Juliet McKenna - The Assassin's Edge

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.

“Larissa?” whispered Planir. “Dear heart?”

“Archmage?” Her startled voice rang through the spell.

“Just listen.” He bent close to the mirror. “Ilkehan is dead. They killed him and cut up his body so D’Alsennin should be able to attack the pirates without fear of Artifice inside a day.”

“I’ll bespeak ’Sar,” Larissa began.

“No,” Planir interrupted. “Not until I know it’s safe. Some enchanter may still find a scrap of power somewhere and try to make trouble. Just wait—and I have something for you, to help you when it comes to the fight—”

Frowning, the wizard caught his breath. Then he gasped in sudden shock. He flung the mirror from him, knocking the candle aside, hot wax spattering his hand. The Archmage was oblivious to the searing pain, reeling back senseless in the window seat, a trickle of blood oozing from one nostril. But the silver ring was gone from his finger, leaving only the blistered scar of the burn.

Usara, wake up!”

The urgent voice roused the mage. “Guinalle?” He sat bolt upright, then cursed as he slid off the makeshift bed a sailor had lashed together. He hit the ground with a thump that jarred his spine.

“No, it’s me, Larissa.”

“ ’Sar?” Hearing voices, Halice came towards the frond-covered canopies she’d ordered built to shade each bed from rain in the night and the earliest light of morning. “I thought I told you to get some rest.”

“What in the name of all that’s holy are you playing at?” Usara stared at the brilliant swirl of blue-white light.

“Ilkehan’s dead,” declared the unseen mage-girl, voice high with exultation.

“How do you know?” demanded Halice. The mercenary didn’t bother looking towards the magical link, catching up a leather map case from her blankets instead.

“Planir told me.”

Before Usara could wonder at the self-conscious note in Larissa’s voice, Temar came running up from the beach, the young Sieur’s questions stumbling over Halice’s.

“What is it?”

“When did he die?”

“Planir just bespoke me.” Usara thought he heard that bashfulness again.

“What about Livak?” Halice scowled at the blinding radiance, a parchment in her hand. “Where is she?”

“And Ryshad?” Temar took his sword belt from the stripped sapling that propped up his shelter, and buckled it on. “Have they returned to Hadrumal or are they coming here?”

“All Planir told me is Ilkehan’s dead,” Larissa said, defensive.

“But Muredarch’s enchanters aren’t,” Usara remembered hastily. “We must keep this short.”

“So Planir says we’re ready to go? Did he say anything else?” Halice walked to the cook fire by the original pirates’ hut.

“Not of significance.” That hint of coyness in Larissa’s denial teased Usara again but such curiosity fled at the racket Halice was making with a long metal spoon against the iron cook pot. She bellowed an amicable warning. “Stir yourselves or I’ll stir you with this! I want every man ready to go.”

“We’ll bespeak you when we’ve decided our next move.” Usara addressed the shimmering coil of magic and Larissa’s spell spiralled in on itself, vanishing into nothingness.

Allin had come out of the cabin and stared at the empty air. “When did she learn to do that?” The mage-girl spoke to herself as much as to anyone else.

Usara was sitting on his blankets pulling on his boots but paused to consider this question. “That was one of Otrick’s favourite workings. Was she ever his apprentice?”