“You lay one filthy hand on my sister and I’ll cut it off.” A treacherous break in Glane’s voice betrayed his youth. Young enough to be stupid enough to get himself killed, he pulled out his own workaday belt knife and levelled the inadequate blade. Peyt stepped back but only far enough to scoop up the longer, sharper dagger that Tavie had dropped.
“Tell you what, I’ll give you a turn on the spit, when I’ve beaten a bit of humility into you, see how you compare with your sister? How about I ram that oyster-sticker up your hairless arse when I’m done with it?” I knew Peyt’s taste didn’t run to boys but the threat disconcerted the lad, just as Peyt intended. He dropped into the crouch of the practised knife fighter. I could see Glane’s hand trembling, his back to me and our fence blocking any further retreat. The boy tried to edge away. Peyt darted forward and I made my move.
My bucket of water caught the mercenary full in the face. The chill and the shock left him gasping in momentary confusion, his startled yell harsh enough to startle everyone into stillness now the first rush of enthusiasm for bloodshed was passing.
“Glane!” I snapped with biting emphasis. “Put that knife away and get yourself home.”
A nicely brought up boy, the habit of obedience to an older female voice had him turning tail before recollection of his manly duty prompted him to go and hide behind Deglain instead.
Deprived of his target as he scraped sodden hair out of his eyes, Peyt turned an ugly scowl on me. “Livak! You pox-ridden bitch!”
“Good morning to you too.” I smiled at him. “I saw you hadn’t bathed yet, so I thought I’d save you the trouble of fetching your own water.”
He jabbed a menacing finger at me. “I’ll give you trouble, rag-mop.”
“You don’t want to do that,” I assured him, still smiling. The fence was high enough that Peyt would have to vault it to get at me and I’d be inside the house and bolting the door before he got a foot on the palings.
“Who’s going to stop me?” Peyt took a menacing step towards me. Everyone else abandoned their scuffles to watch this new entertainment. “Where’s your man? How about a torn smock from me to teach you your place is on your back and lifting your heels?”
“You lay a finger on her and I’ll make you eat your own stones,” snarled Deglain but Peyt’s cronies were a solid barrier between him and me.
I looked past Peyt and smiled. “Thanks all the same, Deg, but Peyt’s got to learn that size really doesn’t matter.”
Peyt’s glower turned into an unpleasant smirk, as aware as anyone else that he topped me by a head and more. “I think you’ll find it does, you draggle-arsed whore.”
I shook my head, taunting him with mock disappointment. “When are you going to learn, Peyt?”
He was within a stride of the fence now, face intent like a fox with a mouse in its sights. “Learn what?”
I took a pace back to keep him coming. “Which women are good for more than easing the ache in your breeches. We can take care of ourselves.”
“You’re backing yourself against me?” He barked a curt laugh. “That’s worth a prince’s ransom!”
Then Halice punched him hard in the back of the head. Before he could recover enough to think of raising his knife, she had one hand twisted in his lank black hair, jerking his head back to apply an expert stranglehold all the more effectively with her other arm. Much the same height and with broader shoulders, she had no trouble holding him.
“No, but I’ll back Halice against you any day from Solstice to Equinox,” I told Peyt. The fury in his eyes faded to an instant of panic and then to bitter blankness as Halice choked him senseless. Zigrida’s grandson was wide eyed and out of breath behind her and I winked at the child who scurried back to his grandam.
Halice dropped the limp, unconscious Peyt to the ground.
“Dump him in his bed and when he wakes up—if he wakes up—he can come to me and take his punishment for this little nonsense.” She turned to scowl at the shifty crowd, none of whom dared challenge her authority. “When you’ve dumped him, get yourselves down to the riverside and tell Minare I sent you. If you’re idle enough to be this stupid, he’ll make use of you. Move!” Her words goaded the mercenaries into a hasty retreat. Peyt half carried, half dragged away, by two of his cronies.
Halice turned her scorching glare on the colonists, dark eyes hard and unreadable. “You don’t have better things to do than this?” She bent to pick up Peyt’s fallen dagger and threw it to me.
I picked the knife out of the air and idly tossed it a few times. That should remind people I wasn’t just some insipid little twirl Ryshad kept to warm his sheets. Everyone instantly remembered ten tasks requiring immediate attention and took themselves off.
“Halice—” Deglain stepped forward, twisting grazed knuckles in the palm of his other hand, teeth marks plain on his forearm. Glane hovered behind him, bruises darkening on cheek and forehead.
“I’ll see to you later.” Halice shaded her promise with threat, holding Deglain’s gaze until he turned away. Squaring his shoulders, he ushered Glane towards his house where Catrice waited on the threshold, buttercup yellow shawl pressed to her tear-stained face.
Halice rubbed a broad hand over the dun-coloured hair she kept cropped as short as any other soldier. Now there was only me to see, her coarse-featured face turned amiable. “I may as well take an early lunch since I’m here. You can tell me what that was all about while we eat.”
The Island City of Hadrumal, 15th of Aft-Spring
Do you suppose there are many of those dust-ups between mercenaries and colonists?”
The speaker was a wiry man with thoughtful brown eyes and a reddish beard worn close trimmed, whose sparse sandy hair was cut so brutally short it was nigh on invisible. He was young to have gone all but bald, much of an age with his companion still boasting a full head of black hair, long enough to reach his shoulders if he were to untie the scrap of leather holding it back. The two men shared a sinewy build but that was as far as any similarity went. The dark-haired man had a sallow complexion and was noticeably taller than his companion whose fair skin showed freckles as they emerged from the shadow of a doorway into the early morning sun.
“Livak and Halice looked to have everything well in hand.” Breezily confident, he stuck his hands into the pockets of his grass-green jerkin, a garment significantly more relaxed in cloth and cut to the sober buff of his companion’s clothes.
“Livak’s got more than her fair share of wits,” the sandy-haired man said thoughtfully. “What did you make of Halice when you travelled with her?”
“She’s as shrewd as she’s plain faced.” The taller man smiled. “I don’t imagine there’ll be trouble with those hired swords but we can mention it if you like, if our esteemed Archmage needs some excuse for having Hadrumal send representatives to Kellarin.” From his tone, he plainly didn’t think this would be necessary.
The two men turned off the long curve of Hadrumal’s high road and through an ancient gateway of weathered stone that pierced a tower rising dark against a still sky all but colourless with the first light of the day. Footsteps loud on the flagstones, they crossed a courtyard where most windows were still firmly shuttered, their fellow wizards not yet stirring to a new day about the age-old study of magic.
The black-haired man opened an iron-studded door on to a dark staircase. A single window at the top shed scant light on the oak treads and both men paused to accustom their eyes to the gloom. Ascending in step, obvious expectation lightening their feet, the pair exchanged a grin as the sandy-haired man rapped a brisk knuckle on the door at the top.
“Enter.” The summons was curt enough to startle the pair into identical looks of surprise.
The dark-haired man opened the door. “Archmage.”
“Shiv.” The man within had his back to them, standing by a table piled high with books and documents. He looked round to greet them with a brusque nod. “Usara. What can I do for you?”
“We thought we’d invite you to share some breakfast with us.” Shiv’s words tailed off into uncertainty.
“You’re expecting someone?” Usara didn’t hide his surprise at the Archmage’s formal robe, an expensive gown of silk as dark and glossy as a raven’s wing, arcane symbols picked out on the fronts in matt black embroidery. Planir’s hair was as black as his robes but for a touch of frost at his temples.
“As you can see,” the Archmage replied tersely.
Hesitation checked Shiv’s smile. “We wanted to discuss Kellarin.”
“What about it?” Planir made a neat stack of the small volumes he’d extracted from his pile of books.
“There’ll be a lot happening there this year,” Shiv began rather lamely. “The colony was set fair to expand by the end of last autumn and now we’re past Equinox, there’ll be nothing to hold them back.”
“There’s a whole new continent to discover,” Usara chipped in. “Hadrumal can offer all manner of assistance. Wizardry will make exploration far quicker and safer.”
“That’s wizardry in general or you pair in particular?” Planir turned shadowed grey eyes on Usara. The early light through the lancet windows made harsh angles of his cleanshaven face.
“You know we have an interest in Kellarin, Archmage,” the younger man said slowly.
“Any ship wanting to make the ocean crossing needs a wizard aboard,” Shiv shrugged. “It may as well be us as anyone else.”
“I beg leave to disagree,” said Planir with a weary hint of humour. “That’s a task ideally suited to mages fresh out of their apprenticeship who need a lesson in the differences between the theories they have learned and the practical application of magic.”
“We could keep a weather eye on them from Kellarin,” Usara suggested. “Use our own experience of the oceans and the coastal currents to help them.”
“You don’t see your duty here as more important?” The faint smile faded from Planir’s face. “It is customary to pay for the learning you’ve gained by passing it on, turn and turn about with your contemporaries. What about your own apprentices?”
Usara looked uncertainly at the Archmage. “I think we’ve taught them all we can. Equinox always means apprentices moving on to new masters, so we thought we’d be free—”
“Did you consider who might be planning to pass their apprentices on to you? Herion’s already mentioned two lasses he thinks would benefit from your assistance, ’Sar.” Planir gestured towards the long roofs of Hadrumal’s buildings visible through the windows, tall towers and lesser buildings subservient to them. “You’re both of some standing in the Council now, respected among the halls. More than one mage is interested in your notions of working magic cooperatively.”
Usara opened his mouth but Planir cut him off with a curt sweep of one hand. “Do you imagine you’ve learned everything Hadrumal has to teach you? I don’t recall Shannet releasing you from your pupillage with her, Shiv.” He fixed the dark-haired mage with a hard look. “What does she think of your plans? I take it you’ve told her?”
“No,” Shiv replied slowly. “She hates any mention of Kellarin, as you know full well.”
“Because Viltred, love of her youth, died there and Otrick, friend of her old age, returned moribund.” Planir’s eyes were flinty beneath fine black brows.
“You don’t need to remind me of that,” retorted Shiv, stung.
“No?” Planir’s voice was cold. “Have the dangers that proved so fatal for them vanished?”
“Elietimm have made no move against the colony in more than a year,” said Shiv with determined composure.
“But the possibility remains, of course. Which is all the more reason to send mages with more up their sleeves than a talent for keeping a fire in overnight or picking the best place for a well,” Usara pointed out.
“They worked enough malice in the north last year, as you know better than any.” The Archmage folded his arms carefully over his robe. “Despite your success in foiling their plans, ’Sar, I don’t suppose they’ve given up their hopes of alliance with the Mountain Men. If you’re in Kellarin we could be seriously wrong-footed if we suddenly find we need the benefit of the contacts you made among the Forest Folk and the upland strongholds.”
“Whenever we’ve countered an Elietimm threat, they’ve tried something else, not the same thing again. There’s been no sniff of them in the Archipelago since Ryshad exposed their conspiracies.” Shiv took a step forward. “And the Mountain Men will be full on their guard, any fool can see that. Elietimm eyes will start looking south again. Apprentices will be hardly able to defend the colony if they attack. If we’re there, we’ll know what we’re dealing with and how best to fight it.”
“So do you consider them a threat or not?” Planir looked puzzled. “You just said there’d been no sign for over a year. Perhaps you should think through whatever your argument is before we discuss this further?”
Shiv coloured but didn’t say anything.
“Kellarin has mercenaries and magic of its own, don’t forget that.” Planir smiled thinly. “In any case, the Tormalin Emperor and I have come to, shall we say, an agreement over Kellarin. He’ll allow the colony its independence as long as Hadrumal does the same.”
Usara looked perplexed. “I don’t see the two of us threatening that.”
“Your modesty does you credit, ’Sar.” Planir’s tone warmed a trifle. “Consider the reputation you have in Toremal as the mage who drove the Elietimm out of the mountains all but single-handed last year. Of course, such power and valour was only to be expected from one of the wizards who rediscovered the lost land of Kellarin the summer before that, fighting with mighty mages like the admirable Shiv to defend its people, even to the death of such worthies as Viltred.”
“I hardly think sarcasm is called for,” said Shiv curtly.
“Forgive me, I didn’t mean to mock.” Planir looked tired despite the early hour. “I appreciate you have an interest in Kellarin and close ties to people there but you can keep your weather eye on them from here.”
He glanced at Shiv who tried and failed to look innocent. “Don’t tell me you’ve not been scrying for them because I won’t believe you. No, don’t worry about it. Scry all you want as far as I’m concerned and if trouble does come floating down from the Ice Islands, then you can give Kellarin all the assistance you want. The Emperor will be too glad of it to quibble and the first to cheer Elietimm ships burnt to the waterline with magical fire or drowned like rats in a barrel with a conjured storm.”
“I appreciate your confidence but we’ve no great record of success against the Elietimm enchanters,” said Shiv bitterly.
“Then wouldn’t you be safer here?” queried Planir. “You’re contradicting yourself again, Shiv.”
“We’re scarcely any further forward in understanding aetheric magic.” Usara’s frustration was evident. “I need to work with those adept in Kellarin if I’m to make any sense of the little we’ve learned over the winter, if I’m ever to see how Artifice relates to wizardry. We might even see how the two magics might work together rather than stifling each other.”
“A hope I hold before the Council each and every time some sceptic calls the value of your studies into question.” Planir raised a quizzical brow. “Surely you’ll make better progress surrounded by twenty generations of learning documented in Hadrumal’s libraries than struggling to fit in your studies around keeping ships away from dangerous currents and tracking lodes of ore for the colony?”
“I need to discuss my theories with the Demoiselle Guinalle,” Usara insisted. “She’s the leading adept, after all.”
“Ah yes, Guinalle.” Planir slowly inclined his head. “But what about Aritane, ’Sar? She can’t go back to her people in the mountains. These Sheltya who hold their lore, they’ll assume—and rightly—that’s she’s told you all she knows about their ancient aetheric magic. You told me that would mean death for her if the Sheltya ever caught her.”
&nbs
p; “She’s safe enough in Hadrumal,” said Shiv with a dismissive shrug.
Planir kept his stern gaze fixed on Usara. “You’ve complained to me often enough about the scant respect she’s shown, ’Sar. You hear all the arguments that Artifice is no more than some second-rate magic unworthy of Hadrumal’s notice. You’re going to leave Aritane to face all that alone?”
“Then she can come to Kellarin with us.” Usara was looking exasperated now.
“You’ve managed to persuade her?” Planir was astonished.
“I understood she sees herself as exiled to Hadrumal for life. It’s the only place where she can stay hidden from Sheltya working Artifice to hunt her down, isn’t it?”
“I’m sure Guinalle could protect her in Kellarin,” said Usara stiffly but his face belied his words.
“You don’t think her race’s ancient kinship with the Elietimm will make her even less welcome than she is here, among colonists who suffered so dreadfully at their hands?” Planir hazarded. He frowned. “And of course, if Elietimm enchanters do seek a new target for their hatred as you suggest, Shiv, and were to attack Hadrumal for instance, then we’ll find ourselves with both Guinalle and Aritane, the only two with any real knowledge of such magic and more crucially how to counter it on the far side of the ocean.”
“Why are you making so many difficulties, Archmage?” Shiv demanded bluntly.
“Why haven’t you two thought through all the consequences of your actions?” snapped Planir. “Haven’t I taught you better than this? Is this notion entirely your own? Did someone else suggest it? Troanna for instance?”
“I don’t answer to Troanna,” Shiv replied in the same breath as Usara’s protest.
“I’m your pupil, Planir, no one else’s.”
“Then why is this plan leaving you so blinkered to wider considerations?” Planir said abruptly. “Tell me ’Sar, is your desire to see Guinalle entirely academic? You’ve set aside your romantic inclination for the lady?”
“No, but that doesn’t interfere with my duty to Hadrumal.” Usara coloured furiously beneath his beard. “No more than you’re hampered by your attachment to Larissa.”
Assassin's Edge Page 3
