“I cannot find either of them.” Guinalle threw up her hands in uncharacteristic exasperation. “So much for the superiority of Artifice over wizardry.”
“You’re weary, just the same as Usara and Allin,” Temar pointed out.
“Could you seek out Ryshad instead, or Shiv?” suggested Usara.
Guinalle shook her head. “Any wizard is horribly hard to find—unless he’s working magic of course, and Ryshad’s distrust of Artifice is such that it’s almost a defence in itself. Anyway, that’s not the problem.”
“Then what is?” Temar asked, frustrated.
“Livak’s working a charm to conceal them.” Guinalle’s brows knitted. “She doesn’t want to be found by anyone’s Artifice, not just mine.”
“But Ilkehan’s dead,” began Temar.
“So she’s hiding from someone else,” said Halice from the door. “Which likely means some trouble’s chasing them.”
“Someone probably took offence at them killing Ilkehan,” Usara said drily.
“What can we do?” cried Allin.
“Rest and restore yourselves and then you can bespeak Shiv or Sorgrad.” Temar tried to keep the vexation he felt out of his words.
“There’s only so much you can do before you overtax yourself. That’s what the masters say, isn’t it, Allin?” Usara let slip a wordless growl of anger. “This is a pissing inconvenient time for Otrick to be proved right!”
Halice snapped her fingers with exasperation and dug in her breast pocket. “Would this help either of you?”
“Where did you get that?” Usara was astonished.
“Otrick’s ring,” said Allin in the same breath.
“Otrick’s and Azazir before him.” Usara held out a hand and Halice handed it over. “But polished like new. Planir’s ensorcelled it.” He looked at the unblemished circle with wonder.
“Which means what?” asked Temar keenly.
“This is a ring of elemental power.” Usara slipped it on the central finger of his off hand and studied it. New colour rose in his drawn face and he laughed. “Kalion would have four kinds of fit if he knew about this!”
“Why so?” Guinalle sat forward, curiosity getting the better of her weariness.
“Wizards haven’t instilled inherent magic into things for a handful of generations, maybe more.” Usara held up his hand. “People like Kalion have decreed it degrades the mystery of wizardry to allow the non-mageborn any sense of magic.”
“One of us could cast spells wearing that?” Halice was incredulous. “That sounds like something out of a bad ballad!”
“No, that’s truly a minstrel’s myth.” Usara took off the ring and tossed it to Allin who fumbled but caught it. “But a mage can bespeak a non-mageborn person wearing such a thing.”
“That could be useful.” Temar’s interest grew.
“Oh!” Allin blushed with surprise as she tried the ring on. Temar looked at her with some concern.
Usara grinned. “What Kalion and his ilk don’t appreciate is the main use of such things isn’t to favour the mundane with some taste of mageborn power but to share and renew elemental powers between wizards.”
“Does it give you the strength to scry for Livak and the others?” Halice demanded at once.
“It’s worth another try.” Usara held out a hand to take the ring from Allin but paused and looked intently at Guinalle.
“What is it?” She coloured slightly.
“I was just wondering,” the mage said slowly, “what might happen if you tried it on.”
Rettasekke, Islands of the Elietimm,
11th of For-Summer
Are you ready?” Sorgrad looked at Ryshad and Shiv.
“It’s all right. We’ve done this before.” I smiled at Ryshad with a reassurance rather more feigned than sincere. Beneath his studied calm, I could see enough concern for both of us.
“Come on!”
’Gren was already barely concealed by the thorn bushes fringing the long pond between us and Olret’s demesne. Water lapped at the dam. The recent tide had brought it surging through the open gates and now the sluices held it until it was needed. We had plans for that water.
“Go,” Sorgrad ordered and ’Gren ran, long knives out and ready. Sorgrad and I were a bare stride behind him, boots scuffing dust from the trampled top of the causeway. The tall block of the mill house shielded us from the keep’s view but we weren’t about to take any chances.
The door wasn’t locked; there was no need, after all. ’Gren went through it without pause for breath, cutting down the man gaping at our unexpected arrival. He fell hard, blood dark against the flour spilling all around, mouth gaping like the sack he’d been filling from the chute beside him. I didn’t wait to see if ’Gren took a second stroke to kill the man, racing after Sorgrad up the ladders to the upper floors of the wide building.
The miller tending the great millstones heard the commotion below but with nothing to serve as a weapon at hand, he had no choice but death beneath Sorgrad’s impersonal blade. When we were done I could spare a pang for two poor bastards dead for simply being in the wrong place but, for now, I was more concerned with saving my own skin.
“Shut off the grain,” ordered Sorgrad.
I was already at the chute carrying kernels down from the hopper on the floor above. The bone slide poised to stop the cascade was immediately apparent and I rammed it home. Sorgrad was busy with the levers that governed the cogs driven by the shafts and axles turned by the waterwheels far below us. As he worked, I heard the rising roar of water gushing through the sluices.
’Gren found the right ropes.” I had to raise my voice above the rumble of the mill now rapidly gathering pace.
“He’s no fool.” Sorgrad did something that set the grindstones racing. “Not when he sees the chance of this kind of fun.”
I watched the grain already between the stones being ground to fine powder falling over the edge of the stone in dwindling trails. “We’re nearly done here.”
Sorgrad was pulling open the trap doors serving the various hoists that carried sacks up and down between the floors of the mill. Pale clouds puffed up from below and he coughed. “Close those shutters.”
Doing as he bade, I kept a close eye on the grindstones. A squeak like a knife scraping across an earthenware plate told there was barely any grain left for the rough-keyed gritstone to bite on.
“Time to go,” I warned him.
Sorgrad knew as well as I did what would happen when those harsh stones struck sparks from each other for lack of grist. We didn’t bother with the ladders, each grabbing a braided leather rope and sliding through the nearest trap to the floor below. I coughed and squinted through air opaque with flour. ’Gren was still slashing sacks with his knife, tossing handfuls into the air. “Come on!”
He didn’t need telling twice either. As white as if he’d been caught in a snowstorm, ’Gren ran for the door without delay. I was hard on his heels with Sorgrad a scant pace behind.
“How sharp were those stones?” Sorgrad yelled as we hared back along the causeway. “How hard?”
“I didn’t stop to look!” Ahead, I could see Ryshad’s set face behind the thorn bushes, Shiv rose beside him, apprehension more plainly written on his raw-boned face.
“Get down!” I waved to them.
As I spoke, the mill house behind us exploded. The noise was incredible, a thunderclap that struck like a box to the ears and left my head ringing. A buffet like a sudden wind made me stumble, ’Gren ahead of me was jarred just the same as a surge of air ran past to rattle the bushes where Shiv and Ryshad waited, racing beyond to be lost in the scrubland. Birds rose in startled shrieking clouds from the rippling waters of the pond and the rocky shores beyond the causeway.
Debris rained down all around. Shutters from the ranks of unglazed windows were ripped off whole, sailing far out across the millpond or splashing into the newly liberated waters racing for the sea. Shards of slate hissed through the air, rattling on the rocks of the dam. A sizeable piece struck me full in the back and I hunched my shoulders as I cursed it. Lesser pieces pattered against my head and shoulders. A monumental crash made the causeway shudder beneath our feet and told us a floor or a wall had given way. I didn’t turn to look until we reached the comparative safety of the thorn bushes. Ryshad stepped out to catch me as I flung myself off the edge of the causeway. I rested in his arms, panting for breath.