‘We should ask the Archmage—’ Ilysh was reaching for her rune sigil pendant.
‘No.’ Zurenne swiftly set the parchment down on the table, compelling her daughter’s attention. ‘This is wizards’ business—’
She broke off as angry shouting outside in the manor’s compound intruded through the baronial tower’s open outer door.
‘My lady.’ Hosh was already on his way out of the audience chamber.
‘Lysha!’
Her daughter didn’t heed her, following close behind him. Zurenne hesitated for a moment before rising and holding out her hand. ‘Neeny, come with me.’
Raselle was busy upstairs and leaving the little girl unsupervised with candles already lit and a fire smouldering in the hearth was out of the question, not to mention the temptation of an unguarded inkwell. Zurenne swiftly led Esnina out into the cold grey daylight, joining Ilysh and Hosh on the great hall’s top step.
A double handful of youths hesitated between a knot of liveried Halferan troopers standing apart from their barrack mates. Even at this distance, Zurenne could see the loyal Halferans’ unease as their eyes darted between Kusint and these dissenters. The captain stood, feet solidly planted and hands on his hips, challenge in the thrust of his jaw.
The newcomers wore undyed linen shirts and homespun tunics over buff breeches. They looked down at their boots, shuffling uneasy feet amid the windblown leaves that drifted inside every time the manor’s double gates were opened. One youth stood alone, braced as though expecting attack.
Whatever had happened had already drawn lackeys and maids alike to doors and windows, curious to learn what was afoot. Even Mistress Rauffe waited expectant on the steward’s lodging’s doorstep rather than chasing everyone back to their duties.
‘Lady Ilysh!’ Zurenne hissed, low voiced, as her daughter took two steps down the stone flight.
Lysha looked back, her mouth set in a determined line achingly reminiscent of her dead father. She spoke briefly to Hosh before retreating to rejoin her mother. The boy hurried down the stair and across the courtyard to Kusint.
The newcomer standing alone heard Hosh approaching and looked around. He took a hasty step backwards, unable to hide his shock at Hosh’s misshapen features. Zurenne winced as she saw Hosh’s hand fly up to cover his disfigurement. Worse, half the manor’s household had seen his humiliation.
Kusint’s lip curled with contempt as he addressed the mutinous Halferan guardsmen, defying the gusting wind to be clearly heard from gatehouse to kitchen.
‘I am your captain, appointed by your liege lord. It is my duty to recruit and train the best men to defend Halferan. It is your duty to obey me and to show common courtesy to each other.
‘You.’ Kusint’s accusing finger jabbed at one of the dissenters. The rest hastily took a side-step to leave the man isolated. ‘Pack your gear, surrender your swords and armour. Collect a day’s meat and bread from the kitchen and start on your way home while the light lasts.’
The man must have provoked this trouble, though Zurenne was ashamed to realise she didn’t know his name. Too many of her household were still unfamiliar faces. So many loyal servants who had survived the corsairs’ attacks had chosen not to return to the rebuilt manor and the memories which could not be swept away. So Ilysh granted them leave to return to the villages where they had been born and Zurenne insisted that they accept a modest purse of coin to assure them that they were valued, to prove that they returned with honour.
She watched the disgraced guard trudging towards the barracks. At least he wouldn’t warrant any payment to drain Halferan’s modest reserves. Midwinter’s tithes had indeed been as modest as Zurenne had feared.
Kusint clapped his gloved hands with a crack of leather. ‘Weltray! Fetch blunted swords for these hopefuls. I want to test their mettle. The rest of you, get to your drills.’
Zurenne was relieved to see the dissenting troopers hurry, shame-faced, to rejoin their fellow guardsmen.
‘Telore came with us from Taw Ricks.’ Ilysh watched the man slam the barrack hall door. ‘What burr got under his saddle?’
‘I imagine the captain will tell us.’ Zurenne nodded towards Kusint coming towards the hall with Hosh. ‘And that stable-hand’s expression is not fit for your lips, my lady.’
‘Kusint,’ she asked before Ilysh could offer some justification, ‘what was amiss?’
The two men halted on the lowest step. Hosh didn’t speak, turning to shield his injured face from view, his shoulder hunched.
Kusint shook his head. ‘Telore said he won’t have any dealings with mageborn. He wasn’t going to back down.’
‘Why would some mageborn lad seek to join Halferan’s guard?’ Zurenne tried to pick out the newcomer as the liveried troopers began testing the would-be recruits with thrusts and parries.
‘If he’s mageborn, he must go to Hadrumal.’ Ilysh’s hand already hovered over her silver pendant.
‘Not this lad. It was his brother, a handful of years ago,’ Kusint explained. ‘From a village a day south of Taw Ricks. It was the talk of the barony’s eastern march.’
‘I had no idea.’ Zurenne had rarely visited the Taw Ricks hunting lodge before it had become the household’s refuge after the manor’s destruction. She had certainly never known of mageborn among the barony’s yeomen and tenantry in that district. Her husband would have dealt with such matters.
Breath caught in her throat. Had news of this mageborn lad sent away to Hadrumal first prompted her beloved’s fatal ambition to have magic save Halferan?
‘What is Telore’s grudge?’ Ilysh demanded.
Kusint shook his head. ‘No grudge, but he said that having a mage’s brother in the barracks would see Aldabreshin ships on our shores.’ He looked at Zurenne. ‘It’s not just Telore. Half the household have heard the rumours coming up from Relshaz. They say that the Archipelagans have turned against all who have dealings with wizardry.’
Zurenne recalled Beresa’s letter left lying on the table. Her sister begged her to cut Halferan’s ties with Hadrumal. She insisted that merchants in Attar and Claithe would soon refuse to take Zurenne’s coin if she didn’t. Beresa was sorely afraid poor Ilysh would rue the day when her ill-advised proxy husband had accepted the Archmage’s help to rebuild the manor. She could only lament Zurenne’s folly in setting Licanin’s honest and honourable guardianship aside.
‘That’s ridiculous,’ Ilysh snapped. ‘You were right to dismiss him.’
‘I dismissed him for refusing to let the matter lie,’ Kusint corrected her courteously, ‘and arguing the rights and wrongs of my order. I will not have such ill-discipline in the barrack hall.’
Ilysh coloured as though he’d rebuked her as sternly as the trooper. Zurenne frowned.
Neeny tugged at her hand. ‘Mama, I’m cold.’
Zurenne looked down to see the little girl’s face was pinched against the chill. She ushered her down the steps.
‘Hosh, please take Esnina to the kitchen and ask Doratine to find her some wafer cakes and warm milk.’
‘My lady.’ Hosh offered the little girl his hand.
Neeny giggled and Zurenne watched her skip happily across the courtyard at the boy’s side. Granted, the child had been startled at first sight of the boy’s disfigurement but Zurenne had explained how the poor boy had been badly hurt by the cruel corsairs and now they must be kind to him.
She nodded to Kusint. ‘You may rejoin your men, Captain.’
‘My lady, there is something—’ Kusint hesitated. ‘You saw how these recruits looked at Hosh—’
‘Can you tell them that they must accept him without provoking their resentment?’ Zurenne hugged herself against the winter wind, still watching Hosh and Neeny.
‘I would like to see if we can see him healed,’ Kusint said with a rush. ‘I believe there is magic to do it. Those injuries still cause him a good deal of pain, my lady.’
Zurenne looked quickly at him. ‘Do you think that he would
agree?’
She had been contemplating that very question ever since Midwinter. Last Autumn Equinox, Madam Jilseth had said that Hadrumal knew a healer who might be able to mend Hosh’s face. But Zurenne had never found the right moment to raise the matter with the boy.
Besides, she had told herself, surely Madam Velindre would have made such an offer when Hosh had surrendered that arm-ring which the mages had coveted. If he had turned the magewoman down, it was not for her to interfere.
Lately though, she had contemplated all that she and her children had suffered because those who could have helped them had chosen not to interfere when the renegade mage who had murdered her husband had claimed guardianship over them by means of forgery and lies. Moreover that villain Minelas would have never had that chance if the parliament’s other barons hadn’t refused to help the coastal lords against the corsairs.
Zurenne found herself wondering if Caladhria’s traditions of deference were less courtesy and more cowardice.
‘Madam Jilseth could cure Hosh’s injuries?’ Lysha stared at her mother. ‘Why haven’t we asked her long since?’
‘I don’t believe she can help him.’ Kusint shook his head. ‘But there is more magic than wizardry. At home—’ he corrected himself ‘—in Solura, Houses of Sanctuary work the enchantments which you know as Artifice.’
‘I believe that the wizards know them as aetheric magic.’ Zurenne recalled Jilseth’s words. ‘She spoke of such a healer in the Suthyfer islands—’
‘In the mid-ocean beyond Tormalin?’ Ilysh looked askance at her. ‘Abiath would find such a voyage a trial in the best of weather. We cannot ask her to endure such hardship in the depths of winter.’
Zurenne had only the vaguest idea where those islands were. In this instance she gladly deferred to Lysha. The girl had taken possession of her dead father’s surprisingly extensive collection of maps discovered at the Taw Ricks hunting lodge and evidently shared his fascination with places so far distant that she could never have cause to visit them.
‘He might find aetheric healing in Col,’ Kusint said unexpectedly. ‘Solura’s mages have ties to the university and the Houses of Sanctuary have always worked closely with the Orders of Wizardry. I know that aetheric adepts and mages have often travelled south together.’
‘Col isn’t so far.’ Ilysh looked eagerly at Zurenne. ‘It’s not much further to Peorle than it is to Duryea and he could take a ship from there across the gulf to Col. Abiath could make that journey.’
‘He would be better served finding a vessel in Claithe,’ Kusint said thoughtfully. ‘Even a winter voyage hopping from harbour to harbour up the coast would be quicker than risking the season’s hazards on the road.’
‘Such a passage would be costly,’ Zurenne said reluctantly, ‘all the more so for two. What would the price of such Artifice be?’
She couldn’t help thinking of the diminishing coin in the strong room beneath this tower. But Halferan owed Hosh a debt beyond any repayment. This at least would be a reward which the boy would truly value, for his own sake and for loyal and devoted Abiath’s.
‘Soluran Houses of Sanctuary take no payment for their care of the infirm or for healing the sick,’ Kusint assured her before hesitating. ‘Things may be different in Col.’
Lysha waved that objection away. ‘We have Hadrumal’s gold.’
‘There’s precious little of the Archmage’s coin left,’ Zurenne reminded Lysha, ‘and if Halferan is to stand on its own two feet, we must husband Midwinter’s tithes.’
All the more so if Beresa’s fears were proved right and the closest merchants and traders declined to deal with Halferan for fear of Aldabreshin displeasure. The further afield they had to send Master Rauffe, the more costly goods would be, necessities and luxuries alike.
‘Have you asked this question of the runes?’ Ilysh demanded of Kusint. ‘Did you draw a single stick or cast a full foretelling with nine?’
‘What?’ Zurenne knew that the Forest-born captain sought such guidance in the manner of his people, but what did Lysha know of such things?
Kusint was colouring like a maidservant caught in mischief. The blush was all the more striking with his pale skin and coppery hair. He looked at Zurenne, his jaw set with the defiance which he’d shown facing down Telore.
‘Hosh drew his own runes at Midwinter, my lady, to see what might lie in the year ahead. He drew the Eagle for a journey and hope, the Chime for a new beginning and the Wellspring—’
‘—for healing,’ Ilysh finished Kusint’s explanation, turning triumphantly to her mother. ‘Mama, don’t you see?’
Zurenne wanted to know what Kusint had to blush for and just how much time he and Lysha had spent discussing Solura’s customs over the five day festival. Regardless, Halferan’s young lady would be far more closely chaperoned now that the manor’s usual routine was restored.
She also wanted to see Hosh relieved of his pains, in body and spirit. If his broken face could be mended, it was surely a simple decision. Zurenne nodded.
‘When Baron Corrain returns, we will ask if he thinks the journey is best made by land or sea. Kusint, consider who you can spare to escort Hosh and Abiath. Though we will not mention this to either of them and raise false hopes,’ she warned sternly. ‘Not until I have spoken to the Archmage and asked that Madam Jilseth discover exactly what this healing Artifice might offer. Even then Baron Corrain may forbid this entirely. He wants nothing more to do with magic.’
‘He won’t deny Hosh,’ Ilysh said firmly.
Zurenne saw that Kusint agreed with her daughter though he chose not to say so aloud.
She shivered. ‘It’s too cold to be discussing this out here. Captain Kusint, return to your men. Lady Ilysh, you and I must compose a reply to Lady Beresa’s letter before Licanin’s man leaves tomorrow.’
Once that was done, Zurenne would marshal her arguments to persuade Corrain to let Hosh seek this healing in Col. Before he returned from the parliament, she would have time to learn all she could from Madam Jilseth and most particularly from Kusint about these aetheric enchantments.
Artifice was different from wizardry. Corrain might want nothing more to do with the Archmage, and by and large, Zurenne agreed, but this was undoubtedly a special case. Once Hosh’s face was restored, that could be the end of the barony’s dealings with any and all magic.
CHAPTER ELEVEN
The Shield Wall Tavern, Ferl, Caladhria
9th of Aft-Winter
ANOTHER HANDFUL OF days and they would be home. The parliament had passed their new law so he had paid his last debt to the Archmage. With the new year now well begun, Corrain could look forward to securing Halferan’s future for Lady Zurenne and his lost lord’s daughters.
He scooped up the last remnants of fried onion and blood sausage with a crust of bread. The leisure for such a breakfast was one advantage of his proxy rank even if he still woke at first light with a captain’s duties filling his thoughts.
Had Reven been out in the cold morning, ensuring that every man had checked his horse from hoof to every last buckle and strap of harness? Had the lad reminded the troopers to collect their damp clothing from the drying racks hauled up high above the kitchen hearth, every garment from a doublet to a darned stocking earning the smiling cook a copper penny?
This inn was well used to scores of horsemen arriving soaked to the skin. The Shield Wall was the tavern most favoured in Ferl by guardsmen travelling from the coast to the River Rel or up and down the length of Caladhria on the high roads which crossed here. So the kitchen served precisely what hungry swordsmen relished, to soak up their evening’s ale and save the taproom from broken furniture and stubborn bloodstains on the floorboards or to set them up for a long day on horseback.
He looked though the window to assess the clouds; more white than grey and torn into rags scudding across the faded sky by the persistent wind. So there was every reason to hope they’d escape a soaking today. Better yet, this keen breeze wo
uld dry out the road under hoof and foot. Of course, that rune’s reverse meant the wind’s chill would leave men stiff in the saddle and slow to react by dusk when weary horses would be prone to perilous stumbles on frosted ground.
Corrain decided he would see how much ground they had covered by noon. Then he could choose an inn for the night ahead which they would be sure to reach in daylight. He swallowed the last of his breakfast small beer. This close to home he’d know which of the inns ahead would serve them a decent meal tonight, not just a ladleful from some stew pot which had been sitting in the hearth since Trimon was a lad, topped up daily with kitchen scraps by some scullery hand.
‘Are you done with that?’ the maidservant hovering by the taproom’s kitchen door asked.
‘I am.’ Corrain offered her the plate and empty tankard. ‘My thanks.’
As she took them and disappeared into the kitchen, the taproom door from the hallway opened. As Corrain turned, the newcomer laughed.
‘My lord Baron. I heard you were in town.’
‘Did you indeed?’ Corrain cocked his head. ‘How’s merchant life?’
Had Vereor heard of the corsair gold supposedly filling Halferan’s pockets? If anyone had picked up that rumour hereabouts, Corrain would wager honest coin on the former Ferl guard captain.
‘Retirement has its entertainments.’ The grey-bearded man’s gaze drifted towards the hearth nevertheless.
The wall was hung with guard captains’ shields, each one painted with the Ferl barony’s colours. The oldest were so darkened with age and soot that their bronze chevrons could barely be distinguished from the blue ground. The most recent was still as vivid as it had been slung on Vereor’s back or at his saddle bow before he had been honourably released from his oath three years ago.
‘Are you just here to wish me a good day’s journey?’ Corrain’s curiosity stirred.
Vereor pulled up a chair. ‘You went north for the parliament. Did you spend any coin with Ensaimin merchants while you were there?’
Defiant Peaks (The Hadrumal Crisis) Page 12
