The Assassin's Edge (Einarinn 5) (20 page)

Halice turned her attention to Shiv. “See if you can find out anything about snake-flagged pirates without getting your throat cut.”

Temar squeezed Allin’s shoulder. “You’re tiring. That’s enough for now.”

Shiv nodded. “I’ll bespeak you once we’ve made contact with Sorgrad.” He gestured and the link over the endless leagues snapped, leaving the mirror an empty circle.

Halice turned on me. “How’s he going to bespeak Sorgrad? I thought wizards can only talk to other mages.”

I shrugged. “It turned out last summer that Sorgrad’s mageborn.”

Halice’s jaw dropped and then anger darkened her face. “You didn’t tell me!”

“Not my business to tell,” I retorted. “Take it up with Sorgrad if you’re looking for a fight.”

Halice shook his head. “When I think of all the times I could have used a wizard—” Like me, she’d always considered mages something to steer well clear of but since we’d been caught up in Kellarin’s affairs, she’d come to appreciate their uses.

“Bring magic into the Lescari wars and all you’d do is unite every other duke against the one you were fighting for,” Ryshad pointed out. “Which might at least help end their cursed wars.” He grinned but Halice was still looking dour.

“Sorgrad would have been no use to you,” I told her bluntly. “He’s had no real training. It was magebirth got him exiled from the Mountains so all it’s ever been to him is a bane.” If we in the lowlands were chary of wizards, that was nothing compared to the abhorrence the Mountain Men under the guidance of their Sheltya felt for them. Once I’d seen that for myself, I’d found it no wonder Sorgrad had spent his life suppressing his unwanted affinities.

“We have more urgent concerns than arguing among ourselves.” Temar spoke up with surprising authority. “We were taught in the cohorts to learn all we could about our foes. Who could tell us more about these pirates?”

“If only we still had Otrick to call on,” I sighed. The raffish and much missed Cloud Master had studied the workings of the winds through a lifetime of sailing with who’d ever give him passage. That had been pirates more than once.

“Velindre spent a lot of last year sailing the ocean coast,” Allin said hesitantly.

“She trawls round the rougher ends of the docks, does she?” I was amused. In our scant acquaintance, Velindre was one of those mages who presented a front of serene aloofness. Perhaps she had hidden depths.

Temar looked at Allin, concerned. “You mustn’t tire yourself.”

Allin laid her own small, soft fingers over his long and work-hardened ones. “I’m all right, truly. It’s fire magic after all, and Shiv’s right, you know. The more magic I work, the more I find I can do. ”

I caught Guinalle looking at Temar and Allin, her expression fixed.

“She’s in Hadrumal.” Allin set up a fresh candle and lit it with a snap of her fingers. “I really think she has hopes of being chosen for Cloud Mistress.”

If she was deceiving herself, the mage-woman was doing a lot of work for nothing. Allin’s spell caught Velindre in a library, sat at a broad table covered in open tomes stacked two or three high.

“Allin?” Velindre didn’t sound best pleased, drawing an anonymous sheet of parchment over the crabbed and faded writing she was studying.

“Hello, Velindre.” I heard the nervousness in Allin’s voice. “The Sieur D’Alsennin needs your help.”

“What manner of help?” The blonde wizard’s face was pale against the oak shelves loaded with age-darkened books.

“You’re more familiar with the ocean coast than anyone else we can think of,” Temar said courteously. “We find pirates have landed in Suthyfer and wondered if you might have some knowledge of them.”

Velindre looked cautious. “Possibly.”

“The leader flies a scarlet pennon with a snake on it,” Temar told her. “He’s dark, uncommonly tall and bearded.”

Velindre raised pale eyebrows. “That sounds like a villain called Muredarch.”

Ryshad’s arm tightened round me and we both took an involuntary step closer.

“He was a privateer working out of Inglis,” Velindre began.

Temar looked at Ryshad for explanation. “Traders play by Inglis rules or they don’t trade,” he said with contempt. “The Guild Masters post bounties on ships that ignore their tariffs or sail out of embargoed ports. Privateers go after them.”

“Most take any honest ship that falls foul of them as well,” added Velindre.

Ryshad nodded, severe. “They sell on the cargoes to traders who don’t ask questions or to Sieurs who pass off the goods as coming from their own estates. So where’s this Muredarch been lately?”

“Regin, I believe.” Velindre shrugged.

Temar wasn’t the only one looking to Ryshad for answers.

“The most southerly port on the Gulf coast and a real nest of snakes,” he explained. “Pirates know any law-abiding House’s ships won’t pursue them round the Cape of Winds. They’ll risk it when the alternative’s hanging in chains on the dockside. If they make safe landfall in Regin, they can sell all the evidence to the Archipelagans.”

“Before sailing happily up the Gulf coast with an innocent shipload of Aldabreshin spices, silks and gemstones,” concluded Velindre.

“Why’s this Muredarch in Suthyfer?” I wondered.

“He’s holding a mighty grudge against Inglis,” offered Velindre. “He took a guild letter condemning a Den Lajan ship but after Muredarch had set sail, the Sieur bought off the bounty.”

“So Muredarch didn’t get paid?” hazarded Ryshad.

“Worse,” Velindre told him. “He’d caught the ship and sold off the goods in Blacklith then came to Inglis looking to ransom the crew back to Den Lajan. The Guild Masters repudiated the bounty and told him to make Den Lajan’s losses good out of his own pocket. He refused and they posted a bounty on his own head and ship.”

“So every other pirate’s looking to nail his hide to their mast,” speculated Ryshad.

Velindre shook her head. “Not at all. No one will touch him. He’s a clever man and knows how to inspire loyalty as well as respect. Even if Inglis raised the bounty high enough to tempt some desperate captain, fear of the consequences would have his crew mutinying. For every tale of Muredarch’s bravery or boldness, there are two of his ruthlessness.”

“Where does he hail from?” I’d found clues to a man’s weaknesses in his origins more than once.

“There are a double handful of stories doing the rounds.” Velindre counted off fingers with incongruously bitten nails. “Bastard son of some noble House. One of two sons of an Inglis Guild Master who runs legal trade and piracy in tandem. Dispossessed chieftain of some Dalasorian nomads who took to the seas to escape his enemies. Those are the less fanciful speculations.”

“Where he came from is less important than where he is now,” Temar said firmly. “Madam mage, we would welcome—”

“My regrets, Esquire, I’m sorry, Messire, but I’m staying in Hadrumal.” Velindre addressed herself to Allin. “There are all manner of possibilities opening up here. You studied under Master Kalion and his influence seems to be on the rise. Troanna’s swaying the Council to her way of thinking as well. We could see ourselves with a new Stone Master as well as Cloud Master.” Was it my imagination or did a speculative look enter Velindre’s eyes? “Allin, you don’t happen to know where Usara’s got to, do you?”

The radiance of the magic circle dimmed. “I’m sorry,” Allin gasped. “I’m too tired.” The brilliance flared for an instant then dulled to shut out Velindre’s inquisitive face.

“I’m not really tired.” Allin looked guiltily up at Temar. “But I don’t want to get Shiv and ’Sar into trouble. Do you think she believed me?”

“So Hadrumal doesn’t know what they’re up to?” Ryshad was looking at me in a way that promised interrogation rather than pillow talk at bedtime.

I smiled blithely at him. “I imagine the Archmage knows what’s going on behind his back as well as under his nose. He always has before.”

Ryshad raised a quizzical brow at me.

“If we don’t involve him on Temar’s authority, that fat bastard Kalion can’t use his interest in Kellarin for a stick to beat him with.” I managed to sound entirely reasonable. I smiled at Ryshad again and won a grudging grin that eased my heart.

Zyoutessela, Toremalin,

20th of Aft-Spring

Shiv looked uneasily across the snowy linen tablecloth. “You really want that pair in on this?”

“Show me some alternatives,” invited Usara. “We’ve had no luck hiring a ship dealing with honest men.”

“So we deal with two we know to be dishonest?” Shiv grimaced. “Who could vanish with Ryshad’s coin quicker than butter in a dog’s mouth.”

“I’d rather risk that than being knifed in some dockside alley,” said Usara bluntly. “Anyway, they wouldn’t betray Livak, nor yet Halice.”

“You’re the one who’s travelled with them.” Shiv still looked unconvinced.

“I liked them.” Pered spoke up from the corner where he was stocking a leather satchel with bottles and brushes from a brass-bound chest.

“I’ll allow they were charming house guests but I’ve heard stories from Livak that threatened to curl my hair.” Shiv ran a hand over his dead straight locks. “And they’re like Livak; never do anything without looking for something to show for it. What have we to offer?”

“Sorgrad may claim he wants no schooling in his magic but Livak hinted that’s what he went looking for in Solura.” Usara’s eyes grew distant. “You know he’s got a double affinity?”

Shiv nodded. “Which makes his going untrained even more of a waste.”

“Think it through,” said Usara impatiently. “Sorgrad’s attuned to fire and air. That gives us the four elements between the three of us.”

“You’re thinking we could create a nexus with an untrained Mountain Man?” Shiv was incredulous.

“Maybe not a nexus,” allowed Usara. “But it’s a chance to see how we could use our elements in common that we’ll never get in Hadrumal, not without someone running telltale to Kalion or Troanna.”

“Perhaps.” Shiv drummed his fingers on the table before stopping with a decisive thump. “Planning a fire won’t boil the pot. You’d better bespeak Sorgrad and see what he thinks.”

Pered slung the strap of his satchel over his shoulder. “I’ll go earn you the cost of a few more candles.” He caught the hand Shiv raised to him. “Let me know as soon as you can fix a sailing date. A few portraits in oils would fetch a sight more coin than ink and watercolour sketches.” He squeezed Shiv’s fingers and went through the door with a spring in his step.

Usara looked after him with embarrassment. “We do have enough money for such things.”

“He doesn’t paint or draw for the coin.” Shiv laughed. “That’s just a handy excuse. He’d spend his last cut piece on parchment scraps or charcoal before he’d even think of bread.”

Usara rubbed his hands briskly together. “Let’s see if we can find Sorgrad.” He reached for a small travelling mirror. “Fetch me a taper, would you?”

But the door opened again before Shiv had reached for the pot on the mantelshelf.

“Look who I met on the stairs,” announced Pered.

“Larissa.” Shiv’s greeting was barely civil.

Usara gaped. “What are you doing here?”

“Good day to you.” Larissa took the chair Shiv had just vacated and tucked demure lavender skirts around booted ankles. She unlaced her short grey travelling cloak and let it fall back to reveal a close-buttoned, high-necked bodice to her long-sleeved gown. For all her sober garb, the mage-woman carried herself with an unconscious sensuality. Pered absently dug sketching materials out of his bag.

“To what do we owe this pleasure?” asked Shiv curtly.

A faint wash of colour highlighted Larissa’s strong cheekbones. “I want to come to Kellarin.”

Left without a seat, Shiv sat on the bed’s richly embroidered counterpane. “Did Planir send you?”

“No.” Larissa avoided his eye as she brushed her thick, chestnut plait back over one shoulder.

“Then how did you know we were here?” asked Usara mildly.

“Planir told me you were sailing for Vithrancel.” There was a hint of defiance in Larissa’s reply. “You had to be here or in Bremilayne. I can scry.”

“You expect us to believe Planir’s not watching your every move?” said Shiv caustically.

“Shivvalan!” Pered objected.

“Why should he?” Larissa rounded on the lanky wizard. “I’ve no real talent to merit his interest, isn’t that what they say? Dual affinity, but it doesn’t amount to half a true aptitude. How else would I have advanced to the Council without playing the Archmage’s warming pan? What use could I possibly serve there beyond passing on anything I learn inside Planir’s bed curtains.” Bitterness spilled over her sarcasm. “Or perhaps you’re in the camp who think I do have some talent, not for magic obviously but for sleeping with the right man and learning his secrets when I’ve slaked his lusts? Are you one of those imagining I’m playing a deeper game, just waiting for me to betray him to Kalion or Troanna?” She flapped a mocking hand.

Usara rubbed a hand over his beard. “I see you’re well up on current gossip.”

“There are always plenty of folk who think I really ought to know what’s being said about me.” Hurt tempered Larissa’s resentment.

“Not that they agree, naturally.” Pered glanced up from his sketch with a meaningful look for Shiv. “And they defended you, they really did.”

“You’re the Archmage’s pupil and you sleep in his bed,” Shiv said reluctantly. “Blow in the dust and it’s bound to sting your eyes.”

“Have you never been a fool for love, Shiv?” The faintest quaver threatened Larissa’s composure.

“Of course he has.” Pered’s tone left no room for argument.

Usara cleared his throat in the brittle silence. “Why exactly do you want to join us?”

Larissa sniffed inelegantly. “If I’m a fool for love, Hadrumal gossip says the same of Planir. Or according to Kalion, he’s a fool for lust, which keeps things simpler, the way the Hearth Master likes them. Troanna just seems to disapprove on principle which is a bit rich coming from a woman twice married and with Drianon knows how many children.” Larissa looked unhappily at Usara. “Whoever you listen to, I’m undermining Planir. That bitch Ely was hinting he won’t appoint a new Cloud Master until he can concoct some charade to support my nomination. According to her, he’d use his own abilities to mask my inadequacies before the Council.”