The Assassin's Edge

To Keran Tonin, Mentor at the University of Vanam

From Rumex Dort, Archivist to Den Castevin, Toremal.

This is all I can find of recent record about pirates but we’re seldom involved in such things. I’ll ask around and see what else I can have copied for you. Next time you’re passing through this way, you can buy me a drink and explain what all this is about.

R

The captain of the ship Periwinkle was brought before the court after being taken by vessels of Den Fisce on the 35th of Aft-Summer on suspicion of piracy. The captain refuses to give his name and it cannot be ascertained from the crew, even after such prolonged close confinement. Three names have been given for the man but none can be found to be reliable. The ship contained goods proven as stolen from the docks at Blacklith and as looted from the wreck of the Shearwater, a ship owned by Tor Inshol and cast away on the rocks below Oyster Head. Captain and crew are sentenced to branding on the right hand as thieves and flogging on the dockside at Blacklith, that all ships’ masters may learn their faces and spurn them in future. Those who can prove title to their goods may reclaim them from Den Gennael’s Receiver of Wrecks. Any property remaining will be turned over to the Shrine of Dastennm, to be used by the fraternity for the relief of seamen’s widows and orphans.

Malbis Cultram was brought before the court by Den Hefeken’s Sergeant at Arms, arrested after three separate accusations of his involvement in piracy were laid. Silks, wines and fine spices were found in his cellars but Cultram can provide neither accounts nor yet trading partners to prove his title to such goods. He claims they were purchased for his own use but can show no trade or profession to justify either the quantities of coin found in his strongboxes or such excessive stocks of luxuries. Witnesses from Blacklith examined separately have identified Cultram as associating with known pirates. A series of coastal charts drawn up by the Pilot Academy of Zyoutessela were found among his private papers. Cultram has never been entered on the muster of the academy and his possession of such charts is therefore unlawful. Further, the Master of Pilots has sent his affidavit that these particular charts were issued to the helmsman of the Brittlestar. This ship of Den Rannion was lost to pirates in the tenth year of Tadriol the Prudent with all aboard put to the sword but for a few surviving by chance and Saedrin’s grace. One such sailor, Evadin Tarl, was brought to the court and identified Cultram as one of those same pirates. Cultram is sentenced to be hanged in chains on the dockside at Kalaven at Solstice, his body to be tarred for its better preservation and the continued warning thereby to any tempted to follow his example.

Kemish Dosin stood before the court of his own volition to meet the repeated accusations made by his neighbour Rumek Starn that he, Dosin, is in the habit of sailing with pirates. Dosin is resident in Savorgan, a man of no formal skills, having given up his apprenticeship as a joiner some years since. His former master will supply him with no character. Witnesses presented agreed that Dosin occasionally works as a labourer on river barges but deny that he has ever sailed on an ocean vessel. Harbour Masters at Kalaven, Blacklith and Zyoutessela find no record of him on any ship’s muster. Starn could bring no evidence beyond his unsupported accusation. Dosin called on the owner of the Black Rat tavern to confirm Starn’s considerable gaming debts to Dosin. The accusation is accordingly dismissed and an exaction of twenty-five Crowns is to be paid by Starn to the shrine of Raeponin in Savorgan no later than Solstice. Should he forfeit, he will be committed to the pillory for the duration of the festival.

Fulme Astar, lately apothecary of Tannat stood before the court at the insistence of the Sieur Den Sacoriz, that these rolls may record his abjuration of the Empire in its present bounds. Den Sacoriz would otherwise require explanation of Astar’s presence on the pirate vessel Dogcockle, taken on the 7th For-Autumn by ships of Den Hefeken after witnessing an unprovoked assault on the Inglis merchant vessel Petrel . The court accepts that while the crew were taken in blood and duly hanged from their yardarm, there is no evidence that Astar participated in the raid. Den Hefeken’s shipmaster was therefore correct to return him to Den Sacoriz’s justice as an erstwhile tenant of that House. Extensive enquiry has found no evidence to support Astar’s contention that he was kidnapped off the street in Tannat by pirates to provide them with medical assistance. He was not restrained aboard ship; there is no evidence that he was ill-treated or coerced. Den Sacoriz’s Sergeant at Arms also bore witness that Astar’s wife has made numerous complaints to the Watch that he was using both her and her children violently. Enquiries into the death of one child from a surfeit of laudanum have not yet been satisfactorily concluded. Astar undertakes to leave Tormalin lands before the turn of this present season with no more possessions than he can carry in his two hands and with only the clothes on his back. The court accepts this plea and will not pursue him further. Should he return, his life is forfeit and any who takes it may apply to Den Sacoriz for the appropriate bounty.

Vithrancel, Kellarin, 20th of Aft-Spring

Get every piece exactly where you want it before making your crucial move.” I moved my apple thrush across Temar’s expensive game board to force Allin’s white raven away from the safety of the little marble trees. An agate screech owl blocked the sanctuary of a thicket figurine and hooded crows lay in wait beyond. We were playing at the table in D’Alsennin’s residence. Everyone else was busy about preparations for the expedition Temar was insisting on. Ryshad and Halice had grudgingly agreed, since neither could get their own way.

Allin sighed. “Naldeth was so nice to me when I first went to Hadrumal, him and his brother. Do you think I should bespeak Gedart?”

I leaned back in my chair. “I’m sure ’Sar will give him the news.” He might have done but that wasn’t my concern. I didn’t want Allin exhausting herself, not when she was our only wizardly resource. I’d seen Shiv and Usara leave themselves virtually senseless by too much elemental exertion and the lass had spent most of yesterday scrying to help Vaspret draw up a detailed map of Suthyfer. Halice had been almost unbearably smug when Allin had found a fourth pirate ship, even if it was only a gaff-rigged single master.

Allin studied the game board without any sign she saw the opening I’d left her. “Seeing that man beaten…” She shuddered.

“Half naked and someone’s prisoner is no fun,” I agreed. I knew that for cold, hard fact. “But they’re fed and the weather can only get warmer. And Saedrin grant it won’t be for too much longer.”

Allin nodded but was still looking wretched when Guinalle opened the door from the tiled lane. “Where’s Halice?”

“Talking to the copper miners.” I nodded in the direction of the reception hall. “With Temar and Rysh. They shouldn’t be too much longer.” They were debating how many men to bring down from Edisgesset without leaving the mines at risk of some revolt by the Elietimm captives there.

“Has Halice got all her mercenaries together?” Guinalle demanded.

I nodded. “Me and Halice have been convincing Deglain and all his pals that whatever crafts they’ve been polishing up, they’re still under her command.” Over the course of a few long evenings in the taproom. Ryshad had been in bed by the time I got back last night and gone before I’d woken this morning.

“I had Peyt come tell me his men reckon their hire ends at the shores of Kellarin.” Guinalle’s mouth pinched with disapproval. “He says he’s not going to Suthyfer.”

“Halice will convince him he’s mistaken,” I assured her. Halice would relish a chance to beat the error of his ways into the oily rabble-rouser.

“Wait with us.” Allin offered Guinalle the platter of sweet-cakes Bridele had given us.

Guinalle took one grudgingly. “I hope Temar’s not insisting on taking all but the halt and the lame. Driving out these pirates will do no good if Kellarin withers on the vine while he fights.”

“Did you contact the Diadem?” asked Allin with sudden urgency.

Guinalle nodded. “Master Heled was none too pleased but Emelan is confident he can guide the ship well out of reach of danger. What about the Rushily?”

Allin took a cake and nibbled it. “Braull will let the current take them south and then cut back towards Hafreinsaur.”

“A long voyage,” I commented.

“Long but safer.” Allin shrugged. “And with Braull on board, they’ll not lack fresh water.”

“An advantage ships carrying mages have over those with Artificers,” acknowledged Guinalle ruefully. Still, discussing magic seemed to improve her mood.

“Have you had any success contacting Parrail as yet?” I asked casually.

“No.” Guinalle smoothed already immaculate braids. “I thought I might be able to reach his dreams last night but the link slipped away.” She adjusted the chatelaine at her waist. “He was barely sleeping deeply enough to dream.”

“That’s hardly surprising,” I remarked.

“And no reflection on your skills,” offered Allin earnestly.

“Perhaps.” Guinalle smiled tightly. “The distance over the water is the biggest problem, that and all the anguish disrupting the aether.”

“How so?” frowned Allin. She was always interested in learning more of the workings of Artifice, intrigued by the notion that Guinalle somehow drew on the collective, unknowing will and belief of other people.

“It may be easier once Master Gede dies.” I was surprised to see the normally imperturbable Guinalle shamefaced. “His pain is truly dreadful and disordering the aether. The distress of all his people at his suffering overlays their thoughts.”

“It must be like trying to work cloud magic in the middle of a rainstorm.” Allin nodded with an understanding quite beyond me.

Guinalle glanced in my direction. “Imagine trying to hold a tune when someone is screaming in your ear.”

Tears welled in Allin’s dark eyes. “Gede was still alive this morning when I scried.”

“The central thought in his mind is protecting Naldeth,” said Guinalle sadly.

I thought about what Halice had told me over a private glass of white brandy the night before. Inside information was essential for an assault with comparatively few men attacking such a defensible position. Any mage bespeaking Naldeth would betray him with their magic, which left speaking to Parrail across the aether our only hope. I looked at the little white raven figurine, choosing my next words carefully. “Could either of you release Master Gede to Poldrion’s care?” I wasn’t seeing those I loved going into any danger I could lessen, not if there was anything I could do about it.

“There’s nothing I can do.” Allin was shocked, as a nicely reared daughter of a rural Lescari household that still observed traditional pieties.

Guinalle looked at me and I met her gaze steadily. She held to ancient faiths long since consigned to myth and ballad but her training in the Artifice of healing meant she’d worked with the sick and dying often enough. “He’ll be dead in a day or so.”

“Does Ostrin demand that death be pointless anguish?” I’d seen mercenary surgeons routinely invoke the god of healing and hospitality as they gave some hopeless case a final drink of something to ensure Saedrin wasn’t kept jangling impatient keys.

Something in Guinalle’s eyes that told me she’d done the same. “If I were actually there, perhaps I could offer him some ease.”

I looked at the game board and imagined I was playing the raven instead of Allin. Challenging an opponent to swap sides is always a good trick in a taproom, as long as he’ll wager against you winning from the hopeless position you’ve forced him into. It’s lined my pockets a good few times and, more importantly, it teaches you there are always more options than are first apparent. “Guinalle, have you ever tried working Artifice on someone you can see through a scrying?”

The demoiselle shook her head. “Usara has suggested it but I’ve never tried.”

Allin looked uncertain. “Artifice and elemental magic so often preclude each other—”

“You might save Master Gede some pain,” I suggested.

“Which might clear the aether sufficiently for me to reach Parrail.” Guinalle looked narrowly at me and I wondered if she was using Artifice to read my thoughts. “Very well. Allin, would you scry for me?”

Allin looked uncertain but was too used to being told what to do to demur. I still intended stiffening her backbone but for the moment was glad the mage-lass remained so pliable. “Of course, Demoiselle.” She moved to the far end of the table where water, bowl, inks and oils were now a permanent fixture. It didn’t take her long to summon an image of Master Gede, ashen faced, head lolling and mouth gasping, either for air or from thirst. His eyes were open but vague and drowsy. Black blood spread from his pinioned hands down the wood of the mast. Fresher flows welled when fatigue or cramp forced involuntary movement to add to his agonies.

“Mercy is a duty from highest to lowest,” Guinalle muttered to herself with sudden resolve. “Ferat asa ny, elar memren feldar. Ostrin agralfre, talat memren tor.”

The rhythm of the enchantment recalled a lament my minstrel father had played over the dead child of one of my aunts. A sudden ripple ran over the surface of the scrying though no one had touched the bowl. All at once the vision of the stricken mariner vanished.

“I’m sorry.” Allin was intent on the bowl. “There was something running so counter to the magic.”

Guinalle looked distraught for an instant before her customary composure walled off such vulnerability. “It didn’t work. I felt that much.”

I felt belatedly guilty for asking such a thing of her. “You did your best.” At the same time, I was sorely frustrated.

The door to the reception hall opened to admit Temar, Ryshad and Halice intent on a new dispute.

“So we’ve a fighting force, just barely.” Halice cut off Temar’s protest with a brusque sweep of her hand. “How do we outflank Suthyfer without more big ships?”

I held up a hand. “I know where we’ll get one more.” I’d achieved at least one thing today.

Halice looked at with ready interest, Temar with sudden hope and Ryshad with affectionate suspicion.

“Shiv and Usara are in Zyoutessela,” I explained. “They bespoke Allin this morning.”

“I told them about Naldeth. They insisted on helping.” She barely blushed at this embroidery on the truth.

Temar smiled at her with delight. “How many men can they raise? What’s Planir’s advice?”

“Would you bespeak them for us?” Ryshad asked urgently.

Halice nodded. “If you’re recovered from yesterday.”

Allin coloured a little but hopefully the others thought that was bashfulness rather than guilt. She had been ordered to work not magic until at least noon today but it had been her insisting to me that she was sufficiently rested to find out what Shiv and ’Sar were up to. Halice and I stepped back to let the mage-girl reach for the broad silver mirror and candlestick scavenged from Temar’s bed chamber.

“Oh, for a handful of mages to link a few good corps together,” Halice commented in a low voice as Allin worked her spell. “I could hand the Lescari throne to whichever duke made me the highest offer.”

“How do you think Tormalin’s ancient cohorts managed to defeat Caladhria’s armies so comprehensively?” Temar said unexpectedly. “Coordinating your forces by magic’s as good as having half your number again.”

“Which is what we’re going to need if we’re going to come out ahead of this fight,” Ryshad pointed out.

“Which is why the morality of Artifice is drilled into any would-be adept.” Guinalle levelled pointed criticism at Temar.

“Shiv? It’s Allin.” She smiled into the mirror. “How are you getting on?”

The spell showed us Shiv and Usara in a wood-panelled room furnished with simple elegance. The light had that translucent quality that comes from overlooking water.

“Where are you?” asked Ryshad.

“On the ocean side,” Usara answered. “An inn called the Griffon Garden.”

Ryshad whistled with amusement. “Still nothing but the best for Planir’s men.”

The ochre-toned image in the mirror shook for a moment, the bright band around it contracting. “Allin?” Temar laid a hand on her shoulder.

She nodded. “It’s just Shiv and Usara bracing the spell.”

The image clarified and Shiv’s voice lost its tinny quality. “Rysh, what’s the best way of hiring a ship hereabouts?”

“Try the Harbour Master,” Ryshad advised.

Shiv grimaced. “He says everything is either already at sea or about to sail for someone else.”

“Then do the rounds of the dockside taverns and find a captain who’s looking peevish. Make him a better offer than the one he’s got.” Ryshad hesitated for a moment. “You’ll need coin on the table though, not the promise of a share in the final payout.”

Shiv and Usara exchanged a glance that needed no words to speak clearly across the spell.

Ryshad cracked his knuckles. “There’s a moneylender called Renthuan works out of a goldsmith’s on Angle Street, back on the Gulf side of the city. Tell him I sent you for Kitria’s dowry.”

With Ryshad’s only sister long since ashes in her urn, that was a useful password.

“I’ll make good every penny,” Temar assured Ryshad stiffly.

So he’d better, I thought privately. That would be the gold that was token of Messire D’Olbriot’s esteem for Ryshad, notwithstanding the pragmatism that had prompted the Sieur to hand him back his oath.

“You need a captain who won’t get all prissy about filling his holds with fighting men rather than cargo,” advised Halice. “And who can rustle you up those wharf rats.”

“Don’t get arrested for planning piracy yourselves,” Ryshad said hastily.

“We don’t want word of this getting back to the Emperor.” Temar bent closer to the mirror, voice low and conspiratorial.

“Or to any chosen or proven man,” added Ryshad. “Remember Zyoutessela’s a D’Olbriot town.”

“Have you spent much time around docks, Shiv?” I asked.

“No.” He looked indignant. “I don’t know why people keep asking me that.”

Temar looked at Ryshad. “Do you know anyone who might assist them?”

Ryshad shook his head. “Not and be sure D’Olbriot won’t hear of it.”

“I’m not at all sure they can do this,” Halice muttered to me. “Not without getting their throats cut. This needs you or me over there.”

“But we’re needed here.” I considered who else might have both the skills necessary and the willingness to help us out. “Did Charoleia mention where Sorgrad and ’Gren fetched up for the winter?”

Halice shook her head. “Last I heard they were in Solura. Even the Imperial Despatch couldn’t get a letter to them in time to do any good.”

Either Allin’s bespeaking skills were improving or Usara had uncommonly sharp ears. “I could bespeak Sorgrad.” He looked like a drowning man who’d spotted a rope.

“Could you fetch them to you by magic?” I asked.

“Probably.” Shiv looked thoughtful. “If we work together.”

“Who are these people?” Temar asked Ryshad.

“Mercenaries, among other things.” Ryshad spared me a speculative glance. “We’ve not met but Halice and Livak speak highly of them.”

He came to slip an arm around my shoulder. I slid my hand around his waist and hid my face in his chest for a moment. The comfort of his embrace helped soothe the qualms I was feeling about what I’d asked Guinalle to do and also meant Halice couldn’t catch my eye. I’d seen a burning question on her face that I didn’t want to answer just yet.

Halice turned her attention to Shiv. “See if you can find out anything about snake-flagged pirates without getting your throat cut.”

Temar squeezed Allin’s shoulder. “You’re tiring. That’s enough for now.”

Shiv nodded. “I’ll bespeak you once we’ve made contact with Sorgrad.” He gestured and the link over the endless leagues snapped, leaving the mirror an empty circle.

Halice turned on me. “How’s he going to bespeak Sorgrad? I thought wizards can only talk to other mages.”

I shrugged. “It turned out last summer that Sorgrad’s mageborn.”

Halice’s jaw dropped and then anger darkened her face. “You didn’t tell me!”

“Not my business to tell,” I retorted. “Take it up with Sorgrad if you’re looking for a fight.”

Halice shook his head. “When I think of all the times I could have used a wizard—” Like me, she’d always considered mages something to steer well clear of but since we’d been caught up in Kellarin’s affairs, she’d come to appreciate their uses.

“Bring magic into the Lescari wars and all you’d do is unite every other duke against the one you were fighting for,” Ryshad pointed out. “Which might at least help end their cursed wars.” He grinned but Halice was still looking dour.

“Sorgrad would have been no use to you,” I told her bluntly. “He’s had no real training. It was magebirth got him exiled from the Mountains so all it’s ever been to him is a bane.” If we in the lowlands were chary of wizards, that was nothing compared to the abhorrence the Mountain Men under the guidance of their Sheltya felt for them. Once I’d seen that for myself, I’d found it no wonder Sorgrad had spent his life suppressing his unwanted affinities.

“We have more urgent concerns than arguing among ourselves.” Temar spoke up with surprising authority. “We were taught in the cohorts to learn all we could about our foes. Who could tell us more about these pirates?”

“If only we still had Otrick to call on,” I sighed. The raffish and much missed Cloud Master had studied the workings of the winds through a lifetime of sailing with who’d ever give him passage. That had been pirates more than once.

“Velindre spent a lot of last year sailing the ocean coast,” Allin said hesitantly.

“She trawls round the rougher ends of the docks, does she?” I was amused. In our scant acquaintance, Velindre was one of those mages who presented a front of serene aloofness. Perhaps she had hidden depths.

Temar looked at Allin, concerned. “You mustn’t tire yourself.”

Allin laid her own small, soft fingers over his long and work-hardened ones. “I’m all right, truly. It’s fire magic after all, and Shiv’s right, you know. The more magic I work, the more I find I can do. ”

I caught Guinalle looking at Temar and Allin, her expression fixed.

“She’s in Hadrumal.” Allin set up a fresh candle and lit it with a snap of her fingers. “I really think she has hopes of being chosen for Cloud Mistress.”

If she was deceiving herself, the mage-woman was doing a lot of work for nothing. Allin’s spell caught Velindre in a library, sat at a broad table covered in open tomes stacked two or three high.

“Allin?” Velindre didn’t sound best pleased, drawing an anonymous sheet of parchment over the crabbed and faded writing she was studying.

“Hello, Velindre.” I heard the nervousness in Allin’s voice. “The Sieur D’Alsennin needs your help.”

“What manner of help?” The blonde wizard’s face was pale against the oak shelves loaded with age-darkened books.

“You’re more familiar with the ocean coast than anyone else we can think of,” Temar said courteously. “We find pirates have landed in Suthyfer and wondered if you might have some knowledge of them.”

Velindre looked cautious. “Possibly.”

“The leader flies a scarlet pennon with a snake on it,” Temar told her. “He’s dark, uncommonly tall and bearded.”

Velindre raised pale eyebrows. “That sounds like a villain called Muredarch.”

Ryshad’s arm tightened round me and we both took an involuntary step closer.

“He was a privateer working out of Inglis,” Velindre began.

Temar looked at Ryshad for explanation. “Traders play by Inglis rules or they don’t trade,” he said with contempt. “The Guild Masters post bounties on ships that ignore their tariffs or sail out of embargoed ports. Privateers go after them.”

“Most take any honest ship that falls foul of them as well,” added Velindre.

Ryshad nodded, severe. “They sell on the cargoes to traders who don’t ask questions or to Sieurs who pass off the goods as coming from their own estates. So where’s this Muredarch been lately?”

“Regin, I believe.” Velindre shrugged.

Temar wasn’t the only one looking to Ryshad for answers.

“The most southerly port on the Gulf coast and a real nest of snakes,” he explained. “Pirates know any law-abiding House’s ships won’t pursue them round the Cape of Winds. They’ll risk it when the alternative’s hanging in chains on the dockside. If they make safe landfall in Regin, they can sell all the evidence to the Archipelagans.”

“Before sailing happily up the Gulf coast with an innocent shipload of Aldabreshin spices, silks and gemstones,” concluded Velindre.

“Why’s this Muredarch in Suthyfer?” I wondered.

“He’s holding a mighty grudge against Inglis,” offered Velindre. “He took a guild letter condemning a Den Lajan ship but after Muredarch had set sail, the Sieur bought off the bounty.”

“So Muredarch didn’t get paid?” hazarded Ryshad.

“Worse,” Velindre told him. “He’d caught the ship and sold off the goods in Blacklith then came to Inglis looking to ransom the crew back to Den Lajan. The Guild Masters repudiated the bounty and told him to make Den Lajan’s losses good out of his own pocket. He refused and they posted a bounty on his own head and ship.”

“So every other pirate’s looking to nail his hide to their mast,” speculated Ryshad.

Velindre shook her head. “Not at all. No one will touch him. He’s a clever man and knows how to inspire loyalty as well as respect. Even if Inglis raised the bounty high enough to tempt some desperate captain, fear of the consequences would have his crew mutinying. For every tale of Muredarch’s bravery or boldness, there are two of his ruthlessness.”

“Where does he hail from?” I’d found clues to a man’s weaknesses in his origins more than once.

“There are a double handful of stories doing the rounds.” Velindre counted off fingers with incongruously bitten nails. “Bastard son of some noble House. One of two sons of an Inglis Guild Master who runs legal trade and piracy in tandem. Dispossessed chieftain of some Dalasorian nomads who took to the seas to escape his enemies. Those are the less fanciful speculations.”

“Where he came from is less important than where he is now,” Temar said firmly. “Madam mage, we would welcome—”

“My regrets, Esquire, I’m sorry, Messire, but I’m staying in Hadrumal.” Velindre addressed herself to Allin. “There are all manner of possibilities opening up here. You studied under Master Kalion and his influence seems to be on the rise. Troanna’s swaying the Council to her way of thinking as well. We could see ourselves with a new Stone Master as well as Cloud Master.” Was it my imagination or did a speculative look enter Velindre’s eyes? “Allin, you don’t happen to know where Usara’s got to, do you?”

The radiance of the magic circle dimmed. “I’m sorry,” Allin gasped. “I’m too tired.” The brilliance flared for an instant then dulled to shut out Velindre’s inquisitive face.

“I’m not really tired.” Allin looked guiltily up at Temar. “But I don’t want to get Shiv and ’Sar into trouble. Do you think she believed me?”

“So Hadrumal doesn’t know what they’re up to?” Ryshad was looking at me in a way that promised interrogation rather than pillow talk at bedtime.

I smiled blithely at him. “I imagine the Archmage knows what’s going on behind his back as well as under his nose. He always has before.”

Ryshad raised a quizzical brow at me.

“If we don’t involve him on Temar’s authority, that fat bastard Kalion can’t use his interest in Kellarin for a stick to beat him with.” I managed to sound entirely reasonable. I smiled at Ryshad again and won a grudging grin that eased my heart.

Zyoutessela, Toremalin, 20th of Aft-Spring

Shiv looked uneasily across the snowy linen tablecloth. “You really want that pair in on this?”

“Show me some alternatives,” invited Usara. “We’ve had no luck hiring a ship dealing with honest men.”

“So we deal with two we know to be dishonest?” Shiv grimaced. “Who could vanish with Ryshad’s coin quicker than butter in a dog’s mouth.”

“I’d rather risk that than being knifed in some dockside alley,” said Usara bluntly. “Anyway, they wouldn’t betray Livak, nor yet Halice.”

“You’re the one who’s travelled with them.” Shiv still looked unconvinced.

“I liked them.” Pered spoke up from the corner where he was stocking a leather satchel with bottles and brushes from a brass-bound chest.

“I’ll allow they were charming house guests but I’ve heard stories from Livak that threatened to curl my hair.” Shiv ran a hand over his dead straight locks. “And they’re like Livak; never do anything without looking for something to show for it. What have we to offer?”

“Sorgrad may claim he wants no schooling in his magic but Livak hinted that’s what he went looking for in Solura.” Usara’s eyes grew distant. “You know he’s got a double affinity?”

Shiv nodded. “Which makes his going untrained even more of a waste.”

“Think it through,” said Usara impatiently. “Sorgrad’s attuned to fire and air. That gives us the four elements between the three of us.”

“You’re thinking we could create a nexus with an untrained Mountain Man?” Shiv was incredulous.

“Maybe not a nexus,” allowed Usara. “But it’s a chance to see how we could use our elements in common that we’ll never get in Hadrumal, not without someone running telltale to Kalion or Troanna.”

“Perhaps.” Shiv drummed his fingers on the table before stopping with a decisive thump. “Planning a fire won’t boil the pot. You’d better bespeak Sorgrad and see what he thinks.”

Pered slung the strap of his satchel over his shoulder. “I’ll go earn you the cost of a few more candles.” He caught the hand Shiv raised to him. “Let me know as soon as you can fix a sailing date. A few portraits in oils would fetch a sight more coin than ink and watercolour sketches.” He squeezed Shiv’s fingers and went through the door with a spring in his step.

Usara looked after him with embarrassment. “We do have enough money for such things.”

“He doesn’t paint or draw for the coin.” Shiv laughed. “That’s just a handy excuse. He’d spend his last cut piece on parchment scraps or charcoal before he’d even think of bread.”

Usara rubbed his hands briskly together. “Let’s see if we can find Sorgrad.” He reached for a small travelling mirror. “Fetch me a taper, would you?”

But the door opened again before Shiv had reached for the pot on the mantelshelf.

“Look who I met on the stairs,” announced Pered.

“Larissa.” Shiv’s greeting was barely civil.

Usara gaped. “What are you doing here?”

“Good day to you.” Larissa took the chair Shiv had just vacated and tucked demure lavender skirts around booted ankles. She unlaced her short grey travelling cloak and let it fall back to reveal a close-buttoned, high-necked bodice to her long-sleeved gown. For all her sober garb, the mage-woman carried herself with an unconscious sensuality. Pered absently dug sketching materials out of his bag.

“To what do we owe this pleasure?” asked Shiv curtly.

A faint wash of colour highlighted Larissa’s strong cheekbones. “I want to come to Kellarin.”

Left without a seat, Shiv sat on the bed’s richly embroidered counterpane. “Did Planir send you?”

“No.” Larissa avoided his eye as she brushed her thick, chestnut plait back over one shoulder.

“Then how did you know we were here?” asked Usara mildly.

“Planir told me you were sailing for Vithrancel.” There was a hint of defiance in Larissa’s reply. “You had to be here or in Bremilayne. I can scry.”

“You expect us to believe Planir’s not watching your every move?” said Shiv caustically.

“Shivvalan!” Pered objected.

“Why should he?” Larissa rounded on the lanky wizard. “I’ve no real talent to merit his interest, isn’t that what they say? Dual affinity, but it doesn’t amount to half a true aptitude. How else would I have advanced to the Council without playing the Archmage’s warming pan? What use could I possibly serve there beyond passing on anything I learn inside Planir’s bed curtains.” Bitterness spilled over her sarcasm. “Or perhaps you’re in the camp who think I do have some talent, not for magic obviously but for sleeping with the right man and learning his secrets when I’ve slaked his lusts? Are you one of those imagining I’m playing a deeper game, just waiting for me to betray him to Kalion or Troanna?” She flapped a mocking hand.

Usara rubbed a hand over his beard. “I see you’re well up on current gossip.”

“There are always plenty of folk who think I really ought to know what’s being said about me.” Hurt tempered Larissa’s resentment.

“Not that they agree, naturally.” Pered glanced up from his sketch with a meaningful look for Shiv. “And they defended you, they really did.”

“You’re the Archmage’s pupil and you sleep in his bed,” Shiv said reluctantly. “Blow in the dust and it’s bound to sting your eyes.”

“Have you never been a fool for love, Shiv?” The faintest quaver threatened Larissa’s composure.

“Of course he has.” Pered’s tone left no room for argument.

Usara cleared his throat in the brittle silence. “Why exactly do you want to join us?”

Larissa sniffed inelegantly. “If I’m a fool for love, Hadrumal gossip says the same of Planir. Or according to Kalion, he’s a fool for lust, which keeps things simpler, the way the Hearth Master likes them. Troanna just seems to disapprove on principle which is a bit rich coming from a woman twice married and with Drianon knows how many children.” Larissa looked unhappily at Usara. “Whoever you listen to, I’m undermining Planir. That bitch Ely was hinting he won’t appoint a new Cloud Master until he can concoct some charade to support my nomination. According to her, he’d use his own abilities to mask my inadequacies before the Council.”

“That’s ludicrous.” Shiv was shocked.

“If I’m weighing the balance against the Archmage, I’m taking myself off it.” Larissa’s tone strengthened. “I’ll prove my aptitudes with something not even Kalion and his toadies can gainsay. You’re exploring how mages might work magic together in less formal ways than a nexus. I have a double affinity; I have insights to offer.”

“That’s not actually why we’re here.” Usara scratched his beard. “Pirates have seized Suthyfer, those islands in the sea route to Hadrumal. We’re going to help D’Alsennin drive them off.”

“Then I can help too,” said Larissa promptly.

“The Archmage doesn’t want it to look as if Hadrumal is playing a part,” Shiv said firmly. “The Emperor won’t stand for it, for a start. If you come with us, that involves Planir.”

“Nobody in Toremal knows I share Planir’s bed,” scoffed Larissa.

“Everyone in Hadrumal does,” Shiv pointed out. “Kalion will be the first to pass on that tasty gossip, if he thinks it’ll discredit Planir among the influential Houses.”

“Surely it’s for the Sieur D’Alsennin to decide if he wants my help,” said Larissa defiantly. “Ask him.”

“I’m not sure—” Usara began hesitantly.

“If you’ve only just arrived you’ll need a room.” Pered stepped forward to forestall a forceful interruption from Shiv. “Shall we see if we can find you one here?”

“That’s a good notion.” Larissa accepted this adroit offer of a dignified exit gratefully. “We can continue this later.”

Shiv closed the door with an emphatic shove, green eyes indignant. “This is a complication we could do without!”

“You don’t feel sorry for her?” Usara obviously did.

“She’s only herself to blame.” But Shiv’s condemnation was half-hearted.

“You think Planir should live like some Soluran anchorite because wizards prefer gossiping about the Archmage’s lovers to pursuing their proper studies?” countered Usara.

“We can’t take her, ’Sar!” Shiv threw up his hands.

“You’re going to tell her she can’t come?” challenged Usara.

Shiv pursed his lips. “We could just leave without her? She’s never been to Kellarin or Suthyfer, so she couldn’t translocate herself there.”

Usara picked up the silver mirror in his hand. “Let’s just get on our way as soon as possible. That means we need Sorgrad’s help, even if we don’t want Larissa’s.”

“This is choosing between rotten apples,” growled Shiv.

“Stop complaining and pass me a candle.” Shiv obliged and Usara set it aflame with a cursory wave of his hand. “Let’s remember we’re looking to help Kellarin, not bicker among ourselves.”

Shiv swallowed some retort. “Can you reach all the way to Solura?

“If I can’t, you’ll have to go scrying for them.” The bearded mage was intent on his spell. In the next moment, the mirror lit with an amber radiance that startled Usara backwards. “Sorgrad, it’s me.”

Shiv stood at Usara’s shoulder to see two familiar figures scrambling away from the spell that had opened up so unexpectedly next to them. Huddled in a ditch beyond the bank of a hollow road, both had the fine blond hair and brilliant blue eyes of the truly mountain born. The first to peer cautiously into the magical void was stockier than his brother but at first glance they looked similar enough to wear the same collars.

“ ’Sar?” Sorgrad’s initial distrust softened into a broad smile. “What are you up to these days?” He brushed a few sere leaves off his blanket and sat cross-legged upon it.

“This is what bespeaking looks like from the other side, is it?” ’Gren dropped down beside his brother with sudden amusement. “Have you ever caught someone ploughing his lady’s furrow? Or someone else’s?”

“We’ve had word from Livak.” Usara spoke without preamble. “Pirates have landed on those islands in the mid-ocean that ships bound for Kellarin use as a staging post.”

“I recall the maps.” Sorgrad’s azure eyes were astute. They hardened. “I’m sure Planir has some cunning plan to sink them.”

“Pirates?”

’Gren raised a curious finger to poke at the spell before Sorgrad slapped it away.

“Planir says it’s none of his concern, nor yet Hadrumal’s,” Shiv said tartly.

“Ryshad and Halice are raising a force from Kellarin and we’re in Zyoutessela looking to do the same.” Usara matched the Mountain Man’s directness. “Livak said you could help us.”

“Zyoutessela?” Sorgrad elbowed his grinning brother in the ribs to forestall some comment. “Don’t know it but docks are much of a muchness, Col, Peorle, wherever.” He frowned. “We’re the wrong side of Lagontar.”

“We’ll hitch a ride to Nestar Haven and pick up a ship for Col.”

’Gren was already securing his blanket with a leather strap and foraging among the leaves for a battered leather backpack.

“Col to Attar, then across the Gulf of Lescar. We can’t get to you soon enough to be any use.” Sorgrad shook his head. “But I can give you a few hints to save you getting robbed yourselves.”

“We can’t leave Livak and Halice twisting in the wind.” ’Gren looked mulish. “And why should they get all the loot?”

“That’s an interesting point.” Sorgrad smiled. “Even advice should be worth some silver.”

“You won’t just help us for Livak’s sake?” Shiv looked disappointed.

“You should take to acting in masquerades, wizard,” Sorgrad laughed. “Livak would be the first one to take a rise out of me for not asking a fair price.”

Usara shrugged. “D’Alsennin can pay you a share in whatever loot the pirates may have.”

“We get to pick it over,” demanded ’Gren.

The wizards looked at each other. “If Halice agrees,” Usara said cautiously.

“But we want more from you that just advice. We want to bring you here to do this yourself.” Shiv bent closer to the mirror. “Sorgrad, how much elemental magic have you learned in Solura?”

Sorgrad’s face hardened. “Not enough to make this trip worth my while.”

“Have you any notion of translocating yourself?” asked Usara.

“The spell’s closely tied to air affinity,” Shiv assured him. “You should at least be able to try.”

“Pigs can try whistling but they’re still ill suited to it.” Sorgrad shook his head obstinately.

“Then we’ll bring you here ourselves.” Shiv absently rubbed his palms on his thighs.

“You drop me in the ocean, wizard, and I won’t drown until I’ve made you sorry for it.”

’Gren was looking wary and accordingly threatening.

“Sorgrad, I know you can summon a candle flame. You can hold this bespeaking steady to help us.” Usara set the mirror down on the table and Shiv hurried to sit opposite him.

“How?” Sorgrad asked with reluctant interest.

“Feel for the fire,” said Shiv. “Use it to maintain the circle of light.”

With the mirror now flat, Usara allowed himself a sceptical look at the other mage.

Shiv didn’t respond, concentrating instead on the mirror. “All you have to do is sustain the reflection.”

The spell dimmed and Sorgren’s cautious voice took on a metallic echo. “Like this?”

“That’ll do,” Usara assured him. “If we work cursed fast,” he added to Shiv in a low voice.

He planted his hands on the table and took a deep breath, staring unseeing at the white cloth. As he drew his hands round in opposing swirls, an azure trace lingered on the linen like a memory of blue sky behind fine cloud. Usara lifted his hands to cup them before him, cradling a swelling ball of slate-blue magelight. The sphere grew, paling as it did so from slate through indigo to the faint gold-tinged colour of a summer evening sky. The eggshell blue washed over the wizards and disappeared beyond the confines of the room.

Shiv’s eyes were tight shut as he pressed his palms together, arms outstretched. He spread his fingers wide and turquoise brilliance netted his hands. Fleeting, like lightning from a clear sky, it was gone almost before it was seen. The mage frowned and new strands of light appeared but still no more substantial than a spider’s web reflecting moonlight. Shiv took a deep breath and the tracery of power strengthened to ultramarine. He drew his hands apart with infinite care and the strands of magelight thickened and twisted, threads snapping and rejoining, coiling and spiralling upwards. As the weave extended, it grew thinner, paler. It reached the window and fled.

“Is something supposed to be happening?”

’Gren’s interested voice rang out from the silver mirror.

“You tell me,” responded Sorgrad curtly.

Usara’s head dipped towards the table and Shiv scrubbed sweat from his forehead with the heel of his hand. “Shit!”

“So we flag down a cart after all?” Sorgrad’s mockery betrayed a trace of disappointment.

“It’s too far,” Usara gasped. “When we’re reaching outside our own affinities.”

“We nearly had them.” Shiv flexed his hands and scowled. “We should be able to manage one.”

“We go together or not at all, wizard.” Sorgrad’s muted voice was uncompromising.

Usara looked at Shiv. “We could do it with Larissa’s help.”

Shiv groaned. “You’re not serious?”

“Show me another way?” Usara brushed faint traces of power from his hands. “Besides asking the Imperial Despatch to pack Casuel in a crate and send him along?”

Shiv rubbed at his temples. “I don’t know who’d be more trouble.”

“We have to do something,” snapped Usara. “Or we may as well go back to Planir with our tails between our legs.”

“Larissa can help us bring them here.” Shiv sounded distinctly unenthusiastic. “That’ll give her some insight into combining affinities that she can wave in front of Kalion’s cronies. But we’re not taking her to Suthyfer, agreed?”

“I don’t know if you’re interested but I can barely see you.” Sorgrad’s chagrined voice was fading fast.

Usara gestured and the wavering spell rallied. “We need help from another mage to bring you here. Don’t go far and we’ll find you when we need you.”

“You don’t think we’ve got our own plans for the day?”

’Gren’s distant voice challenged mischievously. Sorgrad’s response was too muffled to be audible and then the bespeaking shattered into glittering fragments that sank away into the mirror’s reflection.

“Curse it!” Usara snuffed the candle with an angry hand.

“Come on.” Shiv was heading for the door. “They can’t have gone far.”

Pered and Larissa proved to be the only people in the wide room occupying most of the inn’s ground floor. Too big to be called a parlour, too salubrious to be merely a taproom, its well-scrubbed tables and ladder-backed chairs could offer comfortable intimacy for two as well as convivial circles for larger gatherings. Curtains fluttered at open windows as a fresh sea breeze scoured the scent of the previous night’s wine and revelry out of the corners. Larissa and Pered were sitting by the wide arch of the hearth, a tray on the table between them. Pered expertly measured herbs into a hinged sphere of silver mesh, snapped it shut and dropped it into a fine ceramic cup. “Tisane?” he offered as Shiv approached. “It’s a local blend, decent enough, if a bit heavy on the linden leaves.”

“Please.” Shiv took a seat. “Larissa.” He hesitated as an aproned maid brought a jug of hot water from the kettle hanging over the fire.

“We find we need your help in working a spell.” Usara pulled a chair over from a nearby table and sat astride it.

Shiv waited until the maid had delivered more cups. “But please reconsider sailing with us after that. This whole voyage promises to be extremely dangerous.”

Larissa studied her cup, prodding the metal ball of steeping herbs with a spoon. Her hazel eyes were reddened and she clutched a handkerchief that Shiv recognised as Pered’s. “What do you need me to do?”

“Join us in a translocation.” Usara looked to see the maid was out of earshot. “We need to bring two people from Solura.”

“Solura?” Larissa looked up, startled.

“Western Solura,” Shiv offered, adding cold water to the tisane Pered handed him.

“It’s still a cursed long way.” Larissa wrinkled her nose in thought. “We need as much air around us as possible, somewhere outside, high up for preference.”

Pered passed a crystal pot of honey to Usara as the bearded mage grimaced at the taste of his drink. “You can take a carriage up to the top of the portage way. Everyone goes to see the views.”

“As long as we can find a reasonably discreet corner.” Usara looked at him.

Pered nodded. “There’s a park full of monuments off to the side of the square on the actual crest. Sieurs Den This and Tor That have spent coffers of coin to get themselves noticed, without realising no one gives them a second thought once they’re a generation dead.”

Shiv grinned. “Have you drawn everything in Hadrumal by now?”

“At least three times,” Pered assured him.

“Let’s get on, shall we?” Usara stood up.

Larissa drained her cup and raised an expectant brow at Shiv who sighed and set down his half-finished drink.

The bright sun outside was warm enough for Larissa to fan herself and unbutton her high collar. Swathed in silks and layers of muslins rather than wool, the ladies of southern Tormalin swept past, elegant in more unstructured styles than the formal tailoring of Hadrumal.

“Here!” Pered raised a hand as a hireling carriage deposited a flurry of giggling girls at a milliner’s opposite. “Up to the vantage point, if you please,” he told the driver.

Usara handed Larissa in beside Shiv who looked silently out of the window. The sound of iron-bound wheels on cobbles filled the coach.

“I wonder if Ryshad’s family built any of these?” Pered mused as the shops and inns of the commerce quarter yielded to sprawling houses; hollow squares of ruddy-tiled roofs above whitewashed walls shaded by trees fragrant with blossom. Stout walls encircled such dwellings, occasional open gates offering glimpses of busy households within. On the flagway either side of the road efficient servants delivered sacks and barrels, workmen carried tools and materials. Nursemaids gathered little ones skipping with delight safely away from rumbling carts and carriages while footmen escorted youths sullen at the prospect of lessons and maidens impatient at such chaperoning.

Usara studied the passing city. “Ryshad’s brothers live on the other side of the isthmus, don’t they?” he said at length. “Anyway, these houses would be five, six generations old, before the Inglis trade really started bringing in the coin. When would you say these were built, Shiv? Aleonne the Gallant’s reign or Inshol the Curt?”

Shiv didn’t reply. Larissa was studying her hands again so Pered and Usara exchanged a shrug and sat in silence.

The horses leaned into their collars to pull the carriage up the road that snaked ever higher towards the pass cutting a deep cleft in the saw-edged mountains north and south of the isthmus. Houses became smaller and more closely packed and the cobbles gave way to hard-packed earth. Each frontage showed three or four rows of windows and garret rooms besides beneath the brown and ochre tiles. Hurrying out from behind a loaded dray, a girl with a scarlet fan startled a saddle horse, which whinnied its indignation as it shied away and startled their coach’s team. The driver’s rebukes and the girl’s defiance added sharp notes to the murmur and bustle all around. Within the carriage, the silence persisted.

“Here we are,” Pered announced with determined cheerfulness when the coach drew to a halt. He paid off the driver as Usara got out and offered Larissa a courteous hand. She waved it away with a tight smile.

“So where are we?” Shiv surveyed the broad square that had been hacked out of the rock to flatten the crest of the pass. On either side jagged cliffs fell back towards the ocean, broken by uncertain slabs and screes, doughty herbs and flowers scrabbling to maintain a foothold on the sparse, sun-scorched soil.

“The princes who built the road joining the two harbours made sure that the Emperor granted them the dues in perpetuity. This is where they collect them.” Pered nodded towards several heavy wagons plodding across the flagstoned expanse, just arrived up the wide road that led to the unseen port of the city’s larger, older half that faced the calmer waters of Caladhrian Gulf rather than the uncertain currents of the ocean. Galleys looking little larger than a child’s playthings dotted brilliant blue waters that reached to the horizon.

Usara watched a liveried man wearing the badge of some Tormalin princes stroll up to a laden cart’s driver. He produced an amulet that won him a nod but those that followed were waved towards a long row of water troughs beneath wind-tossed shade trees. “It must be worth the cost, to avoid the time and risks of a voyage around the cape.”

“Mind your backs!” Pered pulled Larissa aside as toiling horses snorted behind her, sides heaving as their driver slackened their reins. “Ferd, get that manifest to Den Rannion’s clerk! Jump to it, lad!” A child leapt from the back of the cart and ran off as the driver urged his reluctant team towards a space beside a gang of men dividing the cargo they had just carried up here between two wagons waiting impatiently for goods from Caladhria, Lescar and countries beyond.

Shiv surveyed the constant activity all around. “They must have paid for the road ten times over by now”

“More like a hundred times,” Pered opined. “But a Sieur can always find a use for more coin.” He nodded at the detachment of armed men relaxing around the base of a massive statue of Dastennin. Crowned with seaweed, the god of the sea’s robe broke into roiling foam around his feet, his weathered bronze hands green with age, outstretched in benediction towards both seas.

Larissa closed her eyes and turned her face to the steady breeze, face rapt. “I feel I could touch the sky up here.”

“It’s a splendid place to work with the air,” agreed Usara with hopeful anticipation. “Even I can feel that.”

Shiv turned to Pered. “Working magic in the open isn’t exactly against the Emperor’s writ but I don’t relish debating the point with Den Rannion’s sworn men. You said there were more private places up here?”

“This way.” Pered led them towards a mighty tower on the southerly side of the square. With its flared base of tightly fitted stones seamlessly married to the rock beneath, it looked like some marvellous tree grown of living stone.

“Wasn’t the Sieur Den Rannion one of the original patrons of the Kellarin colony?” Larissa queried, nodding towards the men with silver eagle’s head badges bright on their copper-coloured jerkins who shielded the tower’s door with crossed pikes.

“That was his brother, Messire Ancel.” Shiv glanced up at the broad balcony circling the slender waist of the tower. “The present Sieur is no friend to Temar.”

Excited voices floated out across the great square, exclaiming over the views. Above, where the tower was capped with a sturdily built watch-room, sworn men kept vigil to east and west. A great eagle spread vast bronze wings over them, poised eternally on the moment of flight.

Larissa tilted her head to one side. “If you can get mages with the right affinities working together, we could well bring ships safely around the Cape of Winds. Then D’Alsennin wouldn’t have to pay for the privilege of this rigmarole of portage across the isthmus.”

“I’m not sure Temar would want to put the Emperor’s nose out of joint like that.” Shiv waved away a hopeful lad offering a tray of sweetmeats.

“Where are we going?” Larissa looked uncertain as Pered led Usara towards the queue of well-dressed merchant folk and comfortably humble townspeople waiting to gain access to the fabled tower and its balcony with letters of introduction or the simpler expedient of a few well-chosen coins. Smiling lackeys offered them wine and tisanes beneath an awning fluttering in the constant wind.

“I’m not sure.” Shiv picked up his pace and Larissa hurried with him.

“I can’t imagine anyone building a greater monument than Den Rannion’s,” Pered was saying to Usara. “But that doesn’t stop them trying.” He waved a hand at the miscellany of commemorative stone and metalwork planted haphazard in an irregular space between the mighty tower and the ragged, fissured mountainside beyond.

Shiv raised an eyebrow at the blatant panegyric to some long-dead Tor Leoril engraved on a massive marble urn. “You said we could find a discreet corner?”

“This way.” Pered led the mages through monuments ranging from the blandly functional to the frankly bizarre. They passed a granite bull, big as life and pawing ferociously at its plinth, and reached a mighty bronze dragon leprous with verdigris and fighting against chains that ran from a collar to metal posts embedded in the ground. Its bating wings cast a deep shadow over a creature half fish, half hound that lounged unconcerned on a high drift of scallop shells carved from a single slab of marble. Behind, an empty space was effectively blocked from passing view and any curious eyes on the tower’s balcony.

Shiv nodded approvingly. “We’d still better work fast.”

“I’ll stand guard.” Pered took himself off to sit apparently idly some way beyond the dragon, digging charcoal and parchment out of one pocket. Usara stifled a smile.

Shiv raised questioning brows at Larissa who braced herself and held out hands that betrayed her tension with a faint tremor. Usara completed the triangle and all three mages concentrated on the empty air between them. The only sound was the stealthy scrape of Pered’s sketching.

“Dear heart,” Shiv said conversationally. “This would be easier without distractions.”

“Sorry.” There was an apologetic rustle and then silence from Pered.

Larissa’s gaze hadn’t wavered. She focused on a shimmer of blue at the very mid-point between them. The strand of magelight was barely a hair’s thickness but startling in its sapphire intensity. A faint smile curved Larissa’s full lips as the magic split, doubling and redoubling, threads blurring and fluttering in the curious wind coiling around the mages. “Usara?” she invited.

Usara was painstakingly summoning a grey-blue haze from the rock beneath them. It hovered on the very edge of sight like a memory of mist. Ever more dense as it drew closer to Larissa’s cerulean sorcery, the cold colour was drawn into her spell like smoke up a chimney, brightening to a vivid blue. “We can do this, Shiv,” he breathed, exultant.

Turquoise light pooled below the dancing tendrils of light, ripples edged with radiance. Aquamarine waves leapt to join Larissa’s magic, colliding with the sun-burnished blue. Flourishes of white light bleached the green hue of Shiv’s working to that same sapphire clarity. The breezes playing around the monuments danced around the wizards’ linked hands, any that ventured too close swept into the sorcery.

With a suddenness that startled an oath from Pered, two figures tore through the impossibly narrow line of the spell. The magic blew away on the wind like fragments of a dream.

“It’s me!” Pered backed hastily away from the naked dagger in Sorgrad’s hand.

Sorgren had somehow tripped as he came through the spell. He rolled like a fairground tumbler, back on his feet in an instant. “Ouch.” He grinned as he sheathed his own blade. “You really have to learn that spell, ’Grad.”

Pered looked past him to Shiv, wide-eyed. “That was incredible.” He shook his head. “How could I ever paint those colours?”

Sorgrad tossed his knife up high, catching it as it tumbled. He halted to survey Larissa. “My lady.”; His voice was warm with admiration.

“This is Larissa.” Usara wondered how best to introduce her. “Planir’s—”

“—pupil.” Larissa offered her hand. Sorgrad bowed deep and brushed it with his lips.

’Gren contented himself with grinning at her in blatant appreciation. He tugged at his collar to settle his crumpled shirt and something chinked in a pocket of his tattered jerkin.

“What were you running from?” Shiv frowned at the younger Mountain Man.

“Watchmen.” Sorgrad held two backpacks in his off hand and tossed one to his younger brother. By contrast with ’Gren’s dishevelled appearance, his shirt was clean, the silver buttons on his jerkin polished and his boots well oiled. ’Gren’s hair was long and tied back all anyhow with a scrap of leather. Sorgrad’s was neatly trimmed and brushed back with a touch of expensive oil.

“What did the Watch want?” Usara asked before he could stop himself.

“There was this goldsmith,” began ’Gren with a happy smile.

“We don’t all have Planir’s bottomless bags of gold.” Sorgrad took a handful of silver chains out of one pocket and stowed them in his pack. He looked blandly at Shiv.

“Does Planir earn his coin or does he make it?” ’Gren was next to Larissa, pale against her darker colouring, azure eyes engaging. “Alchemists go to Hadrumal, don’t they? Everyone says they’re looking for magical help to turn base metals precious.”

“Shall we get on our way?” Pered suggested, offering Larissa his arm. ’Gren sauntered along on her other side. The others followed some paces behind.

“So let’s go look for a ship,” said Sorgrad. “No sense in delaying, not if there’s a fight in the offing.”

“We’ve tried the harbour master and all the various princes’ factors,” Usara said gloomily.

“I’ll find someone who sees the sense of taking your coin.” Sorgrad’s confidence was laced with a hint of menace.

Pered looked back, shading his eyes with a hand. “Are we all going down to the docks?”

Sorgrad shook his head. “I only need these two to sit still, look rich and keep their mouths shut.”

“You’re lodged at a decent inn?” ’Gren smiled obligingly at Larissa. ”Let’s wait for them there.”

“Larissa’s rather more than just Planir’s pupil,” Shiv murmured to Sorgrad.

“I don’t see him hereabouts.” The Mountain Man shrugged. “Your choice: risk ’Gren cutting a slice off Planir’s loaf or taking him down to a dockside after your magic just spoiled his hopes of a good fight.”

“Pered will keep things decorous,” Usara offered.

“As long as he doesn’t go off trying to work out how to paint a spell,” frowned Shiv. “All right, let’s find two coaches.”

Pered was already whistling them up and ’Gren ushered Larissa inside the first with exquisite courtesy at odds with his grimy clothes.

“Somewhere near the pilot academy, if you please.” Stifling his qualms, Usara followed Sorgrad and Shiv into the second vehicle and the coachman whipped up his horse. Once down from the heights, they rattled through streets thronged with people intent on the buying and selling that kept both halves of Zyoutessela rich.

After some distance, Usara cleared his throat. “Sorgrad, how did you get on in Solura?”

The carriage swayed round a corner before Sorgrad shook his head with disgust. “Everything Gilmarten told me was true. Every mageborn must be apprenticed to some other wizard and every master mage is under vow to some baron or other. The best I found were earnest do-gooders desperate to sign me up with someone in their circle. The worst were pig-headed bastards who locked me up and called for the local headsman to brand me as an untrained mage.”

“You escaped, obviously.” Shiv looked at him speculatively. “Using magic?”

“Picklocks and ’Gren’s talent for breaking heads,” Sorgrad said without humour.

“We could share a few things with you,” Usara said with studied casualness.

“Just so you can help out Livak and Halice,” added Shiv.

“Good of you to offer.” Sorgrad smiled, this time with satisfaction. “That was going to be a condition of my cooperation.”

“I thought we’d already agreed your price,” said Shiv with mild indignation.

“That was ’Gren’s price,” Sorgrad assured him earnestly.

Usara laughed. “It’s not far now. What do we do when we get to the docks?”

“We find a likely tavern where you two sit still, look rich and don’t so much as clear your nose like a wizard. In the kind of tavern we want, that’ll mean knives coming your way.” Sorgrad’s tone was simply matter-of-fact.

“So we’re looking for our own crew of pirates?” guessed Shiv.

Sorgrad smiled. “No, we’re looking for a ship. I’ll go looking for crew after dark and I’ll take ’Gren because I probably will be dealing with freetraders. If it takes a fight, I’d rather have him at my back, if it’s all the same to you.”

“We can get ourselves out of trouble,” protested Shiv.

“You won’t see how to keep yourselves out of it in the first place,” countered Sorgrad.

“If we’re caught using magic in some brawl, the word will get back to D’Olbriot quicker than bees to honey,” Usara pointed out to Shiv.

“What’s D’Olbriot’s stake in this game?” Sorgrad looked from Usara to Shiv and back again. “I think it’s time you told me what’s going on. Let’s start with why you two are playing truant from Hadrumal?”

With Shiv’s frequent interjections, Usara’s explanations lasted all the way through the grimy, gimcrack terraces cramped between the generous holdings of the merchant classes and the unyielding sprawl of the dockside districts. Warehouses loomed high on either side with blank walls and doors barred from within. They passed the much extended building where ship owners and captains paid for their helmsmen and pilots to learn the mysteries of the ocean coast, its winds and currents. The coachman drew up in a small square dank with the scent of the retreating tide and hammered on the roof. “This is as far as I go.”

Shiv stood with Sorgrad as Usara paid the man off. “Where do we start?” he wondered aloud.

Sorgrad nodded at a man selling freshly cooked shrimps from a bubbling pot on a small brazier. “Got a cup on you?”

Neither wizard did so each had to pay for a misshapen reject from someone’s kiln to hold a steaming spoonful. Sorgrad produced a short-stemmed silver goblet from some pocket and exchanged a few words as the shrimp seller filled it.

Nodding to the mages, Sorgrad led them away, holding a shrimp between his teeth to pull off its head before crunching the rest. “Our friend tells me there’s a captain about to be left high and dry by a merchant whose creditors will be breaking down his doors any day.”

“He told you that for the price of three pots of shrimps?” The difficulties of peeling one with one hand and his teeth didn’t mask the fact that Shiv was impressed.

Sorgrad shrugged. “I told him it’d be worth ten times that if the word turned out to be sound.”

Usara was licking a burnt finger. He passed a hand over his shrimps, which abruptly stopped steaming. “Where do we find this captain?”

“A dive called the Moon and Rake, so watch your step,” Sorgrad warned. “And if you use magic again, ’Sar, I’ll break your fingers.” He led them down a noisome lane running between a barred storehouse and a yard with high walls topped with broken glass. A few more turns brought them out on to a raucous dock. Sorgrad hailed a man hauling a laden sled on iron runners over the slick cobbles. The docker directed them with an unsmiling jerk of his head.

“Yonder.” Sorgrad led the way towards the tavern whose battered sign showed a man dragging a pole through shallow water beneath the lesser moon casting the secretive light of her full round. Her bolder sister was no more than a blind crescent. The building looked more respectable than Shiv had expected and he raised his hand to the door already ajar.

A dagger thudded into the jamb barely a finger’s width away from his startled hand. “No, this way.” Sorgrad retrieved his blade and gestured to an alley beside the tavern.

The wizards did as they were told. Sorgrad watched from the shadows for a moment before pointing to a big man. “Now what do you suppose he’s doing here?”

Much of a height with Shiv he was half as broad again across the shoulders, muscles emphasised by a close-cut shirt in faded red linen beneath a buckled jerkin. He was deep in conversation with a man handing bundles of clothes, baskets of bottles and a few crates of battered fruit down to a lad standing in a broad, flat-bottomed rowing boat tied to the stubby posts on the dock. The trader paused to consider several of the ocean ships anchored safe in the embrace of the curving arms of the harbour and surrounded with boats like his own tempting their crews to spend their coin on a few trifles.

“Darni!” Shiv was furious. “So Planir trusts us, does he?”

“He’s shaved off his beard,” Sorgrad noted with approval. “Passes better for Tormalin that way, I reckon.” With his black hair and dark colouring the big man certainly bore more than a passing resemblance to the incurious passers-by.

“He might have some business nothing to do with us,” Usara suggested doubtfully.

“Even when he’s hiring out as a mercenary Darni’s about some scheme of Planir’s,” said Shiv grimly.

“Can we get rid of him somehow?” wondered Usara.

“You really want to break with Hadrumal?” Sorgrad looked surprised, then considered the task. “I can take him with a knife in the back down some back entry but I’m not going up against someone that size in broad daylight. We’ll get some gang of sworn men running in to spoil the fun for one thing.”

“I didn’t mean kill him,” protested Usara, horrified.

“What do you suppose he’s doing?” Shiv watched as a woman came to see whom the trader was talking to. She was tall and stout with improbably dyed hair and rouged like a child’s doll. Several other women hovered close by, gowns cut low and legs bare beneath their soiled skirts. They flanked a couple of malnourished girls, one with her wrists held tight by her hard-faced elder. Darni turned to talk to her, gestures curt, face intimidating. The whoremistress had plainly faced his type before and shook her head, unimpressed. Darni turned on his heel, heading further down the dock. The trader and whoremistress looked after him with resentment.

“Wait here.” Sorgrad darted across the cobbles to be welcomed by the woman with an avaricious smile. They exchanged a few words and then Sorgrad headed back towards the wizards with the youngest whore released from her captor.

“What do you suppose he wants her for?” asked Usara with alarm, seeing Sorgrad’s protective arm around the girl’s thin waist.

“I’ll get Pered to draw you a picture.” Shiv was quite nonplussed.

Sorgrad ushered the girl into the alley. “How much coin are you carrying?” he demanded of the mages.

“Pardon?” Usara looked blank but Shiv was already reaching for the purse he’d tucked prudently inside his breeches.

Sorgrad unbuttoned his shirt and pulled several gold and silver chains over his head. “Right, I told the old bitch there were three of us, so you should have time to run before they come looking for you.” He scooped up the marks and crowns that Shiv offered and pressed them into the girl’s trembling hands, bruises banding her wrists. “Buy a ride on some carrier’s cart to the far side of the pass before nightfall.” He stowed the jewellery in the girl’s meagre cleavage with impersonal efficiency. “Sell that before you sell yourself, chick.”

She looked at him with huge, hopeless eyes. “My da drowned last year and the scour took the babe and my mam with it. My auntie took the little ones but—”

“There’s a goldsmith on Angle Street,” said Usara with sudden inspiration. “Find a man called Renthuan there. Tell him Ryshad Tathel wants him to help you.”

A spark of life lit the girl’s fearful face. “Yes, masters.” She turned and ran down the alley away from the docks, fists clutching the coin to her bony breast.

Sorgrad watched her go with a shake of his head. “Whoring for sailors is no task for children.”

Shiv was looking at Usara. “Sending her to his money lender isn’t going to flatter Ryshad’s reputation.”

“Shall we go before that fat madam comes asking what we’ve done with her?” Usara looked apprehensively at the whoremistress who was fortunately busy with a handful of newly arrived sailors. “Did she say anything about Darni’s business?”

“He’s looking for a girl who he reckons is looking for a passage over the ocean. From the description, he’s after your Larissa.” Sorgrad was watching the woman now deep in negotiations. “Now, quickly.”

Neither Shiv nor Usara delayed as Sorgrad led them out of the alley and, unseen, away down the dock. He passed the first tavern beyond the Moon and the Rake but ushered the mages into the next; a sour-smelling, ramshackle place. “Over there.” He led them past a gang of men waiting for a boatswain to pay them off according to the figures chalked on their broad-brimmed, oiled-leather hats or the offside shoulder of their dark leather jerkins. A thickset man with a cudgel stood ready to discourage anyone keen to take more than their share from the coffer of coin.

“I think we should offer Darni a seat at the game,” announced Sorgrad.

Shiv leaned against a pillar. “Livak doesn’t like him.”

“Livak’s not rounding up a crew willing to fight pirates with just you two dancing masters to back her up.” Sorgrad grinned at Shiv. “Besides, Livak takes the runes as they roll, just the same as me. Darni’s big and scary and he’s useful with a sword. We worked together well enough in the Mountains and that counts for a lot.”

“If Planir’s concerned enough about Larissa to send Darni after her, we should surely let him know she’s safe.” Usara realised he was standing in a sticky pool of ale and looked down with distaste.

Shiv pursed his lips. “Do you think he’s here to haul her back to Hadrumal?”

“Possibly,” said Usara cautiously.

“If we’re taking a pretty piece like her on this voyage, she’ll need her own guard dog,” Sorgrad pointed out. “Otherwise you’ll find ’Gren playing her champion and slitting the throat of anyone stepping too close.”

“Darni’s no fool.” Shiv looked at Usara. “He’ll find us or her sooner rather than later. Don’t we want to have that conversation on our terms rather than his?”

Usara nodded. “He might let slip what Planir thinks of our little expedition.”

“Let’s go find him.” Sorgrad was already heading for the door.

Shiv grimaced. “It’s more cursed complications every way we turn.” He pointed a firm finger at Usara. “You can tell Livak.”

Suthyfer, the Southern Approaches, 44th of Aft-Spring

For someone who so dislikes the sea, I was spending entirely too much time aboard ships.

“Still feeling queasy?” The ship’s carpenter passed me leaning on the rail of the Eryngo.

“No, thanks all the same.” I glanced up to the crow’s-nest where several sailors were keeping as eager a vigil as me. “Any sign of the Dulse or the Fire Minnow?”

Lemmell shrugged. “You’ll hear it the same as everyone else.” He came to stand beside me, one hand smoothing the rail like a man caressing a favourite hound. He loved this ship, always keen to point out some virtue to me, explaining to anyone who’d listen that the Eryngo was a quarter as long again as the biggest of the pirate ships, never mind half as broad again. That’s right, Haut the sailmaker would agree, and we carried more canvas and better rigged. I couldn’t decide if they truly knew the ship better than anyone else or were just hopelessly biased. Captains came and went at the whim of an owner and crews were hired from voyage to voyage but I’d learned boatswain, helmsman, shipwright and sail-maker stayed with a vessel from the first laying of the keel until it was either broken or rotted as a hulk. Some even kept wives and families in their canvas-walled cabins on the lower decks but Temar had forbidden, that on this voyage.

“Don’t you worry about pirates, my girl,” Lemmell continued. “We’ve high sides and a steep forecastle ready to repel boarders and the rear deck stepped to give D’Alsennin the best view of any fight.”

As the carpenter went on his way, I glanced towards the stern but D’Alsennin wasn’t up there. He was down on the main deck and seeing me, came over. “How much longer, do you think?”

I looked back across seawaters calm with the stillness of early morning. Somewhere, just out of sight, were the islands we’d come to reclaim. Somewhere, beneath the featureless cloak of trees, Kellarin’s mercenaries were prowling with murderous intent. Quiet as a squirrel too mean to share his nuts, Ryshad on one headland, Halice on another, they would be creeping up on the watchposts Allin’s scrying had betrayed to us. Somewhere, two of Kellarin’s coasters lurked in the inlets they’d crept into under the scant cover of the moonlit night and every mask of magecraft and Artifice that Allin and Guinalle could summon. Dastennin, Halcarion and every other deity grant the ships would bring our people back to us.

“Not long.” I spoke with more hope than certainty.

“We’ll make those bastards sorry they ever thought of staking a claim to Suthyfer,” Temar muttered. Kellarin men still asleep in the Eryngo’s capacious lower decks would help make sure of that.

I glanced up at the sun, still broad and soft gold this early in the day. “It’ll take as long as it takes.” That would be Ryshad’s answer and Halice’s too but they’d better hurry, if we were to launch our attack to catch the pirates still fuddled with sleep.

The deck swayed beneath my feet as the Eryngo made a slow turn. The Nenuphar and the Asterias did the same, square-rigged mainsails furled like the Eryngo’s, just relying on the triangular sails on their stubby aftmasts for steering in circles. I sincerely hoped all the sailors were pulling the right ropes to stop us colliding as we marked time in the same patch of sea.

“I should have gone too,” muttered Temar, frustrated.

“This is a very different fight to sweeping across the Dalasorian plains with half an Imperial army at your back,” I pointed out.

“As Ryshad and Halice keep saying with all their talk of skulk and strike and cut and run.”

I made a non-committal sound by way of reply. It was plain his exclusion from the fun still rankled with Temar but Ryshad and Halice had been adamant. The Tormalin wars of lordly conquest back in the days before history had been a very different affair from the base civil war that was Lescar’s running sore. It was dirty fighting that was wanted here.

Still, I didn’t like sitting on my hands aboard ship any more than D’Alsennin. This inaction came all the harder after the ceaseless hectic days since Parrail had raised his alarm. All of us had roused yeomen, miners and artisans to hone their tools and fury to a murderous edge. Halice and I had set every mercenary to scouring rust from swords and summoning old ingenuity for scavenging supplies.

Temar turned to look at the sterncastle and the doors to the rearward cabins under the raised afterdeck. “Allin may have news. Guinalle might be able to reach Parrail without so much water between them.”

“We let them sleep,” I told him firmly. If I couldn’t help my friends with a weapon in my hand, I could ensure this expedition’s magical resources were carefully husbanded. Guinalle was an even worse sailor than me and the stresses of working Artifice while actually afloat left the noblewoman with a headache like a poleaxed cow. Allin wasn’t so tired but seeing the pirates’ captives daily beaten, degraded and filthy distressed the mage-girl dreadfully. After breaking our backs to get Vithrancel’s ships sailing, we’d had to stand off the islands for three frustrating days waiting for Shiv and Usara’s ship to make the longer crossing from Toremal, even with wizardry clearing a path through the waves and swelling their sails with mageborn winds.

Temar glared at the closed door. “I want to know how Shiv’s men are getting on.”

“Sorgrad and ’Gren have been fighting for more years than you’ve been living.” Saedrin curse it, I sounded more patronising than reassuring thanks to my own apprehension. The runes can always roll wrong, no matter how much skill my friends might have to weight them. “Oh, come on then.”

Temar took time to smile and wave reassurance to curious sailors, as nobles always seem to, no matter how fast the ground’s crumbling beneath their feet. I knocked a brisk double tap on the door.

“Come in.” Allin sounded contemplative and sad but that was better than outright anguish. She sat scrying at a table hanging from the beams of the deck above. Its raised wooden rim and a dampened cloth offered her bowl some stability but pools of fading radiance showed where ensorcelled water had slopped over the edges.

“So much for me trying to make sure you got some rest,” I chided her. Next time I’d empty the cabin of anything she might use for magic. Then she’d probably go back to scrying in the butt of water kept on deck for the sailors’ refreshment. She’d only stopped when she realised none of them wanted to drink from it, even if all she were using was citrus oil.

“How goes it to the north?” Temar twisted his hands absently together.

“It’s all over bar the grieving.” Eerie reflections turned Allin’s sombre face into a mask of light and shadow.

I looked into the scrying bowl to see a triangular cove between two spurs of brittle grey rock where even the hardiest plants were defeated by the combined assaults of wind and wave. Temar’s pennant was waving on the roof of a sizeable if crudely built hut tucked beneath a crag. Bodies lay among the stumps of a recently felled grove of trees.

“Kellarin’s writ is in force on this islet at least,” said Temar with satisfaction.

“It’s a start,” I agreed. An important one; Shiv’s scrying had detected a sizeable outpost of pirates on this jagged diamond north of Suthyfer’s westernmost isle.

Allin looked up. “If you want me to bespeak Usara, I’ll have to give up the scrying.” A gleam betrayed the sorrow brimming in her eyes.

“Don’t waste your tears on these vermin,” Temar said severely but he gave her half a hug for comfort.

I tried to pick out familiar outlines among the anonymous figures looting the bodies, a yellow head bent over a dead man’s hand. ’Gren, surely? I bent closer but stepped back with an oath as a sudden conflagration erupted on one side of the cove.

A smile teased Allin despite herself. “Is that your friend Sorgrad?”

Sure enough, I saw a blond man warming ostentatiously casual hands at the blaze. “It is, and burning longboats by the look of it.” He looked small within the miniature world of the scrying, more so beside a hulking figure that could only be Darni. I still felt a sour resentment as I looked at the big warrior. I wouldn’t be here if he hadn’t blackmailed me into working for Planir. All I’d wanted was to sell the bastard a valuable piece of silver before its unpleasant owner realised it was missing, but Darni had recognised it and my cooperation had been the price of staying out of irons. Still, I reminded myself, reverse those runes and I’d never have met Ryshad. That put me ahead of the game, didn’t it?

“None escaped?” Temar’s voice was tight with concern.

If they had, our venture wasn’t exactly sunk but it would be taking on water fast. To beard this pirate captain in his lair, we needed to attack from both ends of that crucial inlet dividing the two main islands of Suthyfer. We had to know nothing lurked behind us ready to stab us in the back.

“No one got away.” Allin gestured and her spell swooped backwards over the water to show the pirate fleet’s pinnace prostrate in the surf, barnacles and green fouling on her shallow hull exposed to derision from the deck of a tall three-masted ocean ship drawing close to the wide beach.

“That must be the Maelstrom,” breathed Temar.

“Something to show for Ryshad’s coin,” I commented. Shiv and Usara had found a ship easily the length of the pirate predators, more heavily built with higher sides and deck castles but rigged for sailing just as close to the wind. As we watched, it anchored well clear of the pinnace’s three mastheads now digging deep into the pale sand and the tangle of sodden ropes and sails on useless spars. Corpses bobbed among nameless flotsam and the beach sand was stained muddy red with the blood of those few who’d made it to shore.

“Whose work was that?” asked Temar with admiration. For myself, I was none too keen to see how easily a ship could be knocked on its beam-ends.

“Larissa and Shiv between them.” Allin gazed into the bowl. “I wish I had such power.”

“When you’re working your own element, you do.” Guinalle was lying on one of the cabin’s bunks with a damp cloth on her forehead. I’d thought she was asleep.

“Feeling better?” Temar’s eyes stayed fixed on the scrying bowl.

“No,” replied Guinalle curtly.

“Can I get you anything?” I was glad of the distraction. The way the scrying was swaying at odds with the motion of the Eryngo made me distinctly nauseous.

Guinalle managed an infinitesimal shake of her head, mouth tight.

“I wish you’d try some of Halice’s tincture.” They say let a lame dog that snarls well alone but my beloved might need this stubborn girl up and ready to hunt. I looked at Temar. “Shiv used some sorcery to cure me of seasickness once. When we meet up, he can treat Guinalle to it.”

The demoiselle flapped an impatient hand, which at least proved she wasn’t entirely incapacitated. “All I need are some of the right herbs fresh picked.”

“Have you managed to sense anything of Parrail?” I wondered if Temar’s neutral tone masked a mutual irritation with Guinalle. Sympathetic as I was to her seasickness, I found her manner increasingly irritating.

Guinalle swung her feet down from the bunk and sat up, putting her cloth carefully in a lidded jug. “He’s hurt his arm. I can’t tell how badly.”

“So the chances of working Artifice between you are on a par with me winning a game of Raven against Livak.” Temar’s rueful attempt at a joke fell flatter than my baking.

Guinalle coloured furiously. “I have done the very best—”

“Have you any idea if Naldeth’s hurt?” Allin interrupted with what was either supreme lack of tact or the precise opposite.

Guinalle visibly reined in her emotions. “I’ve no sense of that.”

“It shouldn’t matter.” Temar patted Allin on the shoulder. “We’ll have them out soon enough to heal any hurts.”

Allin looked up at Temar with irritation. “Wizards in pain or delirium often have trouble controlling their influence on their element. They work magic without meaning to. That’s what set Planir looking into Soluran healing traditions in the first place.”

Which were based on fragments of aetheric lore. Which had set the Archmage on the trail first of Artifice and ultimately the lost Kellarin colony. I wondered if Planir felt like a man at a Solstice fair who’s seen his winnings doubled and redoubled in a series of lucky bets at the racetrack. Or did the Archmage know the hollow disbelief of walking away from a gaming table with cumulative losses to indebt his unborn grandchildren?

“While we who use Artifice find ourselves entirely unable to work enchantment if pain distracts us,” Guinalle commented sourly.

“Things bursting into flames all around him will betray Naldeth as a mage at once.” I’d bet enough loot to gladden ’Gren’s heart that things would go badly for the wizard after that.

“The sooner Shiv and Usara can lift them out of there, the better,” Allin breathed fervently.

“We just have to get close enough,” agreed Temar.

Running feet sounded on the deck outside. “Messire!”

Temar only got to the door before me because I was the wrong side of the table.

“They’re on the way back.” The sailor was grinning from ear to ear.

Temar and I ran to the rail to see for ourselves. The Dulse and the Fire Minnow were indeed labouring towards us, favourable winds needing no wizardly assistance but the run of the tide already turning against them. D’Alsennin pennants streamed from their mastheads and cheering men lined each vessel’s rails.

“How far does noise carry over water?” I asked Temar in sudden alarm.

“The wind’s in our favour,” he assured me with a boyish grin.

I masked my impatience better than him but it still felt like half a season before the Dulse drew alongside with exquisite care. The Eryngo’s crew dangled woven straw fenders over her rails and sailors on the Dulse’s deck below held boathooks ready to save us from too hard a clash. They need not have worried. The ships came together as gently as a lover’s kiss and climbing nets and ladders were flung down from the Eryngo. I looked down from the height of our ship’s three additional decks.

“Ryshad!” Temar saw him and hailed urgently. He tucked the oily red cloth he’d been cleaning his sword with into his belt, sheathed his blade and came to climb up to us. He leaned on the rail for a moment and kissed me before swinging himself aboard.

“We were on top of them before they knew it.” Ryshad grinned through smears of leaf mould and green grime. A dark stain on his buff breeches was probably blood and the rusty smears on his shirtsleeves certainly were.

“They were barely keeping a watch,” Vaspret amplified behind him. “All tucked up nice in a nest in the woods.” He dug in a pocket and began untangling a waxed cord garrotte.

“Not a rat escaped,” Ryshad said before Temar could ask.

“You took no prisoners.” Guinalle was in the cabin door, face accusing.

Temar stifled a snort of irritation but Ryshad met the noblewoman’s gaze calmly. “No, but we did take casualties who’d appreciate your care.”

A few mercenary men and women, with bloodied dressings around slashes to arms and legs, were being helped across the Eryngo’s rails.

“Here’s the Fire Minnow.” Allin had come out on deck as well and pointed to Halice’s ship. The Eryngo lurched as it came alongside with less precision and Halice was already climbing a rope with a fine disregard for the crushing gap between the smaller ship and the Eryngo.

“How many got away?” Ryshad demanded.

“A handful, maybe more,” spat Halice, bitter as aloes. “Some cursed hunting party dallying their way back but sharp enough to take to their heels when they realised what was afoot.”

“We chased them,” protested Rosarn, her face taut with chagrin.

“It was a difficult assault,” Temar offered but Halice’s expression was perilously close to a sneer.

“Even if they know the ground, they’ll be slower through forest than we’ll be over water.” Ryshad was thinking through the implications. “We’ve seen no sign of beacons so they shouldn’t raise an alarm before we can attack.”

“We’re committed, whatever they do. The tide’s already on the turn.” Halice was determined to take full advantage of the phases of the moon. With the greater at full and the lesser at half, the tides wouldn’t be running this strong again until the double full towards the end of For-Summer. “Sieur D’Alsennin, who can I have to make up my numbers?” The Fire Minnow’s wounded were coming aboard.

As Temar hastily produced the list of those who’d thought themselves unlucky to draw a rune to miss out on the initial assault, Guinalle unbuttoned the cuffs of her grey gown and shoved the sleeves above her elbows. “Come on, Allin.” The women headed for a man writhing in silent agony as he clutched gory belly wounds, head pressed back against the board he’d been tied to.

Ryshad looked after them. “I do wish Shiv had been able to raise a surgeon,” he muttered. I caught him in a fierce embrace. His shirt smelt of age-old trees and wood smoke.

He kissed the top of my head. “Have they taken the sentry island yet?”

I nodded, catching his chin and hearing his teeth click. “Sorry. Yes, Allin was just scrying.” I tugged at the red cloth in his belt. “What’s this?”

“A present for you.” He pulled it free with a wicked smile. “The watchpost’s snake.”

“You’re sure none of your family ever turned pirate?” I teased. “You’re taking to this like a cat to cream.”

“Just doing what I’ve been trained for.” He drew me to him for a lengthy kiss that promised a sleepless night as soon as we got the chance.

“Just be careful.” I looked deep into his velvet brown eyes.

“I will.” He gazed down at me for a moment of heartwarming stillness. “You too.”

“I can’t come to much harm nursemaiding Allin and her ladyship,” I said caustically.

“You’re the best woman for the job.” Ryshad’s smile acknowledged my frustrations.

A piercing whistle from Halice called him away. They exchanged a few words before returning to their respective ships. Temar intercepted Ryshad who nodded his head reluctantly after a moment. D’Alsennin ran across the deck and disappeared over the side, intent on getting himself to one of the other coastal boats. He didn’t see the resigned shake of Ryshad’s head that I did.

“Livak!” Allin was beckoning, on her knees beside a wounded man, a coarse apron from somewhere protecting her gown. She swabbed blood from an encrusted gash across his chest, pausing only to throw his torn and stained shirt to me. “See what you can salvage from that.”

I got out a knife to strip the cleaner cloth into bandages. The Eryngo heaved beneath me as our reunited flotilla headed directly into the sound between the islands. The run of the tide carried us ever faster while I cleaned, salved and bandaged blessedly trivial wounds, binding wrenched ankles and bloodied knuckles, fetching and carrying at Guinalle’s command and Allin’s polite requests. The Lescari mage-lass applied those skills learned at her mother’s side in the battle-worn dukedom of Carluse. She kept up a murmur of reassurance while Guinalle worked with a steady litany of soft incantation. I’d wager the Old Empire owed a good measure of conquests to its adepts’ ability to limit casualties with Artifice. Most aetheric learning had centred on the Bremilayne shrine to Ostrin in an age when the god had been more concerned with healing than hospitality. I had no quarrel with that, not if Guinalle’s skills meant more of our people came home unscathed.

The waters narrowed as the land advanced on either side, hills leaning ever closer to the strait’s edge. The trees were taller than our mast and here and there an outcrop of dark rock hung ominous overhead. Sailors in the Eryngo’s crow’s-nests looked in all directions for any sign of the enemy. Lookouts in the prow fixed their eyes on the shadowed waters, searching for reefs and skerries. The Dulse and Fire Minnow slid stealthily in our wake, their sister ships Asterias and Nenuphar not far behind.

“Allin, we’re nearly there.” I was counting off the landmarks we’d scried for along the inlet.

“I’m ready.” She made to untie her gore-smeared apron.

“No, keep that on,” I told her. It wasn’t much of a disguise but it might keep the enemy from picking out the mage among the ordinary folk on deck. “How well can you see from here?”

Allin frowned. “Not very.”

“Try standing on the steps to the rear deck.” I didn’t want her up in plain view on the sterncastle but, Drianon curse it, the girl was unhelpfully short. Guinalle began ordering the lightly injured to carry the worst wounded below decks, her face grim but her hands steady as she folded them on the plaited cord girdle at her waist.

“Sail ho!”

After a frozen instant, the cry set everyone about their allotted tasks. Temar, Ryshad and Halice had gone over this plan time and again and if anyone fouled their duty, I’d personally see that they got to explain themselves to Saedrin.

The first of the signal flags, red saltire on a white ground, ran up the mast, rope humming like an angry hornet. The four coastal ships fanned out from behind the Eryngo, blocking the seaway. As we swung around rocks long since tumbled down from a shattered cliff, I saw the first of the pirate ships flying a scarlet pennant with a black snake twisting down its length. The shark at the beakhead below the bowsprit identified it as the Spurdog and it looked unholy imposing in these confined waters.

The deck was cleared but for Kellarin’s fighting men ready and eager for action. Guinalle joined me by the doors to the stern cabins while Allin perched on the broad treads of the ladder-like stair to the afterdeck. The wizard-woman’s eyes fixed on the slowly approaching vessel with burning determination. Longboats surged out from behind the Spurdog, each packed with pirates, blades cutting bright swathes in the sunlight. The oars dug deep into the water as the rowers fought the strengthening run of the tide.

“Gently,” murmured Guinalle.

“I know.” Allin’s attention was fixed on the raiders’ ship.

I held myself ready, for just what I couldn’t say. I had nothing to say and nothing to do.

The Spurdog’s longboats spread out like a pack of wolves intent on harrying some hapless deer but our flotilla was carefully placed to deny the pirates passage past us in one of the narrowest parts of the strait. Then the foremost longboat lurched abruptly as if it had hit a rock hidden beneath the dark water. The man with the rudder yelled rebuke at the man in the prow whose protestations were lost beneath cries of alarm as the boat shuddered again but there was no sound of wood grating on stone. The one behind it stopped dead in unyielding water while a longboat on its other side rocked violently from side to side, wale dipping beneath the water. Some struck out for shore as the boat sank, a few disappearing as the weight of blades and boots dragged them under the glassy waters. Others had no luck seeking help from their fellows. Hands reaching up were met with kicks and pommels smashing grasping fingers. Three or four men reached one longboat together but trying to haul themselves aboard all at once they overturned it, casting the entire complement into the water in a confusion of shouts and curses.

“They’re doing Shiv’s job for him.” I tried to see beyond the pirate vessel but it was impossible to get a clear view. No matter, not as long as we held all their attention to the front.

Allin was still intent on the Spurdog. Some sailors were casting ropes and nets over the sides, shouting at men struggling in the water. More crew were aloft, trying to rig sail but the canvas was fighting back, tugged this way and that by hostile winds, ropes snatched out of questing hands, billows snapping in all directions. We were sailing on a gentle breeze just strong enough to give us headway but the pirates found themselves attacked by their very own private storm. With a crack like a thunderbolt, the great stay cables that controlled the flex of the masts snapped. One lashed a man who fell screaming to the deck. Another pirate was snared in the rigging and strangled as he lost his footing. As more ropes snapped, the solid wooden pulleys and blocks swung like morning stars to smash flesh and bone. The raiders abandoned all thought of setting sail, hanging on like Poldrion’s demons to masts now swaying wildly and creaking ominously.

“There!” Guinalle pointed in the same instant as another shout from on high and the second signal flag shot up its lanyard, gold cross on a red ground. The pirates were sending in their second ship.

“Ready, Allin?” I stood beside her. The Thornray came forward cautiously, trying to evade the unnatural squalls plaguing its dock mate.

Allin was scanning the masts and forecastles of both hostile vessels. As I heard the first evil chirrup of an arrow, her hand shot forward. Gouts of flame flared in the air as arrows ignited, the acrid stink of burnt feathers drifting in the still air as the metal heads pocked the sea with a rash of stifled hisses.

“Crossbows,” I warned her as a bolt thudded into the Eryngo’s main mast. I spared a thought to hope Temar had the sense to keep his head down.

Allin laced her fingers tight together. Men on our ship ducked as crossbow bolts knocked astray from their aim still came clattering in hard enough to do damage. One went skittering down the deck beside us, glowing red hot to score a charred line on the planking.

Wizardry or just chance swept a sheaf of blazing arrows back into the Spurdog’s sails. “Come on, Allin,” I encouraged her. “You know what you have to do.”

Her plump face twisted in distress but the heavy, salt-laden canvas still went up like gossamer swept into a candle flame. Rags of searing fire fell away to set other sails alight. Flames ran the length of the rigging like fire devouring a spill of lamp oil. Spars cracked and flared and the iron bindings holding the upper lengths of the main mast together melted in the inferno that was the crow’s-nest. Gouts of molten metal fell to kill men on deck instantly and then the whole section toppled, felled like the mighty tree it had once been in some distant forest. Crashing backwards, it wrecked the aftmast, the deck of the sterncastle disappearing beneath a murderous crush of wood and sail.

A precisely tailored tempest now wrapped around the Thornray and shouts from the ship took on a new urgency as the Dulse and Fire Minnow swung round for the gravel strand where the plundered Tang and Den Harkeil’s barque were drawn up. The Nenuphar and the Asterias backed the Eryngo in a solid blockade, Vithrancel’s archers ready to pinion any remaining longboats struggling back to the landing.

The Spurdog was burning with a furnace roar and, with the Thornray helpless, the pirate vessels drifted apart. I thought I glimpsed something akin to heat haze wrinkling the air beyond. No matter. I had more immediate concerns as the Fire Minnow and Dulse prepared to send Ryshad and Halice’s forces ashore to do battle with the pirates. An ominous force was gathering among huts and palisades built with the blood and tears of their hapless captives.

Allin took a resolute breath and magefire leapt from the Spurdog to the Thornray. The masts caught light like trees in a wildfire and her crew began jumping, despairing into the water, some burning as they fell.

“No!” Guinalle was ashen with horror.

“This is battle.” Thinking she was going to faint, I caught her arm.

“They have Artifice, my lady, they have Artifice! I don’t know who but they use it to kill.” To my astonishment, Parrail’s frantic voice echoed inside my head. “Anyone forsworn chokes on their oath. They’re trying to find your mages, I can hear them searching. They’ll kill any wizard they can reach.” He was gabbling and his anguish seared my mind like an unexpected scald.

“Stop your magic,” I yelled at Allin. “Now!” We couldn’t have her reduced to a barely breathing corpse by hostile enchantments.

She stared at me, bemused.

“They’ve aetheric magic seeking you,” gasped Guinalle.

Even Allin’s high colour fled at that. “We have to warn the others.”

I looked beyond the now blazing Thornray again but still could barely see more than shimmering haze. “How?” We’d agreed signal flags for every other contingency but who’d expected this?

“I’ll bespeak Usara.” Allin found a ragged tuft of bandage in her apron pocket and caught up a scored metal cup that had held some wound salve.

“You’re too easy to attack,” I objected.

“We can armour her with Artifice.” Guinalle’s face was set as stone and she grabbed my hand. “Just follow my lead. Remember when we worked Artifice together against Kramisak.”

Usara has this theory that belief is the key to aetheric magic. I resolutely thrust all doubts away, summoning instead vivid recollection of Guinalle breaking down that enchanter’s wards when the Elietimm had attacked before. She had sung and I had echoed and we’d confined the bastard’s malevolence with her own, so Ryshad and Temar could cut him in pieces.

“Tur amal es ryal andal zer, fes amal tur ryal suramer.”

The archaic words were all but meaningless but the lilts and rhythms were as familiar as breathing. Was it bred into my bones by Forest blood or simply a memory from distant childhood when my wandering minstrel father had sung me to sleep in a garret room?

I heard Allin, muffled as if she were surrounded by fog and a good way off at that. “Parrail says the pirates have Artifice. We have to stop our spells.”

As she spoke, I felt something brush past me but there nothing to be seen. Guinalle strengthened her grip until my fingers started numbing. She was staring straight through me as she repeated her incantation with biting emphasis. I found myself shuddering with that irresistible shiver old folk call the draught from Poldrion’s cloak. I held Guinalle’s hands as tight as she held mine. I had to believe she could do this or we were both lost. If this was all that stood between the wizards and aetheric magic scouring the wits out of their heads, I’d chant until my tongue dried up.

Allin was shouting orders and I could hear urgent activity all around but I couldn’t drag my eyes away from Guinalle’s face. Then the young noblewoman dissolved before me to hang in the air like a shadow. I blinked and Guinalle was there again but the cabin doors behind her, the sterncastle of the ship, Allin, everything else was as insubstantial as smoke. Everything faded to a mist of featureless grey, the Eryngo and everyone aboard a mere trick of my vision like the memory of a candle flame snuffed in a darkened room.

I bit my lip and tasted the metallic tang of blood. I could still hear Allin shouting. I could still smell the rank sweat of my own fear and the charring of the burning Spurdog. I could still feel the deck beneath my feet and Guinalle’s vice-like grip on my hands. I pictured her face, every detail of her dress. She’d got me into this and, Drianon save me, she’d get me out of it or I’d know the reason why.

Colours gathered around the edges of the grey mist, fleeting if I tried to look at them but soon gathering strength and depth. Shapes emerged, hard to make out at first, as my true surroundings overlaid everything I saw like a shadow from Poldrion’s realm.

We were inside the prisoners’ stockade. I would have ripped my hands free of Guinalle but she held me fast. “We’re no more than shades here.” Her words echoed unspoken inside my head and I remembered I’d once vowed I’d rather be raped than feel that unholy intrusion of someone else’s will into my own again.

A gang of pirates slammed open the gates, swords and clubs swinging. Two prisoners too close to the entrance were dragged to their feet, arms twisted cruelly behind their backs. The rest retreated, too scared to run the gauntlet of the pirates, broken in spirit as well as body, their rags of clothes beyond repair. I tried to pick out Parrail or Naldeth among the bruised and filthy huddle.

Three newcomers ran full tilt into the stockade, two men and a woman, none overtall and all within a year or so Temar’s age or Guinalle’s. The woman wore a mossy skirt, the men dun breeches and all were fair enough to pass for Sorgrad’s kinsmen. All wore shirts laced high to the neck but I still caught the unmistakable glint of silver beneath. The only aetheric enchanters who wore gorgets were—

“Elietimm.” Guinalle’s hatred rang inside my head.

The first man clapped rough hands around a prisoner’s head and the captive writhed in the unforgiving grasp. I couldn’t hear his screams but his pain echoed through Guinalle’s enchantment and I felt it like a blow to the back of the head. The enchanter abandoned the man, gripping the next with the same savagery. The man jerked with one convulsive spasm and, again, the agony battered me but the Elietimm tossed him aside in baffled fury.

The woman barked some order and the pirates advanced.

The prisoners scattered in futile terror like penned sheep who’ve just found a wolf in their fold. One lad ran for the gate but two pirates wrestled him to the ground. Seeing him pinned in the suffocating mud, the second Elietimm man laid a hand on the boy’s rancid hair. After an angry shake of his head, the enchanter caught a cudgel from a pirate and smashed the lad’s skull in brutal frustration.

I could see Naldeth and Parrail. Both were trying to keep as many people between themselves and the hunting Elietimm as possible but so was everyone else. It was like watching a flock of geese harried by a pack of dogs. As the prisoners struggled with each other, the weaker stumbled away, easy prey for the waiting pirates. His innate gentleness betraying him, Parrail soon fell victim.

A pirate, his nose rotting from some pox, dragged the lad to the waiting Elietimm woman. The scholar was filthy; shirtless, ribs showing and bruises charting the daily round of brutality. Parrail tripped but the bullying raider wouldn’t let him find his feet, hauling him bodily over the foul ground. He threw Parrail face down before the woman, kneeling on the back of the lad’s legs, pinning his hands behind his back. Parrail twisted his head from side to side, trying in vain to escape the woman’s questing touch.

To my inexpressible delight pain racked her face as soon as she laid a hand on him but her cry only brought her fellow enchanters running.

“Who are you? Where do you come from? Who do you speak to?”

I don’t speak the Elietimm tongue but I heard their harsh demands echoing all around my thoughts, their voices mingled.

“I will not say.” Parrail wrapped himself in defiance.

“Who has taught you?” Fear and hatred tainted the Elietimm’s questions but his skill with Artifice cut Parrail like a knife.

Like the glimpse of a page in a book opened and shut, I saw Mentor Tonin, Parrail’s tutor in distant Vanam.

“You cannot defy us.” Vicious gratification coloured the Elietimm’s chorused thoughts. That instant of unity passed and all three attacked the scholar with ruthless interrogation.

“Who are you?”

“Where are your friends?”

“Who has betrayed Muredarch?”

Was there nothing we could do? I wanted to shake Guinalle by the shoulders, insist she get the lad out of there, do something, anything, but what if I alerted these bastards to our eavesdropping? Fear for myself as well as fear for Parrail soured my throat like bile.

Colourless fire lit the shadows with reality for an instant, the distant stockade fading as I saw the Eryngo more clearly. The sick agony of a broken bone ached in my wrist even thought I knew it wasn’t my injury.

“Curse them!” Guinalle’s bitter words tied me tight to her will again. Vivid once more, I saw the stockade, saw the brutal pirate twisting Parrail’s discoloured forearm this way and that. The lad sobbed, banging his head on the ground, tears streaming from his screwed-up eyes.

All three Elietimm crowded round the boy like buzzards not even waiting for their prey to die. The pirate man scrambled away, plainly terrified of these slightly built strangers. Parrail curled into a helpless ball, cradling his injured arm, knees drawn up, head tucked down, his defiance as futile as a tiggyhog’s.

The Elietimm joined hands and, as plainly as they did, Guinalle and I saw Parrail’s life laid bare. Cherished memories fluttered past me like so many coloured pages torn from a child’s precious chapbook and scattered on the uncaring ground. He’d been a beloved child, all the more when childhood frailties had carried too many of his brothers and sisters to Poldrion’s tender care. His father, humble clerk to a merchant house, had scrimped and saved to send his promising son to Vanam, mother wiping away her tears and consoling herself that such sacrifice was for her darling’s good. No idle student, nor yet a rich one, Parrail had run errands for wealthier scholars to pay his way but even then, going hungry when some tempting scroll or parchment emptied his purse. Mentor Tonin’s pride had warmed the young scholar, bolstering his confidence in his abilities, spurring him on to tease threads of meaning out of the tangle of superstition and garbled litany that was all that the Chaos had left of aetheric lore.

The Elietimm ripped such memories apart, desperate for whatever Parrail might know that they did not. With the burning agony of his broken arm consuming him, he lay helpless, unresisting. They held recollections of his first visit to Kellarin up to cold scrutiny. They saw him nervous and excited in Master Tonin’s party, thrilled to see his studies turn from dry theory to flesh and blood reality before being terrified by Elietimm assaults. With friends and mages dead all around, Parrail was left the most likely to succeed in reviving the sleeping colonists. Travelling to the hidden cavern of Edisgesset, he summoned steely determination to defeat his frail self-doubt.

To my surprise, I caught a fleeting notion that Parrail had been scared of me but that vanished like smoke in the burning light of his devotion to Guinalle. His wonder at her beauty held her sleeping face before us all, frozen in the dimness of the cavern when Parrail had first seen her. That first rapture deepened to an abiding admiration where he saw her every word as grace, her every action proof of her nobility and virtue. Even his return to Vanam hadn’t shaken that devoted loyalty and when the chance to return had come, Parrail’s longing to be of service to his lady coloured his every thought and action.

I was enraged, repelled, outraged as if I’d seen the poor lad stripped naked for some howling mob’s amusement. The Elietimm woman’s head snapped up and she stared straight at me.

“Darige, Moin!” The bitch could see us both, no question, eyes boring right through whatever veil of enchantment Guinalle had used to cloak us.

They abandoned Parrail and moved towards us.

“Guinalle?” Surely she could see the danger as easily as me?

“You foul the very aether with your touch.” Guinalle’s contempt lashed out and the Elietimm trio recoiled. “I should sear that corrupt knowledge from your very minds. What tainted lore do you think you can use against me?”

She raised her hand, an insubstantial wraith but the Elietimm stumbled backwards as if they faced some mythic warrior all tricked out with a blazing sword and shining armour.

One of the men, the one called Darige tripped over Parrail. Quick as a biting fox, he grabbed the lad’s hair. “If we cannot touch you, he’s in our hands.”

He kicked Parrail viciously in the groin. The second man, Moin, stamped on Parrail’s broken wrist. The scholar barely reacted and I felt Guinalle’s sick worry echo my own concern.

This unholy world of illusion flickered around me. The man Moin smiled with feral satisfaction. “Are you strong enough to maintain your magic in the face of his pain?”

“Yalda!” Darige didn’t take his eyes off Guinalle as he beckoned the woman forward.

She caught up the pirate’s club and with a venomous smile brought the solid oak down on Parrail’s head. Blood oozed from his nose and ears. She swept it down again and again as Darige kicked him in the gut, Moin taking nailed boots to his unprotected back.

The innocent lad’s final torment faded like a dream but I knew this was no nightmare even as the Eryngo’s deck grew solid and reassuring around me once more. Guinalle covered her face with shaking hands and fled to the stern cabin, racked by shuddering sobs.

Allin was wide eyed in consternation. “What happened?”

“They’ve got Elietimm enchanters,” I told her. “We have to get out of here.” I realised I was soaked with sweat, my shirt stained dark and my breeches clinging to my legs. The wind chilled me but I was already as cold as ice inside.

“We’re already going.” Allin pointed to the black and yellow chequer flags hoisted to signal a retreat. The Dulse and Fire Minnow were heading towards us, those pirates who’d have cheerfully slaughtered everyone aboard left frustrated on the gravel of the landing. “We haven’t the men to fight without wizardry to help them.”

The Eryngo’s sailors brought all their efforts to bear to ease us past the smouldering wrecks of the Spurdog and the Thornray. The Maelstrom was turning in the wider strait beyond the burning hulls, plain for all to see now its cloak of magic had been dropped for fear of aetheric attack on Shiv, ’Sar and Larissa. So much for our plan to get them close enough to gather up the prisoners with their newfound confidence in using the element of air. Vithrancel’s flotilla closed up behind us as we fled north up the strait, taking every advantage from wind and tide, our hopes broken behind us.

“What about Parrail and Naldeth?” Allin asked, her voice shaking.

“Parrail’s dead,” I told her grimly.

“What about Naldeth?” she quavered.

“I don’t know.” Though I could guess his fate if he betrayed himself.