Read The Gambler's Fortune (Einarinn 3) Online

Authors: Juliet E. McKenna

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The Gambler's Fortune (Einarinn 3) (7 page)

BOOK: The Gambler's Fortune (Einarinn 3)
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Usara shook his head. “I’m Hadrumal born and bred, a fourth generation on my mother’s side, five on my father’s and mages borne on every branch of the family tree. For me it’s the mainland that’s where all the mysteries lie!” He grinned and I smiled faintly back at him. How had I managed to travel so many hundreds of leagues with the man and never find that out? I chided myself for that slackness; I’d better be on my guard in case his ignorance landed us in some bear-pit, for all his native wit and subsequent learning. Just how shrewd was he? “So, what did you think of the cockatrice?”

Usara frowned. “It started life as an ordinary cockerel, obviously, until someone cut off its spurs and comb. What I don’t understand is how that man set the spurs growing on its head instead.”

So he’d seen nearly all the trick. “You have to castrate the bird first, so I’ve been told.” A chorus of horns ended all conversation and the Explanatory in his plain white mask and unadorned wig stepped out from behind the backdrop. He gave us the set-up for the tale and the usual broad hint of what moral we might expect to improve us, harking back to the days of pious plays performed in the shrines. As was modern custom, half the audience listened attentively to find out who was who and the other half stirred restively, wanting the dancing girls and the comedy with the pig. I sipped my wine as our hero, a rich youth from the nearside house, came on to declaim his love for the virtuous daughter of the warden of his guild. This paragon was apparently and somewhat improbably off traveling with her aunt. There were jokes about the warden hating anyone who didn’t make coin through honest trade and a few mild sallies about his girth, which must have been written in for local color, given the immoderate laughter they provoked.

The cook of the neighboring house spent a lengthy passage complaining to the hero’s housekeeper about how badly her miserly master treated her and then, to everyone’s relief, the messenger came rushing in with muddy mask and windblown hair firmly set with flour paste. After stressing how private his news was, he proceeded to tell all and sundry how the virtuous maiden had been abducted by hired bravos. As those of the audience who’d failed to see this coming gasped, the band struck up and dancers came skipping out from behind the backcloth.

I nudged Usara. “I’ll have to tell Niello upper-house servants would sit naked on the rooftops before so much as commenting on the weather to a cook!”

The mage didn’t answer, leaning forward for a better view of the girls, whose shapely legs were barely concealed beneath muslin skirts bright with ribbons. Gaily colored half-masks hid their eyes, but not their enticing smiles. After an energetic song, just the tasteful side of bawdy, it was time for the clowns, one hook-nosed and the other moonfaced, so no surprises there. They were playing tradesmen this time, their problem a guard dog who attacked anything in breeches. One clown was a knife-grinder wooing the cook, with all the jokes one might expect about blades and scabbards and we soon learned that the dog was keeping him from getting a regular sharpening. I recognized Niello’s voice behind the hook-nosed mask and he played the scene with a relish that set me giggling.

As the hero came on to lament the loss of his love in tedious detail, a stir ran through the crowd behind me. I turned quickly in my seat but Usara’s attention was still fixed on the stage. My instinctive trepidation was replaced with delight as I saw two blond figures pushing toward us, heads at shoulder height to most of the men, one with the unmistakable stocky build of the mountains, the other slighter, long hair tied back with a braided leather knot.

“Make some space, Usara.” I dug an elbow into his ribs and he shuffled along the bench with courteous apologies to some apprentices on his far side. ’Gren grabbed a stool from behind someone unwise enough to stand up for a better view and passed it to Sorgrad, who promptly settled himself at our table as if he’d been there all evening.

“We got word you were here.” Sorgren slipped in between me and Usara, helping himself to the last of my wine with a cheeky grin. “That’s welcome; I’m dry as a lime-burner’s hat.”

Sorgrad pulled a little silver goblet from his pocket and I filled it from our jug. “I’ve been leaving word everywhere I could think of. When did you arrive?”

“Just after sunset.” Sorgrad drank thirstily. “We’ve just come up from Col.”

“Do I owe you money or something, Sandy?” ’Gren challenged Usara’s inquisitive face with a bold stare of his own. “Want to try minding your own mutton?”

“This is Usara and he’s with me.” I reclaimed my cup from ’Gren and looked around for the serving girl. “We’ll get to that later. What were you doing in Col?”

“Keeping out of trouble.” Sorgrad smiled contentedly at me and I noted the fine wool broadcloth of his maroon jerkin, skillfully cut in the very latest fashion and expensively tailored to flatter his barrel of a chest. Silver ornaments on his belt and purse were plentiful and untarnished, the leather still shiny and new. His fine blond hair was neatly cut beneath an elegant cap in the new southern style. Even over stable smells and the sweaty mass of revelers, I could smell the lingering perfume of expensive bath oils.

“So your little project in Draximal went well?” I inquired innocently. The last time I’d seen the brothers, they’d been full of a madcap plan to steal a mercenary pay-chest, gold intended to finance a further season of the interminable civil wars in Lescar.

Sorgrad nodded. “We found some old friends who fancied getting paid up front for a change and not spilling too much blood. We picked the right spot on the road through the hills north of Sharlac and it was easy as clubbing a roosting bird.”

“So what brings you to Selerima?” Usara had to raise his voice as the dancers came on again to some lively pipe music.

“We thought a certain Cordainer might be here for the festival.” Sorgrad’s blue eyes burned dark with a promise of vengeance. They don’t say Mountain memories are carved in stone for nothing.

“Who?” Usara looked to me for explanation.

“Later.” Perhaps, if I could come up with an acceptable way of explaining that Arle Cordainer had masterminded that robbery I didn’t want to discuss with any Watchman. He’d recruited our services but had then found a way to leave the city with all the proceeds while the rest of us faced a climb up the gallows, almost certainly on account of him laying information. I turned to wave at a potman, summoning more wine and an extra cup.

The action resumed with a new maidservant appearing in the miser’s house. Unsurprisingly she wore the delicate mask and ringletted wig of the mislaid heroine. I poured more wine for Sorgrad since there was no point trying to get ’Gren’s attention if there was a trim female to look at. That was fine by me; as long as he was occupied, he couldn’t be getting into mischief.

“Will you be staying hereabouts after the festival?” I asked Sorgrad. “I take it you’re keeping clear of Lescar for the summer.”

“We didn’t leave anyone alive who could identify us,” he shrugged. “But yes, once we’d shared out the coin we thought it best to put a few leagues between the others and us. There are a couple with mouths no safer than a torn pocket and if they find themselves facing a swing on the nevergreen tree, they’ll speak up smart enough to save their necks.”

I nodded and chose my next words carefully. “Charoleia said that she’d heard a couple of men had been taken for the robbery and the Duke of Draximal is out for their blood.” Usara leaned forward, trying to hear what I was saying, but ’Gren pushed him back with an impatient hand as his view of the players was blocked.

Sorgrad looked at me sharply. “When did you see her?”

“Just before the turn of Aft-winter, me and Usara were on our way here,” I told him. “She’s been in Relshaz as usual; that’s how I knew you were planning to come here for the festival. She said she’d seen you at Winter Solstice?”

Sorgrad frowned into his goblet. I knew he wouldn’t question any word I claimed to have from Charoleia. Given she makes her coin talking gullible people into plausible schemes, her network for gathering information is second to none. She spends her winters in one of the biggest ports on the Gulf of Lescar, and everyone knows that if they send her information she can use, gold will eventually work its way back to them. In this case, the news happened to be true.

Usara said something to ’Gren that I didn’t catch but that went unanswered in any case as the clowns were back on. The eager knife-grinder planned to get past the guard dog by wearing a dress. This naturally led to Reza under ragged fur and floppy-eared dog’s head chasing Niello around the stage, the latter wearing no more than mask and skin-tight, fine-knitted wool.

“How dare he pad himself like that!” a blushing girl behind me gasped, intent on Niello’s hose. I knew better than she did and allowed myself a quiet moment of nostalgic reflection.

“We’re far enough away to be safe,” Sorgrad’s face was untroubled when I looked back to him. “No one’s going to hunt us clear across Caladhria and four-fifths the way through Ensaimin.”

“They might if the reward were large enough,” I said slowly. “I heard the Duke was offering a tenth-share of what was stolen.”

Sorgrad’s sapphire eyes looked speculatively over the rim of his silver cup. “That’s what you heard?”

I shrugged. “It could just be tavern talk but it might be prudent to take a paying proposition elsewhere for a season or so.”

“Which you just happen to have to put to us?” Sorgrad raised an inquiring eyebrow. He nodded at Usara, who had given up trying to talk to ’Gren and turned his attention to the masquerade. “Where does he figure in the game?”

“Never mind him for the moment. Yes, I do have something in play and I think you should hear me out.” I smiled at him. “We could both come out ahead of the game.”

Sorgrad’s laugh momentarily turned a few nearby heads from the stage, where hero and heroine were clutching tearful hands through one of the wrought-iron gates. Sorgrad leaned closer to me.

“So what’s the offer? No offense, Livak, but the last I heard you’d gone off with Halice to work for some wizards again. I can’t say I fancy that. Charoleia told us she’d had a letter from Halice all the way from some new land clear across the ocean. The Archmage discovered it?” He gestured toward the stage where the heroine was now weeping alone. “People sleeping in a cave for thirty generations, heartless villains trying to steal their lands, wizards raising dragons to drive them off; Niello couldn’t make a masquerade out of a story like that and expect people to swallow it!”

“I know it sounds incredible, but those people in the cave were the Tormalin colony that Nemith the Last lost track of just before the fall of the Old Empire,” I explained.

Sorgrad looked more interested, despite himself. “We’ve all heard the stories about that lost colony, rivers running over golden gravel, diamonds loose in the grass. People have been trying to find it again ever since the Chaos.”

“I don’t know about any of that, the gold and the gems, I mean,” I said hastily, “but do you remember those islands out in the eastern ocean, the ones where I was taken when I was forced into thieving for that wizard?”

Sorgrad nodded warily and I strove to keep my voice level, ignoring memories of that ordeal. “Don’t forget how much coin I brought back from that trip, Sorgrad. Say what you like about wizards, they certainly pay well.” If you come back alive, I added silently to myself. “It was these Ice Islanders—well, their forefathers—who stamped the original settlers into the mud. The ones that managed to escape hid themselves in a cave, wrapped themselves up in enchantments and the Archmage sent an expedition to find them last summer. That’s what Halice and me got ourselves mixed up in. These people had magic, ’Grad, old magic, not the flash tricks of the Archmage and his like, but lost enchantments that put them to sleep and kept them safe while all these generations passed. Truthfully, I saw it with my own eyes, saw them roused.”

I paused, expecting a scornful response from Sorgrad, but he was looking thoughtful. “So the Archmage woke these people up and now they’ve got their colony back? It still sounds like some bad masquerade. Why are you still bothering with any of this?” he demanded with uncharacteristic sharpness. “You used to keep as far away from magic as you could, same as the rest of us, and from what Halice says these Elietimm have enchantments to turn your hair white! You said yourself you’ve no real idea how it was you managed to withstand them. I know you were blackmailed into that first job for the Archmage, there was no helping that, and as for last year, I suppose you owed Planir something for saving your skin, but I don’t understand why you’re putting your neck in a noose of your own free will again! Is it something to do with this Tormalin swordsman of yours? Charoleia was telling us you’ve been letting him pick your pocket willingly enough.”

“That tongue’s too long for your teeth, Sorgrad,” I warned him. There are times when the efficiency of Charoleia’s network can be less than welcome and I wondered what else Halice had put in her letter. “I’m working for a Tormalin prince now, not the wizards. Yes, the Elietimm scared the shit out of me and I still wake up sweating at the memory and that’s one reason why I’m heading as far away from the ocean coast as I can. Hear me out. The way Messire sees it, it’s clear these Ice Islanders have had enough of their freezing rocks and are looking for somewhere warm and dry for a change. Planir threw them out of the colony and we found their footprints in Dalasor and Northern Tormalin the year before last—”

“I’ve heard no word of any such threat,” interrupted Sorgrad skeptically.

“That’s because Planir and Messire have put their heads together and decided to keep it all quiet until they’ve got some plan in place.” Ryshad and I had argued ourselves breathless over that one, advocating instead the circulation of detailed descriptions of the Elietimm in their distinctive liveries, so that they’d stand out like the stones on a stag hound if they ever tried to make landfall again. I still thought our so-called leaders were wrong. “Sometime soon, the Emperor and his cronies will be facing organized soldiery backed by enchanters who can pull the wits out through someone’s nose from half a league away,” I continued. “My master knows he’ll need magic to fight back.”

BOOK: The Gambler's Fortune (Einarinn 3)
10.65Mb size Format: txt, pdf, ePub
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