Defiant Peaks (The Hadrumal Crisis) (60 page)

Corrain knew he sounded accusing and he didn’t care. He was more exhausted than he wished to admit even to himself. Every successive day tramping through these woodlands had proved that Halferan’s baron was nowhere near as fit as a guard captain should be.

They had paused in Wrede where this river swelled the famous lake only to purchase the bare minimum of gear and provisions to sustain them in the wilds. Initially Corrain had been relieved, as they left the smallholdings in the lower valley behind, to see that Aritane’s early life in these mountains had taught her the skills for such arduous travel.

Now even this light pack dragged heavily on his shoulders and relentlessly sapped his strength. That wasn’t the worst of it. Walking these endless leagues uphill had given Corrain far too much time to brood on the wisdom or folly of this journey. With every passing morning he was more inclined to fear that their quest would prove a waste of time and effort which could have been far more usefully spent elsewhere.

More than that, Corrain knew full well that Jagai’s galleys would be arriving in Col’s harbour any tide today or tomorrow.

‘Have you used your Artifice to tell the Col adepts where we are? Have they told you what’s happening in the city? Do you know what the Archmage is doing in Hadrumal?’

He asked these same questions time and again, always to no avail. Aritane only spoke to him to address practicalities as they established their camp each evening or made ready to resume their journey with each sunrise.

Corrain had had more than enough. He halted on the narrow path worn by deer or whatever other game scuttled through this pine forest at night hoping to escape the wolves which he had heard calling by the cold light of the waxing lesser moon. Corrain had been careful to walk a good distance from any camp before he skinned and gutted the upland pheasants which he had fetched down with the fowling bow he’d bought in Wrede. Finding that particular skill hadn’t deserted him was some small consolation.

Aritane continued walking with the same unhurried, unceasing strides. Corrain refused to be drawn after her.

‘How much further are you going?’ he shouted, feet planted firmly on the frosted mud. ‘Until you freeze to death up there?’

The Gidestan mountains loomed ahead, shrugging off their cloak of evergreens to reach twice and three times higher than these foothills which he and Aritane had travelled through thus far. Corrain had seen the high ground between Caladhrian and Lescar on his visits to Duryea in Lord Halferan’s guard. He had considered the mighty crags and lofty precipices impressive. Now those hillocks looked as meagre as the Halferan mill pond compared to Wrede’s great lake.

The peaks soared upwards, impossibly tall and brutally sheer. They looked so sharp-edged against the pale spring skies that Corrain could believe their ridges were no wider than a knife blade. He didn’t imagine he’d ever see for himself. Surely not even the hardiest and most agile of rats could scale those barren heights, still less survive up there.

The dark rocky slopes were shadowed by lethal screes and capped with blinding white snowfields. Rumpled scars marked the course of the avalanches which they had witnessed in the past few days. Such snowfalls filled the empty air with the sound of thunder and blurred the distant peaks with clouds of smothering white.

There was still plenty of snow here at lower levels, whatever Caladhrian almanacs might say of the year turning towards spring. The river remained frozen though Corrain could hear the water rushing beneath. Breaking through it to fill his drinking cup was easy enough to convince him that trusting his own weight to the ice would be folly.

‘Why won’t you use your Artifice to call out to them?’ he yelled after Aritane.

There could be no doubt of her proficiency with aetheric magic. She had carried the two of them to an empty pasture overlooking Wrede as easily as any wizard could have done. More easily? Corrain had no way to judge but he had been struck by how different it had been, compared to being carried over these impossible distances by elemental magic.

As soon as Aritane’s hand touched his own, back in that room in Col’s Prefecture, Artifice had wrapped him in what seemed like sudden sleep. Opening his eyes, Corrain had found himself on that grassy slope with absolutely no idea how he had got there. For a moment he honestly believed that he had slipped into some dream. Then Aritane had spoken and recollection had rushed back.

And now he was going no further without answers. Most of all he wanted to know if these Mountain Artificers would really help them. This long walk had given him ample opportunity for second thoughts about that.

‘Kusint, a man of the Forest Folk, tells me that the
sheltya
oppose the wizards and adepts who serve Mandarkin’s tyrants, if they try to outflank the Solurans by cutting through the high mountain passes,’ he yelled after Aritane. ‘If your people are the Solurans’ allies, can we really hope that they will help us?’

Ahead, the Mountain woman finally stopped walking. After a further long moment, she turned around and put back the hood of her heavy grey cape. Buying that had been her only concession to the cold of these heights.

The draper in that Wrede warehouse had certainly regarded Aritane with awe verging on fear. At the time, that encounter had encouraged Corrain to hope that these mysterious
sheltya
might truly have enchantments to equal and to complement Hadrumal’s wizardry. But that had been ten days ago.

Aritane looked down the slope at Corrain. ‘The
sheltya
are no one’s allies. They defend these mountains and their people against any incomers intent on bloodshed.’

Corrain felt a chill which had nothing to do with the lingering frost. ‘But these Solurans are threatening Hadrumal and that’s six hundred or more leagues away.’

‘The
sheltya
are also opposed to any who would use magic to rule over others, be that through wizardry or Artifice. The Solurans are seeking to increase the influence and use of magic among the kingdom’s nobility through these ensorcelled items.’

‘So the
sheltya
will want to put a stop to that?’

As Corrain sought confirmation Aritane only shrugged.

‘I said that I hoped they would hear us if we came here. I made no promises that they would help.’

That wasn’t nearly enough to convince Corrain to continue on this path. He needed to know for certain if these
sheltya
were going to prove worthwhile allies.

‘If we are to foil this Soluran plot, we have to find these
sheltya
before the day is out. Otherwise you can take me back to Col and we’ll devise some other plan with Hadrumal’s wizards.’

Aritane shook her head. ‘Hadrumal’s wizards cannot counter Soluran Artifice without
sheltya
help.’

‘Then use your own Artifice to let them know we need their help,’ he cried, exasperated.

‘I cannot use my true magic here. I have been exiled from these hills on pain of death or worse,’ Aritane replied calmly.

‘What did you do?’ Corrain wondered uneasily what sentence could be worse than death.

‘I betrayed my
sheltya
vows.’ There was a forbidding edge to her tone.

‘What were those vows?’ Corrain wasn’t going to be deterred now that he had finally got her talking.

Aritane stood silent for long enough to convince him she wasn’t going to answer. He even took a step forward, only for her to speak, even if it wasn’t to answer his question.

‘My brother sought my help in saving our people’s hills and valleys from lowlanders who believe that land without walls or fences or some signed and sealed deed of ownership can simply be seized by any who might wish to. He sought to save his wife’s family from dispossession and beggary by raising an army to drive the lowlanders back. Events did not unfold as he had hoped.’ Aritane surprised Corrain with a chilly smile. ‘I believe that you know how that feels.’

‘Have you been searching my thoughts?’ he demanded

She tucked a wisp of blonde hair back into her thick plait. ‘Planir told me.’

Corrain reminded himself that the Archmage trusted this woman. The calculating wizard must believe she could deliver some help from these
sheltya.
Surely he wouldn’t have allowed them to make this journey knowing it would be in vain?

On the other hand, if this brother of hers had failed to save his wife’s holding from invaders, that didn’t say much for Aritane’s Artifice. If she had escaped punishment for her misdeeds, whatever those might be, it didn’t say much for the
sheltya
magic pursuing her.

She shook her head. ‘I didn’t say that my brother failed. Merely that events took an unforeseen course, most particularly for him and also for me.’

‘Now you are reading my mind.’ Corrain scowled.

‘If you wish me to answer your questions, I need to fully understand them.’ Aritane was unrepentant. ‘As far as the
sheltya
are concerned, my brother’s crime was not in defending his family’s rights to wealth to be won from the forests and mines where they hunt and dig but in convincing me to use my Artifice to help him. My crime was agreeing and worse, persuading others sworn to the grey to do the same. The blood of those who died is on my head and hands.’

Corrain didn’t need any arcane enchantments to see the guilt darkening her eyes.

‘Sheltya
can have no family other than those sworn to the grey once they have vowed to serve. They can have no loyalty to any particular valley otherwise they cannot be impartial when judging the disputes which arise and the crimes that are committed among the Mountain Men.
Sheltya
judgement could not be respected if there was any doubt of their neutrality in all respects. When the gravest crimes are judged, s
heltya
must be able to impose the penalties which blood guilt demands. They could not use such Artifice on men and women whom they still considered their kinsfolk.’

Aritane’s faint smile told Corrain that she had just used her Artifice to see how unwilling he was to ask her what those crimes and penalties might be.

‘How much further should we go on,’ he asked instead, ‘before we give up hope? The Jagai galleys—’

‘The Archipelagans are still two days’ hard rowing from Col. We do not expect them to arrive before the dawn tide three mornings hence.’

It wasn’t Aritane who answered him.

‘Talagrin’s hairy arse!’ Corrain reached for his sword. A Mountain Man clad in grey had appeared between them; tall for his race though not as stocky as most of the blond men Corrain had encountered over the years.

He appeared to be unarmed but that meant nothing if he was one of these
sheltya.
Equally, if he was a Mountain enchanter, Corrain’s blade would be as much use as a loaf of bread in a sword fight. He unclenched his fingers from the wire-wrapped hilt.

The grey clad man smiled with satisfaction. Corrain narrowed his eyes. Did these
sheltya
simply wander in and out of anyone’s thoughts as they chose?

‘Yes,’ the man told him. As he blinked Corrain was disconcerted to see that the Mountain man’s eyelids were stained black with some pigment.

‘Bryn.’

Corrain was startled to see how completely Aritane’s composure had deserted her. Always pale, now she was ashen with her full lips pressed together, bloodless, and her mouth downturned as though she struggled with tears.

He was entirely unmoved. ‘Why have you returned?’

Aritane’s voice shook as she answered. ‘There are those among Solura’s Houses of Sanctuary who are breaking their oaths and using true magic in pursuit of base and greedy ambition. Those of the high peaks should be told.’

‘Do you imagine they don’t already know?’ Bryn asked, scathing.

‘I thought—I thought it safest to make certain.’ Aritane stumbled over her answer.

‘Safe?’ Bryn mocked her, harsher still. ‘You thought you could return safely to these hills? You didn’t imagine you would be called to account for your crimes?’

Something of Aritane’s former resolve stiffened her backbone. ‘I chose to make this journey because the time has come for me to answer for my offences. I will prove my repentance and show that I have honoured the
sheltya
among the lowlanders.’

‘And you?’ The grey-robed
sheltya
reached out to touch Corrain.

He tried to step backwards, to pull away. He couldn’t move. Even as he fought to resist it, Artifice opened an overwhelming void in his wits that swallowed all awareness whole.

H
E WOKE IN
darkness, sprawled face down. Tensing his hands, he felt cool stone under his fingertips. Smooth stone, but not thanks to some mason’s chisel. This felt more like water-washed rock.

He lifted his head and strained his eyes in a useless attempt to see through the absolute blackness. Abandoning that, he concentrated on listening. The slightest sound might give him some hint as to where he was. All he heard was silence.

He raised himself cautiously to his knees, one hand above his head to avoid knocking himself senseless if the roof proved to be unexpectedly low.

Smooth or not, this stone floor was unforgiving to his bare knees. He turned his body this way and that, trying to feel any breath of air on his naked back or chest. A draft might indicate some way out of here.