The Warrior's Bond (Einarinn 4) by Juliet E. McKenna

notes. He clicked his tongue with annoyance. “The likelihood of you meeting any scion of Den Cascadet is so remote as to be laughable.”
    “Why?” Temar demanded.
    “They’re nobodies!” Casuel fumbled for a fuller answer as Temar stared at him unblinking. “They’ll spend Festival ringing the loudest bell in Moretayne, but hereabouts they’d make a very tinny rattle.”
    “They’re a provincial Name running cattle in the down-lands near Lequesine,” I volunteered.
    “Two artisans beholden to that Name lie insensible in Kel Ar’Ayen.” Temar’s lips narrowed. “The artefacts to revive them may have been passed back to the family. I must contact the Sieur or his designate.” He ran a charcoal-dusted finger down the taxation record. “I will not let those who entrusted their lives to my hands spend a day longer in that stifling enchantment than is absolutely needful.”
    “Saedrin make it so,” I said with feeling.
    “Do please take care.” Casuel gently rubbed at a grubby mark with a kerchief from his pocket. “That’s all very well, Esquire, but you’ll hardly have the leisure to call on every fifth-rank Name in the city, and no one will have time to spare searching through their archive to accommodate you. Every clerk is busy preparing for the assizes.” He gestured at a sombrely dressed man climbing a ladder to a high shelf stacked with deed boxes.
    Temar looked at me. “How much time do these assizes take up?”
    I grimaced. “Strictly speaking, cases raised at Solstice should be settled before the following Equinox or penalties are levied. Few Houses avoid such censure.”
    “It’ll be the turn of For-Autumn before anyone can spare attention for your requests,” said Casuel with some satisfaction.
    “That’s true enough, as far as the archives go, but I could make a start while you’re at this afternoon’s reception,” I said slowly. “If you tell me what you’re looking for and what Names might have the pieces, I could at least visit the Houses here in Toremal and see if anyone knows anything.” Even slight progress towards rescuing those unfortunates from the enchantment that had so nearly killed me would be a sight more productive use of my time than kicking my heels in some gatehouse with all the other sworn brought along to add to their liege’s consequence.
    “I hardly think you’ll be invited in to poke round any House you please, Ryshad,” protested Casuel. “Can we please concentrate on the matter in hand?”
    I ignored the mage as Temar wrote industriously on a fresh sheet of paper. “We are mostly looking for pieces of jewellery and small trinkets.”
    “And well-bred Demoiselles will let you make free with their jewellery caskets?” Casuel scoffed.
    “No,” I agreed, “but I can ask valets and ladies’ maids about heirloom pieces, can’t I?”
    “You’ll be the one risking a whipping.” Casuel took the paper from Temar and slapped it down in front of me. “Can we please concentrate on the taxation lists. We’ve precious little time as it is.”
    Temar and I exchanged a rueful glance and he bent over his notes once more. I tucked Temar’s list inside the breast of my jerkin and sorted through the letters the Esquire D’Olbriot had brought me. I recognised the writing on the first: my brother Mistal, one of those lawyers who earn their bread spinning out litigation between the Houses until the very eve of the following Festival. He wanted to meet for a drink, asking me to send the letter straight back telling him where and when tonight. I smiled briefly but wasn’t about to waste time on his raptures over some lady-love or whatever ripe scandal he’d unearthed. The next letter was creased and stained with sweat and dust, the direction simply to Ryshad Tathel, House of D’Olbriot, and written in an unpractised hand. I snapped the wax seal and slowly deciphered spidery writing that looked to have been written in treacle with a blunt piece of