Things moved more quickly after that, neither of us stopping to think, just concentrating on losing ourselves in sensation. Laio knew some tricks that made me wonder just where Aldabreshi girls got their education once I had my breath back, but there was nothing of the practiced whore about her, just a frank and sensual delight in her body and mine. As a sexual experience, it was quite remarkable. Afterwards, a long while afterwards, as we lay in the rumpled chaos of the bed, the sweat drying slowly on our bodies. I pulled a quilt over us to keep out the chill and so we drifted off to sleep. Although Laio had been a unique delight, I smiled as I realized that despite everything my last thoughts were still of Livak.

“Don’t worry, I know exactly where Ryshad is. We have got everything in hand to rescue him.” Planir spoke confidently at Shiv’s image, tiny and gold-tinted in a polished steel mirror lit by a single candle flame. “How are you getting on?” The Archmage was in shirt sleeves, seated at a polished table in his paneled study, the evening sun sinking behind the towers of Hadrumal just visible through the tall lancets of the window next to him.

“I’m afraid Viltred is being difficult.” Exasperation was clear in Shiv’s muffled, tinny sounding voice. “All he wants is to get to Hadrumal as soon as possible; he doesn’t feel safe anywhere else, not after Ryshad disappeared like that.”

“Tell him not to worry about Ryshad,” Planir repeated himself, clenching a fist beneath the table where the spell would not be carrying his image to Shiv. “We need Viltred to persuade Lord Finvar to let us have the records of that shrine. I’m counting on the man having some respect for his old tutor; nothing else we’ve tried has succeeded thus far.”

“I can’t see Viltred inspiring respect in anyone just at present,” responded Shiv dourly. “He’s old and tired and running scared of everything from Elietimm to Eldritch-men. There must be someone else you can send.”

“Casuel? He’s on his way to Toremal, to help Esquire Camarl look for any material on this lost colony. Other than that, no, Shiv, I can’t send anyone just at present.” The undertone of authority in Planir’s voice forbade further argument.

“If Cas is the only alternative, I suppose Viltred will have to do.” Shiv scowled and leaned back in his chair, running both hands through his hair, a pause as he laced his hands behind his head eloquent of his frustration.

“Please just ask Viltred to do what he can, tell him it’s a special request from me to him, personally. I appreciate his situation and as soon as you have the archive, I’ll arrange a nexus of power for you to link to and translocate here directly.” Planir’s tone was warm and amiable but his fingers were drumming silently on his worn and faded breeches.

“I’ll do my best but Saedrin save me from nurse-maiding anymore senile old wizards,” sighed Shiv. “We’re in Claithe at the moment; we’ll be on the road as soon as we can get Livak’s horse shod. It’s no more than a couple of days to Lord Finvar’s fiefdom from here in good weather.”

“You’ve still got those women with you?” Planir frowned. “Why?”

“They’re not about to leave until they know what’s happened to Ryshad and seen for themselves that you’re doing everything you can to get him back.” Shiv’s image showed a tiny, rueful smile. “Would you believe Livak is actually offering to steal the books for us, if Lord Finvar really digs his heels in? That’s on the understanding the entire Council turns its talents to finding Ryshad though. We might have another advantage as well; Halice reckons she knows the captain of his guard from her mercenary days. We’ll get those records for you one way or another, Archmage.”

Planir shook his head with a grin. “I’m glad to see you’re showing a bit of initiative, Shiv. Mind you, only let Livak loose if there’s no other option. That one’s services come expensive, as I remember!”

Shiv laughed as the spell dissolved the image, and Planir snuffed the candle with an absent-minded word of command. The Archmage ran a hand over his face and rubbed the back of his neck with a muttered oath as a knock sounded on the oak of his door.

“Enter.”

“Are we any closer to getting that Arimelin archive from Finvar yet?” Usara inquired without ceremony. While a pale complexion was to be expected with his sandy hair, the scholarly mage was looking almost gray with fatigue.

“Are you any closer to scrying out that unholy sword?” countered Planir, rising from his chair and crossing the room to a sideboard of elegantly simple design. “Cordial?”

“Thank you, a little of the mint.” Usara dropped into a deeply upholstered chair with an explosive sigh of frustration, lifting his dirty boots heedlessly on to a low table heaped with documents. “No, since you ask, we still can’t get any kind of a fix on the cursed thing.”

“You know, I’m starting to think it might be better if D’Olbriot’s man got himself killed after all,” said Planir grimly. “We might get a lead on the sword if that happened.”

“Only if it’s the man being shielded, not the weapon. Remember what Mellitha had to tell us, and there’s what Shannet said about the time she and Viltred were looking for islands in the deep ocean to try and prove Azazir’s stories.” Usara sipped his drink with a small murmur of pleasure. “Anyway, I can’t see D’Olbriot continuing to support you in Toremal if all he gets to show for it is another man dead with an unredeemed oath fee and an heirloom sword lost and presumably in the hands of an unknown enemy.”

“No, I don’t suppose he will.” Planir stared into the depths of his own glass. “Do you suppose Viltred might have anything useful to add? On the scrying? And get your feet off Kalion’s proposals for remodelling the conduits to the bathhouses, will you, ’Sar?”

“A few creases’ll make it look as if you’ve read them.” The younger wizard was unrepentant. “No, I can’t see Viltred having anything to contribute at all; he was a guttered candle before he went off to the arse end of Caladhria and I don’t suppose a handful of years conversing with peasants will have restored him much. Still, he’ll have done more service than he knows if he can get that cursed archive for us. We must find a key to unlock these unholy dreams, to give us some means of controlling them, opening things up once that initial sympathy with the artifact has been established. Has Otrick located any other shrines to Arimelin that might predate the Chaos, or is this still the only one?”

“Sorry? What did you say?” Planir’s gaze had been fixed on the thick sheaf of parchments under Usara’s feet. “I tell you, ’Sar, there are times when I’m tempted to let Kalion loose, let him take all his petty wrangles and pompous plans to restore the authority of wizardry to the Council. I could just say, ‘All right, I yield. You take over as Archmage, Hearth-Master, until a proper vote can be convened and Misaen help you!’ ” The wizard stretched out a hand and studied the heavy golden ring of his office, the central diamond mysterious in the fading sunlight, catching and mingling the colors of the four gems set around it, sapphire, amber, ruby and emerald. “Air, earth, fire and water; we can do what we like with them, can’t we ’Sar? That’s what all the mundane populace think, anyway. I’m the Archmage, you know, most powerful man on an island of wizards with untold powers over the very elements of the world around us. It all counts for nothing, does it, not now we have to find a way to face powers we can’t even start to explain.”

“I’m sure the information will be out there, somewhere. Knowledge is rarely lost, just misplaced or misinterpreted.” Usara went to refill his glass, offering the decanter to Planir, who shook his head. Usara took his seat again before continuing. “Saedrin only send we find it before the Elietimm put their first pieces on the board and start the game in earnest. Oh, by the way, about Shannet—she and Troanna are at each other’s throats over who exactly offered that lad Corian a pupillage first. I’m not going to get any sense out of either of them until they settle it.”