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“Esquire?” The lackey was waiting. Temar nodded and followed the man over to his new acquaintances.
“Well done, D’Alse
“But you didn’t have mazes in your day!” Meriel looked at Temar with eager inquisitiveness.
Orilan hid a smile behind her fan. “We didn’t have them in our grandsire’s day, Meri.”
“You certainly have much we never knew, but equally it seems you lost much in the Chaos,” said Temar with studied carelessness. “Customs, provinces, Artifice.”
“Is it true magic held the Old Empire together?” Meriel’s eyes were wide and beseeching.
“A form of enchantment,” Temar replied carefully. “Not this elemental magic of the Archmage and Hadrumal. We knew it as Artifice, and yes, it has many uses.”
“My Sieur says that magic is all tricks and fakery.” Den Bre
Meriel exchanged an excited shiver with the Demoiselles Den Ferrand.
“You’re in deep with wizards,” Den Bre
Temar sipped his wine. He’d hardly win any trust with tales of monsters spun from raging water, of lightning ripped from clouds to spear men where they stood. He didn’t even want to remember magical fire crawling across empty ground to consume the enemy Elietimm without mercy. “I have seen mages appear and disappear in empty air, crossing leagues in the blink of an eye. They can summon the image of someone far distant and speak with them. They can feel the passage of a river through unseen caves beneath the ground.”
“Or find gold within a mountain?” Den Ferrand looked speculatively at Temar. “A House with such resources to call on would have significant advantages.”
Temar spread deprecating hands. “Mages answer only to Hadrumal and Planir curbs any abuse of power.”
“You know the Archmage?” Meriel sounded disconsolate. “I’ve never seen so much as a hedge wizard make candles dance.”
“No?” Temar ran a nervous hand over his close-cropped hair. “When there are mages in Toremal?” He pulled a closely folded handbill from a pocket and cleared his throat. “This is to give notice to all lovers of the magical arts and admirers of ingenuity that the famous Trebal Chabrin intends to fly from the Spring Gate to the Vintners Exchange at the seventh chime of the fourth day of Festival. This feat will be followed by such diversions as the elements permit. All those attending are invited to make such payment as they are pleased to give.”
“A wizard’s going to fly?” Den Ferrand was incredulous.
“I have no idea,” Temar laughed. “The words are rather too carefully vague, after all. I confess I’m curious though.”
Den Bre
“Yes, let’s!” Meriel looked eagerly around. “We’ve all been dutiful enough for one day, haven’t we?”
“I’ve talked to everyone I was supposed to.” Den Bre
“Gelaia’s just over there,” Orilan observed. “We can make our farewells to her.”
She walked swiftly past the summerhouse. Temar heard a note of curiosity rising among the hidden girls. He forced a smile when Orilan returned with Gelaia and the other girls in tow.
“You’re going to see a wizard?” A sallow girl with close-set eyes and a discontented mouth fiddled with expensive lace covering thin and lustreless hair.
“Esquire D’Alse
“My thanks, Esquire.” Gelaia pretended outrage. “I’ll convey your compliments on his entertainments to my Sieur.”
Den Ferrand gri
“Are we going or not?” demanded Meriel.
“Why not? I take it everyone’s served their Name as they were instructed over breakfast?” Gelaia asked archly.
As everyone nodded, Gelaia led them confidently out of the maze. Outside, she summoned various lackeys with a wave of her fan, dispatching them with messages for her parents, her Sieur and concise instructions for the stableyard. Den Ferrand stepped aside to talk briefly to someone resemblance suggested was an older brother while Den Bre
“I had better let Esquire Camarl know I am leaving,” Temar said suddenly.
“I’ve sent word we’re going out together.” Gelaia took his arm with a proprietorial air. Temar managed to smile with apparent pleasure, even when he caught an avid glance from Jenty not meant for him.
Den Murivance was plainly a House with horses and grooms to spare, Temar decided, seeing two waiting carriages with polished portcullis badges on livery and harness as they reached the gatehouse. Gelaia organised everyone with casual adroitness and Temar found himself riding with her, Orilan, Meriel and Den Ferrand.
“Where are you committed this evening?” Orilan turned her back on the crowded streets.
“Tor Sauzet,” Den Ferrand replied promptly. “And you?”
“Den Ga
“Oh, I heard that!” Meriel sat forward eagerly. “Which Esquire was proposed?”
Temar sat in silence as the others speculated good-humouredly. Let them chatter; they’d done what he needed after all. But his friend Vahil Den Ra
“Are we there?” Gelaia broke off a convoluted anecdote as the carriage slowed and then stopped, a footman ready to open the door.
Den Bre
“Let’s see what there is to see.” Gelaia fa
“Shall we stand over there?” Temar pointed to the steps of the desperately old-fashioned Vintner’s Exchange, where a noticeable knot of nobility were laughing.
“We’re not the only ones taking a break before the evening’s duties,” remarked Den Ferrand with a grin.
“Only one more day of Festival to go,” said Orilan cheerfully. “It’s the Emperor’s dance tomorrow. No one talks business, betrothal or anything serious there,” she added in an undertone to Temar.
He smiled absently at her as he sca
“It’s just a rope trick.” Meriel sounded bitterly disappointed. Temar stopped searching the crowd to follow her pointing finger. They all saw a thin cable strung from a balcony on the front of the Vintners’ Exchange up to the looming bulk of the old city walls.
“At that angle?” Den Ferrand sounded doubtful. “I’ve never seen a rope walker go downhill.”
“I’m keeping my coin until I see something worthwhile.” Jenty clamped a bony hand on the silver mesh and emerald purse chained at her waist.