Pered gasped. “I can’t do this, my lady”
Of course, he was far more susceptible than she. That was why she was so shaken. “Stay with me.” Guinalle wove an incantation to give him some surcease from the hubbub of emotion. She bolstered her own defences as hopes and fears and guesses and memories swirled through the aether, battering her self-control.
A woman’s face creased with age exulted at the death of her enemy. Now she could die content. A younger woman close by was furious with something or someone, struggling against some constraint Guinalle couldn’t comprehend and for an instant she saw bars striping that drawn and intent face. Her desperation was her undoing, Guinalle realised with pity, resentment at her situation driving her to impossible pining for what had gone and could never be restored.
The shock of seeing the woman so confined by her regrets distracted Guinalle and she felt the passing brush of a powerful intellect so chilling, it raised gooseflesh on her arms. The impact of this cunning mind swept away all the other whispering emotions and Guinalle hastily shrouded herself with every art that she’d been taught. The questing thought moved on, man or woman Guinalle could not tell, but avaricious, darting from hidden deliberation to masked ambition, eager to take every advantage from this turn of events. Whoever this might be was as well schooled in secrecy as any adept of Ostrin’s shrine.
“A face hid from everyone.” With that conclusion Guinalle retreated carefully down the regular paths of rhythmic incantation and led Pered away from the trackless mire of grief, confusion and anticipation. “Ilkehan’s death has caused more chaos among the Elietimm than kicking over an ant heap.”
Pered opened his eyes, and rubbed at stiffness in his neck. “As you say, my lady.” He winced ruefully. “I feel as if I’ve spent half a day bent over a copy desk.”
“That’s a fair comparison of the concentration required.” Guinalle gestured to her array of cures, their bottles arranged by height and colour. “If you’ve a headache, I can mix you a draught.” It was a shame she had no tincture to still the trembling she felt in her own wits.
“I’ll be fine, thank you all the same.” Pered stood rubbing his neck, eyes inward looking. “That was a remarkable experience, even more so than last time.”
“Guinalle!” Temar’s voice startled them both and they turned to see him beckoning her impatiently to the door.
“In a moment.” Guinalle dismissed Temar with a flap of her hand. “When we have the leisure, you should learn a little Artifice. I believe you could become quite an adept.”
“It’s a shame I didn’t think of learning such skills before.” Pered didn’t bother hiding his bitterness. “Then I might be of some use here.”
“You can be of use to me and to Naldeth, if you’ve a mind to it,” Guinalle said with sudden inspiration. “Ostrin be thanked, his wound is beginning to heal and he has youth and strength to support him while it does.” She spoke in low, confidential tones, gathering up fresh dressings, a pot of salve and a small bottle of dark brown glass from the trestle table. “What he lacks is the will to live. He believes he has failed his calling, his teachers, Parrail and every other unfortunate lost to the pirates.”
“He’s woken?” Pered was visibly taken aback.
“Barely, but I have the arts to hear his thoughts.” Guinalle had to bite her lip at the recollection. She really must get a good night’s sleep as soon as possible. Being with Pered was tempting her to weakness as well; his open friendliness disarmed more people than her, after all.
Pered shook his head vehemently. “Their blood’s on Muredarch’s hands, not Naldeth’s.”
“I cannot convince him of that,” sighed Guinalle. She led the way carefully through the pallets to a bed at the back of the hut.
Pered followed. “What do you want me to do?”
“Talk to him. He can hear you despite his pain and the medicine dulling his senses.” Guinalle laid a hand on Pered’s arm. “Remind him of all there is to live for. Love, beauty, friendship, honesty striving against all that is false.”
“Can’t you do that with some Artifice?” asked Pered, curious.
“Not till I have convinced myself.” Guinalle froze and snatched her hand away, unsure if she’d spoken or merely thought that frank admission. Pered’s instinctive hug of sympathy startled her still further and she pulled herself abruptly back. “That would be an abuse of my powers, with him so vulnerable.” He was vulnerable, not her. She couldn’t afford to be. Guinalle looked down at Naldeth who lay asleep, wearing only a creased linen shirt, long enough to preserve his modesty. “Hold this.”
Pered took the dressings and the salve and Guinalle sensed his instinctive sympathy as he watched her carefully remove the bandages from the mage’s stump. That was another distraction she could do without, she thought crossly. It must be some consequence of the rude shaking she’d been given by those undisciplined Elietimm.
“That looks a lot neater,” Pered said bracingly.
Guinalle looked closely at the lines of stitches black against the white skin. “We had to cut the bone at mid thigh so as to have enough skin to sew together.” She gently wiped away dark encrustation. “That’s no bad thing since it meant all the torn flesh that might have mortified was safely taken off. There’s no hint of rot and the wound is knitting nicely.” She gave Pered a meaningful look and nodded at the mage, his face not relaxed in sleep but unnaturally still.
“He’s enough leg left to take a prop, if he prefers that to a crutch.” Pered’s voice was warm with encouragement but he looked anxiously at her.
Guinalle smiled her approval and smoothed fresh salve over the wound. The mage’s whole body tensed beneath her light touch and she saw Pered cringe in sympathy. Yes, she decided, he was a good choice to help the wounded and, unlike her, he wouldn’t be battered by Naldeth’s constant, unconscious self-reproaches. She took a breath and renewed her defences once more. She really must get some untroubled sleep.
“Why’s that salve blue?” Pered asked abruptly.
“It’s made from woad; it stems bleeding.” Guinalle re-dressed the wound with deft fingers. “A most useful plant, even if preparing it does raise the most appalling stink.” She tied off the ends of the bandage briskly. “Sieur D’Alsennin needs me, Master Mage. Pered is here to watch the wounded while I’m occupied, so he’ll have your dose ready for you when you need it.” She put her arms around Naldeth with impersonal efficiency and lifted him more comfortably against his pillows before gently lifting the dressing on his arm to assess the healing sore beneath. “When the pain rouses him, make him take a spoonful of this. We don’t want his torment setting his elemental powers running loose. Arimelin grant most of the others will continue to sleep and those that wake should be content to wait awhile but if anyone is in great distress, come and get me. I’ll be back as soon as I can.”
She won a grin from Pered but Naldeth lay stony faced as before. Guinalle hid her own misgivings beneath a bland face and left the hut quickly. She’d achieved something at least; setting Pered a task to keep his mind off whatever peril Shiv might be facing. If only the artist’s vivid appreciation of the life all around him could turn Naldeth from the despondency cutting deeper than the bone saw she’d used on him. As she thought that, some pang she wasn’t prepared to identify left her stomach a little hollow.
“What’s the matter?” Temar asked sharply as she reached the door of the hut.
Guinalle lifted her chin to meet his challenge. “I’m concerned for my patients, Naldeth in particular.”
“Oh.” Temar looked sheepish. “How is he? Has he woken yet?”
“Not to speak with any clarity but Artifice tells me he’s wearied by pain and distress,” Guinalle said tightly, ignoring the treacherous thought that the same could be said of herself. What had she been thinking of, betraying her own melancholy like that? There was no comparison. She had a sacred obligation to give her life purpose; to use her skills and learning for the benefit of others.
“Would you like some bread?” Usara appeared with a handful of the long twists of dough the mercenaries were wont to cook over their fires.
“Thank you.” Guinalle wondered when she’d stop missing the fine white loaves she’d been used to. Now that really was a pointless regret, she thought with asperity, worthy of those undisciplined Elietimm women.
“You’re entirely welcome.” Usara smiled at her, eyes warm with affection.
Guinalle dropped her gaze and tore a piece off the coarse bread. No matter how fond Usara seemed at present, the mage would return to Hadrumal when this strife was ended, she reminded herself. She would return to her life in Kellarin, meagre as it was. Letting go of lamentations over bread was one thing; risking heartbreak for the chance that Usara might help ease her sorrows was entirely too much to hazard. She’d sought paltry solace in Temar’s arms, with all his familiar deficiencies as a suitor and against her better judgement, only to have him make his disdain plain. She wasn’t going to lay herself open to such weakness again. But how it would ease all her sorrows to have the support of a love such as Shiv and Pered shared. Oh, this is ridiculous, she scolded herself silently. Get yourself in hand!
“Larissa sent word that Ilkehan is dead,” Temar began as they walked towards the cook fire.
“So Pered said, ”Guinalle interrupted. “From what I can read of the Elietimm, it seems to be so.”
“Seems?” said Halice sharply. “It could be a lie to deceive us?”
“No.” Guinalle chose her words carefully. “Ilkehan is truly dead. What I cannot divine is precisely by whose hand or when.”
“Where are Livak and the others?” Halice demanded.
“Safe, for the moment.” Guinalle shrugged. “Beyond that, those holding power in the islands and who know of Ilkehan’s fate are in disarray.”
“We need to know how Muredarch’s Elietimm are reacting.” Usara’s face was intent on this new question, tenderness for her vanished. Treacherous disappointment piqued Guinalle, but she rebuked herself. This turmoil was folly.
“Guinalle?” Halice was looking curiously at her. “Are you all right? You seem distracted.”
“I’m tired.” She managed a thin smile. That must be why these idle fancies were distracting her.
“Not too tired?” Usara was concerned.
“Don’t worry.” Guinalle waved away Temar’s hand as she brushed aside the perplexities that had inexplicably come to plague her. Familiar incantations warded her with the uncomplicated purity of Artifice. Armoured with aetheric magic, she reached out to the pirates’ lair and searched for the enchanters.
“They know he’s dead.” Guinalle couldn’t hide her own elation. “More, they have lost their grasp on the aether. All their training was focused on Ilkehan, not any understanding of independent enchantment. They’re completely at a loss.”
She opened her eyes to see Temar and Usara gazing at her. Halice’s face was unreadable as she chewed on a twist of bread. Allin stood beside her, a slowly dripping spoon held above a cauldron over the fire, her round face anxious.
“Can they recover their Artifice?” asked Temar urgently.
“Once they’re over the immediate shock, perhaps,” Guin-alle allowed. “But with nothing like the same potential.”
“We need to attack while they’re still off balance.” Halice took a pace in the direction of the open beach.
“There’s more,” said Guinalle hastily. “They haven’t told Muredarch. If they’re of no use to him, they fear he might try to trade their lives for his own and his closest confederates.”
“No danger of that,” spat Temar.
“We definitely have to attack while he doesn’t know they’re crippled.” Halice accepted a steaming bowl from Allin.
“We set sail as soon as we’ve filled our bellies.” Temar found a horn spoon in his pocket and took a bowl of the meaty frumenty. “Thank you, my lady mage.” He ate hungrily, smiling all the while at Allin.
Guinalle accepted a bowl herself, savouring the swollen grain thickening the broth. Allin had even found a little dried apple to add, doubtless for Temar’s sake.
Halice jabbed her spoon at him, words muffled by her mouthful of food. “You need to decide what we’re doing about prisoners. If I don’t tell my lads while they’re still calm enough to heed me, they’ll just kill them all as usual and trust Saedrin to sort them out.”
Temar swallowed slowly. “The pirates’ lives are plainly forfeit but we should give those who were captured the chance to surrender. We can mete out justice in due course, can’t we?”
Halice shovelled down her food. “That oath of Muredarch’s seemed to bind those who swore it pretty tight.” She looked at Guinalle. “How will that affect them if they want to turn their coats in a fight?”
Guinalle’s spoon hesitated in mid-air. “I’ve no idea.” What a perversion of aetheric power that was. If nothing else, her presence in this age should help put a stop to such foulness. That unbidden thought came as unexpected comfort.
“Your guess?” Temar persisted.
“Guesses are no good and no gold. We could talk till sunset and be no further on than a louse’s skip.” Halice dropped her wooden bowl into the emptied cauldron. “We’ll take prisoners but no one’s parole, man or woman. Let’s be on our way.” Her long stride took her rapidly down the beach where everyone bar the recently freed captives was preparing for battle.
“It’s hard to tell the mercenaries and the men of Vithrancel and Edisgesset apart,” mused Guinalle. Men and women checked blades and baldrics, adjusted straps and jerkins, boots and belts, faces set with determination. Some of the sailors were already rowing longboats out to the anchored Dulse.
“It’s all the drilling.” Usara was at her side. Guinalle blushed with irritation. She hadn’t meant to say that aloud either.
“We’re all fighting for our future, be it in Kellarin or just on the road with a pocket full of gold.” Temar gave his bowl to Allin who was pouring hot water from the kettle into the cook pot. “Leave that for someone else. Let’s get aboard.”
Allin smiled nervously at him. “Let’s hope we can put an end to all this today.”
“I’ll be glad to get back to Kellarin and a proper bed.” Temar took Allin’s hand and tucked it through his arm, keeping her close.
“Shall we?” Usara offered Guinalle his arm. “We’re all to go, if this is the final assault.”
Guinalle took a deep breath. “Will this be an end to it all?”
“If we all give it our very best.” Usara gazed at her intently. “Then we can look to the future.”
Guinalle had no answer to that so settled for a noncommittal smile and resting her hand lightly on the wizard’s forearm.
They followed Temar and Allin whose conversation had turned intense.
“I want you safe on the Dulse, out of any danger,” he was insisting.
Allin pulled Temar to a halt. “I can’t work the magic Halice needs unless I’m close at hand.”
Temar seized her by the shoulders. “Then be careful, do be careful.”
She gazed up at him. “I will and so must you.”
Guinalle watched Temar kiss the mage-girl, her own thoughts in turmoil once more. Was this how he managed to rise above the torments of memory and regret?
“No time for that, Messire,” some anonymous sailor safely out of sight chuckled lewdly.
Allin was scarlet but her eyes were bright and she raised herself on tiptoe to kiss Temar back.
“Nice to see the Sieur doing his bit to boost morale.” Halice grinned as Temar, colour burning on his cheekbones, ran the gauntlet of approving ribaldry and whistles from mercenaries and colonists alike.
He laughed, unconcerned. “Cohort commanders always reminded us we were fighting for hearth and home, wives and daughters.” Allin giggled as he helped her into the longboat from the Dulse.
“Demoiselle.”
Guinalle followed with Usara, all the doubts and confus
ion she’d thought she had safely ignored whirling around her mind.
Halice helped her up over the rail with a grim light in her eye. “Let’s get this battle done.”
Kehannasekke, Islands of the Elietimm,
10th of For-Summer
Any sign of pursuit?” demanded Ryshad.
“None so far.” Sorgrad was a little way behind us all, searching for any trace we had left in the pathless thickets of berry bushes. Shiv had held up the whirling veil of dust until we were past the first rise beyond the keep. As we’d disappeared like coneys into a heath, he’d sent the dust storm out to dissolve on the seashore. With any luck, the Elietimm would think we’d disappeared with it. Not that we were trusting to luck, naturally. Getting caught and shown up for Planir’s assassins painted as Eldritch Kin was not something we were going to risk.
So now we were crouching beneath more berry bushes, on a rise that gave us a view over both keep and the hargeard that was our next target.
“Too busy chasing their tails in there,” ’Gren remarked with satisfaction.
The breeze brought us indistinct shouts from ramparts and courtyard. Tiny figures in black livery and in none ran to and fro across the gaping hole in the wall where the gate had stood.
“Good,” said Shiv fervently. I looked at him with a frisson of concern; he looked exhausted.
“Not necessarily,” frowned Ryshad. “Not if we want an audience to see us wrecking their hargeard.” He banged his elbow on the salvaged chest and cursed under his breath.
“Are you up to bringing down a whole stone circle?” I asked Shiv. As a general rule, I’m grateful magecraft takes such a toll on its users. It’s most reassuring to know any wizard with ambitions to rule the world would die of exhaustion before he managed it but at this particular moment, I felt that Saedrin, Misaen or whatever deity ensured that was being unduly meddlesome.
“Are we still doing that?” ’Gren was redistributing his loot into more secure pockets and tucking the larger items into his pack. “We could get back in time to fight the pirates, if we didn’t.”
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