“Can I be of assistance? Are you buying or selling?”
“I was just passing and you know, I was wondering what you could tell me about this sword?” I smiled at him and did my best imitation of Camarl D’Olbriot’s countless generations of good blood and better education.
“A pleasure, sir.” The man had the pleasant knack of being effusive without being ingratiating. His eyes gleamed as I unbuckled the sword and handed it over.
“Now this is very interesting.” He actually sounded as if he meant it. “This insignia, it’s the House D’Alsennin.”
His Tormalin was flawlessly accented; it was a shame I’d never heard of the House in question.
“How very odd,” I registered aristocratic embarrassment.
The little man ran a finger over the crest embossed in the leather of the scabbard. “The House fell in the collapse of the Empire; it was extinct in the principal line some time before then, I believe, and what remained of the property reverted to a cadet succession of For Alder.”
A frisson ran through me that I couldn’t explain. Was For Alder an ancestral connection of Messire’s? I knew the family had several links to Houses that styled themselves “For” to show they had once held the Imperial Throne, but I didn’t think that was one of them.
I realized the evaluator was talking about the engraving on the sword.
“Delathan, yes, that would certainly fit, he was a smith working in the last years of the Empire. Tell me, Esquire, is this a family heirloom?”
“Of sorts, from a collateral line.” I repossessed the sword and made sufficient business of buckling it on and settling it on my hip again to avoid the little man’s eye. He couldn’t bring himself to stoop to further vulgar inquiry.
“What would it make at auction, just out of interest?”
He was polite enough to take me at my word, despite my distinctly unaristocratic appearance. “I would expect you would get offers upwards of two thousand Crowns. We could sell it for you, should you wish to part with it for any reason, but I’m honor bound to say we don’t deal in swords as a rule, so you might well get a better price elsewhere. We don’t really have clients looking for such things. If you take the second turn after the fountain on the Gulf side, you’ll find dealers who specialize in blades,” he added a little reluctantly.
“Many thanks.” Waving an airy farewell, I sauntered off along the street, following his directions. Satisfaction warmed me as I discovered a cluster of merchants dealing in everything from ivory-handled daggers for ladies to efficient glaives to keep watchmen at a suitable distance from anyone trying to do them damage. I would look for a nice little blade to take back for Livak, I decided, doing a little business would give me better reason for being here. I’d been wanting to get her a present for some while now.
I rejected a long salesroom whose two open doorways were thronged with a lively clientele of fashionable youths trying out impractical rapiers. The place looked too busy and would most likely be too honest to do more than tell me what I already knew about the blade. A more subdued establishment off the main thoroughfare looked more promising until I saw an ill-shaved handful idling the morning away in an alley opposite. As a customer left, with a friendly pat on the shoulder from the pockmarked craftsman, one detached himself from the group and sauntered purposefully after the heedless merchant. I made a note of the name above the counter-front to pass onto Mellitha; I was sure she could use the information to earn a few Marks of goodwill with the Watch. Laying a hand negligently but noticeably on my sword hilt, I continued on my way past.
Back on the busy carriageway, I paused and wondered which way to go; my initial ebullience was fading. I felt a sudden familiar pang of loss, missing having Aiten waiting in a doorway for me, watching my back before taking his turn with the questions and chat while I looked out for anyone taking too much interest in him. This was a job for two and, with Halice tied by her leg and none of the wizards more reliable than a wax rune, perhaps I should have waited for Livak. “Then you’d have nothing to match her with, when she comes back with the name of the inn where the Elietimm are staying and tells you what they ate for breakfast.”
I tried to laugh at myself but I could not shake off a growing feeling of unease. I turned abruptly down an alley and cut across a back entry to take another on to a side street. A mercer’s cart provided some handy cover and I waited for a long moment to see if anyone came out of the alley looking for me. No one did but I couldn’t shake off a prickling at the back of my neck.
“Anyone would think you’d had an Eldritch man tread on your shadow,” I mocked myself with some irritation.
This street had a choice of more workaday metalworkers. I crossed to one whose shutters stood open to reveal a display of old as well as new blades in a wide range of styles. Pausing to rumple my overlong hair across my eyes and pull the laces of my jerkin askew, I went in, rounding my shoulders and ducking my head.
“Good mornin’,” I drawled in the tones of the dock urchins my mother had spent my childhood warning me about.
“Noon chime’s been and gone, friend. Good afternoon.” The smith was a thick-set man, muscled arms scarred with the burns of his craft and his black eyes had all the warmth of wet coal.
“I was wondering what you could tell me about this sword?” I gave him a slack-jawed smile and shuffled my feet in the dust of the floor.
He reached for the blade and turned down the corners of his mouth, unimpressed. “Where’d you get it from?”
“Borrowed it off my brother,” I snickered, remembering a time I had helped myself to a rather lewd carving Mistal had been cherishing, concealed, as he had thought, inside his tool-bag in our father’s workshop.
“These leaves graved on the metal, that’s Delathan’s style, but this isn’t Old Empire.” The smith shrugged, his tone dismissive. “ ’Tis a good copy though, I’ll give you two hundred Crowns for it, Tormalin minted.”
“That’s a deal of money.” I grinned vacantly. “I’m not after selling it just yet, though.”
The smith scowled and shoved the blade back toward me. “Why are you wasting my time then?”
I hunched my shoulders and shuffled my feet some more. “Well, a man never knows when he might need some spare coin, not in a city like this.”
I snickered some more with a suggestive grin and the smith smiled back broadly.
“True enough. If you’re looking for a nice clean girl, try the Hole in the Wall, off the Lantern Way.”
I nodded with unnecessary enthusiasm. “Thanks for the tip.”
The smith made a creditable try at registering a sudden thought. “You know, I might have a customer who’d be interested in making you an offer. Where was it you said you were lodging?”
“Plume of Feathers,” I told him readily. “Thanks again.”
I shambled out of the workshop and made my way around a handy corner before straightening up. That had certainly started a hare or two but I realized with some frustration that this was going to be a hard game to course. If I’d had Aiten with me, I could have set him to watching the friendly metal-beater while I kept an eye on the Plume of Feathers. Livak might be able to take Ait’s place, if she hadn’t come up with any leads, but I wasn’t any too keen on the idea of her hanging around this neighborhood on her own. I couldn’t very well stay with her, not without risking suspicion, even if we could somehow get Halice to keep watch at the Plume of Feathers. It wasn’t that I didn’t think Livak could take care of herself, as I knew only too well that she could; the problem was I didn’t want to risk any Elietimm spotting her, dyed hair or not.
I was feeling uneasy again. I turned back to the end of the alley, looking back at the smithy, wondering what to do for the best. My wits seemed to be unraveling, and I swallowed on a suddenly dry throat. It was a warm day, sure enough, but I hadn’t been that long without a drink. I scrubbed a hand across my face but that seemed to make things worse. My eyes began to blur and the noises of the street around me became oddly distorted, echoing around my ears then lost in a sound like crashing waves. Cold sweat began to pour from me, my shirt clung stickily to my back as I crumpled against a wall, legs suddenly unable to support my weight. The blood was pounding in my head like the beat from Misaen’s own anvil and my breath was catching in my chest as I fought off the panic that threatened to choke me.
I heard a footstep on my off hand and gripped the hilt of the sword with nerveless fingers; as I did so, Saedrin opened the shades to swallow me.
The outer court of Wellery’s Hall,
in the island city of Hadrumal,
30th of Aft-Spring
He was an imposing figure; tall, dressed in black velvet with a subtle embroidery of scarlet and gold flames at the neck, indicating his mastery of fire to even the most untutored apprentice. A ruby glowed on his breast, clasped in the jaws of a sinuous dragon brooch, the red gold of his ring of office catching the sunlight as he raised his hand to adjust the hang of his maroon cloak. This and the excellent cut of his gown happily concealed much of his bulk, but regretfully the current fashion in high, tight collars was cruelly unflattering to his thickly jowled neck. Several apprentices hastily removed themselves from his path as he strode through the courtyard, an expression of extreme displeasure on his flushed face.
“Archmage!”
A slimly built man in dark, workaday broadcloth turned his head, an unremarkable figure were it not for his air of absolute confidence.
“Hearth-Master.” Planir inclined his head in a nicely calculated acknowledgment then turned back to the trio of nervous novice wizards.
Kalion had no choice but to wait for the Archmage to conclude his conversation. He stood, feet planted firmly on the cobbles, brows knitting as his already high color deepened to beetroot, which clashed unpleasantly with his opulent attire.
“It’s been a pleasure; remember, my door is always open.” Planir’s warm smile deepened the fine creases around his eyes, which lingered a little on the slim back and fine ankles of one of the girls. The apprentices quickly retreated from Kalion’s forbidding gaze.
“Good morning, Hearth-Master.” Planir ran a hand over his close-cut black hair and turned to Kalion. “Let’s use your study, shall we? It’s closest.”
Before the fire mage could reply, Planir led the way briskly out of the courtyard and down the flagged sidewalk of Hadrumal’s high road. Kalion swept after the Archmage, his lips narrow with barely concealed irritation by the time they turned into a second courtyard of pale stone buildings and he took out a key to open the door to a slender tower whose pinnacles were carved into tongues of stone fire.
“I am very much perturbed by what I have just learned—” he began as they climbed the stairs.
“That much is evident,” said Planir without heat. “Which is why I feel we should discuss your concerns in the privacy of your rooms.”
Kalion’s heavy boots rang on the oak of the stairs as he stamped his way up to his luxuriously appointed accommodations.
“What has happened to this man Ryshad?” he demanded without preamble, shoving the door closed behind Planir and dumping his cloak unceremoniously, half onto a sumptuous brocade chair, half on the floor.
“Shivvalan is attempting to find out, Hearth-Master,” replied Planir mildly, retrieving the cloak and hanging it precisely on its customary hook.
“Attempting sounds more than a little vague,” Kalion sniffed. “Do these Ice Islanders have the man or not?”
Planir spread his hands in an eloquent gesture. “As yet, we do not know.”
“We need to find out,” stated Kalion firmly. “The matter must be raised with the Relshazri magistrates at once; I have contacts in the city with sufficient status to do so. I should have an answer for you within a few days at most.”
“Thank you, Hearth-Master, but I don’t believe that will be necessary, just at present.” There was steel wrapped in the velvet of Planir’s courtesy.
Kalion stared at him, undaunted. “Your man, Shivvalan, has managed to lose perhaps the most significant of all the artifacts we have discovered pertaining to this lost colony, and you don’t think urgent measures are necessary? That sword is one of the few items we can absolutely place in the possession of a man we know without doubt to have sailed with Den Fellaemion to Dastennin only knows where and then vanished.”
“I prefer to give Shivvalan some time to discover Ryshad’s whereabouts discreetly.” Planir made himself comfortable on a leather upholstered settle. “I don’t particularly want the Relshazri asking questions about this man’s significance or wondering just what our interest in him might be. It is my decision to make, Kalion.”
The Archmage’s tone was smooth but implacable. Kalion turned to busy himself at a sideboard where a crystal decanter stood in a circle of red-stemmed glasses.
“Cordial?”
“A little of the damson liqueur, thank you.”
Planir took the glass with a warm smile and Kalion sat down in a high backed, ornately carved oaken chair, arranging the skirts of his robe with some care.
“If the Elietimm have taken the man, it’ll be because they have the talents to unlock the mysteries the sword is concealing.” Kalion leaned forward, his expression intent. “We must be prepared; we have to know what we are dealing with. I have said time and again that we should make a more active search of the libraries on the mainland, demand access to the archives of the remaining temples, perhaps even bodies such as Merchant Venturers’ associations, the Caladhrian Parliament. We need to know if they have information we can use and this slow accumulation of reports from itinerant scholars is simply not good enough.”
“I am sure that we are learning what we need as fast as is consistent with discretion.” Planir wiped a bead of moisture from the foot of his empty glass and placed it carefully on the top of a highly polished wine cooler. “Still, tell me Hearth-Master, what do you propose to tell the Merchant Venturers of Col, for example, when you demand access to their confidential archive? What would be your explanation?”