“I don’t know about any of that, the gold and the gems, I mean,” I said hastily, “but do you remember those islands out in the eastern ocean, the ones where I was taken when I was forced into thieving for that wizard?”

Sorgrad nodded warily and I strove to keep my voice level, ignoring memories of that ordeal. “Don’t forget how much coin I brought back from that trip, Sorgrad. Say what you like about wizards, they certainly pay well.” If you come back alive, I added silently to myself. “It was these Ice Islanders—well, their forefathers—who stamped the original settlers into the mud. The ones that managed to escape hid themselves in a cave, wrapped themselves up in enchantments and the Archmage sent an expedition to find them last summer. That’s what Halice and me got ourselves mixed up in. These people had magic, ’Grad, old magic, not the flash tricks of the Archmage and his like, but lost enchantments that put them to sleep and kept them safe while all these generations passed. Truthfully, I saw it with my own eyes, saw them roused.”

I paused, expecting a scornful response from Sorgrad, but he was looking thoughtful. “So the Archmage woke these people up and now they’ve got their colony back? It still sounds like some bad masquerade. Why are you still bothering with any of this?” he demanded with uncharacteristic sharpness. “You used to keep as far away from magic as you could, same as the rest of us, and from what Halice says these Elietimm have enchantments to turn your hair white! You said yourself you’ve no real idea how it was you managed to withstand them. I know you were blackmailed into that first job for the Archmage, there was no helping that, and as for last year, I suppose you owed Planir something for saving your skin, but I don’t understand why you’re putting your neck in a noose of your own free will again! Is it something to do with this Tormalin swordsman of yours? Charoleia was telling us you’ve been letting him pick your pocket willingly enough.”

“That tongue’s too long for your teeth, Sorgrad,” I warned him. There are times when the efficiency of Charoleia’s network can be less than welcome and I wondered what else Halice had put in her letter. “I’m working for a Tormalin prince now, not the wizards. Yes, the Elietimm scared the shit out of me and I still wake up sweating at the memory and that’s one reason why I’m heading as far away from the ocean coast as I can. Hear me out. The way Messire sees it, it’s clear these Ice Islanders have had enough of their freezing rocks and are looking for somewhere warm and dry for a change. Planir threw them out of the colony and we found their footprints in Dalasor and Northern Tormalin the year before last—”

“I’ve heard no word of any such threat,” interrupted Sorgrad skeptically.

“That’s because Planir and Messire have put their heads together and decided to keep it all quiet until they’ve got some plan in place.” Ryshad and I had argued ourselves breathless over that one, advocating instead the circulation of detailed descriptions of the Elietimm in their distinctive liveries, so that they’d stand out like the stones on a stag hound if they ever tried to make landfall again. I still thought our so-called leaders were wrong. “Sometime soon, the Emperor and his cronies will be facing organized soldiery backed by enchanters who can pull the wits out through someone’s nose from half a league away,” I continued. “My master knows he’ll need magic to fight back.”

“So what does this prince want you to do?” Sorgrad was still looking as darkly hostile as someone with such a fair complexion could hope to. “Who is he, anyway?”

“Messire D’Olbriot. You’ve heard of him, surely?” It was a gold Crown certainty that Sorgrad would have heard of arguably the most important noble House of the Tormalin Empire.

He nodded. “Word is he’s virtually running the court, what with Emperor Tadriol still being so green. What are you doing for him?”

I held Sorgrad’s gaze with my own. “Messire D’Olbriot wants to understand this old magic, ideally before anyone else thinks to start looking, to know what he might be up against. It gets better. The Archmage wants to learn all about this old magic as well. Artifice, that’s what they’re calling it now, or aetheric magic, take your pick. The point is, the wizards of Hadrumal can’t use this old magic, don’t ask me why. That’s got Planir worried, so he’s doing everything he can to find out what he might be facing.”

“So your patron, if he has the information the Archmage is so keen on finding, he can trade it for some mages to start throwing fire and lightning at any Ice Islander who wants to come ashore without paying his harbor dues?” Sorgrad was still looking thoughtful but less hostile. “That makes sense.”

“I knew you’d see it,” I grinned. Messire D’Olbriot hadn’t, not until I put it to him, for all his years of shuffling the pieces around the games of Tormalin politics. The whole notion of getting involved with mages and wizardry was still about as welcome in Toremal as dancing with a pox-rotted whore. “As I say, this is a job that could pay very well indeed. We might even be able to play both ends against the middle and double our winnings.”

“So how do you get to be drawing a rune in the game?” Sorgrad asked.

I could see curiosity beginning to get the better of him and breathed a little easier. “The word is Artifice came from the ancient races originally; the Plains People, the Mountain Men, the Forest Folk. That’s where the Old Tormalins got it from.”

“Along with their lands, their wealth and their stock,” grunted Sorgrad.

I pressed on. “Tormalin scholars and Planir’s wizards have been rummaging through archives and libraries for the last half-year or more, looking for clues. I’ve done a little looking around myself and come up with something interesting”—once the scholars had recovered from their astonishment that a commoner like me might actually be able to read more than a laundry list and let me in to fossick through their dusty tomes. “I found a song book, going back to before the fall of the Empire, lots of old songs from all the ancient races, full of hints of aetheric magic.”

“This is interesting?” Sorgrad’s tone suggested it was anything but.

“I think so, and if we can get all the songs translated from the original, I think Planir and D’Olbriot will agree, especially if the songs actually hold some of the incantations to work the magic.”

“How likely is that?” frowned Sorgrad.

“Not so long odds as you might think,” I assured him. “I’ve seen this aetheric magic worked and I’ll wager any coin minted that there are Forest rhythms in their enchantments. I’m a minstrel’s daughter, Sorgrad, you know you can trust my ear.”

“So why aren’t the wizards looking into this for themselves?” Sorgrad demanded.

“The particular wizard Planir has coordinating the scholars is a small-minded cloak carrier called Casuel,” I explained tartly. “His plans and method are carved in stone and he wasn’t about to listen to my theories, especially when he couldn’t carry a tune if it was knocked down and tied up!”

“And you didn’t just pull a case of books down on his head to get him out of your way?” grinned Sorgrad.

“Don’t think I wasn’t tempted!” I took a sip of wine. “No, I just went around him. There’s a favorite nephew of the House who owes Ryshad a measure of respect, Esquire Camarl. I persuaded him this book was worth investigating and he suggested to Messire D’Olbriot that they pay me to go and get the songs translated.”

“And you’ve had to come all this way to find someone to do the work? I take it that’s what you want me for?” Sorgrad didn’t sound impressed. “I appreciate you wanting to share a fee with your friends, Livak, but there must have been someone closer to hand!”

“Actually, no.” I shrugged. “The scholars could manage the Old High Tormalin but they don’t trouble themselves with what they call lost languages. We found a few nobles who’d spent time up in Gidesta, but Mountain speech sufficient for ordering wine, bed and a whore in the mining camps wasn’t much use with archaic sagas.”