Dangerous Waters

by Juliet E. McKenna

  The five bells of midday sounded from the towers some distance away in the heart of Hadrumal. As the peals subsided, the Archmage followed the gravelled path between the low hedges separating the plots. ‘We should get back before we’re missed.’

  Jilseth followed, silently exasperated. In her firmly considered opinion, the mageborn of Hadrumal should know of Minelas’s crimes, and know that such crimes didn’t escape the Archmage’s notice.

  As they reached the gate that forbade the ignorant access to the garden and its perilous plants, Planir turned. ‘I know that some of your peers saw fit to mock you, when your lodestone magic was unable to find Minelas last summer, until we picked up his scent in Relshaz. Do you want them to know what happened in Lescar to restore your reputation?’

  Jilseth swallowed hard. ‘I don’t believe so, Archmage.’

  Was that really true? She hoped it was. All the same, now that Planir had challenged her, Jilseth was forced to admit that she would like to see some of her contemporaries choke on their insincere commiserations for the failure of her magecraft.

  The Archmage grinned at her. ‘Never fear. You’ll have plenty of opportunities to show Ely and Galen that they’d be fools to underestimate you. For the moment, let’s be glad that neither Minelas nor Sorgrad has mired Hadrumal in scandal and enjoy the festival. Will you be dancing this evening? At Hiwan’s Hall or Wellery’s?’ The Archmage gestured and metal whispered across metal as the gate unlocked.

  ‘At the Terrene Hall, Archmage.’ Once through, Jilseth relocked it with a touch of her own earth magic before following Planir through the shadowed alley.

  The Spring Equinox festival had yet to get underway in this artisans’ quarter. Housewives were busy in their kitchens preparing the first of the five days’ feasts. Carpenters and joiners, weavers and shoemakers were tidying away their tools and any half-finished commissions. Children stayed prudently quiet, for fear of provoking parental wrath before the holiday’s treats appeared.

  Planir and Jilseth left the warren of workshops and humble dwellings that lay between the wizard city itself and the quays and boatyards that framed the modest river’s estuary. They walked towards the lofty towers on the flagstone path alongside the masterfully crafted road. Hadrumal’s labourers took no less pride in their endeavours than the island’s scholars.

  As the high road followed the gentle slope of the land, imposing buildings soon obscured the view of the green hills at the heart of the island. That was where the stone to make them had been quarried, so Jilseth had learned from her mageborn grandmother.

  Scudding clouds obscured the sun and the commanding façades faded from gold to grey before brightening again as the shadows passed. No two buildings were alike; some were stern with narrow, angular windows squinting defiance at the weather, others were flattered by arches softening their doors and stone tracery decorating their windows. Some long-dead wizards had even been seduced by the florid excesses of High Tormalin style, bequeathing edifices embellished with frivolous carved swags and cornices. Together, Jilseth’s grandmother said, Hadrumal’s halls offered the finest history of architecture through the twenty generations since the first Archmage, Trydek, sought sanctuary on the island.

  That sanctuary was now truly a city. Orderly quadrangles accommodated those apprenticed to master mages and magewomen. Towers offered more eminent wizards a refuge from their pupils’ chatter and, so it was always claimed, a clearer perspective on the mysteries of magic through their unobstructed views of the island and the sky and sea beyond.

  Along the high road, merchants and tradesmen had long since claimed whatever space originally separated those havens of wizardly learning. Today the wine shops and bakeries were crowded with prentices and pupils enjoying the festival respite from their studies. Accents and fashions from every mainland realm mingled with the subtly different dress and dialect that marked out the Hadrumal-born.

  A wine seller stepped out of his doorway to hail the Archmage. ‘Master Planir!’

  ‘Master Noak.’ The Archmage inclined his head in amiable greeting.

  ‘I have some cases of that Trokain vintage,’ the wine merchant confided.

  ‘Excellent.’

  ‘Archmage?’ A stout man emerged from a pie shop. His festival finery was fresh from the tailor, in sharp contrast to Planir’s shabbiness. ‘Madam Jilseth.’ He seemed less than pleased to see her.

  ‘Hearth Master Kalion.’ She greeted him politely before acknowledging his slender companion with a cool nod of her head. ‘Ely. What a pleasant surprise.’

  The elegant magewoman in sage-green draperies scowled. Before she could find some reply to Jilseth’s veiled sarcasm, the Hearth Master spoke.

  ‘Archmage, forgive me,’ he said curtly. ‘I know it is festival time but we must discuss this latest news from the mainland.’

  ‘By all means.’ Planir sat on the wine shop’s window ledge, tucking his hands into his breeches’ pockets. ‘What news in particular?’

  Kalion narrowed his eyes, exasperated. ‘Not here in the high road.’

  ‘As you wish.’ Planir stood up and smiled at the wine seller. ‘I’ll call back later, Noak. Fair festival to you and yours, and don’t sell all the Trokain.’

  ‘Trokain vintages?’ Kalion was momentarily distracted. ‘Of which Emperor?’

  ‘Bezaemar the Generous,’ the wine seller said promptly.

  Planir grinned. ‘Why don’t we discuss these urgent matters over a glass, Kalion?’

  ‘It will be my honour to serve you,’ the wine seller offered at once. ‘In the rear parlour?’

  Jilseth could see this was far from what Kalion wanted but the Archmage had already entered the wine shop, following Master Noak towards the rear door. She glimpsed men and women already in there sat on either side of white raven boards, playing the strategy game that so many found enthralling.

  She had never seen the appeal of either challenge; capturing the solitary white bird with an assortment of other forest fowl, or escaping those painted figurines shifted turn by turn by the player seeking to trap the fugitive raven amid wooden trees and thickets. Jilseth would rather read a book offering some insight into her wizardry.

  The flame-embroidered hem of Kalion’s red velvet mantle thrashed eloquently around his polished boots as he followed the Archmage.

  ‘You don’t need to wait.’ Spurning Jilseth with a shrug of her shoulder Ely hurried inside. She quickly took a stool at the counter where Master Noak’s daughters were serving dishes of wafer cakes.

  Jilseth wasn’t about to be dismissed so easily. She followed and took the next seat. ‘It’s been a good while since breakfast and it’s longer till dinner. I’ll have two of those and a glass of Ferl River red, if you please.’ She nodded at the coarser wafers, spiced with caraway and topped with slices of mutton boiled in verjuice and wine.

  Ely had already opted for sweet wafers with honey and almonds, spread with fresh curd cheese. She looked sideways at Jilseth, finely plucked brows drawn into a disapproving line. ‘You’re spending a great deal of time with the Archmage.’ Her insinuation was clear.

  ‘He’s not ploughing my furrow, if that’s what you’re asking.’ Jilseth already suspected it was Ely spreading such gossip. ‘Any more than you’re quenching the Hearth Master’s poker.’

  Let Ely reflect on that; she wasn’t the only one who could loose a rumour in Hadrumal. Not that Jilseth had any interest in such tittle-tattle. Nor was she interested in luring any bed mate, man or woman, from the Archmage down. Jilseth’s abiding fascination with her element left no time for such trifling. Why couldn’t people believe that?

  Ely coloured with indignation. ‘No one would ever suspect me of playing Galen false.’

  ‘Of course not.’ Jilseth sipped her wine. That was true, and was also why any ribald speculation about Ely was entirely centred on why such a lissom and lovely magewoman remained so devoted to a stolid bore like Galen.

  Entertaining as it was to repay Ely fo
r her spite, Jilseth was more interested in what the Hearth Master might be saying to Planir. With the door to the rear parlour half-open, she could see them sitting with their heads close together, their expressions serious.

  Unfortunately all she could hear was two newly arrived apprentice wizards, each one trying to explain their imperfect understanding of their own affinity to the other. The girl had caused chaos in a village bake house when the oven fire had roared in sympathy with her anger at a schoolmate’s treachery in kissing a boy whom they both adored. The youth had found his temper summoning up a coil of air to throw his brother so hard against their bedroom wall that his ribs had cracked along with the plaster. Both were equally desperate to learn how to turn their unsuspected magebirth into proper magecraft, and then to learn the more complex wizardry enabling them to command the other elements.

  ‘Do you know what particular news from the mainland concerns the Hearth Master?’ Jilseth chewed a mouthful of mutton and spiced wafer.

  Ely took a swallow of straw-coloured wine. ‘I know a good many mages think it’s well past time for Planir to give up the office of Stone Master. The office of Archmage was always intended to stand apart from the Masters and Mistresses of Element.’

  Jilseth wondered if Ely was deliberately changing the subject or if she didn’t know what Kalion sought with Planir. For the present, she had no objection to discussing this recurrent topic of conversation around Hadrumal.

  ‘When Planir finds a mage with an earth affinity strong enough, and the strength of character to meet the office’s challenges, I’ve no doubt he’ll propose a candidate to the Council.’

  And that won’t be Galen, she thought silently. Ely’s lover might have substantial talents, Jilseth readily acknowledged that, but he had no imagination when it came to exploring earth magic and scant feeling for other people’s sensibilities. That alone would make him a disaster in high office. If Ely was hoping for influence through his advancement instead of her own, she was doomed to disappointment.

  Jilseth might as well have said so. Ely looked as affronted as if she had spoken aloud. ‘The Council will never advance a necromancer as Stone Mistress.’

  Jilseth laughed. ‘Is that what you think I’m seeking? Truly, my only interest is honing my magecraft.’ She shifted in her seat to look straight at Ely. ‘Why don’t you spend more time with Flood Mistress Troanna? Master Kalion is the finest Hearth Master we could have but with your own affinity in direct opposition to his, he can only guide your studies so far.’

  Ely’s lusciously painted lips thinned. ‘You look to your own wizardry and I will look to mine.’

  ‘As you wish.’ Jilseth shrugged and ate another mouthful of mutton.

  Ely bit into one of her wafer cakes. Jilseth drank some more wine and finished eating her meal. She was soon rewarded. Ely could no more sit in silence than a brook could flow without chattering.

  ‘You’ve been in Lescar a great deal this past half year, haven’t you?’

  ‘On the Archmage’s business.’ Jilseth raised a hand to summon one of Master Noak’s daughters. ‘A white syllabub, please.’

  ‘The Duke of Marlier has abdicated,’ Ely observed. ‘With the other dukes dead or fled, Master Kalion says Lescar is entirely ungoverned.’

  ‘Lescar is no longer governed by dukes,’ Jilseth corrected her. ‘Since those six noble houses have always paid more heed to their squabbles and rivalries than the welfare of the common folk, the ordinary Lescari consider this a considerable improvement.’

  ‘Until anarchy overwhelms them.’ Ely was clearly echoing Kalion. ‘Until the Emperor of Tormalin sends in his legions to secure peace along his border or Caladhria’s merchants demand the same of their barons and the parliament.’

  Jilseth shook her head. ‘I see no reason to fear anarchy. Those ordinary Lescari raised militias to rid themselves of their tiresome dukes and now their guildsmen and priests and noble scholars are spending this very festival debating how to rule themselves.’

  Ely dismissed that with a scornful gesture. ‘That will end in chaos unless wiser counsel guides them. Master Kalion is sure of it.’

  ‘Master Kalion is offering himself as that wise counsellor?’ That seemed entirely likely. Jilseth could see the Hearth Master gesturing emphatically at Planir. She frowned. ‘But what if Hadrumal’s very involvement prompts Tadriol the Provident to send Imperial legions across the river, or Caladhria’s parliament sends armed baronial envoys to safeguard their interests for fear of wizardly interference? Kalion could end up enmeshed in far more than the Lescari settlement.’

  Ely smiled, complacent. ‘The Hearth Master is equal to any challenge. He has considerable influence with the Caladhrian parliament and many friends among Tormalin’s noble houses. He has spent many seasons persuading the Empire’s great princes that wizards would make valuable advisors and trustworthy partners in their trading endeavours, rather seeing us as mere hirelings to be summoned when a harbour needs dredging or heath fires threaten their timber.’

  Jilseth heard her echoing Kalion’s words again. She decided to remind Ely of Planir’s oft-stated position. ‘The Archmage has always been in favour of magecraft offering every possible assistance to the mainlanders, from humblest to highest. That has no bearing on Trydek’s decree that mainland governance is none of Hadrumal’s concern.’

  ‘Is that so?’ Ely’s sarcasm was biting. ‘Then why have you been travelling the length and breadth of Lescar’s dukedoms, and visiting Tormalin, Caladhria and Relshaz besides? If the Archmage truly has no interest in influencing any settlement in Lescar?’

  Belatedly Jilseth remembered Ely’s superlative scrying skills. Planir often spoke of her potential, if she would only bring that same talent to bear on the magics born of other elements.

  She spread innocent hands. ‘We cannot ignore mainland affairs. The Hearth Master is quite correct, just as Planir honours the Council’s wishes by not involving Hadrumal directly. Who better to discover exactly what transpired on a battlefield than a necromancer?’

  Jilseth smiled sweetly as Ely recoiled from the notion. Let that put paid to her questions.

  Instead the magewoman surprised her with another abrupt change of subject. ‘There are rumours of magic other than wizardry influencing Lescar’s wars.’ Ely sipped her pale wine.

  ‘Artifice.’ Jilseth wondered where this turn of their conversation might lead.

  ‘Is it true?’ Ely asked with sudden anger. ‘These ragtag rebels were using some purloined lore to send messages to one another, as easily as you and I sit talking here? While the dukes were left to make do with courier doves and despatch riders?’

  Jilseth’s glass of syllabub arrived. She was glad of the interruption giving her time to consider her reply. Whatever she said to Ely would go straight to Master Kalion’s ear and then into the gossip swirling around Hadrumal.

  ‘Artifice, that’s to say, aetheric magic, is hardly purloined lore,’ she said carefully. ‘This magic of the mind was well understood in the Old Tormalin Empire and our own archivists have been helping those mainland scholars who are trying to piece it back together.’

  Since, as Jilseth had heard Planir say more than once, as long as Hadrumal was helping the curious academics in the universities of Vanam and Col, then the wizards would know exactly how studies of this entirely separate magic progressed. Of late, he was pleased to say, the scholars’ understanding of the ways in which Artifice might enable one adept to speak to another’s mind or to see or hear through another’s eyes was advancing imperfectly and very slowly.

  The more advanced enchantments continued to elude them; where aetheric magic could supposedly influence the physical world through the concentration of thought achieved through the recitation of arcane rhymes. If only they could fathom the underlying principles which the ancient adepts had followed when devising those resonant phrases, the scholars lamented.

  ‘Our fellow mages in Suthyfer are also working with aetheric adepts,’ Jilseth po
inted out, ‘comparing and contrasting their respective magics.’

  ‘Entirely typical of those ingrates and malcontents, sharing our secrets with would-be Artificers who owe our traditions no allegiance.’ Ely looked through the open door at the Element Master and Archmage still deep in conversation. ‘That’s hardly the worst of it. The Hearth Master says that the Emperor of Tormalin has his lackeys searching every noble house’s archive for any hint of such lore. He talks of granting a new university its charter to draw every scrap of such learning together. We cannot ignore such an affront to Hadrumal’s standing!’

  She seemed genuinely offended, not merely reflecting the Hearth Master’s ire.

  ‘As I understand it, Emperor Tadriol has talked of founding this new university for the last five years,’ Jilseth observed. ‘No stone’s yet been set atop another. Can you think of a city which would welcome a congress of Aetheric adepts, any more than their forefathers welcomed Archmage Trydek when he sought a refuge for the mageborn?’

  ‘That could change in a heartbeat,’ Ely snapped, ‘when these so-called adepts of Artifice woo the mainland’s lords and princes with offers of magical assistance that owes no allegiance to the Archmage and is not subject to his authority. Who knows what other underhand means they might use? Sending suggestions into a sleeper’s dreams or strengthening a mere inclination into absolute conviction. You said yourself this is a magic of the mind.’

  Jilseth was beginning to think she’d spent too much time away from Hadrumal of late. Was this fear and suspicion of Artifice gaining a foothold on the island? She had only thought it an oddity dredged up by the Lescari rebels. Any real understanding of aetheric magic had been lost in the collapse of the Old Tormalin Empire. Without its arcane enchantments, those noble houses had never been able to regain their dominion over Lescar, Caladhria and Dalasor. Nor would they, now that wizardry had arisen to its present eminence, untrammelled by the fealty which the Artificers had sworn to their princes.