The Gambler's Fortune (Einarinn 3) (44 page)

“Yours or theirs?” He offered me a bite of his cold bacon.

I gave him a look. “Solstice is Solstice wherever you are, ’Gren. That’s the whole point of us being here.”

“Four days from now,” he told me after a moment’s thought, “and they get two days’ holiday.”

“We’d get five in Ensaimin,” I grumbled, “as well as a lot more exciting sport than peasants beating the sap out of defenseless bits of firewood.”

“There’s going to be bonfires,” ’Gren volunteered. “And a venison roast. Lord Pastiss gives the town some stags for the festival.”

As well he might, given he was so keen for them to break their backs earning their days of leisure. I looked up at the massive bulk of Castle Pastamar, the great keep distant and unassailable inside the ring of its walls. Tall towers were spaced to give warning of any assault and in particular to keep watch on the great span of the bridge. The stone arches rose above us as we wandered along the bank, marching away across the river low in the summer heat. Lord Pastiss’s device, the silver boar’s head on a blue ground, was on a carved and painted stone shield above the central span, on the pennants that fluttered from the guard posts at either end of the bridge and flying from just about every vantage point on the great gray fortress. It had to make him feel important to see his emblem everywhere, something to make up for his fiefdom being mostly made up of peasants grubbing a living from scrubby pasture, untamed woodland and rank marsh.

Wagons rattled across the bridge, halted to pay their dues and voices drifted down to us, arguing the rights and wrongs of Soluran duties levied by the wheel rather than by the axle. Understanding them was some reward for spending the endless walk back down the length of the Pasfal badgering Sorgrad to teach me what he knew of the Soluran tongue and extending my knowledge of the Mountain speech. It had given me something to concentrate on when my impatience with Usara threatened to boil clear over into rage.

’Gren looked at the muddy path beneath the nearest arch of the bridge with disfavor. We’d kept reminding each other to look to the long game but I wasn’t going to do that for much longer and nor was he. “So when did Usara say this mysterious person was due?”

In unspoken agreement we turned back up into the little town and I remembered again I needed to find someone hereabouts to resole my boots. “He said the Solstice holiday.” I paused at the edge of the street, hard-packed earth without so much as a cobblestone. That was no particular problem with the summer sun keeping it dry, but come the autumn rains it would be axle-deep in mud. Well, whichever way the runes fell, I would be long gone by then. Frustration surged up within me; this was like a bad dream I’d once had, being stuck in a game where for every winning throw I lost twice the coin on the next hand, but for some reason I’d never quite grasped I couldn’t just throw in the runes and walk away from the table. No, it was more like being stuck in one of those pointless mazes that were currently all the rage for the Tormalin nobility. Or had that fad passed? Fashions could change a great deal in the quarter-year I’d been on the road, couldn’t they? I suddenly found myself missing Ryshad horribly.

“This friend of your boy had better bring something useful to the party,” muttered ’Gren. “We’ve come a long way from the uplands for nothing, if he hasn’t.”

“He says this person will know how to contact Anyatimm in the mountains south of Mandarkin and make inquiries of the Sheltya up there.” My calm reply was a notable achievement given I’d argued the point with Usara all the way from the uppermost tributaries of the Pasfal down to this broad and barge-laden waterway.

“Who’s to say that Sheltya woman hasn’t warned every rekin, fess and soke against us from the Gap to the Wild-lands?” retorted ’Gren.

“You go and convince Sorgrad then,” I snapped. “As long as he’s backing the wizard, we either go along with him or strike out on our own.” Sorgrad had been adamant with all the authority of an elder brother that we retreat long enough for the echoes of our precipitous expulsion to die away.

I felt an odd qualm of fear, and not for the first time, as I contemplated going back to the mountains. Was I turning coward? Was it the lurking realization that if I found myself facing Saedrin’s questions at the door to the Otherworld Ryshad would be left on this side, grieving for me?

’Gren was muttering, hands shoved crossly in his pockets.

“Come on, maybe it won’t be so bad spending the festival here.” I turned down the broad street, the gables of cruck-framed and thickly thatched houses on either side. Shops and workrooms were set nearest the roadway, households living in the next room back, kitchens and the like beyond. A few of the long low buildings had clouded glass in their windows, but most simply had wooden shutters and none looked very secure; I doubted if anyone had anything worth stealing though. We skirted around a noisome heap of plaster being mixed with dung where some keen peasant was mending his mud and wicker walls.

Soluran notions haven’t progressed as far as inns. Anyone with money or influence stopping here stayed in the castle; the more important, the closer they lodged to the keep where Lord Pastiss and his family held court. Everyone else had their choice of the various houses that sold ale, offered food or let out rooms. Solurans patch together a living in many and varied ways.

I pushed open the door to our lodging. The stale and sweaty odor of the dim interior told me our hostess had acquired another lot of discarded clothing from somewhere. She made most of her coin begging worn-out garments from her neighbors, washing and mending them and then selling the shoddy goods back again. For all that, she reckoned herself comfortably off. She had proudly explained to me that what I had taken for oddly shaped cobbles underfoot were in fact the joint ends of cattle bones, split and driven into the earth. It was a hardwearing surface apparently, warmer to the touch than stone and for these parts reckoned luxury.

There was no sign of Sorgrad or Usara so I shut the door and looked at ’Gren. “Where do you suppose they are?”

“Getting some food?” he suggested hopefully.

“Livak!”

To be hailed by name so far from home instantly turned my head. A heavily built man rode up on a stubborn-nosed black horse. The man’s close cropped hair and full beard were much the same color as his steed’s and his neck about as thick. He wore a scarlet cloak over a chainmail hauberk, shoulders massive with the padding of his arming tunic, but the size of his hands on the reins showed most of his bulk was honest muscle. A few peasants glanced incuriously at him; men in mail, long swords at their belt were a common enough sight in and around the castle.

“No wonder Usara wasn’t telling.” And I’d just thought the wizard was enjoying having the whip hand for a change.

“So who’s the dancing bear?” ’Gren was ready for any amusement this new turn of events might offer.

“His name’s Darni.” I laughed at the notion of the burly warrior with a ring through his nose, capering to the goad of a stick. “But you don’t get inside the reach of a bear’s chain, do you? This one’s just as dangerous.”

“Livak,” Darni greeted me with a curt nod, as if we’d spoken no more than a few days since. “Or are you going by something else? Terilla, wasn’t it?” His slab of a face was as hard to read as ever beneath the obdurate beard but this was as close as he was going to get to a joke.

I smiled back thinly. “Livak will do.” Terilla was the name I’d given this charmless bastard when I’d been pretending the valuable tankard I was selling was my own and he’d been pretending to be an honest merchant buying it. “ ’Gren, this is Darni, agent to the Archmage. He’s the one who gave me the choice of working for Planir or being chained up and handed over to the Watch.”

’Gren grinned up at Darni. “Looks like you owe our girl then, pal.”

Darni looked down at him. “Besides saving her life?”

“You and half the wizards of Hadrumal,” I scoffed. “Anyway, we’d already escaped from the Elietimm before you turned up.” As I spoke, something teased at my memory but fled before I could grasp it.

“So where’s ’Sar?” Darni turned in his saddle and I realized he had a companion. The second man urged his horse forward. He was of common height and build with middling brown hair and the pale skin of someone used to an indoor life. His eyes were large, liquid brown, a shade darker than his hair and wide-set beneath high, arching brows. His undistinguished face was adorned with luxuriant mustaches, chin clean-shaven apart from a tuft of beard.

“So who’s your friend?” I countered.

“My name is Gilmarten Forn,” the stranger replied obligingly, a Soluran lilt to his words. He swept off his lavishly plumed hat and made a creditable bow for a man on horseback. “I am of the fifth order of Eade and professed to Lord Astrad of Castle Stradar.”

“Good for you,” murmured ’Gren.

“A pleasure to meet you.” I was about to say I had no idea where Usara was when I saw the mage hurrying toward us, Sorgrad walking more slowly behind him. “There’s your wizard.”

Darni dismounted and accosted a rather vacant-looking boy, giving him a couple of coins. “Here, you, take these horses up to the guard stables at the castle. Tell the commander to stable them on Lord Astrad’s authority.” The boy gaped. “Just do it.” Darni unhooked his saddlebags and glared at the lad. “What are you waiting for?”

The man Gilmarten slid from his own horse, face alight with curiosity as he studied Usara. The lad decided he’d rather brave the known evil of the Guard commander than risk further words with this dangerous-looking stranger and hauled the animals off hastily.

“Darni, good to see you,” Usara said a little breathlessly. “I wasn’t expecting you for another couple of days.”

“Planir said it was important,” replied Darni. “So, where can we talk?”

I pointed to a house with a besom nailed up over the door, Solurans not going in for real tavern signs. “Over a drink?” The midday thirsty had already gone back to their labors. The place was nearly empty when we went in and, under Darni’s hard-nosed glare, those still idling over their tankards decided they had better places to be.

We sat on low stools and were served with palatable ale, ’Gren and Sorgrad studying Darni, Gilmarten watching Usara, and the wizard glancing at everyone in turn. I caught his eye and held it. “So now that I know we’re to have the pleasure of Darni’s company, what next? How soon can we be back in the uplands?”

Usara looked shifty. “I think we have learned as much as we are likely to on this trip, Livak. Darni is on his way back to Hadrumal and we should travel with him. He’s all the escort we’ll need through the Great Forest, and once we’re back in Ensaimin we can get a coach to Col and pick up a ship there—”

“You just rein it in, wizard!” I sat, open-mouthed. “You’re quitting?”

“I’m acknowledging we have come to the end of our journey.” He cleared his throat. “We have determined that there is aetheric lore in the traditions of these Sheltya and that is valuable information. Planir can decide how best to pursue it.”

“What we want to pursue is that cold-faced piece of work who threw us out!” I retorted.

“When she can turn every single mountain dweller against us, needing no more than her unsupported word?” demanded Usara.

“You never had any intention of going back, did you?” I cursed myself for a trusting fool.

“I thought it possible that Gilmarten might be able to help,” replied Usara, trying to sound affronted. “That turns out not to be the case, so I’d say that has to be the end of the matter for the moment.”

“Hold hard.” I raised a finger. “How do you know that, if the pair of you have only just met?” I swung around on my stool to give the newcomer a searching look.

“It is true that we have only just met,” he said politely, “but we have been in contact for some days now.”

“You’re another—” I managed to stop myself from punctuating my words with obscenities—“wizard?”

“Of course,” Gilmarten nodded, faintly puzzled.

“You’ve been in contact for some days?” I rounded on Usara who had the grace to redden. “What’s going on?”

“I’ve been looking into the ways Solurans train their wizards.” Darni replied for the mage with the arrogance I’d so disliked before. “Gilmarten is coming to Hadrumal to meet Planir. Once it looked increasingly likely your scheme would come to nothing, Planir told me to meet ’Sar here and escort him home.”

Darni would be taking goods home to the Archmage while I was left empty-handed? Not if I could help it.

“So you’ve been in touch with Planir as well, Usara? You didn’t think to mention it? Have you had any interest in our search or was I just saving Planir the cost of hiring you a wet-nurse for your journey?” I wasn’t about to give him the satisfaction of losing my temper but rage was scalding my throat and boiling behind my eyes.

“I think that I have made best use of so much traveling by handling several commissions at once,” replied the mage pompously.

“Most folk reckon a fool chasing two hares is going to end up with neither,” I snapped.

“If he doesn’t want to see the task through, we’re better off without him.” Sorgrad spoke up from the corner where he had been sitting silently watching. “We’ll just take the road east and do it that way.”

“Which puts us halfway back to Messire as well,” ’Gren chipped in, never slow to take a hint.

I nodded and nailed on a broad smile. “It always was an even bet Gidesta would pay off better, wasn’t it?”

Sorgrad was unconcerned. “It was worth testing the water here, since we were coming to the Forest anyway.”

“I’m sorry?” Usara was baffled by this rapid change in mood.

I waved a dismissive hand. “Don’t worry about it. You just do as Planir tells you. Messire will pass on what he thinks you need to know.”

“In due course,” added Sorgrad.

“So, you are a mage as well?” I turned to Gilmarten, who was looking frankly bemused. “But here in Solura, you aren’t under Hadrumal’s thumb?” I was all polite curiosity, like the Tormalin noble ladies who’d patronized me to screaming point over the Winter Solstice.

“No, we follow a rather different tradition,” he replied slowly. “If a child proves to have magic in his nature, it is required by royal law that a mage tests his potential. If it is strong enough to train, the child must be apprenticed to an established wizard or be branded and confined.” With me, ’Gren and Sorgrad all looking expectant, Usara preoccupied with the implications of Sorgrad’s words and Darni, aloof as ever, slowly drinking his ale, Gilmarten was drawn into filling the silence.