Defiant Peaks (The Hadrumal Crisis)

by Juliet E. McKenna

  Consulting her must be Micaran’s business in Suthyfer. How would he fare? Jilseth wondered if this Mountain woman would prove as devious and self-willed as those infernal brothers, though she must have learned more self-discipline to master Artifice’s mysteries.

  ‘Madam.’ Micaran rose to offer the Mountain woman his hand. ‘I am honoured.’

  ‘Thank you for answering our summons so promptly,’ Guinalle said with more deference that Jilseth had seen her show to anyone else including Archmage Planir. ‘We expected you after dinner. Please, will you eat with us?’

  ‘I felt the strength of your concerns warranted immediate answers.’ Aritane regarded the Col mentor with a sardonic eye before taking a seat at the table. ‘You are seeking some stranger whose Artifice is foiling your own questing enchantments, I believe?’

  Her Tormalin was entirely fluent though strongly accented with something akin to the harshness which Jilseth had encountered in wizards from northernmost Ensaimin.

  ‘What enchantments have you woven so far?’ Guinalle asked Micaran as she poured fresh beakers of the darkly glistening tisane.

  ‘Would you like some honey?’ Usara asked Jilseth.

  ‘I will, thank you.’ Jilseth remembered how bitter she had found this particular brew. She also recalled Planir explaining that Aritane had found the holly trees needed to make this Mountain infusion in Kellarin after the sheltya woman had been exiled from her homeland for some unspecified crime.

  The child Darni was already hurrying to a cupboard, returning with a wooden canister holding a ceramic jar and a dipper.

  ‘I take it dinner will be somewhat delayed?’ Usara asked his wife with a wry grin.

  She answered him with a smile. ‘It’s pottage and bread. It can wait.’

  ‘I suggest we leave them to it.’ Usara held two tisane beakers steady so that the child could drizzle honey into each one. ‘Let’s go and open that chest before we eat.’

  ‘As you wish,’ Jilseth rose and followed as the mage unhooked a candle lantern from the doorpost and lit the wick with a whisper of fire.

  Outside, dusk was deepening and clouds obscured the quartered moons. As they walked across the gravelled yard, lamplight in the kitchen windows was the only sign of life as far as Jilseth could see. She lifted the cup to her lips, grateful for the black tisane’s warmth. Honey definitely soothed its bite and as she sipped her weariness begin to recede.

  ‘Darni, go and open the doors.’ Usara handed the child the candle lantern and watched his son scamper across the gravel before glancing at Jilseth. ‘If Aritane is sufficiently concerned to want to talk to Micaran immediately, it’s best to accommodate her. Even in exile she holds true to her sheltya oaths and most of those revolve around keeping their lore a closely guarded secret. When she chooses to talk, Guinalle has always learned something new and valuable and Aritane will assuredly talk more freely if only aetheric adepts are present.’

  ‘I understand,’ Jilseth assured him.

  She did, and moreover, she wasn’t particularly interested in sitting and listening to the adepts’ discussion. Anything she learned of Artifice could only ever be theoretical knowledge. She would much rather survey the Khusro artefacts alongside Usara and see if he could offer any insight or observation which might have evaded Hadrumal’s mages.

  If the opportunity presented itself, she might ask what he had discovered about drawing on another wizard’s mage strength. That was a skill she would never learn in Hadrumal.

  First though, she remembered her other responsibilities. If Planir was moving so many people about like pieces on a game board, she should play her part, even if she couldn’t see his strategy.

  ‘Do you have a bowl I can use for scrying?’

  Until Mentor Micaran was ready to return to Col, she should make sure that all was well in Halferan and that Baron Corrain wasn’t doing anything ill-advised in Col. The Caladhrian’s rashness in single-minded pursuit of his goals had been the cause of so many of Hadrumal’s current difficulties. No manner of magic seemed able to counter that.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

  The Red Library Square, Col

  33rd of Aft-Winter

  THE CARILLON TOWER’S musical notes heralded the day’s second chime. Corrain pushed Hosh up the Red Library’s steps. ‘Master Garewin’s waiting.’

  ‘Shouldn’t I help you today?’ Hosh looked apprehensively at Corrain.

  Too late, Corrain realised that he shouldn’t have poured out his frustrations the night before, along with one too many glasses of white brandy. But by all that was sacred and profane, he had spent a wearisome and exasperating day learning the same limited information over and over again.

  That Soluran assuredly had no interest in honest scholarship. The man had met with more of the university’s mentors, in twos and threes, outside three further libraries, Revesk’s, Manser’s and the Pawnbrokers’. Each time he had taken his new friends to a tavern close by.

  Again, Corrain didn’t risk following them inside, retracing his steps later in the day after the Soluran had returned to the inn where Estry had finally discovered he was lodging.

  The first time Corrain fell into casual conversation with a merchant well satisfied after sharing a bottle of wine with a trading partner as the city slowed from its daily bustle. The second time he had no such luck. At the third hostelry, he’d been able to accost a student reeling amiably out into the street, on his way to meet more diligent scholars released from the libraries by the day’s last chime. Both merchant and errant pupil had told the same tale.

  But Corrain still didn’t know what the Soluran hoped to achieve by badmouthing wizardry the length and breadth of Col. Perhaps Micaran would have learned something by now, gleaned from those scholars whom Corrain had already told him about. If the adept hadn’t, Corrain had a handful of new names to tell him and perhaps there might be some significance to those particular libraries.

  ‘Are you sure you don’t need my help?’ Hosh persisted.

  ‘I’m certain,’ Corrain said firmly. ‘Your business is getting yourself healed. The sooner that’s done, the sooner we can head for home and find out what the Archmage has cozened Lady Zurenne into doing for these Aldabreshi.’

  ‘As you command, Captain, I mean, my lord Baron.’ Hosh’s smile betrayed his relief as he turned and ran up the steps.

  Corrain wondered if it was his imagination or had that smile tugged a little less cruelly at Hosh’s face? Was that brutal dent in the lad’s cheekbone shallower?

  Doubtless time would tell and meanwhile, time was something he didn’t have to waste. The thought of Archipelagans inside the manor’s wall made his skin crawl. Had they come to Halferan to discover what weaknesses remained after the corsairs’ attacks, to plan their own assault?

  A few things puzzled Corrain. Why had the Khusro warlord sent his wives to the mainland? Presumably pretty slaves could be replaced easily enough if Halferan proved hostile but what man took a pampered songbird from its gilded cage to do a courier dove’s work?

  Beyond that, he had seen for himself how truly and earnestly the Archipelagans hated and feared magic. Would that keep them honest, if they really believed that Lady Zurenne could rid them of treasures with wizardry bound into them?

  Perhaps, perhaps not. He could trust Kusint to sleep with one eye open, not giving these unwelcome visitors the least benefit of any doubt. He could only hope that Lady Zurenne had her wits about her in her dealings with these Aldabreshi and with Hadrumal’s wizards alike.

  Dealings which should now be concluded. Corrain’s first business today was ensuring that was the case. He walked across the square and whistled up a hireling gig.

  ‘Tolekan Street.’ He climbed up into the rear seat and drew his cloak around him to ward off the ever-present chill wind. At least that meant the gig’s horse was willing to trot on to keep itself warm. They reached the wizard Olved’s house in good time.

  ‘Do you want me to wait?’ The driver accepted
the silver penny which Corrain had learned was the standard fare for any journey within sound of the carillon’s bells, however long or short.

  ‘Yes, thank you.’ Corrain jumped down and hurried up Master Olved’s steps. Since the door showed no inclination to open by way of wizardry, he rapped a brisk summons with the brass knocker.

  A flustered maidservant appeared, barely opening the door wide enough for Corrain to see her face.

  He offered her his most charming smile. ‘Please present my compliments to your master and tell him that Corrain of Halferan needs to see him.’

  The girl looked at him as though he’d just asked her to hand him one or other moon. ‘The master mage never rises from his bed before the day’s third chime.’

  ‘He will today.’ Corrain pushed at the door. As he anticipated, the maid was too browbeaten by Olved to defy such inexorable courtesy.

  As she scurried up the stairs, Corrain found his purse and a silver penny for the lass by way of recompense for the scolding she’d doubtless receive.

  He soon heard the wizard’s voice upstairs, acid with outrage. A door’s petulant slam echoed through the house and Master Olved appeared at the top of the stairs, wrapped in a tattered night robe, tousled and foul-tempered.

  ‘What do you want? I told you to call in the evenings between the night’s second and third chimes. Where were you yesterday?’

  ‘I was otherwise engaged.’ Corrain replied with the bland politeness he offered to the likes of Baron Karpis. ‘I will call back later. Meantime, can you bespeak Madam Jilseth and confirm that the Khusro Archipelagans have indeed left Halferan?’

  He could see that he would get nowhere asking Olved to work such magic here and now. Never mind; any swordsman worth his salt was always ready to adapt to some change of circumstances. Corrain would move on to his next plan for the day. He’d had enough of trying to scavenge hearsay. The time had come to go hunting the truth and Corrain had realised how he could do that.

  ‘I need to speak to Mentor Micaran. Can you tell me where he lives, please?’

  ‘Micaran? He’s—’ Olved stared at Corrain before cutting himself short. ‘He’ll be here this evening. You may talk to him then.’

  ‘You know that I’m in Col at the Archmage’s request? If I’m to do Planir’s bidding, I need Master Micaran’s help,’ Corrain said firmly. ‘Where can I find him? Or would you rather I tell Madam Jilseth why I’ve had to waste this whole day?’

  Olved narrowed red-rimmed eyes. ‘Mentor Micaran’s house is on Audoen’s Row. The fourth from the corner with Muras Square, the door with the reed mace lamp.’

  Without another word he turned around and disappeared into the gloom of the upper landing. The maidservant hurried down the stairs to shoo Corrain towards the door.

  ‘Thank you.’ He managed to press a silver mark into her hand before she closed the door on him.

  ‘Where to, master?’ the gig driver called out.

  ‘Audoen’s Row by way of Muras Square.’

  This proved to be a longer journey. The carillon tower’s bells sounded out their jaunty tune for the day’s third chime before the driver reined in his bay gelding.

  ‘This is Muras Square—’ he jerked his head ‘—and that’s Audoen’s Row. Do you want me to wait?’ he asked hopefully.

  ‘My thanks and no, you can be on your way.’ Corrain paid the man his second penny and walked briskly down the street.

  The fourth door from the corner did indeed have a lantern with each iron corner strut crafted like a stalk of reed mace framed with leaves. Beyond that, the house looked distinctly unpromising. Every window was shuttered and knocking on the door got Corrain no answer.

  He looked across the street. The fourth house opposite had no door lantern at all. Was the missing lamp another one from the same craftsman? Was Master Olved having some joke at his expense?

  As he wondered, he saw a servant woman glaring suspiciously through a window on the ground floor of the next house along. Corrain wasn’t surprised. These quietly elegant residences wouldn’t look favourably on even respectably dressed loiterers.

  He peered over the railing edging the steps to look at the basement entrance. There was no sight or sound of anyone down there. Should he go and knock on the kitchen door or would disappearing from view convince the watching woman that he was intent on housebreaking?

  If she sent some lackey hot-foot to summon the Watch, or whoever enforced the Elected of Col’s ordinances, Corrain foresaw an awkward conversation. He could claim to be Baron Halferan of Caladhria, undertaking a commission on behalf of Hadrumal’s Archmage, but he carried nothing to support his word and as long as Mentor Micaran was absent, there was no one to vouch for him here.

  Hooves echoed down the street. To his relief, he saw Mentor Micaran in the hireling gig’s back seat. To his surprise and displeasure Jilseth sat beside the adept.

  ‘What are you doing here?’ The magewoman spoke first, as Micaran paid off the gig’s driver.

  Corrain replied with equal asperity. ‘Why aren’t you in Halferan keeping Lady Zurenne and her daughters safe?’

  ‘I have other responsibilities, not least to the Archmage,’ she said curtly.

  ‘Shall we go inside?’ Micaran politely offered Jilseth his hand to help her down. ‘Rather than tell the whole neighbourhood our business?’

  As Corrain and Jilseth nodded in mute agreement, the mentor unlocked the door and led them into a dusty tiled hall.

  ‘One moment.’ Opening an inner door, Micaran skirted familiar furniture in the gloom to reach the shutters and admit the daylight into a shabby sitting room. He evidently didn’t have any servants.

  The mentor looked eagerly at Corrain as he dropped into a leather-upholstered chair in sore need of oiling. ‘After consulting with those far more adept than myself, I have made some significant progress in understanding how the man from Wrede is hiding from my questing Artifice. Better yet, I have woven a new enchantment to further our search. I hope to learn where this man may be within a couple of days, three at the most. Then you should be able to scry for him,’ he told Jilseth with a broad smile.

  ‘I can scry for someone I’ve only seen through your Artifice?’ Jilseth said warily.

  Micaran nodded, frowning faintly. ‘Didn’t I say? Do you know so little of working with adepts in Hadrumal?’ He looked suddenly contrite. ‘Forgive my discourtesy.’

  ‘No,’ Jilseth replied stiffly. ‘Forgive me.’

  Corrain interrupted to forestall some tedious exchange of rival apologies. ‘Can you use your magic for a different purpose today,’ he asked Micaran, ‘to help me on the Archmage’s behalf?’

  ‘What do you need Artifice for?’ Jilseth demanded.

  Corrain took a seat, leaning forward with his elbows on his knees. ‘The Archipelagans are hiring mercenaries, sword by sword. They will only say that they seek mainland warriors to defend Jagai’s interests. They’re paying handsomely though, with good gold coin to keep their chosen men in bread and beer until more Jagai ships arrive just after the turn of For-Spring. Once those galleys have taken on supplies and water, these mercenaries will embark on a voyage which will see them return richer than their most extravagant imaginings.’

  Once Corrain had decided there was nothing more to be learned about the Soluran’s scheming, he’d made a brief circuit of Col’s more insalubrious taverns. He hadn’t needed any subterfuge to learn what the Archipelagans were doing but as with the puzzle of the Soluran’s motives, he left with no answers as to why.

  ‘Without knowing where these ships are taking them? Without knowing who they’re going to fight?’ Jilseth perched on the edge of a high-back settle.

  Corrain shrugged. ‘A good few will doubtless swear allegiance and fill their bellies at Jagai’s expense before vanishing like mist in the morning when the day comes to board those galleys. But I reckon most will hold true to their word, at least until they learn the full story. Archipelagan plunder is a powerful lure.’


  Jilseth stiffened. ‘That’s what they’re being offered? A chance to loot some Aldabreshin island?’

  Corrain shrugged. ‘That’s what they’re assuming.’

  Jilseth frowned. ‘Why would Jagai hire mainland swords to fight their battles instead of the warlord’s own warriors?’

  ‘We must warn the Elected and the Prefecture to be ready for trouble.’ Micaran had more immediate concerns. ‘Mercenaries have long been used to wintering in Col and in the towns and villages from here to Kadras between the fighting seasons in Lescar. Ever since the dukes have been overthrown, those who can’t get work with some Ensaimin town guard or watching over a merchant’s wagons have lingered idle and hungry.’ He shook his head, uneasy. ‘Word will be spreading, drawing them to the city like rats to a market midden.’

  ‘Don’t expect the city’s authorities to put a stop to this,’ Corrain warned. ‘The Archipelagans are promising to bring all their trade here from Relshaz in return for loyal service from these new hirelings.’

  He had some reassurance to offer. ‘Apparently these Archipelagans say that anyone causing trouble in Col between taking their coin and taking ship will be dismissed out of hand. They believe that the heavenly Topaz’s shift in the sky will see the start of a new era of trade between the Aldabreshi and Col so keeping the peace here is crucial.’

  Seeing Jilseth looking bemused, he suggested the explanation which Hosh had offered when Corrain had expressed his own exasperated bafflement over dinner at The Goose Hounds tavern.

  ‘This shift in the night sky will happen around the sixteenth day of For-Spring. Apparently the Topaz strengthens omens for home and family after that and it’s also a talisman for creativity and friendship, prized for promoting new ideas and paths.’

  Micaran nodded. ‘That star’s shift marks the start of each new year according to Aldabreshi calculations. We should see where the other heavenly gems will be and look for significant conjunctions.’