Darkening Skies (The Hadrumal Crisis) (42 page)

‘Yet this man whom you brought here to our king’s realm offered gold to a Mandarkin,’ the man in a sombre russet gown said harshly. ‘He stands here before us and admits that he made this alliance with a lifelong enemy of all Solurans.’

‘I did not understand what I was doing. Do not blame him for my folly, any more than you accuse the Archmage,’ Corrain said quickly. ‘Kusint did his best to warn me. He turned his back the moment he saw that I was in earnest. But I was too desperate to listen—’

‘So you say.’ The woman in the golden velvet gown cut him short. ‘Where is Planir of Hadrumal now?’

‘Where—’ Corrain looked at her, uncomprehending. ‘I don’t know, if he’s not in his own hall—’

‘What help does he seek elsewhere?’ A man in maroon demanded.

‘I don’t know.’ Corrain could only repeat himself.

‘What does Hadrumal make of these past few days’ happenings in Relshaz?’ The woman in the seat beside Gaveren wore a blue silk gown shot with green like a bankfisher’s wing.

‘Relshaz?’ Corrain was entirely at a loss.

The assembled wizards exchanged trenchant looks.

Gaveren Raso pursed his lips. ‘So you have admitted your folly to us and taken the blame. What do you want of us now?’

Corrain felt the suggestion of a headache rising from the tension in his neck. ‘This Mandarkin has claimed the raiders’ island for his own. He seeks more wealth and threatens to plunder my home again. He will rob others regardless; I have no doubt of that.’

‘Then you are well served for your foolishness.’ The woman in the central seat drew her feet in beneath her leaf-green skirts as though ready to stand and leave. ‘This is no concern of ours.’

‘Tell Hadrumal’s Archmage to kill this Mandarkin and that will settle accounts between us,’ the woman in gold velvet said.

The woman in leaf-green looked startled, offering some protest in the Soluran tongue. The man in maroon added his voice to hers.

‘Planir needs your help to kill the Mandarkin,’ Corrain said desperately. ‘The Aldabreshi know nothing of magic but their thefts have won them weapons and jewels with wizardry bound within them. The corsairs had no idea that they possessed such treasures but this Mandarkin knows ensorcelled artefacts for what they are.’

He drew a breath, seeing that piece of news had broken through the Soluran wizards’ indifference. He pressed home his advantage.

‘The Mandarkin will use these artefacts against us; I have no doubt of that. Planir says that Hadrumal has no great knowledge of such things. The Archmage asks you to share your own lore so he might put an end to this menace. Before this Mandarkin returns to threaten Solura.’

Surely these arrogant men and women had some concern for their own hides.

Half of the Solurans spoke up at once. The cobalt-robed wizard silenced them all with a glare. He twisted in his seat to look into the emptiness by the closest window.

‘Sister Alebis?’

‘Saedrin’s stones!’ Corrain took a swift step backwards.

Two women were sitting in the recessed seat which had seemed wholly empty before. One wore a charcoal gown with a creamy hooded cape hiding her face. The second wore dark breeches and a pale surcoat cut from the same creamy cloth as well as a gleaming chainmail hauberk. She stared at Corrain, leaving him with no doubt of her skills with the long sword belted at her hip.

The caped woman threw back her hood. She looked old enough to be her escort’s grandmother or indeed mother to any of the wizards in the room.

‘The Caladhrian speaks the truth. Planir of Hadrumal had no knowledge of what he intended.’ She nodded at Kusint. ‘This boy only sought to help. He would never have agreed to any alliance with the Mandarkin.’

‘Has he any knowledge of Hadrumal’s plans?’ Gaveren Ruso demanded.

‘No.’ The caped woman gazed at Corrain. ‘Nor of any of their secrets.’

Why did these Soluran wizards look so disappointed? Before Corrain could pursue that question, he saw the old woman’s dark eyes fasten on him again.

‘You’re an adept of Artifice.’ Now she wasn’t merely seeing into his innermost thoughts. She was prompting him to speak them aloud.

The armoured woman laid one hand on her sword hilt. ‘This is Sister Alebis of the House of Sanctified Repose.’

‘He means no disrespect.’ The caped woman raised an age-spotted hand to soothe her escort. ‘He is merely ignorant.’

Before Corrain could breathe a sigh of relief, her wrinkled face hardened.

‘The Caladhrian does not lie but he assuredly does not tell us all that he knows. Nor does he know all that we have recently learned of events in Relshaz. I cannot tell if that means Planir of Hadrumal does not trust him or that the southern Archmage has already abandoned hopes of this quest.’

The wizards looked at him with varying degrees of pity and contempt.

What hadn’t he told these wizards that might have tipped the balance? A great deal, Corrain realised guiltily. He had said nothing of Minelas’s treachery or of his own determination to see Hadrumal humiliated by way of return for their callous disregard for Caladhria—

‘Ah.’ Now understanding dawned in the old woman’s dark eyes. Understanding and pity.

Corrain coloured furiously and tried to crush every fear and feeling of inadequacy at ever living up to his dead lord’s example—

‘No matter.’ The aged sister folded her hands at the rope girdle knotted around her waist.

Corrain felt his faint headache ease. Artifice? If that’s what it felt like, he’d know it again. He stared at the old woman. Let her know that for a certainty.

She studied him for a moment, a faint smile curving her withered lips before she looked at the woman in golden velvet, deadly serious. ‘What he says of ensorcelled artefacts is also true.’

The assembled wizards exchanged glances, swiftly reaching some unspoken accord.

‘Our business here is concluded.’ Gaveren rose to his feet. ‘We acquit you of malice and your stupidity looks likely to bring its own punishment down on your head so that will suffice. Return to Planir and tell him that we will deal with this Mandarkin as and when he should come north again. Hadrumal’s travails and your own in the meantime are no concern of ours.’

‘What—?’

Before Corrain could think what to say to this abrupt, disastrous dismissal, he was blinded by a brutal flash of light.

He found himself standing on the muddy turf outside the castle’s gate where they had first entered. Kusint was staggering beside him.

‘What—?’

Before the Forest lad could frame his question, azure magelight dazzled them both a second time and the burly Ensaimin mage stepped out of the emptiness.

‘Let’s get your gear and go home.’ Tornauld said grimly.

‘They gave us a hearing but—’ Corrain began.

‘We know.’ Tornauld cut him off. ‘We were watching.’

‘Watching? From Hadrumal? Aren’t you supposed to be standing guard over Lady Zurenne and Lady Ilysh?’

‘They’re safe and well,’ Tornauld said testily.

‘Planir cannot blame me,’ Corrain asserted, ‘for the Soluran wizards’ refusal to help him.’

‘No, he can’t,’ Tornauld agreed. ‘Now—’

‘I fulfilled my part of the bargain.’ Corrain wasn’t about to be brushed off by any more wizards today. ‘Now the Archmage must keep his word and rescue Hosh.’

‘All in good time.’

Before Corrain could ask what Tornauld meant by that, magecraft enveloped them a third time.

C
HAPTER
T
WENTY-
T
HREE

Halferan Manor, Caladhria

25th of For-Autumn

‘I
WOULD NOT
have thought it possible, my lady. It’s a marvel, truly.’ Raselle sounded a trifle uncertain all the same.

‘Thanks to Master Tornauld.’ Zurenne knew how the maidservant felt but would never be so discourteous as to betray her own misgivings regarding the wizard.

She scanned the courtyard but the sturdy Ensaimin man was nowhere to be seen. Reassured, she turned back to the Halferan gatehouse. It seemed like a dream, to see the entrance to the manor safeguarded once again.

It would assuredly not have been possible without Tornauld’s magic. First he had lifted up the posts and planks for the scaffolding so that all the men had to do was lash them securely together. Then the outer walls had risen ever higher day by day with the wizard bringing stacks of bricks and buckets of mortar to those labouring to build them.

With that flick of his hand and a sapphire glimmer, the wizard did a gang of lads’ work as easily as Esnina carried her little bag of wooden blocks from their tent to the shrine or wherever else Zurenne might be setting up her folding table and writing box, to tally up her accounts, to deal with her correspondence from the increasingly curious wives of the neighbouring barons, to manage all the demesne’s affairs which inexorably continued amid all the bustle of renewal and rebuilding.

To her surprise, Zurenne found this daily round of ledgers and letters, mixing ink and trimming pens oddly soothing. The busyness all around proved far more heartening than the distraction she might have expected it to be. Sharing the tasks with Ilysh and explaining the true breadth of a noble lady’s duties had brought Zurenne closer to her daughter than they had been since murder and treachery had first wreaked such havoc in their lives. Uncovering the intricacies of a noble lord’s customary obligations had been an education for them both.

She looked down at her younger child. Esnina was standing in front of Zurenne, her shoulders pressed against her mother’s skirts as they stood with Raselle contemplating the gatehouse.

To Zurenne’s inexpressible relief, Neeny had proved content to sit quietly beside her mother’s stool and build her own little walls to shelter the wooden animals which the village men had carved for her from scraps of lumber, so generous with the scant time they had for themselves and their own families.

The animals now had their own lidded basket which old Fitrel, the sergeant at arms, had woven as he sat supervising the Halferan guardsmen as they loaned their muscles to the rebuilding of their own barrack hall. The former wooden-walled building would be replaced with brick walls and a tile-hung roof and far greater comforts for the guardsmen within.

Zurenne could hear the incessant sound of sawing beyond the manor’s wall. When she had taken Neeny out for a morning walk beside the brook, they had seen the sawdust lying thick as snow on the turf despite the swirling breeze. She must remember to write to Lady Antathele today, she reminded herself. To thank her for persuading her lord and husband to sell Halferan such a substantial stock of well-seasoned timber.

‘Mama?’ The little girl looked up. ‘Where will mine and Lysha’s bedchamber be?’

Crouching down, Zurenne encircled her daughter in loving arms. ‘Up there, on the same side as the barrack hall. See?’ She pointed to the roofless upper storey where the master joiner and his new apprentices were measuring the apertures for the window frames beneath the cloud-dappled sky.

Esnina nodded and smiled. Zurenne breathed that silent prayer of thanks which she must surely repeat ten and twenty times a day now; to Drianon, to Maewelin, to every goddess who might claim a share in the fragile peace of mind which Neeny had regained with each successive night’s sleep here.