“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.
“She says it should be possible,” Shiv tried to look hopeful. “It’s just a matter of finding the right approach.”
“Dastennin send you find it,” I said fervently.
“Some deity certainly has a nasty sense of humor,” said Shiv unhappily, “letting something like that happen, after we arrived just in time to foil the assault.”
“Guinalle reckons it was the other way around.” Usara joined us, his own expression tired and sad. “She thinks the Elietimm had launched their attack as soon as they realized we were coming down river.”
Shiv shrugged. “Whatever. So, are you staying or coming with us, ’Sar?”
“Planir wants me back in Hadrumal, so I must do his bidding,” replied Usara briskly, though I saw his eyes following Guinalle as she walked back up the wharf toward the gates. “Just at present, he’s not a man to be argued with.”
“I heard Naldeth trying to get out of staying here,” I agreed with a laugh.
“I don’t think Naldeth found Planir’s reaction very amusing.” Usara looked sternly at me.
“Chamry seems happy enough,” commented Shiv. “I think she’s had just about enough of the honor of being Shannet’s latest pupil.”
“I take it Mentor Tonin hasn’t managed to persuade Guinalle to come back to Vanam with him? What success have you had with her, ’Sar?” I asked, straight-faced.
Usara was betrayed by his fair coloring. “Mind your own business, Rysh. No, I support Guinalle’s decision. Of course she must remain here, to safeguard those we still have to revive, if nothing else.”
“So you’ll be back here, just as soon as you’ve found a solution for her, will you?” inquired Shiv.
“Me, or Parrail, or anyone else who finds the knowledge we need,” Usara said repressively.
“I don’t think you have much competition there.” Shiv patted him reassuringly on the shoulder.
I held my peace. Guinalle was persisting in tactfully not noticing Parrail’s transparent adoration of her, for the lad’s sake as much as to divert Temar’s manful attempts at concealing his jealousy. I could see him now, sitting on an empty barrel, face like a slapped arse, as he watched the love of his life walk away from him. I shook my head at the remembered pains of youth. “Excuse me, both of you.”
I clapped Temar on the shoulder. “Have you made your decision yet?”
He looked up at me. “What would I do if I came with you? Take this oath of yours to the Sieur D’Olbriot? I have no House or Name to return to.”
“The oath arose for men like that, set adrift in the Chaos after the Empire fell,” I said, recalling this with some surprise. Some of Temar’s contemporaries had probably been the first to swear it.
A faint spark of interest lightened the gloom in Temar’s eyes. “Did it?”
I nodded. “The Sieur offers security, the man swears loyalty in return.”
An echo sounded in my mind, of Messire’s words as he stood tall and distant on the dais above me, my own responses striking up from the stone floor as I knelt to offer up my honor all those years ago, the two of us alone in the great hall, as was customary.
As my walls shall shelter you,
So my sword will defend you.
As my food shall strengthen you,
So my strength will serve you.
As my hearth shall warm you,
So my heart’s blood is yours.
That was the heart of the matter, wasn’t it? Those were the words I would have to ponder as I weighed Messire’s loyalty to his oath against my own actions.
A shout from the water broke the stillness of my reflections.
“You don’t have much longer to make up your mind,” I said gently.
“What? No, I know.” Temar sighed heavily.
“To make up his mind about what?” asked Livak, as she came up to us and slid herself inside the circle of my arm.
“Should I stay or should I go?” Temar looked up at her.
“Roll a rune for it,” Livak shrugged. “Anyway, no decision’s ever final, is it? Come to Zyoutessela with us. Messire D’Olbriot’s invited you, hasn’t he? If you don’t like it, you can be on the next ship heading this way.”
“Which won’t be before the spring next year.” I thought I had better add a note of realism to Livak’s cheerful unconcern. I looked at Livak, a woollen wrap incongruous over her jerkin and breeches. “I know it’s a lot to ask, my dearest, and I don’t expect an answer at once, but do you think you could possibly bear to wear a skirt when you meet my mother for the first time?”