Juliet McKenna - The Warrior's Bond

“My thanks again.” Temar’s gratitude was unfeigned this time. “I confess I do find the prospect before me daunting.”

“Almost as daunting as my acclamation to the throne, I don’t doubt.” Tadriol took a seat on a bench shaded by a broad-leaved tree. “In some ways, you and I have much in common.”

“Perhaps,” Temar said warily.

“So perhaps we can help each other as we go on,” suggested the Emperor with an innocent air. “Have you managed to retrieve all the artefacts you were seeking?”

“All but a handful, and we believe we know where those are to be found.” Temar couldn’t disguise his relief. “When we have everyone awakened, families reunited, Kel Ar’Ayen will be far better able to look to the future.”

“Good.” The Emperor’s warm approval was unfeigned. “I’ve been meaning to ask, did my ring turn out to be one you needed?”

“No, as it proved.” Temar was a little embarrassed to have to admit this.

The Emperor laughed. “It was a long-odds wager. That was the only heirloom I could find that was sufficiently old and obscure that people might believe it was from Kellarin.”

“I have it here,” Temar worked the heavy silver ring off his finger. “And we cannot thank you enough for that decree.”

“Don’t thank me too much.” The Emperor waved Temar’s offer of the ring away. “That whole business of enchantment, minds lost insensible among the Shades, it was giving me sleepless nights. More seriously, bickering over who held what gem or trinket had the potential to be highly divisive. There’s a lot disturbing the settled order that I can’t influence — new trade, new wealth, new ideas—but that was one wrangle I could settle. I’ll be honest with you, one of the reasons I’ll help you get Kellarin set fair for the future is to make sure your concerns disrupt life here as little as possible. We can afford to hand over jewels and trifles five times the value you’ve claimed; we cannot afford a tenth of this turmoil among the ruling Houses. Keep that ring to remind you.”

“And as a reminder of what we owe you?” ventured Temar.

“That too,” the Emperor agreed blithely. “And as token of my pledge to always deal honestly with you, even when semblance and gesture might run counter to reality. But you’ve unique assistance when it comes to determining truth from sham, haven’t you? I believe Demoiselle Tor Arrial can perform signal service in that regard.”

Here it came, Temar realised, the demand for payment. But wasn’t that how the world had always worked? And settling a debt of coin or honour set a man free, didn’t it? That wasn’t so bad, as long as the price was one Temar was willing to meet. “You’d appreciate some such service in return for all the help you’ve given us?”

“You’ve learned a great deal about the way Toremal works,” the Emperor approved. “Let’s just say I’d appreciate some of the Demoiselle’s time, so she can tell me just what Artifice might offer. I’d welcome a meeting with Demoiselle Guinalle if she ever visits these shores. Artifice held together a Tormalin Empire that reached from the ocean to the Great Forest, and while our boundaries are much reduced our affairs grow more complicated with every passing season. If an Emperor’s duties in your day were largely military my concerns are almost all to do with commerce. It’s my task to keep this great trading vessel on an even keel, balancing privilege and obligation, managing the conflicting interests of high and low alike. If you can offer me some means to help, I’ll owe you more than I can say.”

Temar looked into Tadriol’s eyes but saw nothing but sincerity. “I will discuss it with Avila and Guinalle,” he promised. “But I thought you did not like magic?”

“I don’t like wizards,” the Emperor said firmly. “But that’s a different matter entirely. It’s not their sorcery I mistrust, Saedrin be my witness, though the notion of people flinging handfuls of fire around certainly scares me. Any rational man would fear it. No, what I mistrust is wizards with political ambitions, that man Kalion for one, Hearth-Master or whatever he calls himself. He’s someone else you’d be wise to be on your guard against.”

“Kel Ar’Ayen needs the mages of Hadrumal,” said Temar soberly. “If the Elietimm attack, we will need their magic to defend us.”

“And if Ice Island ships turn up on our shores, I’ll be the one calling loudest for Planir to blast them to splinters with whatever wizardry he likes,” the Emperor agreed. “What I will not tolerate is any mage believing he can trade on that expectation for influence in Toremal’s affairs. Wizards were a factor in the Chaos and I won’t have them stirring the pot while I tend the fire hereabouts. I suggest you make the same thing clear in Kellarin.”

“I think Hadrumal will be looking to its own affairs for some while,” Temar said with some sadness. “Cloud-Master Otrick, one of their senior mages, has finally died from the enchantment that struck him down last year.”

“I’d heard something of that.” The Emperor fell silent for a moment. “Still, that’s the Archmage’s concern. You and I have our separate realms to manage on either side of the ocean. Shall we do what we can to help each other?”

Temar looked into the Emperor’s eyes again and saw an appealing honesty. “Yes,” he said simply.

I’d been rehearsing what I might say to Livak for the best part of half a season but every word left me when I saw her standing on the gangplank of the ship. Dast save us, what had happened to her hair? When I’d last seen her, just after Winter Solstice, it had been long enough to her shoulders for my mother to hint at fond hopes of plaiting it for a summer wedding. Now it was cropped close to her head and the vivid red was tawny with mottled blonde.

She saw me and came running, the single satchel that was all she ever seemed to need slung over one shoulder. I caught her in my arms and held her tight, burying my face in her shoulder and wishing I need never let her go. Then her bag swung round and caught me under the ribs with a solid thump.

“What have you got in there — bricks?” I set her back on her feet. “And what in Dastennin’s name happened to your hair?”

She grinned up at me. “Remind me to let Shiv know he owes me a gold Mark.”

I raised my eyebrows at her. “Why?”

“He said the first thing you’d ask about was my hair. Anyway, hello to you.”

“Hello.” I stood there, grinning foolishly. “And what did happen to your hair?”

“I had to lighten it, to pass for Mountain-born,” she said carelessly. She laughed. “Do you recall, when we first met in Inglis we were talking about hair and disguises when we were both trying to track the Elietimm?”

“Are you trying to change the subject?” I teased her.

“What do you want to talk about?” she countered.

“How was the voyage?” I knew better than most just how much Livak hated ships.

“Not so bad,” she said shortly.

“It’s just that I wanted you with me as soon as possible.” I felt a little guilty about not suggesting she make the shorter crossing to Caladhria and come the rest of the way overland. I’d have waited.

She smiled again. “I wanted to be here. It was worth a little queasiness.”

I took her hand and we walked along the dockside. The rope walk was busy now, runners back and forth rigging yarn between the posts, ropemakers sweating as they wound handles to turn cogs and ratchets round and round, twisting the strands of hemp round each other and back against themselves so that one trying to unwind would tighten all the others and so hold it twisted in turn.