By Juliet E. McKenna
The Tales of Einarinn
THE THIEF’S GAMBLE
THE SWORDSMAN’S OATH
THE GAMBLER’S FORTUNE
THE WARRIOR’S BOND
THE ASSASSIN’S EDGE
ORBIT
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An Orbit Book
First published in Great Britain by Orbit
Copyright © 2001 by Juliet E. McKenna The moral right of the author has been asserted.
All characters and events in this publication are fictitious and any resemblance to real persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.
All rights reserved.
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A CIP catalogue record for this book is available from the British Library.
ISBN 1-84149-065-2
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Dedication
For Mike and Sue, always there.
Acknowledgements
Another year, another book and as always, I couldn’t do it without those who know a friend can’t be a flatterer—and when to offer unconditional support as well as bracing criticism, interesting facts, curious books and cunning notions. My thanks as ever to Steve, Mike, Sue, Helen, Liz, Lisa, Penny and Rachel, with particular gratitude to Andy G for providing inspiration at a crucial juncture by suffering concussion.
Michael S R merits special mention for his help with the ever-vexed title question on the Hammersmith and City Line, and Pete C did me a considerable service with his question about the arm ring. Also, thanks to the non-fictional Burquest family for allowing me the use of their name. In translating my work into Dutch, Richard H has made me pay close attention to several aspects of my writing, for which I am most grateful. I am also indebted to those, too numerous to mention, who have helpfully answered some downright bizarre email queries at first or second hand.
For constant help with the practicalities of life as author and mother, I thank Sharon, friend and neighbour without peer, and Margaret, for taking home one extra at key points. Ernie and Betty remain vital props and my thanks to Mum and David for the lads’ summer holiday (and thereby, child-free writing time).
Time brings change and at Orbit I am most ably supported by Simon, Ben and Tamsin, while Tim remains editor without equal. The unstinting efforts of Adrian and his colleagues are very much appreciated, as is the enthusiasm of so many booksellers and reviewers, such essential links in the chain between author and booklover. My final thanks go to all those readers who have passed their appreciation of our efforts back up the line.
CONTENTS
COVER
TITLE
ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS
MAPS
CHAPTER 1
CHAPTER 2
CHAPTER 3
CHAPTER 4
CHAPTER 5
CHAPTER 6
CHAPTER 7
CHAPTER ONE
The Sieur’s Frontispiece to the D’Olbriot
Chronicle, as Written by Messire Guliel in His
Own Hand at This Winter Solstice, Concluding
the Second Year of Tadriol the Provident
There are years when I swear it takes me as long to compose this short summary of notable events as it does for all the clerks and archivists, the stewards and chamberlains to abridge their ledgers and records for the posterity of the House. There have been times when I wonder if any Sieur in later generations will even read my carefully chosen words detailing important alliances, significant births or sorely mourned deaths. This year and last, my fear is that some future guardian of D’Olbriot’s interests will treat my record with the same amused condescension I have been wont to feel when reading the more fanciful entries made by my forebears.
But as a rational man I must accept I can do nothing to counter whatever beliefs or prejudices might influence subsequent readers of this annal. By that same token, I can only relate the startling dealings of this past year and ask that my words be accepted as the unvarnished truth, on my oath as Sieur of this House.
The first year of our new Emperor’s reign concluded with the discovery of islands far in the eastern ocean, inhabited by a race of men hostile to Tormalin and backed by inimical magic entirely unlike conventional wizardry. These men of the Ice Islands—or in their own tongue, Elietimm—were pursuing some arcane purpose of their own that led them to attack vulnerable members of this and other Names, robbing them of heirloom jewels and artefacts. As this year opened, I was persuaded by Planir, Archmage of Hadrumal, to assist his search for answers to this puzzle by granting him the service of Ryshad Tathel, sworn to this House for ten years and more. Ryshad had already done much to track these villians to their remote lair, as he sought justice in my Name for a victim from our House. I also acceded to the wizard’s suggestion that I reward Ryshad with an ancient sword the Archmage had recently returned to me.
Believe me as I declare here and for perpetuity that I had no notion what this seemingly innocent gesture might demand of Ryshad. But as my honour binds me, I confess I might have yet done the same, even had I known what would befall him. My duty as Sieur of this House demands I must look to the wider interests of all, even at severest cost to any one individual.
These Elietimm pursued Ryshad and the wizards he had been sent to protect, seeking the sword I had given and other artefacts held by the mages. By some foul connivance, the Elietimm encompassed Ryshad’s enslavement by the Aldabreshin, and it was only by virtue of his resourcefulness and courage that the man escaped alive and whole from the savagery of those southern islands. His first safe landfall beyond the Archipelago was regrettably the island of Hadrumal. There, Planir determined the sword Ryshad carried held vital knowledge, locked within it by archaic enchantments. I do not pretend to understand by what means but the Archmage had learned that this blade and other treasures sought by the brutal Elietimm had come from that supposedly rich and fertile colony founded by Tormalin nobles in the final years of Nemith the Last, and lost thereafter in the mists of the Chaos that toppled the Old Empire.
Thus far I can picture your astonishment, unknown reader, but hereafter I am concerned lest you dismiss my words as incredible. Do not; I charge you by whatever beliefs you hold dear. There will be other records to attest to this, as I have declared all that follows before the Convocation of Princes in my capacity as Adjurist.
The information Archmage Planir retrieved by his magics led him and mercenaries backed by D’Olbriot gold, carried on D’Olbriot ships, to the far side of the ocean, where they found the long-buried ruins of that lost colony. More astonishing yet, they discovered nigh on a thousand of those who had crossed the ocean in the distant past still living, if it could be called living, held in ensorcelled sleep through all the generations that had intervened. Enchantment was finally used in service of Tormalin blood to revive these unfortunates.
It is now clear that the Elietimm had been seeking these hidden sleepers intent on their utter destruction, determined to claim this vast, unfettered land. Seeing by whatever arcane means they had been outflanked, the Elietimm attacked and Ryshad Tat
hel again distinguished himself as the first assault was successfully driven off. Wizardly magic was also vital in countering fell Elietimm enchantments, so, of necessity, I continue my association with Planir. This will entitle me to call on his assistance, should any Elietimm magic be used against Tormalin. I am also taking steps to have every ancient record and archive of the House and the shrines under our protection searched for lore that might explain the mysteries of Artifice. Knowledge of such enchantments could prove critical in some as yet unforeseen struggle. When all else fails, one must fight fire with fire.
At this close of the year, I am relieved beyond measure to state we have seen no more ships come out of the north to harry coasts on either side of the ocean. The sole surviving noble patron of the original colony is Temar, Esquire D’Alsennin, and accordingly we are working closely with him. The colonists are even now attempting to rebuild their livelihoods, and as soon as the Spring Equinox brings surcease from winter’s storms we will send them all the assistance D’Olbriot can offer. However, it remains to be seen how close our two realms can grow, given these ancients are still so dependent on religious beliefs that we in this present generation have long since discarded as superstition. I foresee it will fall to D ’Olbriot to guide these innocents to a more rational understanding of the world and their place within it.
The Shrine of Ostrin, Bremilayne
9th of For-Summer in the Third Year of
Tadriol the Provident, Afternoon
It’s raining darning needles out there.” That’s what we say in Zyoutessela when a summer storm brings fine, piercing rain sweeping in from the ocean. Drizzle content to hang as mist on more sheltered shores is whipped by merciless winds to sting skin and soak clothing, leaving a lingering chill long after the sun has returned. Not that I had any concerns, watching the weather’s vagaries from a comfortable lodging high on a hill above the bustle of the harbour.
“Do you get storms like these in Hadrumal, Casuel? You must face heavy weather off the Soluran Sea.”
My companion acknowledged my remarks with a sour grunt as he snapped fingers at a candle stand. The wicks flared with surprise at being called into service, but the louring skies made the room too dim for reading. Today Casuel was fretting over his almanac, a tide table and a recently acquired set of maps. I suppose it made a change from the ancient tomes he’d been scouring for the last two seasons, hunting hints of lost lore from one end of Toremal to the other, garnering clues that might unravel the mysteries of the past. I admired his scholarship, but in his place I’d have taken these few days to draw breath, waiting to see if those on the ship we so eagerly anticipated could supply some answers.
There was a rattle behind me. I turned to see Casuel had pushed aside my game board. The trees of the Forest had toppled over to knock into apples thrushes and pied crows, sending the little wooden birds skittering over the scarred wooden surface. I held my peace; I didn’t particularly want to finish the game and Casuel wasn’t going to learn anything from another defeat to add to the three he’d already suffered. The wizard might be learned in his abstract arts but he was never going to win a game of Raven till he overcame the spinelessness that inevitably hamstrung his hopelessly convoluted plans.
I squinted into the gloom, trying to distinguish between the ripples in the glass and the torrents of rain blurring the vista. Black squalls striped the swags of grey cloud, dragging curtains of rain across the white-capped, grey-green swells. “Is that a sail?”
Casuel shot an accusing look at the timepiece on the mantelshelf. “I hardly think so. It’s barely past the sixth hour and we don’t expect them before the evening tide.”
I shrugged. “I don’t suppose they expected Dastennin would send a storm to push them on.” That darker shape in the turmoil of the water was too regular to be shadow or swell. That fluttering white was too constant to be wind-driven spume. Was it the ship we’d spent two days of idle comfort awaiting? I took up the spyglass I’d bought that morning, one of the finest instruments the skilled seafarers of the eastern shore could supply. Opening the upper light of the window, I steadied the leather-bound cylinder on the sill, ignoring the flutter of paper riffled by an opportunist gust darting inside.
“Saedrin’s stones, Ryshad!” Casuel slapped at uncooperative documents, cursing as his candles were snuffed.
I ignored him, sweeping the brass circle over the roiling surface of the sea. Where was that fugitive shape? I checked back with my naked eye—there, I had it! Not a coaster; an ocean ship, with steep sides, three masts and deck castles fore and aft.
“Are there any ships due in from the south?” I asked Casuel, minutely adjusting my glass to keep the tiny image in view.
Pages rustled behind me. “No, nothing expected from Zyoutessela or Kalaven until the middle of the season.”
“That’s according to your lists?” I didn’t share Casuel’s faith in inked columns of names and dates. My father may be a mason but I’d known plenty of sailors growing up in Zyoutessela, an isthmus city uniquely favoured by Dastennin with ports to both east and west. This could well be some ship whose captain had risked a profitable if unscheduled voyage. I find seafarers a curious mix of the bold and the cautious, men who plan obsessively for every eventuality they might face once out of reach of harbour but who throw caution to the winds to seize some unforeseen opportunity winging past.
Casuel came to stand at my shoulder, a sheaf of documents in his hand. “It could be from Inglis.”
The metal ring cold in my eye stopped me from shaking my head. “I don’t think so, not coming in on that course.” I leaned forward in a futile effort to see some identifying flag.
“What is it?” Casuel demanded.
I was hissing through my teeth as my concern for the vessel grew. “I think they’re carrying too much sail.” The masts were trimmed with the barest reef of white, but even that was enough to let the winds make a plaything of the ship. I looked up from the spyglass and out at the ocean. The captain’s choices were going from bad to worse. A run for the sheltering embrace of the massive harbour wall would mean letting the storm batter broad on the beam, with seas heavy enough to sink the ship. Turning the prow into the weather risked being driven clear away from the safe anchorage. Taking his chances on the open ocean might save the ship but the captain had wind and tide against him and the Lord of the Sea hones this ocean coast to a razor’s edge with the scour of wind and water. I could see the unforgiving reefs tearing the rolling waves into fraying skeins of foam beyond the sea wall. “Dastennin grant them grace,” I murmured.
Casuel raised himself on tiptoe to look out of the window where my few fingers of extra height saved me the effort. A spatter of rain made him duck and look through the lower pane, brushing wavy brown hair out of his dark eyes. I wiped drops from the end of the spyglass and took a moment to study the sky. Slate-coloured storm clouds threw down rain to batter the bruised seas, crushing the crests of the waves into flat smears of spume. I savoured the sharp salt freshness carried on the wind but then I was safe ashore.
The bowsprit dipped deep into a mountainous sea, wrenching itself free a breath later but the whole ship seemed to shudder, embattled decks awash. Imagination supplied the cries of the panicked passengers inside my head, curses from hard-pressed crew, the groan of straining timber, the insidious sound of water penetrating stressed seams. Pale canvas went soaring away from the masts like fleeing seabirds. The captain had opted to cut loose his sails but the ocean was fighting him on every side now, contrary wind and current confusing rudder and keel.
“Are they going to sink?” the wizard asked in a hesitant voice.
“I don’t know.” My knuckles were white on the spyglass, frustration hollow in my gut. “You said there’d be a mage on board. Can’t you bespeak him, work with him somehow?”
“Even assuming this is the colonists’ ship, my talents are based in the element of earth,” said Casuel with habitual pomposity. “At this distance, my chances of influe
ncing the combined power of air and water that such a storm would generate…” His voice tailed off with honest regret.
The storm-tossed ship slid across my field of view and I cursed as it escaped me. Looking up, I exclaimed with inarticulate surprise. “There’s another one.”
Casuel scrubbed crossly at glass fogged by his breath. “Where?”
“Take a line from the roof of the fish market and out past the end of the harbour wall.” I turned my glass on the newcomer and frowned. “They’re rigged for fair weather.”
“They can’t be,” said Casuel with arbitrary authority.
“I’m the one with the spyglass, Casuel.” I forced myself to keep my tone mild. Irritating he might be, but I had to work with the wizard and that meant civilized manners from me, even if Casuel couldn’t manage common courtesy.
Time enough for idle thoughts later. I focused on the second boat, a round-bellied coastal craft with triangular sails plump and complacent when it should have been fighting for its life in those surging seas. Heedless of raging swells fighting to ram it on to the rocks, it was sweeping serenely towards the harbour.
“Oh.” Casuel’s tone was heavy with displeasure.
“Magic?” I hardly needed mystical communion with the elements to realise that, when I could see the ship defying all sense and logic.
“An advanced practitioner,” Casuel confirmed with glum envy.
I looked for some telltale of magic, a crackle of blue light or a ball of unearthly radiance clinging to the masthead. Deep-water sailors talk of such things, calling it the Eye of Dastennin. There was nothing to see; perhaps this unknown wizard considered it enough to set the ship riding high in the water, untouched by the storm.
I looked back abruptly to the first vessel, now heeling dangerously. It had moved a full length or more closer to the seething rocks, its plight ever more perilous. As we watched, helpless, a great wave plunged over the deck, the waist of the ship vanishing completely, deck castles alone resisting the insatiable seas. We held ourselves motionless until the ship struggled up to ride the surface once more. But now it had a dangerous list; cargo must have shifted in the hold, and that had been the death of many a crew.
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