“He’s going to offer a parley.” Guinalle dropped Temar’s hand.
He opened his eyes. “We’d better tell Halice.”
The corps commander’s reaction was immediate and uncompromising. “Vaspret! Signal the Dulse. We want her underway as soon as maybe. Ros! Get your troop together and ready for anything. This Muredarch wants to talk.”
“I’m coming too.” Temar caught Halice’s sleeve.
She looked at him, considering. “All right. Darni! You’re in command here. I can’t see how they could try anything but that doesn’t mean they won’t.”
The mercenaries sprang into action leaving Temar and Guinalle looking apprehensively at each other.
Usara and Allin came out of the cabin.
“What’s all the commotion?” the mage-girl asked, concerned.
“Muredarch’s sailing to parley with us,” Guinalle replied, voice steady.
Usara was watching her closely. “Do you suspect some deceit?”
Guinalle’s brow creased. “I don’t believe so.”
“I would welcome your presence.” Temar looked from Allin to Usara. “Both of you. Just in case.”
“You’ll need me.” Larissa had come, unnoticed, to stand a few paces off.
Temar was uncertain. “Darni won’t like it.”
“Darni’s not my keeper,” snapped Larissa.
“No, I mean that will leave him without a mage, should he need one, should we need to send him some message.”
“Any mage can bespeak Darni,” Larissa said quickly. “He’s an affinity, for all it’s too weak to be any use.”
That left Temar on the wrong foot. Before he could think what to say, Allin spoke.
“It’s all right. I’ll stay.”
Temar found either prospect bothered him; taking Allin into possible danger or leaving her here where some unforeseen trouble might come down on her.
“It’s better you take Larissa,” Allin continued. “Her element’s the air, after all.”
“Very well,” he agreed reluctantly.
“Come on!” Halice was waiting by a longboat on the water-line. “We want to be waiting to meet the bastard. He needs to know we’re wise to his every move.”
Temar hurried down the beach, flanked by Usara and Larissa. He managed not to look back for Allin until he was on board the Dulse. Then he found her close by Darni’s reassuring bulk.
“He’ll keep her safe.” Usara stood by him at the ship’s rail.
“And she him, no doubt.” Temar turned to look at the afterdeck where Larissa stood by the helmsman, ill-concealed triumph on her face as she raised her arms and summoned skeins of sapphire power to swell the sails. “Just what is she trying to prove, ’Sar?”
“I’m not really sure.” The mage paused. “I don’t think she is either.”
Whatever drove Larissa, Temar had to acknowledge her skills as her wizardry drove the Dulse through the water so fast that foam surged beneath her prow. By the time the labouring pirates had coaxed their sluggish ship all the way up the strait, the Dulse had been waiting long enough for Halice to become visibly impatient.
“At last,” she muttered as the lookout hailed the expectant gathering on the aftdeck.
“They look exhausted,” remarked Temar with satisfaction.
Larissa giggled, bright eyed. “Shall I slacken the breeze a little?”
“Can you encircle them?” Temar asked. “Make sure they’ve no chance to make a run for it?”
“Oh yes,” Larissa said confidently.
“Mute your magelight,” Usara said suddenly. “He knows we have magic but not necessarily who are the mages.” Larissa blushed and did as she was bidden.
“Temar.” Halice nodded to the pirate’s snake-crested pennant, which was sliding to halfway down the sloop’s single mast. “Time to play the Sieur for all you’re worth.”
Temar took a deep breath as the mercenary ushered him down the steps to the main deck. Usara followed him to the side of the ship as, at Halice’s nod, the helmsman skilfully swung the Dulse closer to the pirates. Not too close. Not within the reach of a grapnel.
“That’s a rich man’s plaything,” commented the Dulse’s boatswain. He gestured towards the gilded carving all around the sloop’s stern, the leaded glass in the cramped single cabin’s windows. The aftdeck above it was barely big enough to give the helmsman room to wrestle the whipstaff but it was adorned with two highly polished lamps and a carved dolphin springing along the stern rail. Another one arched beneath the bowsprit.
“I wonder who he killed to get it,” Temar murmured. He took a deep breath to calm his stomach. This was no time to get seasick.
Muredarch stood amidships by the leeboard that could be lowered or raised to adjust the vessel’s draught. He gave Temar a lordly wave that set sunlight striking blue fire from the diamonds studding his rings.
“Dressed fit for an audience with Tadriol, isn’t he?” Usara leaned on the rail and studied their foe.
“He’s certainly prospered since he met those enchanters in Kalaven,” said Temar. “What is it?” He saw concentration furrowing the wizard’s brow, which did nothing to calm his nervousness.
“I’m making the water run counter to Larissa’s spell.” Usara kept his attention fixed on the sea. “Just so they’re going nowhere without our permission.”
Guinalle appeared on Temar’s other side. “None of the Elietimm are aboard.”
“That’s good to know.” Though Temar hadn’t thought they would be.
“Esquire,” Muredarch called. “I’m offering a parley as you see. May I come aboard?”
“No!” Temar’s reply rang out half a breath ahead of a chorus of refusal from the Dulse.
“You will address the Sieur D’Alsennin with proper courtesy,” bellowed Halice.
“Messire.” Muredarch bowed from the waist and the sloop’s sparse crew did the same. Temar felt sure he was being mocked and anger drove out the qualms in his belly.
“Can you work a truth charm for me?” Temar murmured to Guinalle. “Just for a little while.” She nodded and stepped a pace back, murmuring an incantation under her breath.
“That’s close enough,” warned Halice from the aftcastle as the pirate vessel came almost within reach of the catheads supporting the Dulse’s anchor.
“So, Messire D’Alsennin, what can I do for you?” Muredarch stood up, strong legs in black broadcloth and polished boots set wide to balance easily on the swaying boards.
“It’s your parley.” Temar rested his hands lightly on the rail. “It’s for you to offer me something, isn’t it?”
“I feel I should explain myself first.” Muredarch’s words carried easily across the water, a resonant note to his voice. The man could probably make himself heard in a hurricane, Temar thought.
“You doubtless think me merely a pirate.” Muredarch held up a hand though no one on the Dulse was disputing this. “Well, perhaps. In my youth, yes, I strayed among the free traders but that’s my point really. Pursuing letters of marque, bounties and the like, that’s a young man’s game and you can see my grey hairs from there, can’t you?” His self-deprecating laugh invited them to join in. Temar stayed stony-faced, Usara unmoved beside him, Guinalle’s expression unreadable on his other side. The pirate scanned their countenances, glancing up to Halice high on the aftdeck. His face hardened and Temar looked to see the mercenary commander wasn’t bothering to conceal her disdain as she sneered down on the pirate.
“I’m looking for a new role for myself, something more suited to my years and experience,” Muredarch continued conversationally. “These islands belong to no one and I’ve a mind to set up here.” He smiled amiably before adding with a first hint of menace, “You can’t show me any writ of yours running here, nor yet Tadriol’s.”
Temar ignored that. Halice might not think much of his training with the Imperial cohorts but even he knew better than to pick a fight on hopeless ground. “What exactly are you hoping to set up?”