Juliet McKenna - The Swordsman's Oath

“I hope she doesn’t have to do any more fighting this year,” Shiv grimaced. “Until we can get some more people over here, they’re still cursed vulnerable.”

I shook my head and pointed at the walls of the steading where busy figures were repairing the crenellations and wall walk. “Most of the mercenaries are staying and, with all the colonists we could revive, they should be all right through the winter. They’ve been putting the prisoners to work building houses and defenses as well as picking everything they can find to eat or store, so they’re well enough prepared.”

“I still think it’s odd so many of them surrendered like that.” Shiv shook his head. “How can we be sure there are no magic-wielders among them?”

“Guinalle is sure of it.” I shrugged. “She’s been picking their minds apart if they so much as look at anyone sideways. Parrail was telling me it’s all connected with a hierarchy of authority in the Elietimm culture.” I did my best to mimic the young scholar’s earnest tones. “Once their leader was dead, they had no choice but to submit to the leader of those strong enough to defeat him.”

“Sounds highly implausible to me,” muttered Shiv darkly.

“I don’t know, I’ve been thinking about it. Remember, those islands aren’t like Lescar, able to keep ripping each other apart year after year because so many other people get fat off the spoils or have an interest in keeping the fighting going. If the Elietimm fought like Lescaris, all they’d have in a couple of seasons would be bare rock to eat and cold sea to drink.”

“Maybe.” Shiv did not look convinced.

“The prisoners aren’t a threat, Shiv. If they all die of a fever tomorrow, the colony can manage without them.” I wouldn’t grieve if they did, I thought, silently acknowledging that I shared Shiv’s reservations to some extent. “No, everyone here will be safe enough over the winter; the Elietimm won’t be able to cross the ocean again this year. Better yet, losing their expedition should give them pause for thought before they set sail in the spring, even if they know what happened to them, which I would doubt.”

“Has anyone come up with an explanation for those bastards having copies of the ancient Tormalin charts of this place, the ones made by Den Fellaemion or whatever he was called?”

“Not that I’ve heard.” I tried to look unconcerned, not wanting to think about Planir’s request that I use my possible new status to investigate this on Messire’s behalf. “I hardly think it’s important.”

“I hope you’re right,” Shiv sighed. “I suppose that’s one advantage we have over them. We can cross the ocean this late in the year, though Trimon knows I’m not looking forward to it without Otrick or Viltred to help.”

“Dastennin grant us safe passage,” I agreed, none too keen myself at the prospect of the imminent voyage in the teeth of the autumn storms.

“So what will you be doing?” Shiv rummaged in a pocket and handed me a little horn beaker. I held it while he filled it with water, which soon began to steam gently. “Go on, tell me,” he urged as he dropped a twist of muslin fragrant with herbs into the cup. “I saw you talking to Planir, what did he have to say?”

I handed Shiv his tisane. “It seems the Archmage gave your old friend Casuel letters to take to Messire before we started our voyage. Anyway, Cas was asked to stay on, so that Planir could advise Messire directly of the success or otherwise of our quest.”

“And?” demanded Shiv.

“And Messire feels I should be raised in rank from sworn man to chosen man,” I said dryly.

“But that’s an honor, isn’t it?” asked Shiv doubtfully, seeing my expression.

“It could be, if I choose to accept it,” I nodded, still looking at Livak who was hugging Halice. “I have the voyage home to decide in, haven’t I? Have you another one of those cups?” I wasn’t about to discuss this with anyone before I had talked everything through with Livak. “Anyway, what will you be doing with yourself?”

“After I’ve taken Pered to Col for the Equinox, you mean?” Shiv grinned as he handed me the tisane, but his expression suddenly became serious as he made another for himself. “Planir will have every mage with wits or breath busy testing everything we learn about aetheric magic, sorry, Artifice I suppose we should be calling it now. That and threatening every scholar, university and temple with fire and flood unless they give up everything they know about the slightest magical tradition. Saedrin knows, the magic we’ve won has been costly enough.”

“Viltred’s visions did him no real service, did they?” I commented. “So much for his predictions of a glorious future with us all dressed up in our festival best.”

“Auguries are most accurate the closer they are in time.” Shiv shrugged. “The warning about the Elietimm was clear enough; he’d have died if he stayed, no question.”

Maybe so. I hesitated but decided to ask Shiv something that had been bothering me for a while now. “Those visions, the palace being sacked and then us all dressed up in velvets, was that all true? Not just something to hold me to my oath, something to tempt Livak with, perhaps, if you could have got her to watch them?”

Shiv looked around sharply. “Is that what you thought? No, Ryshad, that was a true seeing, even if it never came to pass. All right, I’ll admit I hoped the prospect of gambling at a Sieur’s table would catch Livak’s eye, but I wouldn’t counterfeit something like that. I knew you to be a man of honor; what kind of mage do you think I am?”

A disturbance at the gates of the steading saved me from having to find an answer. I watched with Shiv as a slow procession made its way down to the wharf, five litters borne by grim-faced mercenaries and one by Planir, Kalion, Usara and Naldeth.

“Has Otrick stirred at all?” I asked Shiv gently.

The mage shook his head abruptly, gritting his teeth. “No, not since that Elietimm scum tried to take his mind from him.” The water in my cup seethed suddenly.

“How’s Kalion’s hand?” The fat wizard was in evident pain from his thickly bandaged knuckles as sailors helped lift the frail burden on to the ship. All his learning had not warned him of the damage one can do to oneself knocking even a small man like Otrick unconscious with a single punch.

“Guinalle has mended most of the damage.” Shiv managed to smile. “It seems our revered Hearth-Master will still be able to bore his pupils with endless recitals on his flute. Still, it’s a small price for him to pay for saving Otrick. I only hope we can find a way to revive the old pirate, bring him back to himself somehow.”

The frail figure of the ancient mage Shannet followed the litter, her stick thin arms clasping a plain urn with a muted gray decoration. A thought struck me. “Who’s going to tell Mellitha about Viltred?” I hoped her grief would be respected by the Archmage.

“Kalion has offered to take the urn to her, since Viltred had no other family.”

Shiv’s voice was inappropriately tart, but I could well understand why. I wondered why Planir was giving Kalion such an opportunity to visit a leading citizen of such an important city, where he would doubtless wheedle invitations to meet the great and the powerful of Relshaz. “I’d say Mellitha is more than a match for Kalion, Shiv.”

“Maybe so,” allowed Shiv with a faint smile.

“And the others who were struck down?” I watched as the motionless form of the woman Jervice was carried gently aboard the vessel. “What does Guinalle think?” I looked at the slim girl, warmly wrapped in a cloak that I recognized as belonging to Usara, giving Parrail a sheaf of instructions.