Defiant Peaks (The Hadrumal Crisis) (45 page)

Corrain rose and walked to the table beside the fireplace where the dust was thick enough for him to draw a swift map with a forefinger.

‘Could they reach Nahik waters?’ Jilseth asked suddenly.

‘Perhaps, if they weighed anchor on the very first of For-Spring.’ Corrain was doubtful.

‘Why do you ask that?’ Micaran looked at the magewoman.

‘The Nahik domain has been wholly abandoned,’ Jilseth said slowly, ‘for fear of lingering magic staining those islands along with anyone still left there. From what we hear, no galleys are using the sea lanes to head north or south, leaving the Jagai domain cut off from the rest of the Archipelago. But the Aldabreshi don’t believe that mainlanders suffer from magic’s taint, since we’re not guided by the omens of earthly and heavenly compasses. And they believe that shedding blood washes away such corruption.’

Corrain saw the apprehension in the magewoman’s face. ‘You think that they want to put everyone still living on those islands to the sword?’

Jilseth was pale with dread. ‘What else?’

‘But the Khusro domain is similarly cut off,’ Micaran objected, ‘and they’re seeking to cleanse themselves of magic by far less drastic means. That’s why they came to Halferan.’

‘Let’s try calculating rather than guessing.’ Corrain studied the lines on the dusty tabletop with growing unease. ‘These galleys supposedly coming to carry these mercenaries off to earn their fortunes wouldn’t have left Jagai before that fat
zamorin
sent a courier dove or two home to say he had good reason to hope he could hire the swords which his master wants.’

Micaran nodded agreement. ‘That was only the day before yesterday—’

‘—so those doves would have reached Jagai today, most likely.’ Jilseth interjected.

‘Those galleys won’t arrive here until at least a handful of days into For-Spring.’ Corrain looked at Jilseth. ‘If they load up their mercenaries and catch the very next tide, the furthest they could hope to reach by the shift of this heavenly Topaz is somewhere around Halferan.’

She stared at him, aghast. ‘Why would Jagai Kalu send mercenaries against a Caladhrian barony?’

Perhaps because the Archipelagan warlord knew who was truly to blame for the Mandarkin Anskal arriving to wreak havoc in the Nahik islands? Would shedding the blood of those responsible somehow make amends? Would the Archipelagans to the south look northward again if Jagai Kalu could put Baron Halferan’s head on a stake?

Corrain might have asked Jilseth if he and the magewoman had been alone but he had no idea whether or not Mentor Micaran knew of Halferan’s guilt; of his dead lord’s desperation or his equal folly, both of them trusting a renegade mage loyal only to his own purse.

Micaran was still searching for an explanation. ‘Could Jagai wish to challenge the Khusro wives as they’re ridding themselves of ensorcelled artefacts? Surely both domains will wish to be the first to re-establish trade between the mainland and the rest of the Archipelago.’

‘There’s no point in ifs and buts and guesses.’ Corrain obliterated the dust-drawn map with a sweep of his hand. If only he could wipe away these new fears now filling his mind. He looked straight at Micaran.

‘You can pluck the answers out of that Jagai
zamorin
’s head with your Artifice.’

Micaran recoiled from the idea. ‘We should pursue other avenues first.’

‘I did that yesterday,’ Corrain assured him. ‘Trust me, there’s nothing more to be learned by loosening tavern tongues with coin or ale. You’re not forbidden to read a man’s thoughts in such dire need, are you?’

‘Not forbidden, precisely.’ Micaran was still reluctant. ‘But I should be searching for this man from Wrede.’

‘You can still do both, can’t you? The Archmage will definitely want to know what Jagai Kalu’s men are plotting.’ Jilseth had no doubt of that.

Corrain hadn’t expected to find the magewoman allying herself with him but he’d take every advantage he was offered. ‘If you come with me to find this
zamorin
now, you’ll be back home and working your enchantments well before Master Olved is ready to bespeak the Archmage this evening.’

‘I suppose so.’ The mentor’s expression lightened. ‘I confess, it will be an interesting challenge to read an Archipelagan’s thoughts.’

‘Good.’ Corrain turned to Jilseth. Whatever her concerns for the Archmage’s interests, his loyalties lay first and foremost with Lady Zurenne and her daughters. ‘You must go to Halferan. Warn Kusint and Reven to prepare the manor’s defences, just in case your scrying magic shows us the Jagai galleys heading for our shore.’

If they did, Corrain vowed silently to himself, he would have a wizard carry him back to lead Halferan’s defence if that meant holding a dagger to one of their throats.

To his relief, Jilseth nodded. ‘As soon as Kheda’s seen the Khusro wives on board their ship, I can ask what he thinks. He can set further enquiries in hand through his own Aldabreshi contacts. I’ll see you at Master Olved’s house this evening.’ She rose and vanished in a shimmer of white magelight.

Micaran shuddered. ‘I don’t believe I will ever get used to that.’

Too late, Corrain realised that he should have asked the magewoman to save them a journey with such a spell. No matter.

He gestured towards the mentor’s scholarly mantle and long tunic. ‘I’ll go and hire a gig while you change into some clothes that won’t tell everyone and the tavern dog that you’re a university mentor. These aren’t the places where your kind go to drink.’

C
HAPTER
T
WENTY-
F
OUR

The Tenter Ground Tap, Col

33rd of Aft-Winter

‘I
DON’T BELIEVE
I’ve ever been to this part of the city before.’ Micaran looked around as their driver pulled up his horse.

Corrain was relieved to see the scholar was sufficiently circumspect not to draw hostile attention their way. His height and heft should also deter anyone thinking of trying to cut his purse or steal his silver ring. Micaran had refused to leave off that sign of his calling.

He paid off the gig driver who whipped up his horse as soon as they got down; so eager to leave that Corrain wondered how easily they would get a ride back to more central districts. Well, they would solve that puzzle in due course.

‘The Jagai
zamorin
will most likely be hunting hereabouts, according to what I heard yesterday.’

Learning which districts the Aldabreshi had already visited had shown Corrain a steadily uncoiling spiral path. He had no reason to think they would have abandoned that course.

‘The Elected will be only too happy to see the Archipelagans taking these ruffians away,’ Micaran observed in an undertone.

Corrain nodded. This particular brick-paved square only had buildings along two faces. The open ground on the far side was cluttered with makeshift shacks hammered together by destitute mercenaries. He wouldn’t give a copper-cut piece for the local weavers’ chances of reclaiming these grounds for hanging the cloth they produced from the wool shorn from those sheep which ended up as mutton on Col’s plates. The hooked tenter frames had long since been smashed for firewood.

‘Mind you, the word around the beer barrels is that the Jagai swordsmen are turning away all but the quickest and strongest turning up at the docks to try their luck. The ones who can take a bruising from a blunted sword without flinching.’

Corrain had heard a good deal of sour grousing from those who’d merely earned a silver mark as recompense for their trouble instead of gold to buy their loyalty.

‘That’s still good for Col.’ Micaran pursed his lips. ‘Men used to commanding respect, the ones able to rally a scattered company in battle and fight on, are the ones most likely to cause trouble for the city.’

Corrain had come to the same conclusion. ‘The Archmage will need some powerful arguments to weigh against Col’s interests, if he wants the Elected to put a stop to Jagai hiring these men. Let’s see what this
zamorin
can tell us. This is the biggest tavern in the district and that’s where he usually starts.’

Micaran braced himself as Corrain led the way to the tavern. It wasn’t the filthiest taproom he had ever been in but it had doubtless been a good deal cleaner when the locals had been quenching their thirst after a long day’s work at their looms.

‘If he’s already been in here today, we’ll have to start quartering the side streets.’ He looked around for someone to fall into conversation with, to learn if they had seen or heard of the
zamorin
.

‘Caladhrian!’ An unwashed Ensaimin vagabond hailed him from a corner table.

Corrain had spoken to the man the day before in a different tavern. The Ensaimin claimed to have signed on a mercenary company’s muster roll in his youth. Now he scratched out a living running errands for those still fit to hire out their swords.

Raising his own hand in acknowledgement, Corrain glanced at Micaran. ‘Do you want something to drink?’

‘Hardly,’ Micaran said, startled. ‘I need to keep a clear head.’

‘You and me both.’ Corrain headed to the counter regardless. Nothing drew curious eyes in a drinking den more than two men not drinking.

‘A jug of ale, sweetheart.’ He smiled at the drab serving the indifferent brew and picked up a couple of horn cups. Laying down two copper pennies, he took the jug over to the Ensaimin’s table and topped up the ragged man’s drink.

‘Any word of that Aldabreshin in the fancy silks hereabouts today?’

‘You fancy chancing your arm against his swordsmen, longshanks?’ The Ensaimin looked at Micaran, mildly curious. ‘You’ll need more than a longer reach against those fine fellows.’

Corrain nodded at the men sat around the taproom’s tables in threes and fours looking expectant. ‘They’re waiting for him as well?’ He sat down and poured a mouthful of ale into his and Micaran’s horn cups to pass for dregs.

The Ensaimin took a long swallow from his refreshed drink. ‘So they say.’

Corrain looked at Micaran. ‘We’ll wait and see, shall we?’

The Ensaimin man’s bleary eyes brightened and he reached for the jug of ale to help himself. ‘If you’re looking for an adventure, longshanks, by way of spitting in your father’s eye, I hear they’re hiring in Oakmont, for guards to ride the wagons taking the Dalasor road to Inglis.’

Corrain let the man ramble on, nodding as required. A chance shift in the wind brought the faint sound of the fourth chime’s bells some while later and he started to feel a little uneasy. Would they still be waiting when the carillon tower sounded midday? Should they try another lesser inn or would malign luck see the
zamorin
walk through these doors as they walked out?

He spared Micaran a glance. The mentor had leaned back and closed his eyes, as though he was taking a nap. Corrain was close enough to see the tension in his body and the subtle flexing of his hands though. Was the scholar working some unseen Artifice?

As that thought crossed Corrain’s mind, Micaran opened one eye and looked at him with the faintest of smiles.

Yes, and your friend there is telling you a tale concocted from rumour and optimism, even if he’s convinced himself he’s telling no lies.

Corrain managed a slow nod as well suited to the Ensaimin’s gossip as it was to Micaran’s words echoing eerily inside his head. It was a challenge not to shudder at that unnerving sensation.