“I can’t go back to Hadrumal,” said Naldeth, forlorn. “I can’t face the questions, the pity, everyone whispering in corners—”
“Talk to Usara about that,” Guinalle said briskly. “Anyway, who says you need go back to Hadrumal?”
“I’m hardly going to be building a new life in Kellarin on one leg and a crutch.” Naldeth’s uncertain mood veered back to anger. “People will see Muredarch’s handiwork till the end of my days, my lady. You might as well have left his mark on my chest as well.”
They could both do with a drink. I walked away and approached again, humming a snatch of the round dance being played by the shore.
“Halice doesn’t want you missing out.” I stuck my head round the doorframe and waved the bottle cheerfully. “Any glasses not used for medicine round here?”
“I can find a few.” Guinalle rose from the edge of the bed where Naldeth was propped against a bank of rolled blankets. Minare carried him here every morning despite his protests. Guinalle was determined the mage wasn’t going to sit in solitude and brood on his injuries.
“You want to ask Halice for a few hints on using that.” I nodded at the crutch standing in the corner, untouched since Ryshad had put it there.
“She’s probably forgotten how.” Naldeth sounded bitter again.
“She spent the best part of a year never walking without one,” I pointed out. “And wondering what to do with her life. A crippled mercenary has precious few options compared with a mage. You don’t need both feet on the ground to work wizardry.”
“I can’t decide if you’re a good nurse or not, Livak.” Guinalle turned from the chest that held her tinctures and salves. “Do your patients get well simply to get away from your encouragement?”
That won a grudging laugh from Naldeth so I’d allow the lady her sarcasm, particularly since I saw calculated humour in her eye.
“Enjoy it.” I proffered the bottle and waved Guinalle away when she tried to refill my horn cup. “No, thanks all the same. I’m looking for Ryshad.”
I sauntered off, well satisfied with my escape. I’d done what Halice asked. I’d tell her Guinalle was busy with Naldeth, and suggest she help get the wizard back on his feet — well, foot and crutch. If Guinalle thought I was unsubtle, she should see Halice dragging someone out of the mopes. I’d seen mercenaries half dead from their wounds sitting up and taking notice, if only because they’d obey Halice before Poldrion’s summons.
The cooking meat smelt tempting. Minare and I had a bet on just what the hare-lipped beasts Vaspret found foraging among the narrow valleys would taste like. Minare wagered something akin to rabbit but I reckoned venison looked nearer the mark.
“Livak!” Sorgrad hailed me and waved a bottle. He and ’Gren were leaning against a stack of the firewood everyone was expected to gather daily. Ryshad had set people thatching the piles with brush to keep any rain off.
“Drink?” asked ’Gren.
I shook my head. “What have you been up to today?”
“Talking to Pered and Shiv.”
’Gren scratched absently at his side where the wound that should have killed him still itched as it healed. “Have you seen what they’re planning for the inside of the shrine?”
“You mean you’ve been distracting Pered when he’s supposed to be drawing up records for D’Alsennin.” Sorgrad fixed me with a sardonic eye. “Pered’s talking about studying Artifice with Guinalle; reckons he could make an adept.”
“That’ll make for a lively household.” I shrugged. “I’ll wish him and Shiv every happiness of wizardry and Artifice under the same roof.”
“Scared?” teased ’Gren.
“Witless,” I confirmed. “Forest tricks are all very well but the demoiselle can keep her Higher Artifice and welcome. I’ll stay safe inside my own skin with both feet firmly on the ground, thanks all the same.” I turned to Sorgrad. “What about you? Have you got a taste for wizardry? Will we wave you off to Hadrumal?”
He didn’t rise to the bait, simply smiling lazily. “I’ll wait and see what word ’Sar brings back from Planir.”
“There should be some fight worth joining in Lescar,” ’Gren remarked. “Once we find out which side’s backed by most coin. I want to see what price we can get for those red stones Olret gave us as well.”
“Half a half-season’s peace and quiet and you’re already bored,” I scoffed. “You don’t know when you’re well off.” I’d decided boredom had more merits than I’d allowed it. Besides, my mother always said if you were bored, you just weren’t looking hard enough for something to do. I was beginning to think she might have a point. Mind you, I wasn’t thinking in terms of her usual ready suggestions that I polish some brass, blacklead grates or darn linen.
“I could write to Lessay, if anyone’s got a notion where to send a letter,” mused Sorgrad.
’Gren’s thoughts had already moved on. ”They need someone to make up that set. Look after my wine, ’Grad.”
“That wound’s not holding him back then.” I watched him bow deftly to a girl who’d been looking uncertainly for a partner. “Nor yet the notion he should be dead on the Ice Islands?”
“You know ’Gren,” Sorgrad said easily. “Where there’s no sense, there’s no feeling.”
The timorous girl was blossoming under ’Gren’s charm. “I take it she’s not yet had the chance to learn how much she owes him, see his scar and kiss it better?”
Sorgrad nodded. “She looks better than she did, doesn’t she?”
I studied the girl but beyond a vague recollection of hysterical weeping, I couldn’t put a name to her.
“Guinalle’s done a good deal for the worst abused,” Sorgrad continued. “Taking the edge off memories, blunting dreams. Seems Artifice can help heal the mind as well as the body.”
“I’m still not taking any interest in it,” I told him firmly.
“That’ll please Ryshad.” Now it was Sorgrad’s turn to dangle a provocation.
“When did you last see me hiding behind a man’s wishes?” I stuck my empty cup on the top of his wine bottle. “You won’t talk or trick me into sitting for lessons at Guinalle’s feet, just so you’ve got an excuse for hanging round to talk magic with Shiv and ’Sar.”
“It was worth a try.” Sorgrad grinned, unrepentant.
I was watching ’Gren blithely whirling the dark-haired girl around. “It really doesn’t bother him, does it?”
“How am I supposed to take a drink with everyone giving me things to hold?” Sorgrad frowned at the cups and bottle in his hands. “What? No, you know ’Gren. There’s no future in looking at the past, that’s what he says.”
“A sound philosophy as far as it goes,” I allowed. “But a little forward planning doesn’t come amiss.”
“Words to warm Ryshad’s heart,” mocked Sorgrad.
I still wasn’t biting. “His father’s a mason, ’Grad. Making plans means the building won’t come tumbling down around your ears.” Everything had so nearly crashed to ruin around all of us. It was high time I went back to a life where the biggest risks were marked by the roll of the runes and the weight of your purse.
“Where is he?” Sorgrad scanned the lively scene by the water. “You’d best go and find him, let him know there’s food for the eating.”
“Don’t drink all the good wine.” I looked but couldn’t find Ryshad among the dancing or the hungry throng gathering by the fires.
“Try the shrine,” Sorgrad suggested.
The Island City of Hadrumal,
29th of For-Summer
The full heat of the afternoon beat down on Hadrumal’s roofs, striking motes of silver from stone slates and turning masonry beneath to warm gold. Planir stood at his window looking down at the bustling courtyard below. Apprentices hurried about the errands they’d been given by their masters. Mages elevated to the status of pupil walked more slowly back to their lodging, weighed down with carefully cherished dignity and the substantial books many carried. Styles of dress and a general predilection for elemental colours were common to all but cut and quality of cloth inevitably distinguished those born to greater wealth whose families refused to let the accident of magebirth divide them.