Irons in the Fire (64 page)

"He's with his company captains," Branca apologised. "We have wine and cakes while you wait."

"Excellent," Gruit approved. "Lead on, my dear."

The double doors of the Merchants' Exchange opened into a flagstoned hallway. Aremil braced himself to tackle the wide oak staircase ahead. Instead, Branca opened a side door to reveal a large room fitted out with a trestle table and a selection of mismatched chairs.

"Good day to you all." Kerith, his scholar's tunic distinctly travel-stained, bowed courteously. The apothecary, Master Welgren, did the same.

"And to you." As soon as Branca untied his cloak, Aremil headed for the nearest seat.

Gruit and Charoleia exchanged greetings with the two men. She draped her travelling cloak over a convenient chair. "Where is Nath? Drawing up more maps?"

"For the moment. He says he wants to go home," Master Welgren said awkwardly.

Charoleia frowned and drew him to one side. Aremil couldn't hear what they were saying.

He had other concerns. "Where's Lady Derenna?"

"In Sharlac." Branca stepped away for a moment to fetch a cup of wine. "With Jettin."

"What's she doing there?" Seeing the others all engaged in an eager conversation, Aremil allowed Branca to hold the goblet to his lips. The warm wine was fragrant with spices and very welcome.

"She wanted to find the decree confining her husband to his lands." Branca took a sip of the wine herself.

"To burn it?"

Branca shook her head. "She wanted it properly rescinded, but Duke Moncan is dead along with his heir."

"That's certain now?" Aremil grimaced as she nodded. He didn't like to think of Lord Kerlin's death at the hand of some unknown mercenary. "What's to be done?"

"The duchess and her daughters are under guard at one of Her Grace's dowry manors just outside Sharlac Town." Branca held the goblet so that Aremil could drink again. "Derenna is there too, with her husband. The duchess has issued a decree under her own seal suspending his confinement and another forbidding any vassal to raise a militia until the question of the succession is decided."

"Was that Derenna's idea or her husband's?" Aremil frowned. He couldn't think of any precedent for such an action.

"I believe some of the lords Derenna visited over the summer suggested it." Branca cradled the goblet between her hands.

"Are they likely to persuade the duchess to issue any more decrees?" Aremil didn't like the idea of unknown nobles making decisions that could affect them all. Where would Lady Derenna's loyalties lie now that she was reunited with her husband?

"Jettin will tell us if they do." Branca looked uneasy. "Captain-General Evord says it should keep the Sharlac vassal lords quiet, at least until Duke Garnot or Duke Secaris launch a counter-attack."

Aremil could hear Kerith explaining the situation to Charoleia and Gruit. "Let's hope neither Carluse nor Draximal can get their militias mustered this side of winter."

Would the leaves still be falling or budding newly green when warfare reached Draximal? Would his own father and brothers die like Duke Moncan and Lord Kerlin? Aremil had spent the journey's long leagues wondering what their fate would mean to him. He was as good as dead to them, after all.

Branca nodded towards Charoleia. "Evord is relying on her to find out what the rest of the dukes intend, and the sooner the better."

"Do you wonder what we've started?" Aremil asked quietly.

"I do." Branca looked troubled.

"What is it?" He reached for her hand.

"You know how Halcarion's priests warn us all to be careful what we wish for?" She took another swallow of wine. "When I agreed to help with all this, I was looking to learn more about Artifice. Kerith was, too. We didn't realise what we were hoping for."

"Is he still troubled by what he did to Failla?" When the scholar had told Aremil everything he'd learned of her betrayal, Kerith's disgust with himself had echoed across the aether.

"He is, and particularly by the way he was so caught up in her distress until they reached the child. Then he says we should have searched her thoughts much earlier." Branca bit her lip. "He feels we could have saved at least some of the priests and guildsmen from Duke Garnot's brutality. The captain-general says it'll be much harder to push on into Carluse without their help. Kerith says we must set our personal feelings aside and consider how best to use Artifice to find out what people choose not to tell us, whether they like it or not."

"We will have to discuss that." Aremil had felt the strength of Kerith's determination. Personally he was torn between revulsion at the notion of wielding such invasive enchantments and reluctant agreement with the scholar. He was certainly tempted to ask Jettin to look into Lady Derenna's unspoken thoughts. Would the younger man agree to do that?

Before he could ask Branca what she thought, the door opened and the mercenaries Sorgrad and Gren entered, warlike in chain mail hauberks, swords at their hips.

Aremil watched them greet Charoleia and Gruit with delight. "Have you learned anything more of Mountain enchantments?"

"We hear no end of tales about these
sheltya
." Branca wrinkled her nose. "According to some, they can read how a man died from his bones. But no one can tell us by what Artifice."

"I thought necromancy was an elemental art." Aremil looked at Sorgrad laughing with Charoleia. "Does Evord plan to use our friend's wizardry to further the rest of the year's campaign?"

"Sorgrad claims the captain-general still doesn't know the whole truth about him, or Reher." Branca looked sceptical. "I wouldn't be surprised if Evord did. Regardless, he's adamant that our use of Artifice remain a closely guarded secret, in case that draws the Archmage's eye this way. I cannot imagine him sanctioning open use of magecraft."

"Planir has no authority over Artifice," Aremil reminded her.

"Wizards from Hadrumal work closely with the scholars trying aetheric enchantments in the Tormalin Emperor's service," countered Branca.

Aremil recollected one of Charoleia's concerns. "We must convince Emperor Tadriol not to interfere. Charoleia will be travelling on to Tormalin within the next few days."

Branca nodded. "Evord says we must also send envoys to Caladhria and to Relshaz as soon as possible." She found the silver memorandum case he had given her and made a note in the smooth wax.

Before Aremil could remark on it, the door opened and Tathrin entered.

Aremil had seen him change so much over the course of the summer, growing more muscular, more tanned. He had felt Tathrin's resolution strengthen, his endurance for hardship and fear. In these last few days, he had seen the younger man set aside his horror at the sack of Sharlac and refuse to yield to his fears when he was called on to enter Losand as the battle raged around him. He had always admired Tathrin, now so more than ever. But he no longer envied his friend his place in the bloody vanguard of this struggle.

He also knew how much Tathrin resented his role as the passive conduit for communication between those in Vanam and the captain-general. How the notion of Artifice reading unwilling minds outraged him.

Knowing how bitterly Tathrin would resent him knowing such things, well aware how many of his own thoughts he now concealed from his friend, Aremil was left uncertain. The enchantments that had brought them so closely together had opened a gulf between them.

"I'll get some more wine." Branca tactfully withdrew as Tathrin came over.

"Fair festival." Tathrin contemplated Aremil for a moment. "You look different."

"I'm not sure your mentors would recognise you," Aremil said with a crooked smile.

"Probably not till I get a haircut." Tathrin's smile was fleeting. "I didn't expect to see you so soon."

"You can thank Charoleia." Aremil looked around the room. He hesitated, but the question had to be asked. "Where is Failla?"

"She keeps to her rooms, with Anilt. I wanted to send her safely away but Captain-General Evord says she must stay here, to share what she knows." Tathrin glowered, though not at Aremil. "I hope you're going to understand her situation rather better than Kerith and Nath."

That was a conversation for another time, after he'd spoken to Branca. "Where is Nath?"

"Copying fresh maps for the captain-general." Tathrin folded his arms, his scowl deepening. "He says he cannot forgive Failla's treachery." Tathrin's dark eyes challenged Aremil.

"Her situation was appallingly difficult," he said carefully, fervently hoping his Artifice had concealed his own dismay at learning of Failla's betrayal.

"All she wants is to be free of people using her for their own ends." Tathrin set his jaw.

"She has endured a good deal." Aremil cast about for something that might turn the conversation to safer ground. "Your family live within half a day of here, don't they? Have you seen them?"

"They're furious with me." Tathrin's suppressed anger faltered. "When I told them I was part of all this."

"So is Lyrlen," Aremil said ruefully. "She says I've betrayed my family and all who've ever cared for me. She said that if I was set on coming here, I would have to do it without her."

Should he let Tathrin see the old woman's grief, and her dismay when he had defied her to set out on this journey, to show him he wasn't alone? But how was he to do that now they were face to face, with no call to use Artifice?

"My father says we are just bringing down death and mayhem on innocent people." Tathrin looked at him, stony-faced. "He says he sent me away from home because Duke Garnot was having men hanged by the roadside for unproved crimes. Now I march with an army that's hanging bodies from Losand's walls."

"Wasn't he at least glad to see you safe?" Sudden anger warmed Aremil more than the wine. "See what he says when we carry this whole enterprise through to success. Let him weigh Lescar's new peace against whatever suffering it might cost to achieve it."

"As long as the final balance doesn't tip against us," Tathrin said dourly.

An armoured man opened the door before Aremil could respond. "The captain-general will see you now."

"Let me help you." Tathrin held out his arm.

"Thank you." Aremil relinquished one of his crutches to accept it. "What do you make of the captain-general?" he asked quietly. He wanted to know if anything had changed Tathrin's opinions now that warfare had truly begun.

The tension in Tathrin's face eased a little. "If we are to win through, he's the man to make it happen, and quickly enough to save too much suffering."

They climbed the broad stairs slowly, the last to arrive in the upper hall where Evord had his headquarters. Tables on all sides were piled high with papers and ledgers and the walls were hung with maps. Aremil saw Charoleia already taking a keen interest in these.

"Please, be seated." Evord was dressed in a plain grey doublet and broadcloth breeches, as unremarkable as any sober citizen of Vanam. As he spoke, armoured men were quitting the chairs around a half-circle of tables.

"Introductions are superfluous, I take it?" Aremil was surprised to find the captain-general shorter and rather older than he had expected. He had looked different through Tathrin's eyes.

"We're all friends, and too busy to waste valuable time." Evord smiled. "I assume you have questions?"

"What do the townsfolk make of the Mountain Men's customs when dealing with their dead?" Gruit was plainly still bothered by the charnel vats.

"They find Mountain Men disconcerting, regardless of their death rites," Evord replied frankly. "We're turning that to our advantage, suggesting that the sooner they prove they can keep the peace in accordance with our wishes, the sooner they'll be rid of such perilous guests. Lady Derenna is making that case to the vassal lords of Sharlac quite forcefully."

"Master Welgren's been finding out how bones fit together," Gren chipped in.

All eyes turned to the apothecary. "The articulation of the spine and hips has its mysteries," he ventured apologetically.

"Will you be making your headquarters here or establishing yourself in Sharlac?" Gruit enquired.

"Neither." Evord shook his head. "I don't want anyone claiming I'm setting myself up as the new duke."

"Was such destruction there necessary?" Gruit still looked unhappy.

"It was," Evord said calmly, "to convince as many other towns as possible that surrender is preferable to ransack."

"What of the mercenaries you've hanged here?" demanded Aremil. "I thought they had surrendered."

"Another object lesson." Evord looked at him, clear-eyed. "The other dukes will find it harder to retain mercenaries now that company commanders suspect defeat means a noose rather than the chance of buying their way to freedom. Besides, there wasn't a man of Wynald's Warband without innocent Carluse blood on his hands. Ask the Guilds. The fate of all such captives was debated by the townsfolk in front of Raeponin's shrine."

"It was," Tathrin confirmed with a grim nod.

"The dukes will be raising their militias now, with the lash if need be." Gruit shook his head doubtfully. "And bleeding the rest of their people for the coin to buy mercenaries."