The Sword Saint

by C. F. Iggulden

  Elias had not missed the significance of Tellius’ last words. Whatever part Elias had played in the death of the old king had not been brought into the light. Yet they clearly knew where he lived – and he could not say for certain that there was nothing in Darien that could not make him a prisoner once more.

  Tellius took a plum from the bush by the door as he watched Elias think, hoping he would make the right choice. The fruit was still unripe, hard and green in his hand. Perhaps there was nothing Elias feared, but that night four years before had been dark and savage. No one had ever come looking for the killers of the old king, though rumours still pointed in a dozen directions. Elias had to have dreaded the knock at the door, no matter how hard he was to bring down. Tellius suspected the man felt some guilt, no matter what he told himself …

  ‘No,’ Elias said firmly. The trembling stopped and he mastered himself. ‘Whatever they want, I am well out of it. You’ll understand when you’re older, Jen.’

  Tellius took the little unripe plum. He stepped away from the doorstep and threw it at the daughter standing in the road. Even then, he sensed Elias beginning to move and then halting, his mouth twisting into a grimace.

  Jenny Post caught the plum without looking, without taking her eyes off her father. Slowly, she turned her head and fastened Tellius with a gaze that made him shiver.

  ‘If we wanted to keep me hidden, you would have thrown your life away just then,’ she said.

  ‘Perhaps,’ Tellius replied, though he felt his old heart skipping beats as it raced. ‘But I had to know. If there is a war coming, I will need everyone who can stand and fight. Is your sister the same?’

  ‘I don’t think so. Not yet anyway,’ Jenny replied. ‘Though I’d speak to my father if I were you. He’s more than a little annoyed with you at the moment.’

  Elias stepped off the doorstep and walked forward, prodding Tellius in the chest. Micahel and Galen began to react but Tellius held up his palm.

  ‘I told you I wanted no part in your wild schemes,’ Elias said. ‘I owe nothing to Darien. Yes, that’s true!’ he snapped suddenly, responding to a point Tellius hadn’t been quick enough to make. He tried to guess what it might have been.

  ‘If you witnessed the death of an innocent man and did not stop it, no matter what General Justan Aeris had threatened, you are guilty of something, Elias Post. I know it and so do you. So pay your debt! And be pardoned for your old sins.’

  Elias looked at his daughter and shook his head.

  ‘I’ll go with you,’ Jenny Post said suddenly. ‘Yes, I will.’

  ‘No, love. For your mother’s sake, I can’t let you do that.’

  ‘You’ll need someone to keep you fed, won’t you?’

  ‘No. I won’t take you to war, Jen. I don’t want you to see … to have you become what I am. Please. If I go, I’ll need you to stay here and look after your sister. It’s not an adventure, love. It’s murder they want me for. It’s always murder.’

  Tellius felt a twinge of embarrassment at witnessing the man’s pain.

  ‘I’m sorry,’ he said to both of them.

  Without another word, Elias turned to face his front door and twisted savagely at the knob, opening it onto the gloom within. He went inside and Tellius looked to the girl watching him.

  ‘Shall we go in …?’ Tellius began.

  She spoke over him, amused at his nervousness.

  ‘Of course. He knows you will.’

  The ground floor of the home where Elias lived with his two daughters was a single room. Coal burned in a small black stove set into one wall. Tellius let the warmth relax him as he entered a space that was both crammed and comfortable. Spiderwebs had formed in all the corners and every surface was taken up with books, tools or, oddly, coloured stones – the sort of thing a loving father might bring home to his children, perhaps. Tellius looked around in something like surprise. Elias Post was a hunter, a good one, so it was said. Perhaps the little house was not so surprising for a man who had lost his wife and come home to raise two young girls on his own. It didn’t fit the image of the blood-covered maniac who had walked through gunfire in Darien, stepping aside untouched from bullets in the air. The conversation on the step had confirmed for Tellius that the red man had been able to look ahead. Some of the witnesses from that night had sworn it had to be some form of air magic, or moving solid things from a distance. The city had witnessed air magic only too recently, Tellius thought, remembering the four Returned souls who had come from Shiang two years before. Darien had survived true mages turned against her defences. Yet she remained: battered, scarred and magnificent. He had no wish to see another army test those walls, which was why he had chosen to play this particular card.

  Tellius accepted a cup of sweet brown tea and sipped at it. Micahel and Galen had come in with him, making the small room feel uncomfortably crowded. Galen seemed content to watch in silence as Elias and his daughter moved easily around, picking up cups and kettle and tea-strainer and water and even some thick brown sugar, brought down for guests from a high shelf. There was no sign of the other daughter, though Tellius found himself looking around at intervals, convinced he was being observed. He waited until the sensation prickled the back of his neck and then looked straight up, seeing an eye vanish from a crack in the floorboards above. He thought he heard a squeak of shock at being caught and smiled as he sipped his tea.

  ‘So, you are my guests,’ Elias said at last. He had laid out a dozen biscuits on a plate. Tellius watched as Galen selected one and munched it, checking for poison.

  ‘Thank you for making us welcome,’ Tellius replied. He chose not to mention how unwelcoming the man had been before. The presence of Elias’ daughters had a civilising effect, Tellius could see. The cold hardness when speaking to men alone had eased. It was probably true for many fathers, or at least less surprising than it seemed.

  ‘I have not agreed to anything,’ Elias reminded him sourly.

  Tellius nodded slowly.

  ‘For the past months, we’ve been negotiating a treaty with a kingdom to the north – Féal. They sent their prince and he was just about ruthless enough to get what he wanted, though it was against my will and advice. Unfortunately, he was then attacked in Darien. He was blinded, stabbed and had most of one hand cut away. When I spoke to him, he thought it would mean war – and I believe him. Even if I did not, I had men watching his father’s legions. They began to move as soon as the news reached them.’

  ‘Were you behind the attack on him?’ Elias asked.

  Tellius shook his head without indignation. It had been an obvious question.

  ‘I would never have been so crude about it. No. One of three attackers was cut down on his way out. Another boasted about cutting up a prince of Féal as he drank in a bar that night. He was not found and the third just vanished.’

  Tellius trailed off for a moment. When he listed the fates of the three men together, a suspicion grew in him. No one had claimed the man found dead on the way out of the gambling house. Nor had any of the gambling-house guards claimed to have put him down. Tellius put it aside for later thought.

  ‘If the army is on the way to attack Darien, I can marshal our resources. We will be a hard nut to crack for any small king coming our way.’

  ‘Then why do you need me? Ah, of course,’ Elias said.

  His daughter looked from one to the other and Tellius understood she had not been using whatever her knack was. It did not operate all the time, but only with an act of will. That, too, he tucked away to be examined at a quieter time. He did not enjoy the sense of helplessness he felt around Elias. It was like tossing a razor blade from one hand to the other, never knowing when it would cut him. Tellius hid his dislike of the situation. It would surely be worth considering ways to control such a man.

  ‘Why do they need you, Father?’ Jenny Post asked softly.

  Elias inclined his head to Tellius.

  ‘To kill that king, dear,’ Tellius said. ‘If everythin
g I’ve heard is true, your father can get into an armed camp and reach the man in command. It is my hope that we can then sue for peace. Without a personal reason to assault Darien lands, perhaps they can be persuaded to return home.’

  ‘And if they keep coming, you will have had me cut the head off the snake,’ Elias grated.

  ‘Yes. I’m sorry,’ Tellius said. ‘Though you are uniquely suited for this.’

  ‘I’m a hunter, meneer. I sit on the village council. I live comfortably enough here. I don’t need your grand schemes.’

  ‘I understand that. Your village may not lie in the path of the Féal king, but others do, to the north of the city. We can evacuate some in time, but they don’t want to see fire and … murder any more than you do.’

  Tellius glanced at the girl as he spoke, choosing how much of the horror of war to repeat in front of her. Not that he needed to remind her father. He could see that much in the stove glow reflecting in his eyes.

  ‘You don’t know yet if they will even come, do you?’ the girl asked.

  Tellius shook his head.

  ‘They broke camp and moved as soon as they heard. Believe me when I say I want to be mistaken, but I must gather what forces I can before they do. Your father is a spearpoint, whether he likes it or not. I would be a fool to leave him in the traps when one hard strike might end it all.’

  ‘You’d have me go in alone?’ Elias murmured.

  ‘No! I will go with you,’ his daughter said immediately.

  ‘You will not,’ Elias said, cutting the air with his hand. ‘You have no idea what it is to take a man’s life, to be spattered with warm blood and see their agony and fear when they can no longer defend themselves. No, Jenny. Don’t ask me for this.’

  She clenched her jaw as she looked away, Tellius noted. The girl was more like her father than either of them seemed to know.

  ‘So, Speaker Tellius,’ Elias said, turning back. ‘You’d send me alone against a camp I have never seen, facing what magical defences I cannot possibly know. To save a city I do not love. Is that your offer to me?’

  ‘No,’ Elias said. ‘You are not my only spear, Elias Post. You would not be alone.’

  Elias thought for a moment. He looked at his daughter and the girl nodded to him, accepting. Tellius looked from one to the other, understanding that some decision had been made.

  ‘All right. Tell me who you have,’ Elias said.

  14

  Killer

  Lady Win Sallet pushed the shop door and listened to the chiming bell it disturbed. She wore a dress of dark green over white, complete with wide-brimmed hat and long green gloves that reached to her elbows. A Sallet coach waited outside, resplendent in green and black, with footmen in her house livery, staring silently ahead. The road wound through one of those parts of the city less used to the comings and goings of the Twelve Families. A crowd of gawkers and tradesmen had already begun to gather. It was one reason Win Sallet did not bring her Greens with her when she moved around the city. It was not only that they were most feared when no one knew how they worked, when sightings had the quality of ancient legends. It would also have created a crowd of the curious so deep they would have blocked the road and interrupted the humming trade of that district for the rest of the day. She could hardly describe her presence as discreet, given the family crests on either side of her coach and the dominant colour. Yet it was as quiet as she could manage.

  The shop she entered was empty of customers and full of just about everything else. Whatever the original window display had been, a thousand other pieces had been packed into every slot and tiny opening. Further back, the same impression was only emphasised. On each side, right to the tall ceilings, objects had been shoved in wherever there was space. It was oddly fascinating, Lady Sallet realised. Wherever her gaze landed was something completely different – brass toys on one spot, a writing desk on another, beautifully figured in green copper. A basket of walking sticks sat askew on a crate of old planes and chisels, all resting against what looked like ornate stained-glass windows, removed from some house that had been demolished. Win Sallet wondered if she should send one of her staff to look through the collection. There would surely be treasures there. She had noticed no sign of anything magical, however. There were other shops and indeed an entire street for that sort of thing. Lady Sallet imagined the owners of those establishments would not take too kindly to a competitor. It would have been safer for the owner to sell items of strictly non-magical interest and beauty.

  The ringing bell had not gone unnoticed, of course. Lady Sallet only wondered that the owner had so few customers that she could leave the place untended. Yet footsteps sounded, wending their way down from above, with each step creaking. Lady Sallet adjusted the angle of her hat and stood before the glass counter-top, waiting for the young woman who owned ‘Beautiful Things’.

  When the owner appeared, she was looking into an accounts book, held open in her hands. She was in her twenties, with her hair tied back and bound. She wore a neat dress that ended below the level of the desk, over a white blouse. A pencil protruded from over one ear.

  Lady Sallet could see red ink in large quantities before the book closed with a snap and the younger woman looked up and smiled.

  The smile froze and vanished as quickly as it had come. To Lady Sallet’s horror, the young woman let the book fall. Her right hand began to rise.

  ‘Nancy, please! I have not come here to hurt you.’

  The woman stiffened and blushed at her own name. She could see no threat. Apart from Lady Sallet, the shop was empty. In confusion, Nancy came round the counter to retrieve her accounts book. Lady Sallet saw flashes of red on every page.

  ‘Is the business not going well?’ she asked.

  Nancy did not respond. She put the book down on the glass, over a tray of old rings and gold-coloured chains, then looked past Lady Sallet to the street outside.

  ‘How did you find me? How did you even know I was here?’ Nancy demanded. ‘I haven’t used my name. I haven’t borrowed money. This place isn’t anywhere near my old haunts, even!’

  ‘You’re a city girl, Nancy,’ Lady Sallet replied. ‘You told me that yourself. Where else would you go? Anyway, I always hoped you’d come home. I admit I hoped as well that you’d come and see me when you did.’

  It had been one of Tellius’ people who had spotted the young woman who had caused so much havoc on the night the Aeris legion attacked the city. Nancy had been terrifying then, Win Sallet remembered only too clearly. For years, the girl had believed magic to be a fraud, no more than a cruel trick. The truth had revealed itself when she’d soaked in so much of it she’d almost burned the city down. Her knack was that she could draw it in, like a sponge. On its own, that would have been enough to make her immensely valuable to the Twelve Families. Yet Nancy’s control of magic was similar to liquid. She could drink herself almost to bursting, ruining any artefact or great spell around her – then spit it back in lines of fire. In all the histories Lady Sallet had read, there had been very few with abilities as powerful as the young woman watching her with suspicion. Or none at all. If Tellius was right, they no longer had the luxury of remaining hands-off on Nancy, while she tried to run a small shop in a rough area.

  ‘I didn’t owe you anything,’ Nancy said, though she looked away as she spoke. ‘I’d lost my … friend that night. I’d been forced to do some horrible things.’

  The young woman shuddered and Lady Sallet wondered if she was remembering the attempt to save one of the Sallet Greens. The sound and smell of a man scorching to death inside had been obscene, a memory that had hardly begun to fade.

  ‘I trusted you enough to lend you my family stone, Nancy. Do you understand what it meant to me? Do you remember that?’

  ‘Of course I remember it! But that was another life – and I’ve left it behind. I have my shop now, bought with gold I earned myself.’

  Lady Sallet chose not to mention the debtors already clamouring to for
ce that shop into bankruptcy. Whatever Nancy was, she had no flair for running a business. The location was wrong and the stock was wrong for the location. The young woman paid too much for things that wouldn’t sell and there had been at least two assistants who’d robbed the place blind. Nancy would have been better off opening a butcher’s shop, which that part of the city actually needed. Lady Sallet kept that last thought to herself, however. She’d done her research before making this approach. Looking at the way Nancy raised her chin, ready to reject anything she would say, Lady Sallet decided to push her a little. The fact that Nancy had more offensive capability than any other living being in Darien was a concern she had to ignore. Even her Sallet Greens were useless against one who could draw their magic from them in a touch. Lady Sallet wondered how much was left in the young woman watching her with dark and worried eyes, flecked with gold.

  ‘This shop is … what, a month from going up for sale?’ Lady Sallet said, looking around. ‘No customers today? But there are still the taxes to the council. No rent, of course, not for one who owns it outright. But I imagine the purchase of a house and a business on this street took a great deal of your windfall, is that right? I wonder how much you have left before the bailiffs come banging on the door? The council will force a sale for unpaid taxes, as I’m sure you are well aware.’

  ‘What do you want?’ Nancy said.

  She had paled to hear her financial position discussed with such cold calculation. Not least for the suspicion that Lady Sallet knew about the gold mask she had brought back to the city and melted into fine, albeit counterfeit, coins. Nancy also knew better than Win Sallet how accurate a picture of her finances it was. There was one single gold coin and three silvers in a sock upstairs – with all of her stock not worth five times that. Yet the taxes were due at the end of the month. The thought made her eyes narrow.