“He keeps so much learning to himself.” Guinalle looked thoughtful as she read the blank, sleeping faces. “He has no one stronger to send.”

“Why doesn’t this big man come himself?” ’Gren’s eyes lit with his unvarying readiness for a fight.

“It’s not in his nature.” As Temar spoke, we saw Ilkehan in the study I’d at least managed to loot of maps and sundry other records before we’d escaped the Ice Islands. Pen in hand, he was making notes on some chart. This bastard was a schemer, a conniver of other men’s deaths who seldom got blood on his own hands. I didn’t need magic to tell me that.

“Other concerns keep him close to home.” Guinalle’s words threw the image into confusion so abruptly we were all startled.

This slaughter had none of the riot of battle we’d known today but the shadowy Elietimm lay surely dead. Two armies were meeting on a barren pewter shore, broken rocks behind them strewn over a scant stretch of faded grass, stark heights behind still topped with winter’s stubborn snows. Warriors’ boots churned up the shallow grey-green sea as they hacked each other to pieces. We couldn’t feel the cold spray or the cutting wind, the treacherous sand beneath our feet but turbulent emotions roiled around us. Panic lest his own entrails be ripped out spurred one man on to gut another. Rage burned a youth so fiercely that anyone within sword reach was mere blood for spilling to quench his anger.

Ilkehan’s men were clad in the black leather we’d come to know and loathe while their opponents wore a dull brown.

“Is this real or imagined?” Temar studied the aetheric vision.

“Hard to say,” Guinalle murmured. “That’s Moin, though.”

We saw him on an arid turf bank. Liveried like a soldier, gorget bright at his collar, he raised a hand and brown-clad figures began dropping like medlars from a frosted tree, gashes in their faces and chests showing red like the flesh of burst fruit, the only splash of colour in the pallid landscape. Moin’s livery sprouted new adornments and his gorget blurred from silver to gold. We saw Eresken again, at Ilkehan’s shoulder, then his face blurred and became Moin’s.

“Our boy’s looking for promotion,” commented ’Gren.

“So he’s the one to watch?” I felt Temar promise himself the man’s early death.

Guinalle shook her head slowly. “He’s just the one whose thoughts are closest to his skin.”

I noticed the woman Yalda tossing and turning in her distant sleep. “What happens if they wake up?” As I asked, I felt alarm from Pered and perverse anticipation from ’Gren. In a nauseating instant, I learned how Eresken had come to grief. It seemed getting out of ’Gren’s head was nowhere near as easy as getting in. The Mountain Man was eager to try driving another intrusive enchanter into insanity and death using only the untrammelled force of a mind blithely untroubled by conscience.

Guinalle spared ’Gren a faintly repelled look before focusing her attention once more on the sleeping Elietimm. “I just want to see what they know of this pirate.”

She coaxed memories from their dreams like a musician drawing music from a lyre. We saw a broad haven sheltered by a mighty headland offering sanctuary from the savage rocks and seas of Toremal’s ocean coast. A town sprawled behind the tufted dunes and rowboats ferried men and goods between the shore and ships swaying at anchor.

“Kalaven.” Pered was surprised. “We stopped there before setting course for Suthyfer.”

“Sorgrad found some good crewmen there,” ’Gren observed.

“So did Muredarch.” Guinalle encouraged Yalda’s recollection of a startlingly tall man with wiry black hair and a savage cast to an otherwise handsome face, if you made allowance for the ragged beard and the crow’s-feet of age and disillusion framing his eyes. He’d been down on his luck back then, breeches dirty, shirt stained and boots inadequately patched. He was talking to Darige.

“So much for Emperor Tadriol smoking every Elietimm spy out of his thatch.” I’d always had my doubts about that, hearing Ryshad tell of frustrating pursuits of rumour and suspicion as his prince set him hunting the thieves who’d cut down a younger son of the House for an heirloom ring. He’d only learned later it was a Kellarin artefact when his path crossed mine and Darni’s and Shiv’s.

“Guinalle,” Temar warned.

“Very well.” Her lips narrowed with frustration before she soothed the air to emptiness with a lilting incantation. The sleeping faces vanished and I was abruptly aware of crippling stiffness in my neck and shoulders and the promise of a truly spectacular headache.

“I need some fresh air.” Pered got unsteadily to his feet and Ryshad promptly opened the door.

“I’ll settle for a drink.” Even ’Gren was looking unsure of himself and that was as rare as a moonless night.

Resting my forehead on my upturned palms, I felt Ryshad’s strong fingers rubbing my shoulders. “So what did you see?”

Ryshad took a moment to answer. “Colours, shapes, nothing I could make sense of. ’Sar couldn’t even see that much.”

“Another instance where Artifice and elemental magic don’t mix?” I rubbed my temples with cautious fingertips and squinted up at Ryshad. “What now?”

“Sar’s gone to get the others. Are you all right?” His grimness promised trouble for someone if I wasn’t.

I nodded carefully. “I will be.” Kneeling, he gathered me to him. I laid my head on his shoulder and thought very seriously about going to sleep and leaving everything to the rest of them, at least until the morning.

“Where’s Allin?”

I opened my eyes to see Temar scrubbing his face with the heels of his hands.

“With the rest of the mageborn. They were going to discuss just what wizardry they might venture without risking Elietimm attack.” Ryshad stood and lifted me to my feet before sitting on the stool himself. I sat on his lap, arms loose around his shoulders.

“Usara was saying Aritane’s helped him devise certain defences over the winter.” Guinalle’s voice was weary.

We sat in silence for a short time until Halice kicked open the door to wrestle a cumbersome basket of bottles inside. “If you’re done, let’s hear what you know and make a plan.”

We all winced at the crash and clink of glass apart from ’Gren who perked up immediately. “Always best done with a drink in your hand.” He helped himself to a fat-bellied bottle studded with a blobby wax seal.

Halice handed out a motley selection of wines. “So what did you learn?”

By the time Temar had explained, to no one’s great surprise, that our old enemy was the driving force behind the pirates, the wizards had arrived. Shiv had an arm around Pered, eyes searching for the least hint that Artifice had hurt his beloved. Usara went to press some wine on the largely silent Guinalle with detached courtesy. He had even managed to find a gold-trimmed silver goblet from somewhere.

“Can we get Naldeth out of there?” asked Allin. She’d been preoccupied with the mage’s fate ever since we’d had to leave him behind.

“He’s one of ours, is he?” Sorgrad had helped ’Gren shift the table to the side of the room and the brothers sat on it, swinging their feet idly. He downed a hefty swallow of white brandy.

“Guinalle?” Temar passed Allin his pale green bottle of Caladhrian white and she took a hesitant sip.

“I don’t think we dare try reach him.” The demoiselle sighed with eloquent frustration before looking round at all the mageborn. “You had better limit your magic to things within reach, things you can see. The Elietimm shouldn’t be able to attack you unless you’re seeking something beyond your immediate senses.”

“So we can still blow pirates out of the water with fire and lightning?” Sorgrad winked at Larissa who was standing a little apart from Shiv and Pered, silent and watchful. She smiled shyly back at him.

“Which will be useful,” observed Ryshad drily as he took red wine offered by Halice.