Dangerous Waters

by Juliet E. McKenna

  Suspicion soured the sweet wine on Jilseth’s tongue. ‘I hope the Hearth Master doesn’t intend raising an alarm.’

  What would Planir do if he was so openly defied? How successfully might Kalion argue that merely offering a warning didn’t outrage Hadrumal’s edicts? Was that so very different to passing on the interpretation of the skies which Velindre had given Tornauld?

  Jilseth grew more concerned as she realised Ely was hesitating too long before replying.

  ‘The Hearth Master will act as he sees fit,’ the lissom magewoman said stiffly.

  Tornauld wasn’t going to let that evasion pass. ‘Always acting in accordance with the Archmage’s wishes?’

  Ely ignored him in favour of challenging Nolyen. ‘Are you still scrying after that trooper who escaped the slavers? To see how far he’s spreading his tales to discredit wizardry?’

  Jilseth noticed drinkers at several nearby tables were glancing in their direction, their curiosity caught by this ill-tempered exchange. Before she could warn Ely off openly discussing matters better reserved for the Council chamber, Nolyen had already spoken.

  ‘What do you make of his present course? Do you think he’s making for Col or Peorle now that the galley’s turned into the Gulf?’

  ‘You can’t make out his conversations any longer?’ Ely commiserated.

  ‘If I can’t, nor can Canfor.’ Tornauld’s belligerence dared her to say different.

  Ely ignored him again. ‘He’s making for Col. Where else? So many Ensaimin merchant traders have been losing ships at sea to these marauders. The Halferan trooper will be rallying vessels and men to patrol the sea lanes, to lend weight to the Caladhrians’ defiance on land.’

  ‘Exactly as the Archmage predicted,’ Jilseth said firmly. ‘The mainlanders can take care of themselves once they put their shoulders to the wheel.’

  ‘Don’t let us keep you.’ Nolyen nodded to the bottle of wine in Ely’s hand. ‘You’re letting the Hearth Master’s wine get warm.’

  ‘I am not!’ Affronted, Ely looked down at the bottle in her hand.

  Unfortunately for her, Nolyen was entirely correct. The green glass was dry, the wine within already matching the day’s heat.

  ‘A first season apprentice could do better.’ Tornauld mocked.

  The bottle turned milky with frost. Nolyen winced. ‘You had better ask for another. That vintage is ruined.’

  ‘Mind your—’ The bottle shattered in Ely’s hand. The wine, a solid lump of ice, slipped from her lacerated fingers to smash on the floorboards amid the shattered glass.

  Smears of blood coloured the frozen wine. Alarmed, Jilseth sprang up, reaching for Ely’s hand. ‘Let me—’

  But Ely fled amid cheers and laughter, heedlessly raised according to custom whenever a pot man or serving maid dropped a loaded tray. The affronted sweep of the magewoman’s gown left a trail of melting ice and broken glass.

  ‘I suppose that wasn’t very kind of us.’ Tornauld was callously amused nonetheless.

  ‘I’m curious to know why her magic betrayed her.’ Nolyen remarked as conversations resumed around them.

  ‘It’s not as easy as you might think.’ Jilseth could see more than one mage was gesturing at the shattered glass or towards the door, after Ely. Sympathy for her humiliation seemed balanced with derision.

  Jilseth recalled her own shock at learning first hand not to cool a sealed bottle too rapidly. She’d had no notion that even a gentle knock could turn the contents to ice demanding far more space than the water that made it. But Ely was a water mage. her instincts should surely have warned her.

  ‘Why were you asking her about Col?’ Tornauld emptied the carafe of blush wine between their glasses.

  Nolyen leaned closer. ‘That trooper captain Corrain hasn’t sailed into the Gulf of Peorle. He’s heading along the Ensaimin coast.’

  ‘Where’s he going?’ Tornauld was baffled.

  ‘Wherever it is, Ely won’t know.’ That was Nolyen’s point. ‘He’s beyond the reach of her scrying. She had no idea that I was lying to her.’

  Whereas, Jilseth realised, Ely’s lies to them had distracted her sufficiently to let the wine warm in her hand.

  ‘So she’s not the fabled scryer that she’d like us to believe,’ Tornauld commented with curt satisfaction.

  ‘She’s never had any personal dealings with Corrain.’ Jilseth felt obliged to judge Ely fairly. ‘Without holding something once in his possession, focusing her magic over such distances must be a challenge, even with a water affinity.’

  ‘When will the galley sail beyond your reach?’ Tornauld asked the Caladhrian wizard.

  Nolyen was unbothered. ‘If we scry as a nexus, since you’ve met the man—’ he glanced at Jilseth ‘—our spell should reach at least as far as the Great Forest.’

  ‘What could they possibly go seeking there?’ Tornauld shook his head, perplexed.

  Jilseth frowned. ‘Corrain’s companion looks Forest born, but the Folk have no quarrel with the Aldabreshi. Archipelagan traders don’t sail so far north, never mind corsairs.’

  ‘Of course!’ Tornauld snapped his fingers.

  ‘What?’ Jilseth saw his outburst drawing curious eyes.

  ‘I was watching Kalion and his nexus yesterday.’ Tornauld was too exultant to lower his voice.

  ‘Scrying on the Hearth Master?’ Jilseth wondered uneasily who at nearby tables had heard that admission.

  ‘Only when he summons his lackeys.’ Tornauld was unrepentant. ‘To see if Canfor and Ely are spying on the Archmage.’

  Nolyen nodded his agreement. ‘What were they doing, Kalion and the rest?’

  ‘Using a diamond pendulum over a map.’ Tornauld leaned back, folding his arms in satisfaction. ‘They’re trying to find the galley that way.’

  ‘Quintessential magic, and not an easy working at that. All to keep track of an errant slave? I wonder what Kalion suspects.’ Something that meant losing sight of the galley seriously threatened Ely’s composure, Jilseth concluded. But what?

  ‘How were they faring?’ Nolyen asked with interest. ‘With the pendulum.’

  But Tornauld was looking towards the door. ‘Here’s Merenel at long last.’

  ‘Good day to you.’ More handsome than pretty, she was taller than average, with olive skin and curling black hair to proclaim her Tormalin blood. After a recent journey to Suthyfer, she’d taken to wearing breeches, shirt and jerkin rather than gowns. Many women did so on the islands in the eastern ocean, or so it was said.

  Jilseth wasn’t convinced that it was the maroon linen tunic fitting so closely to her generous curves which was drawing so much attention their way. Not when the simmering dispute between the Archmage and the Hearth Master was such favoured gossip.

  ‘Let me get more wine.’ Tornauld raised a hand to attract Master Noak’s attention.

  ‘Not on my account.’ Merenel made no move to sit. ‘The Archmage wants to see us.’

  Jilseth swallowed the last of her wine. ‘Of course.’

  Nolyen ran a nervous hand through his wavy brown hair. ‘Is there something amiss?’

  Merenel raised her brows. ‘Should there be?’

  ‘Come on.’ Jilseth was already heading for the door. ‘Where is he?’

  ‘In the Physic Garden.’

  Outside, Merenel headed down the gentle slope of the high road. As Jilseth fell into step beside her, she could hear Nolyen and Tornauld a few paces behind.

  ‘Could you see if Kalion’s nexus was able to focus the pendulum?’

  ‘It didn’t look like it.’ Tornauld was more thoughtful than triumphant. ‘I’m not sure that particular nexus has the right balance for quintessential magic.’

  ‘In balancing the respective strengths of the four affinities?’ Nolyen queried. ‘Or on account of differences in proficiency?’

  ‘I think it’s a question of temperament.’ Tornauld considered this as they walked on. ‘Ely has the talent but she’s always lacked confidence in
her own skills. She’s followed Kalion’s lead for years and Galen commands what loyalty she has left over. Can she hold her own in a nexus when Canfor’s so overbearing?’

  Their common affinity with elemental air did nothing to lessen Tornauld’s dislike of the white-haired mage.

  Nolyen was silent for a few more paces. ‘A good many texts on quintessential magic also advise balancing a nexus equally with two men and two women, as we four do.’

  Merenel looked over her shoulder. ‘Sannin holds her own in the circle with Planir, Rafrid and Herion.’

  Tornauld chuckled. ‘Sannin could hold her own against the entire Council.’

  ‘Is there much study of quintessential magic in Suthyfer?’ Jilseth asked Merenel.

  ‘Not much,’ she admitted. ‘Master Usara is more interested in trying to fathom why elemental magic and aetheric enchantments are so irreconcilable.’

  ‘I thought the wizards and the adepts were finding ways to work together,’ Tornauld objected.

  ‘Wizards and adepts are exploring how their different spells might complement each other,’ Merenel corrected him. ‘The magics remain fundamentally opposed.’

  ‘Trying to square that circle doesn’t seem a worthwhile use of Master Usara’s intellect.’ Jilseth knew that many of the Council hoped to see him as Stone Master, if Planir ever yielded that office. She had even contemplated making a visit to Suthyfer, to see if Master Usara’s insights offered any new perspective on her own affinity.

  Making the arduous journey would be a waste of time and effort if his attentions had strayed to that pointlessly intractable puzzle. Jilseth couldn’t decide if she was more relieved or disappointed.

  ‘How far can aetheric enchantments reach,’ Nolyen wondered aloud, ‘compared to a scrying?’

  Jilseth guessed he was wondering if Artifice could secure some insight into Corrain’s inexplicable voyage.

  ‘Between adept and adept?’ Merenel considered the matter. ‘Easily as far as a scrying. As far as a bespeaking wrought between mages and beyond. But without aetheric learning on both sides, as I understand it, an adept can only send their thoughts to someone they already know very well indeed.’

  ‘Not so different to scrying then, for all the differences between our magics.’ Nolyen sounded reassured.

  They walked on in silence, absorbed in individual contemplation. As they entered the alley leading to the physic garden, Jilseth gestured to unlock the gate.

  Within the enclosing walls, the air was heavy with the scent of myriad flowers, alive with the hum of bees. Planir was cutting back a tangle of honeysuckle threatening to overwhelm an espaliered apple tree.

  ‘Did anyone take note of you coming here?’

  Nolyen was taken aback. ‘I don’t know, Archmage.’

  ‘No one paid us heed.’ Jilseth hastily qualified her answer. ‘I don’t believe so, anyway.’

  ‘Unless Ely’s scrying after us.’ Tornauld glowered. ‘With Canfor drawing our words along the breezes.’

  ‘I’ve nothing to say that Master Kalion’s friends cannot hear.’ Planir looked around as though acknowledging unseen watchers before turning to the four of them.

  ‘I have decided that you will work with Master Kalion’s nexus. Exchange your insights into quintessential magic for whatever Galen, Ely and Canfor can offer. You’ll benefit by furthering your understanding of your own elemental affinity and that of your fellow wizards who were born to other disciplines.’

  Tornauld gaped. ‘Archmage?’

  Jilseth shared his astonishment. ‘May we ask what prompts this request?’

  Not that there seemed to be any room for refusal, and that was unlike Planir.

  ‘I’m seeing too much rancour and acrimony in Hadrumal,’ the Archmage said crisply. ‘I’m hearing of quarrels in the quadrangles when a handful of pupil mages declares for Kalion and the cause of intervention on the mainland while another gaggle of apprentices proclaims their support for me and the justice of Hadrumal’s detachment.’

  Nolyen nodded, troubled. ‘Wizardry cannot thrive amid division.’

  Planir startled them with a chuckle. ‘On the contrary, division is an excellent thing. Why do you suppose I spend so much of my time encouraging every mage, from highest to lowest, to pursue their individual passions, to travel wherever their fascinations might take them? Why do you suppose I urge anyone chafed by Hadrumal’s harness to see what free rein Suthyfer offers?’

  His expression grew more serious. ‘It’s factions of mages banding together that would threaten wizardry most, if I ever allowed them to become established. Master Kalion and I are agreed on that, even if his preferred solution is everyone abiding by the Archmage’s dictates.’

  Tornauld was startled into a laugh. ‘For a wizard with firelight at his fingertips, he’s as blind as a man in the dark!’

  ‘Show some respect for my element master,’ Merenel said swiftly. ‘Take him for a jackass and you only prove you’re a donkey yourself.’

  ‘Our Hearth Master is no fool, Tornauld,’ Planir agreed. ‘He is however an idealist, which is why he’s so confident that any dissent would be set aside in Hadrumal’s best interests. That’s what he would do himself.’

  Planir shook his head. ‘As I’ve told you more than once, Kalion seeks only good for Hadrumal, and after that, for the mainlanders. As far as he’s concerned, that’s easily achieved. Once the princes and powers of the mainland yield to Hadrumal’s guidance, everyone’s best interests will be secured.’

  Jilseth recalled Ely’s unguarded words in the wine shop. ‘He thinks they’ll yield if we save them from the corsairs?’

  Planir inclined his head. ‘Unfortunately, I don’t share his confidence that the next crisis would be so readily answered. So I’ll do without the mainland’s gratitude this summer for the sake of avoiding its disillusion and anger in some unforeseen season to come.’

  ‘While we go to work with the likes of Canfor, to persuade everyone that you and Master Kalion are the firmest of friends?’ Tornauld evidently loathed that prospect.

  The Archmage grinned at him. ‘I’ll settle for the hotheads realising that Kalion and I will settle our differences of opinion without anyone’s interference.’ His eyes hardened. ‘I want it understood that anyone bold enough to play advocates in the alleys and taverns will feel the scorch of Kalion’s wrath from one side and the full weight of my anger from the other.’

  Jilseth was glad she wasn’t the object of his censure. She only hoped their word carried enough weight to tilt the scales of opinion around Hadrumal’s halls.

  Nolyen’s thoughts were elsewhere. ‘Are we to work with Master Kalion’s nexus to follow that slave galley you’ve had us searching for?’

  Planir nodded. ‘Until we’re convinced that malcontent trooper isn’t going to spring some unforeseen surprise.’

  ‘While we continue to scry along the Caladhrian coast?’ Merenel asked.

  ‘For all the evidence you can gather,’ Planir confirmed, ‘to convince the Council that the barons can manage their affairs without our interference.’

  ‘And as long as we’re working with them, Canfor, Galen and Ely won’t be able to deny such evidence.’ A slow smile spread across Tornauld’s face.

  Planir’s grin answered him. ‘Quite so.’

  Jilseth found her own spirits rising. Hadrumal had escaped being entangled in Lescar’s wars. Now she could reasonably hope wizardry wouldn’t be dragged into Caladhrian affairs. The last echoes of Minelas’s treachery were finally fading away.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

  Black Turtle Isle, in the domain of Nahik Jarir

  37th of For-Summer

  HOSH WAS TREADING very carefully, and not only because the noon sun made the ground hot enough to scorch the soles of his feet. Not just because he was carrying a heavy bucket brim full of water.

  The anchorage was crowded with unfamiliar vessels; twelve galleys at last count and three triremes. Wasn’t Grewa, the blind corsair, worrie
d that one of their masters might threaten his dominion over these raiders? Or had he brought more triremes here to make sure that none of the galley masters could try to usurp his authority?

  Hosh had more immediate concerns. Most of the arriving ships’ slaves were kept afloat but some had to be allowed ashore to fetch water. Though the Aldabreshi swordsmen and crewmen were supposedly restricted to the beach, every day saw some of them wandering across to the encampment between the resident captains’ pavilions. That rough and ready settlement had doubled in size since the start of the spring as more ships had chosen to sail in the blind corsair’s wake.

  How many of them were regretting that choice now or second-guessing the portents that had urged it? Since that first raid when two galleys had failed to return, there had been two more expeditions northwards. Under high tides and dark skies, two more ships had been lost and when both moons had been at their full, three had disappeared.

  Corsairs prowled the shore at dusk and dawn, disputing the patterns of clouds and studying the moons and constellations and the jewelled stars wandering the heavens most intensely of all.

  There were daily clashes between corsair and corsair, between raider and rower, between slave and slave. Not that anyone ever hurried to break them up, not even Ducah, whose whip and blade enforced such rigid discipline between the Reef Eagle’s rowers ashore. When he found such a fight, the brute would hold off anyone trying to intervene. Then he’d take wagers from anyone gathering to see the sport, until one of the wretches lay dead at the other’s hand.

  Without Corrain, Hosh had no one to watch his back. So he was spending as much time as he could lurking around the Reef Eagle pavilion’s back steps.

  Now he was paying the price, summoned to fill this bucket from the jealously guarded well in the pavilion’s courtyard. Now he had to carry the cumbersome burden across the searing dust between the encampment and the shore. Every blade of grass had long since been worn away by uncounted feet.