The Warrior's Bond

The Sieur’s Frontispiece to the D’Olbriot

Chronicle, as Written by Messire Guliel in His

Own Hand at This Winter Solstice, Concluding

the Second Year of Tadriol the Provident

There are years when I swear it takes me as long to compose this short summary of notable events as it does for all the clerks and archivists, the stewards and chamberlains to abridge their ledgers and records for the posterity of the House. There have been times when I wonder if any Sieur in later generations will even read my carefully chosen words detailing important alliances, significant births or sorely mourned deaths. This year and last, my fear is that some future guardian of D’Olbriot’s interests will treat my record with the same amused condescension I have been wont to feel when reading the more fanciful entries made by my forebears.

But as a rational man I must accept I can do nothing to counter whatever beliefs or prejudices might influence subsequent readers of this annal. By that same token, I can only relate the startling dealings of this past year and ask that my words be accepted as the unvarnished truth, on my oath as Sieur of this House.

The first year of our new Emperor’s reign concluded with the discovery of islands far in the eastern ocean, inhabited by a race of men hostile to Tormalin and backed by inimical magic entirely unlike conventional wizardry. These men of the Ice Islands—or in their own tongue, Elietimm—were pursuing some arcane purpose of their own that led them to attack vulnerable members of this and other Names, robbing them of heirloom jewels and artefacts. As this year opened, I was persuaded by Planir, Archmage of Hadrumal, to assist his search for answers to this puzzle by granting him the service of Ryshad Tathel, sworn to this House for ten years and more. Ryshad had already done much to track these villians to their remote lair, as he sought justice in my Name for a victim from our House. I also acceded to the wizard’s suggestion that I reward Ryshad with an ancient sword the Archmage had recently returned to me.

Believe me as I declare here and for perpetuity that I had no notion what this seemingly innocent gesture might demand of Ryshad. But as my honour binds me, I confess I might have yet done the same, even had I known what would befall him. My duty as Sieur of this House demands I must look to the wider interests of all, even at severest cost to any one individual.

These Elietimm pursued Ryshad and the wizards he had been sent to protect, seeking the sword I had given and other artefacts held by the mages. By some foul connivance, the Elietimm encompassed Ryshad’s enslavement by the Aldabreshin, and it was only by virtue of his resourcefulness and courage that the man escaped alive and whole from the savagery of those southern islands. His first safe landfall beyond the Archipelago was regrettably the island of Hadrumal. There, Planir determined the sword Ryshad carried held vital knowledge, locked within it by archaic enchantments. I do not pretend to understand by what means but the Archmage had learned that this blade and other treasures sought by the brutal Elietimm had come from that supposedly rich and fertile colony founded by Tormalin nobles in the final years of Nemith the Last, and lost thereafter in the mists of the Chaos that toppled the Old Empire.

Thus far I can picture your astonishment, unknown reader, but hereafter I am concerned lest you dismiss my words as incredible. Do not; I charge you by whatever beliefs you hold dear. There will be other records to attest to this, as I have declared all that follows before the Convocation of Princes in my capacity as Adjurist.

The information Archmage Planir retrieved by his magics led him and mercenaries backed by D’Olbriot gold, carried on D’Olbriot ships, to the far side of the ocean, where they found the long-buried ruins of that lost colony. More astonishing yet, they discovered nigh on a thousand of those who had crossed the ocean in the distant past still living, if it could be called living, held in ensorcelled sleep through all the generations that had intervened. Enchantment was finally used in service of Tormalin blood to revive these unfortunates.

It is now clear that the Elietimm had been seeking these hidden sleepers intent on their utter destruction, determined to claim this vast, unfettered land. Seeing by whatever arcane means they had been outflanked, the Elietimm attacked and Ryshad Tathel again distinguished himself as the first assault was successfully driven off. Wizardly magic was also vital in countering fell Elietimm enchantments, so, of necessity, I continue my association with Planir. This will entitle me to call on his assistance, should any Elietimm magic be used against Tormalin. I am also taking steps to have every ancient record and archive of the House and the shrines under our protection searched for lore that might explain the mysteries of Artifice. Knowledge of such enchantments could prove critical in some as yet unforeseen struggle. When all else fails, one must fight fire with fire.

At this close of the year, I am relieved beyond measure to state we have seen no more ships come out of the north to harry coasts on either side of the ocean. The sole surviving noble patron of the original colony is Temar, Esquire D’Alsennin, and accordingly we are working closely with him. The colonists are even now attempting to rebuild their livelihoods, and as soon as the Spring Equinox brings surcease from winter’s storms we will send them all the assistance D’Olbriot can offer. However, it remains to be seen how close our two realms can grow, given these ancients are still so dependent on religious beliefs that we in this present generation have long since discarded as superstition. I foresee it will fall to D ’Olbriot to guide these innocents to a more rational understanding of the world and their place within it.

The Shrine of Ostrin, Bremilayne 9th of For-Summer in the Third Year of Tadriol the Provident, Afternoon

It’s raining darning needles out there.” That’s what we say in Zyoutessela when a summer storm brings fine, piercing rain sweeping in from the ocean. Drizzle content to hang as mist on more sheltered shores is whipped by merciless winds to sting skin and soak clothing, leaving a lingering chill long after the sun has returned. Not that I had any concerns, watching the weather’s vagaries from a comfortable lodging high on a hill above the bustle of the harbour.

“Do you get storms like these in Hadrumal, Casuel? You must face heavy weather off the Soluran Sea.”

My companion acknowledged my remarks with a sour grunt as he snapped fingers at a candle stand. The wicks flared with surprise at being called into service, but the louring skies made the room too dim for reading. Today Casuel was fretting over his almanac, a tide table and a recently acquired set of maps. I suppose it made a change from the ancient tomes he’d been scouring for the last two seasons, hunting hints of lost lore from one end of Toremal to the other, garnering clues that might unravel the mysteries of the past. I admired his scholarship, but in his place I’d have taken these few days to draw breath, waiting to see if those on the ship we so eagerly anticipated could supply some answers.

There was a rattle behind me. I turned to see Casuel had pushed aside my game board. The trees of the Forest had toppled over to knock into apples thrushes and pied crows, sending the little wooden birds skittering over the scarred wooden surface. I held my peace; I didn’t particularly want to finish the game and Casuel wasn’t going to learn anything from another defeat to add to the three he’d already suffered. The wizard might be learned in his abstract arts but he was never going to win a game of Raven till he overcame the spinelessness that inevitably hamstrung his hopelessly convoluted plans.

I squinted into the gloom, trying to distinguish between the ripples in the glass and the torrents of rain blurring the vista. Black squalls striped the swags of grey cloud, dragging curtains of rain across the white-capped, grey-green swells. “Is that a sail?”

Casuel shot an accusing look at the timepiece on the mantelshelf. “I hardly think so. It’s barely past the sixth hour and we don’t expect them before the evening tide.”

I shrugged. “I don’t suppose they expected Dastennin would send a storm to push them on.” That darker shape in the turmoil of the water was too regular to be shadow or swell. That fluttering white was too constant to be wind-driven spume. Was it the ship we’d spent two days of idle comfort awaiting? I took up the spyglass I’d bought that morning, one of the finest instruments the skilled seafarers of the eastern shore could supply. Opening the upper light of the window, I steadied the leather-bound cylinder on the sill, ignoring the flutter of paper riffled by an opportunist gust darting inside.

“Saedrin’s stones, Ryshad!” Casuel slapped at uncooperative documents, cursing as his candles were snuffed.

I ignored him, sweeping the brass circle over the roiling surface of the sea. Where was that fugitive shape? I checked back with my naked eye—there, I had it! Not a coaster; an ocean ship, with steep sides, three masts and deck castles fore and aft.

“Are there any ships due in from the south?” I asked Casuel, minutely adjusting my glass to keep the tiny image in view.

Pages rustled behind me. “No, nothing expected from Zyoutessela or Kalaven until the middle of the season.”

“That’s according to your lists?” I didn’t share Casuel’s faith in inked columns of names and dates. My father may be a mason but I’d known plenty of sailors growing up in Zyoutessela, an isthmus city uniquely favoured by Dastennin with ports to both east and west. This could well be some ship whose captain had risked a profitable if unscheduled voyage. I find seafarers a curious mix of the bold and the cautious, men who plan obsessively for every eventuality they might face once out of reach of harbour but who throw caution to the winds to seize some unforeseen opportunity winging past.

Casuel came to stand at my shoulder, a sheaf of documents in his hand. “It could be from Inglis.”

The metal ring cold in my eye stopped me from shaking my head. “I don’t think so, not coming in on that course.” I leaned forward in a futile effort to see some identifying flag.

“What is it?” Casuel demanded.

I was hissing through my teeth as my concern for the vessel grew. “I think they’re carrying too much sail.” The masts were trimmed with the barest reef of white, but even that was enough to let the winds make a plaything of the ship. I looked up from the spyglass and out at the ocean. The captain’s choices were going from bad to worse. A run for the sheltering embrace of the massive harbour wall would mean letting the storm batter broad on the beam, with seas heavy enough to sink the ship. Turning the prow into the weather risked being driven clear away from the safe anchorage. Taking his chances on the open ocean might save the ship but the captain had wind and tide against him and the Lord of the Sea hones this ocean coast to a razor’s edge with the scour of wind and water. I could see the unforgiving reefs tearing the rolling waves into fraying skeins of foam beyond the sea wall. “Dastennin grant them grace,” I murmured.

Casuel raised himself on tiptoe to look out of the window where my few fingers of extra height saved me the effort. A spatter of rain made him duck and look through the lower pane, brushing wavy brown hair out of his dark eyes. I wiped drops from the end of the spyglass and took a moment to study the sky. Slate-coloured storm clouds threw down rain to batter the bruised seas, crushing the crests of the waves into flat smears of spume. I savoured the sharp salt freshness carried on the wind but then I was safe ashore.

The bowsprit dipped deep into a mountainous sea, wrenching itself free a breath later but the whole ship seemed to shudder, embattled decks awash. Imagination supplied the cries of the panicked passengers inside my head, curses from hard-pressed crew, the groan of straining timber, the insidious sound of water penetrating stressed seams. Pale canvas went soaring away from the masts like fleeing seabirds. The captain had opted to cut loose his sails but the ocean was fighting him on every side now, contrary wind and current confusing rudder and keel.

“Are they going to sink?” the wizard asked in a hesitant voice.

“I don’t know.” My knuckles were white on the spyglass, frustration hollow in my gut. “You said there’d be a mage on board. Can’t you bespeak him, work with him somehow?”

“Even assuming this is the colonists’ ship, my talents are based in the element of earth,” said Casuel with habitual pomposity. “At this distance, my chances of influencing the combined power of air and water that such a storm would generate…” His voice tailed off with honest regret.

The storm-tossed ship slid across my field of view and I cursed as it escaped me. Looking up, I exclaimed with inarticulate surprise. “There’s another one.”

Casuel scrubbed crossly at glass fogged by his breath. “Where?”

“Take a line from the roof of the fish market and out past the end of the harbour wall.” I turned my glass on the newcomer and frowned. “They’re rigged for fair weather.”

“They can’t be,” said Casuel with arbitrary authority.

“I’m the one with the spyglass, Casuel.” I forced myself to keep my tone mild. Irritating he might be, but I had to work with the wizard and that meant civilized manners from me, even if Casuel couldn’t manage common courtesy.

Time enough for idle thoughts later. I focused on the second boat, a round-bellied coastal craft with triangular sails plump and complacent when it should have been fighting for its life in those surging seas. Heedless of raging swells fighting to ram it on to the rocks, it was sweeping serenely towards the harbour.

“Oh.” Casuel’s tone was heavy with displeasure.

“Magic?” I hardly needed mystical communion with the elements to realise that, when I could see the ship defying all sense and logic.

“An advanced practitioner,” Casuel confirmed with glum envy.

I looked for some telltale of magic, a crackle of blue light or a ball of unearthly radiance clinging to the masthead. Deep-water sailors talk of such things, calling it the Eye of Dastennin. There was nothing to see; perhaps this unknown wizard considered it enough to set the ship riding high in the water, untouched by the storm.

I looked back abruptly to the first vessel, now heeling dangerously. It had moved a full length or more closer to the seething rocks, its plight ever more perilous. As we watched, helpless, a great wave plunged over the deck, the waist of the ship vanishing completely, deck castles alone resisting the insatiable seas. We held ourselves motionless until the ship struggled up to ride the surface once more. But now it had a dangerous list; cargo must have shifted in the hold, and that had been the death of many a crew.

“They’re going to help.”

The breath came easier in my chest as I realised Casuel was right. The little coastal vessel veered toward the reefs.

“Dast’s teeth!” I took an involuntary step backwards as lightning split the darkness like a rip in the very fabric of the sky. A shimmering spear lanced down to the mast of the struggling vessel and I expected to see the burning blue-white light set ropes and spars ablaze, but the incandescent arc floated free from the clouds, reaching over to the bobbing coast boat and fastening itself to the stern. The ocean ship was pulled up short with a visible jerk, prow wheeling round like some toy tugged by exuberant hands. For an instant it seemed storm and sea froze in mutual amazement. I watched with equal astonishment. The ocean ship should have been pulling the coast boat in to share its doom on the saw-edged reefs but the magic was proof against the pull of the bigger vessel. The little vessel barely slowed its pace towards the harbour, triangular sails full-bellied and ignoring winds that should have ripped them to rags.

Casuel made a sudden grab for my spyglass, making me bring it up so fast I nearly blacked my own eye. In the brass circle I saw figures emerge on to the sodden decks of the ocean ship, even at this distance their gestures eloquent of bewilderment and relief. A flash of green and gold defied the all-encompassing grey of the storm as a pennon was run up the foremast. The lynx’s mask was no more than a yellow blur above the chevron, but the ancient pattern of the D’Olbriot insignia was plain enough to me.

I slapped Casuel on the shoulder. “It’s them! Let’s get down to the dock.” Rival emotions jostled my thoughts. Relief for the sake of all on board barely masked hollow realisation that all Messire’s current ambitions had nearly been sunk along with the vessel. Then I would have lost all, committed to the Sieur’s service for no hope of the reward that had persuaded me to renew my oath to the House. Elation crowded out such pointless worry. The ship and its precious passengers were here. Now I could promote my patron’s interests in good conscience, while also settling those obligations that touched my honour. Once such debts were settled on either hand, I could hope for future independence with Livak at my side. Exhilaration carried me as far as the door before I realised Casuel was still standing at the window, arms crossed over his narrow chest and with a scowl so black it threatened to tangle his brows in his hair.

“Come on,” I urged. “They may need help.”

Casuel sniffed. “Any mage who can wield that kind of power is going to have little use for my assistance.”

There’s a widely held belief in Tormalin that wizards are so air-headed they’re no earthly use. Casuel confirmed this more thoroughly than any other mage I’d met. Before Messire’s command and Dastennin’s whim had tangled me up in these arcane complexities, I’d had no cause to meet mages. Like most folk, I vaguely assumed studying the mysteries of magebirth conferred wisdom, as always seemed the case in ancient tales. In reality I’d not met anyone quite so small-minded as Casuel since the dame-school where I learned my letters. Always fretting over what other people might think of him, suspicious that he was never given his due, he was a tangled mess of petty ambition. I’d been born to a family of no-nonsense craftsmen, and had chosen a life among soldiers in service to a noble House, so I’m used to men straightforward to the point of bluntness and confident in acknowledged skills. Casuel tested my patience sorely.

But he’s a dedicated scholar, I reminded myself, a talent you can’t claim. Just as important, Casuel was Tormalin born and bred, so knew and respected the ranks and customs of our country, which undoubtedly made him the most fitting wizard to act as link between Hadrumal and Toremal. It was just a shame he wasn’t easier to work with.

“We’re here to greet the Kellarin colonists on behalf of the Sieur and the Archmage, aren’t we?” I held the door open. These past few seasons shepherding Casuel around the byways and bridleways of Tormalin in search of ancient tomes buried in ancestral libraries had taught me that arguing simply set the wizard digging in his expensive boot heels. Calm assumption of his cooperation soon had him picking up his cloak, grumbling under his breath as he followed me.

I drew my own cape close as we stepped out of the superior guest house into the extensive grounds of Ostrin’s shrine. The flighty wind snatched at my hood and I let it fall back rather than struggle to keep my head dry as Casuel was doing. The porter at the main gate opened the postern for us with a friendly smile to lighten his grimace as he left his sheltered niche. The wind slammed the heavy oak behind us.

Catching Casuel by the arm, I pulled him out of the path of a sled skittering down the hill on gleaming metal runners. We placed our feet on the slick blue cobbles with care but locals ran down the notoriously steep streets of Bremilayne with the practised abandon of goats from the mountains rising up behind the city. Rain poured from the slate-hung eaves of houses stepped on foundations obstinately defying the slope, the door of one often nigh on a level with the upstairs windows of its neighbour. The wider-spaced houses of the upper town gave way to cramped and dirty lanes. By the time we emerged on to the broad sweep of the quayside, a crowd was assembling, drawn from unsavoury harbour taverns. Dockers were eager to earn their ale money unloading the new arrivals, hawkers and whores keen to take any advantage. I forced a way through those just avid for spectacle and Casuel scurried close behind me.

“I’ve never seen the like, not magic used like that.” One man spoke across me, awe mixed with uncertainty.

“And won’t do again, I’d say,’ agreed his friend, sounding relieved.

“I’ll grant it was novelty enough but if they’d gone down, we’d have had some wreck-sale.” A third was looking with greedy eyes at the tilted masts of the ocean ship. ‘Think of the salvage that would have washed ashore.”

I elbowed the would-be scavenger gull aside. With the list on the ship still severe, the crew and dockers were fighting to secure sodden ropes running slick and uncooperative round battered bollards. I wrenched on my own gloves and added my weight to steady a hawser that two men were struggling to make safe. “Casuel! Lend a hand, man!”

The double-headed bollards lining the quayside suddenly glowed and amber light crackled in the air, startling profanity from the man beside me. I clutched the cable in surprise myself; I hadn’t intended Casuel use magic. Immobile metal twisted and ducked beneath the ropes, black iron arms questing blindly then looping themselves round the straining hemp before drawing back to stand upright once more. Reeled in like a gaffed fish, the great ship lurched, rolling upright to smack hard into the side of the dock with a crash that reverberated round the harbour. The vessel shivered from bow to stern with an ominous sound of splintering.

“Nice work, Cas!” I dropped the rope and hurried along the quay, scanning the crowded deck. “Temar!” A sparely built young man by the stern castle looked round at my hail, acknowledging me with a brief wave. “We need to get your people off, quick as you can.” The ship hung low and unbalanced in the water and the damage Casuel had just done might finish what the storm had started. Cargo could be recovered from the bottom of the harbour but I didn’t want to be dragging the dock for bodies.

A gangplank was hastily thrown out from the ship’s rail but a flare of golden radiance sent the dockers reaching for it recoiling in surprise. I turned to see Casuel gesturing at the hovering wood, face pinched with pique. A path instantly cleared between the mage and the ship and the crowd around Casuel thinned noticeably.

Temar ignored the last remnants of magelight fading from the gangplank as he hurried down to me. “Ryshad!”

“I thought we were going to be fishing you out of the rock pools.” I gripped his forearm in the archaic clasp he offered, noting that his fingers were no longer the smooth white of the idle noble but almost as weathered and calloused as my own.

His grip on my own arm tightened involuntarily and I felt the pressure of muscles hardened by work. “When that last wave hit, I did wonder if we would surface on some shore of the Otherworld. Dastennin be thanked we made landfall safely.” The accents of ancient Tormalin were still strong in Temar’s voice but I heard more modern intonations as well, mostly Lescari. I looked up to the ship to recognise various mercenaries who’d chosen to stay on the far side of the ocean after the previous year’s expedition had discovered the long lost colony of the Old Empire. They were getting the people off the vessel as fast as they could.

“Dastennin?” Casuel came up, frowning as he struggled to understand Temar. “Tell him he has modern magecraft to thank rather than ancient superstition.” Casuel had been born to a Tormalin merchant family and this wasn’t the first time I’d heard echoes of his Rationalist upbringing. It must cause him some confusion, I thought with amusement, since that philosophy denounces elemental magic just as readily as it reviles religion.

“Casuel Devoir, Temar D’Alsennin,’ I made a belated introduction hastily.

“Esquire.” Casuel swept a bow worthy of an Emperor’s salon. “Your captain was relying on his own seafaring skills? I thought it was clearly understood an ocean crossing can only be safely managed with magical assistance.”

“Quite so.” Temar bowed in turn with a deference to the wizard nicely combined with hauteur. “And one of your colleagues was performing admirably until he took a fall that broke both his legs.” Fleeting disdain in Temar’s ice blue eyes gave the lie to the measured politeness of his words. He indicated a figure being carried down the gangplank by two burly sailors, injuries solidly splinted with spars and canvas.

“I’m sorry?” Casuel spared his injured colleague a scant glance. “Please speak more slowly.”

I decided to turn the conversation to less contentious matters. “When did you cut your hair?”

Temar ran a hand over the short crop that replaced the long queue I’d last seen him with, hair as black as my own but straight as a well rope. “Practicality is now the watchword of Kel Ar’Ayen. Fashion is a luxury we cannot yet afford.” I was glad to see a smile of good-humoured self-mockery lightened the severity of his angular features.

“We’d better get this lot under lock and key, Temar, over yonder.” I pointed to the warehouse I’d bespoken when we first arrived in Bremilayne. Sodden sacks and battered casks were being swung on to the dock in capacious slings, stacked anyhow as everyone hurried to lighten the stricken vessel. I caught an avid expression on more than one onlooker’s face.

“I will direct the men aboard ship.” Temar returned to the gangplank without further ado.

“I’d better see to whoever that mage is,“ Casuel said hastily as he watched the injured man being lifted on to a litter.

“Absolutely.” Casuel could deal with wizardly concerns and I’d see to my own responsibilities. Noticing D’Olbriot insignia on the cloak of a thickset new arrival by the lofty warehouse, I hurried over and ushered the man inside the shelter of the echoing building, speaking without preamble.

“This arrival’s going to be the talk of the taverns, so who do we have to secure the place if the wharf rats come sniffing around?” I ran fingers through my hair to shed the worst of the rain, damp curls clinging tight to my fingers.

“I’ve a double handful of newly recognised and four sworn and loyal.” The man’s grizzled and wiry hair ran unbroken into a full beard framing a prominent nose and bulbous eyes, leaving him looking like an owl peering out of an ivy bush. “Sorry we’re so behind hand. We’d have been here day before yesterday if a horse hadn’t gone lame.”

“It’s Glannar, isn’t it, from the Layne Valley holdings?” His rich, rolling voice helped me place him, sergeant-at-arms to those most isolated holdings of the House of D’Olbriot.

The man’s face creased into a ready grin. “You’ve the advantage of me. I recall you came up when we had that trouble in the shearing sheds but I can’t put a name to you.”

“Ryshad.” I returned his smile. “Ryshad Tathel.”

“Done well by the House, I hear,’ Glannar observed with a glance at the shiny copper circling my upper arm. He spoke with the self-assurance of a man who’d earned chosen status long enough since to let his own arm ring grow dull with the years.

“No more than staying true to my oath.” I kept my tone easy. Glannar was only making conversation, not fishing for secrets or better yet salacious detail, like some I’d met since half-truths about my adventures in the Archipelago had escaped Messire’s orders for discretion. “You’ve got your lads well drilled?” I’d spent my share of time training raw recruits with wits blunter than a plough handle.

Glannar nodded. “They’re lead miners’ sons, all bar one, so won’t stand any nonsense. We’ll keep this lot safe as a mouse in a malt heap.”

“Good.” I turned my head as the great doors swung open to let a row of wet and laden dockers enter. I curbed an impulse to shed my cloak and make myself useful; getting my hands dirty wouldn’t have been appropriate to my shiny new rank or to Glannar’s consequence as sergeant-at-arms hereabouts. So I watched as he sent the sworn men about their business with brisk gestures. They in turn were visibly diligent in organising the recognised men, lads newly come to the service of the House, on the lowest rung of the ladder and keen to prove themselves worthy of invitation to swear the oath binding them to D’Olbriot interests.

I watched the well-muscled youths set to with a will. I’d sworn that same ancient oath with fervent loyalty and believed in it with all my heart until the events of the last year and a half had shaken my faith to its roots. I had come within a whisker of handing back my oath fee and abandoning my allegiance to the Name, believing the House had abandoned me. Then reward had been offered, the rank of chosen man as recompense for my anguish, and I had taken it, more than a little uncertain but not sure enough of my other choices to abandon what I’d known for so long. But I had taken other obligations on myself as well, where once my oath had left no room for other loyalties.

Glannar’s genial commands rang to the rafters behind me as I went out. The rain was slackening but the sky stayed grey and sullen. About as sullen as Casuel, who was standing in the meagre shelter of the dockside hoist being addressed by a tall figure wrapped in a bright blue cloak. I let a burdened sled scrape past over the cobbles before making my way over.

“Ryshad Tathel, this is Velindre Ychane, mage of Hadrumal.” Casuel looked as if he were sucking a lemon. “Her affinity is with the air, as you’ve no doubt guessed. It was her on the other ship.”

“My lady.” I bowed low. “We are deep in your debt.” I doubted Casuel had shown any gratitude but the House of D’Olbriot owed this woman a full measure of thanks, and for good or ill I was its representative here.

“It’s lucky you were there,’ chipped in Casuel.

“Luck had nothing to do with it.” She made a plain statement of fact out of words that could so easily have been arrogance, rebuke or both. “I’ve been making a study of the air currents off the Cape of Winds this past half-year. When I heard Esquire D’Alsennin would arrive around the middle of the season, I decided to work our way up the coast. I scried his ship as well as the likely impact of the storm and thought it best that we make landfall together. Given Urlan’s accident, it’s as well we did.” She addressed me directly, leaving Casuel tugging impatiently at the ties of his cloak. Her voice was low and a little husky, as self-assured as her stance. For all her Mandarkin name, the regular accents of Hadrumal were unshaded by any older allegiance and I guessed she had been born on that distant, secretive island.

“You want to meet Temar? Esquire D’Alsennin, that is?” This was setting a new piece on a game board already well into play. I’d want to know more about this unknown lady before letting her loose among the complex concerns of the colony and the House I served, whatever Casuel might have to say about the unquestioning cooperation a mage was entitled to as of right.

“When he has leisure from more pressing matters.” Velindre’s smile lent a sudden feminine air to her almost mannish features. She would never be considered a beautiful woman but her striking appearance would halt any eye and that impact would outlast more conventional charms. A few wisps of fine blonde hair escaped the confines of her hood and she brushed them away from pale lashed hazel eyes. “So you are Ryshad,’ she mused. ‘I’ve heard a lot about you.”

I decided to match her directness. “From whom?”

“Initially, from Otrick.” As she spoke sadness seemed to darken the heavy storm clouds above us. “Latterly from Troanna.”

“What has Troanna to do with your studies?” Casuel was fidgeting from one foot to another anxious lest someone else’s manoeuvrings escape him.

“She’s been keeping me supplied with all the news from home, Cas,” answered Velindre easily. “Shall I tell her you were asking after her?”

Casuel blinked, caught off balance. I’ve yet to fully understand the formal and informal ranks and authorities of the wizards of Hadrumal, the ill-defined and often overlapping functions of their Council and their Halls, but I knew enough to know Casuel wouldn’t want the acerbic wit of Troanna, acknowledged as pre-eminent in water magic, sharpened up at his expense. If Cloud-Master and Flood-Mistress kept her informed, Velindre had powerful friends.

“How might Esquire D’Alsennin be of assistance?” I asked politely.

Velindre smiled again. “He’s crossed the ocean and sailed unknown shores with currents and winds that no mage has ever sensed. No wizard ever passes up the chance of new knowledge.”

Which was certainly true, but if that was the whole story I was a Caladhrian pack mule.

“I’ll see if we can accommodate you,” said Casuel with fussy self-importance.

Velindre’s eyes hardened, and I thought for a moment she was about to challenge his pretensions, but a new arrival spared him any rebuke.

“Mage Devoir.” The newcomer bobbed a nervous curtsey that edged the hem of her rose pink dress with the muck of the dockside.

“Allin?” Casuel sounded both surprised and displeased.

“You’re entitled to call him Casuel, just like anyone else,” said Velindre drily. “So how is Urlan?”

The girl Allin looked up, blushed and dropped her gaze to study her folded hands intently. “Both legs are broken and the bosun was saying he’d seen splinters of bone through the skin of his right shin. He’s been taken to the infirmary at the shrine.” Where Velindre was scarcely shorter than me, Allin barely came up to Casuel’s shoulder. Even allowing for the heavy cape bunched round her, I guessed her figure would be as round as her plain snub-nosed face. But her boot-button eyes were bright with intelligence and good nature, attributes lacking in many a prettier girl.

“Do you have lodgings arranged?” I asked.

“The man from the shrine said we could probably stay there as well.” The girl peeped up at me from beneath her dun-coloured fringe. Her Tormalin was fluent but of unmistakable Lescari origin.

“If there’s any difficulty, refer it to me. We’re in the upper guest house,” said Casuel officiously.

“We’ll join you there for dinner.” Velindre turned on her heel with a final smile and before Casuel could shut his protesting mouth her long stride took her out of earshot.

“So who’s she?” I asked the wizard.

Outrage was slow to fade from his well-made features. “Velindre is a mage of some standing in Hadrumal but she’s always claimed to prefer focusing on her studies rather than engaging herself with the wider concerns of wizardry.”

I wondered just where the sneer in his tone was directed but decided his prejudices weren’t worth pursuing. “So she hasn’t been privy to any of Planir’s intrigues over the last year or so?”

Casuel bridled. “I hardly think intrigue is the right word for the necessary care Planir takes of Hadrumal’s interests.”

“Could you bespeak the Archmage, please? To let him know she’s here and apparently interested in the colony.” I made my request with a politeness calculated to soothe Casuel’s ruffled feathers.

“I was intending to do so, naturally.” Of course Casuel had been planning to tell Planir about Velindre; telling tales was another dame-school habit I’d observed in the man over the past half-year. “I wonder if he knows Troanna’s been in touch with her.”

“Shall we do it now? Planir might have an opinion on Velindre’s reasons for being here, and he’ll certainly want to know what’s happened to Urlan.” I wanted all my birds in a row before I encountered Velindre again and there was little enough for me to do here.

“Yes, I should see what news the Archmage has for us, shouldn’t I? Let’s get out of this rain.” Those notions sent the wizard scurrying eagerly up the hill, clutching the hood of his cloak tight beneath his handsome chin.

Once we were back in the guest house chamber he’d appropriated as a study, Casuel set about his wizardry. I’d seen him work various spells over the last season or so, and, oddly, he was at his least objectionable when working magic. The wizard took a seat at the table, setting a steel mirror on the table with a candle before it, lighting the wick with a snap of his fingers and a flourish of the lace at his cuffs. He laid his hands flat on the chestnut wood, eyes fixed unblinking on the reflected flame of the candle

I sat in a corner, content to watch and listen; Casuel could do the talking. What I wanted was Planir, who presumably had the power to curb this Velindre, told of her arrival here, just in case she had some private ambition that might threaten all I was working for. I had no reason to suspect her, but then again no reason to trust her. I didn’t particularly trust Planir either, having suffered the charming ruthlessness of Hadrumal’s Archmage on my own account, but I knew he would always defend his own interests and for the moment those marched in step with mine and those of the House of D’Olbriot.

The candle flame burned yellow then darkened to a bloody orange, the colour tainting the reflection. Shimmering across the mirror, magic began to slowly revolve like water stirred with a rod. Where a hollow might have appeared in swirling liquid, a hole in the very fabric of the air spread across the metal surface, elements yielding to the arcane influence of the mage-born. Casuel was frowning, jaw set in utter concentration, the barest movement of light reflecting from a gold ring on one taut finger. Even after all the times I’d seen Casuel do this, I felt my spine tense at such an inexplicable manipulation of the natural order.

An image appeared in the mirror, magic reflecting the Archmage sat at a table in his study. I recognised it from my own unwilling visit to Hadrumal, a room of elegant furnishings and deadly purpose. Some instinct lifted his dark head and he looked directly across the countless leagues down through Casuel’s spell, fine black brows lifted in surprise. “Yes?”

“The colonists have arrived,” said Casuel, speaking rather rapidly. “They had trouble making landfall because Urlan injured himself in a fall.”

“Badly?” Planir leaned forward, face intent. “Have you seen him?”

“Not yet, it’s his legs you see, he’s been taken to the infirmary.” Casuel sounded like a slack apprentice trying to excuse himself to my father.

Small in the mirror, the Archmage’s image nodded abruptly before gesturing in unmistakable dismissal. “Go and see him for yourself and then bespeak me again at once.” My father had no time for underlings coming to him with tales of a task half done either.

Casuel cleared his throat. “Velindre arrived in Bremilayne on the same tide. It seems she’s eager to speak to D’Alsennin.”

“Is she?” Planir’s tone was noncommittal, but even at this distance I could see his lean face was unsmiling.

Casuel was nonplussed. “So what should I do? What should I say to her?”

Giving her some credit for saving the stricken ship would be a good start, I thought silently.

“You make the introductions she seeks.” Planir sounded faintly surprised that Casuel needed to ask. “And you make note of her questions, whom she asks them of and the replies she receives. Then you tell me.”

Casuel preened himself visibly at the idea of being thus taken into the Archmage’s confidence. It looked more like a fool’s naivety being used against him to me as Planir’s mouth curved like the merciless smile of a shark.

“Is she seeking some advancement?” persisted Casuel. “She always says mastery of her element is more important than rank within the halls or recognition by the Council.” His bemusement was plain; that someone might disdain the status that he so ineffectually craved.

I heard Planir drum his fingers on the table in an uncharacteristic betrayal of tension. “I’ve heard her name mentioned as a possible candidate for Cloud-Mistress,” he said lightly. “I’d be interested if she were to say anything that suggests her own thoughts turn that way. Though you’re not to raise the subject yourself, Casuel, understand?”

“But Otrick is Cloud-Master,” frowned Casuel.

“Indeed,” Planir replied flatly. “And will remain so, whatever Troanna might say.”

But that old wizard was locked in enchanted unconsciousness, laid low by aetheric malice along with so many others in the fight for Kellarin the summer before, souring the triumph I’d shared with Temar, the mercenaries backing him and the mages who’d paid them. Finding some means of restoring those unfortunates ranked high among the obligations prompting me to continued service to Messire D’Olbriot. Fortunately, as a leading Prince of the Empire, the Sieur was foremost among those backing the search for lore to counter Elietimm enchantments. That’s why I had spent the first half of the year shepherding Casuel round distant dusty libraries while my beloved Livak had taken herself clear across the Old Empire on a quest for knowledge held by the ancient races of wood and mountain.

Planir’s next words diverted me from wondering how she might be faring. “Ryshad, good day to you.”

I couldn’t prevent a faint start of surprise; I’d been thinking the spell wouldn’t reach to my distant seat. “Archmage.” I gave the amber-tinted reflection a nod but moved no closer.

“I heard from Usara a few days ago,” Planir continued in friendly fashion. “Livak’s keeping well. They’re heading north to see what Mountain sagas might teach us all.”

“Did they find anything of note in the Great Forest?” asked Casuel anxiously. He’d been voluble in his contempt for Livak’s theory that archaic traditions could hold unknown wisdom, so any success on her part would make him look a mighty fool. Armed with a book of old songs she insisted held hints of lost enchantments, Livak had set off determined to prove him wrong.

“Nothing conclusive has come to light.” The Archmage raised his hand again and the glow in the mirror flared bright. “If there’s nothing else, I’ve much to attend to here, as you know.”

“Give Usara my regards the next time you bespeak him.” The shimmering void closed in on itself, leaving no more than an after-image burned on the back of my eye. I blinked, not sure if Planir had heard me or not. Still, at least I knew Livak was in good health and I hugged that knowledge close. She was with Usara, and I reminded myself that it wasn’t magic I mistrusted, just certain mages. Usara was competent and honest and that weighed heavy in the scales against Planir’s deviousness and Casuel’s mean spirit.

“I’d better see how Urlan is.” Casuel was looking abstracted. “Then I’d better review my notes, to get questions for D’Alsennin clear in my mind.” And to remind himself of those few fragments of possible knowledge he’d pieced together from scraps of unheeded parchment and books faded with age. He’d want something of his own to mention casually to Planir, to counter anything Livak might find in the Forest or the Mountains. She’d certainly crow loud and long over him if she returned successful, so I could hardly blame Casuel for that. I stifled my recurrent longing for her exuberant company by reminding myself I’d agreed to her trip, so I should hardly be complaining about her absence. And her quest was only one half of the two-handed plan we hoped would secure us a future together, and Casuel wouldn’t be the only one feeling the lash of her tongue if Livak returned to find I’d failed to play my part. Smiling at that thought, I recovered my damp cloak from its hook. “I’ll go and see how they are getting on at the dock.”

Casuel was already deep in his books; so much for his concern for his fellow mage. I left him to it and went back down the hill to the harbour. Seeing Glannar’s men at their ease in front of the barred warehouse door, I looked for Temar. He was standing amid burly dockers, counting out coin into the gang-leader’s calloused palm.

“A fair rate for the day,” I observed, calculating the Tormalin Crowns bright in the man’s filthy hand. The docker grunted noncommittally.

“But with the weather hardly fair, I think something over for the cold and the wet.” Temar dropped a couple of silver Marks on to the gold and a grudging smile lifted the docker’s lip to reveal stained brown teeth.

“Pleasure to do business with you, Esquire,” he nodded before stowing the coin securely in a money belt and whistling up his crew with a gesture towards a nearby tavern.

“You don’t want to get a reputation as an easy touch,” I warned Temar.

He shrugged, unconcerned. “If the ships of Kel Ar’Ayen are known to pay well, we will never lack for labour to get them unloaded.” He nodded towards the ship that had brought Velindre. “So who is this wizard that I owe my life? How does she arrive in so timely a fashion?”

“Her name’s Velindre, but that’s all I know of her,” I admitted reluctantly. “She says she’s interested in the winds and currents of Kellarin’s coast, but Planir thinks she may have ambitions to make a name for herself in Hadrumal.”

“If she hopes for a salvage due, she had best get in line behind those others looking to make a claim on the colony,” said Temar lightly.

I looked at him, assessing the hint of seriousness in his words. With an easy assumption of D’Olbriot authority over Kellarin running through the idle gossip of sworn and chosen over the last season, I’d been the only one suggesting the game might play out differently.

“Temar!” A thin woman came striding over the cobbles towards us, hood falling back from brown hair liberally streaked with grey and concern deepening the lines of age in her face. Though the rain had all but ceased, she was wiping her face in unthinking, repetitive gestures, speaking rapidly to Temar. Her speech was too thick with the intonation of Old Toremal for me, but I recognised her as the Demoiselle Tor Arrial, one of Kellarin’s few other surviving nobility. Temar nodded and looked at me. “Avila wishes to know where we are to lodge. Most of the crew and other passengers are claiming rooms in these inns.”

“We have everything you need made ready at the Shrine of Ostrin.” I spoke slowly in my most formal accent. Avila Tor Arrial looked at me sharply, one chapped hand clutching a cloak pin set with rubies and pale rose diamonds at her throat. After a pause she nodded and her gesture needed no translation, so I led the way, leaving behind the ramshackle dock-side for the more regular streets around the circle of Ostrin’s walls.

“I thought there were supposed to be more of you,” I remarked to Temar.

He shrugged. “When it came to it, they all found reasons to stay. The more we talk to the sailors, to the mages, the more we learn how our world has changed. At least in Kellarin we know what we are dealing with.” He fell silent and we walked without speaking until we reached the embrace of Ostrin’s walls.

“It’s this way.” I waved Avila through the gate welcoming all comers into the stone circle. The broad gravel sweep inside was busy with new arrivals, two coaches unloading a vociferous family presumably taking ship to north or south.

“Perhaps they were right to stay,” murmured Temar, eyes wide as he looked back out of the gate at the thriving town. “It is all so different, nothing as I remember it.”

“Let’s get you warm,” I urged, seeing a pallor I didn’t like in his face.

He followed me without protest to the comfortable guest house behind the main shrine to Ostrin. Maidservants were busy about the hospitality that is ever the god’s chief concern, offering soft towels, ewers of warm water and hot tisanes to stiff and chilled arrivals, porters discreetly depositing battered luggage in bedchambers.

“There are rooms reserved here for you and the Demoiselle Tor Arrial.” I led Temar up the broad stairway, wooden panelling gleaming with years of dedicated polish. “The sailors and mercenaries can shift for themselves in the inns but Messire thought you would welcome some privacy.” The exaggerated tales of the mariners and freebooters could supply sufficient grist to satisfy the rumour mill, so there was no need to expose Temar to intrusive curiosity.

That thought sparked another as I opened the door to the room I’d chosen for Temar. “The mage Velindre has invited herself to dine with me and Casuel this evening. Why don’t you and Avila eat in the upper parlour?”

Temar halted on the threshold to give me a narrow look before shrugging. “As you see fit.”

“There’s clean linen, shaving soap, razor.” I nodded at the washstand. “I’m next door if you need anything else.” I hesitated, wondering whether to offer companionship or allow the lad some solitude to gather his thoughts. A footfall behind me heralded a maidservant with a steaming jug of water so I stepped aside to let her pass.

“You must want to change.” Temar nodded at my sodden leather boots. His tight smile didn’t quite meet his eyes so I took the hint and withdrew, pulling his door closed.

A quick trip to the kitchens housed across the courtyard meant I could leave my cloak in the drying room and once I was satisfied that my orders for the evening’s meals were clearly understood I hurried back to the guest house. I found Casuel and Allin squaring up to each other in the main hall. Her high colour was cruelly unflattering but her folded arms were braced with resolve. Casuel, clutching a folded bundle of white, looked more baffled than annoyed.

My arrival gave Allin the chance to escape. “I’ll see you both at dinner.” With her curtsey a touch too hurried, she walked away just fast enough to betray her eagerness to flee.

“I only asked her to do some mending,” said Casuel crossly.

“I’m sure one of the maids would be glad of the extra work,” I suggested. “It’ll only cost you a few pennies and I don’t suppose a wizard’s linen is any different to anyone else’s.”

The realisation that he was standing there holding his small clothes for any passer-by to see sent Casuel scurrying up the stairs. Following at a more leisurely pace, I shed my soaked clothes gratefully, getting my blood flowing again with warm water and vigorous towelling before having a contemplative shave. I needed to know what Temar hoped to achieve on this visit, I decided, and some clue as to Velindre’s business would be useful. Concluding that it wouldn’t hurt to remind her of my standing with D’Olbriot, I dressed in the elegant attire my new status entitled me to claim from Toremal’s finest tailors at Messire’s expense. The price to me was wearing a mossy green that I didn’t particularly care for. A knock on my door came as I was buttoning my shirt. It was the Steward of the Shrine with a query about how long we were staying and just how many rooms were required, so I took up my more prosaic duties once more.

The Shrine of Ostrin, Bremilayne, 9th of For-Summer in the Third Year of Tadriol the Provident, Evening

Temar lay down on the bed and hid his head beneath a down-filled pillow. Clamping it tight over his ears shut out the noises of the guest house: a man passing his door with a shouted query, someone else’s demands for fresh towels, the rough bumping of heavy burdens dragged up the wooden stairs. But he couldn’t banish the memories assailing him, the agony of the injured mage, the frantic prayers of his companions that Dastennin calm the sea, that Larasion quell the winds, that Saedrin spare them. The foul and desperate curses of the sailors echoed in his memory, the groans of ship’s timbers stressed beyond endurance, the wicked crack of snapping rope and the scream of someone lashed by the vicious ends. After all they had been through, after all they had endured, he and his companions had nearly drowned, so close to shore, within very sight of safety, all their hopes and those of the colony they had left behind sunk beneath Dastennin’s malice to feed the scavenging crabs.

Time passed unnoticed until loud disagreement from the room above forced itself into Temar’s misery. He emerged red-faced from beneath the pillow, tears and dirt smeared on his face. One shrewish voice rose indignant, prompting a harsh response that rang through the floorboards.

Temar couldn’t make out the meaning. How was he ever going to make good his bold boasts to Guinalle when it took all his concentration just to comprehend what people were saying? Albarn, Brive, all the others, they’d turned back from this insane attempt to revisit the world they had lost and no one had thought the worse of them. Why couldn’t he have done the same?

Because his rank denied him that freedom: Temar could almost hear Guinalle’s terse reply, for all that she was half a world away. Because he had a duty to his people and the only way he could fulfil his obligations was to risk the ocean crossing and all that he might find in this strangely changed Tormalin. For whatever reason, by whatever means, Saedrin had entrusted those people to his care, and if he failed—Temar shivered. He would have no words to excuse his failure when he came to knock on the door to the Otherworld and seek admittance from the god who held the keys. And what would Guinalle think of him hiding his head like a child afraid of Eldritch-men creeping out of the shadows?

Temar went numbly about the business of a much needed wash, oblivious to the luxuries of the room. Raising a blade to his face was beyond him, he realised, finding his hands shaking so badly that he spilled soapy foam all over the marble washstand. Scowling fiercely, he forced himself to concentrate on mopping up the trivial mess and the dread oppressing him faded a little until a knock on the door set his heart pounding. “Enter,” he managed to say before his voice cracked.

The door opened and Avila slid into the room, her faded eyes hollow in a face grey with fatigue. “So, are you comfortable?” It was a meaningless question, Temar realised, just an excuse to come and find him.

“After the privations of Kel Ar’Ayen?” He gestured at the snowy linen of the bed, the polished floor and the curtains embroidered with Ostrin’s faithful hounds. “I’ll sleep through the chimes and back again, given half a chance.”

“I doubt we’ll get that.” Avila summoned a faint smile. “Are there any others from the ship lodging here?”

“No.” Temar tried to mask his own regret. His friends among the sailors and mercenaries might have been little more than casual acquaintances but he’d rather spend the evening sharing a flagon of ale with them than dining alone with Avila. This trip was going to be trial enough without her bracing criticism constantly at his elbow.

The great bell of the shrine broke into the awkward silence with its unexpected peal. As the master note struck eight times, Temar realised Avila’s eyes were edged with white, her taut face reflecting his own myriad anxieties. Perhaps he wouldn’t have to spend the evening trying to deflect her usual challenges after all. Seeing the normally assertive woman so subdued put perverse heart into Temar.

“A true sound of home, which must mean it’s time to eat.” He forced an encouraging smile, but Avila looked askance at him. “Try something sweet, or a little wine, just to settle your stomach?”

“Your appetite’s not suffered then.” Her sceptical tone was a faint echo of her normal forthrightness.

Temar held out his arm, and as Avila took it they walked downstairs. His boots fell heavy on the floorboards, in contrast to the whisper of Avila’s soft shoes, and abruptly the fleeting confidence buoying him fled. All at once Temar felt weary to his very bones and complex qualms filled his belly, leaving him no wish for food. But a lad in what must be a livery of the shrine bowed to them as he arrived with a tray of covered dishes and Temar followed him to a south-facing room furnished with simple elegance. If old ways still held true, all this was gifts from those grateful for Ostrin’s hospitality, Temar recalled. As Avila released his arm, he went to stand at a broad bay window looking out across the ocean. A bright blue sky was streaked with white clouds tinged with gold, the sun making some amends before retreating behind the mountains lifting a dark shadow to the west. Temar shoved clenched fists deep into breeches pockets to stop their trembling as he looked at the sea, sparkling and serene with no hint of the fury that had so nearly been the death of them all.

“Here you are, Demoiselle, Esquire.” The lackey was laying out dishes on the table as he spoke. “There’s pease with leek and fennel, sheatfish in onion sauce, mutton with rosemary, and mushrooms in wine. Now, ring if there’s anything else you need.” He placed a little silver bell next to the place he was laying for Temar and startled him with a quick wink before going on his way.

Temar’s battered spirits revived a little. Perhaps he and the other folk of Kel Ar’Ayen weren’t too far removed from their long-lost relatives. That thought set him wondering where Ryshad might be.

“Now what do you suppose those two want?” Avila ignored the food, joining Temar at the window and looking down on the paths and lawns of the shrine. “I’m more than a little tired of these wizards treating us like some freak show.”

Temar watched two women emerge from another guest house and found he shared Avila’s weary annoyance. “Probably hotfoot with the usual curiosity about Kel Ar’Ayen and its fate.”

“These so-called scholars don’t appreciate we’ve a new life to build, as surely as when we first made landfall,” said Avila tartly.

“They are helping, most of them,” Temar protested, forcing himself to be fair. “Without the mages of Hadrumal, we’d all still be locked in enchanted darkness.”

“Are we expected to repay that debt forever?” sniffed Avila.

Temar didn’t know how to answer that, but she turned away to pour herself a goblet of rich red wine from a crystal jug. “Please give my apologies to the servants, but this is all too rich for me to stomach.” She took a piece of fine white bread from an ornate silver basket. “I’ll see you in the morning.”

Temar watched her go with mingled relief and dismay. It wasn’t as if he particularly liked Avila, still convinced she’d some hand in Guinalle’s refusal to accept the love he offered, but the acerbic Demoiselle was the only person he knew on this side of the ocean.

He lifted the lid on one of the silver dishes but his gorge rose at the spicy scent of the mutton. He poured himself some wine. No, Avila wasn’t the only person he knew here. There was Ryshad. Was the sworn man going to prove the true friend he’d seemed the year before? Temar sipped the excellent vintage and tried to ignore a mocking memory of his self-assured boasts to Guinalle before sailing. It was his duty to serve Kel Ar’Ayen by presenting their needs to the nobility gathered for Solstice in Toremal, and he’d surrender that to no man, he’d told her.

Now he wondered just what he would find there, seeing how this one little town was so fearfully changed.

He needed Ryshad’s help, that much was certain. Setting down his wine, Temar opened the parlour door, but as he did so a hall lackey opened the main door to the two lady mages and Temar hesitated, pushing the door to.

“You owe Casuel a certain duty of gratitude. He recognised your affinity and brought you to Hadrumal. That does not entitle him to treat you as his personal maid.” Velindre sounded a worthy match for Avila at her most abrasive.

Temar smiled a little as he held the parlour door open a crack and watched the lackey usher the women into a dining salon.

“My lady Velindre Ychane and my lady Allin Mere.” The grace titles seemed entirely appropriate as the taller mage swept elegantly into the room, Allin at her heel visibly unsure of herself. Temar sympathised ruefully.

“Good evening.”

Temar clicked his tongue in annoyance as he heard Ryshad’s courteous greeting. There would be no chance to speak to him in private now. As he wondered what to do, the other mage, Casuel Something-Or-Other, bustled down the stairs, all ill-disguised curiosity and smoothing a full-skirted coat of rich tan velvet as he hurried into the dining room. The fool was going to be uncomfortably hot in that, thought Temar uncharitably. No, Guinalle was always rebuking him for that kind of rapid judgement. Temar rubbed a hand over his long jaw. If he was ever going to make Guinalle change her mind about him, he had to succeed in this voyage. Unknown wizards intent on their own concerns could be a real thorn in his shoe. Temar walked softly down the hallway and listened at the dining salon door.

“Are the colonists not joining us?” That was Velindre. An artless question, Temar thought, but why ask when she could plainly see they weren’t?

“Not tonight.” Ryshad was courteous as always. “So, what’s your interest in Kellarin?” Courteous but blunt when need be. Temar grinned.

“A passing one,” the mage replied readily enough. “I’m only interested in so far as it relates to the Elietimm threat.”

Temar felt his skin crawl and fancied the chill silence filling the room was nigh on palpable through the door.

“We have no reason to suppose they have abandoned their ambitions to territory beyond their own islands,” Velindre continued easily.

“And you saw no need to seek Planir’s permission or guidance before involving yourself in concerns that reach as high as the Emperor himself?” asked Casuel waspishly.

“Not for a few general enquiries, no,” Velindre said coolly.

Casuel cleared his throat. “The Elietimm were comprehensively rebuffed when they tried to seize Kellarin last year. It’s clear enough their scheming in Tormalin before that was part of their search for the lost colony. They’ll know they are overmatched now and abandon such adventures.”

Temar shut his eyes on vivid recollection; black-hearted Elietimm raiders shattering their dream of a new life over the ocean, murdering friends and mentors, forcing the trapped survivors to insane trust in the half-understood enchantment that was their only hope of refuge. Bloody visions of carnage hovered at the edge of his mind’s eye while the screams of the slaughtered sounded silently in his ears.

“We held our own in the fight for Kellarin only because Temar and I were able to kill their enchanter.” Ryshad contradicted Casuel and Temar opened his eyes. “Fortunately Elietimm troops are so in thrall, be it through enchantment or simple terror, that once their leaders are dead the rest surrender. As long as their enchanters survive, they are a lethal foe.”

“Their earlier crimes in Tormalin first got you involved?” Velindre evidently wanted Ryshad to confirm what she had already learned. Wizards were all like that, Temar mused, never taking anything on trust.

“A nephew of Messire D’Olbriot was attacked, robbed and left for dead. I was pursuing those responsible when I met Darni, the Archmage’s agent, and learned of his interest in the matter.” Ryshad’s voice was emotionless, but Temar knew the truth of the swordsman’s desperate battles for life and liberty as he sought his master’s revenge. He wondered bleakly if he’d ever match Ryshad’s self-possession.

“Which is when these people were first traced to islands in the far ocean,” Casuel hurried to fill the silence Ryshad had let fall. “And we first identified their peculiar magic”

And the men of those ice-girt islands were descendants of the self-same Elietimm who massacred the first colonists of Kel Ar’Ayen, who forced them into enchanted sleep as the only means of saving themselves. Waking so many generations adrift from the world they’d known still to be assailed by the same foul enemy was a torment worthy of Poldrion’s own demons. Temar set his jaw. Common foes meant common cause and, with the Elietimm already enemies of princes such as D’Olbriot, the colonists could look for help this time. Whatever else had changed in the endless years of their sleep, the fundamentals of honour were untarnished.

Velindre was speaking again, her voice hard and low, and Temar strained to hear. “Aetheric magic, some sorcery that the mage-born cannot comprehend, let alone wield.” As with most wizards Temar had encountered since waking to this strangely changed world, Velindre clearly felt this a personal affront to her own curious powers. Was that her reason for being here?

“Which we now know to be the magic of the Old Empire?” That safe contribution had to be from the younger woman, Allin.

“What the ancients called Artifice,” Ryshad confirmed, an encouraging note in his voice. “But when the Empire fell into the Chaos, nearly all such knowledge was lost.”

“Meaningless superstition peddled by priests and shrines,” said Casuel tartly. “Not worthy to be called magic”

How dared this overdressed fool judge something he knew less than nothing about? Artifice had held together a greater Empire than any this age would ever see. Temar reached for the door handle but someone unexpected was setting Casuel right.

“Elietimm enchantments rend minds and twist wills. Worse, mage-born working their own spells are peculiarly vulnerable to attack,” snapped Velindre. “Cloud-Master Otrick lies in a deathless sleep thanks to these scum. Until we can counter their sorcery, the Elietimm are a potent threat to wizardry, whether they cross the ocean this summer or in a generation hence.”

“They’re just as much a threat to Tormalin,” Ryshad pointed out in moderate tones. “I wouldn’t wager a lead penny against them crossing the ocean again inside a couple of seasons. I’ve visited the barren rocks they call home. No one would live there given a choice. That’s why Planir and Messire D’Olbriot sent last year’s expedition in search of the lost colony. Finding some knowledge of Artifice to combat Elietimm enchantment was reckoned worth the risks.”

No, it hadn’t been some selfless bid to rescue those unfortunates lost in the toils of ancient magic, thought Temar glumly. He was tired of hearing Kel Ar’Ayen always discussed in terms of its utility to other people.

“The colony’s rediscovery must have tongues wagging from the Astmarsh to the Cape of Winds,” ventured Allin.

“Hundreds of people hidden in a cavern over countless generations, bodies uncorrupted by time or decay while the very essence of their being was locked in some inanimate artefact.” There was unmistakable challenge in Velindre’s tone. “I still find it incredible.”

That was quite enough. Temar opened the door. “Incredible or not, I am living proof that it is so.” There are scant people you owe a bent knee to, he reminded himself, summoning all the poise he’d learned as a nobleman in the final days of the Old Empire.

“Temar, may I make known Velindre Ychane, mage of Hadrumal, and Allin Mere, also a wizard.” Ryshad fetched an extra chair from the side of the room without comment. “Ladies, I have the honour to present Temar, Esquire D’Alsennin.”

“The honour is all mine.” Temar made a low bow.

“Wine?” offered Ryshad. “We have a white from the western slopes of Kalavere, which should be good, or a Sitalcan red, which I’m afraid I don’t know.”

“White, thank you.”

Ryshad saluted Temar with the goblet as he passed it over and then rang a small silver bell. Temar took his seat.

“So what was it like?” Velindre fixed Temar with an intent look. She wore a plain, round-necked gown of fine indigo wool, her face free of any cosmetic and her only jewellery a chain of silver around her neck carrying no pendant or jewel. Long blonde hair was braided in a plait with tidily trimmed ends sun-bleached nearly to white. Temar guessed her a handful or more years Ryshad’s senior.

“Like sleeping, mostly, with some dreams like those of a fever,” Temar replied with bland composure. He wasn’t about to elaborate on his turbulent visions of those who’d unwittingly borne the sword holding his consciousness locked deep within it.

Velindre was about to pursue this but a maid entered with a tray. Ryshad alerted her to lay an extra place in front of Temar with a quick gesture and everyone sat in silence, watching the lass set down a sauceboat alongside a dish of pork braised in wine and green oil.

“Superstition or not, you can trust those serving Ostrin to keep their vow of discretion,” Ryshad said with some force as the girl departed with an uncertain backward glance.

“You were caught up in this enchantment, weren’t you?” Velindre challenged him.

“Thanks to the contrivance of Archmage Planir.” Ryshad leaned back in his chair, rolling rich red wine round in the engraved glass he had cupped in one hand. “He ensured I was given Temar’s sword. I dreamed of Temar and the colony as it had been so long ago. That gave the final clues to finding the cavern.”

Temar managed to meet the older man’s half-smile with a nod of his own. The terrors of madness both had suffered, the struggle for identity and mastery over Ryshad’s body as Temar, all unwitting, had struggled to break free of the enchantment: that was no one’s business but their own.

Velindre was patently not satisfied and turned back to Temar. “I hear you have an Adept of Artifice with you?”

“Avila Tor Arrial,” replied Temar, striving for Ryshad’s self-possession. “The Demoiselle wishes to learn what has become of her House in the generations since we slept. She also wants to see if anything remains of the lore this very shrine was founded to husband.” Temar doubted that, now he’d seen the place so altered.

Velindre frowned. “I thought Guinalle Tor Priminal was the foremost practitioner of this Artifice?”

“She is,” agreed Temar. “Which is why her first obligation remains to the colony she originally crossed the ocean to succour and support.” The endless frozen years hadn’t changed that; whatever love he might one day win from Guinalle would never outweigh her sense of duty.

“We all have our responsibilities.” Velindre let slip a smile of considerable charm. “But I feel she could clarify so many of the mysteries that plague us.”

“Guinalle is working with scholars of Col and Vanam,” pointed out Ryshad mildly. “Those that are prepared to cross the ocean, at least.”

“We are finding much of interest within the archives of the great Houses of Tormalin,” remarked Casuel loftily, anxious not to be kept out of the conversation. “My colleagues and I are daily identifying new aspects of aetheric magic”

“You always had an aptitude for searching through dusty documents, Cas.” Velindre nodded at the table as the maid reappeared with a laden tray. “I think we should eat, don’t you?” She helped herself to chicken breast and green herb dumplings.

“More wine, Allin?” Ryshad proffered the carafe.

“White, please, just half a glass.”

Temar thought about teasing the lass with some remark about such decorous abstinence; they were much of an age, a clear double handful of years younger than either Casuel or Ryshad. Remembering she was a wizard, he decided against it. The table was well supplied with food and Temar noticed the dishes he’d abandoned had been brought in. To his surprise he realised his stomach was threatening to growl like a beggar’s dog. He passed Ryshad a dish of lobster in lovage and cider sauce and reached for the plate of boiled ham and figs that caught his eye. Whatever it was Velindre wanted to know, she seemed satisfied for the present, and Temar was content to eat and listen as the mages swapped news of people he didn’t know. Velindre and Ryshad compared their experiences of the southern ports of Toremal, and Casuel tried to interest people in his theories on the political situation in Caladhria.

Allin made few contributions to the conversation, and none without blushing, but when the maids were clearing the table she turned to Temar with a shy smile. “Are there many differences between this meal and those—before?”

“Not so many,” he replied with some surprise at the realisation. “But there can be only so many ways of cooking, and meat, fish or fowl remain the same.” A maid reached past him with porcelain bowls of sweetmeats while a steward set out decanters of sweet wine and cordials.

Allin nibbled a little pastry stuffed with nuts and raisins. “You sound quite Lescari, did you know that? Do you know people from there?”

Temar nodded. “Most of those who came to fight for Kel Ar’Ayen last year were from Lescar. Many chose to stay on and help in our rebuilding and they hope to bring friends to start a new life with us. I have doubtless picked up something of their tongue.”

Allin drew so sharp a breath she choked on her mouthful. Temar hastily offered her glass but she pushed his hand away as she struggled to control her coughs. “Mercenaries!” she spat. “Nurse a wolf cub at your hearth and it’ll still eat your sheep. Be more careful whom you trust.”

Temar looked a frantic question at Ryshad, mortified to have caused offence.

“Your family has suffered in the fighting, I take it?” Ryshad asked Allin sympathetically.

“We used to live just north of Carluse.” The girl was scarlet to the roots of her hair but managed a hoarse reply. “Sharlac mercenaries burned us out and we fled to Caladhria.”

“Which is where I identified the girl’s talent,” piped up Casuel. “And now she is your pupil?” He looked at Velindre with ill-disguised annoyance.

“Forgive me,” said Temar soberly to Allin. “I know nothing of modern Lescar. In my day it was a peaceful province of the Empire.” But he should have remembered it had been rent by civil war for ten generations or more. He saw his own thoughts reflected in Ryshad’s alert brown eyes. How would Temar hold his own among the Princes and courts of Toremal, so ignorant of politics within and beyond the Empire’s reduced borders? More important things had changed than the way people spoke or sauced their dinners.

“So, Velindre, will you be travelling to Toremal with us?” Casuel persisted, his voice loud in the awkward silence. Ryshad silently passed Allin a dish of honey-soaked sops of toasted bread to give her time to recover her composure.

Velindre inclined her head towards Ryshad. “I take it you are going to the capital for the Solstice Festival?”

He nodded as he filled small glasses from a decanter of white brandy. “Messire D’Olbriot is keen to introduce Esquire D’Alsennin to the Houses of the Empire.”

“I should like to meet the Demoiselle Tor Arrial before you go,” Velindre said firmly. “To learn something of Artifice and its uses. You’ll be sparing a few days to rest?”

Ryshad looked at Temar who shrugged uncertainly. “It may be a day or so before Avila’s recovered from the voyage.”

“We’ll most certainly wait,” Casuel frowned. “The moons aren’t fit for travel! The lesser will be past the half in a few nights and the greater is nigh on full dark.”

“I’d rather keep days in hand to rest the horses along the way,” Ryshad disputed. “Solstice doesn’t wait for Saedrin or anyone else.”

“How do we travel?” Temar enquired.

“By horse,” Ryshad stated firmly.

“Coach,” contradicted Casuel, looking obstinate.

“I’ll risk saddle sores over coach sickness, thanks all the same,” Temar said lightly. “But Avila may think otherwise.”

“Well I intend to drive, even if no one else does,” Casuel snapped.

“I never cease to be thankful for the magecraft that saves me from such choices,” Velindre smiled. “I’ll see Urlan safely back to Hadrumal, Cas, and after that I imagine we’ll see you at the Festival. For the present, we’ll leave you with your wine. Come on, Allin.” Temar watched as Velindre made her exit with the poise of a noble from any age of the Empire.

Casuel looked after her with some irritation. “I was about to say I would bespeak assistance for Urlan. It’s just—”

Ryshad spoke over the mage with a wicked smile as he refilled Temar’s glass. “In Toremal, we swap indecorous stories once the ladies have left.”

Temar laughed as Casuel drew an indignant breath. “Something else not changed, for all the generations I have missed.”

“But there are many things you do need to know.” Casuel leaned forward, face eager. “I made some preliminary notes, but we need to identify particular areas of concern—”

“Not tonight, if you please,” Temar pleaded.

“Give the lad a chance to catch his breath,” Ryshad chided Casuel genially.

Temar suddenly felt exhausted. He set down his half-finished glass with an unsteady hand. “I’ll gladly learn all I may from you and you’ll have my thanks, but for now I’ll bid you good night.”

“Arimelin send you pleasant dreams,” said Ryshad.

Temar looked sharply at him but saw nothing but good will in the man’s face. “And to you,” he stammered before hurrying from the room.

The Shrine of Ostrin, Bremilayne, 10th of For-Summer in the Third Year of Tadriol the Provident, Morning

It’s such a commonplace to wish the goddess send someone refreshing dreams that the words were out of my mouth before I’d realised what I was saying. Temar’s startled look set nervous fingers plucking at the back of my own mind and, once I’d bid Casuel good night, I climbed the candlelit stairs of the guest house with uncommon reluctance. I’d thought nigh on a year of being alone in my own head had cured me of the horrors of having my mind invaded by another’s, but it seemed not. I even considered going back for a flask of some liquor to drown any dreams but sternly reminded myself I’d found such remedies ineffective enough in my callow youth. Uncomfortably aware of Temar’s presence in the next room, I resolutely diverted my thoughts by speculating what Livak might be up to and listened to the chimes of the shrine sounding well into the night.

Arimelin must have been busy elsewhere. When I finally fell asleep I didn’t dream of my red-haired beloved or anything else and woke to a clear sunny morning. Washed, shaved and dressed in short order, I was downstairs early enough to startle a servant girl sweeping the hall floor.

“We’re done in the dining salon, sir.” She sent a cloud of dust out of the open door billow in a golden haze. “You can make yourself a tisane or I can fetch you something from the kitchens?”

I shook my head. “I’ll breakfast with everyone else.”

The sideboard in the salon was laid with delicate ceramic cups and an array of jars with silver tags around their necks identifying the herbs and spices within. A kettle sat on a small charcoal stove set in the fireplace, puffing gentle wisps of steam up the chimney. I was finding a spoon when the door opened behind me and I turned to see Temar looking much better for a good night’s sleep.

“Tisane?” I dangled a pierced silver ball by its chain.

Temar gave a brief smile but his wolf-pale eyes were still wary. “We use scraps of muslin in Kel Ar’Ayen.”

“Like most people this side of the ocean.” I clicked the little sphere open and spooned in some lemon balm. “But noble guests are accustomed to their little luxuries.”

Temar made some noise that could have been agreement or not. He studied the crystal jars before helping himself to some red-stemmed mint. “Back in my day, this shrine was a place set aside for the contemplation and study of Artifice.” A broader smile cracked his rather solemn expression. “ ‘Back in my day’; I sound like some grandsire lamenting his lost youth.” The smile faded. “Well, it’s certainly lost, along with my grandsire and everyone else I ever knew.”

“But you have new friends,” I said encouragingly. “And the House of D’Olbriot will welcome you as warmly as one of their own.”

Temar was staring out of the window, tisane forgotten. “I knew it was all gone, that they were all gone, but in Kel Ar’Ayen things aren’t so different, not to how it was when we first arrived. We’d lost all we’d worked for but we knew that, with the Elietimm destroying everything as we fled—” His voice trailed off into uncertainty.

I took the tisane ball from his unresisting hands and added some bittertooth, my mother’s specific for low spirits. “And now you’re here?” Fetching the kettle, I poured water into both cups, hoping no one would interrupt us.

Temar sighed, lacing his long fingers round the cup’s comforting warmth. “I don’t know where I am. Bremilayne was a fishing village, a few boats pulling crabs from the rocks.” We both looked down at the sizeable fleet returning from the night’s fishing, seabirds wheeling within the massive curve of the harbour wall. “The adepts founded their sanctuary here because the place was so isolated, of no use or interest to anyone else. That has certainly changed.” He gestured at the imposing houses set around the equally impressive precincts of the shrine.

“The port deals with all the Gidestan trade,” I explained. “Goods from the mountains come down the river to Inglis and are shipped down here.”

“To be carried over the mountains to the west?” Temar nodded at a shallow cleft in the looming ridge. “Even the skyline has changed. When did that landslip close the old route?”

As he pointed I saw a hollow where a great mass of stone and earth had fallen from the heights in some past age. The sprawl of broken ground wasn’t immediately obvious as trees tall enough to make ships’ masts dotted the scrub. “Not in my lifetime, or anyone since my great-grandsire’s, I should think,” I admitted.

“Perhaps I should ask your friend Casuel,” Temar suggested, and his half-smile encouraged me.

“I know something of what you’re feeling,” I reminded him.

Temar sipped his drink and looked up with frank scepticism. “How so?”

“The Aldabreshin Archipelago was as foreign a place to me as all this is to you,” I pointed out. “I found my feet there. It’ll take us a good while to cross the country, and I warn you Casuel’s determined to teach you all you need to know, and more besides, I’ll wager. In any case, Solstice Festival is only five days, and once it’s over you can take ship back to Kellarin whenever you like.”

Temar suddenly set his cup down. “I have not asked your pardon for my part in your enslavement.”

I was taken aback. “You were hardly to know what was happening, caught up in the enchantment as much as me. What’s done is gone and we need to be looking to the future, not turning over last autumn’s leaves.” I managed to make something of a joke of it and in any case I blamed Planir far more than I’d ever blame Temar.

Temar studied my face and some of the tension left him.

“And as far as we can tell, it was the Elietimm setting their claws in my mind that woke you in Relshaz and set you searching for your lost companions,” I reminded him. Temar’s fellow colonists had been sleeping like him, their enchanted minds held in seemingly innocent artefacts. Once roused, Temar’s consciousness had overwhelmed my own, starting a frantic quest for one of those trinkets that had landed me in chains. Taken for a thief, I’d been condemned to be sold into slavery to repay my so-called victim’s losses. “That Elietimm enchanter we killed in Kellarin was the one who got the Aldabreshin woman to buy me. He was after the sword that was linking me to you and the secrets of the colony.” Even my anger with the wizards didn’t blind me to the true enemy here.

“True enough.” Temar’s face hardened. “I have no doubt the Elietimm will attack us again, whatever Master Devoir may say. We must have means to defend ourselves. I refuse to stay reliant on the Archmage for protection.”

“So what do you need?” I prompted.

“First and most important we must recover the artefacts to restore those still held in enchantment,” said Temar firmly. “Several of our most adept are still lost to us.”

“How many are still asleep?” I stifled a shudder at the memory of that vast, chill cavern, dark beneath the weight of rock as unchanged through the years as those frozen bodies beneath it.

“Some three hundred and more.” Temar sounded surer of himself. “That is why I came for Solstice. It has to be the best time to trace the missing artefacts, with all the great families gathered in the capital.”

I nodded. “And Kellarin has gold, gems, furs, who knows what else to trade. Messire D’Olbriot has the contacts to help you earn the coin to buy in tools, goods, skilled men, everything you need to rebuild. He was saying Kellarin goods could rival the Gidestan trade inside five years.”

“How much can I accomplish in five days?” Temar looked a little daunted.

“I’ll be there to help,” I pointed out.

“You are D’Olbriot’s man. You will be busy with your own duties,” he protested, but with evident hope I was going to contradict him.

“You’ll be D’Olbriot’s guest,” I reminded him. “I’ll be your aide, at Messire’s direct order.” Which was fortunate, since I’d have been doing all I could for Temar, with or without the Sieur’s permission.

Faint sounds of the guest house rising for the day came from the rooms above us. I savoured the sharp tang of lemon from my cooling cup.

“You were not so keen to return to your patron’s service the last time we spoke,” Temar said cautiously. “You were talking of striking out on your own with that girl of yours. Are you no longer together?”

“Livak?” I hesitated. “Well, yes and no. That is, a future together’s easier wished for than found.”

“She seemed very independent.”

I wondered what prompted Temar’s interest in my love life. I hoped he wasn’t expecting advice on salvaging something from the disasters of his own romance with Guinalle. “Independent to the point of criminal at times, which is certainly not a road I can take, any more than she’ll settle to life in a grace house sewing her seams while I attend Messire.”

“So what are you to do?” Perhaps Temar was just looking for some distraction.

“If I can render Messire some signal service…” I faltered. “I’ve made the step to chosen man. The top of the ladder is proven man. As such I’d warrant a commission to manage an estate for D’Olbriot, or to act as his agent in some city like Relshaz. I’d be looking out for D’Olbriot interests, but no longer at the Sieur’s beck and call. Livak and I think we could live with that.” As with so many plans, it sounded less likely spoken aloud than it seemed in the privacy of my own head.

“Oh.” Temar looked blank. Of course, the oath-bound traditions of service that I was committed to meant nothing to him. That had all grown up after the Chaos, the bloody anarchy that had brought the Old Empire low, when ties of loyalty had gone for nothing as the Princes of the great Houses turned on the feckless Emperor who’d brought ruin on them all. The ordered fealty of tenants to their Liege-Lords that Temar had known was as foreign to me as this new Bremilayne was to him.

“So what is this signal service to be?” Temar challenged.

I grinned. “Helping you set Kellarin fair for a glorious and profitable future, to the mutual benefit of the Houses of D’Olbriot and D’Alsennin?”

Temar grinned but with a humourless curl to his lip. “If those Elietimm scum permit it.”

“Messire has people searching for enchantments to be used against the Elietimm, in defence of Kellarin and Tormalin.”

Temar looked hopefully at me. “How so?”

“Livak’s travelling in the Sieur’s name, hunting aetheric knowledge among the ancient races of wood and mountain,” I explained. Casuel might have scorned Livak’s theory about her song book, but the Sieur had thought it worth wagering a little coin.

“Saedrin make it so,” murmured Temar, and I nodded fervent agreement. After the best part of a year without their black ships on the horizon, I was certain the summer would see renewed Elietimm attack. One small consolation for Livak’s absence was knowing she’d be as far from any fighting as possible. Her finding something powerful would also be a signal service to weigh in our favour when the time came to ask Messire for my freedom.

Urgent steps sounded on the gravel outside and rapid hammering at the door brought a hall lackey running up from the cellars.

Temar and I looked at each other startled and Glannar burst in, face like thunder. “The warehouse’s been robbed!”

“Sit down.” I urged him to a chair, not liking the florid colour beneath his beard.

“No,” Glannar waved me away breathlessly, “I need the Esquire D’Alsennin.” He looked uncertainly at Temar.

“At once.” Temar moved to the door.

“Don’t you want to know what happened?” Glannar looked from Temar to me and back again.

“We will see for ourselves.” Temar was already out of the room and I hurried Glannar to the gate of the shrine.

“A little slower, I think,” I said quietly as we reached the road. “Or we’ll have every eye in town turned to our business.” Temar on my near side gave me a sharp look while Glannar on the off hand scowled ferociously, but they both slackened their pace a little.

The town was still quiet, some women scrubbing front steps with a few men about nameless tasks in the morning cool. Slate and cobbles shone blue and silver in the sun, mimicking the sparkling sea below. There was bustle on the quayside, all hands busy unloading the fisher fleet, scavenging birds raucous above the shouts of the labouring men and women.

We ignored everything apart from the warehouse, where two of Glannar’s sworn men stood guard, swords drawn and jaws clenched on humiliation. Inside the recognised lads were attempting to tidy the shambles made of the previous day’s neat stowage while the other two sworn propped a ladder beneath a gaping skylight letting cheerful sunlight into what should have been secure gloom. A rear door beyond had its locking bar tossed aside.

“No need to ask how the wharf rats got into your malt heap,” I commented to Glannar.

“Get moving before I take a horsewhip to you!” he snarled as three of the recognised stopped working to stare at us. One looked angry enough to give Glannar a back answer he’d regret, the second dropped his gaze, shamefaced, while the third and youngest was close to unmanly tears. He was right to fret; this night’s work had dropped his chances of an oath right down the privy.

Did we have honest watchdogs here, or had Glannar set a fox to watch the geese? It happens, let’s be honest, and even in the best-regulated barracks—someone bribed to look the other way and stay deaf as well as blind, tarnishing the honour of everyone sworn to the Name. “When did it happen?”

“Any time between midnight and sixth chime,” said Glannar tightly. “I know the recognised are green but I was sure the sworn were seasoned.” He was about to elaborate but I stopped him with a raised hand. “I’ll see what they’ve got to say for themselves.”

The newly recognised and would-be sworn were busy with scattered bales and broken chests. Pelts sewn tight into oilcloth and canvas to withstand the sea crossing spilled out across the floor, dust dulling the bright fur.

“So what happened?” I demanded of one lad half-heartedly picking up the skins.

“Our watch was for midnight onwards,” he began, eyes sliding away from me. “Damage was done when we arrived.”

“But we didn’t get here until nigh on the sixth chime.” The second had the wit to see only honesty would redeem their situation.

I kept my anger reined in for the moment. “Why?”

“It wasn’t our fault,” began the first, looking this way and that for some excuse.

“We went to find a quiet tavern,” said his pal glumly.

“We meant no harm,” protested a third, man enough to come and stand by his fellows.

“So what kept you from marking the chimes?” I asked harshly.

The youths exchanged sheepish glances. “We got into a game of Raven,” admitted the newcomer. “More than one.”

“Some stranger who lost invited you to make a small wager then suddenly showed some talent for the game?” I guessed. “You played on in hopes of winning your losses back?”

“No,” said the second with scornful anger. “It was Rasicot, sworn to Tor Bezaemar.” He looked to Glannar, who grunted grudging support.

“All the sworn and chosen mix freely hereabouts, Chosen Tathel. With none so many of us beholden to any one Name, we help each other out.”

I shook my head. “So you just lost track of the chimes?”

“We came straight here when we realised,” protested one forlornly. “Sent the early duty to their beds.”

“So where were they when you arrived?” I asked. “Asleep?”

“No,” said one, outraged. “We were guarding the front, just like we should.”

“While thieves got in round the back,” I pointed out. “How did you miss that?”

Guilty looks were traded between lowered eyes. “Well?” I demanded.

“Danel was round the back,” said the first one to own up to being on early duty. “He got a clout that knocked him clean into the Shades.”

“They dragged him inside and tied him up,” volunteered someone at the rear.

“Didn’t anyone go looking for him?” I demanded.

“We did,” objected another youth. “Only when we couldn’t find him we reckoned he’d gone off with Brel.”

“Who’s Brel?” I asked.

“Brel and Krim, senior sworn men, they both went off to find the second watch.” The lad nodded towards the two still struggling with the ladder.

“Let’s see what they have to say.” Leaving the lads with a look conveying the full depth of my contempt, I walked over to the skylight, Glannar with me muttering a blistering denunciation of the man Brel’s parentage and sexual tastes. The two sworn sighed as one man.

“What happened?” I demanded

“It was past midnight and the relief hadn’t shown,” one began, a thick-necked man with a crooked nose and a missing eyetooth. “We knew our lads were losing their edge.”

“So we went looking,” agreed his colleague, a wiry type with features somehow too small for his face, close set eyes either side of a questing nose.

“Both of you?”

“There’s been trouble before now, between our men and the dockers,” said the senior belligerently. “I wanted someone to watch my back.”

“You’re too cursed fond of a fight, Krim,” spat Glannar.

“Which is why I wasn’t about to let him go off on his own!” The thin man’s protest rang with complacent truth.

I raised a hand to silence Krim’s indignation. “So where were the relief? The sworn that is; I know where the lads were.”

“Torren says they’d agreed to meet at the end of the rope walk, Ardig says it was outside the chandlery,” spat Glannar. “They were both late and each thought the other must have rounded up the lads and gone on. Seems neither was in any hurry on their own account.”

“Did you find either of them?” I demanded of the two sworn men before me.

“Only Ardig,” muttered Krim. “By then midnight had come and gone.”

“Torren sniffs round a pretty little slattern up in Rack Row any time he’s in town,” said the rat-faced one. “Seems he’d headed there to poke up her hearth on a cold night.”

“So what did you find when you got back here?” I snapped.

Krim sneered. “Torren’s lads sitting out front, no more use than tits on a boar, the back open wider than a whore’s legs.”

“None of yours had the wit to worry where the lad watching the back had got to,” I reminded him. “Torren can answer for the shit on his shoes and you can answer for yours. Tidy this mess up and see if you can find any scent. Glannar, let’s get some fresh air.” I wanted to escape the musty atmosphere thick with recrimination and justification.

Glannar walked with me to the door, red-faced embarrassment struggling with fury at his men. “All right, you don’t have to tell me. All four wheels came off this cart, good and proper. I’ll kick their arses from now until Solstice for not sending me word when the relief didn’t show. But in all justice, Raeponin be my witness, I never thought there’d be theft, not with a decent watch set for all to see. Bremilayne can be rough, I’ll grant you, but it’s a small place for all that. There are too many trading interests here for wholesale thieving to go unchecked! One warehouse gets robbed, every sworn and chosen turns the town upside down. We catch the bastards and they get a flogging to warn off any others thinking of trying their luck. That’s as long as we get the goods back, mind. If they’ve nothing to trade for their lives, it’s the gibbet on the end of the seawall.” He fell silent, out of words as well as breath.

“Start turning over rocks and see what crawls out,” I told him tersely. But I was as cross with myself as I was with Glannar. I should have realised a tarnished arm ring was a bad sign; you have to keep the talents that warrant it polished up along with the copper.

“Ryshad!” I turned to see Temar wave a parchment at me.

I left Glannar without a word. “What’s all this?” I shifted a splintered scrap of deal with one boot.

“We brought mostly woods unique to Kel Ar’Ayen,” explained Temar. We both looked at the cords of logs untouched in their ropes. “But our joiners made prentice pieces, to show how it can be worked.” He passed me a tiny drawer scarcely the length of my hand, one jagged scratch marring the smoothly waxed front. “Those pieces were all boxed together. My guess is they broke open the case thinking it was something valuable.”

I looked inside the shattered top of the rough wooden box to see miniature copies of fixtures and furniture like the ones Messire’s craftsmen make for the Sieur’s approval when some residence or other is being refurbished. “Have any been taken?”

Temar shrugged. “I think not. Some of the furs are gone though, the small pelts, the finest ones.”

I bent to retrieve a torn sheet of parchment. “What’s this?”

“Notes from our artisans.” Temar frowned. “Nothing important, but everything is unsealed.”

“Thieves looking for information more than valuables?” I mused.

“Anything valuable has gone,” scowled Temar. “There was some copper, but it is nowhere to be found.”

“We all grew up with tales of the riches of Nemith the Last’s lost colony.” I looked at him. “Gold and gems. Were there any?”

Temar smiled grimly. “All still safe in my personal baggage back at the shrine.”

“Along with any maps or charts that might give away Kellarin’s secrets?” I hazarded, relieved to see him nod. “But whoever broke in here wasn’t to know that.”

“So was this just sneak thieves taking advantage?” Temar wondered aloud.

I sighed and nodded towards the door. “I don’t suppose the inns down here serve tisanes, but I’ll buy you ale if you want it this early.”

Temar shook his head as we walked out into the sunshine and both drew thankful breaths of clean, fresh air, crossing the dock to sit on a baulk of timber.

“Glannar’s men have got a sorry tale of thoughtlessness adding to mishap piling on stupidity.” I scrubbed an irritated hand through my hair. “It could just be some bright-eyed lads taking the chance they saw offered, certainly. A ship from unknown lands, all but dragged off the rocks by wizardry, the whole town would have heard the tale before their dinner yesterday, and a fair few would have been curious to know just what you’d unloaded.”

“Curious enough to search through every scrap of parchment?” Temar was as keen as me to find an innocent explanation but equally alert to more sinister implications.

“There are plenty of sailors keen to know the currents and winds between here and Kellarin,” I mused. “Some might be foolhardy enough to risk the crossing without magic if there’s enough profit to be had.”

An unwelcome voice hailed us in a strangled shout.

“What has been going on?” puffed Casuel as he reached us, hair unbrushed and mismatched buckles on his shoes.

“Some of the Kellarin cargo has been stolen,” I said flatly, hoping his precipitate arrival might go unnoticed.

“By whom?” he demanded, outraged.

“As yet, we don’t know,” I replied calmly.

“Why aren’t you out looking for them!” Casuel looked around the harbour, presumably for some slow-footed miscreant draped in stolen pelts.

I turned my attention back to Temar. “It could have been pirates. They’ll be interested in knowing what comes from Kellarin and how it might compare to the Inglis trade.”

“And they would certainly be interested in looking for charts,” agreed Temar.

“Thieves or pirates, what’s the difference?” Casuel folded his arms abruptly, scowling.

“Otrick was keeping Velindre informed, hadn’t he?” I took a step closer to Casuel, using my greater height to force him back a pace. “Otrick was well liked by pirates all along the coast, wasn’t he? If Velindre has similar friends, perhaps she let something slip?”

“Impossible,” snapped Casuel, affronted.

“From her manner last night, I hardly think the lady would be so careless,” Temar said cautiously.

“Unlikely,” I agreed. But not impossible, and anyway the notion had Casuel too distracted to interrupt again.

“But what if it’s neither?” I said to Temar.

“Elietimm?” He nodded, expression dour. “People forgetting what was agreed, forgetting to mark the time, that could be Artifice at work”

“What?” Casuel looked from Temar to me and back again, eyes horrified. “There’s nothing to suggest Elietimm, is there?”

“No, but nothing to suggest it wasn’t, as yet.” I heaved an irritated sigh. “But how by all that’s holy can we tell? Could Demoiselle Tor Arrial tell if these men had been enchanted?”

“I am afraid not.” Temar looked thoughtful. “But she can look for anyone working Artifice hereabouts.”

I stared at the warehouse. “Copper is copper, and melted down it could have come from anywhere, so I don’t think we’ll see that again. But furs are too easily identifiable to risk selling them here, if our thieves have any wits.”

“So they ship them out with goods honestly bought and paid for?” Temar guessed.

“Organise a search!” cried Casuel. “There’s only one road out of here, so anything going overland can be stopped. Isn’t there some chain to close the harbour to pirates? Get that in place and turn every ship inside out!”

“On whose say-so?” I enquired mildly. “Planir’s? Archmage he may be, he has no authority here, not over Tormalin citizens when nothing’s been proved against them.”

“Is Messire D’Olbriot’s word not good enough, even by proxy?” Temar asked hesitantly.

“No, not for a general search.” I tried to recall the little I knew of Old Empire law. “A Prince’s power is still absolute over his own tenants and property, but that’s as far as it goes. Houses on good terms with D’Olbriot would cooperate, but those that aren’t would refuse, whether or not they had anything to hide. Self-governing traders and artisans will hardly compromise their independence by yielding to D’Olbriot influence like that. Forcing the issue will set them appealing in every court up to the Emperor himself.”

Temar was looking puzzled. “Are many people living outside the security of tenantry?”

“A great deal changed as a result of the Chaos,” said Casuel officiously. “The autonomy of sufficient men of business is an important check on the influence of Princes.”

“Casuel’s father is a pepper merchant,” I explained. “Anyway, even where someone’s officially beholden to a Name, the ties may be no stronger than ribbon sealed on a parchment.”

“But who safeguards their interests?” Temar looked genuinely concerned.

“The Emperor and the justiciary, naturally.”

I interrupted as Casuel drew breath to explain twenty generations of precedent and custom. “The best way to be sure we’ve no Elietimm creeping in the shadows is to find those stolen goods. I’ll call in the few markers I have hereabouts and see if the strength of the D’Olbriot name can get the most likely places searched at least. Temar, go back and have your breakfast, then see if Avila can find any sniff of aetheric magic. Casuel.” I gave him a warm smile. “Go and ask Velindre if she has any contacts among the free-traders.” I raised my voice over his incensed protests. “I don’t suppose she was involved in anything, but free-traders are most likely to be offered unusual goods at half their market value. We might get a scent that way. If she refuses to help, that might be worth telling Planir.”

Casuel’s indignation subsided as Temar managed to control a smile I could see tugging at the corners of his mouth.

“Feathers!” the mage said suddenly.

“Of course!” I snapped my fingers. “Why didn’t I think of that?”

“I don’t suppose your lady has much time for the heights of fashion,” Casuel smirked.

I let the jibe go as I saw Temar looking at me and the mage as if we’d both taken leave of our senses.

“Feathers, bright ones in bold colours are worth, oh, I don’t know how many times their weight in gold,” I explained.

“No lady would dream of going out without a fan of plumes carefully chosen to match her dress or in the colours of her House,” Casuel broke in. “And then there are the combinations that signify—”

“If someone thought you’d brought back exotic feathers unique to Kellarin, that would definitely be worth a break-in.” Much as I hated to give Casuel any credit, his suggestion made simple theft a far more likely explanation.

“I must tell Guinalle to send hunters out with some nets,” said Temar with well-bred amusement. “Strange that none of the mercenaries or mages mentioned this.”

“Well, mercenaries just sweat and I don’t suppose wizards have much time for the heights of fashion either.” I nodded with mock politeness to Casuel, but baiting the mage wasn’t going to get us anywhere. “I’ll see you back at the shrine at noon and we’ll share anything we’ve found out. If there’s any hint it’s something more sinister than thievery, then we get on the road to Toremal where we’ve got the Name and the men to back us.”

“But what if we’re attacked on the road?” Casuel bleated.

“Then you show us some magic, Master Wizard,” smiled Temar.