Darkening Skies (The Hadrumal Crisis) by Juliet E. McKenna Page A

cheeks, burnished by a stray shaft of light from the window at other end of the room.
    ‘It is,’ Planir confirmed.
    Movement at the far end of the room caught Jilseth’s eye. The doorway was now crowded with men and women, servants and villagers. She could make out the maid Raselle holding little Esnina up so the child could see.
    How many of these Halferan folk had just seen the Archmage’s magic? What would they make of that, and whatever else would local rumour make of his visit here today? What did Planir intend them to make of it? He was after all, a skilled player of games such as white raven.
    ‘My thanks, Lady Zurenne,’ Planir bowed low, ‘for allowing me to do you this service.’
    Zurenne could only nod and reply with a curtsey. Jilseth could see she was far too close to tears to risk words.
    ‘We will leave you to your devotions.’
    Planir bowed a second time and Jilseth expected him to take her hand to translocate immediately back to Hadrumal.
    Instead the Archmage stepped down from the dais and walked serenely down the length of the great hall. Jilseth was quietly amused at how fast the throng managed to melt away given the clutter choking the entrance hall.
    The first whispers of awe-struck speculation were beginning among those now pressed back down the corridor to the kitchens as she and Planir left through the front porch, both doors hastily opened by the steward.
    ‘Master Rauffe,’ Planir acknowledged him politely.
    ‘Good day to you,’ Jilseth made sure to greet the lean man too, ‘and thank you.’
    Not merely for opening the door. She owed him a lifetime’s gratitude for his skilled handling of their carriage and its team of panicked horses in that nightmare retreat from Halferan Manor’s destruction.
    A hand plucked at her elbow before she could follow Planir out onto the threadbare grass.
    ‘My lady.’ Doratine the cook was proffering a napkin full of glazed ochre sweetmeats. ‘Eryngo toffee, my lady. Merely a token of my thanks. Eryngo’s a restorative.’ Doratine peered closer, all solicitude. ‘Are you quite recovered, my dear—that’s to say, my lady mage? From your swoon?’
    A swoon. Of course. That’s what these Caladhrians would think had laid her low. Mage or not, she was a woman and thus subject, in their eyes, to vapours and hysterics at the slightest provocation.
    Jilseth managed something approaching a smile. ‘Thank you.’
    There was no doubting the cook’s sincerity and it was hardly the Caladhrian woman’s fault that she knew so little of wizardry. Or that it would take far more than some sweetmeats to restore a mage in her predicament.
    ‘You must excuse me.’ Jilseth hurried after Planir.
    He was waiting beyond the carriage sweep. ‘What have you got there?’ He peered curiously into the napkin.
    ‘Eryngo toffee apparently.’ Jilseth wrapped the linen tight as Planir laughed out loud. ‘What’s so amusing?’
    She had intended to ask something quite different. Why was the Archmage proposing to send Merenel to teach Lady Ilysh how to play white raven? What did he think the Tormalin magewoman might learn here? Or was she simply to be his spy? Before Jilseth could decide what to ask, that same pale haze swept them away.
    The translocation spell didn’t stop the questions going through Jilseth’s head. Did Planir truly think that was the best use of Merenel’s considerable talents? Surely every mage of Hadrumal should be focusing all their attention on finding some magic to defeat the Mandarkin’s infuriating veiling magic.
    Who knew what he might be getting up to, while they couldn’t see him?

 
    C HAPTER S EVEN
     
    Black Turtle Isle
    In the domain of Nahik Jarir
     
     
    ‘T HIS IS ALL very strange,’ Anksal pronounced.
    ‘Yes, it is,’ Hosh agreed, ‘but they believe in this heavenly compass absolutely, and in its earthly counterpart.’
    Anskal walked around the beaten earth circle with the twelve stones equally spaced around the