“Raise mercenaries?” I could see Shiv was dubious even through the spell. “From where?”

“Bremilayne, Zyoutessela, wherever you know well enough on the ocean coast to magic yourselves to. There are always sailors hanging round docks who’ll sign on for a fight if you offer them enough coin,” I urged. “Then with you along, the whole job will be done and dusted a good deal quicker. The faster we can act, the fewer people will find themselves queuing for Poldrion’s ferry.”

“I’ll scry for myself and see what I think,” Shiv temporised.

I judged I’d pushed him far enough for the moment. “Tell Usara it’ll be a splendid way for him to impress Guinalle. Most suitors just turn up with a bunch of flowers or some ribbons.”

Pered laughed and I blew him a kiss. I liked Pered.

“I’ll bespeak Allin at sunset, our sunset.” Shiv still looked severe and broke the spell with a snap of his fingers.

I looked at Allin. “Let’s keep this to ourselves for the moment, shall we?”

Skewered like a rat to a fencepost,” Shiv said with distaste but his light touch on the wide earthenware dish that framed his scrying didn’t waver.

“I don’t think he’s dead.” Usara looked sick and gripped the fronts of his sombre brown gown.

The wizards were in Shiv’s neatly appointed kitchen, every pan on its hook above the wide hearth, plates and bowls racked by the window.

“It could take days.” Pered scrubbed a blunt-fingered hand through his dark blond curls. “You wanted a copper-bottomed excuse to go to Kellarin, didn’t you?” He swung a kettle above the glowing heart of the slow-burning fire and chose a spice jar from the colourful array on a shelf.

“Be careful what you wish for, you may just get it,” Shiv said without humour.

“He can’t forbid us now, surely?” Usara absently ran a finger over the grain in the table raised by years of scrubbing.

“Let’s ask.” Shiv abandoned his spell. He rolled down the sleeves of his leaf-green linen shirt and threaded silver links through the cuffs with deliberate precision.

“Don’t let Planir turn you into a toad,” Pered warned lightly as he emptied the ink-tainted water from the bowl into the stone sink.

Shiv paused, catching up a light cloak discarded on a chair. “ ’Sar will find a bucket to bring me home in if he does.”

Usara grinned and sketched a wave of farewell. He followed Shiv through the front room of the narrow house where an iron-studded door opened on to an unremarkable street. Outside, an identical terrace of grey stone houses faced Shiv’s, the cobbles between dotted with detritus brushed from the flagway by proud housewives.

A diligent youth hovered where the side street met the high road, offering his services as crossing sweeper. Shiv tossed the lad a copper but didn’t wait for him to wield his broom. He walked rapidly through booths and stalls set out along the centre of the wider road, oblivious to the blandishments of the traders.

Usara waved aside an urchin offering him a basket of fish. “How are we going to play this?” he demanded.

“By ear.” Shiv stepped around a barrow piled high with waxed ochre rounds of cheese. He didn’t slow his pace as they left the market behind and started up the shallow sweep of the hill where the halls that were the heart of Hadrumal loomed. Lesser dwellings lined their route, each storey jettied out an arm’s length further than the one below, homes and workshops for victuallers, cobblers, drapers and tailors and all the rest who supplied this sanctuary of wizardry with the mundane necessities of life.

“’Sar!”

The mage looked to see who had hailed him. “Planir, we were just on our way to see you.”

“I thought I’d run a few errands to get the archive dust out of my throat.” The Archmage tucked a couple of small paper-wrapped and well-sealed packages into a pocket of his jerkin, whose original rich purple was faded to a midnight indigo, bare patches rubbed in the velvet.

Shiv cocked his head to study Planir. “There’s news from Hadrumal.”

“Bad news,” Usara amplified.

Planir raised an eyebrow. “Let’s hear this somewhere a little less busy.”

He led the way to a narrow gate all but invisible in the dark shadows cast by the tall houses on either side. Planir touched the lock and it opened with a grating whisper. He ushered Shiv and Usara through before securing it with another brush of magic and a smile. “We don’t want children or animals poisoning themselves.”

Trees lined the walls that enclosed the garden divided into quarters and eighths by low walls and hedges. Every bed was patterned with herbs and flowers, some tall, some creeping, dull green and bright shoots mingled. On the far side of the physic garden a second gate gave access to a small orchard where bees bumbled among blossoms in the sunshine. Heady fragrances came and went on the fitful breeze, refreshing after the dry stone breath of the highroad.

“Let’s sit,” Planir suggested genially.

“Pirates have landed on Suthyfer, those islands in the mid ocean,” Shiv told him bluntly.

Usara glanced around but there was no one else among the orderly ranks of methodically labelled plants. “It’s more than one ship and a formidable count of men.”

Shiv gestured to the limpid pond at the heart of the garden. “Scry for yourself.”

Planir shook his head, walking slowly towards a stone bench set in an arbour of aromatic vines. “No, no, I trust you, both of you.”

“So what are you going to do about it?” Shiv demanded.

“They’ve already captured two ships bound for Kellarin.” Usara’s face was grim. “Made slaves of crew and passengers.”

“Those they haven’t already killed,” added Shiv. “The captain’s been nailed to his own mast.”

Planir winced, then frowned. “Why do that?” He took a seat.

“Naldeth and Parrail were on board the ship that was taken.” Usara perched on the edge of the bench.

“They’re alive for the moment.” Shiv stood shifting his weight from foot to foot. “But who knows for how long.”

“What are we going to do?” asked Usara urgently, looking from Shiv to Planir.

Planir plucked a sprig of camomile from a wooden trough. “Has Naldeth bespoken you?”

“No, but I don’t suppose he’s able to.” There was faint rebuke in Usara’s voice.

“So D’Alsennin’s sent word? By Allin’s good graces?” Planir savoured the faint apple scent of the bruised herb.

Shiv’s boots crunched on the gravel and he folded his arms. “Livak got Allin to send word.”

Planir pursed thoughtful lips. “So this is no formal request for Hadrumal’s aid. Do we know what D’Alsennin’s planning?”

“They’re talking about raising men and ships,” Usara said slowly.

“But you can see the complications there,” urged Shiv. “Mercenaries—”

“It’s a sensitive situation.” Planir nodded. “As is everything concerning Kellarin.” He tossed aside the camomile. “I appreciate the warning. As soon as D’Alsennin asks for my help, I’ll bespeak Cas. I’m not sure how much leeway the Emperor will allow us but we’ll do what we can, always assuming the Council doesn’t raise too many objections.”

Shiv and Usara stared at him, aghast.

“But Naldeth’s one of our own!” Usara sprang to his feet. “And Hadrumal’s name will be cursed in Vanam if Parrail dies.”

“The mentors know as well as anyone else that taking passage to Kellarin entails risk,” said Planir curtly.

“Storm and shipwreck, maybe.” Shiv looked belligerent at Usara’s shoulder. “Not being abandoned to pirates.”

“We can help resolve this with the least bloodshed,” urged Usara.

“Perhaps.” Planir looked up at the two infuriated wizards. “We can do so much, can’t we? Involve ourselves, brandishing the threat of raw wizardry and no mainland prince or powers could curb us, if we chose to ignore them.” He smiled. “But we’ve had this conversation before, more than once.”