The Warrior's Bond

by Juliet McKenna

  “You see, Cas?” Velindre smiled “That’s control.”

  The mage was too busy scrambling into the coach to answer. Temar ushered Velindre inside, then Allin, consternation on her face. “They’re not trying to move him, are they?”

  “My dear girl, it is hardly our concern,” Temar said, exasperated. It was uncomfortably crowded inside the coach, since Gelaia had brought both Den Brennain and Den Ferrand.

  “Please, do sit here.” Den Brennain tried to stand up to allow Allin his seat but fell back as the coach picked up speed.

  Casuel forced his way through the window. “I must see where that man in brown goes.”

  “Who?” Den Ferrand looked out at the fast dissipating mob.

  “There, next to Den Rannion’s third son.” Casuel clenched his fists in frustration as the coach turned away up a road to the higher ground.

  “That was Malafy Skern, wasn’t it?” Den Ferrand looked to Den Brennain for confirmation.

  The younger man twisted awkwardly to look before a building blocked his view. “That’s right.”

  “Who is he and how do you know him?” Temar tried to make his question no more than idle chat.

  “He was personal man to the last Sieur Tor Bezaemar,” Den Ferrand replied.

  “The man who knew everything and everyone,” Den Brennain laughed. “That’s what they called him, but he was pensioned off a few seasons ago.”

  “Then what—” Casuel subsided beneath a stern look from Temar.

  “So who is the mage among you?” Gelaia’s knuckles were pale as she gripped the spinel-set handle of her fan.

  “Me.”

  “I am.”

  “I have that honour.” Casuel’s stiff words fell into stunned silence as Gelaia, Den Ferrand and Den Brennain all tried to edge together, finding themselves unexpectedly surrounded by wizards.

  “Three of you.” Gelaia fanned herself rapidly. “What an unexpected pleasure.”

  “May I make known Velindre Ychane, Allin Mere and Casuel D’Evoir.” Temar bowed to all in turn.

  “My duty to you all.” Retreating behind formality seemed to reassure Gelaia a little.

  “Our thanks to you, my lady.” Velindre’s smile combined gratitude with considerable charm. “You rescued us from an ugly situation.”

  Temar could see both Den Ferrand and Den Brennain bursting with curiosity, but before either could frame a question Velindre stood to knock abruptly on the coach roof. “We needn’t trespass on your hospitality any further. Our lodgings aren’t far and Casuel can escort us.”

  He looked as if that was the last thing he wanted to do, but as the coach drew to a smooth halt Den Ferrand and Den Brennain both moved to let him out, smiles politely expectant. Casuel rose to his feet with ill grace, nearly falling over the footman hastily opening the door and letting down the step.

  Gelaia looked out of her window. “The other coach is behind us. You two had best see to your sisters, hadn’t you?”

  Den Ferrand and Den Brennain both looked as if they would have liked to stay but shared a rueful shrug and followed Velindre out of the coach.

  “Call on me later.” Temar caught at Allin’s arm. She nodded, blushing a little as both young noblemen offered her their assistance getting out of the vehicle.

  The door closed smartly and the coach resumed its journey. “Are we going back to your residence?” Temar asked.

  Gelaia nodded. “I think you’d prefer to tell Esquire Camarl your version of the truth before rumour drops some tattered gossip at his feet.”

  “It was hardly my fault. It just all got somewhat out of hand.” Temar disliked the note of childish complaint he heard in his words.

  Gelaia was fanning herself again, gripping the handle like a weapon. “If the would-be flunkey with the filthy boots is D’Olbriot’s pet mage, who’s yours? One of the women? The dumpy one?”

  Temar tried to identify the emotion threaded through her words, but beyond deciding it wasn’t jealousy he failed. “Neither. I mean, you cannot consider a mage any kind of servant.”

  “Which one used magic on me?” Gelaia pulled a loose feather from her fan with a sharp tug.

  Temar bit his lip. “I beg your pardon, but that was me.”

  Gelaia looked startled. “No one told me you were a mage!”

  “I am no wizard.” Temar shook his head. “I simply have a certain facility with minor aetheric enchantments.”

  Gelaia looked down at her lap, her hands reducing the stray feather to shreds. She brushed at the fluff with a jerky hand but it clung obstinately to the silk.

  Temar searched for something to say. “Do you know this Malafy Skern?”

  Gelaia visibly pulled herself together. “Indeed. What of him?”

  “You know these arguments persecuting D’Olbriot before the Emperor?” Temar said carefully. “The man seems somehow involved, along with Firon Den Thasnet.”

  “It’s entirely possible. Skern always got all the gossip and he knows everyone’s weak points. Firon has got plenty of those, after all.” The uncertainty in Gelaia’s eyes was fading as she found herself on familiar ground.

  “Whom does this Skern answer to?” Temar asked.

  “The Relict Tor Bezaemar, who else,” shrugged Gelaia. “Pensioned off or not.”

  Temar frowned. “But she wishes us nothing but good. She has been helping Avila, making introductions, free with her advice.”

  “I’m sure she has.” Gelaia laughed without humour. “You’re the next best thing to a Sieur; she’ll be sweetness from sunrise to sunset as far as you’re concerned.”

  “You think otherwise?” hazarded Temar.

  “Oh she’s not inclined to cultivate we lesser sprigs of the family trees. She clips us well back if she gets a chance.” Gelaia made a visible effort to seal her lips.

  “Go on,” Temar prompted.

  “Swear on all that’s holy you’ll not tell?” Gelaia leaned forward, eyes hard.

  “May Poldrion loose his demons on me if I break faith.” Temar swore fervently.

  “Last summer, Jenty and Kreve Tor Bezaemar got quite fond. He’s the Sieur’s second son and the one being groomed as Designate. That would have been an excellent match for Jenty, no question, but the Relict has other plans for her precious grandson. So she dropped a few hints but Jenty wouldn’t take them, you know what she’s like. Well, take my word for it. Anyway, after the Relict went to her mother, accused her of trying to get Kreve to bed her and get him married that way, Jenty told the old bitch to keep to her kennel.”

  Temar winced at the anger in Gelaia’s words. “Which was not wise?”

  Gelaia paled and fear tightened her voice. “A few days later, Jenty’s maid was snatched off the Graceway. She was raped in some cellar and dumped in front of the residence at dusk. Now the sworn men on the gate brought her inside before anyone saw, and everyone swore silence, for the girl’s sake as much as anything. But next time Jenty met the Relict, the old dragon was full of sympathy. How could she know, when Jenty had done everything she could to make sure no word got out? Then the Relict just happened to mention, quite in passing, that such a dreadful thing might happen to any young woman if her luck ran out. Take my word for it, that dear old lady has more venom than a pit full of snakes if she’s crossed.”

  Temar sat back, not knowing what to say. Would Camarl believe any of this? What did it mean for Kel Ar’Ayen? Did this bring them any closer to recovering the stolen artefacts?

  The D’Olbriot Residence Gatehouse,

  Summer Solstice Festival, Fourth Day, Evening

  Ryshad!”

  I turned to see Dalmit hailing me, Tor Kanselin’s man.

  “You look like a watchdog on a short chain!” he joked, squinting into the sinking sun.

  I smiled without replying. It was fair comment though; I’d been pacing up and down in front of the residence since the bell tower had struck nine chimes and a running stationer who’d tried to interest me in his quills, inks and paper
s had certainly been mercilessly snapped at. The sworn men were studiously avoiding my eye, and given the way I’d drilled their duty into them through the heat of the day I couldn’t blame them. Stoll was sitting inside the watch room, drawing up a roster with a fine display of attention to detail and disdain for my style of bucking up the recognised. I ignored him; it wasn’t my fault the Sieur’s orders had put his nose out of joint. I’d obeyed those orders, to the full, and now I was waiting for the ten chimes that would see me off watch. Then I’d have to decide whether or not to risk Charoleia’s invitation.

  “You’ve slipped your leash, have you?” I walked to meet Dalmit beneath a tall tree. “Have you got time for a glass?”

  “I’m on guard tonight.” He shook his head. “Thanks all the same, but I’ll be getting back.”

  “What did you find out?” I got straight to the point. “And what do I owe you?”

  “A Crown or so should cover it,” he shrugged. “Turns out Tor Bezaemar men passed on that bill of challenge to Jord and Lovis both. Different men, one of the sworn and a proven in from Bremilayne, but they were both spinning the same yarn about knowing for certain you weren’t fit, saying you’re carrying some injury from being taken for a slave last year.”

  “And why were they passing this on?” I wondered sarcastically.

  “No surprise there.” Dalmit grinned. “Both of them were offering to make a wager if Jord or Lovis would put up half the stake.”

  “Going shares in the winnings.” I nodded. We’re not allowed to wager on ourselves in promotion challenges, but there are always ways round such rules.

  “So, does that mean anything to you?” Dalmit asked guilelessly.

  “Could be something, could be nothing,” I said casually. “It’s worth two Crowns at least, and if anything comes of it I’ll let you know.” I wasn’t going to quibble over coppers and if I could fit this piece into any larger pattern it would do no harm to let Dalmit know which way the wind was veering. “Do you want the coin now?” I gestured up to my window.

  Dalmit shook his head. “Tomorrow’s soon enough. I’ve nowhere to spend it tonight, have I?” He waved an informal farewell and began walking back towards Tor Kanselin.

  As he did so a coach passed him, D’Olbriot’s insignia on the door panel. I drew myself up smartly with all the other men on watch. The footman jumped down with alacrity but Esquire Camarl was already opening the door, getting down almost before the footman had the step unfolded. The Esquire barely turned his head to address me. “Have my uncles all arrived by now?”

  “Yes, Esquire,” I bowed. “They’re with the Sieur.”

  Camarl nodded and walked rapidly towards the residence, round face uncharacteristically hard.

  I looked at Temar, who was looking a little shame-faced, unbuttoning his formal coat by way of pretext to let Camarl get ahead of him.

  “What did you do?” I asked. “Step on some girl’s hem and bring her skirts down round her ankles?”

  Temar laughed. “That would not have been so bad.” He looked meaningfully at me. “Shall we take a glass of wine?”

  “Upstairs?” I led him through the watch room, ignoring the questioning look Stoll shot me behind Temar’s back.

  “Do you really want wine?” I ushered him into the narrow room that was a privilege of my new rank. “I’ll have to send one of the lads if you do.”

  Temar shook his head as he sat on the bed. “Not on my account.”

  “So what’s so urgent? Why’s Esquire Camarl crosser than an ass with a wasp up his tail?” I took the stool by the window, scratching absently at the pinpricks left by the stitches in my arm.

  “I talked Gelaia and some others into going to see some supposed mage doing tricks.” Temar looked unrepentant.

  “The Sieur certainly wants you and Gelaia to be friends, if not more.” I frowned. “I don’t necessarily see the harm; plenty of nobles go to see such things.”

  “My only interest was meeting Allin there,” Temar explained frankly. “I had an answer from her this morning, saying she and Velindre would be watching this man’s display. I had no chance to tell you before we went to Den Murivance.” Temar scratched his head. “There was more than a little trouble. The man was no mage but some mountebank doing a spectacularly dangerous rope trick. He fell and Master Casuel had to save him.”

  “Bad luck follows Cas like the reek on old fish.” I was puzzled. “What was he doing there?”

  “In a moment.” Temar sighed. “Casuel plainly used magic to save the fellow from death, but the knaves with him immediately claimed it was Devoir’s wizardry had caused their own man to fail. They began demanding money, nigh on turning the crowd on us.”

  “Did they recognise you?” I snorted as Temar nodded. “That kind never miss a trick?”

  “Gelaia had to rescue us from the mob.” Temar sighed. “Camarl has been telling me all the way back what a meal the broadsheets and gossips will make of it.”

  “D’Alsennin and D’Olbriot publicly tied to arrogant wizards hurling careless magic round the city?” I winced. “Perhaps, for a day or so, but today’s broadsheets are tomorrow’s privy paper, aren’t they? It’s the Emperor’s dance tomorrow, and most of the Houses will be opening their gates to their tenants and the commonalty. Last day of Festival always turns up something to tempt the scandalmongers, so I don’t suppose you’ll be the tastiest tittle-tattle for long.” I tried to sound encouraging.

  “I hope so.” Temar sounded glum.

  “Was Gelaia cross?” Had that pretty face worked its charm on Temar’s susceptibilities?

  “More unnerved than cross.” Temar leaned back against the wall. “I had to use Artifice to make Gelaia hear me and then Velindre used some magic of her own to clear a path through the crowd. I think Gelaia suspects any alliance with D’Alsennin will leave her hemmed in by sorcery on all sides.” He sounded more sarcastic than regretful so at least I didn’t think he’d be breaking his heart over Gelaia.

  A question prodded me. “Did you get a chance to ask Allin or Velindre if they could help?”

  “It seems not, sadly.” Temar sighed.

  As he spoke ten chimes began sounding above us, the signal for the end of the day. I rose to my feet. “Then if you’ll excuse me I’ll go and see this friend of Livak’s, the one with a finger on the darker pulses of our fair city. I might just learn something useful.”

  Temar pushed himself up. “Let me get my sword.”

  “Oh no,” I disagreed. “You’re committed to dine with Den Castevin.”

  “To what purpose?” Temar’s lip curled. “Esquire Camarl will be talking, dealing, explaining. All I will do is to smile, look pleasant and make polite conversation.”

  “Which reassures the nobility that they’re being asked to deal with one of their own in Kellarin,” I pointed out. “Proving you’re not some grubby-handed mercenary or worse. Not turning up is an insult you don’t want to give lightly.”

  “I would not know any Den Castevin if I tripped over one in the street.” Emotion clipped Temar’s words. “The people whose lives depend on those artefacts are my friends, my tenants, my responsibility.”

  “Which means they need you to look after their longer-term interests by not giving unnecessary offence.” I ushered him down the stairs again.

  Temar glanced at the steps to the cellars as we walked through the watch room. “Did Avila learn anything more from the thief?”

  “She hasn’t had a chance to try. As soon as she came out of the library Lady Channis whisked her away for a full day’s engagements with Tor Arrial.” I tried to hide my relief; I still didn’t think I could stand and watch a man undergoing such assault. “Then they were going on to Tor Bezaemar, for tisanes with the Relict before coming back here to change for dinner.”

  “Dirindal?” Temar’s eyes were icily intent.

  “You sound like you smell rats in the granary,” I commented quietly.

  “What do you know of Tor Bezaemar?” Tem
ar demanded, drawing a little way into the gardens, beyond the curious ears in the gate arch. “Has that House any reason to bear a grudge against D’Olbriot?”

  “You want Cas for this, not me.” I rubbed a hand round the back of my neck. “It’s no secret Tor Bezaemar took losing the Imperial throne hard, but that was nigh on a generation ago. Messire backed Tadriol the Prudent from the first, I remember that.” I thought back to my early days in D’Olbriot’s service. “There was some talk about Sarens Tor Bezaemar putting himself forward, but with so many Names following D’Olbriot’s lead it never came to anything.”

  “Sarens was the Relict’s husband?”

  “The Sieur as was,” I confirmed.

  Temar scowled. “The reason Casuel was on hand to save the rope trickster was he had followed Firon Den Thasnet only to see him meet a man whom Gelaia tells me still answers to Dirindal, for all he has been pensioned off. Casuel was following this man who was talking to some of the other nobles come for the spectacle.”

  “Anyone in particular?” I asked, my own hackles rising in response to Temar’s tension.

  “Den Rannion’s third son, for one.” Temar spat.

  “You didn’t arouse any suspicion?” I regretted the words as soon as they were out of my mouth.

  “Hardly,” said Temar scornfully. “I can ask all the stupid questions I want; everyone expects me to be ignorant of everything and everyone. But Saedrin be my witness, I swear this man is Dirindal’s ears and eyes.”

  “And he was seen with Firon Den Thasnet?” Perhaps there was a larger pattern to fit Dalmit’s seemingly innocent news. “It could still be nothing, Temar. We’d best wait until we can get a full tale from Casuel. Where is he?”

  “Velindre wanted him.” Temar dismissed the mage with a gesture. “What if Tor Bezaemar are part of this hostility? Gelaia was telling me the charming Relict can show a very different face if she is crossed, even vicious if it serves her turn.”

  “How so?” I asked.