Dangerous Waters (26 page)

Halferan, Caladhria

41st of Aft-Spring

Z
URENNE STARED UP
at the pale linen canopy above her lonely bed. This was a puzzle to set before Arrimelin. Minelas was dead. The Archmage himself had sworn it. Her fears should be relieved. So why would the goddess of dreams deny her sleep?

She had spent the whole night slipping into a fitful drowse only to stiffen, wakeful, as recollection of the previous day pummelled her. Whenever her eyelids grew leaden with the hope of rest a fresh thought would startle her anew.

She shouldn’t have wished to be rid of the Archmage. How heartless of him to take her at her word, she thought resentfully. He owed her more than that inadequate apology.

Someone should pay; for the empty expanse of linen beside her, for the loving father her children had lost. Though what recompense could possibly match such grievous losses? Her husband’s life couldn’t be reckoned in coin.

She sat up and reached for her bedroom gown. The curtains were closed, the room dim despite the morning bustle outside. Zurenne picked her way carefully to the window and drew back one edge of the blue brocade. Sunlight warmed her as she looked down into the courtyard and saw the servants about their duties.

The two men stood in the shadow of the guard hall caught her eye; the newcomer unmistakable with his coppery head and Corrain, ragged-haired and unshaven. Their lives had been measured out in coin.

Zurenne caught her breath with sudden curiosity. How much coin had Master Minelas been paid for the enslaved Halferan guards? Where was that gold and silver now? What of the barony’s revenues which he’d misappropriated?

She looked around her bedchamber. Halferan had always made good on his wedding vow to see her kept in comfort. Their private furnishings were renewed at the first sign of shabbiness while each festival brought her fresh linen and new gowns, her cast-offs a welcome windfall for her maids. It was only Starrid who’d begrudged her rightful due.

What of the future? Would Lord Licanin be as generous? Or would he decree that her widowhood only warranted new gowns half-yearly? Once a year? When would he decide that Ilysh was of marriageable age and so entitled to adornment? Would Zurenne have to beg for every copper penny she wished to spend on treats for her daughters?

What of the demesne folk and the tenants in the barony beyond? Halferan had always been generous with solstice and equinox gifts, especially to those celebrating their birth festival, embarking on married life or bidding their farewells at a loved one’s pyre.

That was to say, Zurenne corrected herself, Halferan had rightly been generous to those whose character and deeds had earned his favour. How could Lord Licanin know who was worthy of his goodwill? Wouldn’t he be more likely to keep the coin in Halferan’s coffers, to be spent by Ilysh’s as-yet-unknown husband?

Zurenne shivered despite the warmth of the sun through the window. There was no point in thinking so far ahead when much more immediate dangers threatened. Whatever else Minelas had done, however the renegade mage had done it, he’d kept those cursed corsair ships at bay. No longer.

Was it her duty to send Lysha and Neeny away to safety? As long as she stayed here herself, that would safeguard Ilysh’s inheritance. Her other sisters lived far beyond the reach of corsair raids. Of course, the thieves had never ventured this far from water.

‘My lady!’ Her new maid, Raselle, halted in the doorway, startled to see her mistress by the window.

‘You may enter.’ Zurenne went back to bed, pretending to doze. That allowed Raselle to draw the curtains fully open, to pour hot water into the ewer on her washstand and lay out a clean shift and stockings. Finally the girl went to fetch a pan of glowing charcoal from the kitchen, for the little water-stove set in the withdrawing room hearth now that daily fires were no longer needed.

Zurenne tossed aside the shift she had slept in, washed and donned fresh linen before wrapping herself in her bedroom gown once more. She was sitting in the withdrawing room, unplaiting her hair from its night braid when Raselle returned with a tray; fruit bread and a dish of new butter together with Zurenne’s crystal glass in its silver holder and the makings of a morning tisane.

If the girl had been raised to quench her thirst with small beer in her family’s farmhouse, she had soon learned to appreciate the niceties of tisanes. Zurenne nodded approval as Raselle spooned judicious measures of dried hawthorn leaves, sweet briar and cowslip blossoms into the pierced silver ball and snapped it shut. Now the water in the reservoir surrounding the stove’s central chimney was boiling. Raselle filled the polished kettle from the spigot and brought it over.

‘Thank you.’ Zurenne poured hot water into the glass and swirled the ball around with the spoon. Smoky tendrils seeped from the steeping herbs. ‘I will wear my almond green gown with the short ruffled sleeves.’

Lord Licanin had allowed her to summon her dressmaker when he’d seen how shamefully worn her clothes had become. Though Zurenne still faced the problem of finding something suitable to give to Doratine the cook by way of reward for finding Raselle among her numerous nieces. She could not give away a new gown but her old ones were too worn or stained to be fitting thanks.

‘My lady.’ The girl bobbed a curtsey. Once she had laid the dress ready she hesitated by the clavichord.

‘Yes?’ Zurenne’s smile invited her to continue. While she’d made it clear to Raselle that she didn’t wish to be bothered with idle gossip, the girl had readily understood that she should keep her eyes and ears open, to alert her mistress to things of significance and to be able to answer whatever questions Zurenne might have about the demesne’s affairs.

‘Your pardon, my lady, but Corrain of the guard says he wishes to see you.’ Raselle smoothed her spotless apron.

‘He can wait.’ Zurenne had no wish to be reminded of the previous evening. She stirred her tisane one last time and fished the silver ball out of the glass.

She contemplated her writing box on the far side of the polished table. It had been a gift from her sister Celle on her wedding day. Cunningly hinged, it opened into a slope with paper, pens, ink and blotting sand safely stowed in its two halves.

She had to tell Lord Licanin about the Archmage’s visit and of the revelation of Minelas’s death. Zurenne had no doubt that Master Rauffe had loosed a Licanin courier dove at first light. But a dove could carry precious few words on the onionskin paper in the silver cylinder screwed safely to its leg band.

Even without the parliament’s seal of approval, everyone would consider a widow without father or brother answerable to an older sister’s husband. So Zurenne could not lie or dissemble in her dealings with Licanin if she wished him to trust her with her daughters’ education, let alone any of the barony’s business in his absence.

‘Mama?’ Ilysh peered around the half-open door from the hallway.

‘Sweetheart.’ Zurenne summoned her with a smile and Neeny followed her sister. ‘More plum bread, Raselle, if you please.’ Zurenne deftly moved the steaming tisane glass as Esnina’s hand reached across the breakfast tray.

‘What shall we do today?’ Ilysh asked hopefully.

Zurenne couldn’t recall when she last saw her daughter so carefree. As far as Lysha was concerned, she realised, word of Master Minelas’s death was good news to outweigh any word of corsair raids.

Esnina was spreading butter on a slice of fruit bread, oblivious to their exchange. Zurenne doubted she even remembered Minelas after half a year’s absence. Did her little daughter remember her father, she wondered with a pang. Well, that was a rune showing two faces, one upright and one reversed. If Neeny didn’t remember her father’s love, she wouldn’t suffer the enduring agony of his loss.

‘Mama?’ Ilysh prompted.

‘Music, I think.’ Zurenne nodded decisively. ‘You and Neeny should practise a duet to entertain Lord Licanin.’

‘A duet?’ Lysha couldn’t hide her scepticism.

‘Then you and I will play together,’ Zurenne allowed.

A knock sounded on the doorpost.

‘Raselle?’ Zurenne looked round. ‘You need not—’

But it was not Raselle. The guard Corrain stood in the hallway, his red-headed companion at his shoulder. Zurenne was momentarily too astounded to speak.

‘My lady—’ he began.

‘How dare you?’ Zurenne’s astonishment had turned to anger. ‘Be about your duties, churl, until I send for you.’

He dropped to one knee, his shaggy head bowed. ‘My lady, I beg you.’

Zurenne wasn’t beguiled. She’d seen the determination in his eye. ‘Be off before I order you thrashed from the gates!’

‘Were you truly kept as slaves?’ Lysha was looking at both men, avid with curiosity. ‘Among the southern barbarians?’

‘Jora says so.’ Neeny nodded, mouth full and butter glistening on her cheek.

‘Jora says more than is good for her.’ Distracted, Zurenne wiped Esnina’s face and pushed her towards Ilysh. ‘You may let her know that I said so. Now take your sister and dress. Ring for Jora.’

Mistress Rauffe definitely need not be rewarded for finding that freckled, gap-toothed nursemaid for the children.

‘My lady.’ Corrain edged aside to let the girls leave, awkward on one knee. ‘This is Kusint. We escaped the corsairs together. I would never have succeeded without him.’

Zurenne nodded, reserved. ‘So I understand.’ She wasn’t about to trust any strangers, not after Minelas. More immediately to the point, this red-headed lad could well share the vices commonly attributed to his people.

To her surprise, the young man dropped to one knee beside Corrain. ‘I am Forest born, my lady, from the Soluran side of the woodlands.’

‘The corsairs raid that far?’ Zurenne was horrified.

Kusint looked up, perplexed. ‘No, my lady.’

She blushed as his tone implied that was a foolish question. ‘How did you fall foul of Aldabreshin slavers then?’ she snapped. ‘Through bad luck or bad judgement?’

He smiled at her, unabashed. ‘Something of both, my lady.’

‘You’re fortunate to live to learn that lesson.’ She dismissed them both with a backhanded gesture. ‘Now leave. I have urgent affairs to attend to.’

Corrain rose to his feet but made no move to depart. He stood twisting that manacle around his wrist. ‘Do you wish to be revenged upon those wizards, my lady? All of them, not just Minelas.’

Zurenne couldn’t believe her ears. ‘What? How?’ Common sense rescued her. ‘Are you drunk or dreaming? Be gone, the pair of you!’

Corrain stood his ground. ‘We can show Archmage Planir that he cannot dictate to us. Aye, and see Halferan and this whole coast defended against the corsairs. I swear it, my lady.’

Zurenne could only wonder at his certainty. ‘How by all that’s holy could we hope for such marvels?’

Corrain’s smile boded ill for the Archmage. ‘Hear what Kusint has told me.’

The red-headed lad stood up. ‘My lady, there are more wizards in this world than those of Hadrumal. Mages who owe your Archmage Planir neither allegiance nor obedience.’

Zurenne was lost for words.

‘In Solura,’ Kusint explained, ‘wizards govern themselves quite differently. Any mage whose skills command respect may found an Order. The mageborn come to study whatever he or she may teach them. They may stay or they may move on. A revered Order can endure for generations, producing many mighty wizards.’ He smiled. ‘While the reverse of that rune soon sees a mage with more ambition than skill begging for bread by the roadside.’

Zurenne struggled to recall what she had learned of Solura, so remote and irrelevant to Caladhria. ‘Do you people not have a king? Does he truly permit wizards such licence?’

‘Royal law does require the mageborn to have their potential assessed by an established Order,’ Kusint admitted. ‘Anyone with effective magic must be apprenticed to an older wizard. All the wizards of an Order are guarantors for their fellow mages’ good conduct and each Order must secure a noble patron.’

‘They do that readily enough,’ Corrain cut in, ‘since Solura’s lords see the value of wizardry in their warfare.’

‘The northern mountains separate the Kingdom of Solura from the realm of Mandarkin.’ Kusint’s green eyes hardened. ‘That’s a hard land, rocky and cold through their long winters and baked to scorching dust in the summer. Mandarkin’s tyrants rule through fear and pain and keep serfs bonded for life in their villages.’

‘They’re slaves,’ Corrain interrupted again.

Kusint shot him an exasperated glance. ‘Mandarkin’s tyrants covet Solura’s lowlands. They launch attacks through the passes time and again. In generations gone, they even succeeded in holding territory south of the mountains for years at a time. Mageborn in Mandarkin are compelled to serve their tyrants on pain of death, so the wizards of Solura have long stood shoulder to shoulder with our kings and armies.’

Corrain clenched his fists with a rattle of his manacle’s chain. ‘We can invite a Soluran mage to defend Caladhria against these corsair slavers. Planir of Hadrumal has no right to gainsay us.’

Zurenne was enthralled by the thought of defying the Archmage. Of securing her daughters’ future. Of safeguarding the humble folk of Halferan from future ordeals.

‘But Solura is so far away.’ She had only the vaguest idea how distant. ‘Winter would be upon us before you could return with such a wizard, even if you could find one to help us. I must suppose that any such mage would want some reward for his endeavours,’ she continued bitterly. ‘Even if I held the Halferan purse strings, Master Minelas has beggared the barony.’

‘The corsairs have loot enough to satisfy ten Soluran mages,’ Corrain assured her. ‘We don’t only seek to defend the coast. As long as this mage agrees to rescue those enslaved, we can guide him to an emperor’s ransom in the raiders’ lair.’

Truly? And coin was the key to all locks. Halferan had always said so.

‘Burn out their nest and the coastal baronies may rest easy for years to come,’ Kusint pointed out.

‘With a fast ship, we can reach Solura by the middle of For-Summer,’ Corrain promised.