The Swordsman's Oath toe-2

by Juliet E. McKenna

I looked at her and cursed myself as a gurry-eating fool for relying on her like that, seeing her extreme youth with new eyes. I’d been so far adrift out here, I’d taken the first thing I’d been offered for a bearing, only to find I’d been setting a course by a cloud bank.

  “Shek Kul wants rid of Kaeska, but he doesn’t want her blood on his hands, does he? This isn’t about truth or justice, it’s about Shek Kul avoiding condemning her outright himself!” I was as angry with myself as I was at Laio; I’d been in such a hurry to draw the Elietimm’s teeth that I hadn’t stopped to think all of this through myself. That didn’t stop me taking my fury out on Laio though.

  “You were so pleased with yourself weren’t you? Now I have to go up against a cursed sorcerer who’ll be able to pickle my wits and pick me off at leisure. Well, I hope you’re pleased with yourself; this time tomorrow, I’ll be dead and Kaeska will be judged pure as spring water and free to poison whoever she wants. Still, look on the bright side—you and Gar can plan a nice trip to Relshaz to buy yourself a new slave. Try to take better care of the next one. With luck Mahli and the baby might still be alive when you get back!”

  “You’re making a lot of fuss—” Laio began tremulously.

  “No, pigeon, I’m not!” I caught her chin as she went to turn away and looked her straight in the eye. “I’ll take on any man you want in fair fight—Grival, Sezarre, the captain of the guard. I’ll trust my skills and take the runes as they fall. This is different; this is magic. And not just honest magic—air, earth, fire and water. This is enchantment that gets inside your own mind and turns it against you.” I laid a heavy hand on Laio’s head to emphasis the point and felt her quail beneath it. “I’ve had one of these bastards loose in my skull before. I’ve tried to fight it and I know that I can’t!”

  “For this man to use magic would be to condemn himself and Kaeska—” Laio began, a tear trickling unheeded down one cheek.

  “I’ll be dead before anyone notices!” I pulled my hands away and looked around the room. A pitcher of weak Aldabreshin wine stood on a side-table and I began to pour before abruptly heaving the jug at the wall. “I can’t even get a decent pissing drink in this shit-hole!”

  The crash of the shattering pitcher shocked Laio into fullblown sobbing but it brought me to my senses, my rage as effectively in pieces as the earthenware jug. I shook my head; Laio was so very young, she couldn’t expect to play for the same stakes as Kaeska and win. I should have known that.

  “Come on, stop crying.” I put a hand on Laio’s shuddering shoulder. She turned to fling herself against my chest, her tears hot through the thin silk of my undertunic.

  “I’m so sorry,” she sobbed. “It seemed like such a good idea, such a good way to get rid of Kaeska. I thought Shek would be so pleased, it might make up for me not wanting a child just yet, I don’t want to do it, not just yet, not after yesterday, and I’ve got myself into such a mess with the cotton, but if Gar was to help, I could sort it out, as long as Kaeska wasn’t here to make trouble, and Nai is so lovely, I couldn’t bear it if anything happened to him or to Mahli and it would be all my fault, if I knew Kaeska was planning something and I didn’t do something to stop her—”

  She choked as she ran out of breath and coughed on her tears. I sighed and gave her a hug, a little startled to feel her cling to me like a drowning kitten. “Hush, what’s done is done, after all.” I didn’t feel that sanguine, but if I was going to have any chance against the sorcerer I needed sleep, not to spend half the night soothing Laio’s hysterics. “Let’s just go to bed.”

  Laio lifted her tear-stained face, a puzzled expression fleeting across her brow. “All right, if you want to.” Standing on tip-toe, she kissed me full on the lips, pressing herself against me. That met an instant reaction as my body received the message half a breath ahead of my wits. Before I could say anything to correct this misunderstanding, Laio twined her arms around the back of my neck to draw me closer, her mouth open and inviting. Abruptly I kissed her back, hard, a challenge in my lips and tongue, knowing this was almost certainly an inappropriate thing to be doing, but equally only too aware that I would be fighting for my life tomorrow, with a lame leg, against a sorcerer who would have me just where he wanted me. Laio evidently felt the shift in my weathervane and pressed her thigh into me, my scruples weakening as my ardor hardened. Dast take it, I could be dead by sunset tomorrow, and if the condemned man wasn’t going to get a hearty meal I’d take what was on offer. Sliding my hand down, I teased her breast through the fine silk of her dress and felt her nipple rise to my touch.

  Things moved more quickly after that, neither of us stopping to think, just concentrating on losing ourselves in sensation. Laio knew some tricks that made me wonder just where Aldabreshi girls got their education once I had my breath back, but there was nothing of the practiced whore about her, just a frank and sensual delight in her body and mine. As a sexual experience, it was quite remarkable. Afterwards, a long while afterwards, as we lay in the rumpled chaos of the bed, the sweat drying slowly on our bodies. I pulled a quilt over us to keep out the chill and so we drifted off to sleep. Although Laio had been a unique delight, I smiled as I realized that despite everything my last thoughts were still of Livak.

  The chamber of Planir the Great,

  the island city of Hadrumal,

  7th of For-Summer

  “Don’t worry, I know exactly where Ryshad is. We have got everything in hand to rescue him.” Planir spoke confidently at Shiv’s image, tiny and gold-tinted in a polished steel mirror lit by a single candle flame. “How are you getting on?” The Archmage was in shirt sleeves, seated at a polished table in his paneled study, the evening sun sinking behind the towers of Hadrumal just visible through the tall lancets of the window next to him.

  “I’m afraid Viltred is being difficult.” Exasperation was clear in Shiv’s muffled, tinny sounding voice. “All he wants is to get to Hadrumal as soon as possible; he doesn’t feel safe anywhere else, not after Ryshad disappeared like that.”

  “Tell him not to worry about Ryshad,” Planir repeated himself, clenching a fist beneath the table where the spell would not be carrying his image to Shiv. “We need Viltred to persuade Lord Finvar to let us have the records of that shrine. I’m counting on the man having some respect for his old tutor; nothing else we’ve tried has succeeded thus far.”

  “I can’t see Viltred inspiring respect in anyone just at present,” responded Shiv dourly. “He’s old and tired and running scared of everything from Elietimm to Eldritch-men. There must be someone else you can send.”

  “Casuel? He’s on his way to Toremal, to help Esquire Camarl look for any material on this lost colony. Other than that, no, Shiv, I can’t send anyone just at present.” The undertone of authority in Planir’s voice forbade further argument.

  “If Cas is the only alternative, I suppose Viltred will have to do.” Shiv scowled and leaned back in his chair, running both hands through his hair, a pause as he laced his hands behind his head eloquent of his frustration.

  “Please just ask Viltred to do what he can, tell him it’s a special request from me to him, personally. I appreciate his situation and as soon as you have the archive, I’ll arrange a nexus of power for you to link to and translocate here directly.” Planir’s tone was warm and amiable but his fingers were drumming silently on his worn and faded breeches.

  “I’ll do my best but Saedrin save me from nurse-maiding anymore senile old wizards,” sighed Shiv. “We’re in Claithe at the moment; we’ll be on the road as soon as we can get Livak’s horse shod. It’s no more than a couple of days to Lord Finvar’s fiefdom from here in good weather.”

  “You’ve still got those women with you?” Planir frowned. “Why?”

  “They’re not about to leave until they know what’s happened to Ryshad and seen for themselves that you’re doing everything you can to get him back.” Shiv’s image showed a tiny, rueful smile. “Would you believe Livak is actually offering to steal
the books for us, if Lord Finvar really digs his heels in? That’s on the understanding the entire Council turns its talents to finding Ryshad though. We might have another advantage as well; Halice reckons she knows the captain of his guard from her mercenary days. We’ll get those records for you one way or another, Archmage.”

  Planir shook his head with a grin. “I’m glad to see you’re showing a bit of initiative, Shiv. Mind you, only let Livak loose if there’s no other option. That one’s services come expensive, as I remember!”

  Shiv laughed as the spell dissolved the image, and Planir snuffed the candle with an absent-minded word of command. The Archmage ran a hand over his face and rubbed the back of his neck with a muttered oath as a knock sounded on the oak of his door.

  “Enter.”

  “Are we any closer to getting that Arimelin archive from Finvar yet?” Usara inquired without ceremony. While a pale complexion was to be expected with his sandy hair, the scholarly mage was looking almost gray with fatigue.

  “Are you any closer to scrying out that unholy sword?” countered Planir, rising from his chair and crossing the room to a sideboard of elegantly simple design. “Cordial?”

  “Thank you, a little of the mint.” Usara dropped into a deeply upholstered chair with an explosive sigh of frustration, lifting his dirty boots heedlessly on to a low table heaped with documents. “No, since you ask, we still can’t get any kind of a fix on the cursed thing.”

  “You know, I’m starting to think it might be better if D’Olbriot’s man got himself killed after all,” said Planir grimly. “We might get a lead on the sword if that happened.”

  “Only if it’s the man being shielded, not the weapon. Remember what Mellitha had to tell us, and there’s what Shannet said about the time she and Viltred were looking for islands in the deep ocean to try and prove Azazir’s stories.” Usara sipped his drink with a small murmur of pleasure. “Anyway, I can’t see D’Olbriot continuing to support you in Toremal if all he gets to show for it is another man dead with an unredeemed oath fee and an heirloom sword lost and presumably in the hands of an unknown enemy.”

  “No, I don’t suppose he will.” Planir stared into the depths of his own glass. “Do you suppose Viltred might have anything useful to add? On the scrying? And get your feet off Kalion’s proposals for remodelling the conduits to the bathhouses, will you, ’Sar?”

  “A few creases’ll make it look as if you’ve read them.” The younger wizard was unrepentant. “No, I can’t see Viltred having anything to contribute at all; he was a guttered candle before he went off to the arse end of Caladhria and I don’t suppose a handful of years conversing with peasants will have restored him much. Still, he’ll have done more service than he knows if he can get that cursed archive for us. We must find a key to unlock these unholy dreams, to give us some means of controlling them, opening things up once that initial sympathy with the artifact has been established. Has Otrick located any other shrines to Arimelin that might predate the Chaos, or is this still the only one?”

  “Sorry? What did you say?” Planir’s gaze had been fixed on the thick sheaf of parchments under Usara’s feet. “I tell you, ’Sar, there are times when I’m tempted to let Kalion loose, let him take all his petty wrangles and pompous plans to restore the authority of wizardry to the Council. I could just say, ‘All right, I yield. You take over as Archmage, Hearth-Master, until a proper vote can be convened and Misaen help you!’ ” The wizard stretched out a hand and studied the heavy golden ring of his office, the central diamond mysterious in the fading sunlight, catching and mingling the colors of the four gems set around it, sapphire, amber, ruby and emerald. “Air, earth, fire and water; we can do what we like with them, can’t we ’Sar? That’s what all the mundane populace think, anyway. I’m the Archmage, you know, most powerful man on an island of wizards with untold powers over the very elements of the world around us. It all counts for nothing, does it, not now we have to find a way to face powers we can’t even start to explain.”

  “I’m sure the information will be out there, somewhere. Knowledge is rarely lost, just misplaced or misinterpreted.” Usara went to refill his glass, offering the decanter to Planir, who shook his head. Usara took his seat again before continuing. “Saedrin only send we find it before the Elietimm put their first pieces on the board and start the game in earnest. Oh, by the way, about Shannet—she and Troanna are at each other’s throats over who exactly offered that lad Corian a pupillage first. I’m not going to get any sense out of either of them until they settle it.”

  Planir groaned. “He’s that opinionated youth from Dusgate? For such venerable and respected mages, those two can be sillier than first-season apprentices at times. Where will I find Shannet tomorrow, do you know?”

  “She’ll be working with Otrick over at New Hall in the morning,” replied Usara after a moment’s thought. “They’re giving a lecture on air and water conflicts.”

  “If I get a chance, I’ll just happen to drop in on Troanna too; after all, as she is senior Flood-Mistress I should consult her about Kalion’s desires to mess about with the water supply, shouldn’t I?” A spark of humor reanimated Planir’s countenance.

  Usara laughed. “Absolutely, o revered Archmage.”

  Planir began pacing in front of the empty fireplace, renewed vitality driving the tiredness from his face and lifting a generation’s burden of years from his shoulders. “And when I’ve sorted that precious pair out, what can I do to stall D’Olbriot, keep him happy until I’ve found out exactly what’s happened to his man?”

  “Do you really think you can find Ryshad?” There was surprise rather than doubt in Usara’s question.

  “Oh yes, ’Sar. Why? Don’t you have unquestioning faith in your Archmage after all?” Planir smiled, his teeth gleaming white and even in the gathering dusk. He snapped his fingers and candles all around the room leaped to brilliant life. “You should know more than most; the power of this office is based on a great deal more than a gaudy ring and its promises of sorcery. I should have news of Ryshad inside a couple of handful days.”

  “Then all you’ll have to worry about is Kalion.” The lines furrowing Usara’s brow were smoothed away as his expression lightened.

  “You know, I think the same scent may well divert them both, if we lay it carefully.” Planir paused to look out of the window. “Kalion wants to know why we’re working round the chimes with nothing to show for it; I think I’ll take him into my confidence about the complex Elietimm plots that are frustrating our every move, tying up all our effort just in countering them. I’ll send the Sieur D’Olbriot a despatch too, with just enough dark hints and evasions to give him something more urgent to worry about than his missing hound.”

  “Just what plots would these be, exactly?” inquired Usara, a smile spreading across his face nevertheless.

  Planir spread his hands in a vague gesture. “I think that’ll be too complicated to explain, don’t you? How about we hint that these Elietimm were somehow responsible for Ryshad’s arrest in Relshaz?”

  “Do you think they did?” Usara blinked in some surprise.

  “No, not really, I think they just took advantage of the situation. From what Mellitha says I imagine whatever sympathy he’s developed with D’Alsennin betrayed him somehow; she identified the arm ring he was trying to take as an old piece with Den Rannion’s crest. No, the truth of it’s not important, ’Sar. You just tell Kalion what I told you about Ryshad when he comes asking, as long as you swear him to secrecy of course—tell him to keep it closer than the lid on an urn! We suspect these Ice Islanders had some hand in his disappearance into the Archipelago, if nothing else, and it’s certainly this pestilential aetheric magic that’s hiding him after all. Kalion will tell Ely and Galen, in strictest confidence obviously, and once they start spreading their version the rumor mill will find its own grist. That should give us some time to concentrate on getting Ryshad back and by then, Arimelin willing, we should have that archive and so
me clue as to how to start turning these dreams to our advantage.” The Archmage poured himself a second larger measure of white brandy and raised his glass to the younger mage in high good humor.

  “Arimelin willing,” echoed Usara, draining his own drink. “I’m still worried about what might be happening to Ryshad, though,” he added soberly.

  Planir nodded. “The Archipelago’s a dangerous place,” he agreed, his eyes dark. “Dastennin grant he’s not being too badly treated, not starved nor beaten nor worked in chains. That’s probably the best we can hope for.”

  Chapter Eight

  Taken from the Family Archive of the

  House Tor Alder, Toremal,

  from the Records of the 35th Year of

  Emperor Aleonne the Gallant

  Compliments to Dardier, Esquire Tor Alder, from his brother Caprel, Sieur of that House.

  I am pleased to tell you that Carrey continues to recover well from his injuries. This comes to a great relief to his mother and myself, one’s last son being no less precious than any of the others after all. Forgive my feeble attempt at levity, it stems from disordered nerves, I confess it.

  We have had no success tracing the brigands who attacked the boy and his companions in such an underhand manner; I suppose that would have been too much to hope for at this late date. Nevertheless I still remain concerned that by all accounts an organized and liveried troop of men could commit such an outrage on the Emperor’s highways and vanish so thoroughly. I can only surmise that their appearance was a calculated disguise, wigs and liveries discarded as soon as their work was done. Perhaps they wanted to throw suspicion on to the Men of the Mountains since they are generally fair of head and visage, but few are trading so far from home at this season so I am not inclined to suspect them.

  Carrey’s greatest concern is the loss of his sword, an heirloom admittedly but one of little significance for the House after all. His mother is anxious lest this distress lead to a return of that disorder of sleep and nightmare that plagued the boy last year, and I confess I share her worry. There has been no recurrence of such trouble as he has convalesced and I would not wish to see it visited upon him again. Accordingly, could you alert your sergeants-at-arms and ask them to spread the word among their fellows in other Houses in case the weapon should be offered for sale to any such. If we can recover the blade, so be it but my main concern is to reassure Carrey that no blame for its loss attaches to him. Since you are due to visit us soon, if you could find a way of broaching the subject in private converse with him, I would be most grateful.