Dangerous Waters (57 page)

Close by the carriage, Lord Licanin and his personal guard were on their horses. A double handful of Halferan troopers were saddling up to join him, as grey-haired as Captain Arigo or as beardless as young Reven, struggling to soothe his nervous chestnut colt.

The rest of the Halferan guard, who’d yielded their horses to the night’s despatch riders, were joining the demesne’s men who’d returned from the outer defences. Armed with tools and farm implements, those yeoman and labourers were determined to redeem themselves, marching on either side of the cowering column of women and children. Those on foot would leave ahead of Zurenne’s carriage. Handcarts and the tithe barn wagons would follow, carrying those unable to walk. They would be guarded by the remaining Licanin horsemen.

Zurenne wondered how far they could possibly get. All the way to Karpis, or would they be cut to pieces before they had even passed the brook? That must surely depend on whatever this plan of the Archmage’s might be.

C
HAPTER
T
HIRTY-
S
IX

Halferan, Caladhria

10th of Aft-Summer

‘I
MUST HAVE
a clear view of the road ahead.’ Jilseth stood on the cobbles, looking up at Master Rauffe and his wife.

Abruptly, Zurenne couldn’t bear the thought of being shut away, unable to see whatever fate might befall them. ‘Mistress Rauffe, please ride inside and help Raselle with the children.’

Mistress Rauffe opened her mouth, closed it again and climbed down from the broad seat at the front of the carriage. Jilseth climbed up and settled her skirts around her.

Zurenne held out her hand to Licanin. ‘A blade, my lord, if you please. Lest the worst should befall us.’ He had a dagger sheathed at his waist along with his sword and another in a scabbard fixed to his saddle.

He unhooked the latter and handed it over without a word. With a nod of acknowledgement, Zurenne climbed up to join Jilseth at the front of the carriage. Reven would have come to help her but she waved him away.

‘Lord Licanin! The men must keep everyone tight together.’ Jilseth gestured at the ragged column ahead.

‘What happens now?’ Zurenne asked as she hooked the scabbarded dagger onto her chain girdle.

‘Since you’re here, you can hold this.’ The magewoman handed over a polished steel mirror which Zurenne belatedly realised was one of her own.

She fought to stop her hands shaking as she saw arcane scarlet magic swirling around the rim. It seemed she looked into some misty void of unimaginable depth. Yet she could see the sun’s reflection on the mirror. If she touched it, what would she feel? Metal or emptiness? She dared not try.

‘Jilseth? Wait for my word.’

Zurenne recognised the Archmage’s voice, distant and tinny.

‘What’s happening?’ she whispered.

‘The nexus—’ Jilseth paused. ‘That’s to say, four wizards of Hadrumal are working magic together to allow us to leave. They will create an illusion of Caladhrian cavalry come to relieve Halferan.’

‘An illusion?’ Zurenne couldn’t help interrupting. What good was that?

Even though she managed not to ask the question, Jilseth answered. ‘We need only to draw them away from the road that leads from the village to the gatehouse. Then the nexus will add an illusion of these defences holding while we are departing.’

‘The corsairs won’t see us?’ Zurenne found this incredible. She would have disbelieved it outright, if not for the conviction in Jilseth’s words. If not for the mirror shimmering with magic which she held in her hand.

‘That’s where I will do my part.’ Unnerving intensity hardened Jilseth’s hazel eyes. ‘I must sustain a veil of air to hide us until we’re well away.’

Could she truly do that? Zurenne longed to ask but dared not for fear of undermining the lady wizard’s resolve.

‘Lady Zurenne?’

Planir’s voice startled her so thoroughly she dropped the mirror into her lap. Clawing it back before it slid away, she saw the Archmage’s face framed in the crimson spell. He smiled at her.

‘Good day to you, my lady. Well, no, it’s hardly a good day in any sense. But all being well, we’ll see you and your people safely away from immediate harm.’

Before, Zurenne had found the Archmage’s self-assurance infuriating, along with his calm assumption of superiority. Now she clung to the hope which his confidence offered as surely as she gripped the mirror.

‘Thank you.’ What else was there to say?

‘Jilseth? Tell them to open the gates.’

The magewoman passed the order on to Lord Licanin. He ordered one of his men to carry it forward before bowing to both Zurenne and Jilseth. ‘My guard and I will bring up the rear, in case of attack. Reven, guard your lady with your life.’

‘I will.’ Taut with anxiety, the young trooper could barely bend his neck for a dutiful acknowledgement of his orders.

As the baron rode away towards the wagons, the Halferans guarding the gatehouse hauled the last of the barricades aside.

Zurenne could already hear a change in the roaring outside. A defiant note rose and yet it was fading at the same time. The corsairs closest to the gatehouse were indeed retreating. She could tell that without having to see.

How far away would they go? She stole a sideways glance at Jilseth, wondering if she dared ask. No, the magewoman’s face was taut with concentration, her eyes looking inward.

A blue haze hovered around the men and women reluctantly shuffling towards the opening gates. It was somehow similar if not as bright as the magic which had shut Zurenne out of Jilseth and the Archmage’s conversation. A shiver ran through the straggling line together with a rising murmur of unease.

‘Stand!’ From his place in their rearguard, Lord Licanin gave the order with absolute authority. ‘The lady wizard’s magecraft will protect us only provided we all stay within its bounds. As you hope to stand before Saedrin after a long and blessed life, you will do that, for your own sake and everyone else’s. When you are instructed, you will walk forward and stay as silent as an untouched drum, if you hope to see this day’s sunset!’

Did that mean the corsairs could hear them? Zurenne knew the well-tended hinges and the oiled locks would make little noise as the gate itself was opened but what of the heavy wooden bars dragged out of their sockets and brackets? What of the horses, the rumble of wheels from her carriage and the wagons, the crying children too young to understand why they must hush?

It was too late to ask such questions. Those gathered ahead were already moving. Master Rauffe looped the reins through his hands, encouraging the carriage horses with a subdued click of his tongue.

The day’s heat had not yet begun to strengthen. Even so, Zurenne was sweating before the carriage reached the shadows of the gatehouse arch. She cupped her hands around the mirror, trying to save it from the trembling wracking her body. She looked down into the swirling fiery magic. Planir had gone, leaving only that shifting mist.

The carriage emerged into the sunlight outside the walls. Zurenne stared into the empty mirror, feeling hollow with dread. What would she see on either side of the road if she dared to look? Could she bear to go on without knowing, even if their brutal death was approaching?

Her head snapped up before she was aware of making a decision. The demesne folk trudged on ahead, pressing as close together as sheep terrorised by wolves. Only now the wolves had been scattered by their own fears.

The corsairs had abandoned the gatehouse and the road leading to it. Some were falling back around the curve of the manor’s wall. Others were running across the pasture towards the abandoned village beyond the brook. The others were readying themselves to make a stand behind the scorched remnants of the hedgerows. Blades glinted evilly amid blackened stems threatening to lacerate any horse forced through the smouldering embers.

It was easy to see why they’d run. An array of armoured horsemen had emerged from the woodland beyond the junction marked by the barony’s gibbet, where the highway divided to head northwards or inland. The sun burnished their breastplates and helmets, vivid with coloured plumes alongside snapping pennants fixed to upright lances. They rode forward, stirrup to stirrup, at a slow, inexorable pace that struck Zurenne as more threatening than any galloping charge.

She could have wept with relief. Before she could make a sound, Jilseth’s hand clamped tight on her forearm.

‘It’s not real.’ The magewoman spoke through clenched teeth. ‘Your people cannot see it. They must not.’

Jilseth seemed to be appealing to someone else whom Zurenne could not see. Planir? She looked into the mirror but he was absent from the ruby magic.

It was soon clear to Zurenne that no one but herself and Jilseth could see this vision menacing the corsairs. Reven was riding beside them, one hand on his sword and the other gripping his saddle’s pommel to stop himself turning to see if they were pursued.

Master Rauffe only had eyes for their horses, fretting with displeasure at these people walking in front of them. He soon had the team in hand and the beasts drew the carriage onwards more steadily.

Zurenne twisted to look backwards until the last of the tithe barn wagons left the gatehouse behind. No one closed the gates after them. She felt the weight of her own keys dangling on their chain bump against the bruise on her shin. She hadn’t locked any doors. She hadn’t thought to in her haste. Tears pricked her eyes at the thought of her home left open to thieves and despoilers.

What did that matter, set in the balance against the lives of her precious daughters and her husband’s barony’s people? She drew a deep breath. Thus far they were making their escape, their pace steadily increasing. The marching men were even having to curb those furthest ahead. Some were all too ready to break into headlong flight.

‘They’re not getting any closer.’ Zurenne voiced a sudden realisation. The make-believe horsemen’s slow progress was as much of an illusion as their existence.

‘Who, my lady?’ Master Rauffe looked this way and that, his face abject with fear.

‘No one,’ Jilseth snapped.

‘You can see the illusion because you’re holding the mirror.’
Planir’s voice spoke calmly in Zurenne’s ear though his face was still absent from the vision.
‘Your steward cannot.’

Unsure what Master Rauffe would make of anything she said in reply, she simply nodded.

‘We don’t want the corsairs to think the troopers are close enough to be a threat,’
the Archmage continued.
‘If they attack and find they’re fighting a delusion woven of sorcery, the entire spell will be broken.’

Zurenne nodded again, less reassured. She could hear defiance swelling amid the corsairs’ shouts. How long would they wait, trying to provoke these supposed Caladhrian defenders into joining battle? How soon before the raiders would simply surge forward to attack, driven on by their unceasing lust for slaughter and plunder?

‘Are they getting over the walls?’ Jilseth demanded.

Zurenne twisted and squinted. The raiders were hanging back from this side of the manor and the gatehouse but there was no way for her to tell what might be happening on the far side. ‘I don’t know.’

‘The mirror,’ Jilseth reminded her. Zurenne held it up at once, understanding the lady wizard had no time for courtesies.

‘No, they’re not.’
Planir reassured them.
‘Galen has picked up your spells around the compound.’

Jilseth grunted by way of reply. ‘I believe I will be forced to drop this veil once we reach the road through the woodland.’

‘You must maintain it until the last of the wagons has reached the tree line.’
The Archmage’s face appeared in the mirror, merciless.
‘Then we can weave an illusion behind you of defences across the highway.’

‘Very well,’ said Jilseth doggedly.

How long would it take for them to reach that fragile hope of safety? The leafy green trees seemed to be getting no closer than the boldly deceptive troopers feigning that advance.