The Warrior's Bond (Einarinn 4) Read Online Free PDF Page A

underlings coming to him with tales of a task half done either.
    Casuel cleared his throat. “Velindre arrived in Bremilayne on the same tide. It seems she’s eager to speak to D’Alsennin.”
    “Is she?” Planir’s tone was noncommittal, but even at this distance I could see his lean face was unsmiling.
    Casuel was nonplussed. “So what should I do? What should I say to her?”
    Giving her some credit for saving the stricken ship would be a good start, I thought silently.
    “You make the introductions she seeks.” Planir sounded faintly surprised that Casuel needed to ask. “And you make note of her questions, whom she asks them of and the replies she receives. Then you tell me.”
    Casuel preened himself visibly at the idea of being thus taken into the Archmage’s confidence. It looked more like a fool’s naivety being used against him to me as Planir’s mouth curved like the merciless smile of a shark.
    “Is she seeking some advancement?” persisted Casuel. “She always says mastery of her element is more important than rank within the halls or recognition by the Council.” His bemusement was plain; that someone might disdain the status that he so ineffectually craved.
    I heard Planir drum his fingers on the table in an uncharacteristic betrayal of tension. “I’ve heard her name mentioned as a possible candidate for Cloud-Mistress,” he said lightly. “I’d be interested if she were to say anything that suggests her own thoughts turn that way. Though you’re not to raise the subject yourself, Casuel, understand?”
    “But Otrick is Cloud-Master,” frowned Casuel.
    “Indeed,” Planir replied flatly. “And will remain so, whatever Troanna might say.”
    But that old wizard was locked in enchanted unconsciousness, laid low by aetheric malice along with so many others in the fight for Kellarin the summer before, souring the triumph I’d shared with Temar, the mercenaries backing him and the mages who’d paid them. Finding some means of restoring those unfortunates ranked high among the obligations prompting me to continued service to Messire D’Olbriot. Fortunately, as a leading Prince of the Empire, the Sieur was foremost among those backing the search for lore to counter Elietimm enchantments. That’s why I had spent the first half of the year shepherding Casuel round distant dusty libraries while my beloved Livak had taken herself clear across the Old Empire on a quest for knowledge held by the ancient races of wood and mountain.
    Planir’s next words diverted me from wondering how she might be faring. “Ryshad, good day to you.”
    I couldn’t prevent a faint start of surprise; I’d been thinking the spell wouldn’t reach to my distant seat. “Archmage.” I gave the amber-tinted reflection a nod but moved no closer.
    “I heard from Usara a few days ago,” Planir continued in friendly fashion. “Livak’s keeping well. They’re heading north to see what Mountain sagas might teach us all.”
    “Did they find anything of note in the Great Forest?” asked Casuel anxiously. He’d been voluble in his contempt for Livak’s theory that archaic traditions could hold unknown wisdom, so any success on her part would make him look a mighty fool. Armed with a book of old songs she insisted held hints of lost enchantments, Livak had set off determined to prove him wrong.
    “Nothing conclusive has come to light.” The Archmage raised his hand again and the glow in the mirror flared bright. “If there’s nothing else, I’ve much to attend to here, as you know.”
    “Give Usara my regards the next time you bespeak him.” The shimmering void closed in on itself, leaving no more than an after-image burned on the back of my eye. I blinked, not sure if Planir had heard me or not. Still, at least I knew Livak was in good health and I hugged that knowledge close. She was with Usara, and I reminded myself that it wasn’t magic I mistrusted, just certain mages. Usara was competent and honest