The Wizard's Coming

A short story by Juliet E. McKenna, from the world of The Hadrumal Crisis

'The Wizard's Coming' © Juliet E. McKenna 2007, 2011

First published 2007, The Solaris Book of New Fantasy. This edition published 2011 by Solaris, an imprint of Rebellion Publishing Ltd., Riverside House, Osney Mead, Oxford, OX2 0ES, UK

www.solarisbooks.com

ISBN(mobi): 978-1-84997-257-4

ISBN(epub): 978-1-84997-258-1

Cover illustration: Clint Langley

The right of the author to be identified as the author of this work has been asserted in accordance with the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988.

All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording or otherwise, without the prior permission of the copyright owners.

A Note from the Author

I've never yet met a writer who's short of ideas. The trick is identifying the ones which will make a novel and those better suited to a shorter piece of fiction. I tuck those away for the occasions when I'm invited to submit a story to an anthology or magazine.

When The Solaris Book of New Fantasy was proposed, I saw my chance to create a bad wizard. A really bad wizard; vicious, corrupt, treacherous. The Tales of Einarinn and The Aldabreshin Compass have featured vain, arrogant, amoral and self-important wizards as well as idealistic, honourable and pragmatic ones but I'd only made passing reference to long-past magical scandals and the Archmage's responsibility for keeping wizards in check.

The thing about passing references is they stick around. In idle moments, I found myself wondering... It's all very well having an official Edict saying that wizards don't get involved in warfare but some time someone will challenge it. Not openly and risk the wrath of the Archmage but sooner or later, it's going to happen. It's human nature. So what opportunities could a renegade mage exploit and how would the Archmage go about catching and punishing the rogue without creating a scandal? This story is the result.

Only, as I've found before with short fiction, it didn't stop there. As I was planning The Chronicles of the Lescari Revolution, I needed something to raise the stakes. What better than the threat of illicit magic used on the battlefield? Who was more likely to decide that wizardly edicts didn't apply to them than one of those selfish, self-absorbed dukes? Since I'd already explored what manner of mage would be willing to forswear his allegiance to the Archmage, why not use Minelas again? Not least to satisfy those who'd read The Wizard's Coming and wanted to know what happened next...

Only, while the Lescari Revolution trilogy dealt with Minelas himself, there were still unanswered questions. What had become of all those other characters whose lives he'd ripped apart in The Wizard's Coming? Let's not forget that these people now know that whatever the Archmage's edicts say, there are wizards willing to sell their skills to the highest bidder. That bell cannot be unrung and they have no particular reason to keep that secret. Indeed, they have every reason to seek recompense or even revenge.

Each series of books which I've written has always started with the question 'what if...?' So now I found myself wondering about the longer-term consequences of Minelas's actions in Caladhria and in Lescar. What if the Archmage is openly challenged and not just by a renegade mage in a way that can be hushed up? What if this scandal threatens wizardry's reputation right across the mainland? What will Planir's rivals for influence among the mageborn do then? What about those adept in Aetheric magic? What if Planir, usually so deft at evasion and negotiation, is backed into a corner? What if the true, devastating potential of elemental magic is revealed for all to see?

No wonder this new trilogy is called The Hadrumal Crisis.

Only, I didn't want to start Dangerous Waters by going back to recap this short story. I want to investigate all these new and intriguing ideas and see where the unforeseen consequences lead.

On the other hand, I know that not everyone who's read my novels has read The Solaris Book of New Fantasy. I don't like to think of those fans missing out, particularly since one of the great plusses of writing an extended series of books in the same world is taking advantage of these opportunities to bring back characters and revisit their lives. I know readers enjoy this as much as I do.

Happily modern technology offers the ebook solution and in this instance, I've decided to make the story available for free. As a taster for those who are curious about my writing but who wonder if they really can step into this world without having read all my earlier books. Hopefully they'll discover they can. It's also an opportunity for me to say thank you to all those established readers who've supported my writing for a decade and more. Have this story on me.

-Juliet E. McKenna

The Wizard's Coming

On the cusp between winter and spring, snowdrops shivered beneath thorn bushes swelling with buds in a sheltered nook at the heart of the copse, though the wind slicing through the bare and twisted oak trees was bitterly cold. Grey clouds above threatened the rain that still turned too easily to sleet or snow.

'Another frost-killed bird.' A young man with tousled brown hair gloomily nudged the pathetic corpse with a booted toe. 'Why don't they just fly away?'

'You're supposed to be looking for firewood.' As his older, balding companion kicked at a heap of sodden leaves and bent to retrieve a blackened, rotten branch, a sharp whistle raised both their heads.

'Find some god-cursed fuel before that fire dies!' As the man out on the exposed headland shouted angrily at the two of them, everyone else scattered along the cliff-top grassland halted. Three men were walking horses around, in charge of two or three apiece, each beast saddled and bridled. The foremost, lithe and wiry, hauled on the reins wound around each hand and broke into a run, forcing the reluctant animals to trot beside him.

'Come on.' The second man groaned as he gathered up their meagre haul of sticks and thorny twigs.

'Elkan, Serde and Treche have got the horses to warm them,' the first man complained.

'Stop your moaning,' his companion said wearily.

Both shivered as they left the inadequate shelter of the trees. The man out on the headland huddled into his rough grey cloak and scowled at them as they headed for a shallow hollow in the slope running up to the cliff edge. Two tents were angled to shelter the fire pit from the ceaseless wind.

A man seated cross-legged on the turf was skinning a brace of winter-starved rabbits. 'Maewelin's tits,' he muttered. 'My hands are so cold I can't tell if I'm cutting coney or my fingers.'

'There'll be more meat on your fingers.' The younger man who'd found the dead bird dumped his burden.

'This is all we gleaned, captain,' his bald companion apologised.

'Then bind the faggots tighter so they burn hotter,' a tall man ordered curtly. His close-cropped hair as steely as his eyes, his gaze didn't shift from the man isolated out on the headland who was staring out to sea once again. The cold grey waters ran away to the horizon to merge with billows of leaden cloud.

Where the rest wore rough woollens beneath scuffed buff leather and coarse cloaks that could double as blankets, the captain boasted a linen shirt beneath his padded green tunic, scarlet embroidery vivid as blood around the high collar. His cloak was woven from sturdy green wool and lined with brown.

'What about that thicket beyond the track, captain?' The older of the wood-gatherers twisted strips of bark to secure the sticks into a bundle. 'I could take an axe to an ash tree.'

'Perhaps at dusk. When we know he's not coming today.' The captain withdrew his gaze to glower at the youth standing idle. 'Hosh, if you're not helping Avayan, relieve Narich.'

'It ain't my turn,' Hosh protested. 'Bair's next.'

The stolid, square-faced man continued butchering the rabbits. 'Do you want to eat or not?'

'Relieve Narich, Hosh,' the captain ordered sternly.

The youth opened his mouth, shut it and began walking. If he was muttering under his breath, the words were lost as hooves pounded the turf and harness rattled. The men exercising the horses hurried towards the tents, the restive beasts' whinnying initially drowning out the first man's words.

'Unlil whistled us, Captain,' he repeated, soothing the dappled grey with a stroke on her soft, mottled nose.

'What's he seen?' the captain wondered.

'Not the wizard.' Elkan rapidly gathered all the reins thrust towards him by the two others who'd been exercising the horses.

The wind tugged at the captain's mossy cloak as he watched his man breaking cover from the thicket that offered a sentry a clearer view both ways along the track cutting through these coastal pastures. 'He can tell us himself.'

Every man drew his sword, even Bair with his hands still gory. Up on the headland, Narich did the same. Caught half way between the tents and the cliff, Hosh dithered, looking this way and that.

'Horsemen, Captain.' Bair stood beside him, half a head shorter but considerably broader in the shoulder. He pointed with his sword.

A trio of riders appeared as the track rounded an undulation in the cliff-edge pastures. The first horseman lifted a fist in salute. Up on the headland, Narich raised a spyglass, swiftly lowering it to wave his own clenched fist in reply. He began running down the slope, pausing only briefly to berate the hapless Hosh and order him up to the exposed headland.

'It's Corrain,' the captain said tersely,

'With Dancal and Ostin,' Bair breathed, relieved. 'All safe.'

Neither he nor any of the rest moved to sheathe their swords until the three riders arrived. Unlil, the sentry, arrived scant moments ahead of the horsemen.

'Gefren--' The foremost rider recollected himself as he halted his mount. He wore finer linen than the others beneath his uniform of grey wool and buff leather. 'Captain.'

Gefren waved away Corrain's familiarity. 'Report.'

'Nothing.' Corrain glanced at the two riders flanking him for their nods of confirmation. 'Not even a peasant grubbing up acorns to feed his pigs.'

'Captain!' Hosh's shriek startled everyone. Up on the cliff edge, he was hopping from foot to foot, pointing out towards the distant horizon. 'The wizard! The wizard's coming!'

Corrain hauled on his reins to turn his horse towards the sea before Gefren could give any order. 'Narich, let me see!' Kicking his mount into a canter, he barely slowed to snatch the spyglass from the man's raised hand. He stood in his stirrups to search the rolling grey sea, pulling the horse up just short of the precipitous drop.

Narich hurried to the tents. 'We're packing up, captain?'

Unlil the sentry and the bald man Avayan were already hauling packs and blankets out onto the damp grass. The curious wind tugged at flapping canvas.

'Don't bother striking camp.' Gefren watched Corrain intently. 'Get ready to ride.'

'Hosh, get down here,' Narich bellowed.

'It's them,' Corrain shouted, cantering down from the headland. 'It must be,' he said with quieter desperation as he reached them. 'Saedrin save us, it must be.'

'Are they flying the flag?' demanded Gefren, still stony-faced.

Corrain nodded and gestured towards darker grey skeins of cloud promising an approaching storm. 'They must have a mage aboard, to be countering those squalls.'

'Get your gear together, Hosh.' Unlil kicked clods of turf into the fire pit as the youth arrived, puffing hard.

The youth stared at Bair instead, accusing. 'You're taking all the meat to fill your own belly?'

'I snared it.' Bair swathed the skinned rabbits in a linen rag and scrubbed blood off his hands onto the turf.

'You know what we must do.' Gefren looked around his men. Dancal and Ostin, the scouts who'd arrived with Corrain, were already on the verge of departing while Hosh was still struggling to roll up his blankets. Gefren's gaunt face grew still grimmer. 'You already know that we've been betrayed. May all the gods watch over you. I pray we'll meet at Lord Halferan's gate.'

'Or we'll see each other before Saedrin's door to the Otherworld,' Hosh muttered bleakly.

'Forewarned is forearmed--' Corrain rebuked him.

Gefren spoke over him. 'Our lives will be well spent if we save our lord and our families with our deaths.' He accepted the reins of his own horse from Elkan and mounted swiftly. 'Corrain, you can wait and take Hosh with you. Bair, go with Serde instead.'

Without a glance for those left behind, the captain kicked the restive bay gelding into a gallop for the track. Avayan, Narich and Elkan followed close behind. Reaching the pale scar in the grassland, all four men turned their horses to the south.

'We're away.' Dancal clicked his tongue and his dun horse obediently pricked up its ears. Ostin rode away beside him, stirrup to stirrup. When they reached the track, they lashed their beasts into a headlong gallop for the north. Bair and Serde followed swiftly, Treche and Unlil scant moments behind them, all heading northward.

That left Corrain, still up on his horse, thin-lipped and tight-faced as he waited for Hosh to finally secure his pack to his saddle.

'You've no call to scowl at me.' The youth looked up, sullen. 'None of my doing brought you back down the ladder to ride as a common trooper.'

'Believe me, I've learned my lesson,' Corrain said with a humourless smile. 'The next time I get drunk and seduce my lord's steward's wife, I'll make sure the old cuckold is out of town.'

* * *

The track curved inland to join a lane long hollowed out by the remorseless tread of sheep and cattle. Dancal and Ostin's horses' hooves echoed noisily between the thorny banks. The storm from the sea pursued them, finally breaking over their heads as they left the lane for a wider road cutting between freshly hedged fields. The road was deeply rutted with wagon tracks and edged with intermittent coppices venturing their first pale spring leaves. There was no one to be seen in either woodland or pasture.

The riders didn't pause as cold rain hammered down on their heads. They only slowed leagues later when their horses threatened to stumble from weariness, as ruts dissolved into muddy puddles beneath their hooves.

'We get fresh horses at the next coaching inn.' The grey wool of Dancal's cloak, his leather jerkin and the padded tunic beneath were all sodden. 'Hire them or steal them, whatever it takes.'

'We want two each.' Ostin swiped at trickles of rain running down from the knitted cap pulled low to tame his black curls. 'So we've remounts to hand.'

As Dancal considered this, his horse took the opportunity to slow and halt. 'No.' He shook his head decisively, urging the unwilling horse onwards with his boot heels. 'A horse on a lead rein will slow us, and they won't be fresh when we need new beasts.'

'What if we're ten leagues from nowhere when the new horses founder?' Ostin protested.

'I said no.' Dancal slapped at his horse's neck, dark mane clinging in ratty tails. He pointed to a crossroads marked by a gibbet and a fingerpost. 'Look, there's the high road. Let's be the first to win Lord Halferan's gratitude.'

He used his short blunt spurs to force a reluctant canter from his horse. Ostin slapped a token loop of rein across his own mount's shoulders. The beast strove to catch its stable mate but a substantial gap stretched between them as Dancal reached the high road.

Ostin was wiping at rain trickling into his eyes again when Dancal's horse screamed. The curly-headed man gaped as muddy figures scrambled out of deep ditches cut to catch the rain running off the hardened road. His own horse halted, shivering and unnerved.

The first attacker seized Dancal's bridle, gripping either side of the foam-slimed bit. Dancal couldn't reach him with his sword without decapitating his horse.

'Behind you!' Ostin screeched a vain warning as three more men assailed the bay's flanks. Greedy hands grabbed at Dancal, wrenching him from the saddle. He fell amid jostling bodies.

Ostin saw dull steel plain in their upraised fists. He hacked at his horse's muddied ribs with merciless heels, sobbing with fear and frustration. 'Shift you bastard--'

He coughed, his words cut short. He frowned at the bloodied head of a broad-bladed arrow protruding from his breast. As he tried to protest, only scarlet foam bubbled from his mouth. The reins slipped from his numbed hands as the weary horse shifted its footing. Ostin fell sideways, helpless. He landed with a splash on the puddled road, gasping a last futile breath.

* * *

Dusk was falling when Bair and Serde reached an inn. They'd taken a road that cut inland rather than following the coast. The rain was long enough past that their clothes were now merely damp instead of soaked but that still left them vulnerable to the deepening cold. As they rode into the yard, a stable door opened, spilling out a golden glow. Catching the scent of hay and companionship, Bair's horse lifted its head and quickened its pace. Serde's chestnut whickered cheerfully, misty breath glistening in the lamplight.

'We stay close together, and close-mouthed,' Serde said quietly as he dismounted. 'We eat what's offered, get warm at the fire and go to our bed.'

'If someone asks our business?' Bair raised a friendly hand as an ostler appeared in the entrance to the stable.

'We say it's none of theirs.' Serde slung his saddlebag over one shoulder.

'I'll get the boy.' The ostler hurried across the yard to disappear through the back door of the inn.

'We'll see to our own horses,' Serde called after him, irritated.

The only answer was the slam of the solid oak.

'Do you reckon they'll give us a meal in return for these rabbits for their pot?' As Bair slid down from his saddle, he prodded the bundle of linen blotched with darkened crimson. He chuckled. 'Do you reckon some scullery maid might spread her legs for them?'

'The only person you're sharing a bed with is me.' Serde led his chestnut horse into the stable.

Bair followed him with a gap-toothed grin. 'I'll kick you if you snore.'

Half a dozen horses were already in the stalls, straw deep around their hocks. Nets of hay were hung and their harness was racked tidily.

'The grooms here know their business.' Bair patted a black cob's questioning nose as he relieved his own horse of its burdens in the stall beside it.

'We should ask if they've any horses for hire.' Letting his gear fall to the dusty floor, Serde lifted the saddle flap to unbuckle his mount's girth. He bent to brush away mud and sweat crusted on the chestnut's belly.

'You can rest and get your strength back.' Bair grinned as he slid the bridle off his horse's ears. The animal lipped his hand in search of some treat.

'Where's that lad we were promised?' Serde straightened up.

A man sitting motionless in the shadow behind the door sprang forward, his short sword menacing. As Serde and Bair swore, each reaching for their own blades, the trap door to the hayloft above flew open. Two men dropped onto a waiting heap of straw, naked steel in their hands.

One stumbled on landing. Serde was on him, his sword cutting a gleaming arc in the lamplight. But a fourth enemy erupted from the empty stall where he'd lurked beneath soiled litter. He caught Serde's descending forearm with one metal-gauntleted hand. Serde's fingers were numbed by the brutal collision and he dropped his blade. The attacker drove the long dagger in his other hand deep into the horseman's belly. They stood, pressed close as lovers. Serde looked into the man's dark eyes, astonishment momentarily outweighing his agony. Then his killer ripped the blade sideways, spilling out Serde's life with his entrails.

Bair had taken a mortal blow. The man hidden behind the door had hacked a deep gash between his neck and shoulder. Bair collapsed to his knees, feebly thrusting his sword at the men who'd dropped from the hayloft. The first attacker knocked his weapon aside with a contemptuous gauntlet and kicked Bair full in the chest with a steel-bound boot. Bair fell backwards, his legs twisted painfully beneath his burly body.

The booted man bent to make certain Bair was beyond feeling such discomfort. He looked at the man who'd gutted Serde, raising his brows in silent question. The man was cleaning his blade on the dead horseman's cloak. He nodded in confirmation.

The attackers retrieved their horses from the stalls. Once the booted man had saddled his own black cob, he hung a leather bag of money from the bridle hook before silently leading the killers out into the night.

Within the stable the remaining horses stirred restlessly at the disquieting scent of blood. Dulling slowly, the ruby flow from Bair's neck seeped into the bloodstained linen wrapping the butchered rabbits.

* * *

Hosh moaned beneath his blankets. 'Cock crow?'

'Go back to sleep.' Corrian said quietly.

'Why are you up?' Roused, Hosh fought free of his bedding.

'I'm going on alone.' Corrain was by the door to the attic room, already dressed in his creased clothes. Stubble darkened his lean face.

Hosh sat upright, blankets slipping. 'We're supposed to stay together. The captain said--' He shivered, his grimy shirt inadequate protection in the dawn chill.

'You can't keep your mouth shut.' Corrain leaned against the thin plank door as he pulled a boot on. 'Get your own throat cut and see if I care, but you won't take me to face Saedrin alongside you.'

'Go kiss a pig's arse.' Hosh's youthful face turned ugly with anger. 'We're to stay together so my lord knows each man stays honest. Anyway, what did I do?'

'Besides trying to impress that ale-wench with your boasting about being Lord Halferan's trusted envoy?' Corrain queried with acid contempt.

'I was explaining why we're travelling together and why you were insisting we have a room to ourselves.' A furious flush rose from Hosh's creased collar. 'Half the taproom were guessing you were renting my arse.'

'As long as they don't guess our real business, who cares.' Corrain paused as he buckled his long boots at the knee. 'But can you keep your mouth shut if I leave you behind?' he mused, staring at the boy.

'About the wizard?' Hosh swung his feet out from under the frowsty blankets.

'Apparently not.' Grabbing his shoulder, Corrain hauled the youth off the low bed, dumping him on the floor.

'Hey!' Hosh sat on the bare boards, bemused, gooseflesh prickling his naked thighs.

'You've been complaining how tired you are.' Corrain plucked Hosh's belt from the heap of breeches and jerkin at the end of the bed. 'You can spend a few days here catching up on your rest.'

'You want to leave me behind because you're the traitor!' Hosh grabbed for a muddy boot and threw it full at Corrain's head. The lean man dodged easily and the boot thudded against the cracked plaster. Hosh scrambled to his feet. 'Now you want to make a run for it, back to your filthy paymaster.'

'Say that again and I'll cut out your tongue.' Corrain scowled blackly, slipping the tongue of the belt through the buckle to make a noose.

'They'll hunt you.' Hosh's voice cracked with terror. 'You can't get rid of a body that easily.'

He couldn't escape the taller man in the confines of the cramped room. Corrain feigned a grab at Hosh's sword hand. As the youth recoiled, Corrain punched him deftly in the side of the jaw, hard enough to knock him sprawling on his belly on the bed. Before Hosh could gather his wits let alone regain his feet, Corrain was straddling him. He pushed the boy's beardless face into the lumpy mattress.

'I'm leaving you here.' He bent down to speak close to Hosh's ear, low and menacing. 'You have a choice. Keep your mouth shut, and don't say a word, whatever happens, whatever you're accused of. Then you'll probably live until I come back to get you. Whine like a whipped cur, telling everyone our business and you'll probably get your throat cut. If they don't hang you first just to shut your noise.'

'Traitor--' Whatever else the lad tried to say was lost as Corrain pushed his face deeper into the bed.

Holding Hosh immobile with his muscular thighs, the saturnine swordsman clamped his strong long-fingered hands around the boy's pimply neck. Hosh struggled briefly before going utterly limp. Corrain swiftly hooked an arm under his knees to lay him on the bed. He used the lad's own belt to lash his feet together and cut strips from the blanket to fashion a secure gag and to tie his hands. Scowling, Corrain caught up his own saddle bags. As he reached the door, Hosh was beginning to stir, his eyes rolling beneath closed lids.

Corrain cursed between clenched teeth. He strode back and punched Hosh hard on the side of the head. The lad lolled back into unconsciousness and Corrain snatched up Hosh's clothes. Stuffing them into the lad's ungainly leather bag he slung that over his shoulder with his own gear.

This humble inn had no locks to its doors so Corrain couldn't secure the room. He strode swiftly down the narrow passage and took the winding stair to the hallway two steps at a time. Sticking his head into the kitchen, he found a weary maid yawning as she swept ash from the hearth. He grinned. 'Who's Head of the Watch hereabouts, sweetness?'

The girl blinked at him, bewildered. 'Master Emmer, the baker.'

Corrain fished in his shirt for the purse strung around his neck. 'You do me a good turn and there'll be another silver mark to go with this one.' He flipped the shiny coin towards her and she snatched it out of the air. 'You remember that lad I was travelling with?'

She nodded mutely, wide-eyed.

'He tried to rob me in the night.' Corrain shook his head. 'I've left him tied up. Fetch this master baker, whenever you've done your chores. I've got my own business to be about but I'll be back to swear out an affidavit against the louse.' He favoured the girl with another winning smile.

Still confused she half-returned it, clutching her coin, the ash-pan in her other hand.

Corrain disappeared through the door to the stable yard.

* * *

'The captain said make haste.' Treche looked warily around, his face shadowed by a dusty black hood.

No one was hurrying through this market place, thronged with people. Merchants were selling all manner of wares from trestle tables beneath broad awnings. With the sun turning its face towards noon, most were replenishing their stock, stacking baskets as they emptied them.

'The captain said get the word through.' Unlil had swapped his grey uniform cloak for a long green cape. A man carrying freshly baked pies twisted through the crowd and trod on the tattered hem, tearing it further.

Treche lowered the handles of the laden push-cart he was laboriously shoving over the cobbles and blew on his fingers. While the day was agreeably bright, it was still bitterly cold. 'You don't think everyone else will already be home?'

Two men peddling trinkets from trays hung around their necks paused just ahead, rearranging their depleted offerings so their displays looked less sparse.

'Maybe so, maybe not.' Unlil glowered at a plump townswoman as she barged past him.

'You can explain to my lord's horse-master how you traded two good mounts for a barrow load of pease and a rag-man's cast-offs,' Treche muttered. He reached for the push-cart's handles and grunted with pain. 'Ah!' Straightening, he knuckled the small of his back.

'I'll take my turn--' Unlil broke off.

As Treche brought his hand forward, they both saw the glistening red bright in the sunlight. Treche's knees gave way and he slumped over the handcart. There was a dull gleam on his faded cloak, the cloth freshly dyed with his blood.

Unlil looked around wildly. No one looked back. Everyone in the crowd was intent on their own affairs. A man jostled him from behind. Unlil turned, fumbling for his sword. Hampered by the voluminous cape, he was too slow. As the heedless jostler went on his way, Unlil looked down to see a stubby knife hilt pinning the green cloth draping his thigh.

He gasped in sudden agony. Crippled by the burning poison, he fell to his knees like Treche. He wrenched the knife out of his leg but never heard the rising shrieks as passers-by suddenly realised there were two dead men in their midst.

* * *

'You keep looking at the door, my lord Halferan.' A short man spoke, his gaudy robe of embroidered scarlet velvet like a flame against the dark wooden panelling hiding the lower half of the hall's tall stone walls. Long lancet windows pierced the whitewashed upper expanses, burning with the last glow of sunset. 'Are you expecting someone?' As his dark eyes slid towards the entrance, he toyed with his short black beard, slicked to a point with scented oil.

'My people often seek my counsel.' Halferan's poise was commendable, apparently relaxed as he sat in his canopied chair. It dominated the dais at the northern end of the hammer-beamed hall.

'They rely on you to defend their interests.' The man in the red robe walked along the edge of the dais, disdaining the grey-liveried swordsmen standing around the smouldering hearth just below. 'Which means protecting them from the corsairs' raids.'

Though Halferan was dressed in finer cloth than his warriors, he wore fighting gear like them, booted and spurred. Such garb flattered his wide shoulders and long, muscular legs. Like most, his hair was an undistinguished middling brown, his complexion faded from summer's deep tan to a winter's pallor.

He looked at the stocky man with undisguised contempt. 'My men cut their teeth driving off such curs, Master Scavarin.'

Though the men around the hearth growled their agreement, their lord's defiance rang painfully hollow.

The bearded man smiled, quite confident. 'But then those teeth are knocked out by corsair fists, which black their eyes besides, and break their bones.' As he turned to stroll back across the dais, his unprotected back was impervious to the warriors' lacerating glares.

Distant, away by the double door, men in drab brown sniggered into tankards of ale. Like Scavarin, they were dark of hair and eye, sallow skinned. Only one wasn't drinking, gold rings glinting on his fingers as he watched intently, his hands loose in his lap.

'Even victory leaves wounded men sapping your strength,' Scavarin continued with blithe assurance. 'How many raids do you successfully drive off? How often do your men arrive too late, to find houses burned and barns ransacked? How many women and children have been ravished or stolen away to be sold into slavery among the Aldabreshi?'

Lascivious guffaws down by the door prompted one of Halferan's men to half draw his sword, the rest stirring with anger.

Halferan gestured and the man rammed the blade back into its scabbard. 'Keep your ruffians quiet, Scavarin. Don't imagine I don't know they'll have to account for my people's blood before Saedrin.'

'Blood or gold, my lord. Which do you prefer to pay?' Scavarin waved artless hands, a ruby seal ring catching the light of candles lit against the encroaching twilight. 'And you promised us safe conduct, my lord. My associates have surrendered their swords. Go back on your word and utter destruction will be visited upon your lands,' he hissed with sudden venom.

'What if no one's left alive to tell them how you died?' a voice demanded, anonymous among the warriors.

'They might conclude you betrayed them,' Halferan mused. 'And took my gold for yourself.'

Scavarin stood motionless for an instant before smiling serenely once again. 'To business, my lord. My associates, or rather, their masters, undertake to leave your lands alone if you pay a suitable sum--'

'A suitable sum?' Halferan's scorn was caustic. 'Will your associates be satisfied with the same amount next year? Or will I be asked for more and still more the following year? You would beggar me.'

Scavarin sighed heavily. 'I understood on my last visit that this was all agreed in principle. I thought I was bringing my associates to agree a figure acceptable to both parties. Why the delay, my lord?'

'I am reconsidering my decision to accept this thieves' bargain,' Halferan said austerely.

Scavarin shook his head sorrowfully. 'You don't want your people to welcome spring planting secure in the knowledge that they can raise their crops and husband their livestock and cherish their children in safety?' He looked straight at Halferan. 'Winter's storms will soon be over, my lord. The corsairs will sail and your people will suffer. How much greater their anguish will be, when they learn you could have stopped all their torment. Will they thank you for hoarding your gold in your strong room? Because they will find out, my lord.' He waved his hand towards the door once again. 'We shall make sure word spreads.'

'You admit you're as one with these scum.' Halferan nodded, contemptuous. 'So much for your claim of being an honest broker.'

'This isn't about me, my lord. It's about you.' Scavarin was unperturbed. He smiled as if suddenly amused. 'Or are you delaying in hopes that the wizard will come?'

'I don't know what you mean.' Lord Halferan tried to pretend confusion but too many men in the hall froze at the corsair envoy's words.

'Do you honestly believe a wizard's coming will save you?' Scavarin was openly pitying. 'Don't deny you've sent begging letters to the mage-halls of Hadrumal, to the Archmage himself. I know you have. Know this, my lord. No mage will ever involve himself in the petty squabbles of Caladhrian lordlings and insignificant coastal raiders. Because that's all we are to the mighty wizards of Hadrumal.'

'When I find whoever is passing you information I will hang them to feed the crows,' Halferan said tightly.

'Build a big gallows, my lord.' Scavarin shrugged. 'Many people have doubts about your rule. Concern prompts loose talk.' He spread his hands in an obsequious appeal. 'Let's concentrate on the issue before us. Agree a sum, pay up and secure peace for your people. Delay and the price goes up until the black ships come ashore. Mages have no need of gold or land or even a precious daughter's hand in marriage. But we will accept your gold, my lord, and leave your lands in peace.' His smile turned cruel. 'Your daughters will go virgin to their marriage beds.'

'You go too far!' A red flush of fury seared Halferan's cheekbones.

Tense silence held the hall in thrall. The swordsmen around the hearth glowered at the corsairs by the door. The unwelcome guests sat motionless. The man who wasn't drinking clenched beringed fists.

Scavarin threw up his hands in apparent surrender. 'Forgive me, my lord. That was uncouth--'

Outside, a thunderous storm of blows attacked the great entrance.

'My lord--' A man-at-arms threw open the small porter's door cut into the larger one and stuck his head through. He vanished abruptly as a hand wrenched him backwards.

'My lord Halferan!' A second man ducked through the low portal, scraping his shoulder. 'The wizard's coming!'

'Corrain?' Incredulous, Halferan sprang to his feet.

'Alar, no!'

The corsair with the fists full of rings was instantly on his feet. Ignoring Scavarin, he drew a broad dagger from some concealed sheath to threaten Corrain.

Several of the guards had made for the door as soon as they heard knocking. They broke into a run down the long central aisle, others hard on their heels. None could hope to reach Corrain before the corsair was on him.

The saturnine trooper recoiled from the dagger's murderous down-stroke. The squat blade ripped into the coarse weave of his cloak. Corrain snatched a handful of the cloth and wrapped it around the corsair's dagger and forearm both, punching the raider full in the throat with his other hand. The corsair collapsed, choking and clawing at his neck.

'My lord, our safe-conduct--' As Scavarin turned, protesting, he found Halferan's sword point pricking just below the oiled point of his beard.

'Safe conduct on condition you surrendered your blades,' Halferan spat. 'Seize them!'

Scavarin called out in an unknown tongue. The rest of the corsairs threw down daggers they had belatedly produced, raising empty hands in insolent surrender as the guards reached them.

'My lord.' Scavarin swallowed hard and looked down the length of the shining steel. 'Your man says a wizard is coming. No mage is here yet. You'd be ill-advised to kill us before you're certain of him. If your man's mistaken, I can still negotiate a new agreement to safeguard your people. If I'm still alive.'

'True.' Halferan didn't lower his sword. 'Take them all to the dungeons. Lock this weasel up apart from the rest of the vermin.'

'Have a care, my lord.' Scavarin made no move as two warriors scrambled up to the dais to seize his arms. He twisted in the men's grip to look around at Halferan as they hauled him away unresisting. 'If I don't send word to my associates out at sea within three days, they'll assume you've killed me and attack regardless.'

Halferan ignored him, intent on Corrain as the man hurried down the hall.

As the men dragged Scavarin out through a side door his voice cracked with fear and anger. 'They'll burn your hall to the ground, my lord, and slaughter every living thing within it. Once they've raped everything in skirts--'

The door slammed on Scavarin's threats as Halferan jumped down from the dais to meet the swordsman. 'How soon will Gefren get him here?'

'I don't know,' Corrain answered apprehensively.

* * *

'Where is he?' Narich backed down the stubby jetty, naked sword in hand. His gaze searched every doorway and alley dividing the shuttered houses huddled beneath the sandstone cliff.

'Where are they?' Hollow-eyed with tiredness, Gefren was intent on the single-masted ship tied up beside the outthrust finger of squared-off stone. On deck, a few sailors were tidying ropes and storm-torn sails in desultory fashion.

'We lost them.' Narich didn't sound convinced. 'Elkan and Avayan are keeping watch.'

As he gestured, the two other men waved back. Elkan was at the end of the row of houses, beside a modest tavern. Avayan was at the top of a path writhing back and forth up the sloping shoulder of land sheltering this fishing village. It was the only way to the top of the cliffs.

'He's here,' breathed Gefren.

Narich looked back over his shoulder to see a slight figure walking down the gangplank. Despite the unceasing wind, a cobalt cloak hung down from his shoulders in untroubled folds. Beneath it he wore riding boots and breeches and a long-sleeved midnight-blue jerkin over a creamy linen shirt.

'Master Minelas.' Gefren hurried down the jetty. 'We're here--'

'--from Lord Halferan. I know.' The slim wizard was quite composed. 'I assume you have a horse for me?'

'Can't you--' Narich hesitated. 'Isn't there some magic--'

The wizard turned pale blue eyes on the trooper. 'Not to take a mage somewhere he's never been before.' He shook his head ruefully, the watery sunlight burnishing his golden hair. 'Otherwise I'd have been at your lord's side as soon as I'd read his letter.'

'That's a shame,' Narich said with feeling.

'We've horses stabled.' Gefren gestured towards Elkan, who waved back and vanished into the yard behind the tavern.

Ayavan's loud shout from the heights echoed around the cliffs. 'Raiders!'

'Corsairs have been hunting us all along the coast.' Narich sounded on the verge of despair.

As the three men on the jetty watched, Avayan scrambled down the precipitous path.

'We're betrayed, master mage,' Gefren said tightly.

'Indeed.' Minelas was untroubled.

Gefren groaned as six horsemen appeared and their steeds began picking cautiously down the steep slope. 'Let us go first, master mage. We'll try to cut you a path.' He looked towards the tavern as Elkan reappeared, a boy helping him control a handful of saddled and bridled horses. 'Narich will stay with you--'

'Your lord asks for wizardry to defend his people against these brutes.' Minelas took a pace forward, flexing his long fingers. 'Let's make a start here.'

The foremost corsair's horse stumbled and whinnied. Its hind hooves slid out from under it and it sat down hard on its black rump, forelegs thrust out forwards to brace itself on the perilous path. Its rider managed to keep his seat to no avail. Neither spurs nor whip could induce the petrified horse to stand, leaving the path blocked.

Gefren was surprised into a bark of laughter. Narich groaned, raising a helpless hand. He had been watching Avayan. The burly man had tried to cut off an angle of the path by sliding down the steep turf. He'd lost his footing and was rolling, helpless to save himself from a bone-shattering fall onto the faceted rocks at the foot of the slope.

Minelas flung up a hand and a swirl of sapphire light halted Avayan's headlong tumble, righting him just before the final drop. The warrior clung to the steep slope, pressing his face into the grass, digging in his fingers and toes. Then he looked cautiously up, first towards the clifftop, then slowly around and down, to stare open-mouthed at the men down on the jetty. Above, the corsairs still trying to flog the black horse to its feet.

'If they can't get down, we still can't get up.' Gefren tried to keep reproach out of his voice.

Minelas didn't respond, the slightest smile tugging at one corner of his full mouth.

One of the other corsair horses whickered, disconcerted. The wind from the sea wound a skein of pale dust around the would-be attackers. Another horse neighed, panicked as the soil beneath its hooves blew away. Now all the animals were seized with the same fear, tossing their heads and scrabbling vainly for a firmer footing.

The rearmost riders tried to turn their horses around, to make for the top of the cliff. As they did so, one swung its muscular rump into another horse, sending it sliding down to fall against the first to stumble. Both riders fell from their saddles. As they tumbled down the slope, they grabbed at each other, at tufts of grass and knife-edged rocks. A slick of blue light appeared, not to save them but to stop them getting any handhold.

On hands and knees, Avayan had been cautiously picking his way across the slope to the comparatively safety of the path. He pressed himself to the grass shuddering as the corsairs slid past him to plummet, screaming, onto the murderous rocks below.

'Saedrin save us,' Narich breathed.

Now the topmost edge of the sandstone cliff was crumbling into razor-edged shards. Slings of sapphire magelight whirled around to hurl a lethal rain at the corsairs still struggling with their horses. A screaming man fell head over heels before his falling steed crushed him into bloody silence. Men and animals slipped, stumbled and fell with yells and uncomprehending shrieks of pain. A horse tumbled helplessly, its legs snapping audibly. They all landed hard on the broken rocks, agonized echoes of their final screams lingering for some moments after the last corsair had fallen to his death.

Gefren drew a shaking breath and bowed low to Minelas. 'Master mage--'

'Let's be on our way.' Entirely indifferent to what he had done, the wizard strode along the jetty towards Elkan and the boy with the horses. The warrior was looking as wide-eyed as the child at the mangled bodies at the foot of the slope.

'Trooper!' Gefren shouted harshly. 'Mount up.'

Elkan gathered his wits and proffered a set of reins with a shaking hand as Minelas reached him. The wizard sprang competently into the saddle while the fisher-lad fled, ashen-faced.

Narich's dour face cracked in a slow grin as he walked beside Gefren. 'Those bastard raiders aren't going to know what's hit them.'

* * *

'I have beacons manned all along the coast and fast horses ready to carry word inland.' Lord Halferan was pacing back and forth in front of his canopied chair. Below, the great hall was full of men quietly speculating with suppressed excitement. Halferan's brown eyes grew distant. 'As soon as we see the first ships--'

Minelas was seated at a trestle table set up on the dais. He leaned over a wide silver bowl of water tainted with ink. 'No.'

The mage's single soft word silenced the entire hall.

'What do you mean?' Halferan asked the question for everyone.

'See for yourself, my lord,' Minelas invited.

Halferan squared his shoulders and walked over to look into the scrying bowl.

'This spell--' He hesitated.

'Do you recognise this anchorage?' asked Minelas.

'I do.' Halferan frowned. He raised his head to look at his expectant warriors. 'It's the mouth of the Linney, in the middle of the salt-marshes.'

'What do you see?' the wizard prompted.

'Three corsair ships.' Halfern rested his hands on the table, peering into the bowl. Blue magelight from the ensorcelled water cast eerie reflections on his face. 'A substantial encampment. Timber buildings within a palisade. A sizeable midden and the fen despoiled.' He swallowed hard.

'I'd say they've over-wintered there,' observed Minelas. 'They've a foothold on your land, my lord.'

'This summer's raids will be ten times worse if they have a forward base.' Halfern slammed his fists on the table. Sapphire light slopped over the bowl's rim to sink into the wood. He snapped his head around to find Gefren waiting patiently at the side of the dais. 'Bring that weasel Scavarin up from the dungeon,' he snarled. 'We'll learn what he knows about this if we have to skin him alive to loosen his tongue.'

'No,' Minelas said forcefully. 'If he suspects you know they're there, he'll send a warning. You know there are traitors in your household.'

Bitterness twisted Halferan's wrathful expression. 'Can't magic unmask them?'

'No,' Minelas said evenly. 'But my magic and your men can destroy this nest of vermin. That'll send a message to the other corsairs.'

'Telling them to raid our neighbours instead.' Halferan said unwillingly.

'Your first duty is to your own,' Minelas reminded him. 'We can help your neighbours as and when raiding ships come.'

'Burning these scum might delay the first raids,' ventured Gefren.

'Leave them and they'll launch their own attacks any day,' Minelas pointed out. 'They needn't fear any late storms out on the open ocean.'

'Those salt-marshes run all the way to Lord Ermeth's borders,' Halferan said thoughtfully. 'We could ask him--'

'No.' The wizard was adamant. 'We must leave now, with just the men present in this hall. As long as you can swear they're all loyal.' He raised a hand and every door glowed with ominous blue light. 'Any man you doubt must be locked in a dungeon until we return.'

'Every man here is true as Gidestan steel.' Gefren was outraged.

Minelas ignored him, intent on Halferan. 'If these corsairs get a hint that they're threatened, they'll disappear into the mosses. We must leave at once, and you must hang this envoy you have chained below, and all his men too, so we can't be betrayed after we've left.'

'How are we to attack a camp in the middle of these marshes?' Gefren appealed to his lord. 'The corsairs will post sentries. They'll know we're coming before we're within three leagues.' He risked a fearful glance at the wizard.

Minelas vanished without so much as a hint of magelight. 'I can hide your men from corsair eyes.' His voice was calm in the empty air. 'As long as they haven't had word we're coming.' The wizard reappeared, that half-smile lifting the corner of his mouth.

Halferan stared down into the scrying bowl, gnawing at his lower lip. 'Very well,' he said with sudden decision. He surveyed the men waiting motionless in the hall. 'Get your gear and weapons from your barracks and muster in the outer ward. Go nowhere else. No farewells for wives or sweethearts or whores. Do I have your oath?' he demanded harshly.

'Aye, my lord!' The fervent shout shook dust from the high hammer beams.

Minelas nodded, satisfied. 'And order that corsair envoy and his men hanged before we leave. Just to be certain.'

'Their crimes doubtless deserve death.' Halferan waved a dismissive hand as he strode towards a door at the rear of the dais. 'See to it, Gefren.'

'My lord.' The captain bowed obediently.

'I shall want the bay stallion, captain, and a man to see to my needs.' Minelas passed a hand over the silver bowl, quenching the sapphire light before following Halferan.

'As you wish, master mage.' Gefren regarded the scrying bowl with misgiving before looking down the long hall.

Troopers were shoving at each other in their haste to reach the doors, eager to embark on this campaign against the hated foe. Only a few were hanging back, to let the crush lessen. One was Corrain. He met Gefren's gaze, a frown creasing his forehead. Stifling his own unease, the captain turned abruptly around and went after his lord.

* * *

'Do you think he has the stomach for this fight?' Corrain urged his horse to draw level with Gefren's stirrup. He leaned sideways to see past the riders ahead to the blue-cloaked figure riding beside Halferan. The track through the fens had been only just wide enough for two horses.

About half the force rode ahead of their lord and his knot of trusted troopers, the remainder following behind. Travel-stained, horses roughly groomed, every man rode straight-backed and alert, impatience for this battle on every face.

'Do you think this wizard can do all he claims?' Corrain persisted.

'He slaughtered those raiders at the harbour.' Gefren looked bleak.

'He saved my life,' Avayan said robustly, riding on Corrain's other flank.

Corrain shook his head dubiously. 'He wouldn't watch those corsairs hanged. He asked me if they were all dead before he'd join my lord in the outer ward.'

'He's no milksop.' Narich turned in his saddle to look back at them. 'He couldn't handle that stallion if he was.'

'True enough.' Doubt still shadowed Corrain's eyes.

'How can they not see us?' Hosh was riding behind with Elkan.

'Magic,' Elkan said repressively.

'Everyone's plain as day,' Hosh persisted. 'Where's that blue light he raises his visions with?'

Elkan glared at him. 'Shut up or they'll hear us coming regardless.'

'Or I'll leave you behind bound and gagged again.' Corrain looked back over his shoulder. 'I won't come back to get you a second time.'

Hosh opened his mouth to laugh until he saw Corrain's expression. He subsided into uncertain silence.

'How far to the corsair camp?' Avayan asked quietly.

'Not far.' Gefren looked up at the sun high in an untroubled sky. 'That rise where we last camped was the end of the solid ground.'

'This is salt marsh.' Narich pointed at a tangle of dirty red stems beside a cluster of tall dark green plants with sharp, toothed leaves. 'See, samphire and spearweed.'

The plants suddenly shimmered as if seen though a heat haze that this spring day couldn't hope for. Azure light flickered on the edge of sight.

'There's your magic,' Elkan grinned.

A flash, brighter than lightning, dazzled them, painful in its intensity. Another came, then another, blinding radiance exploding on all sides.

'What--?' Corrain groped for his sword hilt, struggling to force his eyes open.

Narich cried out in startled anguish as an arrow buried itself in his shoulder.

'Corsairs!' Gefren bellowed, standing in his stirrups and drawing his sword.

Corrain ripped his blade from its sheath and flailed wildly around, purple smears blurring his vision. More men yelled as raider arrows bit deep. Fearful horses whinnied and stamped. Corrain's mount tossed its head wildly, ears pressed back flat.

'Help me!' Hosh was unhorsed. He struggled to his knees, flailing wildly at shimmering lights whirling all around.

'Leave the horses!' Gefren dismounted as he shouted the order

'I can't!' Narich could only cling on with his unwounded hand as his horse reared, lashing out with its fore-feet.

Elkan was still mounted, slashing his sword at the lights circling Hosh. A glimmer dodged sideways before darting forward to run up his blade and sink into Elkan's hand. He yelled and dropped the weapon. The stink of burned flesh and charred leather floated over the salt scent of the churned mud. Elkan fell and screamed only once as his terrified horse trampled him.

Corrain dropped to the path and let his horse go. He scrubbed at tear-filled eyes with the back of one hand as he brandished his sword blindly.

'Stay at my back and I'll stay at yours.' Avayan slid from his saddle and pressed his shoulders to Corrain's. 'I can't see,' he raged.

With the purple stains in his vision fading to yellow, Corrain glimpsed a figure behind a thicket of stunted buckthorn. 'Corsairs!'

As he blinked, the man vanished. Then a different raider stepped out of nowhere to swing a brutal cudgel at his head. Corrain ducked, thrusting a furious, instinctive riposte that bit deep into the raider's forearm. His blade passed straight through the insubstantial wrist, leaving no wound. Corrain blinked again and the man was two paces to the right. His club was coming so fast there was nothing Corrain could do. As the blow landed he went sprawling in the mud.

Feeling emptiness at his back, Avayan whirled around, his sword ripping through the air. A blue spark leaped to the point of the blade. With an ear-splitting crack, the weapon twisted into useless scrap. Avayan dropped dead, his face a rictus of agony. A raw score seared his wrist, disappearing up his sleeve.

'I yield!' Corrain wrapped his arms round his head in abject surrender. 'Saedrin save me,' he wailed. 'I yield!'

All up and down the path Lord Halferan's warriors were being clubbed into submission and dragged away.

'You craven swine.' On hands and knees beside Corrain, Hosh was bleeding profusely from a broken nose. Drawing a ragged breath, he spat his contempt full in the older man's face along with a broken tooth.

Corrain rolled over into a low crouch, wiping the blood and spittle awkwardly onto one shoulder. 'Learn to roll before a punch lands, boy.' There was no panic in his whisper. The club had left the merest graze on his temple. 'We can't fight magic so save your strength. They're not out to kill us.'

'What do they want?' Hosh quavered.

A raider approached with a handful of jangling chains, grinning. 'We want slaves.'

'No!' Hosh reared up, bunching his fists.

Corrain deftly tripped him, glaring furiously at the boy. 'Don't be a fool!'

'Listen to him.' The corsair fastened manacles on Corrain's unresisting wrists before stripping the warrior of dagger and sword belt. 'You might live to see tomorrow.'

'Where's--?' Hosh yelped. 'Narich!'

Corrain saw the wounded man was slumped on his knees, ashen with blood loss. A raider grabbed his hair, hauled his head back and cut his throat.

'We want fit and healthy slaves,' sneered the corsair who'd chained them. 'Better hope that nose heals cleanly, boy.'

Corrain looked swiftly around. A handful of men lay dead close by. The rest he could see had been taken captive. 'There's the wizard.' As Hosh cowered beside him, whimpering, he indicated Minelas with a jerk of his head.

Some way beyond Gefren who was kneeling in chains, his chin on his chest, Lord Halferan lay face down in the mire, a corsair's boot on his neck. Minelas stood a few paces away, unsullied, brushing wisps of sapphire mist from his thin hands.

A corsair walked up to him, head and shoulders taller. Massive in black leather and a steel breastplate, gold chains were plaited into his beard. 'Well done, my friend.'

'You betrayed us.' Halferan tried to lift his head, spitting mud. 'You bastard.'

'I got a better offer,' Minelas said conversationally, hunkering down beside him. 'When my friend here heard you were looking for a wizard, he made it his business to outbid you.'

'He haggles like a fishmonger, this wizard. You should have paid Scavarin and saved yourself this grief.' The corsair leader kicked Halferan in the ribs with casual brutality. 'And saved me my gold. But I'll make it back selling your men for slaves.'

'Make sure you sell them to the most distant domains of the Archipelago,' Minelas said sternly. 'And cut out their tongues. We want no witnesses.'

'You mind your business and I'll mind mine,' the giant corsair retorted.

'Why did you ever believe Hadrumal would be your salvation, my lord?' Standing up, Minelas shook his head pityingly. 'Most wizards only want peace and quiet to study their books and swap magical theories with tedious mages as blinkered as they are. They'd never be interested in your miserly offer of gold and gratitude. No-one ten leagues beyond your borders even cares about your pitiful little fiefdom's fate. Now, me, I want a lot more than a lifetime in dusty libraries to look forward to. I want wine and women and people looking up to me, and enough gold to keep all that coming till I'm old and bald.'

'You think this scum will keep paying you?' Halfern twisted in impotent rage.

'He won't have to.' Minelas reached inside his jerkin for a blank leaf of parchment. 'Because I'll be taking news of your valorous death back to your family along with your death-bed grant of your lands and family into my guardianship.' As he spoke, black writing rippled across the creamy surface. 'Isn't that your signature, my lord?' He bent to show Halferan the dark flourish at the bottom. 'Your rents and revenues should keep me in the luxury to which I wish to become accustomed.'

Gefren sprang to his feet, taking everyone by surprise. Gripping the chain linking his manacles in both fists, ready to strangle Minelas, he took two long strides towards the wizard. A bolt of lightning from the empty sky lanced into the top of the guard captain's head. He stood motionless, already dead. A bloody blackened gash ran down the side of his face, the scorched line continuing down his tunic and breeches to one boot burst into a smoking ruin. Falling forward, he landed beside Halferan, his sightless eyes staring into his lord's horrified face.

'You won't get away with this,' Halferan raged impotently.

'He will.' The corsair captain plunged his long sword into Halferan's back to skewer his heart. 'As long as he keeps our little hideaway here safe and secret.' He smiled at Minelas with cheerful menace.

The wizard was unmoved. 'As long as you send me a modest share in whatever loot you find outside my fiefdom.'

The corsairs down the path had dragged off all the other men. Now they came for Corrain and Hosh.

'What are we going to do?' the boy snivelled wretchedly as he was hauled to his feet.

'We stay alive.' Corrain set his stubbled jaw while ducking his head in apparent submission. 'Until we can escape and come home to see that wizard hanged.'

'When did any slave last escape the Aldabreshi.' Desolate tears trickled down Hosh's face to mingle with the blood and mucus oozing from his broken nose.

* * *

It was dawn when the coastal trader's ship sailed up to the stubby jetty. Sailors leaped ashore to secure mooring ropes and fenders. As soon as the gangplank crashed onto the square stones, a young woman in a black cloak walked swiftly down onto the jetty, a battered leather sack slung over one shoulder by its drawstring.

The ship's brawny captain hurried after her. 'There's the tavern, my lady. You can rest and take some breakfast--'

'Thank you, but I've no time to waste.' Smooth-skinned, with large and luminous hazel eyes and silken auburn hair to offset an otherwise unremarkable face, she turned a smile of surpassing sweetness on the sailor. 'Where exactly did these men die?'

'Over there, my lady. At the foot of the cliff.' The captain licked dry lips and ran a calloused hand over his grizzled beard. 'But there's naught left. They threw the carrion into the other cove.'

He made no move to follow as the woman walked away, her soft leather half-boots whispering on the stones. She soon reached the broken rocks in the angle between the sloping ridge running down to the sea and the sheer cliffs.

After walking back and forth a few times, she bent to study a gory patch of scree, old dry blood now veiled with windblown dust. Quite composed, she tucked her black cloak around her long skirts and sat cross-legged on the ground. Despite the strengthening sunlight, she took a candle in a shallow pottery holder from her bag, together with a silver bowl and a small mirror of polished brass. She laid the mirror flat, stood the candle beside it, and kindled a scarlet flame with a snap of her fingers. Finding a small bottle in the bag, she uncorked it and poured clear, viscous oil into the silver bowl. As she selected a piece of bloodstained stone, crimson magic shimmered across the mirror.

'Jilseth? Are you there?' A voice echoed distantly from the swirling radiance.

'I am, Archmage.' She dropped the stone shard into the oil. Dark amber light boiled up around it.

'Was it him?' the unseen wizard asked with clipped anger. 'What happened?'

Jilseth leaned forward to gaze into the bowl. 'Six men died, and their horses. Minelas definitely killed them. They were certainly corsairs.'

The distant Archmage's sigh sent ripples across the spell reflected in the mirror. 'Doesn't he know he'll never get away with this?'

'He's managing to hide himself from everyone's scrying, element masters and all.' Jilseth's smile didn't reach her beautiful eyes. 'And I imagine, like everyone else from the Council of Hadrumal down, he considers necromancy a perverted and pointless magic.'

'We have more important concerns than that well-worn debate.' There was a suggestion of apology in the Archmage's words. 'What about this lodestone magic you promised me?'

'Let's see.' Jilseth reached into the neck of the modest grey dress she wore beneath her black cloak. She pulled out a metallic black crystal pendant on a silver chain. Lifting it over her head she dangled it above the seething bowl.

Thick wisps of smoke rose from the oil. Jilseth swept her hand through them. Golden glints flowed from her fingers to shape tiny phantasms. The magic made a gruesome shadow play of the deaths of men and beasts falling down the cliff, once, twice and a third time. Then Jilseth brushed them away and the smoke reformed into a single corsair face screaming in silent terror. A third pass of the magewoman's hand destroyed it and all the smoke vanished. The boiling oil subsided into stillness.

'Well?' The brass mirror rang with the Archmage's impatience.

Jilseth ran the chain through her hands before holding the pendant out at arm's length. The lodestone twitched and drifted inland, gradually rising, the silver links following. It only halted when it had drawn the chain out to its fullest extent.

'It'll take me to anywhere Minelas has ever worked magic.' Satisfaction warming her smile, Jilseth hung the pendant around her neck once more. 'And my other spells will show me exactly what he's done, wherever he's spilled blood.'

'Then we can decide how to punish his crimes.' The Archmage's voice was flinty.

Jilseth nodded as she drew the oil out of the bowl and back into the bottle in a swirl of amber magic. Licking finger and thumb ready to snuff the candle she looked intently into the mirror. 'I'll find him, Planir, however long it takes.'

The story continues in The Hadrumal Crisis: Dangerous Waters, the first in a new fantasy trilogy by Juliet E. McKenna, coming August 2011...

About the author

Juliet E McKenna has been interested in fantasy stories since childhood, from Winnie the Pooh to The Iliad. An Abiding fascination with other worlds and their peoples played its part in her subsequently reading Classics at St. Hilda's College, Oxford. After combining bookselling and motherhood for a couple of years, she now fits in her writing around her family and vice versa. She lives with her husband and children in West Oxfordshire, England.