“Whatever you can do, you just do it.” I wasn’t begging now, I was telling her and I started to rack my brains for some way of forcing her to act. Unfortunately all I could think of was knocking her on her bony arse, which didn’t promise to be either effective or overly safe for the rest of us.
She tried to rise but stumbled. Frala caught her arm, helping her to her feet and something passed between them that replaced Frala’s look of confusion with one of wary distaste. “Who are you to make such demands on us?” she snapped curtly. “Outdwellers all and tainting true magic with your corrupted touch.”
Shiv’s distress turned to bitter rage. “Without our wizardry, my lady, Olret would have ripped your head off!”
“Silence!” The grandmother cut off Frala’s reply with a sweep of her hand.
“It’s slowing, the bleeding’s slowing.” Relief and disbelief mingled in Ryshad’s voice.
I looked from the old woman to the horrible wound and saw that the blood was indeed lessening. As I watched, it stopped altogether; gore clotting around the ugly gash already beginning to knit together, swiftly closing to a lumpy purple scar.
“Thank you,” said Sorgrad tightly.
“I don’t want your thanks.” The grandmother fixed him with a cold glare. “I would not have his blood stake any claim to this land, not even though it be that of my worst enemy. Nor yet will I condemn mine own hargeard to have such ill-omened bones entombed within it.”
“The life of your friend settles all debts between us,” Frala declared with finality and a hint of hostility. “Make no more claims upon us.”
“They’re here, Vadesor and his men.” Gyslin had managed to drag herself to the window and was peering out to the court below. I realised I could hear a distant commotion. “Olret’s men are surrendering.”
The younger women looked towards the windows and at each other, their fearful expressions saying more plainly than words that they’d rather take their chances with whatever army had turned up downstairs than the four of us still standing.
“You may leave,” said Frala, uncompromising. “As soon as you may.”
“Then we will.” Sorgrad threw away the blood-soaked remains of his shirt and nodded at ’Gren, still prostrate and unconscious on the floor. “Help me get him up.”
Ryshad laid a firm hand between ’Gren’s shoulder blades. “No. We don’t want to move him any more than we can avoid.”
I began to shake again, exhausted, too tired to deal with any quarrel between Ryshad and Sorgrad, too scared and too angry to tell these ungrateful bitches what I thought of them, too furious with myself for ever suggesting we come back to these god-cursed islands.
“Shiv,” I forced the words out. “Just use that pissing nexus to get us home.”
Even as my gorge rose within me under the assault of the magic, I welcomed the nausea.
CHAPTER NINE
To Keran Tonin, Mentor at the University of Vanam,
From Casuel D’Evoir, residing in the House of D’Olbriot, Toremal, by the grace of the Designate.
Esteemed Mentor Tonin, my compliments.
My researches into those archives that reach back to the Chaos continue to turn up documents of considerable interest. I copy to you an open letter circulated at the final Convocation held in the reign of Nemith the Seafarer, by Hafrein Den Fellaemion. I am not surprised that Nemith the Last looked askance at such radical aspirations for the Kel Ar’Ayen colony but perhaps the time has come for Temar to realise something of these wishes. I have accordingly sent a copy for the Sieur D’Alsennin to include in his own archive.
Your humblest of associates Casuel, Esquire D’Evoir
I bring news of an empty land across the seas where broad grasslands rich in deer and deep for the plough stretch between generous rivers offering safe harbour in their wide mouths and giving easy access to thick forests, flush with game and timber ripe for felling. Beyond rise hospitable hills where we have already found stone for cutting, ores for milling and even gems in the gravels of the streambeds.
Let us turn to this new land, revealed by Dastennin’s grace and Saedrin’s bounty rather than struggle to shore up the crumbling bounds of our old provinces, in the face of rebellious ingratitude and selfish spite. Let us not squander the strength of our youth on ventures that Talagrin and Raeponin alike have turned their faces from, leaving our cohorts with scant choice but retreat in disarray.
I invite all men, bold and unafraid, to join me in taming this wild and beautiful land. Noble born yet dispossessed of their ancestral lands by the long years of calamity may repair their fortunes. Merchants and craftsmen impoverished by recent constrictions of trade may find both new markets and new resources. The commonalty with but broad backs and strong arms to offer will find their labours rewarded with unencumbered land to till for themselves.
Let none who sail shirk any duty from false expectation of privilege. Respect is to be earned in this new land just as surely as bread and meat will reward those who sow and those who hunt. Those that meet and exceed their obligations will rise, not to be held back by those who will not make shift for themselves or the dead weight of outmoded custom. Every man will be called upon to shoulder responsibility both for himself and his fellows.
I do not promise ease or luxury. I offer you toil and sweat. What such labour will win you is an untrammelled future and the right to make of that all that you can, in the certain knowledge of full title to pass all you might gain on to your heirs and assigns.
Suthyfer, Fellaemion’s Landing,
29th of For-Summer
Some mercenaries can carry balance and coordination learned in close-quarter fighting over into dancing. A lot can’t but that never seems to stop them. I watched ragged squares and circles form and break and hurriedly change direction, cries ringing above the miscellany of pipes and drums. A reasonable excuse for music rose into the late afternoon sky along with a sudden burst of laughter as three mercenaries got the figure spectacularly wrong.
“Do you reckon they’ll have it right by Solstice?” I asked, amused. “Or are we celebrating mid-summer early for some reason?” I’d been out with a hunting party since first light and hadn’t expected to find an impromptu festival on our return.
“Just a little merrymaking to mark the double full moon.” Halice waved an expansive hand towards the spits by the shoreline where Minare’s lads were roasting joints from the impressive array of game we’d culled from the islands’ forests. Rosarn and Deglain were busy around a collection of pots seething roots and spices and a large cauldron frothed with boiling shellfish. Dotted with whatever early fruits the woods had to offer, huge slabs of travel bread baked on scrubbed boards propped to catch the heat of the fires.
“Have a drink.” Halice offered me a horn cup.
I sniffed suspiciously but was agreeably surprised by the fragrance of Califenan red. “This isn’t something Vaspret’s been concocting from berries, sugar and hope.”
“D’Alsennin had the Maelstrom load up what was left of his cellar.” Halice gestured towards the ships at anchor in the strait. “There was plenty of space for the return voyage.”
“They made good time on the journey.” I took an appreciative swallow. “If Temar’s emptied his cellar, he’ll be in the market to buy some wine from me, just as soon as Charoleia gets a cargo organised.”
“You’d better think what else you’re going to ship over,” said Halice with some amusement.
I didn’t understand. “How so?”
Halice’s grin broadened. “D’Alsennin’s latest decree: anyone bringing luxuries over to sell has to pay for the privilege with a few of the boring essentials that barely pay for their carriage.”