Darkening Skies (The Hadrumal Crisis) (55 page)

Before Hosh could breathe any sigh of relief, Anskal looked down at him with the same cold eyes. ‘You would do well to remember that too.’

‘What—?’ Grewa’s apprehension and frustration prompted him into an unwise step forward. A ruck in the sand nearly tripped the blind man. ‘Molcho?’ he bellowed.

‘Here.’ Anskal opened his hands and dropped the old corsair’s amulet. Lithe as a live creature, the chain looped itself around Hosh’s neck.

Grewa gasped, clasping at his empty eye sockets with clawed fingers.

‘This boy’s gaze will suffice for the moment,’ Anskal said sternly. ‘I may give you the services of one of your chosen once you have proved to be my friend. Until then I prefer to know that you are keeping no secrets from me.’

Hosh couldn’t help seizing the amulet, ready to rip it upwards and over his head. Except that he couldn’t. As his fingers closed around it, his entire hand and arm numbed. The chain slithered, tightening against the sides of his neck. Within half a breath he felt lightheaded and sick.

Anskal bent to tug the silver and turquoise trinket from Hosh’s nerveless grasp. ‘That is not your choice to make,’ he reproved unnecessarily.

As Hosh swallowed his nauseating dizziness, he saw Grewa’s blind gaze turned eerily towards him. Was he now truly bound to follow the old corsair everywhere and doubtless to report whatever he saw and heard to Anskal? The horror of that prospect nearly made him vomit.

Worse, what if Molcho or Grewa knew of some way to confound the wizardry keeping the cursed thing around his neck? Would killing him do it?

The corsair captain had managed to sit up. ‘As you say,’ he growled, ‘all power of life and death on this island belongs to you.’

‘Very well.’ Anskal was pleased. ‘Then let us find some refreshment and discuss how we might work together to our mutual advantage. How you might earn the return of these.’ He tucked Molcho’s tangled gold chains’ links into his own pocket.

The amber magelight binding the raider’s ankles vanished.

‘Up,’ Anskal chided Hosh.

Magic dragged him to his feet. ‘Must I—?’

‘You will stay with them.’ Anskal’s voice echoed oddly in Hosh’s ears. Seeing bemused expression among the mageborn, he realised that no one else could hear the mage, though they could surely see Anskal’s lips moving.

‘You will tell me everything that they say when I am not present.’

‘Of course.’

Amid his wretchedness, Hosh could only hope that Molcho and Grewa would easily see his role as Anskal’s spy and take care not to betray themselves.

He looked up at the beached galley and beyond to the trireme. Just as long as someone else didn’t come to the two corsair leaders with some news or a scheme that would mean they had to kill him, forcing them to accept the reversed rune of Grewa’s blindness for the sake of keeping their true plans from Anskal.

C
HAPTER
T
HIRTY

The Terrene Hall, Hadrumal

35th of For-Autumn

‘C
AN YOU MAINTAIN
the scrying?’ Jilseth asked urgently.

Nolyen nodded. ‘Go on.’

Jilseth withdrew her hands from the sides of the bowl and concentrated on clearing her wizardly senses of all engagement with water.

She hurried to her fireplace. As she took a wooden spill from the jar on the mantel, it bloomed with scarlet flame. As she took a polished metal mirror from her skirt pocket a crimson speck in the centre spread into a swirling spell. ‘Archmage?’

‘
A moment.
’

Jilseth had barely glimpsed Planir’s study before the bespeaking vanished like a burst bubble.

‘What have you seen?’ The Archmage stepped out of the emptiness behind Nolyen’s chair to peer over the mild-faced wizard’s shoulder.

‘Archmage?’ Jilseth wanted to ask about the glimpse she had caught of Planir’s sitting room. Troanna, Rafrid and Kalion had all been there and judging by their expressions, the conversation had been heated.

Planir looked up from the scrying bowl to offer her a brief smile before glancing at the window. Wet from an earlier rain shower, the ivy leaves stirred by the breeze were gilded by the setting sun. All too soon, Jilseth knew, it would sink behind the roofline and shadows would thicken around the courtyard.

The Council bell tolled.

‘Archmage?’ Emerald light flared to cast uncanny reflections under Nolyen’s chin.

‘You may release your spell.’ As the magic evaporated leaving only the faintest perfume in the air, Planir looked from the younger mage to Jilseth and back again.

‘I may need you to bear witness to the Council as to what you have seen. That is my summons,’ he added.

Nolyen had no hesitation. ‘What do you want us to say, Archmage?’

Planir spread his hands. ‘The truth, no more, no less.’

He was striding for the door before Jilseth could frame a more meaningful question.

Nolyen was already rising to follow the Archmage. ‘What are you waiting for?’

Since Jilseth had no answer to that, she let Nolyen go through the door and pulled it closed behind her.

Despite the dusk gathering in the courtyard, she could see the faces at surrounding windows. Planir’s swift steps echoing across the flagstones had caught their curiosity. Now those onlookers were studying her and Nolyen.

She could imagine the questions running through the watchers’ minds. The same questions that had been bandied about Hadrumal’s wine shops for days now, running the length of the wizard city’s high road.

When would the impasse between the Archmage and the Council be broken? Who would be the one to break the deadlock? What would the outcome be for Hadrumal?

They would know soon enough. Doubtless half the council members would head straight to inform their favoured companions once this evening’s meeting concluded.

She caught up with Nolyen as he passed beneath the outer courtyard’s arch into the alleyway.

It came as no surprise to her that Planir took the swiftest route through the narrow ginnels running between and behind the high-walled halls to reach the irregular square in front of the Council chamber.

Jilseth was rather more interested to note how warmly the Archmage was greeted by two mundane born hall servants coming along the alley. Who, judging by their curious looks at her and Nolyen, were used to finding their humble paths customarily free of the mageborn.

Swift as they were, wizards were already assembling around the chamber door. Not only Council members. Jilseth could see a good number of mages who had no official reason to answer the bell’s summons. Were they here with some argument or encouragement for those about to enter the debate, whatever that might prove to be? Or simply looking for more entertainment than sitting at a dinner table with their friends or on either side of a fireplace, swapping tales of a customarily arduous day.

She looked for the Element Mistress and Masters. If any of the three arrived with a coterie of Council members, that would surely be significant.

‘There’s Troanna.’ Nolyen looked apprehensive.

‘Ely is with her.’ Jilseth wondered what that might signify.

‘Galen is with Kalion,’ Nolyen observed without surprise, ‘and a good double handful of others,’ he added, rather more concerned

Were there any Hall Masters or Mistresses among the Hearth Master’s allies? Jilseth tried to see but she couldn’t identify half the glimpsed shoulders and turning heads amid this throng. She had entirely lost sight of Planir.

‘Let’s go into the chamber.’

As the mages of Council rank climbed the short flight of stairs, the hum of speculation rose to a deafening pitch beneath the shallow drum of the roof vault. Jilseth’s head was ringing by the time she arrived in the circular chamber.

Her relief was short-lived. Canfor’s hand gripped her elbow.

‘What are you doing here?’ He looked down at her, his eyes intense.

So he wasn’t challenging her right to be present. He was more interested in what he might learn before the debate started.

Jilseth took a little discreet pleasure in frustrating him. ‘I am here at the Archmage’s request.’

Canfor wasn’t deterred. ‘What have you seen?’

‘Much the same as you, I would imagine.’ Jilseth met his gaze boldly. ‘Where have you been getting your bitumen from?’

He didn’t answer, turning away to sit on the far side of the door.

‘Here.’ Nolyen had claimed two of the closest seats. ‘No,’ he said firmly to a rotund magewoman in puce velvet, ‘this chair is required for the Archmage’s witness.’

‘Thank you.’ Jilseth slid past the woman and sat down before anyone else could challenge Nolyen’s claim.

She leaned close to him, keeping her voice low. ‘Is there any limit on how many mages a council member can invite to observe a debate?’

‘I don’t recall.’ Nolyen looked around. ‘I don’t recall ever seeing the chamber so crowded.’

The hum of speculation was only muted now because huddles of wizards were wary of being overheard, glancing over their shoulders to see who might be standing closest.

‘There’s Rafrid.’ Jilseth was relieved to see the Cloud Master arrive with Sannin and Herion.

‘There’s Velindre,’ Nolyen said, startled.

Jilseth followed his gaze to see the tall blonde magewoman standing beside Planir. Velindre was regarding the wizards bustling between their allies and their seats with a sardonic curl to her lip.

Jilseth found the expression reminiscent of Canfor’s. Were all wizards born to the element of air naturally so aloof?

Planir took a lithe step onto the great chamber’s central dais. The hovering sphere of magelight blazed with his urgency.

‘Good evening, masters and mistresses.’

The Archmage didn’t pause to allow those taken unawares to find their seats. A faint gloss of blue magic slid over the magelight above his head and his words rose more loudly above the hasty shuffle of feet and the rustle of clothing.

‘Archmage? The door?’ One of the oldest mages present, a snowy-haired, hatchet faced man indignantly waved his stick at the entrance standing wide open.

Planir acknowledged him with the briefest of nods. ‘I see no reason to shut ourselves away, Master Massial, when the business that brings us here this evening concerns all of Hadrumal.’

That silenced the last whispers circling the room.

‘It is my duty to see this Council is kept fully informed of recent developments in the Aldabreshin Archipelago, concerning the renegade Mandarkin mage. Jilseth, kindly tell us what your most recent scrying has shown.’

‘Archmage.’ She was on her feet at once. Then she realised Nolyen had stayed sitting down. ‘Nol?’

‘He doesn’t need two of us repeating ourselves.’ He pressed his shoulders back against the wall. ‘I’ll make note of who knows nothing of what we’ve seen, and who shows no surprise,’ he muttered darkly.

Jilseth narrowed her eyes at him but she couldn’t deny that such knowledge could well be useful. She could also feel the weight of every other gaze in the chamber upon her.

‘You may speak from there,’ Planir prompted.

Jilseth wondered who else realised the Archmage had no intention of yielding the central platform to any other speaker. She dared not look at Flood Mistress Troanna.