“I’d prefer longer odds of seeing the Solstice than four chances in five.” Viltred drew a shuddering breath, and as he did so the vision in the crystal shook and dissolved. With evident effort to regain his composure, the old wizard leaned forward to rest his hands on the table once more and slowly turned the stone with the shimmering fingers of azure light that revealed the mage’s elemental link with the air that surrounded him. The answering amber glow rising within the heart of the gem spoke of magic born of the earth as slowly a shimmering haze cleared and new pictures focused on the bright surface.
The image sharpened; a knot of figures standing in a large airy room, framed in an open window behind them, masts and rigging moving gently with the motion of unseen waves, sails square-set on stubby spars.
“There you are, Viltred, and showing no signs of ill treatment.” Shiv sighed with relief.
“I’ll allow being caked to my eyebrows in the filth of the road and looking nigh on exhausted is preferable to dying spitted like a festival hog,” muttered Viltred.
“Those galleys, they’re the kind that ply the Caladhrian Gulf,” continued Shiv thoughtfully.
“What I want to know is who are all these other people,” the old man snapped.
Shiv frowned as he studied the tiny figures in the spell’s vision. “The woman with red hair is called Livak. She travels Ensaimin, a woman of many talents, a gambler for the most part.”
“That sounds dishonest as well as disreputable,” snorted Viltred.
Shiv stifled a sudden smile before continuing. “The tall man at the back is the sworn man to Messire D’Olbriot—Ryshad, the one who should be here any day now. You recall me telling you about him?”
“I am not yet in my dotage. I can generally remember things I have been told the same day,” the old wizard replied acidly. “Who’s the plain-faced piece with shoulders like a farm hand?”
“That’s Halice,” said Shiv slowly. “She’s a friend of Livak’s who’s been laid up over the last few seasons with a broken leg.”
“And what possible reason could I have for being with such an ill-assorted crew, down in Relshaz?” demanded Viltred, his sunken eyes flashing with annoyance. “And before you ask, I recognize that beacon tower. I knew the city well enough in my youth.”
“That other man’s face is weathered like sailcloth and with those rope scars on his hand, I think it’s safe to assume he’s a sailor,” Shiv murmured, more to himself than to the old man. “Those parchments that Livak’s weighting with tankards would probably be charts, don’t you think? Are we taking ship somewhere? Relshaz is certainly the biggest port on the western side of the Gulf, but in a city that size a lot of other things could be going on. We could be looking to meet a ship?”
Viltred shrugged wordlessly, his lined face grim under his straggly gray brows. Shiv sat motionless at the dark oaken table, deep in thought, before suddenly slapping his hands down on the scarred wood. “There’s no point trying to second-guess these things, is there? Still, contrasting visions like these generally mean achieving one outcome precludes the other, doesn’t it? We can make a good start down that route by getting everyone we’re seeing together, and Ryshad’s already on his way.”
“I wish you would curb your enthusiasm for telling me things I learned as a first-season apprentice before you were even thought of, Shivvalan. How do you propose we go about this, anyway?” Faint hope warred with the suspicion in the old man’s faded eyes.
“I think I can find Halice, at very least, and I imagine she’ll know where Livak may be.” Shiv rose from his stool and fetched a ewer from the old-fashioned dresser behind him, taking a little silver vial from his breeches pocket. Viltred watched in silence as the younger mage sprinkled black drops of ink on the surface of the water. A greenish glow began to gather in the water, rising above the rim of the jug to trickle over the sides and sink into the stained table top. “A friend of mine was helping tend her leg,” Shiv explained in increasingly animated tones. “He found he had a boot buckle of hers and passed it on to me. As he said, you never know when you might want the means of scrying for someone.” He dropped the trinket into the water, caught his lower lip between his teeth and bent closer to his magic, expression intense.
“Just get on with it,” muttered Viltred.
A sudden sound of rushing air and water filled the room and Shiv stood abruptly upright, his eyes meeting Viltred’s where he saw his own consternation mirrored.
“You set wards of warning on your way here?” asked the old man, a quake of fear in his voice. “Could that be this swordsman arriving?”
“No, I’m afraid my spells are woven only for the Elietimm,” Shiv replied breathlessly. “After traveling to those accursed islands, I’ve no desire to find myself in those bastards’ hands again, believe me. One of our number suffered much the fate we have to protect you from.”
“Let’s remove ourselves to the safety of the village,” said Viltred more robustly. “You have sufficient mastery of air to achieve that?”
Shiv scowled in frustration. “We daren’t take the time to gather all your valuables and if we just translocate ourselves away, we’ll have no idea what the Elietimm do or where they go.” He swiftly crossed the dusty floor to open the varnished shutters just enough to see out. “We’ll be trapped like rats in a barrel if we stay here, though. No, we’ll find a vantage point in the woods where we can hide ourselves,” he said decisively. “With the greater moon dark and the lesser at last crescent, this is the blackest night of the season and that can help us as much as them.”
“If I see them coming for us I’ll be away, clear to Hadrumal, if I can,” warned Viltred, grim-faced. As the old mage rose stiffly from his chair Shiv drew back the bolts on the sturdy wooden door. He caught the shorter man under one arm and, throwing open the door, half hurried, half carried Viltred into the concealing gloom gathering beneath the trees as the sun sank slowly in the clouded western sky.
“Wait,” commanded Viltred a touch breathlessly.
Shiv bent his head close to the old mage’s. “What is it?”
“I’ve a few spells of my own woven hereabouts,” Viltred murmured grimly. “I can set them for two-footed beasts as well as those with four.”
He rubbed knuckles swollen with joint evil and a faint blue glow gathered into a ball between his hands. Viltred released it with a gesture and it floated away like a wisp of marsh gas, alighting here and there on the fringes of the forest to leave a small, fast-fading imprint on the grass.
“We have to conceal ourselves,” whispered Shiv urgently. “I’ve some means of confusing their enchantments but we have to stay absolutely motionless.”
Viltred nodded and the two wizards drew further into the shadows. A flicker of multi-hued light at the edge of seeing gathered around them, evaporating to leave the mages no more visible than the patterns of darkness merging with the twilight.
The final golden shimmers of the sun were scattered by a waterfall tumbling into a brook but everything else was muted to myriad shades of gray. Black as the night deepening under the surrounding trees, the shape of a man suddenly ran across the open ground to the hut, crouching low and moving swiftly. His yell ripped through the silence as a shock of lightning erupted from the ground beneath his feet, throwing him backward to scramble in confusion for the shelter of the trees. Smoke drifted away on the night’s chilly breath.