The Warrior's Bond

The Sieur Endris D’Olbriot has caused this annal to be recorded and charges all who come after him to continue this work, in the sacred Name of Saedrin, Keeper of the Keys to the Otherworld, whose judgement every man must face

As Winter Solstice brings this year to a close, I do not know how to record a date, since all calendars are meaningless in the chaos that overwhelms us. The best I can offer is my recollection that this is the twenty-eighth year since the final solstice of Nemith the Last, also known as the Reckless. After the trials of this last generation I wonder if my father and uncles would have so rudely pulled even so wretched a ruler from his throne if they had suspected the calamities that would befall us. Should our once respected forebears be condemned as reckless in their turn? Do we suffer as a result of their impiety or does Raeponin weigh our own transgressions and finding us wanting, give Poldrion the nod to loose misfortune upon us?

The direst news I can attest to this Mid-Winter is that deaths of those bearing our Name have outnumbered births in this past year and who knows how many to those infants will succumb to the privations of hunger and disease in the seasons to come. Spurred by this, I have charged my scribes and Esquires to list each property remaining in the D’Olbriot Name, with a full list of every tenant, their claims upon us, the charges they have made on our coffers these five years past and the benefits we have gained from their loyalty. Raeponin be my judge, I have not seen the results as yet, but I predict a sorry tale of an ever shrinking fiefdom and who dares hope that there is not yet worse to come.

Let these words and the parchments appended thereto act as my defence down the generations, to whatever sons of D’Olbriot might survive to carry forward our Name, for the actions I am about to take.

We can no longer stand alone, on the dignity of our inveterate independence. The lone sheep is wolves’ meat and we are beset with marauders on every side. I purpose therefore to join with those following the Den Modrical pennant, trading what force of arms we may muster for aid in defending our lands under direction of the Sieur Laenthal. I have watched over the seasons as this youth has risen to rule his House through proven skill as a warrior and by virtue of a character more forceful than any I have seen, even in men twice his age. Minor Names, cast adrift with the breaking of every tie to their earliest loyalties, have been flocking to his banner. Inside a year he has raised a formidable force, winning notable victories against the predations of brigands from the Dalasor grasslands.

Why must I seek to justify my course when Laenthal is so clearly an effective leader of action and resolve? Because I have reservations about both Den Modrical ambitions and practices and wish to make these known under the seal of our Name, lest I die before I can nominate a Designate in proper form and confide such vital matters in person.

I can forgive a young man the conceit that prompts him to invent spurious claims to a legendary lineage but I wonder why Laenthal encourages his fellows to swear so fervently that Den Modrical descends from so many ancient Houses. Whether this is truth or lie, the facts are lost in the mists of time. How do such fictions serve, when any man of my generation recalls full well the lowly status of the Name in the Nemith era? Are we supposed to be impressed with his array of pennants and badges of yore purloined from a miscellany of Houses? Still, such trifles are largely harmless compared to the daily perils we face.

Less harmless is the youth’s assertion that anyone not with him will be deemed against him. Demanding allegiance at sword point can never be but folly. Nor can I approve Laenthal’s subsequent tactics to ensure continued loyalty. True enough, service as a page to a companion noble House has always been part of an Esquire’s education, but in these uncertain times the custom has been in abeyance for nigh on a generation. For my part, I see the gang of youths now travelling between the Modrical possessions under ostensible guard against bandits as little better than hostages for their families’ good conduct. Yet I must nominate an Esquire from every branch of D’Olbriot, senior and cadet, and deliver them into Laenthal’s custody before I can expect him to bring his lances and swords to drive the northern reivers and masterless men from our lands. That they will certainly learn their letters and reckoning at another’s expense is scant consolation when I foresee they will also be inculcated with Laenthal’s peculiarly ruthless philosophies.

But what other path is open to me? The gods have all but abandoned us, with every Artifice that priests were wont to use in our service found wanting. Shall I resort to these unsanctified sorceries that some can wield without blessing of god or man? Laenthal makes no secret of his loathing of such fell arts, putting any showing such skills to the sword without fear or favour. I might suspect some self-seeking in his ready condemnation but I cannot deny it gives any Sieur desperate enough to consider using a wizard pause for thought.

Den Modrical have been claiming their victories are proof of divine favour. Then let Raeponin weigh Laenthal’s sincerity in the balance and Saedrin can judge him as he sees fit. I will not do so. All my efforts must be spent in service of my House, and as Poldrion is my witness I see no better choice to defend D’Olbriot than Den Modrical. Thereto I set my seal.

The D’Olbriot Residence, Toremal, 7th of Aft-Summer in the Third Year of Tadriol the Provident

The Sieur’s compliments and will you attend him in the library.” The footman delivered the message with a bland lack of emotion and I received it with a similar nod.

I was in the gatehouse watch room amending a duty roster, one of a whole collection of tasks allotted me as soon as the Festival had ended. With Naer and Stoll both senior to me, I was chosen for all the most tedious and recurrently exasperating responsibilities. That’s always the way of it, I reminded myself sternly as I took my penknife to the recalcitrant quill. I had no right to complain. The lowliest sworn find themselves emptying privies and sweeping the floors until the sergeant-at-arms recruits someone new for them to look down on in turn. It’s the longest sworn who man the gates, bowing and courteous to passing nobles and pocketing passing silver.

By that same custom Stoll was out visiting a swordsmith on the House’s behalf, while by this chime Naer would be sharing a companionable flagon with Fyle, discussing just who they might recognise out of the eager would-be sworn who fetch up after every Festival. Which is why I was trying to make sense of hastily scribbled notes working out how to allow Verd leave to visit his sick father when Indar was out of the reckoning on account of coming back from Festival with a broken hand.

I took one last look down the roster; surely that would suffice? Then I cursed under my breath, seeing I’d placed three raw recruits all on the same watch. There was no way that could stand, with no one experienced to stiffen their backbone.

“Pense, you’ve got the duty.” I snapped the lid on the inkwell and set down my pen. The senior sworn man came in with alacrity to take a stool in the watch room. “Make the most of it,” I advised him lightly. “We’re on duty in the stableyard this afternoon.”

Pense groaned. “Tell me we’re seeing the back of the last guests today?”

I nodded. “As far as I know.” I’d be as relieved as anyone else not to spend my days ferrying trunks, caskets and frivolous purchases to the carts and coaches that had cluttered up the yard and lanes for the last few days.

I walked through the empty grounds to the residence. The halls were strangely silent after the constant commotion of Festival. Everywhere was clean and polished, garlands all tidied away, the few servants round and about taking their time over minor tasks. There was a faintly tired air about the place.

Messire was alone in the library, where everything was once more in its customary place. The chests of documents and deeds brought out in anticipation of battles in the courts had been returned to the archive. Avila’s casket, its hidden treasures and her lists were nowhere to be seen. Everything connected to Kellarin had been removed to a salon on the far side of the residence; everything D’Alsennin might need set apart. Temar had been receiving a steady flow of visitors while D’Olbriot held firmly aloof.

“Good day to you, Ryshad.” The Sieur sat in a chair on one side of the empty fire. He didn’t motion me to sit.

“Messire.” I bowed.

“I understand you were summoned yesterday by the Justiciar gathering evidence for and against Kreve Tor Bezaemar?” Messire enquired.

“Indeed. I told him everything I knew.” And much that I suspected or merely guessed; it was the Justiciar’s job to sort the wheat from the chaff. If he’d questioned everyone in the same exhaustive detail he’d demanded of me, it was going to be a long job.

“If you’re on duty with the guard, D’Alsennin must be out this morning,” he observed. I’d been placed at Temar’s disposal along with the empty reception chamber for whenever he was within D’Olbriot’s walls. Beyond he was on his own, at least until he swore some men of his own.

“Where is D’Alsennin?” the Sieur enquired.

“He’s visiting the Sieur Den Janaquel,” I replied promptly.

“In connection with what?” Messire raised an amiable eyebrow.

I hesitated half a breath before answering. “To discuss that House’s holdings around Kalaven.”

“To discuss how Den Janaquel grain might feed D’Alsennin’s people,” said the Sieur with a faint hint of reproof. “In exchange for what? Wood? Ore? Hides?”

“I can’t say, Messire.” I said simply.

“Can’t or won’t?” Messire raised a hand. “I’m sorry, but then that’s not the first time I’ve said that to you, is it? I don’t suppose you’re finding this division of your time any more satisfactory than anyone else.”

He paused, clearly expecting an answer.

“I do my duty as it’s presented to me,” I said stiffly. I’d found the constantly changing demands on me something of a trial, true enough, but at least it meant I’d been too busy to think about anything beyond that day or the next.

“D’Alsennin plans to sail for Kellarin around the turn of For-Autumn, I understand,” Messire remarked. “When you’re no longer so indispensable, we must arrange a grace house for you. You can send for that redhead of yours, if you’re still so inclined. Then we’ll assign you some permanent duties within the household. I know Leishal wants more assistance, and as a chosen man you should be helping manage the affairs of the House from a comfortable chair, not scurrying around wearing out boot leather.”

Something must have shown in my face because the Sieur burst out laughing.

“Forgive me, Ryshad, but you look like Myred bracing himself to dine with his aged aunts. It’s my fault, I suppose. I kept you out on the roads for so long as an enquiry agent you’re spoiled for this kind of duty, aren’t you?”

I wasn’t sure I liked that, but equally these past few days had shown me with brutal clarity that I really didn’t like barracks life any more. “I’ll soon get used to it.” As soon as I spoke, I wondered how long the words would remain a lie.

“No doubt you would,” said the Sieur briskly, “but it wouldn’t alter the fact you’d be as well suited to it as a saddle horse pulling a coal cart. And there are other concerns.”

He paused again but I stayed silent.

“The time’s come to speak frankly, Ryshad.” Messire leaned back in his chair, clasping his hands beneath his chin. “You’re a good man, always have been, but no man can serve two masters. D’Alsennin looks to you for advice—no, I’m not objecting. After Tadriol’s decrees, there are few enough people he can turn to under this roof, and Saedrin knows the boy needs someone to guide him. But I cannot ignore the potential dangers. I’m sure you give of your best, you wouldn’t do anything else, but sometime soon you’re going to find what’s best for D’Alsennin doesn’t serve D’Olbriot, or conversely D’Olbriot interests will run counter to Kellarin’s.”

This time his silence demanded a response and one sprang from the most basic precepts of my training. “My first loyalty is to my oath.”

“Forgive me, Ryshad, but however much you might believe that I’m no longer convinced it’s true.” Messire’s conversational tone couldn’t mask the severity of his words. “Again, I bear much of the responsibility. I encouraged you to use your own initiative as an enquiry agent, your own judgement, but over this Festival I’ve seen too many occasions where your judgement has been to place D’Alsennin priorities over D’Olbriot’s. You’re acting as D’Alsennin’s Steward in all but name as it is, and you cannot do that with a ring bearing my badge around your arm.”

I managed to keep my voice emotionless. “Are you saying I should be wearing D’Alsennin insignia?”

“My business isn’t with D’Alsennin, it’s with you,” Messire shrugged. “My concern must always be for this House and that means dealing with realities, however unexpected or unpleasant they might be. Some day, and one probably none too distant, you’ll find yourself with a choice of either being true to yourself or true to your oath. I refuse to be responsible for putting you in such an invidious position, Ryshad, and that means I must hand you back your oath.”

Hollow confusion filled me. “You’re dismissing me from your service?” The Sieur’s words and my own echoed inside my head.

“It’s time for you to be your own man again,” the Sieur said with a sigh. “You’re a good man, Ryshad, and a loyal one. Since you’d see this choice as a betrayal, I have to be the one to make the decision for both of us. If I’m wrong, tell me so and I’ll beg your pardon most humbly, but I gave you that armring to honour you and I won’t see you wear it until it chafes you beyond bearing.”

All I could do was slide the gleaming copper down my arm and over my wrist. A selfish qualm assailed me; I could hand it back to the Sieur spotless but leaving his service like this would surely tarnish my reputation irrevocably.

Messire held out his hand and I took a step to place the gleaming circle on his palm.

“Thank you.” The Sieur turned the ring with careful fingers, frowning. “I gave you this to honour you, Ryshad, and I won’t see you dishonoured by such a turn of events. None of us could have foreseen the way this game would play out.”

He set the armring aside, reaching down into the shadow between his chair and the wall. Grunting slightly, he lifted up a pale wooden box, decorated in squares and rectangles cut with precise black inlay. “This should convince you of the value I place on your service.” He fished in a pocket for the key to the neat brass lock. “And anyone else looking to crow over you. You’ll have to move out of the gatehouse, naturally, and it won’t be fitting for you to eat with the servants any longer, but you can stay in a grace house until the turn of the season at least, longer if need be. Take your time to decide what you want from your future, Ryshad; don’t make any hasty decisions. Don’t let other people’s needs sway you either, not D’Alsennin’s nor anyone else. As I said, it’s time for you to be your own man.”

I was still tongue-tied. I tucked the key in my belt-pouch and took the box. It was wide enough to need both hands and surprisingly heavy for its size. As I tucked it under my arm, the tight-packed contents made barely a chink.

“Come and see me if you’ve any questions,” the Sieur said briskly. “Naturally, I’ll vouch for you with any merchant or landlord or—” Inspiration failed him and I saw sadness hanging heavily over his head.

That wasn’t something I could face so I bowed low. “My thanks, Messire.”

Finishing the duty roster didn’t seem important. I walked out of the residence and round behind the kitchens to sit on the stone rim of Larasion’s fountain in the middle of the herb garden. I set the wooden box down beside me and looked at it. When a chosen or proven man is handed back his oath on retirement, all those sworn to the House assemble to see the Sieur hand over some valuable expression of his esteem. By long custom the man thus rewarded hands the coin back, declaring that the privilege of having served the Name has been honour enough. When that day came for Stoll or Fyle, they’d be well able to pay the Sieur such a compliment, secure in the knowledge that they had a grace house until their death and a pension to draw from D’Olbriot coffers at the start of every season. Now I had no such shelter from whatever storms might fall on my unprotected head.

I wondered what was in the box but made no move to unlock it. Whether it was copper or noble Crowns made no real difference. For the first time since I’d fetched up on D’Olbriot’s doorstep, a lad desperate for some direction in his life, I was facing a future without certainties, without any right to a roof, to food, to support from my fellows.

So why did I feel so absurdly relieved? Emotions were tumbling through my mind in the peace of the herb garden and trying to make sense of them was as easy as trying to catch the sparkles of sunlight in the water of the fountain, but time and again what I felt was relief. It gave way to apprehension, then turned into perverse defiance, but each time I came back to relief.

I got myself in hand. What would I do now? Where would I go once my period of grace was over? The prospect of trying to convince my mother I’d not been turned out in dishonour was a daunting one, and the year would have turned and come full circle before Hansey and Ridner ran out of sly comments. That alone made the notion of going back to Zyoutessela unwelcome. Anyway I could no more go back to stonecutting than I could beg the Sieur to swear me to his service again.

Then there was telling Livak how dramatically our plans had gone awry. There’d be no future for the pair of us as proven man and his lady managing D’Olbriot affairs in some comfortably distant city. So some good had come out of all this, I smiled wryly to myself. The Sieur was right; I’d forgotten just how tedious close attendance on the Name could be. My smile faded. Perhaps he had done me a favour, but I still felt rebuffed. True enough, it was plain things couldn’t have gone on as before, but I wasn’t sure I liked having the decision taken out of my hands like this.

But that’s what swearing your service away does for you, some rational corner of my mind scolded me. Sitting here in the sage-scented calm, I had to admit that submitting to other people’s decisions had been galling me of late. Whatever else I might do, I decided, I wouldn’t be swearing myself to Temar. Swearing service as a young man had been easy, putting my fate into another’s hands a relief. Life had been clearer then, a puppetry tale of predictable characters in stock dilemmas making black and white decisions. As a grown man I’d learned life was far more complicated. My own desires were a mass of contradictions to begin with and I knew full well people around me wore more faces than a masquerader.

Which was all very well as far as philosophical musing went, but what next? My mother had never been one to tolerate indecision. “You can’t buy a bun and still save your penny,” she’d always told us as children. I unlocked the box to see how many buns I could buy with Messire’s assessment of my worth.

“Dast’s teeth!” I could buy my own bakery with the stacks of white gold packed tight with scraps of silk tucked in each hollow. I could buy the land to grow the wheat and a mill to turn the grain to flour and still have silver to squander.

My spirits rose. Messire always said there’s no point repining over what’s already done, didn’t he? Livak and I had set ourselves to his service at the turn of the year in order to earn the coin that would give us choices for our future. Well, I had a whole casket full of choices here, and if Livak had won any aetheric lore from her travels whatever Planir or D’Olbriot owed her could only widen our options still further.

Before I made any decisions, whether to buy that flour mill or outfit a mercenary troop and go off to claim the throne of Lescar, I needed to talk to Livak. I locked my box and tucked it securely under my arm, trying to remember where Casuel had said he was going to be today. He could bespeak Usara, I decided. Usara would know where Livak was and what she was up to. Then I’d go back to the gatehouse and finish off that roster; I could at least take my leave of that duty on my own terms.

The Imperial Menagerie, Toremal 20th of Aft-Summer in the Third Year of Tadriol the Provident

You have a remarkable collection of animals.” Temar hoped this was the right thing to say, and more, that he didn’t sound as bored as he felt. Doubtless polite chitchat with the Emperor was a duty of his new rank but he’d rather be getting on with the five score and one things he had to organise before sailing back to Kel Ar’Ayen.

“Though it’s not quite what one expects in such a nicely Rational garden, is it?” The Emperor tossed a nut at a tiny, white-faced, copper-haired ape sitting quietly in the corner of a cage. It watched the treat land without visible change in its expression. “But it’s become rather a contest between the Houses, to send me some beast never before seen in Toremal, some exotic rarity bought from an Aldabreshin warlord or some hairy curio snared in the Great Forest.”

Temar looked at the morose little ape and it glared balefully back at him. “I will have to see what oddities Kel Ar’Ayen can offer.” Was that what was expected of him?

“That’s one rivalry with the Names on this side of the ocean that I think you could enter into without too much danger.” The Emperor bowed politely at two distant Demoiselles who were looking with interest into an aviary where brightly coloured songbirds flitted above lavishly tailed fowl scratching around the floor. “It’s almost certainly what people will imagine we’re discussing, which is why I asked you to meet me here.”

Temar looked around the gardens, seeing couples, young and old, sauntering between cages and enclosures, veils of lace drawn forward to shade sensitive skin from the sun and feathered fans busy in the heat.

“Some of those birds must be worth ten times their weight in gold, just for the plumes in their tails,” he commented.

The Emperor nodded. “We have the occasional break-in but we give mastiffs the run of the place after dark. It’s a shame we don’t still have wolves to let loose. That would keep the chancers out for certain!”

“You have no such larger beasts then?” Temar wondered when Tadriol was going to come to whatever point he was aiming for.

The Emperor chuckled. “It was a fashion in the days of Aleonne the Gallant for Houses to send the Emperor whatever beast they had on their badge. D’Olbriot sent a lynx, my forefathers a bull, that kind of thing.”

“At least a holm oak will not prove too difficult to catch,” Temar said with heavy humour.

“By all means send me one.” Tadriol waved a hand at a nearby tree laden with long, flame-coloured blossoms. “That was planted by Den Bruern, before they were subsumed into D’Olbriot. No, the whole game fell into disfavour when superstition started running rife. The Sieur Den Haurient died two days after the wolf he’d sent to be reared from a pup dropped dead, and then half the Esquires of Den Somaer drowned when their ship went down not ten days after a flock of their pheasants all died of some cough.”

“So everyone watched the health of their beast as if it were their own?” guessed Temar. Was there some hint he should be picking up in all this inconsequentiality? He really had more important things to do.

“Quite so.” The Emperor walked on, pausing to throw a nut into an apparently empty enclosure. A small furry animal Temar couldn’t identify darted out of a hole and vanished with its prize. “Then some rumour started about the Tor Leoreil fox barking at any woman who wasn’t a virgin and a handful of betrothals were broken off because of it. The final disaster was a wild boar D’Istrac sent down from Dalasor. Some Demoiselle or other tried to stroke it and it bit one of her fingers off.”

“How awful,” Temar said with feeling. He looked round the extensive garden. “There was a menagerie in the Old Palace. Castan the Shrewd drained the moat, planted it with grass and fenced it off into sections. Houses would send him wolves and bears as a sign of Tormalin might taming the wilds of Dalasor, so my grandsire told me.”

“There’s no record of that,” said the Emperor with some surprise.

“Lost in the Chaos, no doubt.” Temar smiled tightly. “Anyway there were no beasts left by the end of Nemith the Last’s fourth year on the throne. He wasn’t prepared to pay for their keep so he had all the animals set against each other in baiting contests.”

“The more I learn about that man, the more I loathe him,” remarked the Emperor.

“It did him no credit, even with his sycophants,” Temar nodded. “And he looked a fool more than once, like the time when nine lynxes refused to attack a bear.”

“That doesn’t surprise me.” The Emperor ate one of his own hazelnuts. “I’ve had Nemith the Last’s example held up as a warning since before I was out of soft shoes.”

“What need have you to learn about such a sorry specimen?” Temar wondered aloud.

“Every boy who might one day lead his Name is taught about Nemith’s reign. It’s an object lesson on how to bring the Empire to its knees by favouring one faction over another, by disregarding the dignity of the Houses, by plundering the wealth of the rich and paying no heed to the trade and labours of the poor that support us all.” The Emperor spoke with evident sincerity, not merely reciting the rote of his youth.

Temar walked along the path, feeling the sun hot on his back. “Kreve Tor Bezaemar cannot have paid much attention to the lesson.”

The Emperor sighed. “It’d have been better for him if he had. But I’ve no idea what notions dear Dirindal addled his wits with. He’s saying nothing to anyone, not to the Justiciar, not to his visitors, not to his jailers.”

“He will not escape justice, swear that much to me?” Temar caught the Emperor by the arm, courtesy be cursed.

Tadriol looked grim. “He’ll not escape. When the Justiciar has completed his enquiries, the Esquire Tor Bezaemar will face the fairest trial that Tormalin justice can display and thereafter the swiftest execution. Believe me, I’ve had my eye on Kreve, just as my father always suspected Dirindal of some collusion in his brother’s death. Our enquiry agents turn up something to make us suspicious every couple of seasons, but we’ve never’had anything that would stand the test of argument before the courts.”

“Thank you.” The words sounded inadequate to Temar but it was all he could find to say.

“No, thank you.” The Emperor started walking slowly. “That’s one of the reasons I asked you here today, to convey my gratitude. This whole sorry episode has offered me opportunities to do things it might have taken me ten years to achieve. Now I’ve the chance to be the kind of Emperor I want to be, the ruler my uncle would have been.”

“I do not understand,” Temar said cautiously. Now they’d finally reached the substance of this summons he was going to tread very carefully indeed.

“Think about it.” Tadriol stuck his hands in his breeches pockets as they walked. “In putting a stop to those quarrels by making Imperial decrees, I’ve shown everyone I’m no D’Olbriot puppet dancing on the throne while the Sieur stands behind and pulls my strings. That suspicion’s always been the price of his counsel.” He glanced at Temar. “I was chosen as Emperor over my elder brothers because they were already married and deemed too closely committed to their wives’ Names. That was a major concern to the Princes in the Convocation. On the other hand I was reckoned young enough to be easily manipulated, especially by those patrons used to giving the Emperor advice and seeing it taken without question. You’ll come up against attitudes like this sooner or later.”

“I believe I already have,” Temar said drily. He’d learned to expect two visits from any Name he hoped to deal with, one from Designates hopeful he was some simpleton to be gently duped, and one from their Sieurs to talk serious terms.

The Emperor smiled knowingly. “Later, in executing Kreve, I’ll show the commonalty and the merchantry in the plainest way possible that I’m not going to defend noble privilege from the consequences of its actions. That’s something you must take back to Kellarin with you, a sensibility to all your people, from highest to lowest.”

“I was raised in a tradition of far closer ties between noble and humble.” Temar thought he managed to swallow his indignation fairly well. Tadriol could learn a lot more from the Old Empire besides how not to make Nemith’s mistakes.

“I’m only trying to offer advice,” said the Emperor mildly. “My decrees have cut you off from D’Olbriot assistance and I’m concerned that’ll hamstring you. Another reason I asked you here today was to offer my help. Let me know if you need an unbiased appraisal of any House for example, some discreet assessment of merchants you intend dealing with. I understand D’Olbriot’s turned that chosen man of his loose but you’ll need other servants soon enough, especially ones you can trust to manage your affairs on this side of the ocean without you here to keep an eye on them. I can have a Justiciar make enquiries about anyone you’re thinking of swearing to your service.”

“My thanks again.” Temar’s gratitude was unfeigned this time. “I confess I do find the prospect before me daunting.”

“Almost as daunting as my acclamation to the throne, I don’t doubt.” Tadriol took a seat on a bench shaded by a broad-leaved tree. “In some ways, you and I have much in common.”

“Perhaps,” Temar said warily.

“So perhaps we can help each other as we go on,” suggested the Emperor with an innocent air. “Have you managed to retrieve all the artefacts you were seeking?”

“All but a handful, and we believe we know where those are to be found.” Temar couldn’t disguise his relief. “When we have everyone awakened, families reunited, Kel Ar’Ayen will be far better able to look to the future.”

“Good.” The Emperor’s warm approval was unfeigned. “I’ve been meaning to ask, did my ring turn out to be one you needed?”

“No, as it proved.” Temar was a little embarrassed to have to admit this.

The Emperor laughed. “It was a long-odds wager. That was the only heirloom I could find that was sufficiently old and obscure that people might believe it was from Kellarin.”

“I have it here,” Temar worked the heavy silver ring off his finger. “And we cannot thank you enough for that decree.”

“Don’t thank me too much.” The Emperor waved Temar’s offer of the ring away. “That whole business of enchantment, minds lost insensible among the Shades, it was giving me sleepless nights. More seriously, bickering over who held what gem or trinket had the potential to be highly divisive. There’s a lot disturbing the settled order that I can’t influence — new trade, new wealth, new ideas—but that was one wrangle I could settle. I’ll be honest with you, one of the reasons I’ll help you get Kellarin set fair for the future is to make sure your concerns disrupt life here as little as possible. We can afford to hand over jewels and trifles five times the value you’ve claimed; we cannot afford a tenth of this turmoil among the ruling Houses. Keep that ring to remind you.”

“And as a reminder of what we owe you?” ventured Temar.

“That too,” the Emperor agreed blithely. “And as token of my pledge to always deal honestly with you, even when semblance and gesture might run counter to reality. But you’ve unique assistance when it comes to determining truth from sham, haven’t you? I believe Demoiselle Tor Arrial can perform signal service in that regard.”

Here it came, Temar realised, the demand for payment. But wasn’t that how the world had always worked? And settling a debt of coin or honour set a man free, didn’t it? That wasn’t so bad, as long as the price was one Temar was willing to meet. “You’d appreciate some such service in return for all the help you’ve given us?”

“You’ve learned a great deal about the way Toremal works,” the Emperor approved. “Let’s just say I’d appreciate some of the Demoiselle’s time, so she can tell me just what Artifice might offer. I’d welcome a meeting with Demoiselle Guinalle if she ever visits these shores. Artifice held together a Tormalin Empire that reached from the ocean to the Great Forest, and while our boundaries are much reduced our affairs grow more complicated with every passing season. If an Emperor’s duties in your day were largely military my concerns are almost all to do with commerce. It’s my task to keep this great trading vessel on an even keel, balancing privilege and obligation, managing the conflicting interests of high and low alike. If you can offer me some means to help, I’ll owe you more than I can say.”

Temar looked into Tadriol’s eyes but saw nothing but sincerity. “I will discuss it with Avila and Guinalle,” he promised. “But I thought you did not like magic?”

“I don’t like wizards,” the Emperor said firmly. “But that’s a different matter entirely. It’s not their sorcery I mistrust, Saedrin be my witness, though the notion of people flinging handfuls of fire around certainly scares me. Any rational man would fear it. No, what I mistrust is wizards with political ambitions, that man Kalion for one, Hearth-Master or whatever he calls himself. He’s someone else you’d be wise to be on your guard against.”

“Kel Ar’Ayen needs the mages of Hadrumal,” said Temar soberly. “If the Elietimm attack, we will need their magic to defend us.”

“And if Ice Island ships turn up on our shores, I’ll be the one calling loudest for Planir to blast them to splinters with whatever wizardry he likes,” the Emperor agreed. “What I will not tolerate is any mage believing he can trade on that expectation for influence in Toremal’s affairs. Wizards were a factor in the Chaos and I won’t have them stirring the pot while I tend the fire hereabouts. I suggest you make the same thing clear in Kellarin.”

“I think Hadrumal will be looking to its own affairs for some while,” Temar said with some sadness. “Cloud-Master Otrick, one of their senior mages, has finally died from the enchantment that struck him down last year.”

“I’d heard something of that.” The Emperor fell silent for a moment. “Still, that’s the Archmage’s concern. You and I have our separate realms to manage on either side of the ocean. Shall we do what we can to help each other?”

Temar looked into the Emperor’s eyes again and saw an appealing honesty. “Yes,” he said simply.

The Southern Docks, Toremal 35th of Aft-Summer in the Third Year of Tadriol the Provident

I’d been rehearsing what I might say to Livak for the best part of half a season but every word left me when I saw her standing on the gangplank of the ship. Dast save us, what had happened to her hair? When I’d last seen her, just after Winter Solstice, it had been long enough to her shoulders for my mother to hint at fond hopes of plaiting it for a summer wedding. Now it was cropped close to her head and the vivid red was tawny with mottled blonde.

She saw me and came running, the single satchel that was all she ever seemed to need slung over one shoulder. I caught her in my arms and held her tight, burying my face in her shoulder and wishing I need never let her go. Then her bag swung round and caught me under the ribs with a solid thump.

“What have you got in there — bricks?” I set her back on her feet. “And what in Dastennin’s name happened to your hair?”

She grinned up at me. “Remind me to let Shiv know he owes me a gold Mark.”

I raised my eyebrows at her. “Why?”

“He said the first thing you’d ask about was my hair. Anyway, hello to you.”

“Hello.” I stood there, grinning foolishly. “And what did happen to your hair?”

“I had to lighten it, to pass for Mountain-born,” she said carelessly. She laughed. “Do you recall, when we first met in Inglis we were talking about hair and disguises when we were both trying to track the Elietimm?”

“Are you trying to change the subject?” I teased her.

“What do you want to talk about?” she countered.

“How was the voyage?” I knew better than most just how much Livak hated ships.

“Not so bad,” she said shortly.

“It’s just that I wanted you with me as soon as possible.” I felt a little guilty about not suggesting she make the shorter crossing to Caladhria and come the rest of the way overland. I’d have waited.

She smiled again. “I wanted to be here. It was worth a little queasiness.”

I took her hand and we walked along the dockside. The rope walk was busy now, runners back and forth rigging yarn between the posts, ropemakers sweating as they wound handles to turn cogs and ratchets round and round, twisting the strands of hemp round each other and back against themselves so that one trying to unwind would tighten all the others and so hold it twisted in turn.

“After all those polite conversations relayed by wizards I’d have expected you to have more to say than this, now we’re finally alone.” Livak tilted her head on one side and looked quizzically at me.

I laughed. “I could hardly promise you endless delights behind the bed curtains with Casuel passing on every word.”

“He might have learned a few things,” she commented caustically.

“Or died of shock. So what did you learn over this summer?” If we were going to swap comparative successes, she might as well go first.

“Try this for weight.” She handed me her bag and I felt a solid weight in the bottom that could only be coin. “That’s what I finally managed to chisel out of that skinflint Planir.”

“So you brought back aetheric lore?” I reminded myself that it was a good thing one of us had managed to satisfy a patron. “From the Forest or the Mountains? Was that song book all you hoped it might be?”

“We brought back a Mountain girl adept in their form of Artifice,” Livak said with that same evasion that was starting to make me suspicious.

“How did you manage that?”

She shrugged. “It’s a long story. I’ll tell you later, over some wine.”

“So I’ve got something to take the edge off the shock?” I slung her bag over my shoulder.

“Something like that,” she admitted, slipping her arm round my waist. “How was your summer? Have you made yourself indispensable to Messire? I’ve got lots to tell him about that song book and I’ll expect him to pay up handsomely.” Livak halted, looking up with concern in her green eyes. “Casuel told Shiv you’d performed signal service to the Emperor or some such?”

“I suppose that’s one way of putting it. It’s certainly been an eventful Festival.” I hugged her round the shoulders and we started walking again.

“What about the Sieur?” Livak persisted. “How much further up that ladder have you climbed?”

I took an abrupt breath. “I saved his life, him and Camarl, when ruffians hired by an enemy tried to kill them both.”

Livak’s expression brightened. “That must be worth a fair few Crowns.”

“He paid handsomely,” I assured her. “And handed me my oath back along with the gold.”

Livak’s arm dropped away and she turned to me, vivid eyes searching my face for any hint of my feelings. “He dismissed you? After you saved his fat neck? How dare he?” Her indignation warmed me.

“It’s a bit more complicated than that.” I heard a rueful note in my voice. “I’d been helping Temar find those artefacts of his, looking out for D’Alsennin interests. The Sieur decided I’d find myself forced to choose between D’Alsennin and D’Olbriot and didn’t want me backed into that corner.”

Livak snorted with contempt. “That sounds like a flimsy excuse.”

“It’ll hold long enough for me,” I assured her.

She looked at me for a long, considering moment. “You’re not angry? Hurt? Insulted?”

“I was, all of those things,” I sighed, “but I’m mostly relieved. And the Sieur was right, in some ways. Accepting chosen status, when all I really wanted was a way of turning service to the House into some means of securing us a future together—that wasn’t true to my oath. I was looking out for myself, not committing myself to the Name, and that’s not entirely honest.”

“Not at all honest when the price of loyalty’s no more than a bed and a full belly for nine men out often,” Livak mocked. Her voice turned serious. “But you didn’t foul the nest? You’re still on fair terms with the Sieur? If we’re thrown on our own resources we’ll certainly need him to pay what he owes me and I’d rather he handed over the coin himself.”

“Or you’ll go in through an upper window some dark night and find yourself a suitable settlement?”

“Something like that.”

I returned her mischievous smile but we both knew it wasn’t a joke. “I imagine the Sieur will see the logic of paying you your due,” I said drily.

Livak slid her arm through mine and we walked a little further along the quayside, pausing to let laden dockers pass, looking at the waiting ships with idle curiosity. The harbour was so close packed that we could barely see the water, the peaceful sea churned into a sandy green and dotted with flotsam.

“If we’re not taking the Sieur’s coin for the next few years, what are we going to do?” Livak gnawed her lower lip but she didn’t seem overly distressed at the prospect of freedom. “Is Charoleia still in town? She always knows how to double a Crown in no time.”

“We’ve had this conversation before,” I reminded Livak gently. “Whatever we do, wherever we go, I’m staying on the sunshine side of the law, and Charoleia’s just a little too fond of the shade for me.”

“Didn’t you like her?” Livak asked with narrowed eyes.

“I liked her well enough,” I said placatingly. Dast knows, I knew just how important Livak’s friends were to her. “And she was a tremendous help, to me and to Temar. It’s just that I don’t intend taking up her trade.”

Livak smiled broadly. “You’re not pretty enough for one thing.”

“You forgot to mention that, didn’t you? That she’s such a beauty?” I prodded Livak with an accusing finger. “Did you want to see if I’d fall down that bear-pit?”

“You gave that Aldabreshin woman what she wanted, didn’t you?” she challenged.

I managed an injured expression. “I was being a dutiful slave, doing as I was ordered.”

“You want to watch that tongue,” Livak commented. “If it gets any longer someone’ll hang you by it.” But she was smiling.

I drew her to me and kissed her soundly, ignoring a flurry of whistles and catcalls from appreciative dockers. I might have been tempted to a mistake with Charoleia, just for a few moments, but any man can mistake a thrush for a nightingale if he’s got other things on his mind. But he’ll never mistake a nightingale for a thrush, and now I had her in my arms I knew Livak was my nightingale. I might even tell her so, if I could find some words that wouldn’t have her laughing at me for a sentimental fool.

“Ryshad! Well met!” A familiar voice called to me and then faltered as Temar saw I was otherwise engaged.

“And good day to you.” Livak turned in my arms and waved to him, unconcerned.

I held her close, my arms beneath her breasts, her hands on mine. I leaned closer to her ear. “Temar on the other hand, fell right into Charoleia’s honey pot.”

She glanced up at me and opened her mouth on a question but Temar arrived before she could frame it. Allin was with him, her usually open face closed and weary.

“Hello.” Livak’s voice was warm with sympathy. “I don’t suppose it makes it any less hard to bear, but I’m so very sorry about Otrick.”

Allin’s face reddened. “He was always so nice to me.” She swallowed hard and didn’t seem able to go on.

I looked at Temar as he put a comforting arm round the lass’s shoulders. “How’s Velindre taking it?” The mage woman had been visiting every other day or so with a new chart or some alterations to an old one, offering advice on the winds and currents of the ocean deeps. I still hadn’t fathomed her game.

“She tells me she cannot take passage with us to Kel Ar’Ayen in the circumstances.” Temar smiled without humour. “She has to return to Hadrumal, since Planir no longer has any excuse to avoid appointing a new Cloud-Master—or Mistress.”

The notion that the Archmage might find himself too busy to interfere in our affairs wasn’t unwelcome as far as I was concerned.

“Are you going back to Hadrumal?” Livak looked at Allin.

The girl sniffed defiantly. “No. I’m going to Kellarin. I said I would and I’m going. I don’t care what Casuel says, I can be useful there.”

“You are always useful,” Temar told her with warm approval. “And I can settle Casuel’s objections.”

“How?” I was curious.

Temar grinned. “By telling him I’ve remembered that last D’Evoir he’s so keen to tie himself to had both sons and brothers. The man married into Den Perinal and his brothers took wives from Den Vaedra and Den Coirrael.”

“So by the time Cas looks up from whatever archives he can trace for those Names, your ships will be the barest memory of foam on the horizon,” I concluded. “Cas has ambitions to noble rank,” I explained to Livak, who was looking puzzled.

“Good luck to him,” she scoffed.

“Quite so.” Temar hesitated. “But if we want to set sail this side of For-Autumn I have a great deal to get shipped down to Zyoutessela and then carried over the portage way to the ocean harbour. Please excuse us.”

Livak and I stepped aside to let them pass, Temar absently taking Allin’s hand.

“I wonder how long it’ll take for those two to realise they really should be more than friends?” she mused.

“It depends whether or not he’s still got eyes for anyone else once he’s back with Guinalle,” I commented. “Allin’s a very minor moon to outshine her glamour. Though Charoleia’s little game certainly seems to have given him something to think about on that score.”

“Halice will make sure Temar notices Allin, if I ask her,” Livak said slyly. “And it’ll do that Guinalle no harm to have her nose put out of joint. If you sleep with a lad and then cast him off, you do it properly. Guinalle’s not playing fair by encouraging him to keep hoping when she’s no intention of taking him back. Usara’ll be only too glad to console her, anyway.”

I looked down at Livak. “Don’t you like Guinalle?”

“I barely know her.” She was unconcerned. “But she’s too much like certain wizards for my taste. Why does magical talent of any ilk make people think they’ve the right to tell other folk how to live their lives?”

“Temar’s not about to let Guinalle do that any more, not if the straight talking I heard him giving her the other day’s any indication.” I laughed. “Avila Tor Arrial was using Artifice to help him contact her and the enchantment nearly got away from her, she was so indignant.”

Livak frowned. “That’s the skinny old woman who always looks like she’s biting a sour apple?”

“She’s not so sour now,” I smiled. “And she’s not going back to Kellarin either, it seems. She’s staying here to look after D’Alsennin interests and, if I’m any judge, to be wooed by a certain Esquire Den Harkeil.”

But Livak’s thoughts were elsewhere. “Halice said she always found the Tor Arrial woman’s judgement pretty sound.” Which was high praise from Halice.

We walked on again and finally came to the end of the long stone-built quay. Below us the sea lapped on shelving sands where red-legged gulls picked over the line of weed and jetsam along the high-water mark.

For lack of anything more important to do, we stood there in close embrace while the busy life of the port went on all around us. Livak said something and I leaned back to lift her chin with one finger. “I don’t know how you ever expect me to hear anything, when you insist on talking into my shirt laces.”

She looked at me, new purpose in her emerald eyes. “We could go to Kellarin. We could be useful there, like the mage lass said.”

“We could,” I said slowly. That notion had already occurred to me, but I’d wanted to see how the land lay with Livak before suggesting it.

“Halice is there and I miss her,” Livak continued frankly. “I love Sorgrad and ’Gren like brothers, but it’s not the same. And you’re going to be wondering what D’Alsennin is up to wherever we are, aren’t you?”

I was about to protest then thought better of it. “True enough.” But I still wasn’t going to swear service to him. The Sieur was right; it was time to be my own man, and where better than in an untested land where no one knew me. I’d certainly had enough of the whispers that were scuttling after me in Toremal.

I looked more closely at Livak’s wide-eyed innocence. “And there’s something else?”

She smiled winningly. “You know this Mountain girl I mentioned? She was one of what Sorgrad calls Sheltya, Mountain Adepts in Artifice. She didn’t exactly come willingly, and it mightn’t be a bad idea to get an ocean between me and the rest of them.”

I tried and failed to stop myself laughing. “Let’s go home. I think you’d better tell me all about it.”