Dangerous Waters (29 page)

‘Artifice?’ Appalled, Kalion jabbed a fat finger at Sannin. ‘She fears mundane outrage if they discover that we keep watch on their coastal waters with our magecraft? How much more offended would the mainlanders be, to have their innermost thoughts rifled through from afar?’

Jilseth saw more than half the wizards shared the Hearth Master’s astonishment that Planir should suggest such a thing.

‘You misunderstand me.’ The Archmage raised placating hands. ‘I would never advocate such a gross intrusion. But our friends in Suthyfer tell me that Artifice can read a gathering’s mood without any need to invade an individual’s thoughts.’

‘That would require a gathering of Caladhrians who’ve heard this trooper’s tale.’ Herion looked thoughtful. ‘As well as an Aetheric adept brought from Suthyfer.’

‘I think we can learn all we need to by more usual methods,’ Sannin objected.

With most of the wizards nodding, one of the youngest councillors raised a hand. At Planir’s nod, he stood, his aptitude for elemental air discreetly declared by his unbuttoned grey jerkin’s sapphire lining.

Jilseth remembered his name. Urlan, a mage who divided his time between Hadrumal and the distant ports of Tormalin’s east coast, using his skills to guide ships across the far ocean to the unexplored lands beyond.

‘Our friends and colleagues in Suthyfer have discovered many ways for Artifice and elemental magic to complement each other. We should not be so quick to dismiss aetheric magic merely because its mysteries are closed to us. I would not be standing here if Artifice’s healing hadn’t salvaged my broken legs.’

Jilseth recalled hearing he’d suffered appalling injuries when his ship had fallen foul of a catastrophic storm.

‘That’s another debate which I have no wish to revisit.’ An ancient magewoman rose laboriously to her feet. Despite the heat outside she was wrapped in a mossy cloak. A mage by the door stood up, ready to hurry forward and assist her.

‘I have no interest in mainlander affairs.’ She looked around the great chamber, her sunken eyes glittering. ‘Let us not forget why Archmage Trydek brought his first apprentices here, those men and women in whose chairs you sit. Look at the defences enveloping this hall which they wrought with the first quintessential magic, blending their spells in desperation born of fear for their very lives.’

She shook her head, white hair as fine as thistledown barely concealing her bony skull. ‘Mainlanders have always feared us, even when they’ve sought to make use of our skills. At least we knew where we stood when the mageborn were beaten and exiled, if they weren’t hanged outright.’

‘Forgive me, Madam Shannet.’ Herion bowed respectfully. ‘But those days were long gone even before your birth.’

‘You don’t think such persecution could return?’ She teetered alarmingly as she thrust her stick at him. ‘For us and for these adepts of Artifice—’ her disdain was palpable ‘—if they’re fool enough to share their secrets. I’ve lived long enough to see how vile the mundane multitude can behave to one another, especially when they fear for their land or livelihood. We have nothing to gain by interfering and far too much to lose. The proper business of wizards is wizardry and that is the business of Hadrumal!’ Her voice echoed back from the encircling wall, unexpectedly forceful.

‘Archmage? By your leave?’ She gestured towards the door, still an impenetrable barrier.

Some of the mages looked towards Planir. As he sat back down with a casual wave of one hand, Jilseth saw the metal cloaking the door flowing back into the everyday bands of iron. The heavy portal creaked and swung open now that the will of the majority inside commanded it. She hastily stepped aside as council members began to leave.

One of the first, Jilseth noted, was Flood Mistress Troanna, as silent as she had been throughout the meeting, her expression as unrevealing as ever.

‘How much of that charade did Planir rehearse beforehand?’

Jilseth found Canfor at her shoulder, looking down at her.

‘I don’t know what you mean.’

‘No?’ He smiled maliciously. ‘Then he does just keep you to run his errands. Well, Sannin, Rafrid and Herion all played their parts admirably. My compliments,’ he offered, sarcastic.

‘Then Ely is teaching you to suspect slights and connivance where none exist.’ Jilseth would have walked away but too many wizards were leaving the council chamber.

‘When did so few wizards last speak at a Council meeting?’ Canfor stooped, his twilight blue eyes unblinking. ‘Where was the usual discussion, weighing the argument on either side of the scales, a consensus agreed among all those present?’

‘Why is that remarkable?’ Jilseth retorted. ‘So many mages have lost patience with Kalion forever disputing the Archmage’s decisions.’

‘How many are losing patience with Planir’s perpetual refusal to act?’ Canfor pressed a hand against the wall to stop Jilseth squeezing through a gap. ‘What will your Archmage do when the mainland loses all patience with wizardry? When his lack of leadership has destroyed all unity among the mageborn? What good does it serve to have such senior mages undermine the Hearth Master’s concerns and distract everyone from the real issues at hand?’

‘Kalion’s notion of unity is everyone doing his bidding.’ Jilseth ducked under his arm. ‘I prefer to think for myself.’

‘A single strong voice commands respect.’ Canfor took a step to stay in front of her. ‘A bickering multitude invites contempt.’

Before Jilseth could counter that, Canfor vanished into the throng. She pressed her back against the wall, allowing the gathering to disperse. As the chamber emptied, she saw Planir in the centre, conferring with Sannin, Rafrid and Herion.

Planir saw her and beckoned. As Jilseth joined the quartet, she saw that Herion was looking glum.

‘So we have curbed Kalion’s interference at the cost of giving rein to Shannet’s prejudices against everyone and anyone not mageborn.’

Rafrid agreed with a heavy sigh. ‘While seemingly endorsing Master Massial’s oft-stated dismissal of anything beyond these shores.’

‘Giving those sharing such bias or blindness the perfect excuse of following their elders’ example,’ Sannin concluded sardonically, ‘thus deepening the dissent already rife in our halls. A good day’s work, Archmage?’

‘Deplorable as Hadrumal’s divisions might be, that’s a lesser evil than magical tyranny, no matter how honourable its motives.’ Planir caught Jilseth’s eye. Whatever he saw in her face prompted a wry twist of his mouth.

‘We don’t disagree with Kalion. Wizards must engage with the mainland if we’re to escape the non-mageborn’s fear and suspicion. If a fraction of the hatred that drove Trydek to this sanctuary ever takes hold again, no wizard’s life will be worth a copper cut-piece on the mainland.’

‘But Kalion’s approach would reap resentment by the bushel basket,’ Rafrid said with sincere regret, ‘which would rapidly ferment into hatred.’

‘Let us be thankful that our Hearth Master is such an honest man.’ Sannin’s remorse was just as genuine. ‘Much as it pains me to use that against him.’

‘He could have lied about his nexus scrying on the mainland,’ Herion explained to Jilseth, ‘or claimed that exaggerated calumny is being heaped on wizardry in Minelas’s name.’

‘No, he couldn’t,’ Planir said heavily. ‘Another mage perhaps, but not Kalion. He’s far too principled.’

‘What now?’ Sannin looked around the empty council chamber.

‘We must get the measure of our esteemed colleagues’ true opinions.’ Planir looked even more weary. ‘Most of them will keep their coin safe in their purse until they see which way these runes will roll. We must also keep a close eye on Captain Corrain,’ he added with asperity.

Jilseth wondered at that. ‘Archmage—’

‘I don’t trust him any more than Kalion does.’ Planir shook his head. ‘He wears that broken manacle as a remembrance; I’ve no doubt of it. He is not a man looking to forgive or to forget anyone who’s done him wrong. I suspect we’re all in that number thanks to Minelas.’

‘I saw that for myself.’ Jilseth wanted to say something different. ‘Archmage, since Kalion’s nexus will be watching you more closely than ever, could we be of assistance; myself, Merenel, Nolyen and Tornauld? We could watch Corrain for you, in case he does something untoward?’

With luck they’d hear some clue to the ruffian’s intent. Jilseth would wager gold against brass on Tornauld’s magic being able to listen a thousand leagues further than Canfor’s.

Planir considered this before nodding. ‘Very well.’

C
HAPTER
E
IGHTEEN

Siprel Inlet, Caladhria

1st of For-Summer

C
ORRAIN YAWNED.
T
HEY’D
been keeping watch since early light, when the stream oozing from the marshes was a braided silver thread cutting across brown mud fringed with green, like the rot edging putrid meat. The stink lurked in the back of his throat even now that the returning tide had drowned the flyblown cordweed.

‘You’re certain of this?’ Captain Mersed sat beside him on a mat of lousewort.

‘As sure as I can be.’ Corrain looked seawards through the tangled branches of a salt-thorn bush.

Mersed stirred uneasily. ‘No word from the watchmen?’

‘They’ll come at high water.’ Kusint sat hugging his shins, chin resting on his knees. His talent for making himself comfortable, whether he’d learned that living in the Forest or campaigning with the Solurans, was something Corrain could only envy.

‘An hour or so after noon.’ Kusint checked the shadow of the stick he had set up for a makeshift sundial. ‘A Caladhrian hour.’

Corrain had been surprised to learn that the Solurans divided every day from dawn to dawn into twenty equal hours, as the Archipelagans did from sunset to sunset. Perhaps that made more sense in the southernmost Archipelago where the islands saw days and nights of equal length year round. But Solura was to the north of Caladhria, even more subject to the vagaries of the seasons.

However you measured it, nothing could hurry the sun’s passage across the sky above these trackless, midge-filled marshes. He shifted to ease the ache in his buttocks, careful not to shake the salt-thorn. A corsair galley might already be approaching. Any sentry in the prow would be able to see significantly further than those on the shoreline, even if they weren’t hiding in the bushes. The Caladhrian swordsmen must lie concealed until the raiders sailed right into their trap.

Mersed sucked his teeth unattractively. ‘You’re sure this is the right place.’

Corrain carefully folded his arms. Throttle the Tallat captain and some vengeful god would surely send them the galley at that very moment, to be alerted by the sound of choking.

‘You saw the tracks and barrel marks by the stream. This is the place.’

He had no doubt of that. He’d tallied up the summer’s raids marked on Arigo’s map against the almanac, double-checking his own recollection of the phases of the moon against Kusint’s memories of that stop to replenish the
Reef Eagle’s
water casks. Together they had scoured every map of these remote shores and sought out every greybeard guard’s reminiscences of hunting trips.

From the dates of those first raids and the distances from the despoiled villages, Corrain and Kusint concluded this was the corsairs’ favoured inlet, deep in the saltings between Halferan and Tallat, so remote that there was no point in wondering where the border between the baronies might lie.

So Corrain had bullied Captain Arigo into saddling up the Halferan guard and they’d gone southward in search of allies among the charcoal marks on his map. They’d soon found Mersed and his troopers riding beneath Tallat’s black and white chequer-cloth. Those men had been readily convinced to plan this assault on the raiders. They’d spent the previous six days riding the coast only to arrive each day amid the devastation the corsairs had left, sometimes so recently a burned house was still smouldering.

Faint doubt tormented Corrain all the same. It had looked different at night from the deck of a galley, insofar as anywhere in these endless vistas of reed and scrub could look different from anywhere else. And they were wagering that a galley would arrive before Captain Mersed gathered up his men and rode away. He certainly wouldn’t stay beyond the first despatch bringing word of another ravaged Tallat village.