Dangerous Waters

by Juliet E. McKenna

  ‘Flood Mistress.’ Jilseth braced herself. At least this unexpected gathering gave her a chance to test some arguments in her own defence. She only wished she could think of more.

  ‘That last spell which was your final undoing, that was blackblade?’ Troanna was hardly asking a question. Everyone in the room knew the answer.

  ‘It was,’ Jilseth said steadily.

  Troanna shot a warning glance at Ely as the slender magewoman whispered to Galen. Ely froze.

  ‘How did you learn such a working and when?’

  Jilseth hadn’t expected that. ‘I— that’s to say—’

  ‘I taught it to her,’ Planir said coolly. ‘In case of direst need, and that situation on the Halferan road surely qualified.’

  ‘The highest level of quadrate magic. Not easy in such circumstances.’ Rafrid turned to smile at Jilseth again. ‘Well done.’

  Troanna ignored them both. ‘Your magic killed. What have you to say to that?’

  Jilseth could see Canfor’s face hardening on the far side of the room. He didn’t like to see the Cloud Master praise any mage of different discipline.

  ‘Well?’ Troanna demanded.

  Jilseth thrust the distraction aside. ‘I used my magic in my own defence as we have always been told is permitted.’

  As Planir had insisted when he’d explained the deadly sorcery, his silence spell thrusting Zurenne away from the withdrawing room so that no one might overhear, in Hadrumal or Halferan. Why had he done that, if he truly had no qualms about Jilseth using such lethal magic?

  Troanna shook her head. ‘You could have saved your own neck by translocating away.’

  ‘I wasn’t sure I had the strength or focus to achieve a translocation.’ That was the honest truth, much as Jilseth hated to admit it.

  Troanna continued as if she hadn’t spoken. ‘Instead you gave those Caladhrian swordsmen a magical means to kill. What will that mean for Hadrumal’s reputation on the mainland?’

  ‘It should enhance it,’ Kalion growled, ‘and not before time.’

  Jilseth wasn’t sure if the Hearth Master was defending her or not, given his scathing look at Planir.

  ‘You think we should arm all the Caladhrians thus?’ the Archmage challenged him.

  ‘I think we have reached the point where doing nothing no longer remains an option,’ Kalion replied angrily.

  ‘By your leave?’ Troanna scowled at the two men. ‘Jilseth?’

  She had no choice but to answer the Flood Mistress. All she could think of was another question. Didn’t that mean she’d already lost the argument? She pressed on.

  ‘What of Hadrumal’s reputation, if I had used my magic to flee and left Lady Zurenne and her daughters to be slaughtered?’

  Too late, Jilseth realised she was echoing Planir. That didn’t endear her to Kalion, judging by his expression.

  Troanna raised her eyebrows. ‘You would rather we had left you there?’

  ‘Not at all.’ Jilseth managed not to point out that she’d scarcely had a choice in the matter. She had been senseless at the time.

  ‘If the barons of Caladhria’s parliament challenge our actions in rescuing Jilseth, we can point out that she left the Halferans much better equipped to defend themselves,’ Rafrid observed. ‘With the blackblade bespelling their weapons.’

  ‘What of this? What if that?’ The Archmage snapped his fingers and a stone appeared from nowhere to fall into the scrying bowl. ‘You understand ripples, Troanna. They proceed in predictable patterns only until something else interrupts them. It’s not fair to demand answers of Jilseth when none of us knows what will happen next.’

  ‘To be precise, until we know what this Mandarkin mage will do next.’ Rafrid nodded agreement. ‘Which will interest the Council far more than any mainlander baron’s outrage.’

  ‘Shannet will tell you to kill him and be done with it. I’m forced to say I must agree.’ Even so, Troanna couldn’t hide her dislike of the frail old magewoman. ‘Your rights and duties as Archmage extend over all those using wizardry in Caladhria or any other land once part of the Old Tormalin Empire.’

  Kalion nodded. ‘The Solurans cannot dispute it. Archmage Trydek secured that agreement from every Soluran Order.’

  ‘I cannot share your confidence, and I have easily as many acquaintances across Soluran wizardry,’ retorted Planir. ‘Half of the Orders listed in Trydek’s Decree have vanished into the mists of time, to be replaced by another score or more since. None of their Elders have signed any such agreement or even know of Trydek’s Decree, as likely as not.’

  Rafrid nodded. ‘They’ll acknowledge Hadrumal’s authority over our own mageborn. There can be no argument there. But do you think any Order will stand idly by and let us discipline one of their own?’

  ‘I cannot think of anything that will unite Soluran wizardry faster,’ Planir said flatly, ‘and the last thing we want to see is an Archmage in Solith with a tower overlooking the Lake of Kings.’

  Despite her persistent light-headedness, even Jilseth could see that Planir’s words were weighted with particular meaning for the Element Masters and Mistress. It was some consolation to see that Canfor, Ely and Galen had no more idea than she did why that was so significant. Nor yet Tornauld and Nolyen, Herion, Sannin or Merenel.

  Rafrid was looking beyond the table to those other seated wizards. ‘Do we want any Soluran Elder to assume that he has similarly free rein over Hadrumal’s mages, if one of us strays within reach?’

  Planir shook his head. ‘I would be failing in my duty as Archmage if I allowed such a precedent to stand.’

  Kalion waved an irritated hand. ‘This mage is of Mandarkin. The Solurans will be delighted to see him dead. We all know that.’

  ‘Do we know what Mandarkin wizardry’s enmity might mean for Hadrumal?’ Rafrid answered his own question. ‘No, we don’t, Hearth Master, and I for one would like to know a good deal more about these distant mages before we risk that roll of the runes.’

  Kalion would have replied but Rafrid silenced him with a curt shake of his head. ‘I don’t want to hear only from our Soluran friends. With all goodwill, they cannot be impartial. Hatred for Mandarkin is bred in Soluran bone.’

  Troanna wasn’t listening. She snapped her fingers and the scrying bowl glowed green. ‘These mages of The Order of Fornet. They were pursuing this Mandarkin. Shall we give them leave to hunt in our dominion? Then we won’t encroach on Soluran sensibilities.’

  ‘Letting them do our dirty work for us?’ Planir grinned before looking more serious. ‘That is an option we’d do well to consider.’

  ‘There’ll be those on the Council who’ll object,’ Rafrid warned him.

  For the first time, Kalion agreed with the Cloud Master. ‘Those who’ve got wind of his magic. There’s a good deal there that we’ve not seen before.’

  ‘Very good, Hearth Master,’ Planir approved.

  ‘What?’ Kalion looked bewildered.

  Planir raised a quizzical eyebrow. ‘Those who’ve got wind of an air mage’s magic?’

  ‘This is hardly the time for levity,’ Troanna said testily, ‘and a weak joke is hardly improved by having to explain it.’

  As far as Jilseth could see, Kalion hadn’t even realised he’d made a jest. He smiled belatedly, unconvincing.

  ‘I must confess,’ Rafrid admitted, ‘I’m curious to know how that Mandarkin scryed for the Caladhrian’s home by using his blood.’

  ‘And how he tied that into translocating them both straight there,’ Planir was equally frank in his curiosity. ‘There was earth magic in that working, I’m sure of it.’

  ‘It certainly wasn’t pure fire.’ Kalion was drumming his fingers again.

  Jilseth was seized by a longing for the Soluran spell that snapped bones. Just the tiniest fracture in one of the Hearth Master’s fingers would stop his cursed tapping.

  She folded her own hands in her lap and looked down. When this abominable exhaustion passed, she really hope
d she would feel less bad-tempered.

  ‘I wonder who’ll be the first in the Council,’ Rafrid speculated, ‘to suggest we offer the Mandarkin sanctuary.’

  Jilseth reckoned Canfor was ready to oblige well before the Council met. He was looking at the scrying bowl with an avid expression somewhere between desire and impatience.

  To be fair, he wasn’t the only one. She looked at the mages sitting respectfully silent around the four at the table. It would be no challenge to find a nexus in this room who’d haul the Mandarkin straight here, whether or not he wanted to come.

  ‘To learn all we can of his lore? Isn’t that one of our foremost duties to our office?’ With a rueful shake of her head, Troanna noticed, for the first time apparently, that she was still wearing her gardening apron. She stripped it off and bundled it in her lap, muttering under her breath.

  ‘What will the Soluran Orders make of that?’ Rafrid threw the question out not expecting an answer.

  Kalion smacked his hands down on the table. ‘What are we going to do?’

  ‘Why do we have to do anything?’ Planir’s reply was as immediate as it was predictable.

  Rafrid barely managed to interrupt the wrathful Hearth Master. ‘The Aldabreshin may yet solve our problems for us.’

  ‘What?’ That distracted Kalion from his perpetual argument with Planir.

  Rafrid nodded at the scrying bowl. ‘That Mandarkin mage has just slaughtered an entire corsair band. As we know full well, the Archipelagans consider the only good wizard is a dead wizard, and preferably skinned alive for good measure. You don’t think they’ll pursue him?’

  ‘Who’s to tell them what occurred?’ Kalion wasn’t challenging Rafrid. He looked thoughtful.

  ‘There’s every chance some stray raider was lurking in that village,’ Rafrid pointed out. ‘He’ll be running for the shore like a fox with his tail on fire.’

  ‘So unless he has the wits of an addled egg, this wizard will take himself back to Mandarkin and that will be an end to it.’ Planir didn’t sound too hopeful.

  Nor did Rafrid. ‘Only if someone warns him about the Aldabreshin and their flensing knives.’

  ‘Then they have to catch him,’ Troanna said drily, ‘without another boatload of men dying.’

  ‘He won’t be in any hurry to leave.’ Kalion shook his head emphatically. ‘Not when the Caladhrian barons’ parliament will offer him wealth beyond imagining to sink every raiding galley plaguing their coast.’ He glared at Planir. ‘Which is why, Archmage, doing nothing no longer remains an option.’

  His assertion hung in the air.

  ‘That is a distinct possibility,’ Planir acknowledged. ‘Do you think they will summon a special sitting of the parliament?’

  ‘Have they done that inside a generation?’ Rafrid frowned.

  ‘Of course they will.’ Kalion had no doubt of it. ‘With nearly eighty days before the Autumn Equinox? Not even the most hidebound lord will protest when they learn a mage is on hand here and now to save the year’s harvests and to put an end to this corsair menace for good.’

  For the first time, Planir looked at Jilseth. He smiled. ‘It seems you have further business with Lady Zurenne and Halferan’s concerns.’ He glanced around the table. ‘I cannot think of a better way to learn what the Caladhrian parliament intends, and to discover what this infuriatingly persistent Captain Corrain has promised his new ally.’

  ‘True enough.’ Kalion said grudgingly.

  ‘Once we have some idea what they’re planning, your baronial contacts will be invaluable,’ Planir assured him.

  ‘Never mind the Caladhrian parliament,’ Rafrid said dubiously. ‘You’ll have to persuade the Widow Halferan of our goodwill, after our nexus rescued Jilseth and left her all alone on the road.’

  ‘Her men fought safely through to Karpis.’ Troanna was strikingly unsympathetic.

  Jilseth would have expected more compassion of a mother, and Troanna was a grandmother to boot.

  But the Flood Mistress was first and foremost a mage. It was never wise to assume that a wizard would react as some mundane man or woman might.

  A thought hovered on the edge of her exhausted mind. How much more foolish it might be to assume they could guess the Mandarkin’s future course. They knew nothing of the man himself and precious little of his deadly magecraft, or the harsh land that had spawned it.

  The Archmage had an answer for Rafrid. ‘We can start by making good on our promise to Lady Zurenne, to find her errant erstwhile steward.’

  Jilseth had no idea what Planir was talking about. Then she remembered. Starrid. She’d promised to find him for Zurenne and recover whatever he’d stolen. Was that only a few days ago? It seemed like half a year.

  She wouldn’t be doing that any time soon, not unless her magic returned to some approximation of her usual strength. Jilseth’s chin lifted defiantly against the nagging fear that it never would. A fear she couldn’t admit to anyone, not even Planir.

  CHAPTER THIRTY-NINE

  Siprel Inlet, Caladhria

  12th of Aft-Summer

  ‘YOU CANNOT KILL everyone.’ Corrain grabbed Anskal’s bony shoulder. ‘You must not destroy the ship, not before we have seen who is captive below decks or chained to the oars.’

  Not that Lady Zurenne would be shackled on the rowing benches, nor her daughters. But Corrain clung to that last fragile hope; they might be here with other newly enslaved innocents in the galley’s hold.

  He hadn’t found their bodies when he’d steeled himself to search those abandoned wagons on the road leading away from the manor, demanding that one concession from Anskal before agreeing to tell him what he knew of the raiders’ vessels and who might be aboard. The Mandarkin mage had been very eager to find the black-bearded corsair’s galley and whatever treasure it might hold.

  Once Anskal had asked his questions, blood from one of those killed in Halferan had been enough to bring them here. Corrain was surprised to see that the black-bearded corsair had brought his galley to anchor in this inlet. The bastard must have seen those two half-submerged blackened hulks, as his rowers rounded that bend.

  Doubtless he’d been too arrogant to imagine such a fate could ever befall him. More fool him, Corrain thought, though the notion brought him no great comfort.

  Nor was it much consolation to see how well the men of Tallat and Myrist had done, to send so many of the raiders to Saedrin to answer for their crimes. Bodies jostled in the water. The retreating tide was forcing them ever closer together in the shrinking stream. Laggard corpses were stranded, one by one.

  Marsh kites weren’t letting this windfall go to waste. From their vantage point behind one of the ubiquitous salt-thorn thickets, Corrain watched the brindled birds feed. They must have come from leagues around. Lesser scavengers could only wheel overhead, calling plaintively.

  Where the reeds met the mud, silver lizards darted out to snatch mouthfuls from some rotting corsair already washed back and forth by successive tides. When the waters returned, the crabs would come scuttling to claim their share. Not too swiftly, Corrain hoped. These scum deserved a generation of torment at the claws of Poldrion’s demons. A Soluran generation; thirty three years compared to the Tormalin twenty five.

  ‘I cannot burn this one?’ Anskal gestured at the galley riding at anchor close by the burned-out wrecks.

  ‘Not till we know there are no innocents aboard.’ Corrain repeated. ‘Not before we’ve found your coin,’ he added quickly.

  That gave Anskal pause for thought. The mage stared at the galley, eyes narrowing.

  Had Captain Mersed burned those captured ships deliberately? Corrain was sure he’d warned him against leaving such alarming evidence to warn off other corsairs who might fall into their hands. Had the young Tallat captain ignored him? Or had some sticky fire got away from the raiders when they tried to hurl it at their attackers?

  On one ship, perhaps, but to burn both so thoroughly? Corrain could always go to Tallat and ask. Then
he would be taken straight to the baron, who would ask him all manner of questions, and Corrain would have to admit to his abject failure to make good on the boasts he’d made before so many witnesses, before he’d sailed north from this very inlet.

  Anskal nodded. ‘I have it.’

  Before Corrain could ask what he meant, three horizontal shafts of lighting sliced across the inlet. Each one skewered a man standing on the stern platform beside the ladders grounded on the mud. Ripping straight through each man’s chest, the lacerating brightness leaped onwards to the closest corsair. As those men died, the lightning bolts sprang on to kill the next and the next after that.

  Before Corrain could shake off the tormenting recollection of Minelas murdering Captain Gefren and his comrades in these very marshes, the galley was rid of all the armed and armoured Aldabreshi. Their gaping wounds smoking, they sprawled dead and blackened from the stern platform all along the central walkway to the prow and its upthrust post.

  ‘Now we find the gold,’ Anskal gloated. Corrain followed him across the sodden earth and up the galley’s stern ladders. ‘Where?’ Anskal demanded.

  Silent, Corrain kicked a lightning-scarred corpse aside and hauled up the stern hatch. ‘Down here.’

  He went first, ignoring the mage’s annoyance. If there were any Halferan women and children below, Corrain would see them brought up into the sunlight without any delay.

  But no such good fortune offset all the calamities he had returned to thus far. The holds were empty of people. Instead, coin coffers were stacked waist high and topped with baskets filled with platters and cutlery, candlesticks and any other fine wares a household might boast of, wrought from silver or pewter. The black-bearded bastard and his gang had been plundering the Caladhrian coast far and wide.

  Corrain opened the topmost of a slew of leather bags bundled together in sacking. He saw tangled gold and the glitter of gems; jewellery from the humblest ring cut from a dead woman’s hand to necklaces once gracing the neck of a fine merchant’s wife. Corrain threw the bag away. The thought of finding some festival gift that Lord Halferan had given Zurenne wasn’t to be borne.