The Warrior's Bond

by Juliet McKenna

  “Suspecting Elietimm malice looking over our shoulders every time we use Artifice, we hesitate to do the most obvious things,” she said crossly. “Master Devoir, has my enchantment affected your magic at all?”

  Casuel bent down to peer under the bed and I couldn’t resist doing the same. All I saw was empty carpet.

  “Not at all, my lady.” Casuel stood up. “What have you done?”

  Avila smiled thinly. “Laid an aversion over the bed and beneath it. Anyone not knowing the coffer is there will have no interest in looking. Anyone searching for it will dismiss such an obvious hiding place with contempt.”

  “A fascinating combination of the two schools of magic,” Casuel looked intrigued. “What—”

  “Now let us see what Lady Channis thinks she can tell us about etiquette.” I hoped Lady Channis was equal to Avila’s belligerence. Temar and I dutifully followed the Demoiselle and Casuel came scurrying after us.

  “I suppose I’ll have to bespeak Planir,” he was muttering. “To tell him about your latest successes.”

  “And your working magecraft to complement Avila’s Artifice,” I pointed out.

  Lady Channis’s apartments are on the cool north side of the residence, furnished with all the elegance Den Veneta coin can buy. The lackey ushered us all in, assuming Casuel and I were both in attendance, and we couldn’t retreat before two minor Demoiselles of the Name curtseyed themselves out, the door closing behind them.

  “Demoiselle, Esquire, a tisane?” Lady Channis was wearing a simple cream chamber gown but her maid had already dressed her ebony hair high with amethyst-tipped pins. A naturally spare frame and the finest unguents lent her the appearance of youth. At second glance you would see the fine lines of age in her hands and neck but by then she’d have captured you with her charm.

  I took a seat by the wall and Casuel did the same. Temar and Avila joined Lady Channis around a low table set with finest porcelain, crystal spice bowls and a small copper urn piping hot over a spirit lamp. The silver spoons and tisane balls marked with the Den Veneta sheaf of arrows gleamed with the soft lustre of antiquity. “Ryshad? Master Devoir?”

  Casuel jumped up with an obsequious bow as she turned deceptively soft brown eyes on us. “My lady.”

  “Your father is a pepper merchant, I believe?” Beauty had brought Lady Channis a long way from the minor House she’d been born in, and intelligence had carried her further still.

  Casuel’s smile became a little fixed as he selected spices for his tisane. “He is, my lady, of Orelwood.”

  “And your brother is the famous Amalin.” Lady Channis offered Temar a bowl of shredded citrus zest, ruby and enamel rings dark on her pale fingers. “Your mother must be very proud of such talented sons.”

  Casuel hesitated. “Naturally, my lady.”

  Channis filled Avila’s cup with hot water and reached for Casuel’s. “So, Ryshad, what’s your Sieur doing now?”

  “He and the Esquires are planning to chastise Tor Bezaemar for their apparent hostility.” I filled my own tisane ball with a simple mixture of elder and sourcurrant.

  “You can rely on the Sieur’s judgement.” Lady Channis’s dark eyes were shrewd in her flawless maquillage.

  “I take it he acts on more than the suspicions Temar raised yesterday and the few things we learned this morning,” said Avila speculatively.

  “Doubtless.” Lady Channis handed me my drink and waved Casuel and me back to our seats. “Den Veneta will be sorely exposed in any clash with Tor Bezaemar, I’m sorry to say. That’ll make things very awkward between Guliel and my cousins. But that’s a problem for another day.” She shook her elegantly coiffed head. “We’re here to talk about the Imperial dance. In your day, I understand the last day of Festival was set aside for Imperial decrees? Well, Tadriol will certainly announce new betrothals, any major project a Name might be undertaking, but the emphasis is mostly on pleasure.”

  I let her gentle voice fade into the background murmur of the busy residence. People all around were hurrying to ready everything before noon brought the commonalty into the residence and the nobility took their carriages to the Imperial Palace. I ran through the crowded events of the last few days in my mind. How might D’Olbriot’s determination to attack Tor Bezaemar clash with D’Alsennin and Kellarin interests? Was there any way to head off such friction? Hadn’t Temar said something about Artifice being a better means of achieving some aim than brute force?

  I looked over to see him paying close attention to Lady Channis.

  “It’s been the custom, oh, since the days of Inshol the Curt that all rank is left outside the doors of an Imperial dance, along with hats and swords. No one’s allowed to insist on deference and precedence, that kind of thing. Naturally any Esquire will treat any Sieur with due courtesy, that much distinction must be preserved but the erstwhile Imperial Houses aren’t allowed to look down on lesser Names. You’ll stand or sit as a lady pleases, of course, but there’s none of this nonsense about Houses of lower degree having to wait until a senior Name decides to take the weight off his feet.” Lady Channis smiled as she ticked off points from a mental list on her beautifully manicured fingers.

  “Keep your voice to a polite level otherwise the noise gets simply deafening. If you must debate some point or other, do it without anger or passion and naturally, if someone’s boring you senseless, you’ll oblige us all by not letting that show. You’ll also do yourself more credit if you avoid boring anyone else. In general, I’d advise you to guard your own tongue and if you encounter anyone being indiscreet, do them the courtesy of not repeating what you hear, well, not outside the doors of the dance salon.” A fleeting smile softened her words.

  “There’ll be plenty to eat and drink but I can’t imagine you need me telling you not to over-indulge.”

  “I think I should be able to avoid disgracing myself,” said Temar politely but I could hear irritation beneath his words.

  “These may be unwritten rules, Esquire, but there are penalties for infringing them,” Lady Channis told him firmly. “If two or more people accuse you of indecorous behaviour, you’ll be asked to pay a forfeit. It’s quite a game in the normal run of things but with all that’s going on, I’ll wager my tisane spoons some scion of Den Thasnet or Tor Priminale will be only too eager to make you look a fool.”

  “What would this forfeit be?” Demoiselle Avila demanded curtly.

  “Since the days of Tadriol the Staunch’s Maitresse, poetry has been the usual penalty.” Lady Channis waved a hand. “Reciting the first few stanzas of The Edicts of Perinal the Bold is a favourite sentence. A serious offence can merit all three verses of The Death of Decabral the Eager. If you really tread on someone’s hem, you could find yourself reciting Drianon’s Hymn to the Harvest to the entire room.”

  “I do not know any of those.” Temar shook his head cautiously.

  “Which would make your humiliation complete, would it not?” Avila looked grim as Lady Channis continued.

  Movement beside me prompted a glance for Casuel, who was listening avidly. His smugness suggested he knew all the relevant poems and epics. I remembered the mage’s own ambitions to rank. What of other wizards with less narrow preoccupations? What would Planir do to protect his own concerns? How might his actions impact on D’Olbriot? How would Hadrumal seek to influence a quarrel between the Names that ruled the Empire? What could the Emperor do? Nemith the Last and his forebears might have ruled from the ocean to the Great Forest by unquestioned decree, but Emperors in this age have a different notion of justice. I pondered the bits and pieces of legal lore Mistal had bored me with when he’d first started his studies.

  That led my thoughts to Hansey and Ridner. It wasn’t only minor Names like Den Veneta who’d suffer once each Name dragged their allies into this struggle. My brothers are D’Olbriot tenants, but they buy their stone from Den Rannion quarries. Skirmishes over goods and services would break out from the Ast Marsh to the Cape of Winds, and people ill fitt
ed to bear the losses would suffer first. I closed my eyes as I sought a way through this maze.

  “That’s all we need to know?” Avila’s faint sarcasm roused me from trying to tease out all the potential consequences of a plan irresistibly forming in my mind.

  “My thanks, my lady.” Temar shot Avila an unexpected look of reproof.

  Avila smoothed her skirts as she rose. “And now I have another chance to see how many different gowns one woman can wear in the same day.”

  “May I take a moment of your time?” I stood, hands laced behind my back, formal stance stiffening my resolve.

  Lady Channis smiled. “Ryshad?”

  I took a deep breath. Some ideas look perfectly convincing inside your own head and then sound like drooling idiocy once you try to explain them.

  “We’re sure, aren’t we, that Tor Bezaemar’s the House orchestrating hostility to D’Olbriot and D’Alsennin? But we can’t prove it to the satisfaction of the courts.” I hesitated. “The courts are the formal setting for the Emperor’s justice but his authority as arbiter still applies anywhere, just as it did before the Chaos. Custom demands the Emperor hears every argument before he makes a decree, but there’s nothing binding him to that. Tadriol could simply announce a verdict if he had sufficient weight of evidence to tip the scales.”

  “The Emperor’s word was law in our day.” Avila sat down again.

  “What if we could prove Tor Bezaemar’s enmity to the Emperor directly?” I looked at Lady Channis. “Tadriol could act in support of D’Olbriot without waiting for the courts to grind every parchment into dust. The longer this quarrel drags on, the worse the consequences for everyone, from noble Names to commonalty. Tadriol is sworn to defend all ranks, isn’t he?”

  “He won’t want open strife between D’Olbriot and Tor Bezaemar,” said Lady Channis slowly. “Not if it can be avoided.”

  “Would your Houses accept an Imperial decree cutting through all this convoluted argument before the court?” Temar asked Lady Channis hopefully.

  “Given the consequences to the minor Houses if Tor Bezaemar and D’Olbriot go for each other’s throats?” She looked pensive. “Most would back an Imperial decree, if only to save their own Names.”

  “We know Malafy Skern is still a favoured retainer of the Relict Tor Bezaemar,” I said slowly. “She has to be involved.”

  “No one drops a hairpin in that House without her knowing,” Lady Channis agreed.

  “What if we could get her to betray what she knows?” I suggested.

  “In front of witnesses?” She shook her head. “She’d never do it, and in any case witnesses can always be discredited.”

  “What if she didn’t think there were witnesses? What if she were provoked into boasting or threatening?” I persisted. “What if the Emperor heard her for himself?”

  Lady Channis looked puzzled. “You plan to provoke her to some indiscretion with the Emperor hiding behind a door like some maid in a bad masquerade?”

  “Dirindal is too sharp for that, Rysh,” said Temar, disappointed.

  “What if Artifice were prompting her to speak without her usual care?” I tried to ignore the qualms in my belly. “What if she were alone with you, my lady, confident anything you claimed could be denied? There are enough rumours flying around the city; it wouldn’t be unusual for you to discuss them with her?”

  “Tor Bezaemar must still think themselves secure,” Temar said unexpectedly. “They have no reason to believe we suspect their malice.”

  “They’ll know by the end of the day, if I know Guliel,” said Lady Channis rather sadly.

  “Dirindal would be keen to know what the Sieur is thinking,” I suggested.

  “If she were annoyed, Artifice would be all the more effective in urging her to speak her mind,” Avila observed.

  Lady Channis waved her hands impatiently. “How does it help to have Dirindal admit anything to me, however incriminating? It would be my word against hers, and I’m hardly an impartial witness.”

  “The Emperor could see and hear it all if a mage worked the right magics,” I told her. “Dirindal would never know.”

  Lady Channis gaped at me.

  “Scrying is mere sight without sound.” Casuel was frowning in thought. “It could be done with bespeaking, but you’d need another mage with her ladyship as well as one with the Emperor.”

  “We’ve Allin and Velindre to call on,” I pointed out. “Either or both could help. Planir won’t disagree, if it means we can head off this strife.”

  “I would have to be close at hand, to work the Artifice on Dirindal,” said Avila slowly.

  “Dirindal will never betray herself in front of three witnesses,” said Lady Channis flatly.

  “Couldn’t you be in the next room, Demoiselle?” I persisted. “Out of sight?”

  Avila thought for a moment. “Yes, I believe so. Master Mage?”

  Casuel nodded eagerly. “A short distance would be no hindrance.”

  Lady Channis shook her head in disbelief. “It’s a fascinating fancy, Ryshad, but it’s completely irrational. How could we ever do it? Dirindal will suspect eyes and ears behind every curtain and closed door if she comes here, and I’m certainly not going to Tor Bezaemar’s residence. I’d be seen, and when word gets out of hostility between the Houses that would prompt all manner of rumours weakening Guliel.”

  “Can’t you meet on neutral ground?” Temar asked impatiently.

  “A dressmakers?” suggested Casuel hopefully. “A jewellers?”

  “Such people come to us, Master Devoir, we don’t travel to them.” Lady Channis’s words were kindly meant but Casuel still blushed to the roots of his hair.

  I cast my mind back to my early sworn days attending the minor Demoiselles of the House. Where had they gone to gossip free from the discreet supervision of their elders? “A feather merchant?”

  “That’s believable, at least.” Lady Channis smiled wryly. “The cursed things come to grief so easily, we’re always buying them at the last minute.”

  “And even Maitresses of a Name have to go to the merchants, since none of them will risk hawking such fragile and precious wares from residence to residence,” I nodded.

  “Is there a feather merchant where Dirindal would meet you?” Temar demanded of Channis.

  “Masters Anhash and Norn,” Lady Channis replied with a mocking tone. “Simply the only place for plumes this Festival, my child.” Faint optimism sounded in her voice for the first time. “Where every noble customer is shown the choicest selection in a private room.”

  “It has to be worth trying,” I urged. “Outright enmity between D’Olbriot and Tor Bezaemar will serve no one.”

  “True,” agreed Lady Channis. “But if we’re to try this madness, we’ve precious little time. Battle lines between the Houses will be drawn by nightfall.”

  “Then send the Relict Tor Bezaemar some message enticing her to meet you at once, my lady.” I ticked off points on my fingers. “We need you, Avila and Velindre at the feather merchant’s before Dirindal arrives. Then we three need to convince the Emperor to listen to us.” I looked at Casuel, whose face was a potent mix of eagerness and apprehension. “And we need some way of knowing when exactly Casuel needs to work his magic”

  “Allin could send word,” suggested Temar.

  “I can’t see you getting an audience with Tadriol, a scant half-morning before the biggest social event of Festival.” Lady Channis wasn’t trying to make difficulties, but that was true.

  I looked at Temar. “You’ve not met the Emperor yet, have you? This isn’t the ideal time, but I don’t suppose anyone will gainsay you if you ask to introduce yourself. I’m sure you could claim a Sieur’s right of immediate access to the Imperial presence.”

  Lady Channis was crossing the room to an open writing case laid on a side table. “You could cite that before the courts later on, if the Palace acknowledges you as such.”

  “If that is what we need to do, to get befo
re Tadriol, that he may see the magic’ Temar was looking nervous. “But you will explain it all, Ryshad, when we see Tadriol. This is your idea after all.”

  “He hasn’t the rank to propose something like this to the Emperor!” Casuel was appalled.

  “And he’s sworn to D’Olbriot,” Lady Channis was writing rapidly. “You owe no allegiance, Temar, for all your close ties with the House.” She sealed her note with perfumed wax.

  “You’re defending your own Name and your people in Kellarin,” I reminded Temar. “The Emperor will respect that far more than any claim I might make to disinterest. We’ll both be there to back you up, but you have to be the one doing the talking.”

  “You do realise Dirindal may not come?” Lady Channis looked up. “If she does, she may have nothing to say but platitudes and nonsense. You risk looking an utter fool, you do know that?”

  “Compared to the risks we’ve run over the last few days, my lady, I think we can take this chance,” I assured her.

  The Imperial Palace of Tadriol the Provident,

  Summer Solstice Festival, Fifth Day,

  Late Morning

  Cheer up, the worst they can do is refuse to let us in.”

  Temar tried to smile at Ryshad’s attempt at reassurance but saw the doubt shadowing the older man’s eyes.

  “With you so impressive in your livery and me in all this finery?” he retorted with considerably more bravado than he felt. “Never fear, I do not intend returning to Avila with my tail between my legs.”

  “All we need now is Cas,” Ryshad muttered. The carriage halted with a lurch that redoubled the nervousness plaguing Temar’s stomach. What if the mage was delayed? What if he’d been unable to find Allin and Velindre?

  “So this is the Imperial Palace,” Temar said softly as he stepped down from the carriage. It was a fair cry from the robust fortress Nemith and his forebears had held in trust as a last bulwark of noble power. Waist-high walls meant every passer-by could see the extensive gardens, though the narrow spaced railings were topped with vicious spikes curved in outward-facing claws. A small gatehouse of brilliant white stone gave a small detachment of liveried men-at-arms some shade from the sun hammering down from a cloudless sky. They were the only people in view.