Defiant Peaks (The Hadrumal Crisis) (62 page)

He grabbed at it, his fingers scraping across the stone floor. One nail broke. The jagged split tore deep into his flesh. Corrain gasped and heard the pathetic sound echo around the empty cavern. He was lying face down in the unchanging darkness.

‘This is no illusion,’ the first voice confirmed. ‘This is where you truly are.’

‘Enough!’ the harsh voice rebuked the speaker. ‘What else does he know of Hadrumal’s arrogance? That is our only concern here.’

Corrain pressed his unshaven cheek against the floor as a rush of recollection left him lightheaded. The
sheltya
were riffling his memory for every recollection of any meeting with a wizard. Their faces came and went before his mind’s eye with dizzying speed.

He tried to cling onto the floor, welcoming the pain of his torn fingernail. He tried to hold onto the sensations of the cool stone against his naked skin, to the raw throbbing of grazes on his knees and shoulder blades.

He didn’t succeed for long.

C
HAPTER
T
HIRTY-
T
WO

Trydek’s Hall, Hadrumal

14th of For-Spring

A
S HER SPELL
faded to show her the first Archmage’s ancient tower, Jilseth took a moment to compose her thoughts. So many concerns clamoured for her attention, not least the Jagai fleets which would arrive within the next few tides.

She could only be grateful that the Archmage had finally asked her to return, even if that was only to bring him the latest news from Col. Though there was little enough to tell and nothing which she had not already told him every second day since Aritane had vanished so utterly with Corrain. None of them, neither mentors nor mages, could find either the Caladhrian or the Mountain adept through any spell or enchantment.

Yet Planir had insisted that she stay in the city in case anything should change, so that she could inform him at once. Jilseth tried to curb her irritation as she walked up the stairs to the Archmage’s sitting room and went in through the open door. ‘Archmage.’

‘Good morning.’ Planir looked up from knotting a faded black ribbon around a stack of tattered documents on the settle beside him.

Jilseth noted that the broad table had finally been cleared of Kerrit’s salvaged archive. Had the Archmage truly read every scroll and volume?

‘How are matters in Col?’ The Archmage wore a plain doublet and breeches of charcoal grey wool. A dark cloak was thrown over the back of the settle. Had he been out and about this morning, going between Hadrumal’s halls and libraries?

‘No one has made any enquiries after the dead Soluran. Mentor Garewin suggests we surrender his body to the Elected. Then he will be buried at the edge of the city’s burning grounds with his death proclaimed at noon in the principal squares for three successive days.’

Mentor Garewin had explained to Jilseth that this was entirely customary for foreigners who died in the city, whose arcane rites insisted on interment, or for those whose families would have long leagues to travel before they could commit their loved ones to the cleansing release of fire.

‘The mentors think that might prompt someone to claim his body.’ Too late Jilseth realised how waspish she sounded.

Planir raised an eyebrow. ‘Whereas you think they’re hoping to catch a floating moon in a net?’

Jilseth shrugged. ‘No mentors in any of Col’s Schools of Rhetoric, Music or History have been approached by a Soluran adept since the turn of the season, still less by anyone sworn to the three Houses conspiring against us.’

She had had such high hopes initially. Within a few days Col’s scholars had identified the symbols which Jilseth had flung on the table before them. The insignia denoted the House of Sacred Serenity in Trudenar, the House of Tranquil Seclusion in Megrilar and the House of Reflective Repose in Safornar. Whatever Mentor Garewin’s scruples, Guinalle had been willing to search the thoughts of any of their adepts found within the city. The Prefects were still looking.

‘Three Houses of Artifice are conspiring with five Orders of Wizardry across seven Soluran provinces.’ Jilseth’s frustration got the better of her. ‘Have you raised this with Solura’s King? With his sworn mages?’

‘I hope we can resolve this without compelling King Solquen’s intervention, not least because that will inevitably see the Tormalin Emperor involving himself in our affairs.’ Planir leaned back against the settle’s high cushioned back.

‘Why do you suppose I asked you to stay in Col? When we both know that any mage here in Hadrumal could have scried over the docks and told me what you were seeing; the Jagai
zamorin
paying his hirelings to embark on their voyage before measuring their progress at dawn and dusk.’

‘I assume you have your reasons, Archmage.’ Jilseth had been telling herself that day after day and every time convincing herself had required more effort.

‘So I have.’ The Archmage nodded. ‘Just as I had good reason for telling Merenel to remain in Kellarin with Allin Mere and the settlers’ mages, and for sending Tornauld to the Carifate to join Velindre and Mellitha as they negotiate with those Lescari keen to establish their own trading harbours. I’ve just sent Nolyen to offer his services to Lord Licanin in Caladhria, should some Archipelagan warlord approach him with a view to cleansing his own treasury of unsuspected magic.’

Jilseth looked at him, baffled. ‘Archmage?’

‘Lady Zurenne hasn’t been sitting idle, though I don’t imagine she realises how useful her new boldness has been for my own purposes.’ Planir grinned before looking more serious.

‘Flood Mistress Troanna tells me that the Solurans are constantly scrying upon us,’ he told Jilseth, ‘doubtless in hopes of learning something which they can use to force us to yield to their wishes. Naturally we can foil such intrusions but doing so entirely would leave their wizards idle and frustrated, sure to provoke them into devising some other nuisance to plague us.

‘Consequently we have allowed them pierce this island’s veiling spells from time to time. Troanna is particularly skilled in letting them believe they have done so undetected, thanks to their own subtle magecraft. All they see is fractious mages getting ever more enmeshed in fruitless attempts to divine ensorcelled artefacts’ secrets. So they have gone scrying after you and my other confidants, now scattered far and wide, and we can hope that what they are seeing is baffling them completely.’

He raised an apologetic hand. ‘I’m sorry I couldn’t tell you. With Soluran adepts also ranged against us, I believe there is every chance that they have been using aetheric magic to eavesdrop unbidden on our people’s thoughts.’

‘Of course, Archmage.’ Jilseth felt humiliated. She should have trusted Planir. More than that, she should have worked out his reasoning for herself. She frowned.

‘Any Artificer reading my thoughts will know that Aritane has gone with Corrain to ask for the
sheltya
’s assistance. Is that another such diversion?’

‘Not at all,’ Planir assured her. ‘I had very much hoped that dread of
sheltya
displeasure would dissuade these three Houses from working with these wizards.’

‘You had hoped so.’ Jilseth echoed his words with a sinking feeling. ‘Is Lady Guinalle still unable to find Aritane?’

Planir shook his head. ‘Guinalle believes that Artifice is concealing Aritane from aetheric attempts to reach her, and from Usara’s scrying besides.’

‘Artifice can foil elemental magic?’ Jilseth was dismayed.

‘So it would seem,’ Planir confirmed, ‘some spells at least, when the adept is sufficiently proficient. But if the
sheltya
are not interested in helping us, we have other strings to our bow. I brought you here to see the results of some particular endeavours which we’ve been concealing from Soluran scrying.’

The Archmage gestured towards the open door. Jilseth could already hear footsteps on the staircase and Ely appeared carrying a broad scrying bowl. The Flood Mistress followed her.

‘Madam Mage.’ Jilseth tried to hide her astonishment. Troanna customarily dressed as comfortably and practically as any other grandmother on Hadrumal’s high road. Today she wore a sea green velvet gown beneath a high collared mossy cloak with emeralds glinting amid swirls of gold embroidery.

‘Jilseth?’ Troanna looked momentarily surprised before turning her attention to the table. ‘Ely, fill that if you please.’

‘Flood Mistress.’ Ely set the bowl down with a thud on the polished wood, prompting an indignant ringing from the silver.

Jilseth took a step forward to offer some help. Ely’s face was so ominously pale that she honestly feared the slender magewoman might faint.

Troanna glanced at Planir. ‘Three are spying on us at present, from Detich, Noerut and Ancorr.’

‘That will suffice.’ The Archmage turned to the door. ‘Rafrid, I appreciate your promptness, and Canfor, good day to you.’

‘Archmage.’

Jilseth was startled to see Canfor’s face was deeply lined with exhaustion, his eyes darkly shadowed. Anyone would be forgiven for mistaking the prematurely white-haired mage for one of his own father’s generation.

Rafrid couldn’t be mistaken for anything but a fearsomely powerful wizard. The Cloud Master had forsaken his usual modest garb for breeches and doublet in azure broadcloth beneath a cobalt blue cloak. Silver thread traced lightning bolts from collar to hem and a heavy silver chain linked the great faceted sapphires of the clasp.

‘Kalion and Sannin are on their way up.’ Rafrid nodded a general greeting to everyone in the room. ‘Good morning.’

The Hearth Master’s heavy footfalls drowned out the sounds from the scrying bowl as Ely’s magecraft filled it with water. As Kalion appeared, jowls sagging, Jilseth was relieved to see that Sannin looked fresh-faced and more than that, eagerly intent.

‘Are you ready?’ the Hearth Master asked Planir grimly.

Even for a wizard who customarily dressed with calculated ostentation, Kalion’s appearance was dramatic. His robe of scarlet velvet was hemmed with flames worked in gold thread while his crimson cloak was secured on each shoulder of his flowing robe with twin brooches wrought like gold fire baskets filled with ruby coals.

‘If you please.’ Planir’s gesture directed them to the table while he picked up the cloak draped over his settle. The high collar was ornamented with bold devices wrought of fine wire. As he raised his hand to take something from the mantelshelf, the metal shimmered and shifted in the light such that Jilseth couldn’t tell if it was silver, gold or bronze.

She couldn’t ever recall seeing the Archmage dressed in such a forbidding garment. The stiff dark cloth framing his face transformed him into an unknowable, unapproachable figure.

Planir’s next words doubled her unease. ‘Before we begin, Jilseth, you must be ready to join in a nexus with Ely, Canfor and Sannin. You must submit your magic to Sannin’s commands without question or reservation. I will be working largely untried magecraft and if something goes awry, she must contain any uncontrolled wizardry—’

‘Archmage—’ Ely began desperately.

‘You can do this. You helped to confine the Mandarkin Anskal’s apprentices.’ Planir was as kindly as he was implacable. ‘More than that, you are one of the few mages whose affinity was enhanced through union with the quintessential nexus.’

‘There’s no other water mage who can take your place.’ Canfor glowered.