The Gambler's Fortune

As a girl, I seldom heard Forest songs in Toremal itself. These days my grandchildren hum them as they go about their daily amusements. This is one of my particular favorites with its hopeful notions for young and old alike.

The Chamber of Planir the Black, Archmage of Hadrumal, 23rd of Aft-Summer

Once I’d clarified matters with the Sheltya Elders, I realized it was far better that they deal with their own criminals,” I explained. “Given the tension between upland and lowland, any demand that we exact justice would just risk worsening the situation. We agreed that they would punish their guilty and make sure word of the Elietimm plot was spread throughout the Ranges. We won’t face a repetition of this.” I took a sip of the Archmage’s excellent wine.

Planir studied me over the rim of his own goblet. I wasn’t sure, but I thought that sprinkling of gray at his temples hadn’t been there the last time we’d met. What hadn’t changed was the charming manner and subtle desirability that cloaked him like insidious scent and tempted a girl to confide all manner of things in him. I smiled again and thought of Ryshad’s open honesty, his strong arms and the way his hair curled softly behind his ears.

“Thanks to you,” Planir inclined his head with a sardonic smile.

“Thanks to me, to ’Gren and Sorgrad, to the Forest Folk and obviously in no small part to Usara.” My expression was as open and honest as the late-morning sun pouring in through the unshuttered windows. “I do hope you are going to reward him.”

“Usara will reap all the benefits of his experiences, I assure you,” said Planir calmly. Hidden amusement lurked in his eyes but I didn’t go looking to uncover it. The Archmage could play whatever other games he liked as long as I came out ahead in mine.

“So, we have left the mountains secure against Elietimm influence,” I ticked off points on my fingers, tallying like a merchant, “Gilmarten has gone back to Solura to tell his patron to spread the word of their menace among the nobility there. He is confident Lord Astrad will alert King Soltriss as a matter of the utmost urgency. All of which is a bonus really, something we achieved over and above our original intention of finding aetheric knowledge for Messire D’Olbriot. As far as that goes, we have identified the songs of the Forest Folk as a major source for enchantments and charms—”

“A source perhaps, but one that will have every scholar this side of the ocean scratching his head for years to come,” objected Planir mildly. “Your theory may be sound but finding the truth of it will be like hunting pips among peppercorns.”

I smiled as I shook my head at him. “I went looking for knowledge; I never made any promises about the form it might take. Anyway, I’ll bet Guinalle could unravel a few of the mysteries for you. Why don’t you bring her back from Kellarin for the winter? That would be one way of rewarding Usara,” I added slyly.

“Yes, I think he would love an opportunity to exchange theories with her.” Planir’s mischievous grin lifted years from him. “I’ve already bespoken Naldeth and requested she consider traveling back on the next ship for Bremilayne.”

So the Archmage thought he was one move ahead; I reminded myself to play this hand with care. “Then Guinalle will be able to work with Aritane.” I nodded my approval. Rather her than me. As Sorgrad had promised, the vow had been enough to hold the Sheltya woman even when the drags had left her blood, and after that, Usara’s scrying had been able to show her the destruction visited on her people as a result of the enchanter Eresken seducing them into a hopeless war. She had listened to the wizard’s patient explanations of Elietimm treachery and deceit stony-faced and the bitter knowledge had left her set on a quest for vengeance so implacable I was glad I hadn’t realized just what kind of person we’d been kidnapping. I only hoped the soft-spoken Guinalle would be able to guide this remorseless determination into profitable paths for Kellarin and Hadrumal. But that was Planir’s problem, not mine.

“Aritane must have increased your knowledge of Artifice five times over by now. And of course her learning is not only entirely comprehensible, but also proven and tested. The discovery of aetheric lore among the Forest Folk would have been enough to make the journey a success but establishing the Sheltya as holders of such knowledge and bringing a practitioner to help you—that was beyond all expectations. I know Messire D’Olbriot will be delighted.”

“And duly grateful,” agreed Planir solemnly.

“And duly grateful,” I nodded. “Given I have spent a season and a half in his service, risked life and sanity five times over and achieved more than even the most optimistic might have hoped.”

“I wonder if Messire has been able to work out how the tale of your Ryshad’s journey to the Ice Islands got out,” mused Planir idly. “Did you hear that Aritane said her brother got the notion of contacting the Elietimm from a ballad, of all things?”

“Shiv was telling me it was being sung the length and breadth of the Old Empire by Summer Solstice.” I shook my head. “There really is no way of keeping such things secret, when so many people are involved. There’ll be a double handful of versions circulating by now and nothing to be gained by trying to follow them back to their various sources.”

“Oh, I think we can be reasonably certain it came from a Forest minstrel,” said Planir earnestly. “I’ve been looking into it for quite some time. Not that I have found anything certain to tell Messire, of course.”

“There’s no point in wasting his time with rumor, is there?” I smiled. “Not when he has so many concerns over Kellarin, keeping the colony safe.”

“There might be a way of finding out.” Planir wasn’t about to let this mouse get out from under his paw. “I wonder what the runes might be able to tell us. The more I think about it, the more accurate that foretelling you had seems to have been.”

I didn’t let my gaze waver or my expression change. “Indeed. But rather than raking over dead embers, I think you should see if the runes can shed any light on the future. Some notion of what might happen in Kellarin would be most valuable.” I helped myself to more wine. “There’s another thing we brought back from our travels that you didn’t have before. There’s a lot more to the runes than just games of chance.”

Planir spread a dubious hand. “I’m not sure how much use that might be. There are so many variables when it comes to interpreting that kind of thing, and any view is bound to be highly subjective.”

I shrugged. Whether or not the Archmage made use of the Folk’s foretelling was up to him. I’d certainly be finding someone who could pull hints out of a set of runes for me. I had friends in Kellarin, Halice first and foremost, and if the Elietimm were going to come winging in on the northern winds again I wanted her warned. For the present, I wasn’t about to let the Archmage escape his obligations. “So obviously Messire D’Olbriot has much to reward us for. Feel free to agree your own contribution with him. I’m sure you’ll be able to reach a mutually satisfactory arrangement.”

Planir’s expression turned serious and he studied the dregs of his wine. “I have rather a lot of calls on my time just at present. I’ll grant you Hadrumal has benefited from some of the incidental results of your activities but events have also led to considerable demands on me and the Council. It’s all very well you saying the Sheltya undertake to deal with their own culprits but stopping the men of the Gap simply wading into a season of indiscriminate murder and land-grabbing, that’s proving quite some task!”

“Yes, another debt to lay at the feet of the Elietimm,” I agreed regretfully. “They bear a heavy responsibility for starting all this bloodshed. It’s fortunate we were in the right place at the right time to stiffen Forest resistance and stop the whole of Ensaimin catching light.”

“Darni will be suitably honored,” Plank assured me.

“Oh, I have no doubt that you honor every such debt, Archmage.” Curiosity prodded me and I yielded to temptation. “So how exactly did you haul the men of the Gap back from the brink?”

Planir’s mask slipped a little and honest merriment widened his smile. “The main contention in the Gap is over mining, isn’t it? I don’t know if you’ve ever realized, but one way or another there are a sizable number of wizards working up there. Alchemists too, and many of them have links with Hadrumal. They’ve studied here or worked with mages visiting the universities at Vanam or Col. I bespoke some wizards in Grynth and had them contact the heads of the guilds on my authority. Once I had pointed out that I could remove all that most vital assistance inside a couple of days, they were inclined to listen when I insisted they withdraw their support from the fighting.”

“They agreed just like that?” My question hovered just on the polite side of skepticism.

“No.” Planir’s smile turned wolfish. “Not until I also pointed out that seizing land or mines would do them little good if that angered an Archmage who could easily render every bucket of ore worthless. My element is the earth after all, and being born and brought up in the Gidestan coal country I probably know more about mining than any guild master.”

I couldn’t help laughing. One day, when there was absolutely no chance of anything riding on the outcome beyond ill-minted copper, I could see myself playing a hand or two of runes with this man, just to see if he was as good as he thought he was.

Planir’s smile faded. “Though having to use the power of the Archmage with such a heavy hand is something that could cause problems in the longer term. Fear and ignorance still colors people’s notions of wizardry and making threats like this stirs old prejudice. That’s another thing to weigh in the balance.”

“Look at the other side of the coin,” I urged him. “It has been an opportunity to remind the powers of Ensaimin and elsewhere of the value of magecraft. Isn’t that something the Council has been discussing? I’m sure your colleague Kalion must be delighted.”

Planir burst out laughing. “That’s not quite how I would put it.” He rose and crossed to the sideboard standing with unobtrusive elegance against the wall. If Messire paid me half what that piece might fetch on a good day in a Col auction house, I’d have spent my spring and summer profitably. The Archmage took two bottles from the array resting in carved cradles. “You said you were lunching with Shiv? Take this with my compliments.”

I stood to take the gift. “That’s very good of you.” If he thought he was going to pay me off with a couple of bottles of even this finest vintage, the wizard was a few sticks short of a bundle. “You’ll be able to bespeak, what’s his name, Casuel by tonight? You and Messire should be able to agree a sum between you soon enough. I’ll call back for your contribution tomorrow?” I was tempted to ask if he could get me news of Ryshad but decided against putting myself in his debt.

“Make it the day after,” Planir suggested. “Rest assured, Livak, you won’t find me ungenerous. I know what we owe you and your friends.”

There were two edges to that, so I replied in kind. “Assisting you has proved the experience of a lifetime, Archmage.”

A thought halted me on the threshold. “I was very sorry to hear about Otrick.” I had no need to pretend sincerity. “I didn’t know him well, but I liked what I saw of the old pirate. I really did hope that Aritane would know how to bring him back to himself.”

Planir ducked his head against a sudden grimace, lifting his face a moment later, mask fully restored. “At least we can bid him a proper farewell now, him and the others so afflicted.” He coughed. “Let’s hope these are the last deaths we add to the reckoning. Just as I pay my debts, Livak, I collect what’s due. The Elietimm will pay in full.” He smiled with all the warmth of frostbite.

I managed a fleeting quirk of my lips and closed the door behind me, tucking the wine in the crook of my arm.

Othilsoke, 23rd of Aft-Summer

Keisyl took a long draft of cold water and closed his eyes, savoring the kiss of wind and sun on his brow. If only he could stay here like this, forever, never having to look on his problems again.

“Keis? Lad?” Chance breeze lifted the wary hail over the edge of the hollow.

Keisyl walked out onto the track to see two figures toiling up from the lower reaches of the valley, faces muffled against the dust, clothes stained with sweat. He walked down to meet them, leather jug in one hand and horn cups in the other.

“Mother, Fithian.” He handed each a drink and refilled the proffered cups wordlessly.

“So what’s it all about, Keisy?” Ismenia demanded once she had regained her breath.

“Fith?” Keisyl turned to his uncle in some surprise.

The old man shook his tousled silver head, mouth down-turned. “Not for me to say, lad.” He mopped his forehead with a sleeve, the faded yellow of the cuff newly mended with brighter thread. “It’s for you two alone. I’ll go on up and look to the workings.”

Ismenia watched him go with a mixture of resignation, irritation and affection. “He’s been itching to get back to the diggings, the old fool. Goats is boys’ work, as far as he’s concerned. All right, Keisy, what is so important I have to leave the girls and come hiking all the way up here? I’m not as young as I was, you know.”

Keisyl managed a faint smile at her determined cheerfulness. It died in the next breath. “Come and see.”

Walking into the dell, he skirted the long-dead ashes of the fire and went to the sturdy tool cache. The door was secured by a simple wooden wedge, which Keisyl kicked aside with the split toe of his boot. Reaching into the gloom, he dragged a cowering figure out into the sunlight.

Ismenia’s hands leaped to her face to stifle a startled cry. “Jeirran?”

Keisyl looked down at the naked figure hunched on the ground, hair and beard matted with dirt where they hadn’t been scorched away by fire, body smeared with heedless filth, feet foul with sores, hands bleeding from raw blisters, one finger missing its nail and swollen into a suppurating mass. “I think so,” he said finally.

The sound of voices lifted the wretch’s head, face blank, mouth slack and drool glistening on chapped and crusted lips. The eyes were the worst, blue as ever but as mindless as those newly opened in a mewling pup.

“I thought he was dead,” whispered Ismenia. “I thought Maewelin had claimed her due, rot his heart!”

“Looks like Misaen wanted him after all.” Keisyl chewed on a thumbnail. “Now what do we do with him?”

“Where did you find him?” Ismenia shook her head in wonderment.

“He was scuttling around the diggings.” Keisyl couldn’t restrain a shudder. “I thought it was some gwelgar knitted out of grass and mud, come to look for naughty children.”

His laugh had no humor in it but the miserable thing looked up and mimicked him, the sound hoarse and horrible.

Keisyl raised a hand but could not land the blow. He turned away, shivering despite the hot sun. Ismenia looked down at the hollow shell of a man, just staring vacantly at nothing again. “What are we to do with him?”

Keisyl heaved a reluctant sigh. “I suppose we can keep him up here for a while, clean him up, feed him up.” He looked with distaste at the sores where a few maggots still clung. “If it were only me involved, as Misaen made me, I’d do nothing, Mother, I’d drive him off and bless the day, but Eirys—”

“You think Eirys needs this?” Ismenia turned sharply. “You think Eirys, after Sheltya scared her half witless before declaring her guilt-free, do you think she needs this wreck of a man to drain her of hope and life when she should be looking to her child? Eirys must never know of this. You must never speak of it, never breathe a word, not even on your deathbed, not even when Solstice sun stirs your bones.” She fell silent, trembling, narrow shoulders hunched as she clasped her hands in a vain effort to still them.

Keisyl drew his mother inside strong arms, her faded hair fluttering against the frayed collar of his shirt. Gradually her trembling eased. “So what do we do?”

Ismenia gently eased herself free, patting Keisyl’s shoulder in meaningless reassurance and smoothing the laces of his shirt. “He owes the soke a life, doesn’t he?”

Keisyl drew a long breath before answering. “There’s Eirys’ baby?”

Ismenia shook her head. “That’s not the same. That child is her gift to the blood, and as long as she still mopes for Jeirran I can’t see her bringing another to bed. Why didn’t he die at the Teyvafess?” she raged suddenly, “Then we could have shown her the body and had done.”

“And if she’d had his bones to lay in the cavern, that grief could have killed the babe in her belly.” Keisyl shook his head. “It was only the hope that he might somehow still live that saved her. You said so yourself.”

“So do we take that hope from her? If she’s brought to bed before the turn of the season, I wouldn’t give much for the chances of the child coming through the winter.” Ismenia pulled the embroidered kerchief from her head and twisted the cloth around her hands. “He owes the soke a life,” she repeated softly. “If it weren’t for him, I’d still have my Teiro, my baby boy.” Her face crumpled as if she was about to weep and she hid her face in the meadow flowers dotting the white linen.

Keisyl scrubbed away his own sudden, angry tears and reached for his mother’s hands, but when she lifted her eyes they were dry and resolved. “He owes the soke a life and we will claim it.”

“We have that right, don’t we?” said Keisyl cautiously. “Kinder than letting him wander and starve or die of a fever.”

“I don’t want to be kind,” said Ismenia bitterly. “I’d like to stake him out for the ravens, Maewelin be my witness! No, his life is forfeit and better that we know he is dead than wonder when he’s going to come scraping at the gatepost like a lost hound come home.”

“He found his way here, Misaen only knows how,” agreed Keisyl with distaste.

Ismenia reached for the sun-scorched shoulder draped with foul hair, but drew her hand back. “I’m not touching it,” she muttered. “Keisy, get me a stick and fetch yourself a hammer or something. I know where to go.”

Keisyl frowned. “Do we want Fithian?”

Ismenia shook her head. “Our choice, our burden.”

It didn’t take much prodding to get the wretch to its feet, following the old woman biddably enough as she led the way up beyond the workings. They crossed the ridge, the rustling grasses of a sheltered plateau, going beyond to skirt a spread of tangled bushes and finally climbing over a stony speckled bank to find a marshy stretch of broken ground dotted with thick green tussocks.

“The old ways were hard, but so were the times, and given all we’ve been through this year, I think old ways are called for.“ Ismenia looked sharply at Keisyl. ”You know what to do?”

Keisyl stepped behind the blankly staring figure and hefted the rock hammer in practiced hands. The blow came in hard and sure; the pitiable thing fell face forward and Ismenia pressed her narrow boot down on the back of its neck, pressing hard into the thick brown water of the bog. Keisyl waited silently until she withdrew her foot and then used the hammer to push the corpse farther into the mire.

“I’d have been within my rights to drown him unstunned,” Ismenia said, but with little passion. “If the bog takes him and tans him, then that’s Misaen’s judgment. Still, you can come up here next spring. If there are any bones, you can take them to the cavern in the Lidrasoke. Let him rest with his people and whisper a warning to any who might think to follow his example.”

“Come on, my lovely, let’s get home.” She clapped her hands briskly together and turned to begin walking so fast Keisyl had to hurry to keep up. “We must look forward now,” she continued. “We have Eirys and the baby to care for. Maewelin has finally blessed Theilyn, so there’ll be no come-by-chance to spoil her prospects. In a year or so we can think about taking her out and about. There are a few likely lads I have my eye on, so if I invite their mothers and sisters to coo over the baby, Theilyn will have a chance to meet them with no one making anything of it. Perhaps she’ll make a sensible choice if she’s allowed to take her time. One daughter falling in love at first sight, all overcome by Solstice jollities, is quite enough. And there’s nothing like a babe in arms to get a maiden feeling broody.” She tucked her arm through Keisyl’s and smiled up at him.

“There’ll be some pretty girl, last in a long family, willing to take her rights in coin and leave her fess to bring children and laughter to ours again, for the sake of a husband as handsome as you.”

“Perhaps, one day,” allowed Keisyl dryly, but his eyes were wistful.

“We must look forward now,” repeated Ismenia firmly. They left the bog without a backward glance.

The Boar and Elder Tavern, Hadrumal, 23rd of Aft-Summer

I had to look around the crowded tap room two or three times before I finally spotted Pered laughing in a corner with a friend. Pushing my way through a gaggle of prentice wizards, I waved to him. He stood up, taking the bottles of wine to free my hands. I snapped my fingers at a serving maid who barely spared me a look and smiled at her when her head spun back for a startled second glance. “Wine please, Ferl River if you have it.”

Pered gave me a hug and then held me at arm’s length, shaking his head. “You are going to have to do something about that hair.”

“Does it really look that bad?” I asked quizzically.

“You look like that striped butter toffee my sister makes for her children,” he said frankly. “Ryshad will hate it.”

I shrugged. “I’ve seen him in a beard. I’m not about to risk dying it after bleach; it’ll go green or all fall out.”

Pered’s ready laugh narrowed his hazel eyes. “Oh, I’ve finished the copy of that song book. Don’t let me forget to give it to you.”

“Many thanks. You don’t think anyone will be wondering why Shiv’s been so keen to study it, do you?” I didn’t particularly want attention drawn his way, especially not when someone might remember the mage’s lover was one of Hadrumal’s most accomplished scriveners.

Pered shook his head. “Not when he’s spending every day closeted with Usara and that Mountain woman, hammering out some new theory on this Artifice.”

“Has he had a chance to bespeak anyone in Toremal yet?” I tried to sound offhand but had to answer Pered’s knowing grin with a sheepish smile of my own.

“He bespoke Casuel last night. Cas was being his usual petty-minded self but he did tell Shiv that your Ryshad has ‘performed signal service to the Emperor, even if with somewhat unexpected consequences.’ Apparently Ryshad wants you to take a ship for Toremal or Zyoutessela as soon as you can. You’d better book passage and make haste to reclaim your beloved from the delights of the Empire.”

“As soon as Planir pays up,” I said firmly, quelling my own desire to head straight down to the docks and jump on the nearest ship. “Signal service to the Emperor” had to mean Ryshad would have winnings to equal mine, didn’t it?

Pered nodded at the bottles. “Our esteemed Archmage probably thinks that fair payment.”

“Something on account, perhaps. He doesn’t buy me off so easily.” I tapped my goblet of Ferl River white against the green glass of the vintage Califerian flagons. “They can wash down lunch.”

Pered took a long swallow of his ale. “As soon as the others arrive, we can go home. Shiv’s been busy all morning and I must have made ten trips to the market for things he’s been wanting.”

I ran a finger around a puddle on the tabletop. “How’s he taken the news about Otrick?”

The good humor faded from Pered’s blunt-featured face. “Badly. He’s spent the last few nights just staring at the ceiling, muttering how if he’d been allowed to go then something would have been found to save the old pirate.”

“I don’t see how he figures that,” I retorted. “Even Usara’s had to admit there was no hope. Aritane said his mind had been killed outright.”

“You know wizards,” Pered shrugged his stocky shoulders. “Always think everything’s down to them and never take no for an answer.”

“Saedrin bless them.” I raised my glass in a sarcastic salute.

“I’ll give him a few more days and then start asking him who he thinks will be made the new Cloud-Master or -Mistress. That should get him out of the mopes.” Pered gestured with his tankard. “He should be a good one to ask for a tip, if you fancy hanging around long enough to make a wager on it.”

I turned to see who he meant and saw Darni entering the tavern with an angular woman on his arm. Her face was nothing remarkable, long black hair plaited down her back. Her clothes were everyday honey-colored wool, but she carried herself with considerable grace. “Who’s that with him?”

“Strell, his wife.” Pered looked surprised. “Haven’t you met?”

“I think Darni prefers to keep me and mine out of his home life,” I laughed.

“Oh, I got to dance with her last Equinox,” said Pered, mock proud. “Darni may not know what to make of me and Shiv, but he does allow we’re safe to be let near his wife.”

“She looks as if she can take care of herself,” I observed.

“She can,” Pered assured me. “She’s an alchemist. Mess with her and your house will probably burn down.”

“Who’s burning down houses?” asked ’Gren with interest. Sorgrad was close behind him as they pushed their way to our corner.

“No one,” I said repressively. “Pered was saying there’d be money to be made if we can bet on the right candidate for Cloud-Master.”

“Mages lay wagers on things like that?” Sorgrad was surprised.

Pered grinned at him. “Mages don’t, but the rest of us do.”

“Must be the only game in town, somewhere this small,” commented ’Gren a trifle sourly.

I tried to gauge his degree of restlessness and looked at Sorgrad. “So, how much longer are you going to be kicking your heels here? I thought Shiv said that Kalion was going to intercede for you with Draximal? Wasn’t that what Planir told him to do?”

Sorgrad nodded. “Draximal’s all squared away. We’re taking a boat for Col in four days’ time.”

That was a relief; ’Gren should be able to contain himself for that long before looking for mischief. Hadrumal didn’t strike me as a good place for him to be bored. I frowned. “That’s going to be a long hike to Lescar. Wouldn’t you be better off waiting for passage to Peorle?”

“We’re not going to Lescar.” Sorgrad drained his tankard. “We thought we’d visit Solura.”

Pered looked at him with some surprise. “Shiv told me you were mage-born. You’re not going to stay here and study?”

“Why should I?” demanded Sorgrad, but not aggressively. “Magebirth’s no more than a minor inconvenience to me.”

“You know, half the Council are banging their heads against that.” Pered heaved a contented sigh. “I do like seeing wizards nonplussed.”

“Solura?” I pursed my lips. “Going to look up Gilmarten by any chance?”

“You never know who we might run into,” admitted Sorgrad with a dangerous smile. I had his measure; magebirth might have been no more than an unwelcome aberration to be ruthlessly suppressed until now, but having seen its uses in action he wasn’t about to pass up a chance of turning it into a useful tool for the future. I wasn’t going to criticize; Messire might have agreed the wizards could keep the song book but I’d be looking out for useful tricks in my copy, now that I’d seen Aritane’s abilities were as much to be envied as feared.

“ ’Gren?” I looked a question at him.

He shrugged. “Just going back to Lescar seemed a bit boring. We’ve missed the best of the fighting season anyway. I fancy seeing what trouble’s brewing on the Mandarkin border.”

“And while we’re there, we can make sure Anyatimm up that way have the truth of this summer’s goings-on in the Gap,” added Sorgrad ominously.

“So we’re all off on our travels again.” I meant to sound bright and optimistic, but somehow my words came out tinged with gloom.

“Speak for yourself, darling,” said Pered with a touch of bitterness. “I’m going nowhere far from my copy table, not unless Shiv finally gets sick of dancing to Planir’s tune.”

“Why not see if Shiv can get a commission to go and look for more mage-born among the Forest Folk or up in Gidesta?” I suggested.

“We’ll be back for the Winter Solstice,” promised Sorgrad. “Relshaz or Col?”

My spirits lifted. “Relshaz? Charoleia will be there, and she’s bound to have news from Halice.”

“You bring this sworn man of yours along for us to meet,” ’Gren ordered. “What’s he been doing with himself all summer anyway, while we’ve been off having fun?”

“I think he’ll have been having a harder time of it than you think,” said Pered, all solemn pretense. “After all, he’s been working with Casuel.”

“And most men would prefer an honest fight with a horde of howling Mountain Men to that,” I agreed.

“Then he’ll be good and ready to make a Winter Solstice to remember,” Sograd nodded. “Make sure you bring him with you.”

“Are you going to ask him his intentions?” I wasn’t about to have that happen if I could avoid it.

“We might just do that,” said Sorgrad. “Anyway, what’s he going to make of you coming back like a bad debt, full of your adventures and rattling the Archmage’s coin?”

“A man could get jealous,” observed ’Gren.

“It sounds as if he’s done well enough for himself,” I countered. “What I’ve got to decide is just what to tell him about our little expedition.”

“You want to tell him just enough to make him feel guilty about spending his summer safe and secure, dancing attendance on that prince of his,” advised Pered with the faintest hint of malice. I knew that was really directed at Planir; if anything ever drove a wedge between him and Shiv, it was the Archmage’s demands on his lover’s time.

“Ryshad will have been working just as hard as me,” I assured them all. “Just doing different things.”

He’d better have been, I added silently to myself, or all this year’s winnings would be for nothing. The game still wasn’t over until I saw how Ryshad had played his hand.

“I’ll tell you something for free,” ’Gren said critically. “You really should do something about your hair before he sees it.”