Dangerous Waters (12 page)

Zurenne’s nerve failed her and so did her knees. She sank into a chair.

‘I have been left wholly friendless, my daughters’ virtue at that man’s mercy. Not even mistress in my own household, my children dressed in rags. No one—’

Licanin cut her short with a sharp gesture. Zurenne’s heart missed a beat. Was he so insulted, so appalled, that he simply would wash his hands of her? Unshed tears burned her eyes.

After a seemingly interminable pause, he nodded. ‘I understand your fears for your daughters’ inheritance. All their hopes of honourable marriage rest on Halferan’s continued prosperity.’

Zurenne felt faint with relief.

‘But there are graver dangers on the horizon,’ Licanin continued grimly. ‘The corsairs grow ever bolder. Their raids have reached as far as Lescar. They sailed up the river Dyal barely thirty days ago, burning and thieving as they went.’

‘But the dukes—’ Zurenne protested weakly.

‘Don’t you know—?’ Licanin clicked his tongue, annoyed. ‘No, you won’t have heard. Well, if you can credit it, the Lescari populace have overthrown their dukes.’ Disbelief warred with his indignation. ‘We can only be thankful that the Duke of Marlier’s militias remained loyal and drove the corsairs back to the sea.’ He sighed. ‘We fear they will soon return to this coast, looking for easier pickings. As soon as they sail north of the cliffs around Attar, these saltings are indefensible.’

For an instant Zurenne was viciously pleased to think of Lord Karpis and Lord Tallat’s baronies being plundered. But no, only the innocent would suffer, along with Halferan’s tenants.

‘Can we expect no help from the inland barons?’ she asked, desolate.

‘If the summer’s raids prove truly vicious, there will be voices raised—’ Licanin shook his head. His next words surprised Zurenne.

‘Much good that will do. Some of us have a different course in mind. Indeed, your own husband was the first to propose it. I did not think it wise at the time but given the corsairs’ new boldness in Lescar—’ He hesitated. ‘I came to consult with Master Minelas as well as the other coastal lords who had supported Halferan’s original proposal.’

Now Zurenne understood Lord Licanin’s concern. If corsairs had sailed up the river Dyal, that surely meant they could sail up the river Tantel in Caladhria just as easily. Distance from the sea was no longer the safeguard it had been for Licanin’s own barony.

‘What did my husband propose?’ she demanded.

Licanin took a breath before deciding to tell her. ‘Halferan asked for help from the wizards of Hadrumal. We must renew our appeal and this time we will not be denied.’

‘What?’ Zurenne was astounded.

‘We have always agreed that mages should hold themselves aloof from warfare between mainland dominions.’ Licanin’s belligerence sounded rehearsed for the Archmage already. ‘We can imagine how much blood would have been shed this past year in Lescar if wizards had joined the battle. But these corsairs are dogs of another colour entirely—’

He broke off. ‘Never mind. This is hardly talk for a lady’s ears. If you are to stay here, you need a new steward, to serve until I send my own representative. I will secure the parliament’s grant at Summer Solstice to take formal charge of your household.’

‘Some of my husband’s former guardsmen live pensioned off near the village. They will be loyal.’ Hope surged in Zurenne’s heart. She had been so long without it she scarcely recognised the sensation. ‘Can I rid myself of the other servants who’ve betrayed me? Can I write to summon merchants to supply us with what we need?’ She gestured at her shabby gown.

Licanin looked uneasy. ‘We will have to break into the strong room, to see what coin remains.’

Zurenne looked downwards, as if she could see through the floorboards. The ground floor of this square baronial tower, as broad as it was tall, was given over to lordly business. A large antechamber accommodated those waiting to be admitted to Halferan’s audience room. Leading off from that, the muniment room held generations of archived grants and writs. A locked and barred door and iron grilles on the stairs defended the basement strong room below from thieves. Unless those thieves had stolen the keys, as Starrid and his new master surely had done.

She looked up at Licanin. ‘Is there any way we can hunt down this man Minelas? To reclaim what he has taken? To see him hang?’

Licanin looked thoughtful. ‘I believe that there may be.’

C
HAPTER
S
EVEN

Trydek’s Hall, Hadrumal

15th of Aft-Spring

‘M
Y LORDS, IF
you please?’ As Jilseth’s sweeping hand urged the barons through the door, they barely acknowledged her.

She had to admit this wasn’t the male arrogance seemingly bred in Caladhrian bone. They were overawed by the prospect of meeting the Archmage. Their haughtiness had been steadily declining since the fogs had swirled around their ship; dense, unnatural and stirred only by the magelit winds. Out in the distance, they could hear waves crashing on mist-shrouded reefs. Accompanying them on their voyage, Jilseth had seen them wondering what else lay in wait for anyone voyaging to Hadrumal.

Their unease subsided somewhat when they saw Hadrumal’s commonplace docks. This wasn’t so different from Claithe or Pinerin, they had said to each other. Until they looked up at the milky sky and realised that the veil of cloud hid the sun completely. No sailor, however diligent with sextant and compass, would ever find his way back here without the Archmage’s permission.

Their disquiet returned and redoubled on the carriage ride to the city. Deposited amid the looming halls and towers, they were further unnerved to realise that, whatever rank they might boast of at home, Caladhrian barons didn’t warrant a second glance from Hadrumal folk.

Jilseth by contrast had been greeted by several of her acquaintances, interested to know where she had returned from. Now two of the barons were sneaking sideways looks at her, belatedly wondering if the Archmage’s envoy was more than a mere letter carrier, despite her petticoats.

‘Good day to you, my lords.’ Planir sat in a high backed chair in the centre of the lofty dais at the far end of the hall.

There were no seats for anyone else. The long tables and benches that usually accommodated prentice and pupil mages at mealtimes had been cleared away. The Archmage’s courteous words echoed in the emptiness, floating up to the dark beams above. His stern predecessors stared down from portraits along the whitewashed walls. Their garb ranged from archaic robes to sober mantles not so different to the Caladhrians’ own.

Planir wore a high-collared black doublet over breeches of the same velvet. The creamy linen of his shirt showed through slashes in the sleeves, each one caught together with a silver-mounted pearl. Light from a high window struck a dull gleam from black silk stockings and a brighter glint from silver buckles on his shoes. With his greying hair and beard, the gems of his ring of office offered the only hint of colour.

Even Kalion would approve such elegance. Jilseth had wondered what other passing wizards had made of their Archmage’s unaccustomed finery this afternoon.

‘My lords?’ Planir prompted as the noblemen drew closer together, exchanging uncertain murmurs.

Jilseth walked on to stand by the steps leading up to the dais. She would have quite liked to sit down after her journey but she could wait, the better to accommodate Planir’s stratagem, whatever it might be.

Baron Saldiray cleared his throat. ‘We were most surprised by your invitation.’

‘As was I by your letter,’ Planir observed.

‘Most honoured,’ Baron Myrist said hastily. ‘To meet you in person.’

‘Quite so.’ Planir’s tone offered him no encouragement.

Lord Saldiray tried again. ‘You wish to discuss our appeal for wizardly aid against the corsairs.’

‘You wish to renew your appeal,’ Planir corrected him. ‘I’m curious to know what you think will change my mind. I’m also interested to learn why you don’t appeal to your own parliament, for Caladhrian ships and troopers to rid your shores of this menace. Weren’t your fellow barons assembled in Duryea, not twenty days ago?’

‘The most recent parliament naturally turned its attentions to Lescar.’ Baron Taine wasn’t so easily intimidated, even if he had spent the first day and night of their voyage here puking over their ship’s stern rail. It had taken Jilseth that long to convince him that a simple quadrate cantrip would calm his stomach’s rebellion.

‘My lord Archmage.’ Lord Saldiray paused before continuing. ‘When Baron Halferan appealed to you before, you explained that wizards do not involve themselves in mainland affairs. But now we know that is not precisely true.’

Despite herself Jilseth stiffened. She only hoped none of the barons noticed.

‘You accuse me of lying?’ Planir arched curious brows. ‘Forgive me, my lords. Please sit.’

He snapped his fingers and a half circle of chairs appeared behind the Caladhrians’ huddle. A stool appeared at Jilseth’s side. She took it as the barons sank into their seats, subdued.

All save Baron Taine. He remained on his feet. ‘We mean no such insult.’ He looked annoyed. ‘But you sanctioned magic to resolve this war in Lescar. We learned that at our Spring Parliament.’

Now Jilseth regretted sitting. She couldn’t see Planir’s expression.

‘Do explain,’ The Archmage invited, faintly sceptical.

Baron Taine swept his mantle back, clasping his hands behind his back. ‘Emperor Tadriol of Tormalin was granted a wizard’s assistance to determine who truly murdered Duke Orlin of Parnilesse and his family.’

So that’s what he meant. Relieved, Jilseth supposed it was inevitable that such a startling story had flown across those lands once under Tormalin’s dominion which remained linked by tradition and commerce.

She wondered how the barons might react if they knew she had been that very necromancer, drawing images of tortured death from Parnilesse’s murdered duchess’s head, stolen from its gatehouse spike. She winced inwardly at the memory.

‘In the interests of justice, yes, I agreed to that wizardry,’ Planir agreed with deceptive mildness. ‘The last thing the benighted Lescari needed was Tormalin legions crossing their borders. Once Emperor Tadriol knew that the rebellion’s leaders were innocent of that appalling crime, the Lescari were free to punish the guilty men themselves.’

Braced, Taine stood facing Planir. ‘We seek freedom for Caladhrian innocents and punishment for the guilty.’

Planir shook his head, regretful. ‘As I explained when Baron Halferan first sought our aid, sinking corsair ships breaks those very edicts against magical interference in mainland affairs which your parliament values so highly. You could not have wished to see wizardry double and redouble the recent bloodshed in Lescar?’

Jilseth was pleased to see the seated barons grimace at that prospect.

‘Surely your magic could drive them off course with a storm?’ Baron Myrist asked hopefully.

‘So some other coast can suffer?’ enquired Planir. ‘Where do you propose we send them?’

‘Then stop them sailing north to begin with.’ Taine betrayed some irritation.

‘Imprison these raiders in their Archipelagan lair, and we would need to go scrying to find them first.’ Planir considered this. ‘Madam Jilseth, would that fall foul of Aldabreshin strictures against using magic in their domains?’

‘Arguably not the scrying, Archmage, if that was worked from Hadrumal. However—’ she raised her voice as Taine opened his mouth to speak, ‘—wizardry confining ships to Archipelagan waters would be considered a gross violation of the natural order that delivers omens and portents. From highest to lowest, my Lord Archmage, the Aldabreshi would be outraged.’

Planir looked unblinking at the barons below the dais. ‘Which would you prefer to face, my lords? Raids by these corsairs or the wrath of uncounted Aldabreshin warlords?’

Lord Blancass spoke for the first time, sneering. ‘Archipelagan superstitions—’

‘Their beliefs are as sincere as your own.’ Planir didn’t grant him the courtesy of his title. ‘Since no one can know the absolute truth of whatever lies beyond this life, I suggest you refrain from mockery.’