CHAPTER SEVEN
The Temple Square, Relshaz
Winter Solstice Festival, 3rd Evening
IF THIS TEMPLE’S scarcely-remembered Artifice was to offer Kerrit any help, she had to get inside. Jilseth wasn’t prepared to wait any longer for a chance to slip though some opening in this steady procession. Still veiled with ensorcelled air, she caught a fugitive breeze and made ready.
The next suppliant approached. The hard-faced priestess stepped forward and thrust her wooden bowl towards him. The man had his coin ready.
Jilseth snagged the bowl’s rim with an invisible hook. Caught unawares, the complacent priestess dropped it to spill silver and gold minted in every mainland realm across the smooth marble.
‘Quickly!’ The priestess dropped to her knees, frantic hands sweeping coin back towards her. Pious worshippers scooped up handfuls of marks and pennies. Some dropped the money into the wooden bowl. The priestess’s burly attendants hurried forward to seize those more interested in pocketing this unexpected bounty.
As soon as Jilseth crossed the threshold into the temple, she unveiled herself to appear like any other suppliant coming in through the vast temple’s many doors. She slowed and looked around with a fair imitation of their uncertainty in this shadowy candlelight as she searched for an altar to Ostrin.
He was the god of hospitality as well as healing and Jilseth knew that his shrines across Ensaimin, Caladhria and Lescar were variously adorned with bunches of grapes or sheaves of barley. Did the Relshazri favour wine or ale?
Screens of carved and pierced stone separated the shrines to every god and goddess whom the all-conquering Tormalin had first honoured here. Smoke from incense and candles burning before each statue drifted upwards into the gloomy void. The soft murmur of prayer was punctuated by the occasional stifled sob of grief.
Most suppliants were waiting for their moment before Poldrion’s statue. Once they had commemorated their dead, most headed for the narrow door where watchful priests oversaw their departure. A few made obeisance before some other deity.
That must surely be Ostrin. Jilseth cut across the empty heart of the temple towards the statue of a curly-haired man wearing a simple tunic belted with a rope which made a mockery of the priests and priestesses’ opulent garb. He cradled a wineskin while offering a stout-stemmed goblet with his other hand.
A single priest served this god tonight; a round faced man of Tormalin complexion with close-cropped dark hair. He was exchanging a few quiet words with a priestess whose stole was embroidered with ears of wheat, reminiscent of the sheaf carried by Drianon’s neighbouring statue. Both their plain woollen robes were girdled with honest hemp.
‘Excuse me.’ Jilseth approached, her voice muted. ‘I wish to speak to Brother Tinoan.’
‘Indeed?’ The priest raised questioning eyebrows. ‘A visitor from Hadrumal? Are you a friend of Master Kerrit’s?’
That made matters simpler. ‘Apothecary Resnada sent me. Master Kerrit is increasingly unwell.’
‘This way.’ With the briefest of nods to the priestess, the man led Jilseth around to the back of the altar where small rooms had been built into the thickness of the temple wall.
Entering the central recess, she saw chambers stuffed with scrolls and ledgers on either side. An elderly man in a faded robe sat at a sloped desk amid yet more shelves of records.
Jilseth’s first thought was astonishment at seeing him reading with an unguarded candle amid so much paper. Hadrumal’s librarians forbade any naked flame within their doors and any apprentice wizard arguing for magic’s command over elemental fire could expect to be forbidden admittance until they returned with some new-learned humility.
‘Brother?’ Her guide spoke more loudly than Jilseth expected. ‘Brother!’
‘Barmin?’ The old man looked up with the hazy amiability of someone unable to see beyond the length of his arms. Wisps of fine white hair fringed his age-spotted scalp.
As the priest wasted no time on introductions or explanations, Jilseth did weave a little air to carry his words clearly to the old man’s deaf ears.
‘Master Resnada seeks your help for Master Kerrit.’
‘By all means.’
As Brother Tinoan slipped spryly from his high stool, Jilseth revised her first impression of his decrepitude. Moreover, Hadrumal’s most aged mages might have stiff limbs and aching joints but their minds were still formidably sharp.
He peered at her. ‘What concerns Resnada most?’
‘Kerrit has increasingly severe headaches and he’s prone to uncharacteristic anger. He didn’t seem to know me, although he tried to hide it.’
‘I see.’ The old man hurried off to lay an unerring hand on a tattered scroll. Searching quickly for something else, he halted with a hiss of irritation and crossed to another shelf.
Jilseth looked around the cramped room. Before she could offer to help, a scarlet pinprick appeared in the air, swiftly opening into a circle of magefire.
‘Where are you?’
Jilseth answered Velindre through the bespeaking spell. ‘At the temple. Resnada seeks a priest with some expertise in healing Artifice.’
‘Take some temple servants with you. Big ones with cudgels. We have troublemakers kicking at the gates here and trying to get over the wall. There may be other attacks on wizards in the city.’
‘I’ll come as soon—’
‘No. See what the healer can do for Kerrit. Mellitha has sent word to the Watch.’
As Velindre’s spell winked into nothingness, Jilseth recalled how highly the city’s guardians valued the magewoman. Her tax collections paid their stipends and equipped them with the best armour and weapons produced by Relshaz’s justly famed smiths.
She must warn Kerrit though. But would he respond to a bespeaking in his muddled state of mind? Even if he did, would Jilseth be able to persuade him to summon Resnada so she could convey Velindre’s warning to the apothecary?
‘You don’t need your spells.’ The old priest was rolling a scroll tight.
Before Jilseth could explain, Brother Tinoan closed his eyes, a smile deepening his wrinkles. A moment later, he nodded, his expression solemn. He opened his eyes.
‘Your friend was right to be concerned. Master Resnada says that the house is being pelted with filth and insults.’
So the priest knew the apothecary well enough to speak to him by means of Artifice? Jilseth was relieved to think that they need not send some messenger through the crowded streets with a note. ‘I’ll bespeak Madam Esterlin. She can send word to the Watch—’
‘Barmin can do that,’ the old priest said mildly. ‘We are used to managing our affairs without wizardly help. But you may use your skills to take us to Kerrit’s house. It will take half the night to cross the city by carriage.’
The younger priest reappeared with four burly men carrying iron-bound staves longer than they were tall. Jilseth contemplated their broad shoulders and reflected on the wealth which this temple gleaned from the city. Those hard-eyed priests and priestesses watching the doors would naturally ensure that their coffers were protected. But how had Brother Barmin known to return with these guards?
The younger priest glanced sideways at her. ‘Brother Tinoan thought it best to share Master Resnada’s thoughts with me.’
‘Are you using your Artifice to know what I was wondering?’ Jilseth was too startled for courtesy.
Barmin smiled. ‘No, I’ve simply spent half a generation seeing men and women beseech Ostrin’s favour in times of sore trial.’
‘You are clearly an astute observer.’ Though Jilseth wasn’t overly pleased that he had read her face so easily. Still, she had to allow that she had never particularly cultivated a stony expression. She didn’t play tedious games like white raven where some incautious blink or the wry twist of a lip could betray an entire strategy.
‘You’re not very trusting.’ Barmin was more curious than critical. ‘I give you my word that I’m using no lore.’<
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‘Forgive me,’ Jilseth said curtly. ‘I am anxious about my fellow mage.’
Brother Tinoan turned around. ‘Please wield your wizardry, Madam Mage.’
‘By all means.’ Jilseth recalled Hearth Master Kalion saying how difficult aetheric adepts found it to move themselves from place to place. She was less inclined to feel so superior now she that knew aetheric communications could be shared among several adepts. Wizardly bespeaking could only reach one mage at a time.
‘We each have our different skills.’ The old man smiled serenely.
Was he reading her unspoken thoughts? Jilseth elected not to ask. Master Kerrit was her priority so she would bring Brother Tinoan to work his healing Artifice while these burly temple acolytes dealt with whatever malice might threaten them.
Drawing strength from the immenseness of the marble edifice, Jilseth carefully encompassed the temple guards and the old man within her spell, leaving Brother Barmin untouched. As the temple’s gloom yielded to the brightness of translocation, the last thing she heard was his unguarded astonishment. She smiled with satisfaction as the yard outside Kerrit’s house appeared.
A venomous shout greeted her. ‘There she is, the whore! Where did you go, bitch?’
Jilseth was astonished to recognise the bare-chested youth who’d tried to force his intoxicated lust upon her earlier.
‘Do you know this man?’ Though her burly escort’s tone was respectful, his eyes were sharp with displeasure.
‘No, I do not,’ Jilseth retorted.
A metal-framed window grated overhead and Jilseth sensed a fine hail of rust falling through the air.
‘They were shouting for her to come out of the wizard’s house.’ A woman’s disapproving voice floated down. ‘When they got no answer, they started hurling stones and I don’t know what else.’
By stones, Jilseth presumed the neighbour meant the broken lumps of plaster and brick strewn across the paving. The stink of human ordure indicated these ne’er-do-wells had also smashed the night soil jars tidily tucked beneath each house’s front steps, to pelt Kerrit’s windows with filth.
Something had extinguished the lantern by the door. Jilseth held up her hand, her forefinger tipped with crimson magefire. ‘I’m here now. What do you want?’
The amorous youth was staring at her now, agape with horror. ‘I only—’
His companions were already running away.
‘You only sought an ill-advised kiss. Fair festival and Poldrion’s blessings on us all.’ Brother Tinoan waved the boy away before turning to climb the steps to the door. ‘Calirn, you and Acal keep watch. Virsem and Dires, tidy up.’
As the temple guards did the old man’s bidding, Master Resnada opened the door, gripping his surgical knife once again. ‘Thank Ostrin you’re here.’
‘How is he?’ Tinoan reached for Resnada’s hand.
‘Failing much faster than I had feared,’ the apothecary said unhappily.
The priest hurried through the shadowed sitting room. Resnada followed. The two men were halfway up the cramped stairs before Jilseth caught up with them.
She waited by the door as Brother Tinoan approached Kerrit’s bed. Resnada watched anxiously from beside the window.
Kerrit lay back against his pillows, the quilt draped over his legs. Even unaccustomed to sickrooms, Jilseth could see this wasn’t the stillness of healing sleep. The mage’s eyes were pressed tight closed and deep grooves shadowed his downturned mouth. Laboured breath rasped in his throat and even in the warm lamplight, the mage’s face was ashen.
Brother Tinoan perched on the edge of the bed. ‘Kerrit?’
He took the wizard’s limp hand between his own but there was no sign of any response, no change in that laboured breathing.
‘He is dying.’ Tinoan gently stroked Kerrit’s forearm.
Jilseth stared at the priest. ‘I thought you came here to heal him.’
‘I came to see what was amiss,’ he corrected her. ‘If I could heal him, I would, but he is as far beyond my lore as he is Master Resnada’s skills.’
‘How did I fail him?’ the apothecary asked wretchedly.
‘You didn’t.’ Tinoan’s gaze never left Kerrit’s face. ‘I don’t believe that he ever fully recovered from that first attack. Not that anyone knew it, least of all poor Kerrit. Subtle injuries within his skull have been slowly bleeding from time to time, each instance leaving clots to do further harm. Now he has reached this crisis, his memories have begun to unravel. Soon his body will forget how to breathe and his heart will forget how to beat.’
‘There must be something you can do.’ Jilseth insisted. If not, what good was this Artifice?
‘Can your wizardry restore a broken egg?’ Brother Tinoan enquired. ‘Not merely mend the shattered shell but see a healthy chick hatched from it? No, no manner of magic can do that. But I can fashion a sanctuary for Kerrit, from the oldest and fondest memories which he still cherishes. Those will be the last to fade.’
Master Resnada heaved a sigh and sank down to sit on the windowsill, an unheeded tear glistening on his cheek.
Tinoan smiled at the dying man. ‘He will feel neither pain nor distress, surrounded by those dearest to him until the time comes for him to leave this life and discover whatever truth lies beyond the mysteries of death.’
‘Should we—?’ Jilseth realised that she had no idea who might wish to be at Kerrit’s deathbed. She didn’t even know if he had been mainland or Hadrumal born. Were there kinsfolk somewhere who deserved to be told of his death? Were there Relshazri with a claim on him?
Someone would have to settle his affairs. Who would know what bequests he had promised in coin or property? What of the quantities of books and scrolls stored throughout this house, the fruits of ten years and more of diligent, scholarly work? Of incalculable value for Hadrumal’s libraries or limitless irrelevance? Someone would need to find out, now that Kerrit would never be able tell them.
She swallowed to clear her throat of unexpected burning grief at this amiable wizard’s undeserved fate. ‘I will carry this sad news to Mellitha, and then bespeak the Archmage. There may be mages in Hadrumal who will wish to make their farewells.’
Resnada nodded, all his attention on Kerrit. Brother Tinoan didn’t even seem to hear her, eyes closed as he silently mouthed his enchantments.
Jilseth went quietly downstairs to the kitchen. Resnada had closed the window but that didn’t concern her. Mellitha’s house was as familiar as her own rooms in Hadrumal’s Terrene Hall. She blended the magics of air and fire with the shifting nature of water, underpinned by her own ties to the earth. Kerrit’s kitchen faded away and—
Jilseth cast the translocation spell to the four winds and let the elements reclaim the wizardry. Someone else’s magic was at work in this house. Jilseth looked around with the wizard sight that was Hadrumal’s first lesson for every newly-apprenticed mageborn. No, there was nothing here to cause her concern.
Walking through to the front room, she looked up at the ceiling. Overhead, in that upper chamber, some skulking mage was hiding. Some paltry, thieving hedge wizard; one of those who fled Hadrumal for the mainland, too ill-disciplined to sustain the study to make the most of their innate talents. Word must be spreading that Kerrit was finally succumbing to his injuries and this charlatan had sneaked in to scavenge.
Jilseth threw a dense web of elemental water around the entire building. In the next instant, she felt a surge of elemental fire attack her spell. The assault was stronger than she expected. Catching this villain unawares would require some thought.
He was doubtless waiting for her to come up the stairs. She studied the ceiling, using her wizard senses to assess the laths beneath the plaster, and the rafters supporting the floorboards above. Foiling such expectation would demand precise timing and an immediate switch between such antagonistic magics. Not so long ago she would never have dared to try it. Now she didn’t hesitate.
A surge of air took her halfway to the cei
ling. As a second step thrust her upwards, Jilseth released the elemental air and summoned her earth affinity to pass through the upper floor as the last remnant of rising air faded away. Her feet landed solidly on the dusty boards.
‘Despin!’ Wizard sight showed her the shabbily dressed mage in a corner, vainly trying to hide himself within a swirling spiral of air.
‘I—’ He let his invisibility spell uncoil and fade away. ‘I came to pay my respects to Master Kerrit.’
‘He lies.’ Brother Tinoan said mildly from the doorway.
‘I don’t need Artifice to tell me that.’ Jilseth looked at Despin with incredulous contempt.
Kerrit’s table was strewn with scrolls and books, haphazard where everything had been so neatly piled before.
Despin folded his arms, bearded chin jutting. ‘Mind your manners, Madam Pupil. I am a member of Hadrumal’s Council. I do not answer to the likes of you.’
‘You can answer to Planir.’ She felt the surge of Despin’s wizardry attempt to carry him away. Once again, her magic web around the house held firm, even against the searing heat of his unrestrained affinity.
‘What are you doing here?’ she demanded.
Before Despin could answer though, Jilseth remembered sitting in the neat sitting room below not half a year ago. Kerrit had explained at frankly tedious length precisely how he proposed to search for any mention of ensorcelled artefacts in Relshaz’s temple archives. She remembered Velindre relating that conversation to Hadrumal’s Council in the first of the endless debates over what should be done with the magical loot won from the renegade Anskal.
‘You’re looking for lore on the wizardry of instilling spells into some object.’
‘Quite so,’ Brother Tinoan confirmed.
Jilseth couldn’t help a shiver of unease. Was the old priest prompting her memories as well as Despin’s unspoken answers?
The shabby mage clenched furious fists. ‘We have no more insight into those cursed artefacts than we did on that first day when we took them from the Mandarkin. The Solurans demand a price which we will never pay for their help yet Planir just folds his hands and accepts their arrogance and insults. Where will we find the secrets of crafting such things for ourselves? Nowhere—’
Defiant Peaks (The Hadrumal Crisis) Page 8
