Some looked at him with faint hope rising above their despair and Temar walked briskly away before anyone could see the sudden tremor in his hands or the quake in his spine as the full weight of his responsibility bore down on him.
“What is it?” Halice appeared at his side. He hadn’t even seen her approaching.
“My grandsire was always determined to tell me rank brings duty as well as privilege. Now I know why.” Temar gritted his teeth. “I must see Guinalle. We’ll have to set up a proper assize. If we’re to separate those who went willingly to Muredarch from those who were coerced, I need her to work a truthsaying and a powerful one at that.” Temar saw Halice was looking even grimmer than she had before. He wouldn’t have thought that was possible. “What is it?”
“Darni’s died,” Halice said shortly.
Temar realised it was possible to feel worse than he did already. “Perhaps it was for the best,” he said after a long pause. “His face was smashed beyond hope of repair.”
“And his arm. I was all but ready to give him a clean death myself once he’d seen us kill Muredarch.” Halice sighed. “Then I wondered if Artifice might save him.” She scowled. “It was easier when there was no chance of such things.”
Black despair threatened to overwhelm Temar. “He has a wife, doesn’t he? And a child?”
“Two.” Halice bit the word off.
“I wish Ryshad was here.” The words came unbidden from Temar’s lips.
“And Livak.” Halice scrubbed a sketchily washed hand through her short, unruly hair. “Have you been aboard this morning? Usara might be awake by now, or Allin.”
“I think Guinalle would have sent word.” Temar looked at Halice. “We should see how they are though.” They were walking towards the shingle strand, pace increasing with every step, Temar matching Halice stride for stride.
“You there!” She hailed a sailor pushing off a laden longboat with a single oar over the stern. “We’re for the Dulse.”
Temar stayed silent for the short crossing to the ship, nothing to say as he climbed the rope ladder up to the deck.
“Demoiselle Guinalle?” Halice caught a passing sailor with her question.
“Cabin.” He nodded backwards before going on his way.
Temar’s feet felt leaden. Halice looked back at him. “Not knowing won’t make any difference.” She opened the door like the best-trained lackey in his grandsire’s house. He took a deep breath and went in.
“Temar.” Female voices greeted him, both fraught with emotion and exhaustion.
“Guinalle.” He felt weak with relief. “Allin. How are you, both of you?”
The demoiselle sat on a low stool, leaning back against the wooden hull of the ship. “Weary but time will mend that.”
Allin was sitting on her bunk, hair tangled around her pale face. Temar knelt and held her close. The mage-girl drew a long shuddering breath, slipped her arms around him and held tight.
“If you’re going to hug me, Halice, do be careful.” Lying on the other bunk, Usara attempted to prop himself on one elbow. “I feel as if I might snap.”
“You look like a death’s head on a mopstick,” Halice told him with friendly concern.
“I rather thought I might.” Usara gave up the uneven struggle and lay back down.
“What happened?” Temar realised that was a foolish question even as he sat on the bunk beside Allin.
“Guinalle saved us.” Allin’s reply was muffled as she hid her face against Temar’s neck.
“I couldn’t let any mage suffer Otrick’s fate.” Guinalle did her best to sound matter-of-fact. “And your own defences proved themselves against the Artifice.”
“Nice to know I hadn’t been wasting my time with Aritane,” remarked Usara.
“Larissa’s dead, isn’t she?” Allin clung to Temar. “I felt her die, didn’t I?”
He eased free of her embrace so he could see her face. “Yes, my love. I’m so sorry.”
Grief welled up in Allin’s eyes. Temar held her close again and felt her warm tears on his skin.
“The adepts found her first,” Guinalle explained with bitter regret. “That’s what alerted me to their plan for you all to share their death. She held out long enough for me to ward you two from the worst of their malice.”
“That’s scant consolation for her loss.” Usara rolled his head to look at them all. “There must be some reason we’re so cursed vulnerable to Artifice when we’re working wizardry.”
Temar opened his mouth to try and describe what he had seen of Larissa’s fate but Guinalle spoke first. “I believe I have some insight into that now.”
Allin stiffened in Temar’s arms, her words putting any other considerations to flight. “If the pirates are dead, can’t we get them home, Livak and Ryshad and Shiv?”
“And Sorgrad and ’Gren.” Halice did her best to contain her impatience. “When might one of you be strong enough to bespeak them?”
“No time like the present,” said Usara with grim determination. He swung his legs over the side of the bunk and pushed himself upright with visible effort.
“You’re hardly in a fit state for magic,” Temar protested but Allin was already moving out of the protective reach of his arm.
She knelt on the floor to pull a small coffer out from beneath the bunk. “Let me, Usara. Fire’s my element.” Allin had already summoned a modest flame from the candle she took from the coffer. She handed Temar a small silver gilt mirror and her expression warned him not to protest. He swallowed his objections as the rising golden light of magic played on Allin’s face. Temar wondered again how he could ever have thought her plain. The amber gleam turned the brown of her eyes into a pleated tapestry of light and shade looking into this mystery he could never comprehend.
“Curse it.” She blew out the candle with a chagrined puff. “I can’t reach either of them.”
“Is there something wrong?” demanded Halice. “With them, I mean.”
“No, I’m just too tired.” Allin looked absurdly cross.
All at once Temar was hard put not to laugh. “Will you mages ever accept someone else’s word without having to prove a thing for yourselves?”
“Not before we get our third set of teeth, according to Otrick.” Usara managed a grin. “I’ll try scrying. That’s an easier spell.”
Allin reached into her coffer for a shallow silver bowl and Guinalle fetched the wide-bottomed, narrow-necked ewer from the table. Usara rested the bowl carefully on his knees and studied it as she filled it.
“Let’s see what we can see,” Usara murmured, taking a small vial from Allin with a nod of thanks. He let delicate drops of herb-scented green oil fall on to the water before cupping his hands around the bowl, taking a deep breath.
Temar waited tensely for the glow of magelight in the water. His heart sank as a feeble radiance barely reached the low rim of the bowl. Usara scowled and the circling swirl of oil began to whirl faster but just when Temar thought the shimmering light might break into the unearthly brilliance of magecraft, the spiral broke to leave blobs of oil floating aimlessly on the stubborn water.
Usara’s lips narrowed to invisibility. “I’m faring no better than you, Allin.”
“We just need some rest.” Woebegone, the mage-girl looked at Temar and Halice. “I’m so sorry. It’s just we’ve—”
“Hush, sweetheart.” Temar reached for her hand. “No one blames you, either of you!” He was about to elaborate on all that the fighting men owed the wizards when Guinalle began a soft incantation. “What are you doing?”
“Seeing what my skills can do for us.” The demoiselle sat on her stool, eyes closed as she concentrated. “Tiadar velaesar lei, Livak eman frer. Sorgren an vel arimel, lek al treradir.”
Her rhythmic chant was the only sound in the cabin. Usara leant forward, eyes fixed on Guinalle and full of questions. Temar put his arm round Allin’s shoulders as she still agonised over her own failure to work the magic he needed. Halice folded her arms and leaned against the door, face impassive.