Free The Gambler's Fortune (Einarinn 3) by Juliet E. McKenna Page A

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.”
    “So you’re looking for someone closer to the old ways to translate them?” Sorgrad ran a pensive finger around the rim of his finely engraved goblet.
    “I am, and from every inquiry I’ve made that means going into the wildwood and up into the heights. There’s no one I’ve found between here and Toremal can be sure of all the words.” I’d learned enough to convince me these songs rang with Artifice, though.
    “Are you getting paid up front or on results?” demanded Sorgrad suddenly.
    “I got a handsome retainer before I set out,” I assured him, “and