“I want to read that version.” I tapped the book. “The Tormalin songs in there differ quite a lot from the ones I learned as a child. Curiosity gets Amit into the Empress’s bedchamber all the same but he doesn’t end up hanged, he makes himself invisible and sneaks out again.”
“Can’t Planir’s wizards do that?” Sorgrad leaned back in his seat. “What’s to say that’s aetheric magic?”
“That’s what Casuel said.” I shook my head.
“I presume something besides determination to prove him wrong brought you here?” asked Sorgrad dryly.
“The colonists tell us it was aetheric magic held the Empire together.” I turned to the book’s preface. “Look here; Nemith the Wily was six generations before Nemith the Last. No one had ever heard of elemental magic, the kind that Planir’s wizards use. That only emerged after the Chaos and anyway, if there’s magic in the Forest or the Mountain songs, it has to be Artifice, surely? No mage-born from either race has ever come to Hadrumal.”
Sorgrad grunted. “If we’re coming in with you, what’s our next step?” he demanded abruptly.
“I wanted to be sure of you two before I started planning. The first thing to decide is whether we go to the Forest first or the mountains.” I knew what I intended but wasn’t about to ride roughshod over Sorgrad this early on.
“We start with the Forest, that’s obvious,” he replied firmly. “Once the fair ends, there’ll be plenty of people going out along the western high road, heading through the Forest for Solura or back to villages along the edge of the wildwood. We can hook up with someone who knows where to find a band of the Folk at this time of year.”
“I was thinking of asking a Forest minstrel who’s come in for the fair,” I suggested. “For a start, someone like that might be able to read the songs for us and then, if they vouch for us, we’ll get more cooperation once we’re in the wildwood.”
Sorgrad pursed his lips. “Assuming you find someone with ancient lore, why should they trust you with hidden secrets?”
“How many men won’t trust me, if I put my mind to charming them?” I gazed at him with wide-open eyes.
“Me, for one,” he said tartly.
“Apart from you? No, it’s a good question. I was thinking it might be easier if I had some lore to trade.” The best way to get Sorgrad to do what I want is to show him a logical reason. “Isn’t it better to try the uplands first? You’re Mountain blood so anyone with something to tell will be more likely to speak to you. We take what we learn down to the Forest after that.” I tried to read his mood; Sorgrad’s one of the few people who ever takes my coin over a game of Raven.
“You can play that rune reversed,” countered Sorgrad. “You’re Forest blood, that’s your introduction to the Folk.”
“Half-blood,” I reminded him, “born and raised outside the Forest as well. I barely even speak the tongue.” Besides, I had just about made up my mind that the benefits of success to Ryshad and me outweighed the hazards of claiming kinship with my long lost father but I still wasn’t about to risk it, if I could find another way of hitting my mark. “You’re full blood and Mountain bred and we can reach the mountains sooner than the wildwoods, if we go north from here.”
Sorgrad looked at me for a long moment, his bright blue eyes as unrevealing as the surface of a sunlit lake. He took a stick of charcoal in a silver holder from a pocket and uncapped it, turning Charoleia’s parchment over. “Yes, the mountains are closer to the north, but do you want to walk into endless rows over mining rights and grazing? You’ve got Wrede over here, Tanoker, Dunsel and then Grynth.” He sketched lightly as he spoke. “When were you last up this way? Not since that business with Cordainer? A lot’s happened since to leave ill feeling brewing on all sides, ready to bubble right up into trouble. The lowlanders are pushing farther into the foothills each season, with wool prices going so high in the south. The smithing guilds from Wrede are taking over any mine they can claim a sniff of a title to and sinking new shafts all over. If the locals object, the liverymen hire ruffians out of the gutters to break heads and shut mouths.”
“That’s what working for wizards does for you,” I muttered, annoyed. “Messing around with quests and mysteries, you lose track of what’s really important. How bad is it?”
Sorgrad shrugged. “Worse than any time in the last ten years, maybe fifteen. There’s always been bad dealing up that way, on both sides. Add in the old rows over who exactly owns what in the Ferring Gap and the usual quarrels over just where Mandarkin territory starts and ends. I wouldn’t travel up there without hired swords at my back. Any Mountain Man up there will most likely throw rocks at you before you can ask the way to the nearest well.”
I looked doubtfully at his precise map. “Are we going to have to go right over to the east? I know the Gidestans aim to keep things peaceable but it’s a cursed long hike on lousy roads. And it’ll take us just about as far from the Forest as it’s possible to get!”
“We should try the mountains between Solura and Mandarkin.” Sorgrad drew in the westerly road and the edge of the Great Forest. “The Solurans leave the Mountain Men alone, keeping them sweet so any Mandarkin thrust south runs backward off a cliff edge, helped along by an axe. West of the Ferring Gap, the Mountain Men keep pretty much to themselves. If anyone has old lore, they’ll be your best bet. Anyatimm in Gidesta have pretty much abandoned the old ways, marrying out and settling in the villages with the lowlanders.”
I looked at the map and then up at Sorgrad. It was unusual to hear him using the Mountain name for his people, Anyatimm. Besides teaching me Mountain script and a few words like the ones for “horse.” “gate” and “sunset,” so we could pass messages between ourselves, he’d never shown any link to his origins. “So where exactly do you two come from? I don’t recall you ever saying.”
“That’s not important.” He tapped the map. “Look at the lay of the land. We go to the Forest first, find out what we can and head over into the fringes of Solura. We can avoid the Gap completely if we make our way up the Pasfall and reach the sokes, the valleys that is, that way.” He looked up. “It was Soluran mystics healed Halice’s leg, wasn’t it, with lots of mumbling and incense?”
“Planir’s sent his own men to make inquiries there,” I said absently. “It’s a cursed long way around, ’Grad. It’ll take half the season.”
“How long could a run-in between lowlanders and easterlings delay us?” Sorgrad demanded.
“That’s hard country,” I said doubtfully. “I’ve heard stories and they can’t all be fireside fantasies.”
“Another reason why we should go to the Forest first and wait for better weather. Spring down here can still be winter in the uplands.” Sorgrad had the air of a man laying the winning rune in a spread.
Make a living out of gambling and you learn when to lay your pieces and when to hold them in your hand. I still wanted to take the mountains first, reckoning Sorgrad and Sorgren’s blood and breeding were better bones for a winning hand than my uncertain birth. Perhaps we should trust to luck; every rune falls with two faces uppermost, after all. “Why don’t I take a turn around the taverns and see if I can get a promising tune out of some minstrel. You and ’Gren see if you can find anyone who might let us travel north with them. When we know what our options are, we can decide.”
“Good enough,” Sorgrad nodded. “Now what about this wizard of yours? You don’t think we might do better without him?” He looked sideways at me. “He’d be easy enough to lose with the city so full for the festival. Won’t he be passing any information straight to his Archmage? You’ll get more value for any learning if you keep it to yourself, until you know who it’s worth most to.”