Juliet McKenna - The Warrior's Bond

“You were caught up in this enchantment, weren’t you?” Velindre challenged him.

“Thanks to the contrivance of Archmage Planir.” Ryshad leaned back in his chair, rolling rich red wine round in the engraved glass he had cupped in one hand. “He ensured I was given Temar’s sword. I dreamed of Temar and the colony as it had been so long ago. That gave the final clues to finding the cavern.”

Temar managed to meet the older man’s half-smile with a nod of his own. The terrors of madness both had suffered, the struggle for identity and mastery over Ryshad’s body as Temar, all unwitting, had struggled to break free of the enchantment: that was no one’s business but their own.

Velindre was patently not satisfied and turned back to Temar. “I hear you have an Adept of Artifice with you?”

“Avila Tor Arrial,” replied Temar, striving for Ryshad’s self-possession. “The Demoiselle wishes to learn what has become of her House in the generations since we slept. She also wants to see if anything remains of the lore this very shrine was founded to husband.” Temar doubted that, now he’d seen the place so altered.

Velindre frowned. “I thought Guinalle Tor Priminal was the foremost practitioner of this Artifice?”

“She is,” agreed Temar. “Which is why her first obligation remains to the colony she originally crossed the ocean to succour and support.” The endless frozen years hadn’t changed that; whatever love he might one day win from Guinalle would never outweigh her sense of duty.

“We all have our responsibilities.” Velindre let slip a smile of considerable charm. “But I feel she could clarify so many of the mysteries that plague us.”

“Guinalle is working with scholars of Col and Vanam,” pointed out Ryshad mildly. “Those that are prepared to cross the ocean, at least.”

“We are finding much of interest within the archives of the great Houses of Tormalin,” remarked Casuel loftily, anxious not to be kept out of the conversation. “My colleagues and I are daily identifying new aspects of aetheric magic”

“You always had an aptitude for searching through dusty documents, Cas.” Velindre nodded at the table as the maid reappeared with a laden tray. “I think we should eat, don’t you?” She helped herself to chicken breast and green herb dumplings.

“More wine, Allin?” Ryshad proffered the carafe.

“White, please, just half a glass.”

Temar thought about teasing the lass with some remark about such decorous abstinence; they were much of an age, a clear double handful of years younger than either Casuel or Ryshad. Remembering she was a wizard, he decided against it. The table was well supplied with food and Temar noticed the dishes he’d abandoned had been brought in. To his surprise he realised his stomach was threatening to growl like a beggar’s dog. He passed Ryshad a dish of lobster in lovage and cider sauce and reached for the plate of boiled ham and figs that caught his eye. Whatever it was Velindre wanted to know, she seemed satisfied for the present, and Temar was content to eat and listen as the mages swapped news of people he didn’t know. Velindre and Ryshad compared their experiences of the southern ports of Toremal, and Casuel tried to interest people in his theories on the political situation in Caladhria.

Allin made few contributions to the conversation, and none without blushing, but when the maids were clearing the table she turned to Temar with a shy smile. “Are there many differences between this meal and those—before?”

“Not so many,” he replied with some surprise at the realisation. “But there can be only so many ways of cooking, and meat, fish or fowl remain the same.” A maid reached past him with porcelain bowls of sweetmeats while a steward set out decanters of sweet wine and cordials.

Allin nibbled a little pastry stuffed with nuts and raisins. “You sound quite Lescari, did you know that? Do you know people from there?”

Temar nodded. “Most of those who came to fight for Kel Ar’Ayen last year were from Lescar. Many chose to stay on and help in our rebuilding and they hope to bring friends to start a new life with us. I have doubtless picked up something of their tongue.”

Allin drew so sharp a breath she choked on her mouthful. Temar hastily offered her glass but she pushed his hand away as she struggled to control her coughs. “Mercenaries!” she spat. “Nurse a wolf cub at your hearth and it’ll still eat your sheep. Be more careful whom you trust.”

Temar looked a frantic question at Ryshad, mortified to have caused offence.

“Your family has suffered in the fighting, I take it?” Ryshad asked Allin sympathetically.

“We used to live just north of Carluse.” The girl was scarlet to the roots of her hair but managed a hoarse reply. “Sharlac mercenaries burned us out and we fled to Caladhria.”

“Which is where I identified the girl’s talent,” piped up Casuel. “And now she is your pupil?” He looked at Velindre with ill-disguised annoyance.

“Forgive me,” said Temar soberly to Allin. “I know nothing of modern Lescar. In my day it was a peaceful province of the Empire.” But he should have remembered it had been rent by civil war for ten generations or more. He saw his own thoughts reflected in Ryshad’s alert brown eyes. How would Temar hold his own among the Princes and courts of Toremal, so ignorant of politics within and beyond the Empire’s reduced borders? More important things had changed than the way people spoke or sauced their dinners.

“So, Velindre, will you be travelling to Toremal with us?” Casuel persisted, his voice loud in the awkward silence. Ryshad silently passed Allin a dish of honey-soaked sops of toasted bread to give her time to recover her composure.

Velindre inclined her head towards Ryshad. “I take it you are going to the capital for the Solstice Festival?”

He nodded as he filled small glasses from a decanter of white brandy. “Messire D’Olbriot is keen to introduce Esquire D’Alsennin to the Houses of the Empire.”

“I should like to meet the Demoiselle Tor Arrial before you go,” Velindre said firmly. “To learn something of Artifice and its uses. You’ll be sparing a few days to rest?”

Ryshad looked at Temar who shrugged uncertainly. “It may be a day or so before Avila’s recovered from the voyage.”

“We’ll most certainly wait,” Casuel frowned. “The moons aren’t fit for travel! The lesser will be past the half in a few nights and the greater is nigh on full dark.”

“I’d rather keep days in hand to rest the horses along the way,” Ryshad disputed. “Solstice doesn’t wait for Saedrin or anyone else.”

“How do we travel?” Temar enquired.

“By horse,” Ryshad stated firmly.

“Coach,” contradicted Casuel, looking obstinate.

“I’ll risk saddle sores over coach sickness, thanks all the same,” Temar said lightly. “But Avila may think otherwise.”

“Well I intend to drive, even if no one else does,” Casuel snapped.

“I never cease to be thankful for the magecraft that saves me from such choices,” Velindre smiled. “I’ll see Urlan safely back to Hadrumal, Cas, and after that I imagine we’ll see you at the Festival. For the present, we’ll leave you with your wine. Come on, Allin.” Temar watched as Velindre made her exit with the poise of a noble from any age of the Empire.

Casuel looked after her with some irritation. “I was about to say I would bespeak assistance for Urlan. It’s just—”

Ryshad spoke over the mage with a wicked smile as he refilled Temar’s glass. “In Toremal, we swap indecorous stories once the ladies have left.”

Temar laughed as Casuel drew an indignant breath. “Something else not changed, for all the generations I have missed.”