Tayschrenn came up to stand next to Dancer, and for the first time the mage appeared worried.
‘Yet they all point …’ Kellanved objected.
Jadeen nodded impatiently. ‘Yes, yes. They point. But where, yes?’
The little mage attempted to shrug within his bonds. ‘Well, here.’
The witch was shaking her head and grinning anew, obviously enjoying toying with him. ‘No. It is here, but not here. The Army of Bone was of the Imass, yes? You knew this?’
Kellanved nodded. ‘I have read such research.’
‘And,’ continued Jadeen, ‘they were an Elder people. They possessed their own source of power – what we call Warrens, but they named Holds. Yes?’
Kellanved was nodding eagerly. ‘Yes!’
‘Theirs was named Tellann.’
Kellanved’s face fell, his shoulders slumped. ‘And it is closed to us.’
Jadeen nodded, and stooped to pick up a small arrowhead that she then flicked away. ‘Yes. Tellann is inaccessible to us. No human can reach it.’
‘Yet these items – their Tellann-infused tools and weapons – can,’ Kellanved mused.
Jadeen shrugged. ‘What of it? That is no help to me or you.’
‘I was just thinking,’ Kellanved said, letting his head fall back as if he were studying the night sky, ‘that they touch Tellann at all times, anywhere. So why …’
Dancer was startled by Tayschrenn’s hand now suddenly gripping his arm.
Jadeen turned upon the little mage, her eyes widening. ‘A physical access point! Here!’
Kellanved nodded. ‘Also known as a gate.’
She paced, muttering to herself. She stooped again to snatch up a flint tool and tapped it with her nails. ‘But gone now, over the aeons,’ she murmured. ‘Somehow.’
‘Destroyed,’ Kellanved affirmed. ‘However—’ He clamped his mouth shut.
Jadeen marched to him and set a foot upon his neck. ‘What? However what? Speak, damn you! Or I shall flay you alive!’
Dancer reached behind his back once more, but Tayschrenn squeezed anew and Dancer sent him a glare. The mage edged his head in a negative. Dancer gritted his teeth, seething.
‘Well,’ Kellanved gasped. ‘It just occurs to me that where there was one gate …’
Jadeen lifted her foot, letting go a hissed breath. ‘Yes … there may be another. Somewhere. One just need find it …’ Then she froze, as if struck by a stunning thought, and turned a gaze full of wonder upon Kellanved, whose own mouth opened in understanding.
‘No!’ he breathed. ‘Damn you.’
The witch threw back her head and laughed anew. She squeezed the flint tool in her hand and saluted Kellanved. ‘You have bought your life, little man. My thanks. Live and howl to see me command the Army of Bone!’ She waved a hand and darkest night took her.
The moment after the witch disappeared Kellanved leapt from the ground, his walking stick already in hand. ‘We must hurry,’ he told Dancer, who stared, stunned.
‘But you were …’
‘I replaced her bonds with mine some time ago. I had reached a dead end here. I hoped she possessed pieces I needed.’
‘But you gave her all she needed!’ Tayschrenn accused him. He pointed to where she had disappeared. ‘That witch must not succeed. No one should succeed in this!’
‘Then why did you stop me?’ Dancer demanded.
Tayschrenn waved a hand in dismissal. ‘Your blades would not have struck home and we’d all be dead now.’
Kellanved nodded his agreement. ‘Yes. She is far too experienced and wary, that one. We are lucky to be alive, frankly. I had to give her more than I wished – but it couldn’t be helped.’ He tapped his fingertips together. ‘Now, if you don’t mind, we really must be going.’
‘But Surly!’ Tayschrenn objected. ‘What of the Napans? We must return at once.’
Kellanved waved Tayschrenn off. ‘Go ahead. See to it.’
‘They could all be facing execution at this moment.’
The little mage rolled his eyes. ‘Oh, please. Surly has her agents, the Claws, all over that island. If anyone is in danger of having their throat cut, it’s that king.’ He urged the Kartoolian off. ‘Now go on. You have your own resources, do you not? Salvage things – if Surly hasn’t already.’
‘But I—’ Tayschrenn stopped himself; he was alone. That little mage seemed to be able to slip away instantly, or pretend to, in any case. Furious, he turned his face to the night sky, taking a deep breath. Calm yourself. Calm. Anger solves nothing. It is an impediment. ‘Salvage things’, he says? How am I to— He lowered his head, shaking it.
Very well. But if he returns and complains about any step I have taken – that will be it! We will be finished. I will not have him critique my choices.
Chapter 11
Tayschrenn returned to the isle of Nap. Here, in Dariyal, he sought out a certain inn that catered to foreigners. Entering, he spotted the renegade mage at table and sat down opposite him. When the burly, muscular fellow glanced up and saw him there he nearly choked on his wine. ‘Hairlock,’ Tayschrenn greeted him.
‘Tayschrenn,’ the fellow grunted, recovering, and leaning back. ‘What in the name of the Enchantress are you doing here?’
‘Why didn’t you warn us? You were supposed to warn us.’
The mage shrugged his thick, meaty shoulders. ‘Look – when I found out it was too late. And I wasn’t about to go up against Jadeen. That wasn’t the agreement.’
Tayschrenn tapped his fingers to the scarred table. ‘And Calot?’
The fellow shrugged his rounded shoulders once more. ‘Same for him, I suppose.’
‘And where is he?’
Hairlock gulped his wine; Tayschrenn noticed he was sweating now. ‘Best bordello in town, no doubt. Why? It’s over. Our agreements are null and void.’
‘No they aren’t.’
The mage, who was either naturally dark-hued or deeply tanned a rich nut brown, cocked one hairless brow. ‘Bullshit. You’re kiddin’ me. That little ancient …’
Tayschrenn gave a slow serious nod.
‘Really?’ Hairlock shook his head. ‘Thin. Too thin.’
‘Then consider me his representative and honour our agreement.’
‘You?’ The squat mage snorted. He returned his attention to his meal of boiled pork and parsnips, shoved a forkful into his mouth, and chewed. Swallowing, he took up his wine and sipped, eyeing Tayschrenn over the rim. ‘Whatcha gonna do?’ he asked, grinning lopsidedly.
Tayschrenn crossed his arms. ‘Enforce it.’
The mage grunted, finished his wine. He tapped the glass. ‘Proprietor! More wine!’ Then he leaned forward, lowering his voice. ‘Really? Right here? In front of everyone?’
Tayschrenn made a show of raising his eyes to the timber ceiling above, as if to say, Must you bore me so? ‘If necessary,’ he sighed.
A serving girl refilled Hairlock’s glass. He swirled the wine, eyeing Tayschrenn speculatively, then shrugged. ‘So … he’s alive, you say?’
‘Last I saw, yes.’
‘He actually finished Jadeen?’
‘No. They’re both chasing something else.’ Tayschrenn’s gaze drifted aside, and he added distractedly, ‘Something I hope neither discovers.’
The bald mage frowned momentarily at this, then gulped his wine. ‘Well, if he is, then yeah, I’m in – for a while.’
‘Fine.’
‘What’s the plan?’
Tayschrenn uncrossed his arms. ‘We finish what we came here for.’
They found Calot in the best room of the bordello, but as he was not alone they retreated immediately and waited in the salon. Hairlock gulped more wine and Tayschrenn sampled a Kanese fruit liqueur. Calot soon descended, adjusting his shirt and pushing back his hair.
‘Yes?’ he asked, his cherubic face rather bemused, while he perused the choice of wines.
‘Our agreement still stands,’ Tayschrenn said bluntly.
Calot raised one brow. ‘I’d heard Jadeen ate our benefactor.’
‘Not so. Apparently,’ Hairlock growled.
Calot’s brow remained raised. ‘Indeed. When shall we know?’
‘When we know – which will be when we’re done.’
Calot, looking like a young boy, smiled winningly. ‘Excellent.’ He raised a finger. ‘Question. Do we still get paid? Because I have debts. Rather a lot, I’m afraid.’
Tayschrenn sighed. ‘Yes. I’m sure you’ll get paid.’
Calot raised a glass to that.
Outside, Calot, a skinny youth, bundled himself in a thick fur coat while Hairlock, seemingly indifferent to the weather, remained in his leather vest. Tayschrenn wore the same plain dark robes he’d picked up in Malaz, and he asked, ‘Surly?’
‘The dungeons beneath the palace,’ Calot supplied.
‘Do you know the way?’
‘Yes.’
‘Then let’s go.’
‘That’s it?’ Hairlock grumbled as they walked the evening streets of Dariyal. ‘That’s your plan? Go get her?’
‘She’s probably not even there any more,’ Tayschrenn sighed. ‘But it’s a place to start.’ He eyed the rising dark silhouette of the palace, thought of the many guards within, and glanced to his two companions. ‘Neither of you know any Mockra or Rashan, do you?’
Hairlock cracked his large knuckles. ‘Not my forte.’
Calot shook his head. ‘Sorry.’
Tayschrenn was beginning to reconsider his haste. This could get very loud and very destructive very quickly. Fortunately, a figure stepped out of the dark ahead and he relaxed, recognizing her from among Surly’s guards – one of her Claws.
This woman inclined her head to him. ‘She said you might show up.’
‘And where is she?’
The woman invited them to follow her. ‘This way.’
The Claw led them to a side entrance – one curiously unguarded – and up narrow stone staircases and back servants’ ways to the main reception halls of the palace proper. All were dark and empty, save one doorway where firelight flickered. The Claw pushed open the door and moved to one side, guarding. Within stood Cartheron, Urko and Tocaras.
Tayschrenn frowned his appreciation. Well, well. Everything seemed to be in hand. And why not? Why should he have doubted Surly? He turned to his two companions. ‘Wait here and stand guard.’
Hairlock peered inside and rolled his eyes. ‘The Inner Circle. I get it.’ He jabbed at Tayschrenn’s chest, ‘Just make sure we get paid for tonight’s work.’
‘Yes,’ Tayschrenn hissed in answer. ‘You will get paid.’ And he pulled the door shut behind him. Within, he asked, ‘Where is she?’
Cartheron glanced to the tall arched stone ceiling far above. ‘Dealing with Tarel.’
Tayschrenn couldn’t keep a frown of disapproval from his face. ‘She’s not going to …’
‘She’s offering him one more chance,’ Urko explained, scowling his disapproval.
‘And Kellanved? Dancer?’ Cartheron asked. ‘What happened?’
‘Still alive last I saw. We shall see what happens.’ He peered round, spotted a comfortable-looking chair, and sat. ‘So I suppose we wait.’
Urko grunted his impatience and paced the room.
*
Despite having specifically chosen a windowless room with one barred and locked door, Tarel slept poorly. He kept thinking he’d heard the door open, and had to glance at it, checking it in the light of his single candle, again and again. It was the spectre of his sister, of course. Haunting him.
But he’d beaten her. Finally. After so many years. And soon she would be a ghost, in a very real headless sense. The thought calmed him, and he lay back once more.
Then he stiffened, unable even to breathe. In the chair, in the shadows, had someone been …?
Very slowly, he raised his head to peer over. Indeed, someone was now occupying the one chair. His sister. Sureth.
His breath left him in an explosive gasp – almost a cry.
‘I gave you every chance,’ she said, sounding her old disappointed self.
‘I beat you,’ he whispered back. ‘Beat you.’
She shook her head. ‘This was inevitable. I’m sorry.’
He managed to swallow. ‘And if I were to call for the guards?’
‘They are my guards.’
‘Damn you! Damn you, damn you! I won!’
She raised a hand, as she always did to silence his tirades. ‘You have one choice.’
‘And what is that choice? Death?’
‘Abdication. Relinquish your authority to the Council of Elders. Retire to the family villa on Rueth Isle.’
‘Relinquish authority to you, you mean!’
She shook her head once more. ‘No. The Council. They can have it. I’m interested in … other things.’
He waved a finger at her. ‘No, no, no. It’s a trick. A trick! You’ll take it.’
She surged from the chair. ‘I have no need for tricks, do I?’
Tarel pulled the covers higher. ‘You’re threatening me. Your own brother! Why can’t I rule?’
Now she rubbed her forehead, sighing. ‘Just abdicate. In the morning. I will have the Council summoned.’
He was thinking ahead now. He could abdicate – for the moment. But on Rueth he could plan anew. Regroup. Try again. Yes! A better plan. ‘Very well,’ he said. ‘I will do as you ask. Devolve power to the Council.’
‘Very good,’ she answered, and headed to the door. Unbarring it, she paused, and turned back to him. ‘By the way. Remember that half the people you will contact to plot with, and half your guards, and half the servants at the villa … will all, secretly, be working for me. You’ll just never know which half.’ She shut the door behind her.
Tarel pressed his face into his pillow and screamed.
*
When Surly entered the hall, Tayschrenn thought that for the very first time he detected emotion upon her features. And strangely enough, she appeared almost sad, or regretful. Cartheron spoke then, asking, ‘Tarel?’ and the mask snapped back into place and she straightened.
‘Retiring to his villa.’ The Napans all nodded at this, perhaps secretly relieved. ‘The Council will rule,’ she added, and Urko’s great bushy brows rose in surprise. ‘We have bigger concerns,’ she finished, looking at Tayschrenn. ‘Kellanved and Dancer?’
‘Both still alive, as far as I know.’
She frowned, a touch perplexed. ‘And Jadeen?’
He rose and went to a sideboard and examined the decanted wines, selected a deep red, and poured himself a glass. Turning, he leaned back against the table and sipped the wine – rather disappointing. ‘It’s very complicated,’ he began. ‘They chanced upon a mystery, she and Kellanved, and now they are both off pursuing it.’ He rubbed his forehead, grimacing. ‘Frankly, I hope neither succeeds.’
‘Yet another mystery,’ Surly echoed with a tired sigh. ‘Very well … we proceed as usual.’
‘And that is?’ Cartheron asked.
‘We refurbish the fleets and pick our targets.’
‘What of the Council?’ Tocaras asked.
‘The Council will do what I tell them to.’
Cartheron and Urko exchanged looks; Cartheron cleared his throat. ‘So … we wait for the announcement tomorrow.’
‘Yes.’
Tayschrenn set down his wine. ‘I will inform Malaz.’
Surly nodded to him. ‘Thank you.’
Bowing, Tayschrenn took his leave. Without, he waved Hairlock and Calot to him. ‘Your employment still stands – for the time being. Now we must look to the mainland.’
Hairlock crooked a sideways eager smile.
* * *
It was beginning to look to all involved, Gregar included, that the siege of Jurda was shaping into the engagement to end this, the latest of a long line of Bloor–Gris wars. Even if ‘siege’ really wasn’t the proper term for what the Bloorian League allies were curre
ntly up to. ‘Camping’ was more the word Gregar would apply to the ring of bivouacs surrounding Castle Jurda. All contingents of the League ran their own troops; the Yellows, the Vorian, the Rath, each pursuing its own plans for the siege – the result being complete chaos and confusion.
And all the while the surrounded Jurdan forces kept watch from their layered battlements, no doubt rather bemused, if not downright amused.
The Fourth Company of the Second Yellows, with Gregar and Haraj, had laid claim to an abandoned outbuilding, half roofless, but built of a sturdy cobblestone – which was fortunate as the ruin lay just within the longest bowshot range of Jurda’s outermost cantonments. Here they cooked common meals and bedded down, if not actively besieging, then at least contributing to the circumvallation.
Gregar tended to stand his watch from the building’s ruined loft, exposed to bowshot, but confident that the defenders, mindful of wasting arrows and bolts, wouldn’t bother with a single target. This day had been overcast and cold, with a few snow flurries, and he was thankful for the roaring cookfires below and looking forward to warming himself at one later that evening.
He eyed the imposing grey, cliff-like bulk of Castle Jurda and frankly didn’t think much of the League’s chances. This ancestral home had withstood determined sieges from both sides of the interminable Bloor–Gris wars. It contained an entire town within its layered curtain walls, and its outlying cantonments alone stood as large as some of the independent fortress-keeps brazen enough to field forces against it.
A voice called from the timber stairs and he turned. Haraj was gesturing him over. ‘What is it?’ he called.
‘Over here!’ the lad urged, waving.
Sighing, he came to the stairs where Haraj crouched behind cover. ‘What is it?’
‘It’s the—’ the skinny fellow cast a wary eye to the rearing castle walls.
‘Don’t worry. They won’t fire.’
‘But we’re exposed here.’
‘They won’t bother.’
The lad hunched, regardless. ‘Have you heard the news?’
‘What news?’
‘The Guard – they’re here! Arrived yesterday.’
Gregar leaned more of his weight on the rain-slick haft of his spear and looked across to the snow-obscured grey walls. ‘What of it?’
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