The Swordsman's Oath (Einarinn 2) (74 page)

“I took you once, prince’s man. I can do it again,” the enchanter snarled, hefting his mace in both hands.

Not today, I thought, going in hard against his rapid blows, sweeping his iron-bound mace aside to rip a long tear down his near arm. To have his own blood let like that seemed to enrage Kramisak still more and he came at me with a flurry of furious strokes. For all his ferocity, I found myself evading him with ease. He seemed completely unable to read my moves, and equally was unable to stop himself mistakenly anticipating my strokes and stepping into a blow rather than defending against it. I cut him again, a deep wound to the upper arm that weakened his blows considerably. He still managed to get a bruising strike in on my leg, but in doing so laid himself open to a sideways slice that left his ribs showing white bone within the torn red flesh. This ragged sword was sawing into him like wood and I leaned all my strength into my blows.

He was fighting Temar. I saw it in an instant of incredulous understanding. Kramisak did not realize that the mind behind my sword in our battle before Shek Kul had been another’s. He was fighting Temar and was losing to me. What would Temar do to that lunge, I asked myself rapidly. He would parry, just so. I stepped in the other direction and slid my notched sword around and over Kramisak’s mace to rip into his throat, great gouts of his blood making the hilt slip in my hands as the disbelief in his eyes faded and he fell forward, the foul and all too familiar stench of death rising from his body as his last spasms ended. I leaned down and cut the belt, with its antique buckle, from his corpse.

Great cries rose from the mercenaries outside. I stepped to a ruined window to see what was going on. To my total surprise, those Elietimm still standing were throwing down their weapons, kneeling, arms spread wide, unmistakably suing for mercy, something the mercenaries were rather more inclined to grant than the colonists, who slew most that they could reach before the mercenaries stopped them. Across the river the fires around the steading suddenly died and Shiv vanished in a flash of azure light, leaving the knot of colonists he had been defending with spears of lightning looking at each other, completely astounded. He reappeared next to me a moment later, chest heaving.

“Is it over?” I demanded, Temar at my side, Livak and Guinalle still clutching each other’s hands by the stairway.

“For the present!” Shiv let loose a wild yell of triumph, embracing me, a gesture I returned without hesitation before turning to do the same to Livak, kissing her soundly as well.

Chapter Eleven

Taken from the family archive of the House Den Rannion,

Bremilayne.

From Lyal, Sieur Den Rannion, to Ingaret, Messire Den Perinal, by the hand in person of Milral Arman, of common height with red hair and blue eyes, a scar on his sword arm and a brand of horse theft on his off hand.

My dear cousin,

I write with the sad tidings that my esteemed father, Vahil, late Sieur of this House was received by Saedrin’s grace on the 44th day of For-Summer. I would ask that you convey this news to your mother, my beloved aunt, Maitresse Elsire, in such a manner as you feel appropriate for her age and infirmity. I leave it to your discretion as to whether or not you tell her his final words were of their parents, the friends of his youth, and sorrow over some undischarged vow. I regret to say that this last caused him no little distress and consequently, I assured him that, when circumstance allowed, I would seek to rediscover the lost colony of which I know your mother also still speaks.

Between, ourselves, I can only pray that Saedrin is able to pacify my father on this matter, else we face the prospect of his inconsolate shade wandering our halls for some generations to come. Our situation is not as desperate as some but Misaen will halt the moons before I have resources to spend chasing an old man’s disappointments with only half-remembered tales and inadequate records to guide me. The fighting has passed us by for the moment and I am in negotiation with sundry Houses in support of the Sieur D’Aleonne. I would appreciate your thoughts on this matter and, of course, any assurance of military aid that you might care to make available, should the situation in your locality become more stable. You might also care to know that the Sieur D’Istrac has approached me in respect of a betrothal between my daughter Kindra and his eldest nephew. How go your negotiations with D’Evoir?

Kel Ar’Ayen, 22nd of For-Autumn

Are you all ready to go?” Shiv sauntered down the wharf, his own baggage slung negligently over one shoulder.

“I think so.” I looked up to the gateway to the Den Rannion steading, now cleared and roughly repaired. Halice and Livak were deep in conversation, Halice in workaday breeches and jerkin while Livak stood with her kit-bag leaning against the wall. I rubbed a hand against my pocket to reassure me that the parchment bearing Halice’s account of the healing done to her leg was secure there. If I were going to hand back my oath, I would be rendering a full accounting.

“I was rather surprised when she said she was staying,” Shiv remarked. “How’s Livak taking it? I know they’ve been close a long time.”

“Whatever else, she wants Halice to be content,” I shrugged.

“Yes, she’s sad, and she’s done every cursed thing she can to change her mind, but when all the runes are thrown, it’s still Halice’s decision. Livak can’t deny her that.”

“Do you know why, exactly?” Shiv looked curious. “I haven’t liked to ask.”

“Halice says she’s had enough of fighting in Lescar, of spending every season losing friends only to have all the runes swept back into the bag and drawn afresh the next year. I can’t say I blame her, that’s one of the reasons my friend Aiten got clear of the civil wars. Now Halice reckons she’s found a place where her skills can be useful and she feels she’s fighting for a worthwhile cause.” I grimaced, wondering where I would find such a thing now and still feeling a dull pang at Aiten’s name.

“I hope she doesn’t have to do any more fighting this year,” Shiv grimaced. “Until we can get some more people over here, they’re still cursed vulnerable.”

I shook my head and pointed at the walls of the steading where busy figures were repairing the crenellations and wall walk. “Most of the mercenaries are staying and, with all the colonists we could revive, they should be all right through the winter. They’ve been putting the prisoners to work building houses and defenses as well as picking everything they can find to eat or store, so they’re well enough prepared.”

“I still think it’s odd so many of them surrendered like that.” Shiv shook his head. “How can we be sure there are no magic-wielders among them?”

“Guinalle is sure of it.” I shrugged. “She’s been picking their minds apart if they so much as look at anyone sideways. Parrail was telling me it’s all connected with a hierarchy of authority in the Elietimm culture.” I did my best to mimic the young scholar’s earnest tones. “Once their leader was dead, they had no choice but to submit to the leader of those strong enough to defeat him.”

“Sounds highly implausible to me,” muttered Shiv darkly.

“I don’t know, I’ve been thinking about it. Remember, those islands aren’t like Lescar, able to keep ripping each other apart year after year because so many other people get fat off the spoils or have an interest in keeping the fighting going. If the Elietimm fought like Lescaris, all they’d have in a couple of seasons would be bare rock to eat and cold sea to drink.”

“Maybe.” Shiv did not look convinced.

“The prisoners aren’t a threat, Shiv. If they all die of a fever tomorrow, the colony can manage without them.” I wouldn’t grieve if they did, I thought, silently acknowledging that I shared Shiv’s reservations to some extent. “No, everyone here will be safe enough over the winter; the Elietimm won’t be able to cross the ocean again this year. Better yet, losing their expedition should give them pause for thought before they set sail in the spring, even if they know what happened to them, which I would doubt.”

“Has anyone come up with an explanation for those bastards having copies of the ancient Tormalin charts of this place, the ones made by Den Fellaemion or whatever he was called?”

“Not that I’ve heard.” I tried to look unconcerned, not wanting to think about Planir’s request that I use my possible new status to investigate this on Messire’s behalf. “I hardly think it’s important.”

“I hope you’re right,” Shiv sighed. “I suppose that’s one advantage we have over them. We can cross the ocean this late in the year, though Trimon knows I’m not looking forward to it without Otrick or Viltred to help.”

“Dastennin grant us safe passage,” I agreed, none too keen myself at the prospect of the imminent voyage in the teeth of the autumn storms.

“So what will you be doing?” Shiv rummaged in a pocket and handed me a little horn beaker. I held it while he filled it with water, which soon began to steam gently. “Go on, tell me,” he urged as he dropped a twist of muslin fragrant with herbs into the cup. “I saw you talking to Planir, what did he have to say?”

I handed Shiv his tisane. “It seems the Archmage gave your old friend Casuel letters to take to Messire before we started our voyage. Anyway, Cas was asked to stay on, so that Planir could advise Messire directly of the success or otherwise of our quest.”

“And?” demanded Shiv.

“And Messire feels I should be raised in rank from sworn man to chosen man,” I said dryly.

“But that’s an honor, isn’t it?” asked Shiv doubtfully, seeing my expression.

“It could be, if I choose to accept it,” I nodded, still looking at Livak who was hugging Halice. “I have the voyage home to decide in, haven’t I? Have you another one of those cups?” I wasn’t about to discuss this with anyone before I had talked everything through with Livak. “Anyway, what will you be doing with yourself?”

“After I’ve taken Pered to Col for the Equinox, you mean?” Shiv grinned as he handed me the tisane, but his expression suddenly became serious as he made another for himself. “Planir will have every mage with wits or breath busy testing everything we learn about aetheric magic, sorry, Artifice I suppose we should be calling it now. That and threatening every scholar, university and temple with fire and flood unless they give up everything they know about the slightest magical tradition. Saedrin knows, the magic we’ve won has been costly enough.”

“Viltred’s visions did him no real service, did they?” I commented. “So much for his predictions of a glorious future with us all dressed up in our festival best.”

“Auguries are most accurate the closer they are in time.” Shiv shrugged. “The warning about the Elietimm was clear enough; he’d have died if he stayed, no question.”

Maybe so. I hesitated but decided to ask Shiv something that had been bothering me for a while now. “Those visions, the palace being sacked and then us all dressed up in velvets, was that all true? Not just something to hold me to my oath, something to tempt Livak with, perhaps, if you could have got her to watch them?”

Shiv looked around sharply. “Is that what you thought? No, Ryshad, that was a true seeing, even if it never came to pass. All right, I’ll admit I hoped the prospect of gambling at a Sieur’s table would catch Livak’s eye, but I wouldn’t counterfeit something like that. I knew you to be a man of honor; what kind of mage do you think I am?”

A disturbance at the gates of the steading saved me from having to find an answer. I watched with Shiv as a slow procession made its way down to the wharf, five litters borne by grim-faced mercenaries and one by Planir, Kalion, Usara and Naldeth.

“Has Otrick stirred at all?” I asked Shiv gently.

The mage shook his head abruptly, gritting his teeth. “No, not since that Elietimm scum tried to take his mind from him.” The water in my cup seethed suddenly.

“How’s Kalion’s hand?” The fat wizard was in evident pain from his thickly bandaged knuckles as sailors helped lift the frail burden on to the ship. All his learning had not warned him of the damage one can do to oneself knocking even a small man like Otrick unconscious with a single punch.

“Guinalle has mended most of the damage.” Shiv managed to smile. “It seems our revered Hearth-Master will still be able to bore his pupils with endless recitals on his flute. Still, it’s a small price for him to pay for saving Otrick. I only hope we can find a way to revive the old pirate, bring him back to himself somehow.”

The frail figure of the ancient mage Shannet followed the litter, her stick thin arms clasping a plain urn with a muted gray decoration. A thought struck me. “Who’s going to tell Mellitha about Viltred?” I hoped her grief would be respected by the Archmage.

“Kalion has offered to take the urn to her, since Viltred had no other family.”

Shiv’s voice was inappropriately tart, but I could well understand why. I wondered why Planir was giving Kalion such an opportunity to visit a leading citizen of such an important city, where he would doubtless wheedle invitations to meet the great and the powerful of Relshaz. “I’d say Mellitha is more than a match for Kalion, Shiv.”

“Maybe so,” allowed Shiv with a faint smile.

“And the others who were struck down?” I watched as the motionless form of the woman Jervice was carried gently aboard the vessel. “What does Guinalle think?” I looked at the slim girl, warmly wrapped in a cloak that I recognized as belonging to Usara, giving Parrail a sheaf of instructions.

“She says it should be possible,” Shiv tried to look hopeful. “It’s just a matter of finding the right approach.”

“Dastennin send you find it,” I said fervently.

“Some deity certainly has a nasty sense of humor,” said Shiv unhappily, “letting something like that happen, after we arrived just in time to foil the assault.”

“Guinalle reckons it was the other way around.” Usara joined us, his own expression tired and sad. “She thinks the Elietimm had launched their attack as soon as they realized we were coming down river.”

Shiv shrugged. “Whatever. So, are you staying or coming with us, ’Sar?”