‘Hosh said—’ Corrain paused to be certain he was remembering correctly ‘—the Diamond and the Pearl will linger where the Topaz has been, offering omens for brothers and sisters and anyone as close as such kin, along with the Mirror Bird’s stars and the heavenly Sapphire. Those are powerful portents guarding against magic’s malice as well as promoting wisdom and clear thinking.’
Micaran nodded. ‘That would be considered very influential.’
‘That’s not all,’ Corrain assured him. ‘Another shift further round their heavenly compass and the Ruby offers portents for wealth, directly opposite this Emerald and its omens for death and ill-fortune.’
‘What about—’ Jilseth hesitated ‘—the Amethyst and the Opal?’
‘They’ll be bracketing the Emerald, so Hosh says. The Opal will offer good omens for travel along with the Winged Snake which encourages boldness, with the Amethyst for new ideas on the far side.’
Corrain saw the magewoman’s brow furrow.
‘I suspect that any Aldabreshi would see more complex meanings,’ Jilseth remarked.
‘Maybe so, but what of it?’ Corrain was more than satisfied with Hosh’s view of these coming skies. ‘What we need to know is why these Archipelagans need boatloads of mercenary swordsmen from the mainland at this turn of their year.’
‘How far could they row those swordsmen by the shift of the Topaz,’ Micaran wondered aloud, ‘if they take ship here just after the turn of For-Spring?’
Corrain rose and walked to the table beside the fireplace where the dust was thick enough for him to draw a swift map with a forefinger.
‘Could they reach Nahik waters?’ Jilseth asked suddenly.
‘Perhaps, if they weighed anchor on the very first of For-Spring.’ Corrain was doubtful.
‘Why do you ask that?’ Micaran looked at the magewoman.
‘The Nahik domain has been wholly abandoned,’ Jilseth said slowly, ‘for fear of lingering magic staining those islands along with anyone still left there. From what we hear, no galleys are using the sea lanes to head north or south, leaving the Jagai domain cut off from the rest of the Archipelago. But the Aldabreshi don’t believe that mainlanders suffer from magic’s taint, since we’re not guided by the omens of earthly and heavenly compasses. And they believe that shedding blood washes away such corruption.’
Corrain saw the apprehension in the magewoman’s face. ‘You think that they want to put everyone still living on those islands to the sword?’
Jilseth was pale with dread. ‘What else?’
‘But the Khusro domain is similarly cut off,’ Micaran objected, ‘and they’re seeking to cleanse themselves of magic by far less drastic means. That’s why they came to Halferan.’
‘Let’s try calculating rather than guessing.’ Corrain studied the lines on the dusty tabletop with growing unease. ‘These galleys supposedly coming to carry these mercenaries off to earn their fortunes wouldn’t have left Jagai before that fat zamorin sent a courier dove or two home to say he had good reason to hope he could hire the swords which his master wants.’
Micaran nodded agreement. ‘That was only the day before yesterday—’
‘—so those doves would have reached Jagai today, most likely.’ Jilseth interjected.
‘Those galleys won’t arrive here until at least a handful of days into For-Spring.’ Corrain looked at Jilseth. ‘If they load up their mercenaries and catch the very next tide, the furthest they could hope to reach by the shift of this heavenly Topaz is somewhere around Halferan.’
She stared at him, aghast. ‘Why would Jagai Kalu send mercenaries against a Caladhrian barony?’
Perhaps because the Archipelagan warlord knew who was truly to blame for the Mandarkin Anskal arriving to wreak havoc in the Nahik islands? Would shedding the blood of those responsible somehow make amends? Would the Archipelagans to the south look northward again if Jagai Kalu could put Baron Halferan’s head on a stake?
Corrain might have asked Jilseth if he and the magewoman had been alone but he had no idea whether or not Mentor Micaran knew of Halferan’s guilt; of his dead lord’s desperation or his equal folly, both of them trusting a renegade mage loyal only to his own purse.
Micaran was still searching for an explanation. ‘Could Jagai wish to challenge the Khusro wives as they’re ridding themselves of ensorcelled artefacts? Surely both domains will wish to be the first to re-establish trade between the mainland and the rest of the Archipelago.’
‘There’s no point in ifs and buts and guesses.’ Corrain obliterated the dust-drawn map with a sweep of his hand. If only he could wipe away these new fears now filling his mind. He looked straight at Micaran.
‘You can pluck the answers out of that Jagai zamorin’s head with your Artifice.’
Micaran recoiled from the idea. ‘We should pursue other avenues first.’
‘I did that yesterday,’ Corrain assured him. ‘Trust me, there’s nothing more to be learned by loosening tavern tongues with coin or ale. You’re not forbidden to read a man’s thoughts in such dire need, are you?’
‘Not forbidden, precisely.’ Micaran was still reluctant. ‘But I should be searching for this man from Wrede.’
‘You can still do both, can’t you? The Archmage will definitely want to know what Jagai Kalu’s men are plotting.’ Jilseth had no doubt of that.
Corrain hadn’t expected to find the magewoman allying herself with him but he’d take every advantage he was offered. ‘If you come with me to find this zamorin now, you’ll be back home and working your enchantments well before Master Olved is ready to bespeak the Archmage this evening.’
‘I suppose so.’ The mentor’s expression lightened. ‘I confess, it will be an interesting challenge to read an Archipelagan’s thoughts.’
‘Good.’ Corrain turned to Jilseth. Whatever her concerns for the Archmage’s interests, his loyalties lay first and foremost with Lady Zurenne and her daughters. ‘You must go to Halferan. Warn Kusint and Reven to prepare the manor’s defences, just in case your scrying magic shows us the Jagai galleys heading for our shore.’
If they did, Corrain vowed silently to himself, he would have a wizard carry him back to lead Halferan’s defence if that meant holding a dagger to one of their throats.
To his relief, Jilseth nodded. ‘As soon as Kheda’s seen the Khusro wives on board their ship, I can ask what he thinks. He can set further enquiries in hand through his own Aldabreshi contacts. I’ll see you at Master Olved’s house this evening.’ She rose and vanished in a shimmer of white magelight.
Micaran shuddered. ‘I don’t believe I will ever get used to that.’
Too late, Corrain realised that he should have asked the magewoman to save them a journey with such a spell. No matter.
He gestured towards the mentor’s scholarly mantle and long tunic. ‘I’ll go and hire a gig while you change into some clothes that won’t tell everyone and the tavern dog that you’re a university mentor. These aren’t the places where your kind go to drink.’
CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR
The Tenter Ground Tap, Col
33rd of Aft-Winter
‘I DON’T BELIEVE I’ve ever been to this part of the city before.’ Micaran looked around as their driver pulled up his horse.
Corrain was relieved to see the scholar was sufficiently circumspect not to draw hostile attention their way. His height and heft should also deter anyone thinking of trying to cut his purse or steal his silver ring. Micaran had refused to leave off that sign of his calling.
He paid off the gig driver who whipped up his horse as soon as they got down; so eager to leave that Corrain wondered how easily they would get a ride back to more central districts. Well, they would solve that puzzle in due course.
‘The Jagai zamorin will most likely be hunting hereabouts, according to what I heard yesterday.’
Learning which districts the Aldabreshi had already visited had shown Corrain a steadily uncoiling spiral path. He had no reason to thin
k they would have abandoned that course.
‘The Elected will be only too happy to see the Archipelagans taking these ruffians away,’ Micaran observed in an undertone.
Corrain nodded. This particular brick-paved square only had buildings along two faces. The open ground on the far side was cluttered with makeshift shacks hammered together by destitute mercenaries. He wouldn’t give a copper-cut piece for the local weavers’ chances of reclaiming these grounds for hanging the cloth they produced from the wool shorn from those sheep which ended up as mutton on Col’s plates. The hooked tenter frames had long since been smashed for firewood.
‘Mind you, the word around the beer barrels is that the Jagai swordsmen are turning away all but the quickest and strongest turning up at the docks to try their luck. The ones who can take a bruising from a blunted sword without flinching.’
Corrain had heard a good deal of sour grousing from those who’d merely earned a silver mark as recompense for their trouble instead of gold to buy their loyalty.
‘That’s still good for Col.’ Micaran pursed his lips. ‘Men used to commanding respect, the ones able to rally a scattered company in battle and fight on, are the ones most likely to cause trouble for the city.’
Corrain had come to the same conclusion. ‘The Archmage will need some powerful arguments to weigh against Col’s interests, if he wants the Elected to put a stop to Jagai hiring these men. Let’s see what this zamorin can tell us. This is the biggest tavern in the district and that’s where he usually starts.’
Micaran braced himself as Corrain led the way to the tavern. It wasn’t the filthiest taproom he had ever been in but it had doubtless been a good deal cleaner when the locals had been quenching their thirst after a long day’s work at their looms.
‘If he’s already been in here today, we’ll have to start quartering the side streets.’ He looked around for someone to fall into conversation with, to learn if they had seen or heard of the zamorin.
‘Caladhrian!’ An unwashed Ensaimin vagabond hailed him from a corner table.
Corrain had spoken to the man the day before in a different tavern. The Ensaimin claimed to have signed on a mercenary company’s muster roll in his youth. Now he scratched out a living running errands for those still fit to hire out their swords.
Raising his own hand in acknowledgement, Corrain glanced at Micaran. ‘Do you want something to drink?’
‘Hardly,’ Micaran said, startled. ‘I need to keep a clear head.’
‘You and me both.’ Corrain headed to the counter regardless. Nothing drew curious eyes in a drinking den more than two men not drinking.
‘A jug of ale, sweetheart.’ He smiled at the drab serving the indifferent brew and picked up a couple of horn cups. Laying down two copper pennies, he took the jug over to the Ensaimin’s table and topped up the ragged man’s drink.
‘Any word of that Aldabreshin in the fancy silks hereabouts today?’
‘You fancy chancing your arm against his swordsmen, longshanks?’ The Ensaimin looked at Micaran, mildly curious. ‘You’ll need more than a longer reach against those fine fellows.’
Corrain nodded at the men sat around the taproom’s tables in threes and fours looking expectant. ‘They’re waiting for him as well?’ He sat down and poured a mouthful of ale into his and Micaran’s horn cups to pass for dregs.
The Ensaimin took a long swallow from his refreshed drink. ‘So they say.’
Corrain looked at Micaran. ‘We’ll wait and see, shall we?’
The Ensaimin man’s bleary eyes brightened and he reached for the jug of ale to help himself. ‘If you’re looking for an adventure, longshanks, by way of spitting in your father’s eye, I hear they’re hiring in Oakmont, for guards to ride the wagons taking the Dalasor road to Inglis.’
Corrain let the man ramble on, nodding as required. A chance shift in the wind brought the faint sound of the fourth chime’s bells some while later and he started to feel a little uneasy. Would they still be waiting when the carillon tower sounded midday? Should they try another lesser inn or would malign luck see the zamorin walk through these doors as they walked out?
He spared Micaran a glance. The mentor had leaned back and closed his eyes, as though he was taking a nap. Corrain was close enough to see the tension in his body and the subtle flexing of his hands though. Was the scholar working some unseen Artifice?
As that thought crossed Corrain’s mind, Micaran opened one eye and looked at him with the faintest of smiles.
Yes, and your friend there is telling you a tale concocted from rumour and optimism, even if he’s convinced himself he’s telling no lies.
Corrain managed a slow nod as well suited to the Ensaimin’s gossip as it was to Micaran’s words echoing eerily inside his head. It was a challenge not to shudder at that unnerving sensation.
Since we have a moment to ourselves, may I offer you my help as well as my friendship, when we’re done with this particular business? I swear I haven’t sought to pry but it’s plain to see that you’re plagued by distressing dreams. Mentor Garewin says the same of your friend Hosh. There are enchantments to dull the sting of such recollection.
Corrain shifted uneasily on the bench. If anyone else had made him such an offer, if Micaran had spoken aloud rather than use his Artifice, he would have given them a warning glare at best and most likely the threat of a fist to shut their mouth, if not an actual blow.
‘Well, now, don’t you find that this conversation gives you a thirst?’ The Ensaimin man poured himself the last drops from the jug and looked hopefully at Corrain.
‘True enough.’ He was about to rise when Micaran’s hand on his forearm held him back.
The tavern door opened and the plump zamorin entered, as sumptuously dressed as before, though in red-shot blue silk today and escorted by two different swordsmen. He looked as out of place as an Archipelagan glory bird among moulting farmyard fowl.
Corrain feigned mild interest as the zamorin made his offer, word for word the same as his speech in The Goose Hounds’ taproom. Micaran still appeared to be asleep, though Corrain noted his hands were now clenched into white-knuckled fists.
‘—tested to first blood, to the first, trivial scratch, assuredly not to any wound that might prove mortal,’ the zamorin concluded in his curiously soft voice. ‘My lord has no wish to stain his new venture with ill omens of spilled lifeblood.’
The zamorin offered the silent taproom one last bow. As he turned to leave, one of his guards went ahead to open the door while the other walked backwards, keeping watch on everyone in the tavern until the door swung closed.
Now Corrain could tell the tavern’s regular drinkers from the men who’d followed the rumours of Archipelagan gold. The latter were on their feet, gathering cloaks and settling their debts with the slattern at the counter, doubtless before heading straight to the Spice Wharf.
We should go.
Micaran opened his eyes and rose to his feet.
Corrain would rather have waited for a count of a hundred to make sure the Archipelagans were long gone but he could hardly say that aloud. He dropped a silver penny in front of the Ensaimin as he stood up.
‘Buy yourself a pie to go with your ale.’ He didn’t hold out much hope though, not for a man living so deep in drink.
‘I will, Caladhrian,’ the vagabond assured him with a stained grin.
Corrain followed Micaran to the door, content to see that the only one watching them go was the sagging maidservant behind the counter. The regulars were amusing themselves by mocking anyone fool enough to take an Archipelagan’s coin. Anyone taking ship with the zamorin would doubtless find they’d sold themselves into chains and slavery, so the old men assured each other.
‘That was definitely a lie,’ Micaran said ruefully as they left the tavern. ‘Our smelly friend plans on buying himself a bottle of Forest berry liquor.’
‘He’s welcome to it.’ Corrain ushered the mentor further from the door. ‘What was our fat friend
leaving unsaid?’
Micaran looked around the paved square, twisting his scholar’s ring around his middle finger. ‘We must hire a gig and get to my uncle’s house as quickly as we can.’
‘Master Olved?’ Corrain resisted the temptation to shake an answer out of the scholar. ‘Very well.’
But by the time they’d walked through three squares without seeing so much as a pile of dung on the paviours, the midday bells were ringing in the heart of the city. They crossed another two streets before Corrain was able to wave down a gig trotting briskly back towards the more lucrative central districts.
‘Where to, good sirs?’ The driver halted with a broad smile.
‘Tolekan Street,’ Micaran said curtly, climbing into the back seat with one long-limbed stride.
‘You want to send word to—’ Corrain looked at the back of the driver’s head. Could the man possibly turn a coin by selling what he might overhear?
—to Archmage Planir. Yes, at once. That zamorin is recruiting men for Jagai ships to deliver to Hadrumal, to tear down the wizard city.
‘What?’ Corrain didn’t care that he’d spoken aloud.
His next breath froze in his throat. He was no longer sitting in the gig. Micaran stood with him in the carillon square, with the tower’s shadow indicating early morning rather than midday. The sun shone from a cloudless spring sky and yet the square was entirely deserted. There were no people to be seen, no horses, no movement at any door or window in the surrounding buildings.
‘This isn’t real.’ Corrain turned in a slow circle. ‘Where am I?’
‘Still in the gig, and no, you won’t fall out.’ Micaran was apparently clothed in his scholarly tunic and mantle again. ‘We can talk privately here.’
Corrain wasn’t amused. The notion of riding senseless through the city appalled him. They had best deal with the matter in hand and be done with this Artifice as swiftly as possible.
Defiant Peaks (The Hadrumal Crisis) Page 31
