The Gambler's Fortune (Einarinn 3) (56 page)

“He doesn’t have to be an actual wizard for that? Just mage-born?” The next step was an obvious one.

Gilmarten made it. “No, and that means we could contact your friend Sorgrad, if he is willing to acknowledge his sympathy to that extent.”

“I’ll see if I can talk him into it.” Sorgrad might not want to be a mage on Hadrumal’s terms, but if he didn’t see advantages in having wizards keeping us informed about what they could scry out, he wasn’t the man I knew. Of course, there would be disadvantages as well, but we’d find ways around those.

Usara looked up from his bowl as we reached him. He eased his stiff shoulders, each giving a crack that made me wince. “Well?”

“Seven,” Gilmarten’s excitement was understandable. “One each with earth and air, three with fire, which is most unusual, and two with water.”

Usara’s tense face lightened considerably. “That’s two full nexus groups!”

Gilmarten tugged at his beard. “That’s not a way we are accustomed to work in Solura, but perhaps we can manage.”

“We could do without all this noise.”

Darni came over, parchments in hand, ’Gren and Sorgrad behind, heads close in conversation. The gentle song of a lute was blending with a pipe somewhere the far side of the dell, underscored with voices here and there. The melody swelled as everyone united in the same measure for a few moments and ebbed with descant and counterpoint floating in from different directions.

“I like it,” said ’Gren with simple honesty. A single clear voice lifted a new tune, others repeating it a few measures later, doubling and redoubling into a round song.

“If your countrymen have an ear for a tune, it’ll lead them straight to us,” pointed out Darni. I held my breath and my tongue.

“I can use air to cap it?” Gilmarten offered. “I’d be loath to forbid it since they do seem to find some healing in the music.”

Usara shot me a suspicious glance that I returned with a bland look of innocence. I wasn’t about to admit to a hand in this outbreak of singing, not until I had some way of judging whether my speculation was paying off.

Darni grunted. “So what have you found for us?” He smiled at the nervous would-be wizards with all the charm of a man-trap.

I moved to talk to Sorgrad and ’Gren as Gilmarten told his tale. “How’ve you been faring?”

“We’ve got some sound maps drawn up,” Sorgrad said neutrally.

“You agree we should make a play for this Ice Islander? Knock him off the board?” If Sorgrad reckoned this was folly, I’d have to abandon the idea.

“If we can find the bastard.” Sorgrad nodded. “It’s got to be the quickest way to put the mockers on this fighting. These Forest Folk might be getting hit with the shitty end of the privy stick for the present, but if the lowlanders get involved penny to a pack weight the Anyatimm will lose in the end.”

“That’s good enough for me,” said ’Gren, looking dangerous.

“Since when did you need an excuse?” Sorgrad gave his brother a genial shove.

I looked up, but Darni and Usara were still deep in conversation with Gilmarten. “This Ice Islander, he’s going to know plenty about this aetheric magic. That’s what we’ve been looking for, to turn into coin since we started this game. I’ve been thinking he might be worth more to us alive.”

“You’re still aiming to kidnap him?” Sorgrad looked at me sharply. “That’s a high-stakes game, my girl.”

“Long odds pay best,” I told him. “We don’t have a lot to show for half a year on the road so far, do we?”

“But Sandy said you mustn’t!” gasped ’Gren, wide-eyed in mockery.

“Since when did I answer to him?” I retorted with a grin.

“It’ll be cursed dangerous,” commented Sorgrad thoughtfully. “We’d have to make sure he can’t use any enchantments on us.”

“If we can’t work out a way to do it safely, then we just kill him,” I promised.

“Knock him hard enough on the head and he won’t be any trouble,” suggested ’Gren.

“Knock him too hard and he won’t be any use,” I countered.

“Sandy and the Bear won’t like it,” pointed out ’Gren with ill-concealed glee.

“By the time they work out what we’re up to, it’ll be too late.” I smiled. “They agreed we could take him out of the balance. I never said exactly how.”

“According to Darni, those mages will be able to bespeak me,” Sorgrad said dourly. “Whether I like it or not.”

“Couldn’t you suffer having Usara scry out our escape route and telling us if the way is clear? What are they going to do even if they see things they don’t like? They’re not going to be able to stop us.” I waved a dismissive hand.

“Over here!” We all turned our heads at Darni’s peremptory summons.

“He really does think he’s biggest toad in the pond,” murmured ’Gren.

“Let him play king of the log if he wants,” I advised. “We’re in this for ourselves. Yes, Darni, what now?”

Darni looking determined was an awesome sight. “Now I start drilling anyone and everyone capable of fighting. ’Sar and Gilmarten teach their new apprentices enough to keep the tail end here safe from harm. You three try to take this Ice Islander out of the game. The good news is this uprising looks limited to just three valleys. We need to nip it in the bud before it spreads, and the loss of their enchanter might just be enough to do it.”

“Fair enough.” Anticipation warred with misgivings inside me. But this time I’d have Sorgrad and ’Gren with me to tilt the odds my way, I reminded myself.

“If we’re going to tackle him, we need to know where he is,” Sorgrad said to Usara.

“He’s been sticking closer to her ladyship than her shift,” the mage replied. “In the Teyvafess.”

“Can you get these Folk to hold the line long enough for us to get there?” I demanded.

“Can’t Sandy do some magic to send us?” protested ’Gren. “It’s a cursed long walk.”

“A mage can only do that kind of thing to somewhere he’s already been,” I explained.

“One of you mages will have to bespeak me if she goes anywhere else.” Sorgrad looked at Darni. “You’ll have to spare us some bowmen, preferably ones who can handle a sword. It’ll just be the three of us going in, but we have to expect pursuit. They can wait half a day back, closer if the ground favors concealment.”

“I’m coming with you,” said Usara abruptly; his face was pale and set. “I cannot let you risk Elietimm enchantments without some real magic backing you up. We’ve all seen what these people are capable of and I am not going to be the one telling Planir I let you go without all the support I could offer.” He managed a strained smile. “Worrying as I find these Ice Islanders and their enchantments, I’m rather more afraid of our revered Archmage.”

“But you can barely walk, man! And you wizards are horribly vulnerable when you set your minds on your own spells,” I pointed out. “That’s how they got at Otrick.”

“This enchanter would have to know I was there in order to go hunting me,” Usara said stiffly. “With Guinalle’s help over the last few seasons, we have been finding ways of working magic to evade aetheric notice.”

That was all very well as long as it was only his own sanity he was risking, but if the Elietimm got him they’d be halfway to getting me. Unfortunately, I couldn’t see how I was going to stop him coming short of stabbing him in the other leg, which I couldn’t see going down well with Darni or Gilmarten.

“There’s no chance of you coming into the fess itself; Sheltya clearly have some way of telling mages. You stay with the bowmen and you sit on your hands until after we’ve made our move.” Sorgrad’s decision startled me but his tone made it clear it was final. “I want your word on that, Usara, by everything you hold holy.”

“If he can’t come in and he can’t use his magic, why do we want him along?” objected ’Gren. “And he’ll have to hop all the way there and back.”

“He can learn to use crutches or he’ll just have to follow on behind.” Sorgrad smiled at Usara. “We’re likely to come out of there with every hound in the soke on our trail. Then you can use all the magic you want, Sandy, raise fire to scour our scent clean off the rocks.”

’Gren and I exchanged a look of understanding. Getting in to steal something is only ever half the task. It’s getting out again with the spoils that marks the successful thief.

Nine

In this Mountain tale of how the world was made, we find both familiar and strange ideas. Only the gods know the truth and perhaps they have shared it among the peoples, so that we may only learn by sharing our knowledge.

Maewelin made the world,

Carved it with rivers deep.

She folded hill and vale,

And raised the saw-edged heights.

She looked and yet she wept.

Her beauteous work so fair,

Had no one to delight,

Unseen, untouched, unheard.

So to Misaen’s forge,

She went and bade him make

A people and all beasts

Of water, land and air.

Misaen took the clouds,

And folded feathered fowl.

He plaited fish from rain,

He shaped the beasts of earth.

He took the finest clay

And sought to make a man.

It slipped beneath his hands

And stubborn would not yield.

“Maewelin! Give me gold,

The sinews of the rock,

The mountain’s jeweled heart,

That I may forge true worth.”

“The power you would use

Could hold my world in thrall,

Could seize the very moons.

I can but lend such might.”

Maewelin made a pact.

Misaen set his seal.

So life that could not die,

Would pass to deathless sleep.

Misaen took her gifts

And blended them with fire.

His greatest work was made

To burn full bright then fail.

Teyvasoke,

18th of Aft-Summer

Just walk slowly, keep your hood up and avoid catching anyone’s eye,” ’Gren murmured out of the side of his mouth. He spoke slowly to ensure I understood. Neither brother had talked anything but the Mountain tongue since we had left Apak’s camp, which had done wonders for my understanding of the language. It had been worse for my temper; some days I’d been so frustrated I’d have cheerfully punched them both on the nose. My accent was reasonably convincing by now—having a good ear for a tune helps there—but there were still too many things I just didn’t know the words for.

I ran a hand over my hair, damp with sweat in the noon heat. The short crop still felt strange, the hair strawlike after Harile’s foul-smelling concoction had leached out most of the color. Sorgrad was confident passing eyes would slide incuriously over a light-eyed, sandy blond in the company of two undeniably pure-blooded Mountain Men. Still, I was taking no chances, concealing myself in a sacklike garment ’Gren had acquired. Some woodcutter had learned the hard way not to leave his linen drying on the broom bushes fringing his little steading.

“So where have this lot been?” wondered ’Gren aloud. We’d waited and watched and finally come in on the tail end of a straggle of returning troops.

“Raiding the lowlands,” Sorgrad nodded at the dust kicked up by protesting flocks of abducted sheep in the grassy expanses farther down the valley.

I looked around at the new arrivals competing for cramped space to spread their blankets and set up cook pots. “No one’s going to be surprised to see faces they don’t know hereabouts, are they?”

We walked slowly up the broad floor of the wide valley, which was crowded with tents and rough shelters. On either side ramparts of rock marched down from the heights to enfold the soke with their protection, pierced with the dark entrances of mines. Ahead the land rose in a shallow sweep, past broken ground pocked with workings up to a gentle rise still dotted with a few remaining trees, then it changed abruptly, folded into deep, forested gullies. The twin mountains, light and dark, reared up beyond, clouds streaming like banners from their summits.

I brought my wits back from that distant beauty to considerations closer at hand. They might be a motley crowd but this was more than the ragtag collection of raiding parties that Lescari dukes dignify with the title of army. In the time it had taken us to reach here, a sizable host had gathered. I only hoped they’d disperse as rapidly if we could get rid of the Ice Islander’s enchantments. I looked sideways from beneath my hood at a gang of youths sitting around an unlit fire pit. One with dark eyes startling below corn-silk yellow hair was brushing his mail-shirt free of specks of rust, another with the rounder features of mixed blood was using a whetstone on a sword with a notch in the metal jagged as a freshly broken tooth. A third bent over a dusty boot that looked to have covered more leagues than my own. The ring of hammer and metal punctuated conversation on all sides.

“If we’d bleached what was left of his hair, Sandy could have passed among these mongrels,” ’Gren said cheerfully.

“I think he’s better off where he is. That limp and those crutches are just too noticeable.” We’d left the exhausted wizard with a handful of determined Forest hunters in a disregarded hollow beyond the knife-edged ridge on the sunrise side. He was under strict instructions not to use any magic lest he draw attention of the Sheltya or the Elietimm. Usara might be confident Hadrumal’s tricks would hide him from an enchanter’s notice, but we weren’t prepared to let the mage risk it. Not until we had our quarry. I hoped he’d stay unscathed. I’d left my precious song book with him, for one thing—a mage being the nearest I could find to safekeeping for the present.

But once we had the bastard, I’d welcome Forest arrows or spears of lightning or anything else to cover our flight. Sudden shouts behind me froze the hot trickles of sweat between my shoulder blades, cold fingers of fear running down my spine.