The Assassin's Edge (Einarinn 5) (16 page)

“A spill, please.”

I handed her a slim scrap of wood from a box by the incense burner and watched the mage work her magic with flame and metal. “Shiv?”

I edged round to stand at the mage-woman’s shoulder. “Shiv, it’s me, Livak.” I looked into the brilliant circle burning a hole in the pewter to see the wizard sitting peacefully at his own kitchen table.

“To what do we owe this pleasure?” Shiv looked amused and his lover Pered raised a friendly hand in greeting. Allin dimpled and gave a little wave that nearly set her fringe alight with the flame.

“No pleasure,” I said grimly. “We need your help. Pirates have set up camp on Suthyfer and they’ve seized two of this year’s ships. Scry for yourself.”

Shiv looked dubious. “Planir—”

I cut him off abruptly. “I don’t want to go to Planir. Allin says there’s a miser’s hoard of reasons why he won’t help. I want you and Usara, if he’s willing.”

Allin spoke up. “Everyone else who might help will want their piece of Kellarin in payment or they’ll just argue till Poldrion claims everyone over whether or not they should get involved.”

Shiv leaned back, trying to find words for something troubling him.

“You owe me, Shiv,” I warned him. “You and Usara. You blackmailed me into working for Planir in the first place and you’ve been racking up the debts ever since.” I smiled just enough to let Shiv know I held all the winning runes in this hand. “I’m calling in your marker.”

Allin stifled a giggle and the spill’s flame flickered.

“It was Darni put the thumbscrews on you, not me,” Shiv objected. “Anyway, I’ve saved your skin enough times to balance the ledger.”

“Who got you off the Ice Islands in one piece?” I challenged him. “Who got Lord Finvar to hand over that rancid old book you needed so badly?”

“Just what is it you want me to do?” Shiv asked. “Besides risking Planir’s wrath.”

“Naldeth and Parrail are prisoners,” I told Shiv bluntly. That got his attention and Pered’s too. “Along with crew and passengers and whoever else was on those ships. Those ships are full of things Kellarin needs too.”

“You’re not going to get all that back with just me and ’Sar,” said Shiv with undeniable truth. “There’ll have to be a fight for it. We’ll translocate ourselves to you and bring our magic to bear,” he offered.

“And me,” Allin added at once.

“Ryshad, Halice and Temar are all arguing about how best to go in at the moment,” I admitted. “But Kellarin barely has the men for it.” I considered the problem. If Shiv said magic wouldn’t do it, I’d have to believe him, no matter how many ballads might claim otherwise. Well, we needed another shipload at very least. “You could help there couldn’t you? Bring in a ship from the other side of the ocean, play the anvil when Temar’s men go hammering in?”

“Raise mercenaries?” I could see Shiv was dubious even through the spell. “From where?”

“Bremilayne, Zyoutessela, wherever you know well enough on the ocean coast to magic yourselves to. There are always sailors hanging round docks who’ll sign on for a fight if you offer them enough coin,” I urged. “Then with you along, the whole job will be done and dusted a good deal quicker. The faster we can act, the fewer people will find themselves queuing for Poldrion’s ferry.”

“I’ll scry for myself and see what I think,” Shiv temporised.

I judged I’d pushed him far enough for the moment. “Tell Usara it’ll be a splendid way for him to impress Guinalle. Most suitors just turn up with a bunch of flowers or some ribbons.”

Pered laughed and I blew him a kiss. I liked Pered.

“I’ll bespeak Allin at sunset, our sunset.” Shiv still looked severe and broke the spell with a snap of his fingers.

I looked at Allin. “Let’s keep this to ourselves for the moment, shall we?”

The Island City of Hadrumal,

18th of Aft-Spring

Skewered like a rat to a fencepost,” Shiv said with distaste but his light touch on the wide earthenware dish that framed his scrying didn’t waver.

“I don’t think he’s dead.” Usara looked sick and gripped the fronts of his sombre brown gown.

The wizards were in Shiv’s neatly appointed kitchen, every pan on its hook above the wide hearth, plates and bowls racked by the window.

“It could take days.” Pered scrubbed a blunt-fingered hand through his dark blond curls. “You wanted a copper-bottomed excuse to go to Kellarin, didn’t you?” He swung a kettle above the glowing heart of the slow-burning fire and chose a spice jar from the colourful array on a shelf.

“Be careful what you wish for, you may just get it,” Shiv said without humour.

“He can’t forbid us now, surely?” Usara absently ran a finger over the grain in the table raised by years of scrubbing.

“Let’s ask.” Shiv abandoned his spell. He rolled down the sleeves of his leaf-green linen shirt and threaded silver links through the cuffs with deliberate precision.

“Don’t let Planir turn you into a toad,” Pered warned lightly as he emptied the ink-tainted water from the bowl into the stone sink.

Shiv paused, catching up a light cloak discarded on a chair. “ ’Sar will find a bucket to bring me home in if he does.”

Usara grinned and sketched a wave of farewell. He followed Shiv through the front room of the narrow house where an iron-studded door opened on to an unremarkable street. Outside, an identical terrace of grey stone houses faced Shiv’s, the cobbles between dotted with detritus brushed from the flagway by proud housewives.

A diligent youth hovered where the side street met the high road, offering his services as crossing sweeper. Shiv tossed the lad a copper but didn’t wait for him to wield his broom. He walked rapidly through booths and stalls set out along the centre of the wider road, oblivious to the blandishments of the traders.

Usara waved aside an urchin offering him a basket of fish. “How are we going to play this?” he demanded.

“By ear.” Shiv stepped around a barrow piled high with waxed ochre rounds of cheese. He didn’t slow his pace as they left the market behind and started up the shallow sweep of the hill where the halls that were the heart of Hadrumal loomed. Lesser dwellings lined their route, each storey jettied out an arm’s length further than the one below, homes and workshops for victuallers, cobblers, drapers and tailors and all the rest who supplied this sanctuary of wizardry with the mundane necessities of life.

“’Sar!”

The mage looked to see who had hailed him. “Planir, we were just on our way to see you.”

“I thought I’d run a few errands to get the archive dust out of my throat.” The Archmage tucked a couple of small paper-wrapped and well-sealed packages into a pocket of his jerkin, whose original rich purple was faded to a midnight indigo, bare patches rubbed in the velvet.

Shiv cocked his head to study Planir. “There’s news from Hadrumal.”

“Bad news,” Usara amplified.

Planir raised an eyebrow. “Let’s hear this somewhere a little less busy.”

He led the way to a narrow gate all but invisible in the dark shadows cast by the tall houses on either side. Planir touched the lock and it opened with a grating whisper. He ushered Shiv and Usara through before securing it with another brush of magic and a smile. “We don’t want children or animals poisoning themselves.”

Trees lined the walls that enclosed the garden divided into quarters and eighths by low walls and hedges. Every bed was patterned with herbs and flowers, some tall, some creeping, dull green and bright shoots mingled. On the far side of the physic garden a second gate gave access to a small orchard where bees bumbled among blossoms in the sunshine. Heady fragrances came and went on the fitful breeze, refreshing after the dry stone breath of the highroad.

“Let’s sit,” Planir suggested genially.

“Pirates have landed on Suthyfer, those islands in the mid ocean,” Shiv told him bluntly.

Usara glanced around but there was no one else among the orderly ranks of methodically labelled plants. “It’s more than one ship and a formidable count of men.”

Shiv gestured to the limpid pond at the heart of the garden. “Scry for yourself.”

Planir shook his head, walking slowly towards a stone bench set in an arbour of aromatic vines. “No, no, I trust you, both of you.”

“So what are you going to do about it?” Shiv demanded.

“They’ve already captured two ships bound for Kellarin.” Usara’s face was grim. “Made slaves of crew and passengers.”

“Those they haven’t already killed,” added Shiv. “The captain’s been nailed to his own mast.”

Planir winced, then frowned. “Why do that?” He took a seat.

“Naldeth and Parrail were on board the ship that was taken.” Usara perched on the edge of the bench.

“They’re alive for the moment.” Shiv stood shifting his weight from foot to foot. “But who knows for how long.”

“What are we going to do?” asked Usara urgently, looking from Shiv to Planir.

Planir plucked a sprig of camomile from a wooden trough. “Has Naldeth bespoken you?”

“No, but I don’t suppose he’s able to.” There was faint rebuke in Usara’s voice.

“So D’Alsennin’s sent word? By Allin’s good graces?” Planir savoured the faint apple scent of the bruised herb.

Shiv’s boots crunched on the gravel and he folded his arms. “Livak got Allin to send word.”

Planir pursed thoughtful lips. “So this is no formal request for Hadrumal’s aid. Do we know what D’Alsennin’s planning?”

“They’re talking about raising men and ships,” Usara said slowly.

“But you can see the complications there,” urged Shiv. “Mercenaries—”

“It’s a sensitive situation.” Planir nodded. “As is everything concerning Kellarin.” He tossed aside the camomile. “I appreciate the warning. As soon as D’Alsennin asks for my help, I’ll bespeak Cas. I’m not sure how much leeway the Emperor will allow us but we’ll do what we can, always assuming the Council doesn’t raise too many objections.”

Shiv and Usara stared at him, aghast.

“But Naldeth’s one of our own!” Usara sprang to his feet. “And Hadrumal’s name will be cursed in Vanam if Parrail dies.”

“The mentors know as well as anyone else that taking passage to Kellarin entails risk,” said Planir curtly.

“Storm and shipwreck, maybe.” Shiv looked belligerent at Usara’s shoulder. “Not being abandoned to pirates.”

“We can help resolve this with the least bloodshed,” urged Usara.

“Perhaps.” Planir looked up at the two infuriated wizards. “We can do so much, can’t we? Involve ourselves, brandishing the threat of raw wizardry and no mainland prince or powers could curb us, if we chose to ignore them.” He smiled. “But we’ve had this conversation before, more than once.”

Shiv wasn’t amused. “Yes, Archmage, and I for one am tired of it.”

“What is the use of power if it’s never brought to bear?” Usara was barely less confrontational than Shiv.

“Dear me, you’re allying yourself with Kalion and his ideas.” Planir’s voice grew a little cold. “I had no notion.”

“Forgive me, but that’s not true and you know it.” Usara swallowed his indignation with difficulty.

“Kalion wants to be fed and feted by the rich and powerful and have them hanging on his every word, doing only as he tells them,” said Shiv with contempt. “We just want to save lives in imminent danger of being lost!”

“It’s pirates, Shiv,” Planir said patiently. “They’re a running sore on Tormalin’s ocean flank and, yes, they could prove a serious problem for D’Alsennin. But they’re nothing new. The oceanward Sieurs have scourged the coast clean of wreckers and raiders for generations. This is no sudden catastrophe that needs the Archmage to save Tadriol’s neck. Hadrumal’s action without justification will just stir up every old prejudice against magic and doom-laden ballads of wizardly arrogance will do the rounds of every tavern from Inglis to the Cape of Winds.”

“What do we do to counter that ignorance?” challenged Shiv. “It’s all very well saying we don’t get involved with the mainland, not unless it’s a matter of life and death and some ruler comes begging on his knees but what does that get us in the long term?”

Usara spoke with rather more moderation. “If the commonalty only ever see magic as a scarce resource for the powerful, they’re bound to resent it.”

“Mages work everyday sorcery clear across the Old Empire.” Planir sounded indifferent. “Apprentices go back to their homes with the turn of every season.”

“But they don’t go back to spread any knowledge of magic,” countered Usara. “Most just tire of our isolation here or find a life of study holds little appeal once they’ve learned sufficient control of their affinity not to be a danger to themselves and others.”

“It’s fear that brings them here in the first place,” Shiv nodded. “Or has them sent, thanks to age-old bias. How many who leave here ever work anything more than cantrips to ease their way through life or impress the gullible?”

“Wouldn’t you rather mageborn sons and daughters were sent to Hadrumal eager to learn useful skills?” pleaded Usara. “Knowing they’d be welcomed back home and valued for what they can do?”

“I don’t recall hearing of mages starving by the wayside.” Planir plucked another sprig of camomile. “Even the least of wizards can earn their bread with their magic”

“If their hide’s thick enough to put up with snide remarks like all I heard in Ensaimin last year,” Usara said with exasperation.

“And jibes from the Rationalists,” snapped Shiv. “I don’t know what’s worse. Ensaimin, Caladhria and the rest with their credulous dread of tales from the Chaos where every wizard’s a threat, or the so-called forward-thinking Rationalists who say magic’s as much an irrelevance as outmoded piety in their search for quantifiable explanations of the world’s workings.”

Planir smiled at Shiv’s indignation. “The most blinkered natural philosopher or wooden-headed Rationalist cannot deny the reality of elemental fire singeing his toes.” He turned to Usara. “And the rediscovery of Artifice should put paid to their scorn for religion. How much old lore have you unearthed in the temples of Col and Relshaz?”

“More than I expected, but the greater part has been lost since the Chaos, thanks to ignorance and prejudice.” Usara looked steadily at Planir. “Are we going to see Hadrumal’s learning lost to worm and decay as well? Wizardry withering, disregarded?”