The Warrior's Bond (Einarinn 4) (45 page)

“Master Mage.” Avila rounded on Casuel, who was examining the lamentably empty coffer. “You will have to keep watch on Firon Den Thasnet. He is stupid enough to be indiscreet.”

The wizard’s jaw dropped. “Me?”

“Who else?” demanded Avila. “You were put at my disposal and that is what I wish you to do. The Sieur’s orders for everyone else were plain enough and you will have your elemental talents to assist you.”

“You’re the best man for the job, Casuel,” I pointed out. “No one knows your face, unlike me and Temar.”

“But how am I supposed to find him?” protested the mage. “It’s Festival, he could be anywhere in the city!”

“Scry for him,” said Avila briskly. “That is the correct term, I believe. Or do you need me to use my arts?”

“No, no,” said Casuel with ill grace. “I can manage that.”

“But what of the artefacts?” Temar began pacing in front of the fireplace. “You cannot believe that fool of a Den Thasnet will simply lead Casuel straight to the thieves?”

“No,” agreed Avila, unperturbed. “But I want to know to whom he speaks and, if possible, of what. I refuse to believe all this is just happenstance. If we can track some part of this malice back to its source, perhaps we can put a stop to the whole. Your magic enables you to listen from a distance, wizard, does it not?” That wasn’t a question; Avila had clearly been keeping her eyes open around the mages Planir sent to Kellarin.

Casuel coloured slightly beneath her searching gaze. “Technically, yes, but there are ethical considerations—”

“Take your scruples to Planir, when you ask if he has learned any lore that might help our search. Then apply yourself to Den Thasnet. I will contact Guinalle through Artifice,” she continued, oblivious to Casuel’s outraged expression. “Then, if I can get the Sieur’s permission, I will ask that thief some questions myself. Artifice can loosen an unwilling tongue where threats prove ineffective.”

“No, my lady. That is, Temar—” Nausea thickened in my throat as I recalled the Elietimm enchanter searching my memory, breaking open cherished recollections, scattering hopes and fears to be crushed beneath brutal sorceries. Bluffing a man with fast talking and Temar’s modest skills was one thing, truly setting Artifice on the man was quite another.

“I beg your pardon?” Avila looked at me in astonishment. Behind her I could see Temar looking aghast, frantically signalling me to silence.

“Only if there’s no other way,” I amended my protest hastily. “Word would be bound to get out and with the prejudice there is against magic, the notion that Artifice forced a man to talk—forgive me but most people would find that repellent. If Artifice is to rise above popular prejudice about magic—”

“Ryshad Tathel, let me tell you—”

A knock at the door saved me from the wrath building in Avila’s face. Dolsan Kuse stuck his head into the room and looked at Temar. “Excuse me, but Esquire Camarl’s valet is looking for you and he’s not in the best of tempers.”

“Camarl or the valet?” asked Temar sarcastically, but he was already on his way to the door. I followed him, bowing to Avila but avoiding her eye.

“Very well, go on, all of you,” she said ominously. “Do not come back until you have something of use to report. No, Ryshad, on second thoughts, wait.”

I halted reluctantly. “Demoiselle?”

“I want to see that hand.”

I walked over to her slowly, undoing the bandage as I went. “It’s not so bad.”

“Nonsense,” she said tartly. “And there is neither virtue nor heroism in suffering unnecessary pain, my lad.” She held my hand between her palms, flat above and below, crossways in an oddly formal gesture. Her eyes softened and she seemed to be staring right through me as she whispered a soft incantation under her breath. A chill ran down my back as I heard echoes of ancient rhythms in the arcane syllables.

My arm and hand grew warm, not painfully but with the unmistakable, unnatural thrill of magic. A tingling throbbed briefly deep within my arm, as if I had slept crooked on it, waking to blood reawakening protesting flesh. I waited with growing dread for whatever shock of enchantment all this heralded.

But all that happened was the slow evaporation of the aching tenderness that had been catching me unawares with sharp jibes of pain all morning. The tingling sensation faded to nothing and the heat in my knuckles subsided to no more than a healthy glow, as if I’d been working the hand sparring. I looked down as Avila released me with a satisfied nod. The bruising had faded to no more than a faint discoloration and all the swelling was gone. I picked at the redundant stitches with a curious fingernail. Anyone would have sworn the cut was ten days healed.

“The Sieur’s surgeon can take those out,” Avila instructed.

“Thank you,” I managed to say with a fair degree of composure.

“When we have leisure, we must discuss your own prejudices about aetheric magic, never mind those of the populace,” Avila said softly, her eyes searching mine.

“I had better go,” said Temar from the threshold. “I’ll come and find you when I get back.” Casuel hovered, unable to decide if he could go or stay.

“Is there something else?” Avila settled herself at the table. “If not, I will contact Guinalle.”

“Come on, Casuel.” I ushered the wizard out of the room and shut the door firmly behind us.

“We have perfectly effective healing magics in Hadrumal, you know,” he said with faint envy.

“I’m sure you do.” I realised I was rubbing the healed knuckles into my other palm and stopped. “But do you have anything to find the stolen artefacts?”

“What exactly did she do? What did you feel?” Casuel was still looking at my hand so I shoved both in my breeches pockets.

“She stopped it hurting, which is good enough for me. Hadn’t you better bespeak Planir? Find out what he suggests—and find out if Livak’s discovered anything useful on her travels.” I spared a moment for a fleeting regret that I hadn’t gone with her. A summer spent peaceably tramping through forests and mountains would surely have been preferable to all this confusion.

Casuel sniffed and stalked off down the corridor, back stiff with indignation. I watched him go then went off to make myself unpopular with the men I’d so recently been serving with. In some lights, this new rank was starting to look a rather tarnished prize.

The D’Olbriot Residence,

Summer Solstice Festival, Fourth Day, Morning

Casuel walked slowly up to his bedchamber, so absorbed he quite neglected to bow to an elegant Demoiselle hurrying down the stairs. Shocked at the realisation he turned full of obsequious apology, but all he saw was a retreating head bright with a jewelled net encasing coiled braids. The girl had taken no more notice of him than of the maid on the landing below, a mere servant with arms full of linen and head empty of anything.

Goaded by complex dissatisfaction, Casuel locked his door behind him and picked up the bedside candle. He snapped his fingers at the wick, feeling little of the usual thrill at bending inert substance to his bidding. As he set the flame in front of his small mirror, he forced the burnished metal to submit, to reflect the image he wanted rather than the room around him. What Prince of Toremal could do as much, he thought. What Emperor? Constraints of distance were nothing to those who could manipulate the very elements of the physical world. Hearth-Master Kalion was right; such power deserved due recognition. He deserved recognition, him, Casuel D’Evoir.

An image snapped across the surface of the mirror as answering magic bolstered Casuel’s own. “Yes?” Planir looked up from tending a crucible on a charcoal stove. “Oh, it’s you. Good morning.”

“These people have no notion of courtesy to a mage,” Casuel spoke without thinking. “How can they, when they don’t meet a true wizard from one year’s end to the next?”

“Is there some reason you’re disturbing me to tell me this?” The Archmage stirred the contents of his pot with a metal rod.

Casuel missed the warning note in Planir’s distant voice. “No one in Toremal thinks a mage is any more than these tricksters Velindre’s wasting her time with.”

Planir set down his rod with a rattle striking a faint echo from Casuel’s mirror. “You’ve something to say about Velindre?”

Casuel looked surprised. “No, not as such. Just that she’s doing herself no credit chasing round the city after every charlatan who claims the least sniff of an affinity.”

“Then perhaps you’ll wait until you do have something to tell me before you bespeak me again.” Planir’s displeasure came ringing through the shining metal.

“Oh, no, Archmage, I’ve plenty to tell you.” Casuel hesitated. “Well, quite a lot. Messire D’Olbriot faced an array of accusations before the Imperial Court yesterday. That’ll tie him up in argument until Equinox at least, the other senior Esquires of the House too, probably. Four other Names are claiming rights in Kellarin, there’s been argument to declare D’Alsennin’s House extinct, and someone or other has raised accusations of bad faith against D’Olbriot, using an advocate claiming to be a friend of the court.”

“Then find out who’s behind it and let me know,” Planir said in exasperation. “D’Olbriot defeated before the Imperial Court would have appalling consequences! It’s been hard enough convincing Guliel and Camarl we’re not all overbearing autocrats like Kalion, and they’re the most open-minded nobles we could find. We have to have Tormalin cooperation over Kellarin, Cas, never forget that.”

“It’s Kellarin I wanted to mention,” said Casuel reluctantly. “You know those artefacts, the ones D’Alsennin somehow managed to find—”

Planir raised a hand. “The ones Allin Mere helped him find? Which wouldn’t have been recovered without her quick thinking?”

“Yes.” Casuel’s lips narrowed. “Well, they’ve managed to lose them, D’Alsennin and Ryshad. Thieves took the lot last night.”

The ochre light of the spell flared for a moment, heat palpable on Casuel’s face. Planir’s words were lost, but when the disturbance cleared Casuel could see the crucible beside him had cracked to spill molten metal over the slate-topped table.

“What are you doing to find them?” Planir demanded. “We’ve pledged ourselves to support Kellarin. We may well need their Artifice against the Elietimm, don’t ever forget that!”

“Allin didn’t think to familiarise herself with the actual artefacts,” stammered Casuel. “They didn’t take the box, so she can’t scry for that—”

“Did you make any study of the items?” asked Planir sharply.

“I wasn’t able to,” said Casuel hurriedly. “Demoiselle Tor Arrial sees such things as her business and no one else’s.”

“Has she any aetheric means of finding the thieves?” Planir looked forbidding. “Is there any hint that the Elietimm are involved?”

“Demoiselle Tor Arrial says no one’s using Artifice in the city.” Casuel was relieved to have something definite to say. “She’s no way to trace the thieves herself but she’s contacting Demoiselle Guinalle. I was wondering if Usara had found any lore among the Forest Folk that might help, or something from the Mountain Men? The book that girl of Ryshad’s fussed over had ballads about following lost trails, didn’t it?” he added hopefully.

“The book you gave so little credence?” Planir smiled for an instant before his face turned grim. “No. There are some interesting leads for Mentor Tonin and his scholars to pursue, but nothing of any immediate use.”

“A shame,” said Casuel, trying to quell an inner satisfaction.

“Quite,” said Planir dryly. He looked at Casuel, and even as a small image reflected in magic his eyes were uncomfortably piercing.

“Doesn’t Master Tonin have some means of identifying Kellarin artefacts?” Casuel asked hastily.

The Archmage shook his head. “He can pick them out of an array of unenchanted objects, but only if they’re to hand.”

A tense silence fell. “Perhaps Guinalle will have some aetheric magic to find them,” Casuel repeated hopefully. If she did, he’d be the one giving the good news to Planir, wouldn’t he? He would be suitably gracious to Usara when he had occasion to mention how much more use he had been to the Archmage.

“Perhaps and perhaps not. What are you doing in the meantime?” Planir demanded.

“I’ve an idea who might be behind this,” said Casuel rapidly. “There’s a scion of Den Thasnet I’ve my eye on. I was going to send Ryshad to follow him but I’d better do it myself. Obviously, as a rule I wouldn’t dream of using magic to eavesdrop, but I think in these circumstances it’s permissable?” He looked hopefully at the Archmage.

“Your high-mindedness does you credit,” Planir remarked with a flatness that made Casuel wonder if his spell was faltering. “Be discreet.”

The mirror blinked to emptiness and Casuel looked blankly at it for a moment. He set his jaw, pleased to see the well-bred resolution in his reflection.

He poured water from the ewer into the basin on his washstand. This was an excellent opportunity to be of service both to D’Olbriot and to the Archmage, he realised with growing pleasure. D’Alsennin and Tor Arrial would be grateful as well when Casuel proved Den Thasnet was their enemy. Both Houses might have limited standing at present, but with the riches of Kellarin backing them the future was looking promising.

Casuel poured a little ink into the water and absently summoned emerald radiance to suffuse the bowl. A new notion warmed him. As and when D’Alsennin succeeded in reviving his long-extinct Name, Casuel would have an excellent precedent to argue before the Court of Prerogative when the time came for him to resurrect the House of D’Evoir.

But first he had more immediate matters in hand, he reminded himself hastily. He drew on his memory of Firon Den Thasnet, projecting his recollection of the uncouth stripling’s sneering face into the ensorcelled water. An image coalesced in the green-shaded obscurity, clearing to show the youth reclining on a daybed in a conservatory.

Casuel looked down on Firon. There’d be none of this contempt for wizardry when even Names like Den Thasnet had to acknowledge D’Evoir, seeing a mage of indisputable noble rank was an ally of the Archmage, a confidant of men such as Hearth-Master Kalion.