Temar rolled a sip round his mouth thoughtfully. “This is far from—”
A cry from the seer’s room silenced him, a hoarse sob hastily stifled. The old man came stumbling out, one shaking hand hiding his eyes, the other groping blindly in front of him. Four of those waiting jumped to their feet, a sturdy woman in serviceable maroon offering resolute comfort in fast, unintelligible words. A gaunt man with one empty sleeve to his coat reached his good arm round the old man’s shaking shoulders, while a pretty girl with haunted eyes supported an elderly female in rusty black, whose face had gone as white as her shabby lace cap. At brisk words from the stout woman, the family walked out with fragile dignity.
Everyone avoided everyone else’s eyes as an apprehensive youth walked slowly through the door.
“What are we going to say to this seer, whoever she is?” Allin turned beseeching eyes to Temar.
“Have you some question you already know the answer to?” asked Temar thoughtfully.
“I could ask about someone still alive.” Allin nodded reluctantly. “If she gets that right, I ask about someone I know to be dead?”
Temar looked at her in some concern. “Does this distress you?”
Allin looked down, her hands knotted in her lap. “We’d best find out, now we’ve come all this way.”
New arrivals prompted Allin to move hastily to one of the vacated seats, to claim their place in the queue. Temar grabbed the wine and moved after her. Hemmed in on either side, they exchanged silent glances over their glasses. The second chime of night was sounding by the time the portly man who’d been before them came back out, face dark with stubborn resentment.
Allin stood up, brushing decisively at her skirts. “Let’s see what’s to see.”
Clutching the wine bottle for lack of anywhere to put it, Temar followed the mage girl into a bare room. All they saw was an iron-bound chest set on an unwieldy table in the middle of a rug woven from strips of threadbare cloth, two females sitting on stools beyond it. Tallow candles in sconces lit damp stained walls, smoky flames briefly fluttering to add more soot to the dirty lath ceiling.
Allin said something courteous and the older woman stood up. Her white hair was all but invisible beneath a pale blue kerchief, and she wore a full, shapeless skirt and sleeveless bodice of the same material laced over a loose linen blouse. No one in Tormalin dressed like this though Temar had seen some of the mercenary women in Kel Ar’Ayen wearing such garb. Poldrion’s touch had whitened this woman’s hair unduly early, he decided. Her firm face suggested she was still in her middle years but the lines that furrowed her brow hinted those years had been hard.
“Mistress Maedura.” Allin gestured to Temar. “My companion, Natyr.”
“All who seek answers are welcome,” said the woman in passable Tormalin. Her shrewd eyes rather unexpectedly lacked the hard calculation Temar expected from a trickster. They were also the colour of a rain-washed sky and he realised how seldom he’d seen anyone with light eyes since arriving here.
“Your questions?” Mistress Maedura prompted.
“Of course,” said Allin nervously.
Temar looked at the younger woman sitting silent beside Mistress Maedura. She had the same pale eyes but hers were as empty as a summer noon, staring fixedly at the wall behind Temar. She was dressed in a soft green weave, skirt spotted with spilled food, and her sparse dull hair was cut short in a ragged crop. The laces of her bodice pulled unevenly over a mature figure yet her face had the unlined vacancy of a child.
“My daughter was caught between the realms of life as a babe,” said Maedura without emotion. “Lennarda’s mind wanders the shades, but from time to time she encounters those crossing the river with Poldrion. When Saedrin opens the door to admit them to the Otherworld, she glimpses what lies beyond and hears some small snatches of lost voices.” Despite her rehearsed words Temar nevertheless felt she genuinely believed what she said.
Maedura gave Allin a handful of three-sided bones and gestured her to the single stool facing the chest. “Set out your birth signs on the lid.” Allin fumbled through the bones, finally picking out three separate runes.
Temar took a step closer, recognising the Deer, the Broom and the Mountain. “You draw three separate bones?”
Allin shot him a piercing look of rebuke. “But your father would have insisted on the Tormalin way, wouldn’t he, just the one bone?” She turned to Maedura, speaking in rapid, offhand Lescari. Temar would have preferred to know what was being said about him but whatever yarn Allin was spinning, the suspicion flaring in Maedura’s eyes faded to an ever present watchfulness.
Allin turned to Temar again. “Your grandmother favoured the runes, didn’t she? She swore there was art to casting them.”
Temar nodded hastily. Holding his wine glass up to shield his mouth, he began whispering under his breath, reciting one of the few charms Guinalle had managed to drill into him. If Artifice was being worked here, it would echo in his hearing with unmistakable resonance. He forced himself to concentrate despite the faint dizziness aggravating his lurking headache, reluctantly realising he wasn’t as recovered as he’d boasted.
“Ask your question,” Maedura commanded.
“Where’s my cousin Chel?” Allin demanded abruptly. Temar could see the tips of her ears going scarlet.
Maedura took her daughter’s hands and laid them on the runes. Aversion flitted momentarily over Lennarda’s blank face then her shoulders sagged, head drooping to show a scabbed and sore scalp. Temar nearly lost the rhythm of the enchantment he was attempting as he realised someone had been pulling the girl’s hair out in handfuls.
“I see a river.” Lennarda sat bolt upright, startling Allin into a muted squeak. Temar’s fingers tightened on the neck of the bottle.
“I see a river curving over a plain.” The girl’s voice was deep, firm and assured. “A big river, wide-mouthed as it enters the sea. The water is brown, bringing goodness down from the high land. Then this will be fertile ground. There are marshes, saltings full of white birds. No birds I ever saw before, but we should try bringing down a few, to see if they make good eating. See, there is a fair landing yonder, open grass above the tide line. We can build a wharf along the bank. There is plenty of timber for shelter too, goodly stands of trees.”
Lennarda stopped dead, pulling away from the coffer and folding her arms awkwardly against her chest. She hunched over, rocking back and forth with incoherent whimpers.
Allin turned to Temar, her face an eloquent mix of embarrassment and disappointment. “Shall we go?”
“Your payment?” Mistress Maedura held her daughter’s hands down as they hooked into impotent claws.
“Your fee?” asked Allin icily. She stood and pulled her cape around her.
“Whatever you think the information is worth.” Maedura got to her feet as Lennarda subsided into her earlier vacant stillness.
“Not very much, to be truthful.” Allin drew a resolute breath.
“No, wait,” Temar broke in, blood pulsing behind his eyes. “Allin, ask again, about anyone.”
Allin looked doubtfully at him and Maedura laid a protective hand on her daughter’s uncaring shoulder. Temar held up one of the Tormalin Empire Crowns. “My payment in advance.”
“If this is your question, you must set out your runes,” said Maedura in some confusion.
“Here.” Temar pushed at the single bone bearing the Salmon, the Reed and the Sea. “I was born under the greater moon, does that make any difference?”
Maedura shook her head as she lifted her daughter’s hands with their chewed, split fingernails towards the rune and Temar hastily withdrew, flesh crawling at the thought of touching the unfortunate.
“I seek a little girl.” He coughed and forced his voice to stay level. “A little girl wearing a yellow dress with red flowers sewn around the hem. I do not know her name but she has an older brother and a sister. They all sleep together wrapped in a brown cloak.” His throat closed with emotion and he couldn’t say any more.