Otrick never had felt threatened. She poured half a glass of the rich, red wine, and, lifting her eyes to the plaster cornices of the ceiling, silently toasted the old wizard’s memory. The most powerful Cloud Master Hadrumal had seen in twenty generations had never known any such insecurity.
Sipping her wine, still standing by the table, Velindre stared out of the window across the roofs of the quadrangle and beyond to the sodden meadows with their dull green tussocky grass, the salt marshes beyond sere and dun. Winter wind tossed the dead reeds this way and that and Velindre watched the eddies and flurries of the air only visible to those who shared her affinity.
Beyond the salt marshes there was the dull rolling grey of the sea that sent the ever-changing clouds and storms to break on the rocky shores of Hadrumal. Rising swells rimmed with white merged seamlessly into the leaden sky. She watched the damp air above the waves rising sluggishly, helpless to resist soaking up the seductive warmth brought up from the sun-kissed southern seas by the mysterious currents that threaded through the pathless ocean. The barely warmed air soared high into the uppermost reaches of the sky. Velindre watched the roiling mass cool and shed its load of moisture to swell the towering clouds. Perversely heavier now, the chilled air slid haphazardly down the sky, driving a rising wind to whip the waves to higher crests and steeper faces, until the swells collapsed in a crash of foam and fury. Above, the clouds darkened and the first flashes of lightning presaged the coming storm.
How often had she stood here to look out at the weather with Larissa? How long would it be before she could no longer recall Larissa’s face or voice? Velindre set down the glass of wine and bent to unlace her boots, kicking them away to land with a thud on the floorboards. Ely and Galen and Kalion and all the rest of them had better watch their step with Planir. The man was entitled to grieve, Archmage or not, and his liaison with Larissa had been no casual sport. Velindre knew that from the late-night confidences they had shared. Perhaps it wasn’t in her best interests to tie herself too closely to Kalion in particular. There had been precious little sign of Planir’s usual good humour when the Archmage had been dining in the common hall with the apprentices a few nights ago.
‘Velindre!’
The faint voice was so unexpected that she started, knocking into the table, sending wine spilling around the foot of the glass. She whirled around, long plait flying wide.
A disc of ochre light as big as the palm of her hand burned in the middle of the empty room. It grew, rimmed with searing scarlet brilliance.
‘Who’s there?’ Velindre asked calmly, collecting herself, ‘Dev.’ The voice was faint but she recognised him at once.
The circle of magic was now the size of a hand-held looking glass. Velindre stood before it. ‘Where are you?’
‘Where do you think?’ Magic flowed down the ochre disc like thick golden oil trickling down a coloured window. ‘The Archipelago and a long way south.’
‘I can see that.’ The blurred radiance cleared and Velindre could see Dev’s bald head and that familiar wicked grin. ‘What do you want with me? You’re Planir’s eyes and ears in the Archipelago, aren’t you?’ she said waspishly.
‘Still sulking?’ Dev’s grin broadened. ‘I heard he’d passed you over for Cloud Mistress. You didn’t really think you’d be raised so high, did you?’
‘Go and impress Planir with your mastery in working a bespeaking over such a distance.’ Velindre turned her back on the magic.
‘It’s you I need.’ Dev’s irritation set the spell ringing like a plucked wire.
‘Why?’Velindre turned back to study the circumscribed vision within the burning circle. Where exactly are you?’ She sat down on one of the upright chairs and picked up her wine, blotting the spillage with the muslin that had wrapped the cheese. ‘What have you got yourself mixed up in now? Is that armour you’re wearing?’
The spell flickered a little as it widened. Which was hardly surprising given the countless leagues the magic was reaching over, Velindre thought privately. She saw Dev standing on the deck of a small sailing boat on an open stretch of sparkling cobalt sea. The Aldabreshin sun was so bright in the dimness of her room that she could almost feel its heat on her face.
‘You’re never going to believe this,’ grinned Dev. .
‘Wait,’ Velindre interrupted sharply, sitting forward to peer through the clouded magic. ‘Who in Saedrin’s name are those two?’
A dark-skinned man in richly exotic Aldabreshin armour stood some way behind the wizard. The Archipelagan was braced protectively in front of a slightly built girl wearing loose creamy trousers and tunic and a vivid red scarf over her shock of black hair.
Dev moved aside and extended a mocking arm. ‘Velindre Ychane, mage of Hadrumal, may I present Chazen Kheda, warlord of the Archipelago’s most southerly domain. Oh, and Risala, who’s probably spreading her legs for him, though that’s the least of her considerable talents.’
‘Who presumably don’t speak Tormalin,’ said Velindre caustically. Both Archipelagans were squinting suspiciously at the circle of the spell, with no sign that they had understood Dev.
‘I speak some of your northern tongue.’ The girl surprised both wizards with her retort. ‘So don’t think you can lie to us about what she’s saying, Dev.’
The bald mage recovered quickly. ‘A girl of considerable talents raised in a northern domain that evidently trades with the mainland.’
‘And she’s got your measure.’Velindre noted the female talking to the warlord. ‘Tell me, how are you expecting to escape an Aldabreshin warlord without being skinned alive now that you’ve openly worked magic in front of him?’
‘It’s a long story.’ Dev grinned.
‘One you don’t want to tell Planir?’ Velindre guessed shrewdly. ‘What makes you think I want to hear it?’ Instead of answering, Dev asked his own question. ‘What do you know about dragons?’
‘Dragons?’ she repeated with a frown.
Dragons,’ confirmed Dev with smug excitement.
‘Those dragons that survive live in the far north, beyond the far peaks of the Mountain Men’s territory.’ Velindre spread her hands, mystified. You won’t see them in the Archipelago.’
‘We’re seeing one now,’ said Dev robustly, ‘come from somewhere to the south. And there are mageborn living out somewhere beyond the southern horizon, because they turned up here last year and wreaked every kind of havoc. They’re nasty bastards, Velle.’