Defiant Peaks (The Hadrumal Crisis) (23 page)

‘Then what do you propose?’ Planir invited.

‘Destroy these wretched artefacts,’ Troanna said without hesitation. ‘They are of no use and little interest to us. On the other side of the scales, they are assuredly far too dangerous for us to hand over to Solura’s wizards or Mandarkin’s tyrants or anyone else who would seek to make use of them.’

Planir raised his eyebrows. ‘When your children or your grandchildren refuse to share a toy, do you end such bickering by simply taking it away?’

There was no mockery in the Archmage’s words. Regardless Jilseth saw Ely, Galen and Canfor each catch their breath, dreading Troanna’s reaction.

The Flood Mistress merely smiled with grim satisfaction. ‘Yes, I do.’

‘You would destroy such intricately magecrafted works of wizardry simply because you cannot fathom their secrets?’ Kalion’s anger turned to smouldering contempt.

‘What would you do with them?’ Troanna challenged him coldly. ‘Curry favour with the mainland’s realms and rulers from the Tormalin Emperor down by flattering them with such gifts? You have always advocated closer ties with noble and influential men. Is that your intent once you have the secrets of crafting such trinkets at your fingertips?’

‘I believe that sharing these artefacts with a few carefully chosen and trustworthy friends would do a great deal to reassure those on the mainland now so nervous of wizardry,’ Kalion said hotly. ‘Such generosity would prove that we do not hoard such power for ourselves and equally that we are willing to offer our friends the means to defend themselves against renegade magecraft—’

‘You think that those who receive your bounty will be so grateful when those Soluran mages arrive at their door to demand that they surrender such treasures?’ Troanna challenged him. ‘Not to mention sneak-thieves cracking their shutters to steal them away.’

She returned her attention to Planir. ‘You have heard the mutterings from the mainland, Archmage. Those who’ve always envied the mageborn are eager to secure some such facsimile of wizardry now that they know ensorcelled artefacts truly exist outside tavern ballads and chimney-corner tales. How much strife would even one such trinket loose on the mainland prompt with so many of the mundane populace foolishly nervous of magecraft?’

The Archmage nodded. ‘Please show me how to destroy these artefacts.’

Troanna narrowed her eyes. ‘As yet—’

‘Let’s see.’ Planir rose to his feet and took a red onyx ring from the fireplace’s mantelshelf. ‘Here’s a curious piece. It confers the ability to climb without falling, whether up a sheer cliff or a branchless tree trunk, or indeed a windowless fortification of close-fitted stone free of handholds. What a gift for a Mandarkin tyrant’s assassin, or a Soluran king’s man or a Tormalin emperor’s agent.’

He glanced at Kalion. ‘I’ve no doubt that you wish to enlist Emperor Tadriol’s assistance, to have him send word of his indignation to King Solquen, that Soluran mages have threatened Hadrumal. You don’t think that the price of such a letter would be a trifle such as this?’

The Archmage laid the ring on his outstretched palm and the great ring of his office glowed. Magefire sprang up, around and within the onyx circle. It burned so viciously bright that Jilseth had to look away until the glow faded. She looked back to see the onyx ring unharmed.

Planir shrugged, and the ring was rimed with frost. An instant more and ice encased it. Green magelight shimmered as the Archmage’s entire palm was covered with shattering cold. Planir shook his head and the ice vanished to reveal the ring still untouched by the magic.

Jilseth shivered as the air within the room crackled with blue magelight. Wizardry vivid as lightning wove a web around the Archmage’s hand, darting at the onyx ring again and again to leave it entirely unaffected.

Planir sighed and released the elemental air to draw new wizardry from the stones which had built this ancient tower. Jilseth swallowed as she felt the Archmage subject the onyx to the inexorable pressures which would ordinarily turn wood to coal and thence to diamond through the natural passage of aeons and crushing depth. The paltry looking ring lay on his palm, unyielding.

‘So.’ Planir tossed the trinket into the air, startling them all. ‘Do tell me, Flood Mistress, when you discover how to destroy these artefacts.’

Catching the ring, he set it back on the mantelshelf. The click of stone on wood sounded loud in the silent room.

‘Meantime, thank you both for bringing these different Soluran proposals to me.’ Planir resumed his seat by the fire.

Kalion rallied swiftly. ‘These are matters for the whole Council to consider.’

‘Quite so,’ Planir agreed, ‘and when we call such a Council, we can also call Despin to answer for his attempt to steal from a dying man. What do you consider a suitable punishment for your former pupil?’

‘Despin bitterly regrets his impulsiveness. He will not be so foolish again,’ Kalion said stiffly. ‘Ever since his return, he has kept close to his rooms and Wellery’s library, applying himself diligently to examining the dagger entrusted to the nexus he has now joined.’

‘You are studying a blade which heats itself to furnace heat as soon as it clashes with any other steel, I believe?’ Planir looked at Galen. ‘Have you gained any insights as yet?’

‘Alas, no, Archmage,’ Galen said wearily.

Jilseth was watching Canfor. What did he think of Kalion’s continued support for Despin? Surely he must hope that the offending mage’s removal from the Council would see him voted into the now vacant seat?

‘We should call a Council meeting to discuss how Master Kerrit’s killers are to be held to account,’ Troanna said. ‘Such an insult to Hadrumal cannot go unpunished.’

‘How do you suggest that we hold such an assize and pass judgement, let alone punish the guilty, without spreading the very alarm among the mundane populace which you so rightly wish to avoid? Ring the Council bell yourself, Flood Mistress, when you have a worthwhile proposal,’ Planir invited.

‘Now, by your leave, I will continue my own studies.’ He gestured at the table. ‘Some way to resolve our problems may yet lurk in Master Kerrit’s library.’

‘Let us hope so.’ Mellitha rose from the settle beside Jilseth and headed for the door, acknowledging Kalion with a brief smile while ignoring Troanna entirely.

Velindre followed her. ‘Thank you, Archmage. Good day to you, Hearth Master, Flood Mistress. That was most instructive.’

As Jilseth rose from her own seat, Kalion turned on his heel with a snort of frustration and led his trio down the spiral stair. Jilseth waited until Troanna had followed them, not wishing to irritate the Flood Mistress by preceding her.

‘A moment if you please.’ Planir leaned forward to take a log from the wood basket and toss it onto the fire. ‘We were discussing Halferan’s affairs before we were so interestingly diverted.’

Jilseth recalled his instructions. ‘I will go to see Master Herion.’

Planir was looking thoughtful. ‘I will have a letter of my own for Corrain, Baron Halferan. I am willing to help him find this man from Wrede but there’s a service which he can do me in return.’

Jilseth wondered what the Archmage intended. ‘How do you propose to scry for a man whom none of us have ever seen? We don’t even have something belonging to this stranger to anchor a spell.’

‘No indeed,’ Planir agreed. ‘But as Lady Zurenne and Baron Corrain have so usefully reminded us, there are more magics in this world than our own. Since using wizardry would indeed prove problematic, we can look elsewhere for assistance. Col’s aetheric adepts may have Artifice to help us find this curious stranger. They may also have other information useful for our purposes gleaned from their fellow healers in Solura. A good many Houses of Sanctuary work closely with their local wizardly Orders.’

‘As you think best, Archmage.’ Though Jilseth couldn’t think what possible use Artifice might be in Hadrumal’s current travails.

‘Call back when you’ve spoken to Master Herion. I’ll have my letter ready for you.’ Planir smiled and reached for the book he had been reading when she had first arrived.

After an irresolute moment, Jileth went on her way. She couldn’t help feeling a little surprised. Shouldn’t the Archmage be addressing the fresh challenges which this day had brought to Hadrumal rather than reading antique Relshazri books?

As she went down Trydek’s tower’s stairs, Jilseth wondered how even Planir’s vaunted shrewdness was going to deal with dissent among Hadrumal’s Council over how to counter these threats from Solura at the same time as rebuffing the Tormalin princes’ uncompromising desire for a share in the corsairs’ artefacts, never mind the mainland’s other rulers’ anger once they realised that Archipelagan hatred of magic now threatened to put an end to all trade with the Aldabreshi.

But at least that poor lad Hosh should find a cure for his own undeserved suffering in Col.

C
HAPTER
T
HIRTEEN

The Southern Harbour, Col, Ensaimin

29th of Aft-Winter

C
ORRAIN STIRRED IN
his sleep. The heavy manacles dragged at his wrists. Sores where iron rubbing on bone had worn away his skin stung with the unceasing sweat prompted by the Archipelago’s sultriness. Shifting his feet, he heard the faint clink of the chains linking the shackles around his ankles. Rolling over, he felt the tug of the crusted welts cut into his shoulders by the slaver’s lash. As the scabs gave way, his skin crawled at the trickle of fresh blood.

‘Captain?’

Hosh? Was some other oar-slave coming for the lad? The overseers could never be trusted to defend one rower from another’s malice. Corrain struggled to wake, to throw off the weariness of propelling this corsair galley on from dawn to dusk. His heart was racing and breath rasped in his throat.

Opening his eyes, he saw the wooden planking above his head; this cabin’s roof and the underside of the deck above. He felt the sailing ship roll; a different motion to a galley’s wallowing. Rubbed a shaking hand over his stubbled face, he realised that his wrist was free of that broken slave chain.

‘Captain?’ Hosh ventured. ‘You were dreaming.’

‘What of it?’ Corrain swung his legs over the side of the bunk, barely avoiding smacking his head on the cramped cabin’s cross-beams. Space for cargo took precedence on this trading vessel. ‘Where are we?’

‘Coming into Col on the morning tide,’ Hosh said promptly. ‘We heard the city bells sound the day’s second chime.’

‘Why didn’t you wake me?’ Corrain scowled.

‘You needed to sleep,’ Hosh answered with unexpected firmness.

Corrain couldn’t dispute it. He hadn’t slept a whole night through since they’d set foot on this ship in Claithe. Even when exhaustion overwhelmed him, nightmares would besiege him. Twice, three times between dusk and dawn, he would wake to hear Hosh sleeping peacefully in the opposite bunk. As peacefully as the snores rasping through the lad’s broken face allowed.

How did the boy escape such torment? Why had the peace of mind Corrain had enjoyed since ridding himself of that broken manacle deserted him? He didn’t bother asking Hosh. Doubtless the lad would offer some trite tribute to Arrimelin and Corrain had no faith left in the goddess of dreams.

‘Grab your gear.’ Corrain slung his own shapeless leather travelling bag over his shoulder by its drawstring and took up his sword in his other hand, belt buckled tight around the scabbard.