The Assassin's Edge (Einarinn 5) (52 page)

“What kind of overtures?” demanded Kalion instantly.

“I believe he’s offering them an Imperial charter to found a new university in a city of their choice,” Planir said thoughtfully. “Where scholars can cull whatever lore remains among the litany of Tormalin temples, from archive sources like that song book the girl Livak found, and whatever else may be hidden in the records of the great Houses.” Planir sighed. “Add whatever aetheric knowledge Demoiselle Tor Priminale cares to share and I imagine Tadriol will have his own coterie of enchanters soon enough—and those all bound to him with ties both of gratitude and more material debt.”

Kalion chewed on the unpalatable prospect for a moment before returning to the attack. “That’s all the more reason to rein in Shiv and Usara before they discredit wizardry in the Emperor’s eyes.”

Planir smiled. “You need not concern yourself. I do have some news from Suthyfer—”

“You said you dared not scry,” objected Kalion furiously.

“You didn’t let me finish that sentence either.” Planir’s voice was cool. “Thanks to the good offices of the Sheltya maiden Aritane, I can assure you that Shiv and Usara have been working considerable magic that can only resound to Hadrumal’s credit.”

Kalion struggled but had to ask the question. “What have they been doing?”

“All in good time.” Planir waved the hand bearing the ring of his office. “I’m glad you came to see me because I’m more than a little concerned about Aritane. She doesn’t complain but I hear from several sources that Ely continues to be vocal in her contempt for Artifice in general and for Aritane in particular.”

“Who’s been saying such things?” asked Kalion with a fair approximation of casual enquiry.

“It’s enough that I’ve been told; I don’t care to fan the flames of any feuds Ely may be carrying on.” A hint of contempt coloured the Archmage’s tone. “You might warn your protégée such behaviour does her no credit with wizardry at large and risks my disapproval in particular. I would tell her myself but she’d probably consider me biased against her, after the way she has delighted in spreading unkind gossip about Larissa.” Planir smiled thinly. “She’d be right at that but we’ll save that for another day”

Kalion cleared his throat, embarrassed. “I will speak to the girl.”

“I’d appreciate it. If Aritane becomes too unhappy here, there’s every possibility she’ll retreat to Vanam or whatever new seat of learning Tadriol founds for the study of Artifice. After all, visiting scholars are often the only people being halfway civil to her.” Planir looked thoughtful. “Sheltya learning would be a considerable addition to whatever aetheric lore Tadriol might amass.”

The Hearth Master’s scowl boded ill for the hapless Ely. “I’ll see to it.”

“I’d appreciate it.” Planir picked up his book again but set it down as if a sudden thought had struck him. “There’s something else you can do for me. Well, for Velindre, really.”

“What might that be?” Kalion was puzzled.

“You’ve encouraged her ambitions to be Cloud Mistress.” Planir smiled ruefully. “It would be a kindness if you could warn her ahead of time that I shan’t be nominating her to the Council.”

“Why not?” Kalion’s indignation got the better of him once more.

“Because I’ll be nominating Rafrid,” replied Planir simply. “You cannot deny he’s self-evidently the best qualified candidate, both in his elemental proficiencies and with his experience as Master of Hiwan’s Hall. He’s much more of an age to command respect than Velindre and, even after her recent travels, Rafrid has a far wider circle of friends and acquaintances, here in Hadrumal and beyond. He tells me he’s compared notes with alchemists from half the cities between Tormalin and Col.” The Archmage chuckled.

“He cannot hope to continue as Master of the Hall,” Kalion spluttered.

“No indeed.” Planir smiled. “You and Troanna convinced me of that, rest assured. He’s stepping down in favour of Herion.”

“That nonentity?” Kalion’s jaw was slack with surprise. “Whose idea was that?”

“I believe the suggestion came from Shannet.” Planir laughed good-humouredly. “The old hedge-bird can still surprise us, can’t she?”

“She doesn’t stir from her own fireside.” Kalion was too taken aback to conceal his chagrin. “She can barely manage her stairs.”

“That doesn’t stop people visiting her,” Planir pointed out. “She may be old but she still has all her wits and a great many friends besides.”

“I’ll tell Troanna,” said Kalion curtly. He rose to leave.

“You can also tell her I’ve been thinking about her concerns over my own situation.” Planir swung his feet down and leaned forward earnestly. “She’s right, of course. Every Archmage needs a full nexus of Element Masters to back him. I will be nominating a new Stone Master to the Council.”

“Galen?” challenged Kalion.

“No,” The Archmage replied firmly. “My concerns over his fitness haven’t changed and even his closest friends couldn’t claim much success from his attempts to ingratiate himself with a wider circle of acquaintances over this last season or so. I’ll be nominating Usara.”

“What of my concerns over his fitness? Troanna will most certainly object,” warned Kalion heatedly. He looked sternly at the seated Archmage.

“You know, I really don’t think she will,” Planir assured him. “Not when ’Sar tells the Council about his quite spectacular use of magic in the defence of Kellarin’s interests this summer.”

“Just what has he been doing?” asked Kalion through gritted teeth.

Planir hesitated. “I really should leave that for him to explain, to the Council in full session. We should observe the proprieties.”

“You’ve seldom bothered about such things before,” retorted Kalion.

“That’s a fair criticism.” Planir nodded. “I do take heed, and of Troanna’s rebukes.”

Kalion heaved a heavy sigh. “So Shiv and Usara are sinking these pirates? These Elietimm enchanters are put to flight?” He sat heavily in the chair he’d just abandoned and crossed his arms over his barrel chest.

“I believe that’s the general idea,” Planir assured him. “Usara’s working closely with the Demoiselle Tor Priminale—which is another pennyweight tipping the scales in his favour, of course. With him as Stone Master, that friendship with Guinalle could be invaluable for Hadrumal. As and when Tadriol or whoever looks to unite the study of Artifice, Guinalle will be at the centre of their dealings.”

Kalion nodded grudging agreement. “When are we to expect more news?”

“Aritane tells me we should be able to scry safely in a few days’ time,” replied Planir.

“I look forward to that.” There was an unmistakable edge to Kalion’s tone.

“I look forward to the whole business being resolved,” Planir said grimly. “I want this Elietimm threat removed once and for all.”

“So we can apply ourselves to the proper business of wizardry,” Kalion said with relish. “Establishing our influence on the mainland.”

Planir laughed. “Actually, I was more looking forward to having Larissa back again. Did you know she was helping ’Sar and Shiv? I imagine she’ll have all manner of insights into the effective use of a double affinity.” He picked up his book again. “Azazir has some curious theories I’m keen to discuss with her. And, who knows, she may finally agree to marry me.”

“Marry you?” Kalion looked stunned.

“If she’ll have me, and all the encumbrances of my office.” Planir smiled fondly. “I must see if any of the jewellers can supply me with a fitting token of my esteem for her.”

Kalion stood up. “I’ll take my leave of you, Archmage,” he said stiffly. “I expect to be fully informed as soon as you have any news from Kellarin or Suthyfer.”

“Naturally.” Planir merely sketched a wave of farewell as Kalion stomped out of the room, shoulders stiff with annoyance.

The Archmage leaned back in the window seat, looking for his place in the battered journal. He stopped reading after barely a page, marking his place with a feather and looked at the waiting mirror. Shaking his head, he rose and walked rapidly to the door in the panelling.

“So what did we get?” He slid through the door and wrinkled his nose at the smell of smoke and scorched leather.

“You need someone from the library to catalogue these properly.” A mild-faced mage of middle years studied a scroll that crackled as he unrolled it. “We nonentities can’t be expected to know what we’re looking at.” He sounded amused.

“That might be best.” A sturdily built man much of an age with Planir and Herion knelt by the fireplace stacking badly charred tomes inside the fender. He brushed blackened fragments from a blue cuff. “You might like to sort these out, Sannin. No one will wonder why you smell of char.” He grinned at the shapely woman who sat on the silk-hung bedstead.

“Thank you, Rafrid, but I don’t care to have people think I’m losing my touch.” Sannin tucked a lock of lustrous brown hair behind one ear as she leafed through a small book. “Will that little masquerade keep Kalion chasing his own tail until we have more definite news?”

“He’ll have Troanna chasing him,” chuckled Rafrid. “And she’ll be after anyone else who might conceivably know what we’re up to.”

“Quintessential magic’s actually something I’m quite interested in pursuing.” Herion glanced up from his scroll.

“Naturally, once we’ve settled these Elietimm.” Planir leant against the door. “You don’t imagine I was lying to our revered Hearth Master?”

Rafrid set down the seriously burnt book he’d been examining and brushed his hands briskly together. “The first thing Kalion will be telling Troanna is your plan to elevate me above my peers. For which my sincerest gratitude, Archmage.” He looked rather more resigned than elated.

“You can take it up with Shannet, if you don’t want the honour,” Planir offered.

Rafrid pretended to consider this. “No, I’ll take the aggravation of office over her reproaches.”

“She’d never forgive you,” smiled Sannin, still intent on her reading.

“Do you have any ambitions to the honour of Hearth Mistress?” asked Planir idly.

“Me?” Sannin looked up, startled. “No, none at all.”

“You’d tell people exactly that, if such a curious rumour should start circulating?” Planir’s tone was solicitous.

“Just so.” Sannin returned to her book.

“Once word gets round we’ll each have half the Council knocking on our doors.” Herion glanced at Rafrid before looking at Planir. “We’d better have our answers agreed before the rumours start flying round.”

Planir nodded. “Go off and learn your verses. These can wait.”

“I’ll send someone reliable from Hiwan’s library,” Rafrid offered as the two men departed through a second door out on to the staircase.

“Thank you.” Planir went to shut the door but left it ajar, turning to Sannin who was still absorbed in reading. “Are you willing to risk your reputation by being found alone with the Archmage in his bedchamber?” Bitterness underlay his jest.

“My reputation’s safe with anyone whose opinion I value.” Sannin played absently with a button on the nicely rounded bodice of her scarlet dress, not looking up. “Are you really going to ask her to marry you?”

“I told you I wasn’t lying to Kalion.” Planir came to sit beside Sannin on the bed. “Don’t you approve?”

Sannin gazed at him. “It’s not for me to approve or disapprove.” She kissed his cheek with comradely affection before standing up. “And I gave up pointing out the pitfalls in your chosen path when we were apprentices. Just be careful.”

“I’m touched by your concern.” Planir grinned. “But what’s life without a little risk?”

“Safer. I’m rather more concerned about Larissa,” chided Sannin. “You’ve the hide of the village bull and the stones to go with it but she’s barely out of her first pupillage. I know she has a double affinity and plenty of intelligence to go with it but she’s not as strong as she’d like you to think. She always feels she has to match your measure as well as prove herself to everyone else twice over, just because you favour her. I’ve seen her overplaying her hand more than once — not that she’s the first to do that of course.” Sannin shook her head with rueful amusement. “I’m glad she’s got Usara to rein her in before she comes to grief. Now I’d better get back and see if any of my apprentices have set themselves alight.” She left without a backward glance, pulling the door closed, full skirts swishing on the wooden floor.

Planir sat for a moment before searching beneath his pillows. Tucked in the corner where the yellow silk curtains were tied to the posts, he found a gauzy gossamer wrap embroidered with frivolous blue flowers. He held the delicate cloth to his face and breathed deeply, eyes closed with longing. When he lowered his cupped hands, mischievous determination brightened his fond smile.

Moving to the window he raised the hand bearing the Archmage’s great ring. The central diamond caught the strong sunlight and broke it into myriad rainbow shards trapped within the facets. Taking the battered silver circle from his next finger, Planir slid it carefully on beside the insignia of his office. The Archmage’s grey eyes narrowed and new light glowed softly in the gems surrounding the diamond. Clear amber light strengthened opposite mysterious emerald radiance and the ruby glowed with increasing warmth opposite the sapphire’s cold blue. Planir’s face might have been carved from marble as he bent all his concentration on the luminous gems now outshining the very sunlight. The diamond burned ever brighter, drawing colour from the other gems, brilliance fringed with fleeting rainbows. The old silver ring was lost in the blinding light until the magic suddenly flashed into nothingness, leaving Planir gasping, sweat beading his forehead.

He winced as he carefully removed the silver ring, a raw, blistered weal now circling his finger. Shaking, the Archmage studied his handiwork. The once dull and scuffed ring was bright and untarnished, unmarred by any scratch or blemish. It glowed with a rich silver sheen softened with just the faintest hint of gold. Planir left his bedchamber, waving a hand and locks on both doors out on to the corridor snicked softly secure.

Planir slipped the silver ring on his forefinger as he collected a candle from the mantel and took up the mirror and candlestick from the window seat. He winced as snapping his fingertips for a flame pulled painfully at his blisters but the candle burned fiercely all the same. The spreading light shone brilliant in the steel and Planir laid his hands either side of the dark wood frame, concentrating until the spell shrank to little more than a thumbnail disc of vivid brightness.