CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE
Tolekan Street, Col
33rd of Aft-Winter
‘THEN I PLACED the artefacts in the Archmage’s keeping.’ Jilseth couldn’t recall when she’d last picked her way through a conversation so carefully but satisfying the Col mage’s curiosity about events in Halferan was the price of him telling her whatever he knew or suspected of Jagai dealings in Col.
So far she was telling the truth as long as Olved didn’t ask her what Planir had done with the Khusro treasures after that. She still hoped to avoid telling him a bare-faced lie, not least because she had got the worst of this deal. Olved could only tell her that the Jagai domain’s shipmasters traded with this city’s merchants with no more and no less duplicity on either side than occurred in any port from here to Zyoutessela.
Olved leaned forward in his chair on the other side of the fireplace with its merrily dancing fire. ‘Has Khusro Rina told the other warlords what his wives are doing?’
‘Not as far as we know.’ Jilseth explained before Olved could press her in his tiresomely impatient fashion. ‘The Archipelagan Kheda tells us that their voyage hasn’t been kept a sworn secret since that would suggest they had something underhand to hide when this finally comes to light.’
She shrugged. ‘On the other hand, the only people who know of this trip are those directly involved, such as the crew of the galley which brought them to Attar. As far as their visit to Halferan itself is concerned, only their personal bodyslaves accompanied the women and by all Aldabreshin custom and practise, no one can demand that those men reveal their mistresses’ business, not even Khusro Rina himself.’
Jilseth had been surprised to learn from Kheda how much of her supposed knowledge of Archipelagan life was inaccurate. When she got back to Hadrumal, she had vowed to learn the truth of Aldabreshi law from Velindre and never mind if that revealed her own ignorance.
Olved was already waving her words away. ‘A bodyslave will cut his own tongue out before he betrays his mistress. Can you ask this Archipelagan what he thinks Jagai Kalu will do when he hears of the Khusro domain approaching mainlanders for such aid?’
Reaching for the kettle keeping warm within the fireplace’s fender, the mage halted, his eyes brightening. ‘Do you suppose that Jagai wishes to recruit these mainland swordsmen to defend a similar ship full of treasure? Might he send the pick of his strong rooms to Col, in order that anything touched by magic might be identified and removed?’
‘Perhaps.’ Jilseth would rather hope for that than see Corrain’s forebodings proved right as Jagai Kalu attacked Halferan. Could the warlord have learned how enmeshed the manor was in the Archmage’s schemes? But even if he had, what could the Aldabreshi hope to gain by renewing hostility between the Archipelago and the mainland?
She offered Olved her tisane glass in its silver holder so that the mage could add hot water from the kettle. Jilseth would rather have had a fresh cup complete with unsteeped herbs in the pierced silver ball, but she would settle for diluting this cool and bitter drink since that was clearly all Olved was going to offer her.
A horse’s galloping hooves and the rattle of wheels prompted sudden uproar outside the sitting room window. A woman screamed, startling Olved into pouring scalding water over Jilseth’s hand.
‘Forgive—’ Almost before he had spoken, his fire magic had drawn off the wounding heat.
Before Jilseth could reassure him, urgent fists hammered on the house’s front door. Olved’s maid ran through the hall. As Jilseth and the mage reached the sitting room’s threshold, the girl threw open the door to cry out, appalled.
‘What is it?’ Olved seized the maid and thrust her aside.
Jilseth was about to try and calm the girl’s hysterics when she saw Corrain struggling up the steps burdened by Micaran’s limp body slung over his shoulder.
Though there wasn’t a mark on him, her necromancy told her instantly that the young mentor was dead. Corrain stumbled and Jilseth flung out a hand. As her air magic lightened his load, the Caladhrian looked straight at her. She recoiled from the murderous rage in his eyes.
‘Oh, my boy,’ Olved whispered hoarsely as he stared at the corpse.
Jilseth grabbed the cowering maid’s arm so hard that the poor girl yelped. ‘Mentor Micaran was his son?’
She hadn’t thought to ask if the Col mage had a family. There had been no sign in this house and Olved hadn’t mentioned any such thing.
‘His sister’s eldest child,’ the girl quavered before looking past Jilseth’s shoulder and screaming yet again.
Jilseth felt elemental fire roaring out of control as Olved’s grief overwhelmed his hold on his affinity. The sitting room hearth was an inferno. The kettle lay in the fender, a molten pool of metal. The wooden mantle was ablaze and the chairs on either side of the fireplace were filling the hallway with the stink of burning horsehair.
She sought to wring elemental water from the air to quench the flames to no avail. Summoning dust imbued with her earth affinity to smother the blaze would mean bringing down the ceiling. Stopping short of that, Jilseth drove the air feeding the fire from the room, to gain a few moments for thought.
She seized Olved by the shoulders and shook him. He was still staring at Corrain and his burden. “Mica...”
Jilseth hauled the stricken mage around so he could see nothing but her face. ‘Do you want this whole house to become his funeral pyre?’
To her relief, Olved focused on her. His eyes filled with tears, spilling down his thin cheeks.
‘Master Mage,’ Jilseth said forcefully. ‘You must secure your affinity.’
‘Saedrin save us.’ Olved turned his head, horrified to see what had become of his sitting room.
To Jilseth’s intense relief, she felt the elemental fury fuelling the blaze cool. She could relax her warding driving away the air. As she did so, she realised that Corrain was now staggering under Micaran’s dead weight, bereft of the support which her magic had given him.
She threw open the opposite door with a thrust of elemental air before sending that same wizardry to help Corrain once again. ‘Carry him in there.’
Jilseth wanted to get everyone out of the hall. Avidly curious neighbours were gathering in the street outside. Gawkers peered up the steps in hopes of seeing something through the open entrance. Jilseth stole a momentary eddy from the ensorcelled air surrounding Corrain to slam the front door closed.
‘I must tell my sister.’ Before anyone could speak, Olved vanished in a surge of ominously red-tinted magelight.
Corrain muttered something under his breath. Going into the dining room, he set Micaran’s body on the long polished table, as gently as he might lay down a sleeping child.
‘You, girl.’ The Caladhrian turned on the maid who was starting to grizzle for want of knowing what else to do. ‘Who else is in the house?’
The girl flinched. ‘Mistress Galle.’
‘Go and tell her what’s happened,’ Corrain ordered, ‘and then send word to whichever shrine prepares bodies for their pyres hereabouts.’
Jilseth stood silent until the girl had vanished through the door beyond the stairs at the end of the hall. Then she walked into the dining room. ‘What happened?’
Corrain had dragged a chair away from the table, to sit with his head in his hands. ‘The Soluran.’
‘How?’ Jilseth demanded.
‘Artifice,’ Corrain retorted.
Jilseth wanted far more from him than that but could see that asking wouldn’t be wise. Besides, what could the Caladhrian possibly know of such lethal aetheric magic? Not that she had any reason to feel superior. She couldn’t hope to understand even if Corrain could tell her every detail of this deadly enchantment.
‘We have to find him.’ Corrain got to his feet.
‘The Soluran? Surely he’ll be long gone. He must know that he’s forfeited his own life with this murder.’
Even as she spoke, she wondered how such a crime might be proved. Wou
ld the Elected’s courts accept Corrain’s sworn word as proof of whatever tale he might have to tell? She looked at Micaran and shied away from the thought of using her necromancy to learn how Artifice had killed him. How dangerous could that prove for her?
‘If there’s any luck or justice in this world, that bastard’s as dead as mutton,’ Corrain growled. ‘I think I killed him. I hope I did. Even if I didn’t, we can beat some answers out of him,’ he concluded with vicious determination. ‘So scry for him, Madam Mage. What do you need? A bowl and some water?’
‘Not until I know how Micaran died. I’m sorry, truly, but if this adept isn’t dead, he might be able to strike at me in some similar fashion.’ She didn’t want to anger Corrain with her refusal but Usara’s warnings of wizardly vulnerability to Artifice rang ominously in her memory.
Corrain stared at her for a moment. ‘Let’s ask Mentor Garewin. He’ll still be in the Red Library with Hosh and those other adepts.’
Jilseth moved to bar his path to the door. ‘You won’t be allowed into the library without someone to vouch for you. I can do that, if we go together. Tell me what has happened first. Why did this Soluran kill Micaran?’
Corrain drew a deep breath. ‘Micaran learned that this Soluran hasn’t only been spreading ill will towards wizardry through Col.’ He looked straight at Jilseth. ‘And he’s been using some Artifice to spread that mistrust, not just a generous purse and a glib tongue.’
‘What else was he doing?’ Apprehension knotted Jilseth’s innards.
‘He’s putting wild ideas into that Jagai zamorin’s head,’ Corrain said savagely. ‘Along with everyone else in that domain from the warlord down.’
Jilseth listened with growing astonishment as Corrain told her what Micaran had died to learn.
‘You truly believe that these Archipelagans will find mercenaries willing to attack Hadrumal? That these mainlanders will somehow become convinced that they’re not simply sailing to their deaths?’
‘Does it matter what I believe,’ Corrain challenged her, ‘when this Soluran can twist anyone’s mind to believe whatever his Artifice wishes?’
‘One adept couldn’t do all this on his own.’ Though Jilseth recalled how little she truly knew of Artifice. ‘We must tell Planir.’ She looked around the room for something to kindle magefire and something to reflect it for a bespeaking spell.
‘We need to find this Soluran’s lair,’ Corrain insisted. ‘Whether he’s dead or fled, there should be some hints to give us a scent, to offer a trail back to whoever he’s working with. You said it yourself; one man wouldn’t do this alone—’
As Corrain broke off, Jilseth looked more closely at him.
‘What is it?’
Corrain swallowed. ‘The Soluran killed Micaran by using his own fears against him. He sent some nightmare of the Eldritch Kin to tear him to pieces. I couldn’t lay a finger on the bastard. He was no more solid than smoke. Not until the man from Wrede appeared. He trapped the Soluran inside his own imagining—’ Corrain struggled for words.
‘Micaran said that Artifice offered a refuge—’ Jilseth thrust away the pain of recalling the cheerful mentor’s explanations.
‘This was no refuge. It was a trap and then the man from Wrede trapped the Soluran inside it. That meant I could get hold of him and I choked the life out of the bastard. At least, I think I did.’ He glanced at the table where Micaran lay. ‘How else would I have found myself back in the gig we were riding?’
‘I don’t know.’ Jilseth saw no point in hiding her own ignorance. ‘But why did the man from Wrede help you?’
Corrain gestured towards the door. ‘Let’s ask Master Garewin to find him and we’ll ask. Maybe the mentor can use the same questing Artifice as Micaran. Now, can you take us to the Red Library with your wizardry or must I find a gig?’
‘Mistress?’ A female voice hesitated behind her.
Jilseth turned to see a grey-haired woman. She was carrying a bowl of water, her sturdy arms draped with shrouding cloth. Her face was pale with shock and grief and the tear-stained maid cowered behind her.
‘Mistress Galle?’ As the woman nodded, Jilseth stepped aside. ‘We will leave Mentor Micaran in your care.’
There was clearly no stopping Corrain and she dared not contemplate what havoc he might wreak let loose in the city on his own. He looked capable of cutting down the Prefecture’s librarians on their very steps if they tried to bar his path to Mentor Garewin. She would have to find time to bespeak Planir later. At least she should have a fuller tale to tell him.
She laid a hand on Corrain’s arm and with the Red Library so close, the white magelight of translocation came and went in the blink of an eye.
They arrived at the corner of the steps. Corrain was already striding upwards, taking two treads at a time, one hand on his sword hilt. One of the Prefecture’s men moved to intercept him.
‘One moment, if you please.’ Jilseth summoned a surge of air to carry her forward swiftly enough to arrive in front of the black-liveried librarian. She smiled politely at the man. ‘I have the Archmage’s authority to enter, as sanctioned by the Elected.’
Holding out her hand, palm upwards, she wrought a shimmering illusion of Col’s standard rippling in an unseen wind.
The library’s white-gloved guardian bowed. ‘Madam Mage.’
He still eyed Corrain with some misgiving. ‘You’re usually with that lad who’s seeking healing from Mentor Garewin.’
‘We have urgent business with Mentor Garewin,’ Jilseth spoke before Corrain could reply. ‘Of concern to the Archmage and the city alike. I will vouch for my companion.’
The librarian looked sternly at Corrain. ‘Do you swear by Arrimelin that you will not deface any book in our care or cause any flame to be kindled within the library?’
If this day wasn’t so dire, Jilseth would have been amused to see the Caladhrian taken so thoroughly aback.
‘I swear it,’ Corrain said with gritted teeth.
‘This way, Madam Mage.’ The man led them through the entrance and into the vestibule where the panelling was hidden by countless cloaks heaped on broad hooks. He opened a corner door to a stair spiralling upwards. ‘Mentor Garewin is on the third floor, in the north-eastern study.’
‘I know the way,’ Jilseth assured him, ‘and my thanks.’
Corrain pressed hard on her heels. She was somewhat surprised that he didn’t simply push past her.
They reached the third floor and Jilseth reached for the study door handle. Now Corrain’s impatience did get the better of him. He turned the handle and pushed. The door pushed back and locked itself.
Jilseth chose to knock rather than use her own magic, leaning close to the crack to speak. ‘Mentor Garewin, we have grave news of Mentor Micaran.’
A woman opened the door. Garewin and two other men sat around the small room’s table with Hosh on the far side by the window. The table was heaped with books but beyond that, the panelled room was bare.
‘Good day to you, Hosh.’ Jilseth was startled into a smile. ‘My compliments, Mentor Garewin. I see you still have a long way to go but this progress is most encouraging.’
Hosh’s hand flew to his damaged cheek. ‘Progress?’
Jilseth looked quizzically at him. ‘Don’t you use a mirror for shaving?’
‘I’m pleased that you see the improvement, Madam Mage.’ Mentor Garewin smiled. ‘Each day’s changes are very subtle and the boy guards his hopes so fiercely against any hint of wishful thinking.’
‘Captain?’ Hosh looked desperately at Corrain.
‘I did wonder,’ he admitted haltingly. ‘I didn’t want to say until I was certain—’
‘Mentor Undil, sealed to the School of Apothecaries.’ The woman offered Jilseth the briefest of bows. ‘You said you had grave news of Micaran?’
‘The gravest, alas.’ Jilseth wove a brief cantrip from water magic to dry her clammy palms. ‘He has been killed by some aetheric means—’
‘
—by the Soluran adept you saw that first day in The Goose Hounds.’ Corrain couldn’t restrain his anger. ‘Who is he, Master Garewin? Where can we find his lodging?’
‘If he’s guilty of such an unconscionable crime, he’s surely fled,’ one of the other men objected.
‘Not as long as I truly managed to kill him,’ Corrain countered with bitter satisfaction.
Mentor Garewin raised a hand. ‘Please, tell us all that’s happened. And forgive my ill-manners. May I make known to you Mentor Parovil and Mentor Lusken.’
Both men were in their middle years, robed and beringed as befitted mentors sealed to Col’s university. If Jilseth had not known, she would never have guessed that they were aetheric adepts.
‘Masters,’ Corrain acknowledged them grimly. ‘You should know that I am responsible for this tragedy. I asked for Micaran’s help in searching this Jagai zamorin’s thoughts.’
Jilseth listened with half an ear as the Caladhrian told his wretched tale a second time. She looked around the room for anything which she might use to cast a bespeaking to Hadrumal, though she would need to go outside to do that. The Prefecture’s librarians would consider a mage-kindled flame a breach of her own sworn oath to equal anything struck with flint and steel. Where might she find sufficient privacy close by to work her spell?
She realised that Corrain had fallen silent. Hosh gazed at him with more sympathy and understanding than Jilseth might have expected in such a young man’s eyes.
‘You all know this Soluran?’ Mentor Garewin demanded of his fellow adepts, his face taut with grief and outrage.
‘I do.’ The woman, Mentor Undil, nodded and the other two men did the same.
‘Remec Estinesh of Trudenar,’ Mentor Parovil growled.
Jilseth frowned as she recalled the map of Solura. What business did a House of Sanctuary from a central and southerly province have killing Col’s scholars? Why was this adept helping to turn Col’s residents and Archipelagans alike against the wizard isle? As she wondered, suspicion stirred in the back of her mind. But suspicion was no use without proof.
Defiant Peaks (The Hadrumal Crisis) Page 33
