The Thief's Gamble (Einarinn 1) (47 page)

'Could you hide us, Shiv?' Ryshad asked after a moment's thought.

'I think so,' he replied slowly. 'I've been thinking about how they might have been tracking us and I reckon I can create some illusions to throw them off the scent for a while at least.'

Ryshad nodded. 'If we stay in or near the keep, they shouldn't be able to pick us up so easily.'

'Every castle I've ever been in has dead space and places to hide.' Aiten's expression had finally lightened a little so I did not see any profit in pointing out the basis of this plan was about as solid as a horse trader's warranty.

'We need to reconnoitre.' I looked at Shiv. 'You're not going anywhere fast so we need to know where we're going. If I can get out and scout the place while they're all asleep, I can look for a good place to hide up.'

Ryshad did not look convinced and I wondered if he was making a guess as to my real intentions. I did not meet his eye but crossed over to the door and peered at the lock again.

'Ait, can you try and break one of those beakers? I need long splinters, not too fine at the ends if that's possible.'

Shiv coughed weakly. 'I think we can do better than that. People clearly don't do much by way of breaking out of lock-up round here; any Watch back home would never have let me keep my boots.'

He chuckled softly and I looked down at him with faint exasperation.

'Check the seams, Livak, inner and outer.'

Sudden hope warmed me as I picked at the stitching with careful nails and slid out four fine steel probes with neatly shaped ends.

We turned our head to the door in a single movement to see if any eavesdropping bastard was going to come bursting in but, after a long moment of still silence, I dropped a soft kiss on Shiv's forehead.

'I'll be able to go anywhere in the place with these. We may even be able to get right out of here.'

'Be careful.' Ryshad looked sternly at me.

I gave him a faint echo of my old smile. 'When am I anything else?'

Before Ryshad could pursue me or his suspicions, I was out of there and padding noiselessly in my bare feet along a corridor lined with more cells to either side. We seemed to be White-hair's only guests at present, which was a relief. Cold draughts reminded me I was still only wearing a woollen tunic but that was an irrelevance at the moment. I had more important things to think about and, with Shiv's lockpicks in my hands, I could do a lot more than I had been hoping.

I would certainly look for a place where we might hide, and more importantly I would find the quickest route out of there. Whatever Shiv might say, I had no faith in his ability to conceal us for any length of time. It was not that I did not trust his capabilities, but these people had skills we knew nothing about. How in Saedrin's name was Shiv supposed to counter them? The Ice-man's confidence had me convinced of his pre-eminence in this strange magic and we were in the heart of his lands. Even if we did get out of here, where would we go? His hounds would be after us before we had gone half a league and, with Shiv so weak on his feet, we would be wounded deer waiting for the final arrows.

Drianon might be smiling on us so it was worth a try, but I intended to make more valuable use of my time while I was loose in the sleeping keep. I climbed swiftly up the back stairs, resolutely quelling fear as I passed the room where I had been held; there was no time for such luxuries. Pausing at each door, I listened carefully for sounds of any sleepers within. This was easier than most places I work where I have to contend with the night sounds of a busy town and I was soon confident none of the rooms on this level were occupied; these were rooms for business, not living. My confidence was returning after so long feeling like a spare horse tied to the wagon tail; Shiv could spell rings round me if he chose and I was never going to equal Ryshad or Aiten with a sword, but I'm still the best I know at discreet investigation.

Still, no harm in checking; caution keeps you alive. I went up one more flight of stairs with agonising caution and felt the carpet under my feet grow thick and softer at the turn. I swept careful toes from side to side and found it reached the walls here. This was luxury — were these living quarters? By now my Forest sight was used to the faint light filtering through the narrow gaps in the shutters and as my eyes reached the level of the floor above I made a brief survey of the hallway. I could see the warm sheen of polished wood, a bright glimpse of blue ceramic, the rich sparkle of a bronze mirror hung on a far wall. Our host might only have been reckoned middling wealthy back home but I judged he was the biggest cock on this dunghill. So, he not only had ambition but the talents, magical and otherwise, to make things happen his way.

Moving with all the stealth I could muster, I listened at the nearest door. After a long moment of silence, I heard the faint rustling of bed linen as someone stirred, the creak of a bed then stillness once more. Was it the white-haired, ice-hearted bastard who ran this place? I flexed my hands in preparation before remembering I had no blade. Had I had a weapon, I would have been in there and slitting his throat without a moment's pause. Perhaps it's a good thing I was unarmed but I'm still undecided on that one. I would probably have lost my life but I would give a sack-weight of noble coin for a chance to sink a blade into that evil neck, then and now. Would one of the lockpicks through an eye or ear do the job? Perhaps, but it wasn't enough of a certainty to be worth the risk. A good gambler knows when to throw and when to hold the runes. Anyway, I had no idea who else lived here; I could find myself having to silence some woman or child and I don't like unnecessary killing.

I stamped down hard on pointless frustration and slipped silently down the stairs again, ears alert for the slightest sound. There wasn't so much as the hint of a patrolling guard within the keep and when I pressed up against a crack of a shutter to squint down into the compound, I could only see a couple of sentries doing little more than stamp their feet occasionally against the cold. On an impulse, I promised myself that if by some god's grace we got away from here, I would come back with Halice, Sorgrad and Sorgren, Charoleia too if she was free, and pick this place clean, just to show the bastard the point in taking decent precautions.

Indecision hovered around me for a few breaths and then I

set to work on the door next to the room where I had been held. For White-hair to hear my thoughts and reach me so fast, he must have been somewhere close. Perhaps, but it hadn't been in that room, I decided, after opening the second set of ledgers. Saedrin knows what they where about but numbers are numbers, whether they're Tormalin or Mountain script. I investigated the door on the far side and this looked more hopeful. This lock was the best I'd seen outside Relshaz, decent steel and well oiled. It was good but I am better and my efforts were soon rewarded. The room was a study or library; I slipped in and carefully locked the door behind me; I didn't want to be disturbed.

Tapestries of undyed wool softened the walls and muted the draughts. It would have been churlish to criticise their limited range of colour as they were beautifully worked, intricate patterns in all shades of brown from nearly black to palest beige. Thick rugs caressed my painfully chilled toes and the furniture was smoothly carved wood, glowing with beeswax and seasons of devoted polishing. The gloom was a problem and I wondered about light; I soon found a candle-end in a fine Gidestan silver stand and decided to risk it. Was any sentry going to question a light in his master's study? I didn't think so, not here, whatever the hour.

I looked around in vain for steel, flint, spark-makers, anything. Impotent with frustration, I tried all the desk drawers but found nothing beyond pens, ink and knives. I took the sharpest; it wasn't much but it was better than nothing. The smell of beeswax teased at my memory and I had a sudden inspiration. Staring hard at the wick, I whispered at it, 'Talmia megrala eldrin fres.' Glee quite inappropriate to our plight thrilled me when it leaped to life. Get a grip of yourself, I told myself sternly, you wanted light, now use it. My spirits rose absurdly for what seemed like the first time in seasons.

Now I could see better, I studied the packed bookshelves. Volumes of Old Tormalin histories were arranged by reign; there were collections of letters, works of natural philosophy, ethics, drama, endless volumes. I recognised some of the names I had heard Geris mention and realised much of the trove of books and treasures that the Ice-man had stolen from us had to be here. I was hardly in a position to reclaim anything.

I turned my attention to the desk and sat in the softly padded chair to examine the neat stacks of parchment. I was not too concerned about leaving any traces; what was the worst that could happen to me, after all? I could be captured and tortured? That was hardly news. I was still convinced we were all going to die here; what I wanted to do was somehow knock the axle-pins out of this caravan before it got on the road. This was partly for Planir, and partly in a general sense for all my friends and family who might fall foul of these people if they invaded. But mostly I was looking for revenge, to pay the bastards back for what they had done to me and for Geris' lonely, agonised death. I ignored the small voice in the back of my head that wanted to remind me that looking for revenge was what brought me here in the first place.

I was considering setting fire to everything but I decided to wait until I had scouted a way out of the keep for us all, when we could make best use of the distraction. I would take a quick look and see if I could glean any useful information. Tidy minds seemed to be bred into these people like long legs on a deerhound and I soon identified the different stacks of notes. Ice-man had much the same information on the Inglis coast as the commander of the brown liveries but less on the Tormalin coast, which was the faintest suggestion of good news. What he did have was a large sheet dedicated to the collapse of the Empire, the years marked down the centre and events noted on either side. This was clearly something he'd been working on for a good while; the edges were a little ragged and the entries were written in a variety of inks. He seemed particularly interested in the activities of the various noble families Azazir had said were involved in the founding of Kel Ar'Ayen. Underneath I found genealogies and other records, clearly pieced together over a long period.

Another sheet had names of various Tormalin, Dalasorian and even some Caladhrian cities on it. Each city had its own list of people attached and numbers beside each name. It meant nothing to me initially and I put it aside for another list of the

Elietimm domains here in these islands with what I eventually decided must be personal names associated with them. Some were crossed through, with numbers written by their sides.

I stared at both lists until a new picture emerged, like one of those Aldabreshi carvings that are a tree from one side or a face from another. If I were looking to leave these rocks in the middle of the ocean, I'd be looking for information about the place I was going to; I reckoned White-hair had quite a network of informants back home and, by the look of it, was paying them well. I looked thoughtfully at the second list. Rivalry here was intense and since no one seemed inclined to take an enemy on face to face, I'd bet assassination was a popular option. Maybe, maybe not. Wouldn't that mean they'd have guards up to the rafters, like a Lescari noblewoman trying to avoid 'marriage' by abduction? I'd seen no sign of that. Perhaps they had magic defences they could use? I shrugged and put the lists aside; there was no time for this.

Another stack proved to be sheets each headed with the name of an Elietimm domain. I couldn't make any sense of them even though I was regaining familiarity with the angular Mountain alphabet, so I moved these to one side and reached for a pile I judged more recent by the shade of the ink. A chill crept up my back as I recognised Ryshad's name and picked out the names Zyoutessela, D'Olbriot and Tadriol in the notes. I couldn't blame him for giving up the information, knowing the Ice-man's methods, but I was concerned to see just how much the bastard seemed to have picked out of Ryshad's head. The sheet headed 'Aiten' had a few terse lines and it seemed he had not got much of real worth out of me either. I didn't exactly know much worth having, did I?

I turned over the page and my hand shook suddenly as Geris' name leaped off the page at me. I could not face trying to decipher the record of his interrogation so put it quickly aside and stared stupidly for a moment at what I had uncovered. Several sheets were covered in neat Tormalin and I recognised Geris' expensively educated script. What had I found?

'Calm down,' I scolded myself. I quelled my trembling hands and forced myself to breathe more slowly until the words emerged from meaningless jumble in front of my eyes. It proved to be a carefully presented discourse on the collapse of the Empire. I skipped the references to writings and people I knew nothing about but, in the careful argument, I could hear Geris' enthusiasm and learning so clearly that it brought tears to my eyes. I blinked them away crossly and began scanning through the document for anything useful for those of us still alive. A mention of aether caught my eye and I read that passage more fully.

Having studied the works of Trel'Mithria and the annals kept by the Order known as the Hammers of Misaen (now lost in the Western Lands), it is apparent that magic in the Old Empire was predominately that which we now refer to as aetheric. Elemental magic was a subordinate science deemed of little practical use. This aetheric magic draws on the potential for power contained within the minds of individuals which explains its affinity with forms of mental communication and control which are unusual in elemental magic.

'Stick to the point, Geris,' I breathed as I skipped a few paragraphs speculating on mental powers in legend and tradition.

The power is enhanced when a number of minds are focused on one object. The evidence of Argulemmin and Nemith the Learned proves that religion provided that focus in both the Old Empire and the Ancient Elietimm cultures, which explains why priests were the main practitioners of such magic in those days.