Get every piece exactly where you want it before making your crucial move.” I moved my apple thrush across Temar’s expensive game board to force Allin’s white raven away from the safety of the little marble trees. An agate screech owl blocked the sanctuary of a thicket figurine and hooded crows lay in wait beyond. We were playing at the table in D’Alsennin’s residence. Everyone else was busy about preparations for the expedition Temar was insisting on. Ryshad and Halice had grudgingly agreed, since neither could get their own way.

Allin sighed. “Naldeth was so nice to me when I first went to Hadrumal, him and his brother. Do you think I should bespeak Gedart?”

I leaned back in my chair. “I’m sure ’Sar will give him the news.” He might have done but that wasn’t my concern. I didn’t want Allin exhausting herself, not when she was our only wizardly resource. I’d seen Shiv and Usara leave themselves virtually senseless by too much elemental exertion and the lass had spent most of yesterday scrying to help Vaspret draw up a detailed map of Suthyfer. Halice had been almost unbearably smug when Allin had found a fourth pirate ship, even if it was only a gaff-rigged single master.

Allin studied the game board without any sign she saw the opening I’d left her. “Seeing that man beaten…” She shuddered.

“Half naked and someone’s prisoner is no fun,” I agreed. I knew that for cold, hard fact. “But they’re fed and the weather can only get warmer. And Saedrin grant it won’t be for too much longer.”

Allin nodded but was still looking wretched when Guinalle opened the door from the tiled lane. “Where’s Halice?”

“Talking to the copper miners.” I nodded in the direction of the reception hall. “With Temar and Rysh. They shouldn’t be too much longer.” They were debating how many men to bring down from Edisgesset without leaving the mines at risk of some revolt by the Elietimm captives there.

“Has Halice got all her mercenaries together?” Guinalle demanded.

I nodded. “Me and Halice have been convincing Deglain and all his pals that whatever crafts they’ve been polishing up, they’re still under her command.” Over the course of a few long evenings in the taproom. Ryshad had been in bed by the time I got back last night and gone before I’d woken this morning.

“I had Peyt come tell me his men reckon their hire ends at the shores of Kellarin.” Guinalle’s mouth pinched with disapproval. “He says he’s not going to Suthyfer.”

“Halice will convince him he’s mistaken,” I assured her. Halice would relish a chance to beat the error of his ways into the oily rabble-rouser.

“Wait with us.” Allin offered Guinalle the platter of sweet-cakes Bridele had given us.

Guinalle took one grudgingly. “I hope Temar’s not insisting on taking all but the halt and the lame. Driving out these pirates will do no good if Kellarin withers on the vine while he fights.”

“Did you contact the Diadem?” asked Allin with sudden urgency.

Guinalle nodded. “Master Heled was none too pleased but Emelan is confident he can guide the ship well out of reach of danger. What about the Rushily?”

Allin took a cake and nibbled it. “Braull will let the current take them south and then cut back towards Hafreinsaur.”

“A long voyage,” I commented.

“Long but safer.” Allin shrugged. “And with Braull on board, they’ll not lack fresh water.”

“An advantage ships carrying mages have over those with Artificers,” acknowledged Guinalle ruefully. Still, discussing magic seemed to improve her mood.

“Have you had any success contacting Parrail as yet?” I asked casually.

“No.” Guinalle smoothed already immaculate braids. “I thought I might be able to reach his dreams last night but the link slipped away.” She adjusted the chatelaine at her waist. “He was barely sleeping deeply enough to dream.”

“That’s hardly surprising,” I remarked.

“And no reflection on your skills,” offered Allin earnestly.

“Perhaps.” Guinalle smiled tightly. “The distance over the water is the biggest problem, that and all the anguish disrupting the aether.”

“How so?” frowned Allin. She was always interested in learning more of the workings of Artifice, intrigued by the notion that Guinalle somehow drew on the collective, unknowing will and belief of other people.

“It may be easier once Master Gede dies.” I was surprised to see the normally imperturbable Guinalle shamefaced. “His pain is truly dreadful and disordering the aether. The distress of all his people at his suffering overlays their thoughts.”

“It must be like trying to work cloud magic in the middle of a rainstorm.” Allin nodded with an understanding quite beyond me.

Guinalle glanced in my direction. “Imagine trying to hold a tune when someone is screaming in your ear.”

Tears welled in Allin’s dark eyes. “Gede was still alive this morning when I scried.”

“The central thought in his mind is protecting Naldeth,” said Guinalle sadly.

I thought about what Halice had told me over a private glass of white brandy the night before. Inside information was essential for an assault with comparatively few men attacking such a defensible position. Any mage bespeaking Naldeth would betray him with their magic, which left speaking to Parrail across the aether our only hope. I looked at the little white raven figurine, choosing my next words carefully. “Could either of you release Master Gede to Poldrion’s care?” I wasn’t seeing those I loved going into any danger I could lessen, not if there was anything I could do about it.

“There’s nothing I can do.” Allin was shocked, as a nicely reared daughter of a rural Lescari household that still observed traditional pieties.

Guinalle looked at me and I met her gaze steadily. She held to ancient faiths long since consigned to myth and ballad but her training in the Artifice of healing meant she’d worked with the sick and dying often enough. “He’ll be dead in a day or so.”

“Does Ostrin demand that death be pointless anguish?” I’d seen mercenary surgeons routinely invoke the god of healing and hospitality as they gave some hopeless case a final drink of something to ensure Saedrin wasn’t kept jangling impatient keys.

Something in Guinalle’s eyes that told me she’d done the same. “If I were actually there, perhaps I could offer him some ease.”

I looked at the game board and imagined I was playing the raven instead of Allin. Challenging an opponent to swap sides is always a good trick in a taproom, as long as he’ll wager against you winning from the hopeless position you’ve forced him into. It’s lined my pockets a good few times and, more importantly, it teaches you there are always more options than are first apparent. “Guinalle, have you ever tried working Artifice on someone you can see through a scrying?”

The demoiselle shook her head. “Usara has suggested it but I’ve never tried.”

Allin looked uncertain. “Artifice and elemental magic so often preclude each other—”

“You might save Master Gede some pain,” I suggested.

“Which might clear the aether sufficiently for me to reach Parrail.” Guinalle looked narrowly at me and I wondered if she was using Artifice to read my thoughts. “Very well. Allin, would you scry for me?”

Allin looked uncertain but was too used to being told what to do to demur. I still intended stiffening her backbone but for the moment was glad the mage-lass remained so pliable. “Of course, Demoiselle.” She moved to the far end of the table where water, bowl, inks and oils were now a permanent fixture. It didn’t take her long to summon an image of Master Gede, ashen faced, head lolling and mouth gasping, either for air or from thirst. His eyes were open but vague and drowsy. Black blood spread from his pinioned hands down the wood of the mast. Fresher flows welled when fatigue or cramp forced involuntary movement to add to his agonies.