll be a waste of time and coin,' Otrick said robustly. 'You'd be better off sending some agents into the mountains and getting some decent information about this blast-furnace or whatever it is they call it.'

'That does sound as if it could be a significant development, Cloud-Master,' Planir agreed. 'Still, if I can spare a couple of men, it shouldn't be hard to collect a few Empire antiquities with decent provenance. Don't you think? We would find out sooner if Usara's project has any value. Who knows, we might even uncover some valuable information on lost magic.'

'We might do nothing more than push up the price of Tormalin antiques and land ourselves with a room full of old pots and statues,' Otrick snorted.

'That is also possible,' Planir admitted. 'So, it's something to look at when we have resources to spare but hardly a priority now. Do you agree, Hearth-Master?'

'I suppose so.' Kalion still sounded dubious.

A timepiece on the mantel chimed four soft strokes and Kalion looked at it in some surprise. 'You'll have to excuse me, Archmage, I didn't realise it was so late.' He drained his glass and rose to his feet with some effort.

'The longer night chimes always catch me out after Solstice,' Otrick agreed, but showed no signs of moving.

'We must make time to discuss your Council speech in more detail, Kalion. Ask your senior pupil to check with Larissa to arrange a convenient time.' Planir bowed Kalion formally into the escort of the lamp-boy who had been dozing on the stairs. He closed the heavy oak door softly and then rapidly stripped off his ornately embroidered robe to reveal practical breeches and a light linen shirt which he covered with a worn and ink-stained chambercoat.

'I meant to ask you when you started using the same tailor as Kalion,' Otrick chuckled around the last mouthful of cake. 'I always say gowns are for girls in garlands.'

This time Planir's smile showed his teeth and, with the gleam in his eye, he looked positively predatory. 'Details are important, Otrick, you taught me that.'

'So did we dance your measure correctly, Archmage?' Much of Usara's diffidence had departed along with Kalion. He crossed to the sideboard and helped himself. 'Cordial, anyone?'

'I'll have some of the mint, thanks.' Planir lounged in his chair and stretched his soft leather boots out to the fire with an air of satisfaction. 'Yes, I think that went very well. If any more rumours about our little project surface, that story should cover them.'

'You think so?' Usara passed the Archmage a little crystal goblet. 'Kalion didn't seem all that convinced.'

'He didn't think it was worth much interest,' Planir corrected him. 'Which is what I hoped for.'

'He's got a lot of influence among the Council, being the senior Hearth-Master and all that goes with it.' Uncertainty continued to colour Usara's tone.

'He has, indeed.' Otrick nodded. 'He's also the man most people round here go to for gossip, isn't he?'

Comprehension dawned and Usara laughed. 'So if someone gets curious about what we're doing, they'll check with Kalion and he'll tell them he knows all about it and it's nothing of any significance.'

'Whereas few things attract more attention than rumours of a secret project with the personal interest of the Archmage and the oldest Cloud-Master,' Planir agreed, sipping his drink contentedly. 'You see, Usara, people have all sorts of ideas about the proper role of an Archmage but very few realise it's spending most of your time persuading people to do what you want them to do while making sure they think it was all their idea in the first place.'

'You certainly moved Kalion like a bird on a game board,' Usara acknowledged.

Otrick grinned wolfishly. 'Don't ever play White Raven with this man, 'Sar, I swear he could end up with the forest birds serving the raven rather than trying to drive him out.'

'I haven't played Raven in years, Cloud-Master.' Planir shook his head in mock sorrow. 'It rather lost its challenge after a few seasons as Archmage.'

Otrick rummaged in his breeches pocket for a little wash-leather pouch. 'So when will you be telling the Council the truth?' He popped a couple of leaves into his mouth and chewed with relish.

'When I have a full story to tell or when someone senior enough brings me a rumour I can't ignore.' Planir fixed Usara with a keen eye. 'I'd prefer it to be the former. How close are you to finding out what I need to know?'

Usara swallowed his drink with a hint of his former nervousness. 'We've managed to refine the methods of identifying the pieces we need.'

'About cursed time. Sending so-called merchants out with a sack of coin to buy up every piece of Old Empire tat they could find is what attracted attention in the first place,' Otrick snorted.

'That was unfortunate.' Usara faced the old mage with dignity. 'However, I don't recall you coming up with any better ideas.'

Planir forestalled any argument with a commanding hand. 'Given we've had people working on this for close on two seasons, I'd have been amazed if we'd got away with it any longer. Now, what results are you getting?'

'The information we're getting is very detailed, almost too much so. We need to place it in a context; it's the gaps in the written records that are holding us back at the moment.' Usara's frustration was evident.

'I think it might be time to get one of the Vanam Histories brought here,' Planir said thoughtfully. 'I'd like to see progress on this sooner rather than later.'

'We have asked but we haven't been able to persuade the

Mentors to release one to us.' Usara shuffled his feet unhappily at this admission.

'I imagine I'll have more success. An Archmage has all kind of powers, 'Sar, and actual wizardry is often the least important.' Planir's eyes shone in the lamplight. 'Have you heard from Casuel Devoir lately? When's he due back?'

'Equinox, I think,' Usara shrugged.

'I said he was a bad choice for this kind of work,' Otrick sniffed.

'Do we have a lot of choice? Casuel's had no pupillage for three seasons, so no one's missing him. He's bright enough and quite knowledgeable about the Old Empire, isn't he? It's not as if we've told any of them the full story.'

Planir slid a sideways smile towards Otrick. 'You remember that business at Summer Solstice a few years back? His determination to outdo Shivvalan should give him the sort of edge he'll need.'

'Ha!' Otrick's amusement came and went in an instant. 'If we need answers before the Council starts asking awkward questions, we must move faster. We need more people.'

Planir reached round behind his chair to take a sheaf of papers from a desk. 'I think I should be able to find three or four suitable agents without attracting too much notice.'

Usara frowned. 'They'll need to work with a mage. We'll have to find a handful or so who could be trusted with this but who aren't anyone's pupil at present.'

'Not necessarily. I got Shivvalan Ralsere hooked when he came to ask me about a pupillage. I could take on at least one more and I think it's about time we got Troanna involved. No one's going to comment if she takes on a couple, especially if they're recent arrivals,' Otrick suggested.

'True, I'll give it some thought,' Planir said thoughtfully. 'You'll need to find some scholars who can identify these trinkets as closely as possible, 'Sar.'

Otrick yawned and rubbed his eyes. 'You'll owe me if I have a headache tomorrow, Planir, I'm getting too old to match someone like Kalion cork for cork.'

'I'll turn the wine-merchant into a lizard if you feel bad in the morning, Cloud-Master,' the Archmage promised solemnly. 'Given the coin he took off me for that vintage, it'll be a pleasure.'

Otrick heaved a sigh and the animation left his face, his years plain to see for the first time.

'So what do we do when we've got the full story then? If half what we suspect turns out to be true, the mainlanders will be able to hear the uproar from Council clear across the gulf. Anyone wanting to find this particular, mystical, hidden island will just have to follow the noise.'

'A shock's greatest when it's unexpected.' Planir looked untroubled. 'I think I'll give Naldeth's projects some personal attention. That'll stop everyone sniggering behind his back and if his theories gain a little currency, you can offer him some co-operation, 'Sar. Then we can control how and when any new information becomes common knowledge.'

'If you say so.' The youthful mage's uncertainty was apparent.

'You're juggling firebrands,' Otrick warned dourly.

Planir shrugged and rose to replenish his cordial. 'That's as good a description as any of being an Archmage. Anyway, that wolf may well be a dog in the daylight; we might have nothing to worry about.'

'I'd give you better odds on a winning spread of runes first throw,' Otrick muttered.

'So you think you've got everything under control.' Usara looked to Planir for reassurance.

The Archmage's smile glinted white and even. 'I do hope not, 'Sar, that's the last thing I want. I just set things in motion; what I'm watching for is the loose rune that can turn the game for us. We all have to look for that one opportunity and make sure we seize it.'

The Packhorse Tavern, on the Col Road South of Ambafost, Ensaimin, 13th of For-Autumn

The noises of the inn woke me, the rattle of harness and stamp of hooves in the yard and the sounds of conversation and drinking below. I checked the sun as I dressed for my role as poor but comparatively honest villager; it was quite a lot later than I had intended to rise but I felt refreshed despite my night excursion. Cold water woke me up fully and I checked the pouch under my pillow to reassure myself that it had not all been a wishful dream. The tankard was there and in the daylight I could see I had chosen a fine piece. The silver had the rich sheen of old Tormalin work and the maker's mark was distinct and central on the base, another good sign. I did not recognise it but silver's not my thing; I'm better on paintings. Should I take it to Col myself if the market was rising? I thought about it but the whole idea had been to get some money so I could wait for Halice and, in any case, since it was such a good piece, I did not want to be the one left holding it if the theft was noticed and the local Watch came looking. This merchant, whoever he might be, could have it and welcome. All I wanted was the pay-off.

I breakfasted rapidly and, taking out my hired horse, rode for Ambafost, cursing the inconvenience of unaccustomed skirts. The road was busy now it was past mid-morning and the previous days of rain had given way to sunshine. Farm carts and local carriages were rumbling along, occasionally overtaken by horsemen in twos and threes or delayed by a plodding mule train. This was both good and bad; more potential witnesses to identify me if someone came looking, but by the same token more faces for me to get lost amongst. I wondered about changing inns but there was the problem of Halice; I didn't want to miss any message she might send. It was market day and the square in Ambafost was packed; stalls offered everything from vegetables and meat to Dalasorian glassware and Aldabreshin silks; some merchants were clearly trading their way down to Col. People jostled and shoved and shouted, the melee smelling of damp wool and leather mingling with the scents of baking bread overhead and animal dung underfoot. I like this kind of market; they offer excellent cover. A few beggars were trying their luck without much success but there was no sign of any Watch coming to move them on which I was happy to see.

I found the Running Hound easily and forced my way through the crowd. Several carriers' coaches had just arrived and there were passengers shouting at each other as they tried to find out when the next stage of their journey would begin: some needed to change routes, some wanted food, children were crying and one couple decided to start a major domestic dispute in the centre of the hall. A Rationalist was being completely ignored as she tried to find someone to bore with her theories on why advances in magic and science meant no one need bother with the gods nowadays.

'Where's the merchant interested in buying antiquities?' I grabbed a passing potman by the elbow.

'Private parlour behind the gentles' bar.' He shook off my hand and went on his way without even looking at me.

The clamour shrank to a murmur in the tap-room reserved for gentlefolk; there were settles here and sweet herbs among the rushes on the floor. The barkeeper gave me a sharp look but since I was evidently not a farmer or stockman, decided to give me the benefit of the doubt. I gave him my brightest smile, the one that says cute but dim.

'I just got into town and someone told me there's a merchant looking to buy antiquities. Could I speak to him please?'

'I'll let him know you're here. He's busy at the moment.' He polished the already spotless pewter of the goblet he was holding.

I did not want to force the issue so repeated the smile. 'I'll have a cup of wine while I wait then. Have one yourself.' I dropped a Mark on the counter and took the wine he poured, without waiting for change.

As I sat in a discreet corner, I saw two women come out of the parlour together; one with a smug smirk, the other trying to conceal her chagrin.

'It's a shame, dear,' the first said to her stout companion. 'Your father always swore those stones were genuine.'

The woman smoothed the blue brocade of her gown. 'The sentimental value remains. It's not as if I needed to sell like you.'

The first woman's lips narrowed. 'Times are changing, dear. There's no room for sentiment in business nowadays.'

They swept out of the street door together and I caught the barkeeper's eye as he put a flagon of wine and some goblets on a tray. He gestured to me and I headed over.

'You'd better not be wasting his time,' he warned as he opened the door for me.

'Good morning, my name's Terilla.'

I fixed on the bright smile again and looked at the three men sitting across the table in the small sun-filled room. In the centre a heavily built man in red broadcloth leant back against the wall and looked at me unsmiling. He was dark of hair and beard, his rings were heavy gold without gems and unless I was mistaken he had a knife up his left sleeve. I could not see his boots under the table but he struck me as the type to have more than one blade about him; unusual in a merchant. His companions were an ill-assorted pair; to his right sat a wiry type in rough leathers over green linen. It did not suit his sallow skin and long black hair but he did not look the kind to care. He was idly casting runes as he sat, one hand against the other, and my fingers itched. The other one looked as if he had wandered in here by mistake but he was drinking wine so he had to be part of the team. Perhaps he was an apprentice of some sort: he was certainly young enough. He was wearing sensible brown homespun, close-cropped fair hair and an earnest expression; I doubted he was carrying a blade, he looked the sort to stab himself in the leg with it.

The silence was getting awkward so I dropped the smile and opened my belt pouch.

'I just got in on the coach from Sowford. Someone said you were buying Tormalin pieces and I wondered what you might give me for this.' I put the tankard on the table.

The man in red looked at it but did not pick it up.

'Where are you heading?' The rune-caster swept up his bones and gave me a frank and friendly smile that I trusted about as much as my own.

'I'm travelling to Oakmont, to join Lord Elkith's Players.' Both places were several days' travel east and west respectively and he was welcome to try finding me later in a travelling troupe of actors. I held his gaze but out of the corner of my eye could see the quiet lad pick up the tankard and start examining it.

'Working with players must be exciting. What do you do?' He leaned forward, all interest.

Don't overdo it, pal, I thought, I don't look that fresh off the farm surely.

'I'm a singer,' I replied. That much at least was true, it's another of those skills I mentioned. Despite the shades of my mother's disapproval, I'd learned a good repertoire of ballads and some basic dance tunes for the lute.

'Will you be travelling to Col for the fair?'

The boss was looking expectantly at the lad. Was he some kind of expert? He looked rather young.

'I'm not sure.' I thought it was about time I asked some questions of my own. 'Are you looking to trade at the fair? Perhaps I should take Grandad's tankard there myself.'

I saw the shadow of concern cross the lad's freckles. He looked at his boss and something unspoken passed between them. It struck me as a pity I could not get him in a game, he'd lose his breeches with a face like that.

'It was your grandfather's? How do you come to be looking to sell it?' The boss smiled at me in what he clearly thought was encouragement. I giggled: wearing skirts does that to me nowadays.

'Oh it's mine all right,' I lied fluently. 'He gave it to me on his deathbed, for my dowry. I wouldn't sell it but you see, I need to get away from home. I want to sing but my father wants me to marry his partner's son. He's a clothier and fat and boring and only interested in wools and satins. I had to get away.'

Freckle-face's mouth was open and his expression was full of sympathy but the other two looked less impressed. Perhaps I'd laid it on a bit thick; I blame the dress. 'So how much would you give me?' 'What do you think it's worth?' The man in red leaned forward and I took a pace back, his gaze was uncomfortably piercing.

'Um, well, I'm not really sure.' Should I take a low price and get out or show them I knew its real value? 'I'll give you six Marks for it.'

'Caladhrian or Tormalin?' Either way, the offer was a joke.

'Tormalin of course,' he assured me; as if the six extra pennies would make any real difference.

'The reeve always said it was very valuable.' I looked up, wide-eyed and woebegone. 'Isn't it?'

Freckles shifted in his chair and would have spoken but Lanky in the green silenced him with a gesture. The boss sat back and ran a hand over his beard.

'It's worth what I'm willing to pay for it,' he said silkily, 'and that's six Marks, which I feel is more than generous, since I know it's stolen.'

Shit. Now I was looking to get out of there as fast as possible. Should I try and bluff it through? No point, I decided swiftly.

'Fine. Give me the coin and I'll be on my way. I've got a coach to catch.'

Lanky drew a swift pattern in some spilled wine. There was not a soul in the room beyond us four yet the bolts on the door slid shut behind me. A chill went right through me. Double shit.

'I'm sure you've got time for a little chat,' the boss said smoothly, making no move to get any money out. 'Why don't you tell us where you got this? You could tell us your real name too since we're here.'

'I got lucky in a game a few nights back. Some bloke in an inn wagered the tankard; I didn't know it was lifted.'

The skinny one poured me some wine but I ignored him. Catch me drinking with a wizard; not likely.

'Not good enough, I'm afraid.' The boss sipped his wine and wiped his beard. 'This tankard is part of a small but valuable collection belonging to a particularly unpleasant wool merchant in Hawtree. You see, we approached him but his price was too high.'

'Why did you choose this particular piece to steal?' Freckle-face could contain himself no longer and the boss scowled at the interruption. I looked at the windows but did not fancy my chances of getting out fast.

'Relax, we're not going to hurt you.' Lanky pushed the wine towards me again. That was all very well for him to say. I do not trust wizards; not at all. It's not that I believe all the ballads: the immunity to pain, the immense powers, the reading minds and so on. The few I've known have been handy with some spells but as vulnerable as anyone else to a knife in the ribs. As far as I'm concerned, wizards are dangerous because their concerns are exclusively their own. They will be looking for something, travelling somewhere, after someone to hear his news or just to find out who his father was, don't ask me why. Whatever they want, they'll walk over hot coals to do it and if you look handy, they'll lay you down and use you as a footbridge. I gave Lanky a hard stare back.

'We won't but the local Watch might have other ideas.' The boss lifted the tankard. 'He's an influential man. Catching the thief would do the Commander a lot of good.'

I was not going to reply; he had the air of a man making an opening bid and I would bet I had played in more high-stakes games than he had.

The silence lengthened. I could hear the din of the marketplace outside; traders shouting their wares, beasts neighing and carts clattering over the cobbles. Two drunks lurched past the window, giggling helplessly, their shadows falling across us all waiting, motionless. The tension grew so thick you could have stuck a spoon in it and spread it on bread. The boss was impassive, Lanky smiled and Freckles looked frankly miserable.

'Of course, we need not tell the Watch anything.' Lanky grinned and lifted the untouched goblet to me in a toast. The boss scowled at him but went on.

'You see, there are other pieces we would like to acquire whose owners are not keen to sell and I wonder if we could come to some arrangement. You clearly have talents we could use.'

Good, we were down to business. 'Why can't your tame conjuror just magic them out for you?'

'I need to know exactly where they are and to get a sight of them,' Lanky shrugged. 'Can't always be done.'

So, no problem with ethics here. That made things easier.

'What you're saying is work for you or you'll hand me over to the Watch and let them cut my hands off.' Freckles winced and I marked him down as the weak link in the chains they were trying to lock on me.

'Basically, yes.' The boss's stare was getting distinctly unfriendly.

'We'd make it worth your while,' Lanky assured me. 'You'd get a good percentage of the value.'

'Fat lot of use that'll be if I get caught.'

'I'll be able to get you out of any lock-up. Once I know you a little better, I'll be able to track you like a trail-hound.'

That was a thrilling prospect, a wizard on my tail whom I would not be able to shake off.

'What if some outraged noble sticks his sword into me to save the Watch the worry?' I challenged. 'Can you bring me back from Saedrin's lock-up too? I didn't think wizards did resurrections.'

'If you're good enough to find this,' the boss picked up my tankard again, 'you're good enough to take the time and care to not get caught.'

He laced his fingers and cracked his knuckles with a satisfied air which gave me one more reason to dislike him. 'In any case, I don't think you're in any position to argue the point, are you?'

Sadly, I had to agree. We could spend all day trading clever remarks, with Lanky playing friendly house-dog to the boss's nasty street-cur but I was not going to get out of here before they agreed to let me go, whatever wild ideas keeping me in here gave the innkeeper. I could give them a flat refusal but I did not like the idea of being handed over to the Watch. I could probably sob my way to a flogging or the pillory but what if the Commander decided to hang on to me until Turd-breath the would-be rapist got home? I kept my gambling face nailed on but I was cursing myself: that's where revenge gets you, you dozy bitch.

'All right,' I said slowly. I took the wine, drained the goblet and refilled it. That made me feel better. 'So what's your business? You're not just buying and selling with a wizard and a scholar in tow. What's so important that you have to hire a wall-crawler?'

'You need not worry about that. My name is Darni and my companions are Geris and Shivvalan.'

'Shiv, please,' Lanky smiled. 'Your name?'

'Terilla, I told you.' That was my aunt who had married a baker and grown as round as one of his loaves.

Shiv shook his head apologetically. 'You're lying again.'

That could get tiresome; I decided to think very carefully before volunteering any information about myself. Still, they had to call me something. Why not the real thing?

'I'm Livak.' I raised my goblet in an ironic toast and Shiv returned it.

Darni snorted. 'Right, we'll get you a room here. We're moving on tomorrow; in the meantime, keep yourself to yourself.'

I shook my head. 'Sorry, I'm staying at an inn back up the high road. I'll see you in the morning.'

Darni looked at me contemptuously. 'Don't ever make the mistake of thinking I'm stupid.'

'I've got luggage there and a bill to pay,' I snapped back.

'I'll go with her to collect it,' Shiv volunteered and Darni's angry colour subsided.

'While I'm out, you can decide on a proper deal for my services. I'll owe you for not ringing the Watch bell on me over the tankard but don't push it. I want half the value of everything I lift, for a start.'

Darni evidently didn't like that idea.

'Be back before dusk,' he said curtly.

Shiv unbolted the door — normally this time — and waved me through with a courtly gesture.

'So what were your plans?' Shiv sat on his solid black cob like a sack of grain as we headed out along the high road. I noted the worn gear and the droop of the tired horse's head. My hired horse on the other hand was fresh and keen; I pictured the road ahead in my mind and thought about a good spot where I could kick into a gallop and lose him. I'd wager my abilities at getting lost against his tracking skills, whatever they might be. They were welcome to my luggage at the inn; they would find no clues about me in it.

We waited for a heavily laden wagon to negotiate a rutted wallow.

'I hope we haven't inconvenienced you too much, Livak.'

That nearly did it; he was setting himself up as a handy target for my frustration.

'Were you travelling to Col for the Fair? Wouldn't thieving there risk falling foul of the local talent?'

I ignored him. A donkey began making a fuss about something behind us and, as Shiv turned, I dug my heels into my job-horse's flanks. Fresh from days in the stable, he stretched out eagerly for a gallop and I lay down on his neck to avoid the branches.

Suddenly he came to a crashing halt and I hit the ground hard; I've never managed that'relax as you fall' trick horse traders tell you about. For one awful moment I thought the horse must have put a foot in a rabbit hole; I did not want the poor beast's death on my conscience. After a moment he scrambled to his feet; I did the same. Nothing broken, thank Halcarion, but I'd be black and blue.

'Sorry about that, but I don't think Darni would be too pleased if I lost you.'

I looked up to see Shiv sitting alert on his big black steed with green light glowing round his hands.

'You bastard, I could have been killed.' I spat leaf mould.

'No, I made sure of that.' The concern in his voice sounded almost genuine. 'I don't blame you for trying, Livak,' he assured me.

'Easy for you to say.' I swore as the horse shifted and had me dancing on one foot, the other in the stirrup iron.

'Here.' Shiv caught the reins. 'Just give me your word that you won't try that again.'

'Thanks,' I said stiffly. 'All right, I'll swear.' I rattled off the standard vow to Misaen.

'I can appreciate you being annoyed at Darni dragging you into all this.' The wizard persisted in trying to be friendly. I was having none of it.

'Oh, can you really? Has he threatened you to get your co-operation? Have you had your plans completely ripped up? Are your friends going to worry themselves sick when you don't turn up as expected?'

He looked uncomfortable. 'We really do need your help.'

'Can't get rich enough? I thought wizards were supposed to keep honest with their magic. Isn't that what stops us ordinary folk from stoning you all as a flaming menace?'

'This is not about money. We're buying up special pieces for the Archmage.'

I could smell the scorching as those hot coals got closer.

'I don't want to know,' I snapped. 'I'll do a couple of jobs for your boss to even the scales, but if you come sniffing after me, you'll find trouble.'

He dropped his gaze in the face of my challenging stare. 'Fair enough. By the way, Darni is not my boss. I can overrule him if he tries to take unfair advantage.'

That could be interesting to see, a wizard's idea of unfair.

'What about the boy? Does he get a say?' Let him think he was winning me over, see what else he'd tell me.

'Geris?' Shiv laughed. 'He wouldn't dare.'

'Is he a mage or what? Is he your apprentice?'

'No, he's what you guessed, a scholar. He's from the University at Vanam, an expert on Tormalin art.'

The world can be a very small place at times; I'm from Vanam originally and I know the grim facade of the University. It's one of those places that only looks good in soft light or snow. I have no idea what the inside is like; it's strictly for the wealthy who can afford to send surplus sons and daughters off to learn Saedrin knows what useless stuff. I decided to cosy up to Geris if I got the chance and see what I could get out of him. I did not figure he would take much unpeeling.

'What about Darni, then? Is he a mage?'

'No, not really.'

'What's that supposed to mean? I thought you got born a wizard.'

'We do in so far as elemental affinity is innate, but it's not as simple as that.'

'I beg your pardon?'

Shiv had the grace to look abashed. 'Sorry. A wizard's power comes from the elements; the ability to affect an element is what makes you a wizard and that's something you're born with. It comes from within; we're still trying to establish how, and it varies in strength. Really powerful mages are quite rare in fact, and since most people only have one affinity, that limits them in any case.'

'So what about Darni?' I persisted.

'He has a double affinity which is unusual, but it's very weak. His parents live in Hadrumal; his mother cooks for one of the Halls and his father's a baker. If he'd lived anywhere else, no one would have noticed his talent. He'd just have been a chap with a knack for starting fires in difficult conditions and a better-than-usual weather sense.'

I'd never really thought about Hadrumal, fabled city of the Archmage, having cooks and bakers. It rather undermined all the tales told in lofty ballads; I wondered who did the cleaning!

'Once it was clear his talents were going nowhere, he started working for the Archmage's agents,' Shiv went on. 'This is his first mission on his own, so he's looking to prove himself on several levels.'

'What are Archmage's agents?' I exclaimed.

Shiv gave me a sideways look. 'Planir doesn't sit in a lofty tower in Hadrumal staring into a scrying bowl to get his information.'

Well, that was a cheery thought. One of the few good things about wizards is that the really dangerous ones stay safely out of the way on their lost island.

'So where do you fit in?' I eyed Shiv suspiciously.

'I am a wizard of the Seaward Hall, an adept of water with the air as my secondary focus. I am a member of the Advisory Circle to the Great Council.'

Well, that was all so much goose-grease as far as I was concerned. 'Which means?'

'It means most wizards around here will bow and scrape and do their best to find out just how close to Planir I really am. Back in Hadrumal, I'm a middling fish in a busy pond.'

The inn where all this nonsense had started came into view.

'You wait outside and I'll settle up and pack.'

Shiv shook his head. 'I'll come in. We'll eat before we head back.'

I glared at him, irritated; when I give my word, I keep it. Who knows, Misaen might really exist and I don't fancy fiery dogs chasing me through the Otherworld when I'm dead. I'm going to have to do enough fast talking to Saedrin as it is. I had wanted to see if Halice had managed to get a letter through and to leave message for her in turn.

'You're going to have to trust me sometime,' I snapped.

'I'm hungry,' Shiv said mildly.

I stalked ahead, feeling a little foolish. The tousled blonde wench behind the bar counter smiled at Shiv, who smirked back and trotted out some line calculated to appeal to that type. I left them to it and found the innkeeper tapping a cask in the cellar.

'I need to move on, so I'll pay my reckoning now. Can I leave the horse at the Running Hound?'

'Fair enough. Three Marks will cover it.'

I opened my belt-pouch and paid the man. This inn was not cheap but the landlord's determined lack of curiosity meant Halice and I had used it more than once before. Look on the bright side, I told myself, if you had got away earlier, you'd have had to leave a bad debt here which would have fouled the nest for the future.

'Have there been any messages for me?'

He shook his head.

'Saedrin's stones!' What had happened to Halice? Apart from anything else, I wanted someone I trusted to know what had happened to me.

'Can I leave a letter, and some money?' We had done this before and I knew the man could be trusted.

'Sure.'

I went to my room and packed swiftly. If it were not for the nagging worry about Halice, I would have been running my mind over all the possibilities in this unexpected turn of events. I wrote Halice a short note full of gambler's slang and private allusions and sealed an Empire Crown into the wax. It was the best I could do but I was still not happy.

'Writing to someone?' Shiv entered without knocking.

'Do I need your permission? Do you want to read it?' Being startled made me shrill.

'That's not necessary.' He flushed and turned on his heel. Interesting, I had managed to shake that irritating self-possession and I had not even been trying.

We ate in silence and rode out, Shiv kicking the cob into a trot.

'The letter was to my partner. We were supposed to meet up at that inn.' If I was stuck with this trio for the present, what with Darni's attitude and the lad's meekness, I figured I would rather have Shiv's friendly face back.

His back relaxed and he reined in until I drew level.

'Partner? Lover?' He raised an eyebrow.

I laughed. 'Strictly business. Her name's Halice.'

'So, does she… er…' he fumbled for words,'dispose of your… um… acquisitions?'

About to take offence, I realised his error. 'No, I'm not a window-cracker except in special circumstances. We play the runes.'

'I'll give you a game sometime.'

'Play with someone who can see right through the bones? Not likely!' I spoke before I could stop myself but Shiv did not take umbrage.

'If you make a living playing the runes and you work with a friend, I don't suppose the bones always fall without a little help,' he observed. 'You won't use your skills, I won't use mine. Deal?'

'Deal.' Actually the prospect was an interesting one.

'So when's your friend due?'

'Overdue already, I'm afraid. That's why I lifted that cursed cup; I was running short with the delay.'

Shiv reined to a halt. 'Would you like to know what has happened to your mate?'

I gaped at him. 'What do you mean?'

'If you've got something belonging to her, or something she's handled regularly, I should be able to find her.' I was relieved to see his smile again. 'It's part of the trail-dog act.'

'Sure.' This I had to see. I dug in my saddlebags and found Halice's preferred set of bones. 'These any good?'

'Fine.' Shiv caught the pouch as I tossed them over and turned his horse off the road.

I followed, consumed with curiosity as he dismounted next to a large puddle. He rummaged in a pocket and uncorked a small bottle of blue liquid. He squatted down and poured a few drops on to the surface of the water. I knelt beside him, wide-eyed as the puddle began to glow with a green light.

Shiv closed his eyes and grasped the runes tight; the same eerie radiance gathered round his fist and I shivered involuntarily. Magelight is what distinguishes the real from the fake and I had only seen it a few times before. I've seen a fair few more claim to be mages and it's remarkable what reasons they come up with to explain why they must suppress the outward signs of their magic. Shiv breathed deeply and the glow of the magic round his hand reached out to the pool.

'Look in the water,' he commanded, opening his eyes.

I obeyed and could not restrain an exclamation. 'That's her, that's Halice.' I stared at the image; it was like looking through thick glass, but she was clearly recognisable. I bit my lip; she was in a bed, eyes closed and hair tangled over her sweaty face. Her right leg was splinted and bandaged from hip to foot; this did not look good. Blood stained the dressings; that leg was a mess and no mistake.

'She's hurt,' Shiv observed unnecessarily. 'Can you tell where she is?'

I peered intently at the blurred image, searching for any clue, but could find none. 'It's an inn of some sort but I can't tell you where.'

Shiv drew some lines in the water, and the reflection shifted and moved. Have you ever been on a wagon looking backward when it's going at the gallop? You know the way everything gets smaller? That's as best as I can describe the way the picture changed. In a few seconds, we were looking at the outside of the inn. I breathed a sigh of relief.

'It's the Green Frog in Middle Reckin, I'd know that buttercross anywhere.' It was a good enough inn and more importantly, the small town had a reliable apothecary. Our associates, the brothers Sorgrad and Sorgren, had introduced us to him when a rather complex enterprise had left me with a gashed arm.

Shiv's brow wrinkled. 'That's on the Selerima road, isn't it? Just past Three Bridges?'

I nodded. 'Why?'

'I know someone who lives just beyond. I can ask him to make sure your friend's taken care of.'

Halice would hardly thank me for handing her over to a wizard but equally I did not think she would be too keen on dying of wound-rot or a fever.

'Could he take her some money and make sure the apothecary treats her? I'm good for it if he'll wait a while.'

Shiv nodded. 'Of course. He has some healing skills himself as well.'

I took a deep breath; this trust had to go both ways after all. I'd seen people crippled for life by breaks like that.

'Can you write to him? A carrier should be heading for Selerima today or tomorrow and could take the letter.'

'No need.' Shiv smiled and raised his arms above his head. Faint blue-green light hovered round his head and followed the breeze off down the road. His eyes were open but vacant; I waved a hand in front of them but he did not even blink, his mind leagues away. This was trust with a vengeance; I could have stuck a knife in his ribs as he stood there. Well, I could have tried, I thought; surely any wizard with a penny weight of sense would have some defence against that kind of thing. At very least, I could be mounted and lost in the trees in an instant. Let him try tracking me then.

There are times when I wish I had done just that. My mother always said curiosity would get me hanged one day. But I was intrigued by this whole set-up now, I wanted to know what was bringing together valuable antiquities, Archmage's agents and scholars from the University. I was not just a gambler; we had friends like Charoleia whose role as 'Lady Alaric the dispossessed noblewoman' had netted us handsome profits in various places. Information and especially advance knowledge of significant happenings could make me rich, and the' Archmage's involvement had to be significant, didn't it? Halice wasn't going to be going anywhere for a good while and I make a rotten nurse, so I didn't see any profit to be made from sitting and holding her hand while her leg knitted. Maybe this gamble would turn a profit after all.

The Old Tun Tavern, the Hanchet Road East of Oakmont, 13th of For-Autumn

Casuel looked round the small room and sniffed. Adequate, he supposed, it would suffice. He stripped the soft, worn linen sheets from the bed and dumped them heedlessly in a corner. There was no sign of vermin, he was pleased to see, but it never hurt to take precautions. Examining the horsehair mattress carefully before remaking it with his own crisp linen, he sprinkled vinegar-water liberally around the bedstead.

He heard a knock and a muffled question through the door.

'I'm sorry, could you repeat that?' Casual opened up, striving to keep his voice light and to hide his disdain for the grizzled peasant bowing and scraping before him. There was no point in aggravating the fellow, after all. One has to be courteous to the lower classes, he reminded himself.

The innkeeper made a rapid comment in incomprehensible dialect to the lad holding the jug of hot water and they both stifled a grin. 'I said,' the old man went on with heavy emphasis, 'will your honour be dining in the common room tonight or do you want to hire the parlour?' There was a lascivious hint in his smile.

'We will dine alone, as is customary when travelling with a well-born young lady.' Casuel spoke slowly to emphasise the purity of his own diction. The example of a native-born Tormalin should show these rustics what a bastard garble they were making of his noble tongue, he thought with satisfaction.

'As your honour wishes.' The old man gestured the younger out of the bedroom, drawing the door closed but neglecting quite to shut it.

Casuel moved to latch it with a hiss of irritation and scowled to hear the two daring to discuss him as they clattered down the stairs.

'What do you think his business is then, Uncle? You reckon he's selling 'owt from those books and the like?'

'He won't do much trade unless he mends his manners, for all his fancy clothes. He couldn't sell garbage to a goat with that attitude.'

'So who's the lassie? Reckon he's dipping his quill there?'

'She don't look the type to me, too young, too quiet. Wouldn't fight a mouse for its cheese, that one.'

Casuel slammed the door to with a violence that made his candle flicker. He paused for a moment, deciding what he should have said to the insolent youth, then stripped off his shirt to wash away the grime of the day. Shuddering at the memory of the leagues spent crammed into a carriers' coach with Raeponin only knew what class of people, he scrutinised his white arms and rather narrow chest first, somewhat mollified at finding no flea-bites. Whisking soap to a foam with his silver-mounted brush, he lathered his face briskly.

Casuel held his polished steel mirror up, angling it to get the best light. He studied himself, drawing comfort from the aristocratic lines of his brow and jaw. The blood of Devoir still marked its sons with the faces of ancient power, he thought with returning good humour. He drew the fine steel blade down carefully, to make sure none of that noble — if no longer ennobled — blood marked his towel.

Turning to his bag for his toiletries, he looked at the modest selection of faded volumes stacked neatly on the scuffed table next to a smaller, uneven heap of parchments. His self-possession wilted a little; it would be better to have rather more to present to Usara on his return to Hadrumal, wouldn't it? He combed his wavy brown hair back thoughtfully.

A timid hand tapped at the door. 'Come in.'

Allin peered hesitantly round the door before entering.

'The inn-lady said dinner was ready to serve.' She bobbed a half-curtsey, caught herself and blushed furiously.

'I've told you, Allin, there's no need to do that.' Casuel tried to curb his impatience, not wanting to provoke another weeping fit in the girl, especially not when they were alone in his bedchamber, he with no shirt on.

'Sorry, Messire Devoir.' Allin ducked her head and smoothed her skirts unnecessarily but her voice stayed just about level, if all but inaudible.

'No need to apologise,' Casuel said in what he imagined to be a kindly tone. 'Remember, to be a mage is to command respect. You should accustom yourself to it.'

He pulled a clean shirt from his bag, frowning at the creases. 'Is your bedchamber satisfactory?'

'Oh, yes.' Allin twisted her plump hands around each other. 'Though I would be happy to sleep in the women's room, if that would suit better.'

'Your days of sharing beds with your sisters are behind you, let alone with strangers in the common dormitory.' Casuel brushed some dust from the sleeve of his coat. 'Let us go down to dinner. I'll show you the book I bought today.'

He picked up a couple of volumes and some notes.

Allin closed her mouth on whatever she had been about to say and took his arm obediently, scurrying rather to keep up with Casuel. No more than average height, he still topped her by a head or more. He smiled down at her and wondered again how much irritation he had let himself in for. Surely the girl should have been delighted at the prospect of a room to herself; she couldn't ever have had such privacy before.

He was pleasantly surprised with the parlour, which was neatly if plainly furnished. As they seated themselves at the old-fashioned table, the door opened and a fat woman swung it aside with her hips, hands occupied with a laden tray.

'Beg pardon, your honour.' The woman bobbed a perfunctory curtsey and swept Casuel's books and papers aside to make room for her burden.

'Let me do that!' Casuel snapped, snatching a precious volume away from the danger of slopping soup.

'There's broth, roast fowl, a mutton pudding, some cheese and an apple flummery,' the woman said with satisfaction. 'Eat hearty, my duck, you could do with some flesh on them shanks.'

Casuel opened his mouth but was unable to think of a dignified retort before the dame swept out again in a bustle of homespun skirts. The savoury smells from the table set his stomach clamouring with reminders about how long it had been since breakfast.

'This looks very good,' he said with some surprise.

Allin leaped to her feet and went to serve him some chicken.

'Do sit down!' Casuel snapped, immediately regretting it as her eyes filled. She ducked her face, leaving him with a view of braids neatly coiled and pinned around the top of her head.

Casuel heaved a sigh of exasperation. 'You must understand, Allin. You are mage-born, you have a rare and special talent. I understand this is all new and somewhat alarming, but I will take you back to Hadrumal with me and you can apprentice to one of the Halls. Your life has changed and for the better, believe me. I know it will take time to accustom yourself to the idea but you are no longer the disregarded youngest daughter whom everyone orders about. Now eat some supper.'

He pushed the tureen towards her and, after a long moment, Allin dabbed at her eyes with the edge of her shawl and hesitantly ladled herself some soup. They ate in awkward silence.

Allin broke it with a hesitant murmur which Casuel didn't quite catch, her Lescari accent still oafish to his ear.

'Sorry?'

'I wondered when we would be going to Hadrumal.' Allin peeped up from under her fringe.

A gust of wind rattled the shutters, and the gold embossed on the tattered spine of one of his recent acquisitions gleamed in a flicker of candlelight. Casuel's mouthful of mutton pudding suddenly tasted leaden and fatty. It was an undeniably old copy of Minrinel's Intelligencer. The notes in the margins looked interesting, but it was hardly a rare book. He pushed the mutton aside.

'I don't think it will be until after Equinox.' He spooned up flummery absently. 'I need to have something worthwhile for Usara.'

'Is he a very great mage?' Allin asked with some awe.

Casuel could not help a laugh. 'Not exactly. He's not that much older than me, and hardly what you'd call a commanding personality, he's a senior wizard in the Terrene Hall, where I study, but with a seat on the Council and rumour suggests he has the Archmage's ear from time to time.'

'And you work for him?'

'It's not as simple as that.' Casuel sipped some ale with a shudder of longing for a decent wine. 'He's probably testing me to see if I'm worth a pupillage, the opportunity of working with him on a special project.'

He nodded confidently to himself. 'I'm Tormalin-born, the earth is my element, as is his. Who better to help him research the end of the Empire? I'll wager I'll know more about the last days of the Empire than any five Council members he could name.'

'The books you bought from my father are for him?'

'That's right.' Casuel stifled the unworthy thought that the price for those undeniably desirable volumes was proving higher than he had anticipated. He had thought he was getting a bargain; after all, the man had been desperate to turn what valuables he had salvaged into solid coin before winter set in. Driven out of their Lescar home by the uncertain currents of the summer's fighting, Allin's parents were struggling to provide for their numerous brood when they had heard about the travelling scholar interested in purchasing books.

Still, once Casuel had realised that the child who was always called to light the stove was mage-born, he could hardly have left her there. Besides, having one mouth fewer to feed was as good as coin in the hand for her harried father. Especially this particular mouth, he noted, watching Allin finish the flummery with inelegant haste.

He took another drink and leaned forward, succumbing to the temptation to confide in someone.

'The problem is, I rather think I'm not the only one being sent to the mainland in connection with Usara's projects. Once he'd approached me, I made it my business to keep a weather eye on him as well as his acknowledged pupils. Various people had conversations which could have meant something or nothing, it's hard to tell.'

He poked at the cheese with his knife and sniffed it doubtfully; it looked too much like the stuff his mother used to bait traps for his peace of mind.

'I can't decide what to do for the best. It might be to my advantage to be the first back, with a modest start and some good leads, because then Usara might retain me on a more formal basis, sign me to an acknowledged pupillage. On the other hand, with the Equinox coming up, there'll be all the various fairs, people buying and selling all manner of things, scribes with stocks of random volumes and so forth. It might well be worth waiting. I could find something really impressive.'

Casuel jabbed his knife into the cheese with savage irritation and pushed his chair back abruptly, rocking the table violently.

'Though I'd probably return to find Shivvalan Ralsere had come up with the self-same thing the day before.'

'You don't seem to like him very much,' Allin ventured timidly.

'I have nothing against the man personally,' Casuel lied firmly. 'It's just that things seem to fall rather too readily into his hands. It's simply not just. Shivvalan hasn't done half the work I have but, inside three years of arriving in Hadrumal, he was rag-tagging after mages like Rafrid and even Shannet. The woman hadn't taken a pupil in ten years and all of a sudden, she lit on Shivvalan Ralsere, overlooking mages who've spent seasons putting together a proposal for study, waiting for the offer of pupillage.'

The surface of the ale in the flagon stopped slopping and gleamed in the candlelight. A sudden thought diverted Casuel from that particular set of oft-rehearsed grievances.

'You see, I rather suspect Shivvalan's being a little underhand, using his powers for his own advancement. Scrying, for example. That's what Shivvalan's supposed to be so good at.

That's what Shannet had been working on, locked away in her tower, according to all the gossip at least.'

'Will I be able to scry?' Allin's rather small eyes brightened.

'Well, mages with an affinity for water are best at scrying. Your talent is for fire, but you should be able to master it. I have.'

Allin looked up at Casuel with an awe that flattered his bruised conceit.

An unaccustomed boldness gripped him. Trying to ignore the fluttering in his belly at his own daring, Casuel reached for a dish and poured water into it.

'Let me show you.'

He rummaged in his writing case for ink, and let fall a few careful drops. Amber light flickered stubbornly around his fingers before he could raise a muddy green to dimly illuminate the water. Biting his lip Casuel concentrated on picturing Shiv's seal-ring, something he could do easily. After all, he'd worn the reverse image printed on his jawbone for long enough after that disgraceful incident at Solstice.

The recollection distracted him, and he had to start again. The fresh trails of ink eddied in the water and then Casuel had it, a blurred image of Shivvalan sitting in an inn, evidently a far better one than this pest-hole, he noted with irritation.

'That's Ralsere.'

'Who's that with him?' Allin peered into the bowl, mouth open.

Casuel frowned at the lively-looking redhead sharing the ale flagon and playing runes.

'Some Forest maid fresh from the woods and fancying her chances,' he muttered. 'She'll have a surprise if she's got plans for tonight.'

'Pardon?'

'Nothing,' Casuel said hastily. Actually, the trollop wasn't bad-looking. Why did he never meet women like that, he wondered, glancing sideways at Allin's immature, dumpy figure, her plain, round face and snub nose.

The passing surge of lust faded when he recognised a man on the far side of the room.

'Darni Fallion? What's he doing there?'

Casuel watched open-mouthed as Shivvalan crossed the room to exchange a few brief words with the mercenary before returning to the girl.

His agitation conveyed itself to the water and the vision dissolved in a confusion of mossy greens and browns. Casuel ignored it and the ink now staining the crackled glaze of the bowl.

'Who is he, that other man?'

'He's one of the Archmage's agents,' Casuel said grimly. 'This could be serious. I mean he's fairly insignificant as agents go, but if Shivvalan is travelling with Darni, that means Planir must be involved somehow.'

There was no way Casuel could let an opportunity like this slip through his fingers; he had to know what was going on.

'Wait here.'

Casuel left Allin sitting wide-eyed at the table and left the room, returning rapidly with his mirror. Moving with unaccustomed purpose, he opened the shutter and set a candle on the sill, ignoring the chill blast of the weather. Allin shivered and wrapped herself tighter in her shawl, kept quiet by the ingrained habits of her scarcely passed childhood.

Settling himself on his stool, Casuel snapped his fingers and orange fire at once lit the candle with a flame burning steadily in defiance of the wind. He angled the mirror to catch the image and it began to glow with an inner radiance of its own, reflecting a golden light back first into Casuel's intent face and then Allin's eyes as she came to peep over his shoulder at the revelations in the shiny surface.

'So where are we heading for next?' The voice of the little image sounded both tinny and muffled in the silent room.

'Who's that?' Allin whispered hesitantly.

'Geris, some irritating boy from the University at Vanam. Saedrin knows what he's doing there!'

Casuel kept his eyes fixed on the mirror where he could now see Darni clearly

'Drede, Eyhorne, then Hanchet.' Darni tapped the map by way of emphasis.

'Horn far are we taking the girl? Geris lowered his tone, looking uncertainly across the room.

Darni shrugged. 'As long as the Watch don't come looking for her, she can come as far as she's useful. A lot 'II depend on whether she can acquire that item for us or not. If she can and my contact in Hanchet comes through, we'll double back for Friern. She can earn her cut of the coin properly, greedy sow.''

'Are you sure? It'll be very risky? Geris was clearly unhappy about something, his eyes flickering between Darni and the others on the far side of the room.

Darni took a long swallow of ale before answering in a low, even tone. 'If that herbalist is right, those are books that we need and there's no way we'll get them out of Armile any other way. You heard the apothecary; he's sure the chamberlain's living in Hanchet now and will be only too pleased to give us the layout of the library in return for a little coin and the promise of revenge. You knew I've been wondering where we might find an upper-storey man without attracting too much attention.''

'What if she's caught? Geris' voice rose and Darni scowled blackly at him.

'As long as he's got someone to clap in the pillory and hang if it suits him, Lord Armile won't bother looking any further. Who's going to believe her if she starts talking about wizards hiring her light fingers?'

'I still don't like it,' Geris said defiantly.

'You don't have to like it; it's not your decision.' Darni's voice rang harshly against the metal of the mirror. 'Either she's good enough to keep out of trouble or she just has to take the runes the way they fall. Anyway, if she makes a complete pig's arse of the first job, there'll be no point taking her to Friern, will there? We'll pay her off and dump her.'

Casuel gaped at the mirror, appalled at what he was hearing. 'I don't believe it! That girl isn't just some slut with a taste for the long grass, she's a common lockpick!' He shook his head.

Once again, agitation unravelled Casuel's spell. He cursed and slammed the shutters closed against the cutting wind.

'They're planning to rob someone?' Allin looked at him, aghast.

'That's not the worst of it! Think about it, they could very well succeed! I've always suspected Shivvalan used intrigue to advance himself, and that Darni is no better than a common blade for hire. A season and a half of my painstaking work is going to be overlooked yet again because that pair have all the morals of wharf-rats!'

Casuel looked down with surprise at his hands, shaking with impotent frustration. 'Raeponin pox the pair of them!'

'What are you going to do about it?'

Casuel opened his mouth to deny any such idea but stopped, open-mouthed, staring at nothing for a moment. He coughed and took a reflective sip of ale.

'Well, if they're prepared to use such despicable tricks, I have a duty to do something about it, don't I? What if it all goes wrong? If a plot like that is traced back to a wizard and an Archmage's agent as well, the reputation of Hadrumal will be strung up on the gallows along with that red-headed bitch!'

Allin's trusting, respectful gaze spurred him on. Casuel lifted a long, thick book from his bag.

'What is that?'

'It's a set of itineraries, maps of the coach roads,' he replied with satisfaction. 'Be quiet a moment.'

It took him a few moments to locate the roads he needed, and cross-referencing wasn't easy, as he had to unfold several of the lengths of paper at the same time. Casuel cursed under his breath. Hanchet, there it was. It was a small place, wasn't it? Only really there to serve the bridges on either side as two rivers drew together, not a real town in the Tormalin sense of the word.

'You know, we could be there by the day after tomorrow, look,' he breathed at last.

He refolded the maps of the roads with trembling hands. 'No, we have to be realistic. We have no idea of whom we would need to contact, for a start. All we know is they're looking for someone who used to be chamberlain to Lord Armile.'

'If it's anything like back home, that should be enough to find him. Everyone knows everyone else's business in a village that size,' Allin said timidly.

Casuel looked at her thoughtfully. 'Local gossips would make hay with something like that, wouldn't they? I know my mother and her sewing circle would. I suppose there would be an inn where I could ask a few questions without arousing too much suspicion.'

Indignation rose in Casuel's throat and he washed it away with a long draught of ale. 'How dare Ralsere and Darni think of robbing Lord Armile? Friern's one of the few fiefdoms between here and Col where the roads don't leave coaches bogged to the axles and horses muddied to the hocks! They're some of the safest roads around too, come to that; remember those footpads we saw being pelted in the stocks outside that market-hall?'

'Yes I do!' The edge to Allin's tone surprised Casuel until he realised what value a family driven from their home by the chaos of civil war would place on the rule of law.

He stared across the room, eyes looking far beyond the lime-washed walls. After a long moment, he straightened up in his seat.

'I could make some enquiries of this chamberlain fellow, there could be no harm in that. If it turns out that Lord Armile has some of the books Usara wants, why shouldn't I approach him openly? Raeponin rewards the ready, that's what they say, isn't it?'

'Is it?' Allin looked blankly at him.

Casuel began to pace back and forth across the uneven floorboards, audacity born of long-held resentments gradually winning over his natural caution. 'I've got to bring myself to Usara's attention, I've just got to, and that means throwing the runes at a venture, doesn't it?'

He stopped, turned on his heel with a decisive air, and reached under his coat for a fat pouch of coin. 'It'll be squandering the Archmage's coin in lush coaching inns that leaves Ralsere having to steal books rather than buy them like an honest man.'

He sorted the noble coin in front of him with a sneer on his face. 'I can simply ask to look at his library and then offer a fair price for those things we're looking for. Why not? Lord Armile's sure to be a reasonable man. He's nobly born after all, even if he is just some Ensaimin hedge-lord.'

A superior smile curved Casuel's full lips. 'I don't think we need complicate matters by telling him we're wizards. I find travelling as a dealer in books is sufficient explanation.'

His smile faded a little and he frowned. 'You know, Allin, I wouldn't want you talking to anyone about this when we get to Hadrumal, not until I've had a chance to speak privately to Usara. This sort of thing could reflect very poorly on the dignity of wizardry if word got around. Obviously I have a duty to make sure action is taken to prevent Shivvalan and his associates making such a reckless design in future, but I wouldn't want it to look as if I were simply bearing tales about a fellow pupil. I'll need to choose my moment carefully. Usara's project must be important if the Archmage is involved, however peripherally, and that means it warrants co-operation rather than confrontation between mages. Do you understand?'

She nodded hastily. 'Of course. I won't say a word to anyone.'

Casuel smiled approvingly at her unquestioning obedience.

'You'll do very well in Hadrumal, my dear. You have a quick mind and the right attitude. I will make sure you get tuition at one of the best Halls.'

That should be easy enough to arrange, once he had impressed Usara, hobbled Shivvalan's horses for him and secured the proper recognition that had unaccountably eluded him for so long.

The echo of a remembered ache stirred in Casuel's jaw. There was still the question of Darni. Hadn't he been the last one left standing in one of Hadrumal's dockside inns when those sailors had challenged all comers to a free-for-all fist fight? It might be better if Usara kept his name out of things when he reported this disgraceful business to Planir. But then, how else could Casuel come to the attention of the

Archmage? He would have to give the matter some careful thought.