Darkening Skies (The Hadrumal Crisis) (29 page)

The grey-haired earth wizard visited Hadrumal every few seasons, though he spent most of his time in Tormalin. He would often invite prentice wizards and more senior pupils who shared his affinity to dine with him in Wellery’s Hall where he maintained a suite of rooms. Jilseth had learned to value his insights casually offered in the course of such evenings.

Velindre surprised her with a mysterious smile. ‘You think the old rogue’s only ever enjoyed his present comfortable life in Toremal? He sailed the Archipelago for years as one of Planir’s enquiry agents.’

‘Buying up unjustly enslaved barbarians to see them returned home,’ Mellitha added with a sigh. ‘How much of this current trouble could have been avoided, if he’d been able to rescue Captain Corrain and those other Halferan captives.’

‘No amount of lament will mend a cracked plate,’ Velindre said, dismissive. ‘Has Kerrit Osier found anything in the Temple archives that might offer some insight into these ensorcelled artefacts?’

‘Not as yet.’ Mellitha reached into her reticule for her memorandum tablet. ‘I will send him a note.’

It took Jilseth a moment to place that name. If she was thinking of the right man, Kerrit was a scholarly mage who’d spent the last ten years or more searching out whatever hints remained of elemental magic in the Old Tormalin Empire. As a consequence, he had learned more than most in Hadrumal of aetheric magic’s history, though Artifice’s actual practise remained as closed a book to him as it was to every other wizard.

She was beginning to wonder who else, mageborn or mundane, might be about the Archmage’s business on the mainland and elsewhere, unbeknownst to Hadrumal’s insular wizards. Wasn’t Kheda an Aldabreshin name?

Velindre looked at her. ‘Has Planir heard anything more from the Solurans?’

Jilseth could only shake her head. ‘Not as far as I know.’

‘Apparently they will only share what they know of ensorcelling artefacts in return for our insights into quintessential magic.’ Mellitha scowled.

Jilseth would wager a handful of gold that particular expression would prompt any Relshazri merchant to pay his taxes in full and quite possibly more, merely to stay in the magewoman’s good books.

Velindre gnawed an already bitten fingernail. ‘Let’s hope he finds some way around their intransigence before this Mandarkin decides to make use of whatever he’s found in the corsair hoards.’

C
HAPTER
S
IXTEEN

The Hadrumal River Estuary

18th of For-Autumn

T
HE FAMILIAR SCENTS
of a harbour at low water surrounded Corrain. The faint hint of decay as sea-soaked wood dried in the salty breeze. The stronger reek of seaweed left exposed and now crawling with jewel-backed flies. A taste of old tar from a weathered boat hauled up onto the mud. The sharp, clean bite of new hemp, creaking as a youthful sailor coiled a straw-coloured rope beside him on the wharf.

Corrain had been the last to disembark from the sleek-hulled Ensaimin two-master now tied up at the jetty reaching into the deeper channel to allow passengers ashore whatever the tide. The other men and women had already vanished into low-roofed buildings beyond the stout stone bridge some distance upstream from this placid harbour in the modest river’s mouth, sufficiently far inland to be sheltered from all but the worst storms.

The sky was an unseasonal blue above the rolling downland of the island’s interior stretching away serenely green. Darker smudges in the folds of the hills hinted at well-tended woodlands. Here and there he could see the distant white square of a cottage or cowshed.

The wizards’ ancient refuge lay between this homely harbour and those placid pastures. Tall towers kept watch in all directions, thrust up among lofty halls themselves looking down on the humbler buildings in their midst. A better made road than Corrain had ever seen curved across the expanse of sere grass that separated these normal folk at the harbour from whatever mysteries the mageborn hoarded.

He cleared his throat. ‘Where can I hire a ride to the city? I am Baron Halferan,’ he added for good measure.

He half expected the lad to challenge him. The words still tasted like a lie in his mouth. The boy might even remember the true Baron Halferan’s arrival, when his dead lord had come to appeal to the Archmage’s better nature.

Dull resentment burned deep in Corrain’s chest. Planir’s refusal to help had been the beginning of all Halferan’s misfortunes. But he couldn’t dwell on what was past. He needed the wizard’s help and he could afford no more delay.

The young sailor looked up from coiling his rope. ‘The halls send a carriage for folk they’re expecting. Else they walk—my lord.’

His belated courtesy didn’t hide his complete lack of interest in some mainland noble’s affairs.

‘Very well.’ Corrain hitched the strap of his leather travelling bag over one shoulder and followed the well-trodden path to the broad road.

Thankfully he travelled light as befitted a guardsman, and he was wearing the best boots he’d ever owned, thanks to the Archmage’s gold filling Halferan’s coffers. He fell into a comfortable stride.

What should he make of this though? He was expected, after all. He had told Zurenne to use her pendant to tell the Archmage he was on his way. After she had told Planir about Anskal’s unexpected visit and his incomprehensible threats.

Planir had promised that his wizards would keep watch on the manor. That someone would be there to challenge Anskal if he appeared again. Corrain could only trust that Hadrumal’s mages were quick enough to appear in the blink of an eye. He’d seen how swift the Mandarkin’s malice could be.

As long as that bastard didn’t realise where he was heading. Corrain was tormented by thoughts of the vengeance which Anskal might visit on Zurenne and her daughters for appealing to the Archmage.

He’d barely gone ten more paces when a round-bodied gig came hurrying up behind him.

The driver pulled up, a rough-coated bay colt tossing its head in ill-temper. ‘Baron Halferan?’

The young man’s well-born Caladhrian accents prompted unexpected recollection. ‘Master Nolyen of Pardal Barony.’

Corrain could remember precious little else beyond the young wizard’s name from that dreadful day when he had stumbled back into Halferan Manor to find so many of those he had believed were dead.

‘Of Hadrumal, eight years since,’ the mild-faced wizard said cheerfully. ‘The Archmage’s compliments, my lord baron.’

‘And mine to you both.’ Corrain slung his travelling bag into the space beneath the seat and climbed up.

Nolyen whistled up the bay colt and they started towards the city.

Corrain was still tense. Planir had said he was keeping watch for Anskal. What of other threats? Were courier doves carrying word across the length and breadth of Caladhria; that the Widow Zurenne and her daughters were once more unprotected? Corrain ground his teeth. He had gone to the southerly port instead of to Claithe in hopes of taking ship here unnoticed. But someone might have recognised him on his travels.

Corrain stole a sideways glance at the Caladhrian born wizard. Could this Nolyen tell him anything useful? Or would asking questions risk Corrain revealing more than he wished to? He decided silence was the most prudent course.

Besides, the mage did have his hands full with reins and rebuke. The spirited colt took the open road as an invitation to break into a gallop. Corrain was relieved to see that Nolyen was no less a Caladhrian when it came to horsemanship.

The colt slowed obediently as they approached the city. Hadrumal had no walls to divide outlying artisans’ lodgings from its older heart. In that it reminded Corrain of Caladhria. All across the baronies, the market towns would proudly boast that no marching armies had troubled the parliament’s peace for twenty generations.

Ensaimin visitors sneered that was because Caladhria had nothing which anyone might want to take. The truth of that hadn’t troubled Corrain until the corsairs had come to prove those Ensaimin wrong.

And now they faced Anskal’s malice backed by those same cursed raiders and Corrain didn’t have any notion what the Mandarkin wanted from them. But he’d wager that the Archmage did. So he was here to find out. Planir couldn’t hide behind the infuriating evasions which Zurenne had repeated if Corrain met him face to face.

The gig advanced slowly up the gentle rise of the high road. As far as Corrain could see, no two neighbouring buildings had been built by the same mason. Some had tall narrow windows defying any attempt to see what lay within while their arched, studded gates stayed stubbornly closed. Others extended a welcome with broad windows and wide archways opening into courtyard gardens, their invitation framed with carved birds and animals, leaves and flowers carved on their pillars and mullions.

Delicate stone tracery framed stained glass panels on one building. Boldly painted shutters were bolted back from deep sills on the next. The frontage beyond was a mathematical paragon of precisely measured windows and doors making subtle geometric patterns.

Only one thing was constant, as true of the substantial wizards’ halls as of the prosaic shops and tradesmen’s dwellings tucked in amongst them. All were built of the same fine-grained stone, softly golden in the sunlight.

Men and women, young and old, dressed in every mainland fashion, hurried up towards the heart of the city or down towards the harbour road, hampering each other and the few carts and gigs patiently threading a path through the throng.

Corrain had never imagined there could be so many wizards. That explained why this city on a remote island, exposed to attack from any quarter, felt no need for walls. If Madam Jilseth could defend Halferan Manor so doughtily, what couldn’t this multitude do?

‘Here we are.’ Nolyen turned the horse through a square entry into a stone paved quadrangle.

An ostler appeared from a porter’s cubbyhole to take charge of the colt while the mage jumped down. Gathering up his courage along with his travelling bag, Corrain descended more slowly. He had come this far. There was no retreating now.

Behind him and to either side, ranges of accommodation faced onto the quadrangle. Ahead a great hall filled the fourth side of the square, far older, with high windows and a single door at one end reached by a tall flight of steps.

To Corrain’s eye, it looked built for defence, wizardry notwithstanding. A solid square tower rose at the opposite end to the door, with tall pinnacles at each corner and parapets built to shield sentries keeping watch aloft. It reminded him of the very oldest halls he had seen across Caladhria’s baronies. Though the lines of the lattice carving on the pillars supporting the pointed arch of the doorway were as sharp as if the stone mason shaping them had only then laid down his chisel.

Nolyen was quite at his ease, striding across the flagstones. ‘This is Trydek’s Hall, founded by our first Archmage.’

‘Indeed.’ Corrain’s tongue felt like old leather, his mouth was so dry.

Nolyen led the way up the steps, lifting the latch to shove the heavy door open. It revealed a whitewashed passage with double doors leading into the main hall on Corrain’s sword hand and a second way in or out at the far end.

He turned resolutely away from that illusion of a last-minute escape as Nolyen ushered him into the hall. The young wizard followed and closed the doors behind him.