The Assassin's Edge

To Keran Tonin, Mentor at the University of Vanam,

From Casuel D’Evoir, residing in the House of D’Olbriot, Toremal, by the grace of the Designate.

Esteemed Mentor Tonin, my compliments.

My researches into those archives that reach back to the Chaos continue to turn up documents of considerable interest. I copy to you an open letter circulated at the final Convocation held in the reign of Nemith the Seafarer, by Hafrein Den Fellaemion. I am not surprised that Nemith the Last looked askance at such radical aspirations for the Kel Ar’Ayen colony but perhaps the time has come for Temar to realise something of these wishes. I have accordingly sent a copy for the Sieur D’Alsennin to include in his own archive.

Your humblest of associates Casuel, Esquire D’Evoir

I bring news of an empty land across the seas where broad grasslands rich in deer and deep for the plough stretch between generous rivers offering safe harbour in their wide mouths and giving easy access to thick forests, flush with game and timber ripe for felling. Beyond rise hospitable hills where we have already found stone for cutting, ores for milling and even gems in the gravels of the streambeds.

Let us turn to this new land, revealed by Dastennin’s grace and Saedrin’s bounty rather than struggle to shore up the crumbling bounds of our old provinces, in the face of rebellious ingratitude and selfish spite. Let us not squander the strength of our youth on ventures that Talagrin and Raeponin alike have turned their faces from, leaving our cohorts with scant choice but retreat in disarray.

I invite all men, bold and unafraid, to join me in taming this wild and beautiful land. Noble born yet dispossessed of their ancestral lands by the long years of calamity may repair their fortunes. Merchants and craftsmen impoverished by recent constrictions of trade may find both new markets and new resources. The commonalty with but broad backs and strong arms to offer will find their labours rewarded with unencumbered land to till for themselves.

Let none who sail shirk any duty from false expectation of privilege. Respect is to be earned in this new land just as surely as bread and meat will reward those who sow and those who hunt. Those that meet and exceed their obligations will rise, not to be held back by those who will not make shift for themselves or the dead weight of outmoded custom. Every man will be called upon to shoulder responsibility both for himself and his fellows.

I do not promise ease or luxury. I offer you toil and sweat. What such labour will win you is an untrammelled future and the right to make of that all that you can, in the certain knowledge of full title to pass all you might gain on to your heirs and assigns.

Suthyfer, Fellaemion’s Landing, 29th of For-Summer

Some mercenaries can carry balance and coordination learned in close-quarter fighting over into dancing. A lot can’t but that never seems to stop them. I watched ragged squares and circles form and break and hurriedly change direction, cries ringing above the miscellany of pipes and drums. A reasonable excuse for music rose into the late afternoon sky along with a sudden burst of laughter as three mercenaries got the figure spectacularly wrong.

“Do you reckon they’ll have it right by Solstice?” I asked, amused. “Or are we celebrating mid-summer early for some reason?” I’d been out with a hunting party since first light and hadn’t expected to find an impromptu festival on our return.

“Just a little merrymaking to mark the double full moon.” Halice waved an expansive hand towards the spits by the shoreline where Minare’s lads were roasting joints from the impressive array of game we’d culled from the islands’ forests. Rosarn and Deglain were busy around a collection of pots seething roots and spices and a large cauldron frothed with boiling shellfish. Dotted with whatever early fruits the woods had to offer, huge slabs of travel bread baked on scrubbed boards propped to catch the heat of the fires.

“Have a drink.” Halice offered me a horn cup.

I sniffed suspiciously but was agreeably surprised by the fragrance of Califenan red. “This isn’t something Vaspret’s been concocting from berries, sugar and hope.”

“D’Alsennin had the Maelstrom load up what was left of his cellar.” Halice gestured towards the ships at anchor in the strait. “There was plenty of space for the return voyage.”

“They made good time on the journey.” I took an appreciative swallow. “If Temar’s emptied his cellar, he’ll be in the market to buy some wine from me, just as soon as Charoleia gets a cargo organised.”

“You’d better think what else you’re going to ship over,” said Halice with some amusement.

I didn’t understand. “How so?”

Halice’s grin broadened. “D’Alsennin’s latest decree: anyone bringing luxuries over to sell has to pay for the privilege with a few of the boring essentials that barely pay for their carriage.”

“Nails and the like?” I’d heard Ryshad bemoaning their lack often enough. “Whose bright idea was this?”

“Grandsire D’Alsennin’s apparently. Seems this was his rule when the House had properties scattered over half Dalasor.” Halice, ever the warrior, had her own notion of necessities. “I’d suggest bow staves and a wagon load of arrows myself

“I’ll write to Charoleia,” I said without enthusiasm.

“She’ll be turning all this news to advantage first.” Halice surveyed the landing site. No trace of the stockade remained and Ryshad’s involvement meant the properly built wooden huts replacing the debris of the pirates’ brief occupation already had a determined air of permanence.

“She’s plenty of titbits to tempt the right folk to open their purses.” I looked over to the empty gibbet black against the sky. The last of the hanged had been cut down and thrown to the sharks. “How do you think the Inglis guilds will react to news of Muredarch’s death?”

“Temar will be writing to their council.” Halice looked amused. “Claiming the bounty on Muredarch’s head as well as setting out the concessions on tariffs he expects for doing them such a service.”

“That’s certainly what Charoleia would recommend,” I laughed. “Whose idea was it?”

“Sorgrad may have given him a hint but the lad’s getting the bit between his teeth good and proper.” She looked around for Temar. “We’d best keep an eye out for him tonight. He’s a fair few unpleasantnesses to drown and this is the first chance he’s allowed himself.”

“The double full moon’s as good an excuse as any.” It was a solid gold certainty this was Halice’s idea, to give us all a night to eat, drink and forget the tribulations of this past half season. Those that could be were reunited; those bereaved could share their grief. What property could be restored had been and Temar had made handsome restitution for the losses from Muredarch’s coffers. Tonight, the moons, greater and lesser could shine down on some uncomplicated fun and then Halcarion would show us all a new path to follow. All of us, every last one of Kellarin’s people now that Guinalle had roused the last of Edisgesset’s sleepers with the artefacts we had brought back.

I realised Halice was looking askance at me. “What?”

“Will you be crawling inside a wineskin and tying it closed behind you?” Halice challenged.

“No,” I told her firmly. “It’s not worth the morning after, even drinking D’Alsennin’s finest.”

Still, splitting headaches and a sour stomach had been small price to pay for the oblivion I’d won from liquor scrounged from the mercenaries on our return. Ryshad had convinced Halice to leave me be, put me to bed when my words slurred into incoherence, found me cold water, dry bread and a shady place to regret my folly the following day. He had understood the paralysing fear of going to sleep only to find myself back in the confines of Artifice, terrified that waking would find me still locked within my own head, someone else ruling my limbs. Halice nodded with satisfaction and poured me more wine.

“Has he said anything about Ingella?” I asked.

“Temar?” Halice shook her head. “He did well there, when it came to it.”

“Justice is a Sieur’s duty.” I glanced involuntarily at the gibbet. “Mind you, I don’t think it did him any harm, for people to see how reluctant he was to hang a woman.”

“Not as long as he went through with it.” Halice’s voice was hard. “She was condemned beyond question.”

Ingella and the other survivors of Muredarch’s scum had faced Temar’s assize. He’d judged them with grim-faced authority, impressing us all. Unsavoury duty done, he deserved all the wine he wanted to blot out memories of the condemned struggling, weeping and cursing their way to the gallows.

“It’s not for us to look out for Temar,” I pointed out to Halice. “That’s Allin’s job these days.”

Halice chuckled into her cup. “That news in the right quarter should be gold for Charoleia.”

I raised an eyebrow at her. “How do you think the noble Houses of Toremal will react to a wizard as maitresse to Temar’s Sieur?”

“We’re the other side of the ocean and there’s nothing they can do about it,” said Halice with considerable satisfaction.

“They’re wedding at Solstice?” I asked. “Here or in Vithancel?” That would forestall any prince wanting to make trouble but I couldn’t help feeling Allin deserved better than such a rushed affair.

“No, it’ll be autumn Equinox,” Halice told me. “With all honour to Drianon in the old style, all the Sieurs and their ladies and esquires invited to Vithrancel.”

“And to bring their best bid for the new trade,” I continued for her.

“And breaking their journey here, just so they see these islands are well and truly claimed,” concluded Halice. “Anyone out to argue the point can expect magefire scorching their toes.”

“Not that anyone would be so crass as to say so. This could be an interesting place, given a year or so,” I mused.

“Even more so when Usara brings word back from Hadrumal,” agreed Halice. “Have you seen Guinalle today?”

I shook my head. “Not that I recall.”

“You’re avoiding her?” Halice’s words were halfway between question and accusation.

“She’s been making sure Pered looked after the wounded properly while she was away.” I could hear the unconvincing defiance in my protest. ”Or she’ll be debating magical congruences with Usara.”

“That’s what they’ve been doing, is it?” Halice grinned. I wondered how long it would be before the demoiselle realised the cheerful satisfaction on Usara’s face of a morning made such excuses irrelevant. In the meantime, Halice wasn’t letting me excuse myself. “She deserves a drink before all the good wine’s drunk. Find her and give her this. I’m going to get some food.” She handed me the wine, walking off before I could protest.

I swung the fat-bellied bottle by its long neck and considered giving it to someone else. Pered and Shiv were arm in arm by the dancing ground, joking with careful kindness among those who’d survived the pirates and were trying to make merry as best they could. Guinalle would be comforting those with memories too raw and painful to be danced away. Halice was right, curse her. The demoiselle deserved a drink and if she had her mouth full of wine, she couldn’t be asking for my thoughts on the Elietimm Artifice she’d dragged me into. It was time Guinalle accepted I had no opinion, beyond determination never to get caught up in it again. Walking up the slope towards the woods, I found I was holding the bottle in a manner more suited to a tavern fight. I changed my grip; I was hardly about to hammer the truth into Guinalle’s head with it. I’d have a quiet word with Usara when he got back and ask Ryshad to drop a few hints.

I heard talking inside the canvas-roofed hut where Guinalle was living and halted, just out of sight beyond the doorway.

“Everyone says they know how I must feel.” Naldeth’s voice was bitter as gall.

“How can they?” Guinalle was unemotional as usual. No, that wasn’t fair, I’d seen her smiling latterly, colour in her cheeks it was a safe bet Usara had put there. “Though I was severed from the life I’d known as surely as your leg was taken.” I was surprised to hear Guinalle be so blunt. “If you can learn from my mistakes in trying to cope, you may save yourself some grief.”

“You make is sound so easy.” The mage’s reply was barely short of insulting.

“It’s the hardest thing I’ve ever done,” retorted Guinalle. “But the only alternative is despair and you’re no more a coward than I am.”

“I don’t have your strength, my lady,” Naldeth choked unexpectedly.

“Then take strength from those willing to offer it,” said Guinalle softly. “Don’t repine for what’s lost and agonise over what cannot be changed. Don’t shut out those who would help you. If that’s the cost of closing the door on pain and regret, it’s not worth paying.”

“I can’t go back to Hadrumal,” said Naldeth, forlorn. “I can’t face the questions, the pity, everyone whispering in corners—”

“Talk to Usara about that,” Guinalle said briskly. “Anyway, who says you need go back to Hadrumal?”

“I’m hardly going to be building a new life in Kellarin on one leg and a crutch.” Naldeth’s uncertain mood veered back to anger. “People will see Muredarch’s handiwork till the end of my days, my lady. You might as well have left his mark on my chest as well.”

They could both do with a drink. I walked away and approached again, humming a snatch of the round dance being played by the shore.

“Halice doesn’t want you missing out.” I stuck my head round the doorframe and waved the bottle cheerfully. “Any glasses not used for medicine round here?”

“I can find a few.” Guinalle rose from the edge of the bed where Naldeth was propped against a bank of rolled blankets. Minare carried him here every morning despite his protests. Guinalle was determined the mage wasn’t going to sit in solitude and brood on his injuries.

“You want to ask Halice for a few hints on using that.” I nodded at the crutch standing in the corner, untouched since Ryshad had put it there.

“She’s probably forgotten how.” Naldeth sounded bitter again.

“She spent the best part of a year never walking without one,” I pointed out. “And wondering what to do with her life. A crippled mercenary has precious few options compared with a mage. You don’t need both feet on the ground to work wizardry.”

“I can’t decide if you’re a good nurse or not, Livak.” Guinalle turned from the chest that held her tinctures and salves. “Do your patients get well simply to get away from your encouragement?”

That won a grudging laugh from Naldeth so I’d allow the lady her sarcasm, particularly since I saw calculated humour in her eye.

“Enjoy it.” I proffered the bottle and waved Guinalle away when she tried to refill my horn cup. “No, thanks all the same. I’m looking for Ryshad.”

I sauntered off, well satisfied with my escape. I’d done what Halice asked. I’d tell her Guinalle was busy with Naldeth, and suggest she help get the wizard back on his feet — well, foot and crutch. If Guinalle thought I was unsubtle, she should see Halice dragging someone out of the mopes. I’d seen mercenaries half dead from their wounds sitting up and taking notice, if only because they’d obey Halice before Poldrion’s summons.

The cooking meat smelt tempting. Minare and I had a bet on just what the hare-lipped beasts Vaspret found foraging among the narrow valleys would taste like. Minare wagered something akin to rabbit but I reckoned venison looked nearer the mark.

“Livak!” Sorgrad hailed me and waved a bottle. He and ’Gren were leaning against a stack of the firewood everyone was expected to gather daily. Ryshad had set people thatching the piles with brush to keep any rain off.

“Drink?” asked ’Gren.

I shook my head. “What have you been up to today?”

“Talking to Pered and Shiv.”

’Gren scratched absently at his side where the wound that should have killed him still itched as it healed. “Have you seen what they’re planning for the inside of the shrine?”

“You mean you’ve been distracting Pered when he’s supposed to be drawing up records for D’Alsennin.” Sorgrad fixed me with a sardonic eye. “Pered’s talking about studying Artifice with Guinalle; reckons he could make an adept.”

“That’ll make for a lively household.” I shrugged. “I’ll wish him and Shiv every happiness of wizardry and Artifice under the same roof.”

“Scared?” teased ’Gren.

“Witless,” I confirmed. “Forest tricks are all very well but the demoiselle can keep her Higher Artifice and welcome. I’ll stay safe inside my own skin with both feet firmly on the ground, thanks all the same.” I turned to Sorgrad. “What about you? Have you got a taste for wizardry? Will we wave you off to Hadrumal?”

He didn’t rise to the bait, simply smiling lazily. “I’ll wait and see what word ’Sar brings back from Planir.”

“There should be some fight worth joining in Lescar,” ’Gren remarked. “Once we find out which side’s backed by most coin. I want to see what price we can get for those red stones Olret gave us as well.”

“Half a half-season’s peace and quiet and you’re already bored,” I scoffed. “You don’t know when you’re well off.” I’d decided boredom had more merits than I’d allowed it. Besides, my mother always said if you were bored, you just weren’t looking hard enough for something to do. I was beginning to think she might have a point. Mind you, I wasn’t thinking in terms of her usual ready suggestions that I polish some brass, blacklead grates or darn linen.

“I could write to Lessay, if anyone’s got a notion where to send a letter,” mused Sorgrad.

’Gren’s thoughts had already moved on. ”They need someone to make up that set. Look after my wine, ’Grad.”

“That wound’s not holding him back then.” I watched him bow deftly to a girl who’d been looking uncertainly for a partner. “Nor yet the notion he should be dead on the Ice Islands?”

“You know ’Gren,” Sorgrad said easily. “Where there’s no sense, there’s no feeling.”

The timorous girl was blossoming under ’Gren’s charm. “I take it she’s not yet had the chance to learn how much she owes him, see his scar and kiss it better?”

Sorgrad nodded. “She looks better than she did, doesn’t she?”

I studied the girl but beyond a vague recollection of hysterical weeping, I couldn’t put a name to her.

“Guinalle’s done a good deal for the worst abused,” Sorgrad continued. “Taking the edge off memories, blunting dreams. Seems Artifice can help heal the mind as well as the body.”

“I’m still not taking any interest in it,” I told him firmly.

“That’ll please Ryshad.” Now it was Sorgrad’s turn to dangle a provocation.

“When did you last see me hiding behind a man’s wishes?” I stuck my empty cup on the top of his wine bottle. “You won’t talk or trick me into sitting for lessons at Guinalle’s feet, just so you’ve got an excuse for hanging round to talk magic with Shiv and ’Sar.”

“It was worth a try.” Sorgrad grinned, unrepentant.

I was watching ’Gren blithely whirling the dark-haired girl around. “It really doesn’t bother him, does it?”

“How am I supposed to take a drink with everyone giving me things to hold?” Sorgrad frowned at the cups and bottle in his hands. “What? No, you know ’Gren. There’s no future in looking at the past, that’s what he says.”

“A sound philosophy as far as it goes,” I allowed. “But a little forward planning doesn’t come amiss.”

“Words to warm Ryshad’s heart,” mocked Sorgrad.

I still wasn’t biting. “His father’s a mason, ’Grad. Making plans means the building won’t come tumbling down around your ears.” Everything had so nearly crashed to ruin around all of us. It was high time I went back to a life where the biggest risks were marked by the roll of the runes and the weight of your purse.

“Where is he?” Sorgrad scanned the lively scene by the water. “You’d best go and find him, let him know there’s food for the eating.”

“Don’t drink all the good wine.” I looked but couldn’t find Ryshad among the dancing or the hungry throng gathering by the fires.

“Try the shrine,” Sorgrad suggested.

The Island City of Hadrumal, 29th of For-Summer

The full heat of the afternoon beat down on Hadrumal’s roofs, striking motes of silver from stone slates and turning masonry beneath to warm gold. Planir stood at his window looking down at the bustling courtyard below. Apprentices hurried about the errands they’d been given by their masters. Mages elevated to the status of pupil walked more slowly back to their lodging, weighed down with carefully cherished dignity and the substantial books many carried. Styles of dress and a general predilection for elemental colours were common to all but cut and quality of cloth inevitably distinguished those born to greater wealth whose families refused to let the accident of magebirth divide them.

In plainer clothes and oblivious to the lofty concerns of wizards, the ordinary folk of Hadrumal came and went; laundresses, maidservants, apprentice boys fetching and carrying so that no mundane distractions need divert those with the privilege of affinity from studying their arcane calling.

Planir watched, face cold. When a knock sounded at his door, he didn’t stir. “Enter.”

Usara came into the room. “Archmage.” He wore everyday breeches in washed-out maroon and a full-sleeved shirt under a buff jerkin with bone buttons. Both had been cut for a man thicker in the waist and broader in the shoulders. He carried a plain leather bag slung over one shoulder by a braided strap.

“ ’Sar.” Planir still didn’t move. “I heard you were back.”

“Just for a day or so. I had some things to bring you.” Usara moved to the table, empty surface glossy with diligent polishing. The whole room was bright as a pin, neat as new paint. “This letter for one.”

That turned Planir’s head. “From whom?”

Usara winced at the apprehension and hunger in the Archmage’s face. “Just from Temar.”

Planir managed a wintry smile. “What can I do for the Sieur D’Alsennin?”

“I suspect he wants your permission to wed Allin.” Usara set the sealed letter on the table. “He thinks you’re the one he should ask.”

Planir returned to gazing out of the window. “It’s always been an Archmage’s duty to care for those seeking learning and guidance from Hadrumal.” His voice was harsh with self-accusation.

Usara lifted a small copper urn out of his satchel, setting it on the table with gentle hands. The round-bellied vessel was bright with enamelled leaves and birds, mismatched lid secured with wax and cord.

Planir’s head turned involuntarily at the slight sound. “Larissa?”

“She saved countless lives.” Sorrowful, Usara looked at the urn. He reached into the neck of his shirt and pulled a cord over his head. The silver ring was knotted securely on to it. “We’d never have been able to use Artifice and wizardry together without this and we couldn’t have saved those women from Olret.”

“Which, as Archmage, I should of course be glad for.” Planir turned back to the window. “Forgive me. As yet I cannot appreciate the wider benefits of losing the woman I loved to a horrible death.”

“Halice gave us the urn. It seems she’s always carried one, reckoning she’d be killed sooner or later.” Usara set the ring down on the table. “Temar wants to name one of the Suthyfer islands for Larissa. We’ve built a shrine and she’ll be remembered with honour if that’s where her ashes rest.” He hesitated. “I thought you might want her here, though. It’s for you to say.”

“My last duty as her Archmage?” Pain cracked Planir’s sarcasm.

“Your right as her lover,” said Usara quietly.

“Is that all?” asked the Archmage curtly.

“No.” Usara ran a hand over his non-existent hair. “Forgive me but I asked Kalion and Troanna to join us.”

Planir glared at him. “Just to make my day complete.”

Usara squared his narrow shoulders. “I have things to tell you all, in your capacities as Archmage and Element Masters.”

“Have you now?” A spark of interest struggled through the grief darkening Planir’s grey eyes. “That Kalion’s dream of closer ties with Imperial Tormalin is to be realised now Temar’s realised little Allin’s loved him for the better part of a year?”

Usara coloured beneath his sandy beard. “I also have hopes of marrying into that House.”

“Do you?” Planir managed a faint smile. “Guinalle has accepted you?”

“I haven’t exactly asked her,” Usara admitted. “Not as yet.”

“Temar’s her legal overlord.” Planir moved to the high-backed chair by the fender and waved Usara towards the other. “You’ll be asking his permission for her hand. Do you want me to tell him he can’t wed Allin if he turns you down?” The notion surprised the Archmage into a brief laugh.

“I hadn’t thought of that.” Usara looked shocked. “That Temar has rights in the matter, I mean.”

Hasty feet sounded on the stairs beyond the open door.

“Kalion’s on his way.” Planir settled himself with calculated care, nodding to Usara to do the same. “I didn’t think it would take him long.”

Usara did his best to assume the Archmage’s ease but tension kept his spine stiff as the poker in the empty hearth. As the silence in the room was broken only by the approaching footsteps, he grew pale with determination.

“Hearth Master, do come in.” Planir waved as Kalion reached the doorway, scarlet faced, his chest heaving. “Troanna, do take a seat.”

The Flood Mistress stalked past Kalion who was still getting his breath. Apart from high colour on her round face, she showed no sign of undue hurry. “Usara, a welcome surprise.” She took one of the upright chairs beside the table, glancing at the letter, the urn and the ring. Her face turned thoughtful.

Kalion dropped heavily down beside her. “Usara.” He paused to catch his breath again. “I should tell you, in all friendliness, that I have grave concerns about your fitness for office. I cannot, in all conscience, let your nomination pass to the Council without setting them out.”

Usara frowned, perplexed. “I beg your pardon?”

Kalion looked at Planir. “This is about the Stone Mastery?”

“You’d nominate me?” Usara was startled.

Planir smiled enigmatically. “Usara asked you here. It seems he has something to say to us all.” He shot Usara a look of challenge.

Usara lifted his chin. “I was not aware that I would even be considered as Stone Master but with all due respect—and considerable gratitude—I would have refused such an honour.”

“What?” exclaimed Kalion. He would have continued but for the combined effects of exertion and indignation.

Troanna slapped his arm. “Let him speak.”

“I have come to tell you that I will be staying in Suthyfer, as will Shiv and Allin.” Usara cleared his throat.

“Then we wish you well.” Troanna made as if to stand.

“And we will welcome any mage wanting to join us in studying elemental magic as well as Artifice.” Usara spoke a little faster than usual. “We wish to found a hall for the exploration of magic in all its forms. We’ll start by using our various skills to help build new settlements in Suthyfer and Kellarin. I will be spreading the word among the halls here before I leave.”

Kalion gaped. “I forbid it!”

“Forgive me, Hearth Master, but you have no right to do so.” Usara looked at Planir. “Nor, as far as I can tell, do we need your permission as such but we’d value your blessing.”

“It’s an Archmage’s duty to curb any excesses among wizardry,” said Kalion furiously. “If setting up some rival hall to Hadrumal isn’t excessive, I’d like to know what is!”

“Hush.” Troanna’s fingers tightened on Kalion’s arm hard enough to cut his words short. “Do you see your enterprise rivalling Hadrumal, Usara? With just you three and any malcontents you can convince to risk themselves?”

“Not at all, Flood Mistress. What we seek is rather to complement the learning here.” The mage waved a hand at the unseen halls and courts beyond the window. “There is such a burden of knowledge here that it can stifle new thinking. Any apprentice with a curious idea is more inclined to hunt through the libraries for some clue that someone tried it before, than to actually pursue the notion. If they find nothing to guide them in the accumulated lore of Hadrumal, all too often they abandon the idea altogether.”

“You think yourself wiser than all the mages whose lives spent in study have given you and your heedless friends the very skills to master your inborn magic?” Kalion was incensed.

“We wish to use those skills to add to the sum of wizardry,” retorted Usara. “Which cannot always be done when the weighty traditions of Hadrumal unfortunately smother initiative.”

“That’s a grave accusation,” said Troanna sternly. “What manner of initiative are we discussing? The insane depredations of some menace like Azazir?”

“Of course not,” Usara responded tightly.

“Can you show us a good idea coming to naught?” asked Planir mildly, fingers steepled beneath his chin as he relaxed in his chair.

Usara took a breath before continuing. “Consider Casuel, Archmage. When Temar and the Sieur D’Olbriot were assaulted last year, he blocked their attackers’ escape by making the vines of a carved stone gate grow to tangle their hands and feet. It was most impressive magic and I would dearly love to know how he worked it but he has no clear idea. Worse, he refuses to try it again without sanction from the records of some dead wizard to assure him that it’s safe.”

“You intend letting every wild idea run riot on these islands?” Troanna looked sternly at Usara. “Will you keep yourselves sufficiently far from D’Alsennin’s people so you don’t all go up in flames and confusion?”

“We will be taking every precaution against folly, Flood Mistress,” Usara said stiffly. “We’ll use all the safeguards so long proven here. We’re not turning our backs on Hadrumal, just taking a step away.”

Planir spoke just fast enough to stop Kalion’s intemperate response. “You make an interesting point about Casuel. He’s never really realised his potential, has he?” The Archmage looked from Kalion to Troanna. “He isn’t the first we’ve seen unhappily overawed by all the misbegotten, misinterpreted legends that hang round this place.”

“Casuel was twisted by his own inadequacies before he ever reached these shores,” snapped Kalion.

“Maybe so,” Planir allowed. “But who’s to say he might not have put those behind him if he didn’t feel surrounded by predecessors he doubted he could equal? What about Ely, Kalion? She holds back out of fear of failure.” He fixed the Hearth Master with a stern eye. “She’s an affinity as strong as any I’ve seen but busies herself rumour mongering and poisoning people’s lives with her gossip. To be fair, much as I dislike the girl, I simply don’t believe she’s cut out for debating the flaws and merits of theories. She might do far better with a freer rein to apply her abilities as suits her best.” His words were cutting. “Tell me, Troanna, how many apprentices have failed to measure up to your expectations or disappointed you by settling for the limited scope of a hedge mage’s life? I’ve seen far too many scurry off to some mundane town half a day from the high road because that’s what they grew up with and they couldn’t get used to the lofty halls and concerns of Hadrumal.”

“One is one too many,” said Troanna curtly. “I’ll grant you that.”

“You cannot sanction such a renegade enterprise,” cried Kalion. “I won’t allow it. The Council won’t allow it!”

“How will they stop it?” Planir queried mildly. “None of the precepts Trydek laid down for this place preclude mages establishing some other centre of study. None of those precepts entitle the Council to act against other mages. That’s the Archmage’s duty.”

“With the Council to guide him,” snapped Kalion.

“To make sure he isn’t tempted to a course of magical tyranny.” Planir nodded. “Forbidding ’Sar and Shiv’s attempt to broaden the scope of magical learning sounds uncomfortably like tyranny to me.”

“All mages are subject to Hadrumal’s authority.” Kalion glared at Usara.

“Which authority is based on consent, as you are so very fond of reminding me.” Planir sat straighter, looking severe. “If it is seen to be abused for no good reason, that consent will vanish like snow beneath hot sun. Where will wizardry be then?” He thrust a challenging finger at Kalion. “You’re so keen to see magic accepted in the wider world. Won’t seeing wizards helping folk with their everyday business ease the fears and superstitions than bedevil us? Powerful mages from a hidden isle visiting only to closet themselves with lords already holding power of life and death over them don’t exactly reassure the commonalty. I can see other advantages. Wizards at the centre of what promises to be a substantial trading network will very well placed to hear of discord or harmony among the powers of the mainland.”

Kalion struggled for a reply so Planir continued remorselessly.

“Not everyone’s cut out for the learning of Hadrumal but that doesn’t tarnish or devalue it. Study will always have its place, Kalion; I don’t think we need feel threatened by ’Sar’s new venture. In fact, it’ll prove a study in itself to keep the papermakers and bookbinders in work. Has Sannin talked to either of you two about her notion that capacity for mage-craft strengthens with its actual use? She’ll be fascinated to see what comes of ’Sar’s venture.” He glanced at Usara. “Rafrid and Herion will be interested to share a glass of wine with you before you go. They’re interested in exploring merging magic, in a formal nexus and in less structured workings. You and Shiv should share what you’ve learned, even if your workings have been largely luck and accident.” Planir’s tone was one of reproof but that didn’t please Kalion whose face showed suspicion still winning over indignation.

Troanna had other concerns. “This hall or whatever you call it would also be a place for the study of Artifice?”

“You’ve made it clear you consider such studies here a pointless distraction,” Planir answered tersely. “Besides, if such a hall were set up under D’Alsennin’s auspices in Suthyfer, the Emperor would have no reason to charter any new university. As a rival to Hadrumal, I’d have far more concern over a school of Artifice that we had no links with than over Shiv and Usara’s venture where tried and tested friends directed both disciplines.”

“We intend to explore every similarity and difference between aetheric enchantment and our own magic,” said Usara firmly.

Kalion snorted with contempt.

“You don’t think that’s a worthy aim?” demanded Planir. “You don’t want to know how to save yourself from the living death that Otrick suffered or the fatal shock that rebounded upon Larissa? I’ll wager every other mage in Hadrumal would be grateful for such knowledge. A good few will appreciate there being some other focus for Elietimm hatred, if it should ever emerge again. I certainly welcome some bulwark against attack or a sanctuary if Hadrumal itself should ever be struck down. We have all our eggs in one basket, Kalion. Hiding ourselves with mists and magic is all very well but you cannot deny it means we cut ourselves off from the mainland more comprehensively than is good for us. You’ve always been an advocate for greater involvement in the wider world.” He smiled to undercut the harshness of his words. “This argument’s becoming rather circular. Do any of you have anything to add?”

Usara rose to his feet in the resulting silence. “If you’ll excuse me, Archmage, I wish to speak with Aritane.” He couldn’t help glancing at Troanna. “Guinalle has learned something of an ancient rite of exile still practised among the Elietimm. She wishes to appeal to the Sheltya, to argue that they accept it as basis to sentence Aritane to less than death. Then she can come to Suthyfer as well.”

“Wait a moment.” Planir pointed to the table. “Kalion, if you’d be so good as to pass me that ring.” He sat forward, hand outstretched.

Kalion picked up the cord and frowned, examining the silver circle. “Otrick’s ring?”

“Azazir’s before him.” Troanna leaned over to look.

“You’ve ensorcelled it yourself.” Kalion narrowed his eyes at Planir who merely smiled and raised his hand to show the scar burned into his finger.

“Now it’s imbued with three elements out of the four,” mused Troanna. “Only fire remaining.”

“Which will double and redouble its power.” Planir cocked his head. “Kalion?”

“I haven’t that depth of affinity.” The Hearth Master handed it to Planir.

“You might surprise yourself.” The Archmage shrugged. “But I yield to your mastery. The question remains, what shall we do with it?”

None of the other three mages dared meet each other’s eyes. Usara slowly resumed his seat as Planir put the ring on his forefinger. “I know you’re anxious to assure us you’re not setting up in opposition to Hadrumal, ’Sar, but it occurs to me a degree of competition can be a healthy spur to learning. The scholars of Vanam and Col never make so much progress as when their rivals gain some new insight into a common pursuit.” He pursed his lips. “I’ll be interested to see if a mage fit to complete the square in this particular circle emerges from Hadrumal or Suthyfer first. Until then—” he tossed the ring to Usara who caught it, surprised. “You take it. You said it proved central to defending your mages against aetheric attack. You’ll be the first line of defence against that from now on.”

Kalion scowled. “If you’ll excuse me, Archmage. Usara, I’ll bespeak you when I have need of that ring.” He stomped out of the room.

“Don’t you approve, Troanna?” queried Planir.

“It’s little enough to me or my pupils, either way.” The Flood Mistress looked at Usara. “Do you still consider the Elietimm a threat?”

Usara hesitated. “For the present, from all Guinalle can read of the situation, no. Hopefully there’s no reason for us to be enemies now. There are four or five clans jostling for position among the Elietimm, well enough matched in men, land and adepts. They’re all wise enough to realise any one aiming for pre-eminence will be cut down by the rest uniting against any possibility of a new Ilkehan. They have as many misgivings about us as we have about them, so I don’t suppose we’ll ever be friends, though D’Alsennin’s sending the remaining prisoners from Kellarin’s mines back, as earnest of his goodwill.”

“That sounds well enough. You wanted to find Aritane. Don’t let me keep you.” Troanna made no move to stir from her chair.

“I’ll bid you farewell.” Usara stood and sketched a bow to both. “I need to see Strell as well, Planir. Temar wants her to know she can call on D’Alsennin for anything she might ever need.”

“I hope that’s of some comfort.” Planir plainly doubted it. Usara closed the door softly behind him. “You have something to say to me, Troanna?” The animation left the Archmage’s voice.

Troanna surveyed the room. “Even allowing for the diligence of your servants, there’s no sign you’ve been throwing crocks. Judging by the usual plentiful array of wines and cordials, you’ve not been drowning your grief. You’re thinner in the face but I’ve seen you dining with your pupils so you’re hardly starving yourself into a decline.”

“Your point?” Planir’s face was a chilly mask.

“I’ve buried two husbands and three children, Planir.” Troanna folded her arms. “I won’t say I know what you’re feeling because every loss is different and cuts as deep as any gone before. What I do know is you must grieve or Larissa will remain as dead to you as those ashes in that urn.”

Planir’s response was scathing. “You want me to picture her happily dwelling in the Otherworld, her virtues recognised by Saedrin as sufficient to save her from Poldrion’s demons?”

“Don’t be a fool.” Troanna was unmoved. “You’ve no more use for priests and their superstitions than I have.”

“Then what would you have me do?” snapped Planir.

“Acknowledge your loss and the unfairness of it,” Troanna told him forcefully. “In whatever way gives you release. Go to the highest point on the island and scream your outrage at the wind, the gods or whatever uncaring destiny visited such untimely death on the poor girl. That’s what I’ve done before now. Look honestly at the path that led her there and spare yourself endless reproaches over what you did or didn’t do. We’re not Aldabreshin barbarians to believe every twist of fortune is foretold by uncanny portents, that every evil can be averted if only we have the skills to read the signs. She died and you are entitled to grieve, but not to endlessly castigate yourself over a fate that was none of your making.”

“I set her on the path that led her to die,” said Planir harshly.

“Horseshit.” Troanna shook her head. “You diminish her by thinking so. Larissa was young but she was an intelligent girl and she made her own choices. I never approved of your association but no one can accuse you of influencing her decisions.”

“You’re too kind,” said Planir coldly. “Though that was because I loved her rather than out of any respect for your sensibilities. She is still dead.”

“Until you grieve, she will remain so.” Troanna ran a finger over the swell of the brightly decorated urn, apparently not noticing how Planir tensed. “There’s one notion the Archipelagans hold that I’ve come to share. No one is dead as long as one person who knew them in life still remembers them as they were. Do Larissa that honour.” She got briskly to her feet with a nod of farewell. “You know where I am if you want to argue this further, as light relief from twisting Kalion’s tail. Talk to Shannet. She’s outlived nigh on her whole generation and knows all about loss. This is possibly the only thing we’ll ever agree on.”

Planir said nothing as the Flood Mistress tossed that last comment over her shoulder. He sat motionless in his chair for a long while until finally, his expression still unchanged, tears coursed down his cheeks.

Suthyfer, Fellaemion’s Landing, 29th of For-Sutnmer

For a stone mason’s son, you make a very good carpenter, but can’t you hang up your tool belt for one evening?” I was exaggerating; all Ryshad held was a small hammer.

He held out an arm and I stepped into his embrace. “It looks good, doesn’t it?”

I looked around the shrine. Stones chosen for even colour and smoothness gave a solid foundation to close-fitted wooden walls. The roof above was held firm by rafters finished with the same exquisite care. Around the base of the wall the rich scent of new timber breathed life into niches where the incongruously prosaic vessels holding the ashes of Suthyfer’s first dead stood. Charcoal marks and faint scores on the wood promised carving yet to come; I could see Saedrin’s keys, Drianon’s eagle, Halcarion’s crown and Raeponin’s scales. In the centre of the floor, the palest stones Ryshad and his fellow craftsmen could find raised a plinth waiting for whatever deity this place would be dedicated to. The wide doors stood open and a shaft of sunlight lit up the empty circle.

I slid my arm around Ryshad’s waist to feel the reassuring strength and warmth of him. “Has Temar said anything about a statue yet?”

Ryshad shook his head. “Guinalle suggested Larasion.”

I could see the sense in that. “Sailors heading in both directions will always want to pray for fair weather.”

“Dastennin’s the Lord of the Sea and four men out of five in Zyoutessela swear by him before any other.” Ryshad held me close with absent affection. “Guinalle changed her mind, anyway. Talking about this new hall she and ’Sar want to set up reminded her that Ostrin’s shrine held most of the aetheric lore in the Old Empire.”

“Build a bigger plinth,” I suggested. “Let them share, like the temple in Relshaz.”

Ryshad laughed. “It’ll be a while before Suthyfer can boast anything that splendid. You could fit this whole landing inside that place.”

“It’ll be as fine as any Imperial fane when it’s finished.” I pulled Ryshad with me to look more closely at the faint designs on the inner face of the wall. “If Pered’s got anything to say about it. Is that Larissa beside Halcarion?”

Ryshad nodded. “He’s trying to include as many of those lost as he can.”

I studied the broad sweep of the mural Pered was planning for the first half of the circle. It followed the lie of the land outside so closely that, when it was finished, it would almost seem as if the shrine had windows not walls. Those coming for solace would see the gods and goddesses reassuringly engaged with the folk of the landing. Trimon sat with his harp, framed by dancing children. Larasion wove garlands for the girls who sat with Halcarion, all dressing their hair in the reflection of a still pool that, thinking about it, didn’t actually exist hereabouts. Never mind, Ryshad would doubtless dig one. Drianon wove reeds into baskets by the door of a solid little house, goodwives busy about her. Talagrin stood some way off with a group of men about to go hunting for something to fill the pots that Misaen was hammering at his forge.

“I like it,” I said.

“So do I.” Ryshad kissed my hair.

An array of lidded pots surely too small to be serving as urns caught my eye. “What’s that?”

“Shiv’s helping Pered with his pigments.” Ryshad grinned. “He says Flood Mistress Troanna would be appalled at such mundane use of his affinity but she’s not here to see.”

“So it can’t hurt her.” I finished the sentence for him. Awkward silence hung between us.

“Pered’s talking about studying Artifice,” Ryshad said with careful casualness.

“He can have that song book.” I chose my words with equal care. “I won’t be needing it any more.”

“No?” Ryshad looked down at me.

“Forest riddles and charms hidden in songs, that was fun,” I told him. “Sheltya, Elietimm, Guinalle and her adepts, that’s all too serious for me.” An involuntary shudder surprised me. “Far too dangerous. They can keep their secrets and welcome.”

“So what are you going to do?” Ryshad’s dark eyes searched my face.

“Vithrancel’s boring.” I met his gaze unblinking. “But it’s got our house and that’s got walls, a roof and a decent privy so it’ll do for the moment. As soon as Suthyfer can offer as much and more besides, like taverns for sailors to spend their pay in and market halls for trading and barter, I want to come back here. I’ve already written to Charoleia to send me a cargo of wine on the first ship she can.” I grinned at him. “I’m going to try my hand at being a merchant. It’s just another way of gambling.”

Ryshad nodded slowly. “Then I can take the job Temar’s been trying to thrust in my hands.”

I felt a sudden qualm. “He’s offering you service with D’Alsennin? An oath?”

“No, and I wouldn’t take it if he did,” said Ryshad firmly. “Temar knows that. He wants me to act as Suthyfer’s steward. Someone’s got to get things organised around here and he reckons I’m the man for it.”

I couldn’t decide if Ryshad was flattered or embarrassed by this accolade. “You’ve served D’Olbriot, you know Zyoutessela inside out, you know more about Kellarin than anyone else. He couldn’t make a better choice.”

“I hope you’re right.” Ryshad hugged me.

“Of course I am.” I frowned. “But you’re not to be sworn to him?” I didn’t want any ties pulling Ryshad and me apart, not any more.

“No.” Ryshad kissed my hair again. “It’s time to be my own man. Besides, the Emperor will be happier to see Suthyfer with a measure of independence from D’Alsennin. It’ll make it easier for him to sell to the Convocation of Princes.”

The Sieur D’Olbriot would back Ryshad’s integrity and ability against anyone else’s arguments for one thing. “So who will you answer to?” I wondered just what possibilities this notion might present.

“In due course, there’ll be merchant’s guilds and more shrine fraternities, craftsmen’s companies. They’ll all want their say. If ’Sar and Guinalle set up their hall, they’ll stick their spoon in the pot.” Ryshad looked down at me and grinned. “I’ll be needing to know just what’s being said over the ale tankards and round the trading halls if I’m to keep one move ahead of the game.”

“Naturally,” I agreed, my own smile widening. Pride that Ryshad’s talents had finally won due recognition warmed me even more than the prospect of the fun ahead.

“For the moment,” continued Ryshad, “I’ll be answering to myself first and foremost. Temar’s said as much. He’ll make his case when he wants something done, or send the captain of his cohort.” I felt a chuckle deep in Ryshad’s chest. “I should have made a bet with you, against us ever seeing Halice take a Tormalin Sieur’s oath.”

“Halice?” I gaped. “She’s to be his captain, oaths given and received and the full ceremony?”

“He asked her today and she said yes. She’ll be wearing D’Alsennin’s badge just as soon as he can find a silversmith to make it.” Ryshad’s approval was evident. “He reckons she’s proven herself five times over. She’s more than ready to take his amulet and earn some rights in the land she’s been fighting over for a change.”

“Sorgrad and ’Gren won’t be impressed,” I said without thinking. “They want to see what the summer’s fighting’s turned up in Lescar.”

I felt Ryshad stiffen. “You’re staying this side of the ocean though.”

“I am,” I assured him. “I’m with Halice on this one. Sorgrad and ’Gren can go off with some hare-brained scheme to get rich quick and welcome. We reckon it’s time to play the long game.”

“We’ll all make sure the rewards are worth the costs.” Ryshad let his arm fall from my shoulder and reached into the inner pocket of his jerkin. He brought out a bronze medallion. It wasn’t the one I’d seen him wear because he’d handed that back to Messire D’Olbriot along with his oath.

“Aiten would have liked it here,” I said softly.

“He would, him and Geris, wouldn’t you say?” Ryshad sorted through a handful of nails to find one for the loop where a leather thong had hung the medallion around his friend’s neck.

I smiled. “He’d have been desperate to get involved with ’Sar and Guinalle’s studies.”

Ryshad shifted the door so he could see the inner face. One day it would be invisible beneath tokens of vows made and boons sought from the gods but for the moment it was unblemished. “Have we settled that score with the Elietimm?”

“I think so.” There was no incense here yet but I found a few fragrant curls of wood shavings and piled them on the plinth. Ryshad watched me take a sparkmaker out of my pocket. He struck the nail square on the head and Aiten’s amulet was fixed to the door. I lit the shavings and hoped the smoke would carry the sound to the Otherworld. Maybe somehow, somewhere, they’d know they were avenged.

Ryshad slowly lowered his hammer, gazing out of the doorway. “Will you marry me?”

It wasn’t a proposal, not with the weight of the question all on the first word nor yet one of those challenges that dares you to say no. He sounded merely curious but I knew my answer had to strike that same balance between lightness and significance. It wasn’t a question he was asking idly, not now we could see a life ahead of us that we might share on equal terms.

“This mid-summer? No. My hair would be nowhere near long enough for a wedding plait and it’ll probably still be this horrible colour. Equinox? Winter Solstice? Unlikely. I can’t see me wanting to get caught up in such a fuss. Next year? The year after? Five years hence? I’ve no idea. I don’t know that I’ll ever want to wed.” My heart pounded as I gambled on complete honesty. “I can be certain I don’t want to be without you. I can’t imagine my life without you. I won’t be going anywhere without you at my side.”

Ryshad nodded slowly but did not speak.

“That’s the best answer I can give you.” I waited.

Ryshad turned and tossed the hammer aside so he could fold me in his arms. “That’s more than enough for me. As long as I have you, I have everything I could ever want.”

I kissed him and it was enough, more than enough, for that blissful moment and, as far as I could see, it always would be.