The Warrior's Bond (Einarinn 4) (3 page)

Temar ignored the last remnants of magelight fading from the gangplank as he hurried down to me. “Ryshad!”

“I thought we were going to be fishing you out of the rock pools.” I gripped his forearm in the archaic clasp he offered, noting that his fingers were no longer the smooth white of the idle noble but almost as weathered and calloused as my own.

His grip on my own arm tightened involuntarily and I felt the pressure of muscles hardened by work. “When that last wave hit, I did wonder if we would surface on some shore of the Otherworld. Dastennin be thanked we made landfall safely.” The accents of ancient Tormalin were still strong in Temar’s voice but I heard more modern intonations as well, mostly Lescari. I looked up to the ship to recognise various mercenaries who’d chosen to stay on the far side of the ocean after the previous year’s expedition had discovered the long lost colony of the Old Empire. They were getting the people off the vessel as fast as they could.

“Dastennin?” Casuel came up, frowning as he struggled to understand Temar. “Tell him he has modern magecraft to thank rather than ancient superstition.” Casuel had been born to a Tormalin merchant family and this wasn’t the first time I’d heard echoes of his Rationalist upbringing. It must cause him some confusion, I thought with amusement, since that philosophy denounces elemental magic just as readily as it reviles religion.

“Casuel Devoir, Temar D’Alsennin,’ I made a belated introduction hastily.

“Esquire.” Casuel swept a bow worthy of an Emperor’s salon. “Your captain was relying on his own seafaring skills? I thought it was clearly understood an ocean crossing can only be safely managed with magical assistance.”

“Quite so.” Temar bowed in turn with a deference to the wizard nicely combined with hauteur. “And one of your colleagues was performing admirably until he took a fall that broke both his legs.” Fleeting disdain in Temar’s ice blue eyes gave the lie to the measured politeness of his words. He indicated a figure being carried down the gangplank by two burly sailors, injuries solidly splinted with spars and canvas.

“I’m sorry?” Casuel spared his injured colleague a scant glance. “Please speak more slowly.”

I decided to turn the conversation to less contentious matters. “When did you cut your hair?”

Temar ran a hand over the short crop that replaced the long queue I’d last seen him with, hair as black as my own but straight as a well rope. “Practicality is now the watchword of Kel Ar’Ayen. Fashion is a luxury we cannot yet afford.” I was glad to see a smile of good-humoured self-mockery lightened the severity of his angular features.

“We’d better get this lot under lock and key, Temar, over yonder.” I pointed to the warehouse I’d bespoken when we first arrived in Bremilayne. Sodden sacks and battered casks were being swung on to the dock in capacious slings, stacked anyhow as everyone hurried to lighten the stricken vessel. I caught an avid expression on more than one onlooker’s face.

“I will direct the men aboard ship.” Temar returned to the gangplank without further ado.

“I’d better see to whoever that mage is,“ Casuel said hastily as he watched the injured man being lifted on to a litter.

“Absolutely.” Casuel could deal with wizardly concerns and I’d see to my own responsibilities. Noticing D’Olbriot insignia on the cloak of a thickset new arrival by the lofty warehouse, I hurried over and ushered the man inside the shelter of the echoing building, speaking without preamble.

“This arrival’s going to be the talk of the taverns, so who do we have to secure the place if the wharf rats come sniffing around?” I ran fingers through my hair to shed the worst of the rain, damp curls clinging tight to my fingers.

“I’ve a double handful of newly recognised and four sworn and loyal.” The man’s grizzled and wiry hair ran unbroken into a full beard framing a prominent nose and bulbous eyes, leaving him looking like an owl peering out of an ivy bush. “Sorry we’re so behind hand. We’d have been here day before yesterday if a horse hadn’t gone lame.”

“It’s Glannar, isn’t it, from the Layne Valley holdings?” His rich, rolling voice helped me place him, sergeant-at-arms to those most isolated holdings of the House of D’Olbriot.

The man’s face creased into a ready grin. “You’ve the advantage of me. I recall you came up when we had that trouble in the shearing sheds but I can’t put a name to you.”

“Ryshad.” I returned his smile. “Ryshad Tathel.”

“Done well by the House, I hear,’ Glannar observed with a glance at the shiny copper circling my upper arm. He spoke with the self-assurance of a man who’d earned chosen status long enough since to let his own arm ring grow dull with the years.

“No more than staying true to my oath.” I kept my tone easy. Glannar was only making conversation, not fishing for secrets or better yet salacious detail, like some I’d met since half-truths about my adventures in the Archipelago had escaped Messire’s orders for discretion. “You’ve got your lads well drilled?” I’d spent my share of time training raw recruits with wits blunter than a plough handle.

Glannar nodded. “They’re lead miners’ sons, all bar one, so won’t stand any nonsense. We’ll keep this lot safe as a mouse in a malt heap.”

“Good.” I turned my head as the great doors swung open to let a row of wet and laden dockers enter. I curbed an impulse to shed my cloak and make myself useful; getting my hands dirty wouldn’t have been appropriate to my shiny new rank or to Glannar’s consequence as sergeant-at-arms hereabouts. So I watched as he sent the sworn men about their business with brisk gestures. They in turn were visibly diligent in organising the recognised men, lads newly come to the service of the House, on the lowest rung of the ladder and keen to prove themselves worthy of invitation to swear the oath binding them to D’Olbriot interests.

I watched the well-muscled youths set to with a will. I’d sworn that same ancient oath with fervent loyalty and believed in it with all my heart until the events of the last year and a half had shaken my faith to its roots. I had come within a whisker of handing back my oath fee and abandoning my allegiance to the Name, believing the House had abandoned me. Then reward had been offered, the rank of chosen man as recompense for my anguish, and I had taken it, more than a little uncertain but not sure enough of my other choices to abandon what I’d known for so long. But I had taken other obligations on myself as well, where once my oath had left no room for other loyalties.

Glannar’s genial commands rang to the rafters behind me as I went out. The rain was slackening but the sky stayed grey and sullen. About as sullen as Casuel, who was standing in the meagre shelter of the dockside hoist being addressed by a tall figure wrapped in a bright blue cloak. I let a burdened sled scrape past over the cobbles before making my way over.

“Ryshad Tathel, this is Velindre Ychane, mage of Hadrumal.” Casuel looked as if he were sucking a lemon. “Her affinity is with the air, as you’ve no doubt guessed. It was her on the other ship.”

“My lady.” I bowed low. “We are deep in your debt.” I doubted Casuel had shown any gratitude but the House of D’Olbriot owed this woman a full measure of thanks, and for good or ill I was its representative here.

“It’s lucky you were there,’ chipped in Casuel.

“Luck had nothing to do with it.” She made a plain statement of fact out of words that could so easily have been arrogance, rebuke or both. “I’ve been making a study of the air currents off the Cape of Winds this past half-year. When I heard Esquire D’Alsennin would arrive around the middle of the season, I decided to work our way up the coast. I scried his ship as well as the likely impact of the storm and thought it best that we make landfall together. Given Urlan’s accident, it’s as well we did.” She addressed me directly, leaving Casuel tugging impatiently at the ties of his cloak. Her voice was low and a little husky, as self-assured as her stance. For all her Mandarkin name, the regular accents of Hadrumal were unshaded by any older allegiance and I guessed she had been born on that distant, secretive island.

“You want to meet Temar? Esquire D’Alsennin, that is?” This was setting a new piece on a game board already well into play. I’d want to know more about this unknown lady before letting her loose among the complex concerns of the colony and the House I served, whatever Casuel might have to say about the unquestioning cooperation a mage was entitled to as of right.

“When he has leisure from more pressing matters.” Velindre’s smile lent a sudden feminine air to her almost mannish features. She would never be considered a beautiful woman but her striking appearance would halt any eye and that impact would outlast more conventional charms. A few wisps of fine blonde hair escaped the confines of her hood and she brushed them away from pale lashed hazel eyes. “So you are Ryshad,’ she mused. ‘I’ve heard a lot about you.”

I decided to match her directness. “From whom?”

“Initially, from Otrick.” As she spoke sadness seemed to darken the heavy storm clouds above us. “Latterly from Troanna.”

“What has Troanna to do with your studies?” Casuel was fidgeting from one foot to another anxious lest someone else’s manoeuvrings escape him.

“She’s been keeping me supplied with all the news from home, Cas,” answered Velindre easily. “Shall I tell her you were asking after her?”

Casuel blinked, caught off balance. I’ve yet to fully understand the formal and informal ranks and authorities of the wizards of Hadrumal, the ill-defined and often overlapping functions of their Council and their Halls, but I knew enough to know Casuel wouldn’t want the acerbic wit of Troanna, acknowledged as pre-eminent in water magic, sharpened up at his expense. If Cloud-Master and Flood-Mistress kept her informed, Velindre had powerful friends.

“How might Esquire D’Alsennin be of assistance?” I asked politely.

Velindre smiled again. “He’s crossed the ocean and sailed unknown shores with currents and winds that no mage has ever sensed. No wizard ever passes up the chance of new knowledge.”

Which was certainly true, but if that was the whole story I was a Caladhrian pack mule.

“I’ll see if we can accommodate you,” said Casuel with fussy self-importance.

Velindre’s eyes hardened, and I thought for a moment she was about to challenge his pretensions, but a new arrival spared him any rebuke.

“Mage Devoir.” The newcomer bobbed a nervous curtsey that edged the hem of her rose pink dress with the muck of the dockside.

“Allin?” Casuel sounded both surprised and displeased.

“You’re entitled to call him Casuel, just like anyone else,” said Velindre drily. “So how is Urlan?”

The girl Allin looked up, blushed and dropped her gaze to study her folded hands intently. “Both legs are broken and the bosun was saying he’d seen splinters of bone through the skin of his right shin. He’s been taken to the infirmary at the shrine.” Where Velindre was scarcely shorter than me, Allin barely came up to Casuel’s shoulder. Even allowing for the heavy cape bunched round her, I guessed her figure would be as round as her plain snub-nosed face. But her boot-button eyes were bright with intelligence and good nature, attributes lacking in many a prettier girl.

“Do you have lodgings arranged?” I asked.

“The man from the shrine said we could probably stay there as well.” The girl peeped up at me from beneath her dun-coloured fringe. Her Tormalin was fluent but of unmistakable Lescari origin.

“If there’s any difficulty, refer it to me. We’re in the upper guest house,” said Casuel officiously.

“We’ll join you there for dinner.” Velindre turned on her heel with a final smile and before Casuel could shut his protesting mouth her long stride took her out of earshot.

“So who’s she?” I asked the wizard.

Outrage was slow to fade from his well-made features. “Velindre is a mage of some standing in Hadrumal but she’s always claimed to prefer focusing on her studies rather than engaging herself with the wider concerns of wizardry.”

I wondered just where the sneer in his tone was directed but decided his prejudices weren’t worth pursuing. “So she hasn’t been privy to any of Planir’s intrigues over the last year or so?”

Casuel bridled. “I hardly think intrigue is the right word for the necessary care Planir takes of Hadrumal’s interests.”

“Could you bespeak the Archmage, please? To let him know she’s here and apparently interested in the colony.” I made my request with a politeness calculated to soothe Casuel’s ruffled feathers.

“I was intending to do so, naturally.” Of course Casuel had been planning to tell Planir about Velindre; telling tales was another dame-school habit I’d observed in the man over the past half-year. “I wonder if he knows Troanna’s been in touch with her.”

“Shall we do it now? Planir might have an opinion on Velindre’s reasons for being here, and he’ll certainly want to know what’s happened to Urlan.” I wanted all my birds in a row before I encountered Velindre again and there was little enough for me to do here.

“Yes, I should see what news the Archmage has for us, shouldn’t I? Let’s get out of this rain.” Those notions sent the wizard scurrying eagerly up the hill, clutching the hood of his cloak tight beneath his handsome chin.

Once we were back in the guest house chamber he’d appropriated as a study, Casuel set about his wizardry. I’d seen him work various spells over the last season or so, and, oddly, he was at his least objectionable when working magic. The wizard took a seat at the table, setting a steel mirror on the table with a candle before it, lighting the wick with a snap of his fingers and a flourish of the lace at his cuffs. He laid his hands flat on the chestnut wood, eyes fixed unblinking on the reflected flame of the candle

I sat in a corner, content to watch and listen; Casuel could do the talking. What I wanted was Planir, who presumably had the power to curb this Velindre, told of her arrival here, just in case she had some private ambition that might threaten all I was working for. I had no reason to suspect her, but then again no reason to trust her. I didn’t particularly trust Planir either, having suffered the charming ruthlessness of Hadrumal’s Archmage on my own account, but I knew he would always defend his own interests and for the moment those marched in step with mine and those of the House of D’Olbriot.