“Guinalle is working with scholars of Col and Vanam,” pointed out Ryshad mildly. “Those that are prepared to cross the ocean, at least.”
“We are finding much of interest within the archives of the great Houses of Tormalin,” remarked Casuel loftily, anxious not to be kept out of the conversation. “My colleagues and I are daily identifying new aspects of aetheric magic”
“You always had an aptitude for searching through dusty documents, Cas.” Velindre nodded at the table as the maid reappeared with a laden tray. “I think we should eat, don’t you?” She helped herself to chicken breast and green herb dumplings.
“More wine, Allin?” Ryshad proffered the carafe.
“White, please, just half a glass.”
Temar thought about teasing the lass with some remark about such decorous abstinence; they were much of an age, a clear double handful of years younger than either Casuel or Ryshad. Remembering she was a wizard, he decided against it. The table was well supplied with food and Temar noticed the dishes he’d abandoned had been brought in. To his surprise he realised his stomach was threatening to growl like a beggar’s dog. He passed Ryshad a dish of lobster in lovage and cider sauce and reached for the plate of boiled ham and figs that caught his eye. Whatever it was Velindre wanted to know, she seemed satisfied for the present, and Temar was content to eat and listen as the mages swapped news of people he didn’t know. Velindre and Ryshad compared their experiences of the southern ports of Toremal, and Casuel tried to interest people in his theories on the political situation in Caladhria.
Allin made few contributions to the conversation, and none without blushing, but when the maids were clearing the table she turned to Temar with a shy smile. “Are there many differences between this meal and those—before?”
“Not so many,” he replied with some surprise at the realisation. “But there can be only so many ways of cooking, and meat, fish or fowl remain the same.” A maid reached past him with porcelain bowls of sweetmeats while a steward set out decanters of sweet wine and cordials.
Allin nibbled a little pastry stuffed with nuts and raisins. “You sound quite Lescari, did you know that? Do you know people from there?”
Temar nodded. “Most of those who came to fight for Kel Ar’Ayen last year were from Lescar. Many chose to stay on and help in our rebuilding and they hope to bring friends to start a new life with us. I have doubtless picked up something of their tongue.”
Allin drew so sharp a breath she choked on her mouthful. Temar hastily offered her glass but she pushed his hand away as she struggled to control her coughs. “Mercenaries!” she spat. “Nurse a wolf cub at your hearth and it’ll still eat your sheep. Be more careful whom you trust.”
Temar looked a frantic question at Ryshad, mortified to have caused offence.
“Your family has suffered in the fighting, I take it?” Ryshad asked Allin sympathetically.
“We used to live just north of Carluse.” The girl was scarlet to the roots of her hair but managed a hoarse reply. “Sharlac mercenaries burned us out and we fled to Caladhria.”
“Which is where I identified the girl’s talent,” piped up Casuel. “And now she is your pupil?” He looked at Velindre with ill-disguised annoyance.
“Forgive me,” said Temar soberly to Allin. “I know nothing of modern Lescar. In my day it was a peaceful province of the Empire.” But he should have remembered it had been rent by civil war for ten generations or more. He saw his own thoughts reflected in Ryshad’s alert brown eyes. How would Temar hold his own among the Princes and courts of Toremal, so ignorant of politics within and beyond the Empire’s reduced borders? More important things had changed than the way people spoke or sauced their dinners.
“So, Velindre, will you be travelling to Toremal with us?” Casuel persisted, his voice loud in the awkward silence. Ryshad silently passed Allin a dish of honey-soaked sops of toasted bread to give her time to recover her composure.
Velindre inclined her head towards Ryshad. “I take it you are going to the capital for the Solstice Festival?”
He nodded as he filled small glasses from a decanter of white brandy. “Messire D’Olbriot is keen to introduce Esquire D’Alsennin to the Houses of the Empire.”
“I should like to meet the Demoiselle Tor Arrial before you go,” Velindre said firmly. “To learn something of Artifice and its uses. You’ll be sparing a few days to rest?”
Ryshad looked at Temar who shrugged uncertainly. “It may be a day or so before Avila’s recovered from the voyage.”
“We’ll most certainly wait,” Casuel frowned. “The moons aren’t fit for travel! The lesser will be past the half in a few nights and the greater is nigh on full dark.”
“I’d rather keep days in hand to rest the horses along the way,” Ryshad disputed. “Solstice doesn’t wait for Saedrin or anyone else.”
“How do we travel?” Temar enquired.
“By horse,” Ryshad stated firmly.
“Coach,” contradicted Casuel, looking obstinate.
“I’ll risk saddle sores over coach sickness, thanks all the same,” Temar said lightly. “But Avila may think otherwise.”
“Well I intend to drive, even if no one else does,” Casuel snapped.
“I never cease to be thankful for the magecraft that saves me from such choices,” Velindre smiled. “I’ll see Urlan safely back to Hadrumal, Cas, and after that I imagine we’ll see you at the Festival. For the present, we’ll leave you with your wine. Come on, Allin.” Temar watched as Velindre made her exit with the poise of a noble from any age of the Empire.
Casuel looked after her with some irritation. “I was about to say I would bespeak assistance for Urlan. It’s just—”
Ryshad spoke over the mage with a wicked smile as he refilled Temar’s glass. “In Toremal, we swap indecorous stories once the ladies have left.”
Temar laughed as Casuel drew an indignant breath. “Something else not changed, for all the generations I have missed.”
“But there are many things you do need to know.” Casuel leaned forward, face eager. “I made some preliminary notes, but we need to identify particular areas of concern—”
“Not tonight, if you please,” Temar pleaded.
“Give the lad a chance to catch his breath,” Ryshad chided Casuel genially.
Temar suddenly felt exhausted. He set down his half-finished glass with an unsteady hand. “I’ll gladly learn all I may from you and you’ll have my thanks, but for now I’ll bid you good night.”
“Arimelin send you pleasant dreams,” said Ryshad.
Temar looked sharply at him but saw nothing but good will in the man’s face. “And to you,” he stammered before hurrying from the room.
The Shrine of Ostrin, Bremilayne,
10th of For-Summer in the Third Year of Tadriol
the Provident, Morning
It’s such a commonplace to wish the goddess send someone refreshing dreams that the words were out of my mouth before I’d realised what I was saying. Temar’s startled look set nervous fingers plucking at the back of my own mind and, once I’d bid Casuel good night, I climbed the candlelit stairs of the guest house with uncommon reluctance. I’d thought nigh on a year of being alone in my own head had cured me of the horrors of having my mind invaded by another’s, but it seemed not. I even considered going back for a flask of some liquor to drown any dreams but sternly reminded myself I’d found such remedies ineffective enough in my callow youth. Uncomfortably aware of Temar’s presence in the next room, I resolutely diverted my thoughts by speculating what Livak might be up to and listened to the chimes of the shrine sounding well into the night.
Arimelin must have been busy elsewhere. When I finally fell asleep I didn’t dream of my red-haired beloved or anything else and woke to a clear sunny morning. Washed, shaved and dressed in short order, I was downstairs early enough to startle a servant girl sweeping the hall floor.