Juliet McKenna - The Gambler's Fortune

“I don’t see how he figures that,” I retorted. “Even Usara’s had to admit there was no hope. Aritane said his mind had been killed outright.”

“You know wizards,” Pered shrugged his stocky shoulders. “Always think everything’s down to them and never take no for an answer.”

“Saedrin bless them.” I raised my glass in a sarcastic salute.

“I’ll give him a few more days and then start asking him who he thinks will be made the new Cloud-Master or -Mistress. That should get him out of the mopes.” Pered gestured with his tankard. “He should be a good one to ask for a tip, if you fancy hanging around long enough to make a wager on it.”

I turned to see who he meant and saw Darni entering the tavern with an angular woman on his arm. Her face was nothing remarkable, long black hair plaited down her back. Her clothes were everyday honey-colored wool, but she carried herself with considerable grace. “Who’s that with him?”

“Strell, his wife.” Pered looked surprised. “Haven’t you met?”

“I think Darni prefers to keep me and mine out of his home life,” I laughed.

“Oh, I got to dance with her last Equinox,” said Pered, mock proud. “Darni may not know what to make of me and Shiv, but he does allow we’re safe to be let near his wife.”

“She looks as if she can take care of herself,” I observed.

“She can,” Pered assured me. “She’s an alchemist. Mess with her and your house will probably burn down.”

“Who’s burning down houses?” asked ’Gren with interest. Sorgrad was close behind him as they pushed their way to our corner.

“No one,” I said repressively. “Pered was saying there’d be money to be made if we can bet on the right candidate for Cloud-Master.”

“Mages lay wagers on things like that?” Sorgrad was surprised.

Pered grinned at him. “Mages don’t, but the rest of us do.”

“Must be the only game in town, somewhere this small,” commented ’Gren a trifle sourly.

I tried to gauge his degree of restlessness and looked at Sorgrad. “So, how much longer are you going to be kicking your heels here? I thought Shiv said that Kalion was going to intercede for you with Draximal? Wasn’t that what Planir told him to do?”

Sorgrad nodded. “Draximal’s all squared away. We’re taking a boat for Col in four days’ time.”

That was a relief; ’Gren should be able to contain himself for that long before looking for mischief. Hadrumal didn’t strike me as a good place for him to be bored. I frowned. “That’s going to be a long hike to Lescar. Wouldn’t you be better off waiting for passage to Peorle?”

“We’re not going to Lescar.” Sorgrad drained his tankard. “We thought we’d visit Solura.”

Pered looked at him with some surprise. “Shiv told me you were mage-born. You’re not going to stay here and study?”

“Why should I?” demanded Sorgrad, but not aggressively. “Magebirth’s no more than a minor inconvenience to me.”

“You know, half the Council are banging their heads against that.” Pered heaved a contented sigh. “I do like seeing wizards nonplussed.”

“Solura?” I pursed my lips. “Going to look up Gilmarten by any chance?”

“You never know who we might run into,” admitted Sorgrad with a dangerous smile. I had his measure; magebirth might have been no more than an unwelcome aberration to be ruthlessly suppressed until now, but having seen its uses in action he wasn’t about to pass up a chance of turning it into a useful tool for the future. I wasn’t going to criticize; Messire might have agreed the wizards could keep the song book but I’d be looking out for useful tricks in my copy, now that I’d seen Aritane’s abilities were as much to be envied as feared.

“ ’Gren?” I looked a question at him.

He shrugged. “Just going back to Lescar seemed a bit boring. We’ve missed the best of the fighting season anyway. I fancy seeing what trouble’s brewing on the Mandarkin border.”

“And while we’re there, we can make sure Anyatimm up that way have the truth of this summer’s goings-on in the Gap,” added Sorgrad ominously.

“So we’re all off on our travels again.” I meant to sound bright and optimistic, but somehow my words came out tinged with gloom.

“Speak for yourself, darling,” said Pered with a touch of bitterness. “I’m going nowhere far from my copy table, not unless Shiv finally gets sick of dancing to Planir’s tune.”

“Why not see if Shiv can get a commission to go and look for more mage-born among the Forest Folk or up in Gidesta?” I suggested.

“We’ll be back for the Winter Solstice,” promised Sorgrad. “Relshaz or Col?”

My spirits lifted. “Relshaz? Charoleia will be there, and she’s bound to have news from Halice.”

“You bring this sworn man of yours along for us to meet,” ’Gren ordered. “What’s he been doing with himself all summer anyway, while we’ve been off having fun?”

“I think he’ll have been having a harder time of it than you think,” said Pered, all solemn pretense. “After all, he’s been working with Casuel.”

“And most men would prefer an honest fight with a horde of howling Mountain Men to that,” I agreed.

“Then he’ll be good and ready to make a Winter Solstice to remember,” Sograd nodded. “Make sure you bring him with you.”

“Are you going to ask him his intentions?” I wasn’t about to have that happen if I could avoid it.

“We might just do that,” said Sorgrad. “Anyway, what’s he going to make of you coming back like a bad debt, full of your adventures and rattling the Archmage’s coin?”

“A man could get jealous,” observed ’Gren.

“It sounds as if he’s done well enough for himself,” I countered. “What I’ve got to decide is just what to tell him about our little expedition.”

“You want to tell him just enough to make him feel guilty about spending his summer safe and secure, dancing attendance on that prince of his,” advised Pered with the faintest hint of malice. I knew that was really directed at Planir; if anything ever drove a wedge between him and Shiv, it was the Archmage’s demands on his lover’s time.

“Ryshad will have been working just as hard as me,” I assured them all. “Just doing different things.”

He’d better have been, I added silently to myself, or all this year’s winnings would be for nothing. The game still wasn’t over until I saw how Ryshad had played his hand.

“I’ll tell you something for free,” ’Gren said critically. “You really should do something about your hair before he sees it.”

SF/Fantasy—an escape for people who can’t cope with reality?

I often wonder why people condemn SF/Fantasy as “escapism.” All fiction is escapist in some sense, taking the reader into an imagined world even if only to one set in Manchester. So what sets SF/Fantasy apart from other writing? Given it ranges from space opera to alternative history to heroic fantasy to cyberpunk, the common link I see is the basic question “what if… ?”

So what questions does Fantasy ask? Quests certainly feature; think of Frodo’s journey to destroy the One Ring, exploring moral responsibility along the way. That aspect of the genre is as old as Arthurian legend. Tolkien was the Merton Professor of English at Oxford University, and much fantasy is based on eminent scholarship and detailed research. Alternate histories rely on the reader’s basic knowledge of past events, otherwise they are pointless. Fantasy readers are encouraged to look outside their own culture, taken to a spectacular array of different realms, where societies defy easy assumptions, often to be challenged by the same questions on race, sex, and tolerance that perplex the world we live in. Writers such as Melanie Rawn and Robin Hobb ask what if magic really existed, how would societies and governments function? What if there really are dragons? Anne McCaffrey has woven an intricate and intriguing world around that idea. What if people from our world find themselves caught up in the stuff of legend? Alan Garner’s Weirdstone of Brisingamen rests on that notion, so does Buffy the Vampire Slayer.