‘Then we are agreed,’ Planir said grimly.
Canfor cleared his throat. ‘Then, forgive me, but surely there is no need for the second nexus to go to the island at all?
Jilseth caught the veiled look of triumph that he directed at Merenel. ‘By your leave, Archmage,’ she interrupted.
‘Yes?’ he invited.
‘I have been thinking,’ she explained, ‘about additional aid that magic might offer the Caladhrian troops.’
When she had visited Halferan Manor, and then Antathele and Licanin, she had been besieged by memories of the men she’d seen cut down when the corsairs had attacked Zurenne and her daughters. The bloody deaths on the road as she tried to shield their retreat with her magecraft. The final agonies of poor fat Captain Arigo, pulled from his horse and hacked to pieces.
Jilseth had asked herself time and again what more she could have done. What more she might try, if she ever found herself in such straits again and Archmage Trydek’s Edict be damned.
Now the Archmage’s plans had changed and the Caladhrians would surely need every possible advantage, if they were to prevail before the Aldabreshi arrived to put every last one of them to the sword. Or a far worse fate, if they condemned any wizards’ allies in the same fashion as wizards themselves.
Planir raised his brows. ‘Black blade?’
‘Indeed.’ Jilseth ignored Nolyen’s look of shock. ‘And more besides.’
Tornauld had a very different glint in his eye. ‘There’s a good deal we could do. My magic could fracture doors and shutters before Jilseth could reduce that remaining pavilion’s walls to dust. Nolyen can warp and split their ship’s hulls as easily as Merenel can melt any blade that a corsair reaches for.’
‘We need no such assistance.’ Corrain stepped forward. ‘Caladhrian valour will prevail against such foes. You take care of those mageborn and we will deal with the corsairs. Besides,’ he added bitterly, ‘I thought that wizardry has no place in warfare. I would prefer not to stand before the Caladhrian Parliament and tarnish our victory with lies.’
‘That Edict has historically only applied across the lands of the Old Tormalin Empire,’ Kalion said firmly.
‘Then will you accept our assistance after your battle?’ Jilseth challenged Corrain. ‘Do you want your dead carried home to each barony for their funeral pyres to be lit in Caladhria? Will you allow Hadrumal’s wizards to carry the wounded beyond Aldabreshin reach? We could save more of them if you accept the Hearth Master’s wisdom and permit us to rescue the fallen from the midst of the fighting.’
She gave him a brief moment to contemplate the possible carnage.
‘Or would you perhaps prefer to bring all your men safely home? We have the spells to help you do that.’
‘You are entirely at liberty to decline such assistance, my lord baron,’ Planir said mildly. ‘But perhaps you might like to know what you are refusing, for yourself and your men. By way of magecrafted protection,’ he added sternly, with a warning look for Tornauld in particular. ‘That is as much as I will sanction.’
Jilseth met Corrain’s hostile stare. She could see that he was torn between his desire to accept as little wizardly help as possible and his guilty wish to see all his men kept whole.
The Forest lad, Kusint, grabbed the Caladhrian’s elbow. Turning his back on the whole gathering, he talked to Corrain, his voice low and urgent.
A moment later, Corrain raised his hands in brusque acquiescence.
‘It can do no harm to discuss it,’ he said warily.
CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE
Black Turtle Isle
In the domain of Nahik Jarir
‘LOOK TO THE eastern horizon.’
Hosh was quick to follow Grewa’s order. The blind bastard had found an overseer’s whip from somewhere. If Hosh was too slow to turn his gaze where the old corsair directed him, he would feel the bite of that lash again.
He knew better than to appeal to Anskal. The Mandarkin had only smiled when he’d seen the weals through Hosh’s torn tunic the previous day and asked instead what Molcho and Grewa had been discussing.
Hosh had told him. The corsairs were all studying the heavenly compass, watching for omens in every arc of the sky. Because something Hosh didn’t understand was about to happen; he had gathered that much.
Now sunset marked the start of the new day by Archipelagan reckoning. Grewa had sent Molcho to summon the galley and trireme masters to this bloodstained hollow marked with the stones.
All the raiders were obediently turning their backs on the sun’s last afterglow, to the infinity to the east shading between blue and black.
‘Before dawn,’ Grewa pronounced, ‘the Emerald will pass into the arc of Death. The jewel is talisman for vision, for bravery and—’ he smiled with satisfaction ‘—talisman for clear sight. I have thought long and hard about what this might mean for us all. For those of us who have long had the courage and the insight to use the gifts which have fallen into our hands.
‘These skies tell us to be bold,’ he declared, ‘as the Pearl for intuition joins the Diamond for strength in that self-same arc amid the stars of the Canthira Tree. The tree which defies death and fire, sprouting green even after it has been burned to a stump. Three jewels together while the Ruby and the Amethyst are both in the arc of Honour and Ambition. We see the Opal sinking in the arc of Foes amid the Sea Serpent’s coils. We have seen those very serpents gather around this island’s shores in unprecedented numbers. All this is token of mysteries to be uncovered. The mysteries that have so long been denied us by our overlords. The mysteries of magic.’
Hosh couldn’t help looking to see how the assembled ship masters were taking that. When he realised what he had done, he cringed in expectation of the biting whip. No blow fell. He glanced at Grewa and saw the old corsair was more than satisfied with whatever he saw through Hosh’s eyes.
‘We did not seek out magic. These gifts found us. Who are we to question the turn of the earthly compass that put such wonder into our hands? But we can question all this talk of the evil and corruption of magic when these gifts have brought us the wealth and comforts that our overlords would deny us.’
Hosh watched the ship masters nodding. Grewa wasn’t telling them anything they hadn’t already heard. They wouldn’t be here if they hadn’t already been privy to the old corsair’s secret. They wouldn’t have escaped Anskal’s first attack. They would have been trapped here on the anchorage island along with Ducah, Nifai, Imais and all the rest.
So, Hosh realised, Grewa was telling him all this, knowing full well that he would repeat every word to Anskal.
He stiffened as the blind man turned his empty eye sockets towards him. Grewa hadn’t replaced his blindfold. The scarred and empty pits beneath his grizzled brow were plain for all to see.
‘Those warlords would claim absolute mastery over us all. They would deny me the means to see again through the sorcery in my amulet. Just as they stole my own eyes for the crime of not being my father’s favourite son.’
Hosh didn’t understand that, any more than he dared look away until Grewa turned his own blind gaze back towards the eastern sky. Hosh hastily followed suit.
‘Let us look forward to the next shift in the stars,’ the old corsair said with satisfaction. ‘When the stars of the Sailfish swim above the horizon. That carries the Hoe for endeavour and virility into the arc of Death and now the Pearl sits in the arc of Travel to bridge the skies to the Amethyst and Ruby in the arc of Honour. The Opal sits directly opposite where the hidden Net may gather up wealth, if we have the wit so see where the omens lead us. To decide where we should attack first, to show these warlords of the northern reaches that we will not be denied.’
He turned his head as he heard the murmurs from the ship masters. They were all nodding thoughtfully.
Hosh wanted to see if Molcho’s face gave any clue to his intentions. Except he knew, if he looked at the black-bearded raider, Grewa would see that he was taking an inte
rest in the corsair captain. Then Grewa would surely tell Molcho and the last thing Hosh wanted was to draw that vicious bastard’s suspicious eye.
The black-bearded raider would find some excuse, some justification for defying Anskal and then Hosh would pay with his own life for that failed attempt to kill Molcho. He needed no omens or portents to tell him that. He saw his death in the corsair captain’s eyes whenever Molcho looked at him.
Hosh stared up at the sky instead, blinking away tears. What did it matter to him how the stars turned? He was back where he’d started, when he’d first been captured. At that murderer’s mercy.
No, it was worse than that. When he’d first been captured, he’d had Corrain at his side and a double handful of other Halferans beside. Only they had been sold off elsewhere or had died, one by one. Then Corrain and that Forest lad Kusint had fled, leaving him utterly alone. Now he wasn’t only at Molcho’s mercy but Anskal’s as well. How long before he was caught in the middle and torn to pieces like a rabbit between two hounds?
The whiplash bit into his forearm. Hosh recoiled, only to see that Grewa was no longer interested in him.
‘We will all watch separately for omens from dawn until dusk tomorrow,’ he proclaimed to the ship masters. ‘We will gather here at sunset to discuss what the earthly compass has shown us.’
‘We will decide which domain will be the first to feel our wrath,’ Molcho added before looking at Hosh and jerking his head towards the path leading out of the hollow.
Hosh knew what he had to do. He hurried towards the anchorage, leaving the ship masters to their low-voiced speculation while Molcho offered Grewa his arm. The black-bearded raider wasn’t trusting in Hosh’s eyes alone to see the blind man safely through the rapidly darkening Archipelagan twilight.
Lamps were being lit in the distant pavilion ahead, aboard the ships anchored in the shallows and in the shelters of spars and sailcloth that the crews had erected ashore, beneath the fringe trees beyond the high water mark, well away from the cellar pits and rubble that was all that remained of the other dwellings and further still from the blackened burning ground.
Hosh was heading for the most distant pavilion. Anskal had decreed that Molcho and Grewa be given unoccupied rooms beneath his own roof.
Was that to honour them, Hosh wondered, or was it to remind them of their subordination as they ate and slept alongside their former underlings, now able to turn lethal magic on them whenever they might choose? The Mandarkin still hadn’t given Molcho back his gold talismans.
Hosh picked his way carefully through the flourishing ironwood trees. How long would these survive, now that the crews of the returned galleys and triremes were hacking at them for firewood once again?
He stole a glance along the shore as he skirted the burning ground. There wasn’t a shackle or a chain to be seen among the oarsmen and swordsmen from the ships. All of them, a motley rabble of Aldabreshi, mainlanders and mixed blood, they had chosen to be here. Just as they had chosen to defy every Archipelagan law and custom forbidding the slightest interaction with magic, for whatever reasons had driven them so relentlessly to revolt, just as Grewa’s blinding had done.
So Hosh was the last real slave left on this island. He was the only one burdened with a chain, albeit only the one around his neck, holding that hateful amulet weighing so vilely on his chest.
Hearing the warning crack of that cursed whip behind him, Hosh returned his attention to the lamp-lit pavilion ahead. But if the blind corsair could direct his gaze, no one could dictate his thoughts.
Hosh had been interested to see that the slave mageborn had taken sides now that Grewa and Molcho had returned. Two had joined the Lescari and the Ensaimin mariners in the suite of rooms that they shared on the seaward face of the last pavilion. The third had sought refuge with the mageborn swordsmen who had claimed rooms on the opposite side of the hollow square, overlooking the headland. What did Anskal make of that?
What did the Mandarkin make of the women? Looking up, Hosh saw one; the hard-faced bitch who’d killed that mercenary with the melon knife was standing on the terrace. The open door behind her spilled a golden glow onto the dark stones while a savoury scent of dried meat stewing to succulence drifted through the dusk.
The lamp light was momentarily dimmed as a second woman appeared. Like the first, she ignored Hosh as he climbed up the steps and turned to look where Grewa was putting his feet.
Hosh recognised her all the same. She was the woman who’d endured rape to enable her sisters in captivity to kill those Lescari mercenaries.
As Grewa carefully made his way up to the terrace, the newcomer smiled down at Molcho as he followed. When the hard-faced bitch slid her arms around the old man, the slightly built woman twined her arm through the brutal raider’s. Standing on her tiptoes, she whispered something into his ear.
Molcho laughed and gathered her into an embrace. As his mouth sought hers, his broad hand cupped her breast. A moment later, he tugged the wrapped silk from her shoulder to expose her, rolling her nipple between his finger and thumb.
Grewa chuckled and said something in an Archipelagan dialect. Molcho’s head snapped around and he glared at Hosh. The woman looked at him levelly, unperturbed that he could see her nakedness.
The old corsair slid his hand down the woman’s loosely draped gown to squeeze her buttock. He began hitching up the cloth to reach her bare skin beneath. She kissed him full on the mouth before turning her cold gaze on Hosh.
‘Not with him watching,’ she wheedled. ‘Not tonight. You don’t need to see me. Not when we’re trading in touch and taste.’ She angled her head to lick the skin at the base of Grewa’s neck.
Her coquettish tone was in utter contrast to the warning her narrowed eyes directed at Hosh. He only wished he knew what he was being warned against.
Grewa turned his ruined face towards him. ‘Find yourself a corner and don’t distract me.’
‘Of course,’ Hosh nodded humbly.
Molcho broke off from pulling his woman’s dress down to her waist the better to squeeze and suck at her breasts. Seizing her by the wrist, he dragged her inside the pavilion. Grewa’s woman shepherded him through the door, kicking it shut behind her.
Hosh breathed a sigh of relief. How grateful he was that this cursed amulet didn’t carry visions both ways. The last thing he wanted ever to see again was that woman sitting astride Grewa’s sagging, wrinkled body, riding him and writhing, clasping his groping hands to her breasts, squealing with every appearance of ecstasy.
Though his stomach was growling with hunger made ten times worse by the enticing smell of that stewing meat, that was a trade he would gladly make. And he was unutterably relieved that the rooms Grewa and Molcho had been given were right on the far side of the pavilion beyond the central garden. Far too far away for any unwelcome noises to stir his unruly imagination.
Hosh walked to the edge of the terrace, to sit with his feet dangling over the edge. He gazed aimlessly out over the anchorage. The galleys and triremes floated placidly at anchor. Though it was a cloudless night, both moons were only at their quarters; Greater waning and Lesser waxing. Calm water reflecting the starlight lay like a slick of pewter between the velvet darkness of the headlands. That vision shouldn’t distract Grewa from his pleasures.
‘Do not look down.’
Hosh managed to avoid a startled glance into the shadows beneath the terrace.
‘Have you learned what they want?’ Anskal demanded.
‘Not yet.’ Hosh kept his eyes fixed on the closest trireme.
‘Have the women said anything to hint that they have some scheme of their own?’ the Mandarkin persisted.
‘No,’ Hosh said slowly.
Though he would wager that they had, when this particular rune bone rolled to reveal the truth. He didn’t see these women whoring themselves in hopes that Grewa and Molcho could protect them from Anskal, any more than he believed they were spreading their legs in hope of learning secrets to of
fer up to the Mandarkin. Whatever these women sought, it would serve their own interests. They were mageborn, after all, even if they had only so recently learned it.
The grass beneath the terrace rustled irritably. ‘Come to see me at dawn, before Grewa wakes.’
‘I will,’ Hosh said meekly.
Anskal climbed the steps, apparently paying no heed to Hosh at all. He went into the pavilion and closed the door behind him.
Some while later, the door opened again. One of the Aldabreshi raider-mages came to shove Hosh’s shoulder.
‘You’re standing sentry?’
‘If you like.’ Hosh shrugged.
The man grunted but didn’t say anything, going back inside and shutting the door.
No one else came out. Hosh guessed that the Archipelagan had told the Ensaimin mariners and the Lescari that there was no need for them to lose a night’s rest.
The few night birds that had returned to the island of late began to call tentatively to each other. Faint noises from inside the pavilion gradually stilled and the lamps and cook fires of the encampment along the shoreline were doused one by one. The aroma of that succulent stew faded in the cool night air. Only the shuttered lanterns on the prows and sterns of the anchored ships glowed faintly in the subdued moonlight.
Hosh wondered what he was supposed to tell Anskal when he went to his room at dawn. Or was the Mandarkin going to tell him something he didn’t want Grewa to suspect?
Hosh guessed that the wizard understood all the intricacies of this cursed amulet; in particular knowing that Hosh’s eyes opening to a new day of misery and fear wouldn’t wake Grewa too. If it did, even if the magic carried no words, only visions, surely Grewa would know for certain that Hosh was telling tales to his true master.
But the old corsair already expected that. He’d made that plain in the hollow clearing, when he’d been declaring the heavenly compass’s omens to the rest. He’d be a fool not to know that Hosh was Anskal’s spy. Whatever else Grewa and Molcho might be—murderers, thieves, despoilers of women, and that was only the start of it—neither of them was stupid.
Darkening Skies (The Hadrumal Crisis) Page 41
