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“Your boy’s been stabbed,” said Stolley shortly, jogging beside the carriage with the rest of the troop.
“D’Alse
“Du
“How bad?” I demanded, feeling a catch of apprehension in my throat.
“Rumour’s got him on the threshold to the Otherworld,” growled Stolley. “But then they’d be saying that if he’d grazed his knees.”
As soon as the coach reached the sweep of gravel inside Tor Kanselin’s gates, I jumped down. It was quieter inside the walls but the air still crackled with suppressed curiosity, little knots of wide-eyed servants speculating behind raised hands.
I sheathed my sword and kept walking, not about to add grist to the rumour mill before I had a few solid facts to chew on myself. A sentry nodded the D’Olbriot badge on my armring into the residence and I looked around the lofty hallway for someone who could tell me what had happened. The best I could come up with was Casuel, forlorn on a side chair, velvet coat and shirt ruffle in disarray, his wiry brown hair hanging lank at his temples.
He jumped up as soon as he saw me, eyes hollow with fear. “What’s happened to the boy?” Miserable uncertainty lengthened his face in place of the self-importance that habitually tightened his weak chin.
“That’s what I’m asking you.” I tried to restrain my anger.
“It wasn’t my fault,” stammered Casuel. “The fool insisted on walking back. He wouldn’t wait for a carriage. He wouldn’t stay close to me—”
The sharp click of a lady’s shoes turned my head to the marble stairs. Abandoning Casuel to his ineffectual self-justification, I hurried to meet the Demoiselle Tor Arrial with a perfunctory bow. “How is he?”
“Temar?” Avila tried for her usual terse ma
“I thought he was dead.” Casuel struggled for a further response; the relief in his face would have been comical if the whole matter weren’t so serious. Then the mage’s knees gave way and he landed gracelessly on his chair.
“They said he was stabbed?” I enquired as gently as I could.
Avila rubbed her face with a hand that trembled in spite of herself. “Talagrin be praised, the blade went awry. It hit the shoulder blade.”
“I’ve been waiting for the courtesy of some word.” Casuel managed to look both woebegone and petulant.
I wasn’t about to waste time consoling Casuel’s imagined grievance. Anyone with a pe
“The head wound had me most concerned,” Avila continued, ‘but the House surgeon deems it none too serious.”
A sober-faced man coming down the stairs in his shirt sleeves, fastening cuffs that had rusty smears.
“Chosen Man Ryshad Tathel,” I introduced myself politely. “How’s Esquire D’Alse
“You’ll have seen worse on the training ground,” the surgeon sniffed. “He’d his wits knocked clean out of him, but that’ll pass, and the knife wound looked worse than it was.”
I nodded my understanding, relief closing my throat too tight for words.
Avila nodded. “A little blood goes a long way.”
“The Demoiselle here says there’s no crack in the skull, according to her arts,” continued the surgeon with a slightly wary look at Avila. I remembered with relief how healing was a major part of her Artifice.
“If he’d waited for a carriage, we’d have got home without mishap,” protested Casuel with a mildewed expression.
“You were with him?” The surgeon fixed the wizard with a look as sharp as his scalpels. “Proven Man Triss will need to speak to you.”
“This wasn’t my fault,” said Casuel hastily. “Why does he need to see me?”
The surgeon ignored him, turning to me. “Take him along to the barracks, will you? Esquire Camarl left word you were to talk to the Cohort Captain.”
Finding I could speak again, I looked at Avila. “I’ll be at your disposal when you wish to return to D’Olbriot’s residence, Demoiselle.”
“Go on,” she said a little wearily. “I will be with the Maitresse and Lady Cha
“Come on, Casuel.” I caught the visibly reluctant wizard by the elbow to urge him along.
“I wish people would stop doing that,” he exploded, shaking off my hand in sudden rage.
I grabbed him again and had him out of the residence with his feet barely touching the steps. “Stop behaving as if you’ve no interest in what’s going on!” I rounded on him. “You tell the guards whatever you saw and we might get some idea who did this. I want to know, even if you don’t!”
Casuel’s objections withered under my scorching glare but his back stayed rigid with protest as I escorted him to the barracks on the far side of the enclosure.
“Take a seat in the bower,” the sentry replied to my explanation of our arrival. “I’ll send word to Proven Triss.”
I nodded and turned on my heel, Casuel hurrying after, muttering crossly. Luckily for him he’d run out of indignation when we reached a vine-covered bower shading a ring of low benches. At least that meant my continued good reputation was safe because I couldn’t have stood much more of his nonsense without shutting his mouth with a fist.
With evening drawing on, cool, dark leaves swathed the little yard with moist, green fragrance. I sat and closed my eyes and forced myself to take slow, even breaths as the blood pulsed in my head. Noises from the stable yard over in the distance and from the crowd in the road just beyond the wall contrasted with the stillness within the empty bower.
It didn’t last. Casuel started talking again. “I want a ru
Just as I was thinking I’d better sit on my hands I heard boots falling in measured tread on the gravel.
“Good evening to you.” A scar-faced man with sharply receding hair stepped into the bower, face impassive as he bowed to the wizard and gave me a brief nod of acknowledgement. “I’m Oram Triss, proven man to Tor Kanselin and by the Emperor’s grace Captain of the House Cohort.”
I hoped Casuel knew enough to realise this was Tor Kanselin’s most senior soldier, the man who would answer to the Emperor if the Cohorts were ever summoned to fight a war for Tormalin. Judging by his strangled murmur, the wizard did.
“Raman Zelet, chosen man,” continued Triss, indicating his companion. The tall man had skin ta
The proven man smiled reassurance at Casuel. “May I know your name?”
“Fair Festival to you.” Casuel cleared his throat with a creditable assumption of ease. “I am Casuel Devoir, mage of Hadrumal, at present envoy from Archmage Planir the Black to Messire Guliel D’Olbriot, Sieur of that House.” He brushed at the droplets bright on his shirt front but still spilled more water as he put his glass back on the tray.
Zelet raised an eyebrow as he passed me some welcome water. “You’re a wizard.”