Juliet McKenna - The Warrior's Bond

The candle flame burned yellow then darkened to a bloody orange, the colour tainting the reflection. Shimmering across the mirror, magic began to slowly revolve like water stirred with a rod. Where a hollow might have appeared in swirling liquid, a hole in the very fabric of the air spread across the metal surface, elements yielding to the arcane influence of the mage-born. Casuel was frowning, jaw set in utter concentration, the barest movement of light reflecting from a gold ring on one taut finger. Even after all the times I’d seen Casuel do this, I felt my spine tense at such an inexplicable manipulation of the natural order.

An image appeared in the mirror, magic reflecting the Archmage sat at a table in his study. I recognised it from my own unwilling visit to Hadrumal, a room of elegant furnishings and deadly purpose. Some instinct lifted his dark head and he looked directly across the countless leagues down through Casuel’s spell, fine black brows lifted in surprise. “Yes?”

“The colonists have arrived,” said Casuel, speaking rather rapidly. “They had trouble making landfall because Urlan injured himself in a fall.”

“Badly?” Planir leaned forward, face intent. “Have you seen him?”

“Not yet, it’s his legs you see, he’s been taken to the infirmary.” Casuel sounded like a slack apprentice trying to excuse himself to my father.

Small in the mirror, the Archmage’s image nodded abruptly before gesturing in unmistakable dismissal. “Go and see him for yourself and then bespeak me again at once.” My father had no time for underlings coming to him with tales of a task half done either.

Casuel cleared his throat. “Velindre arrived in Bremilayne on the same tide. It seems she’s eager to speak to D’Alsennin.”

“Is she?” Planir’s tone was noncommittal, but even at this distance I could see his lean face was unsmiling.

Casuel was nonplussed. “So what should I do? What should I say to her?”

Giving her some credit for saving the stricken ship would be a good start, I thought silently.

“You make the introductions she seeks.” Planir sounded faintly surprised that Casuel needed to ask. “And you make note of her questions, whom she asks them of and the replies she receives. Then you tell me.”

Casuel preened himself visibly at the idea of being thus taken into the Archmage’s confidence. It looked more like a fool’s naivety being used against him to me as Planir’s mouth curved like the merciless smile of a shark.

“Is she seeking some advancement?” persisted Casuel. “She always says mastery of her element is more important than rank within the halls or recognition by the Council.” His bemusement was plain; that someone might disdain the status that he so ineffectually craved.

I heard Planir drum his fingers on the table in an uncharacteristic betrayal of tension. “I’ve heard her name mentioned as a possible candidate for Cloud-Mistress,” he said lightly. “I’d be interested if she were to say anything that suggests her own thoughts turn that way. Though you’re not to raise the subject yourself, Casuel, understand?”

“But Otrick is Cloud-Master,” frowned Casuel.

“Indeed,” Planir replied flatly. “And will remain so, whatever Troanna might say.”

But that old wizard was locked in enchanted unconsciousness, laid low by aetheric malice along with so many others in the fight for Kellarin the summer before, souring the triumph I’d shared with Temar, the mercenaries backing him and the mages who’d paid them. Finding some means of restoring those unfortunates ranked high among the obligations prompting me to continued service to Messire D’Olbriot. Fortunately, as a leading Prince of the Empire, the Sieur was foremost among those backing the search for lore to counter Elietimm enchantments. That’s why I had spent the first half of the year shepherding Casuel round distant dusty libraries while my beloved Livak had taken herself clear across the Old Empire on a quest for knowledge held by the ancient races of wood and mountain.

Planir’s next words diverted me from wondering how she might be faring. “Ryshad, good day to you.”

I couldn’t prevent a faint start of surprise; I’d been thinking the spell wouldn’t reach to my distant seat. “Archmage.” I gave the amber-tinted reflection a nod but moved no closer.

“I heard from Usara a few days ago,” Planir continued in friendly fashion. “Livak’s keeping well. They’re heading north to see what Mountain sagas might teach us all.”

“Did they find anything of note in the Great Forest?” asked Casuel anxiously. He’d been voluble in his contempt for Livak’s theory that archaic traditions could hold unknown wisdom, so any success on her part would make him look a mighty fool. Armed with a book of old songs she insisted held hints of lost enchantments, Livak had set off determined to prove him wrong.

“Nothing conclusive has come to light.” The Archmage raised his hand again and the glow in the mirror flared bright. “If there’s nothing else, I’ve much to attend to here, as you know.”

“Give Usara my regards the next time you bespeak him.” The shimmering void closed in on itself, leaving no more than an after-image burned on the back of my eye. I blinked, not sure if Planir had heard me or not. Still, at least I knew Livak was in good health and I hugged that knowledge close. She was with Usara, and I reminded myself that it wasn’t magic I mistrusted, just certain mages. Usara was competent and honest and that weighed heavy in the scales against Planir’s deviousness and Casuel’s mean spirit.

“I’d better see how Urlan is.” Casuel was looking abstracted. “Then I’d better review my notes, to get questions for D’Alsennin clear in my mind.” And to remind himself of those few fragments of possible knowledge he’d pieced together from scraps of unheeded parchment and books faded with age. He’d want something of his own to mention casually to Planir, to counter anything Livak might find in the Forest or the Mountains. She’d certainly crow loud and long over him if she returned successful, so I could hardly blame Casuel for that. I stifled my recurrent longing for her exuberant company by reminding myself I’d agreed to her trip, so I should hardly be complaining about her absence. And her quest was only one half of the two-handed plan we hoped would secure us a future together, and Casuel wouldn’t be the only one feeling the lash of her tongue if Livak returned to find I’d failed to play my part. Smiling at that thought, I recovered my damp cloak from its hook. “I’ll go and see how they are getting on at the dock.”

Casuel was already deep in his books; so much for his concern for his fellow mage. I left him to it and went back down the hill to the harbour. Seeing Glannar’s men at their ease in front of the barred warehouse door, I looked for Temar. He was standing amid burly dockers, counting out coin into the gang-leader’s calloused palm.

“A fair rate for the day,” I observed, calculating the Tormalin Crowns bright in the man’s filthy hand. The docker grunted noncommittally.

“But with the weather hardly fair, I think something over for the cold and the wet.” Temar dropped a couple of silver Marks on to the gold and a grudging smile lifted the docker’s lip to reveal stained brown teeth.

“Pleasure to do business with you, Esquire,” he nodded before stowing the coin securely in a money belt and whistling up his crew with a gesture towards a nearby tavern.

“You don’t want to get a reputation as an easy touch,” I warned Temar.

He shrugged, unconcerned. “If the ships of Kel Ar’Ayen are known to pay well, we will never lack for labour to get them unloaded.” He nodded towards the ship that had brought Velindre. “So who is this wizard that I owe my life? How does she arrive in so timely a fashion?”