Sworn in Steel

by Douglas Hulick

  His right hand moved toward the folded sheaf of papers. “I’m glad to see that—”

  “Not so fast,” I said, leaning forward and putting my finger on the packet’s nearest corner. “The price has gone up.”

  Raaz frowned but didn’t withdraw his hand. “Up? Why?”

  “I’m nobody’s mule,” I said. “Especially not Jelem’s.”

  “And yet here you are, papers and all.”

  “I just wanted to let you know I was serious.”

  “If I recall, the arrangement was for us to aid you in exchange for delivering the missives. Now here you sit in the city, and yet my hand remains empty. Not only that, but you ask more to fill it.” Raaz shook his head. “I was under the impression that Gray Princes honored their word.”

  “I keep my word just fine,” I said. “When I’m not being conned or played or used.”

  “That’s what this is, then? Your princely pride was wounded, and so you make threats and demands to assuage it? Based on what Jelem wrote, I’d hoped for more from you, but I see you’re simply another red-knuckled Imperial, just like the rest of your so-called Kin.”

  My hand swept down and jerked Arrebah’s smoke-edged dagger from my boot. Raaz’s eyes went wide at the sight, and a faint rattling sound escaped from his throat. I could have almost sworn that I saw the fingers inside his gloves deflate a bit.

  “This ‘red-knuckled Imperial’ fought a fucking assassin in the dark for you people,” I said, holding the blade low while making sure he could see the shadow-stuff trailing off it. “I saved not only your life, but your master’s as well. Fowler took a click to the head, and I got cut up and poisoned in the process. So, yes, your master may have spent his money and influence on my behalf, but I spilled my blood on his. If anyone’s owed anything, it’s me.”

  Raaz sat, staring at the knife as if it were a serpent ready to strike. “You’re not the only one who suffered in that chamber,” he said slowly. “And we weren’t the only ones in danger. Your life was under threat from the neyajin as well.”

  “True,” I said. “But she didn’t leave because of you, now, did she?”

  His stared at me a long moment, his gloved hand clenching until the leather glove creaked with the strain. “Have I told you what happened to my master?” he said. “Why he can’t be here to speak with you? It’s because he’s dying. Whatever that hesheh did, it’s eating away at him. There’s a line of darkness . . .” Raaz traced a mark across his fist, below the knuckles and above the wrist. “A piece of shadow where his fingers used to be. He says he can still feel the digits, that they are there on the other side of the line, and that something is nibbling at them. Devouring him. Slowly.”

  “Devouring him?” Of a sudden, I didn’t feel quite so comfortable holding that knife.

  “The original cut was at the base of the fingers. The line is moving up his arm. We don’t know if the pain will drive him mad before whatever it is kills him, or if we will kill him first out of pity.”

  “Can’t you just cut off the hand? I know it’s not the best solution, but given the other options . . .”

  Raaz shook his head. “The other magi say the shadow is in his blood, that it’s eating him from the inside, only at a slower rate. They’re trying to exorcise it, but . . .” He opened his gloved hand so he could see the fingers, rubbed at the line on his neck. “It seems I was fortunate by comparison.”

  I swallowed. It didn’t seem wise just now to point out that over half the glimmer in that tunnel had originated with Raaz and his shadow magic, nor that my own wound had been healing well, rather than growing. Neither would help just now.

  “And you think this other tal, the Nareesh, are behind the attack in the cellar?” I said.

  “It makes the most sense,” he said. “They’ve already benefitted from our fall. Now if they were to dig the grave and fill it with our bones? One less thing to worry about.”

  I grunted. If anyone could find and hire an invisible, shadow-killing assassin, I expect it would be a bunch of Mouths. “You realize someone in your organization is likely talking?” I said.

  He dipped his chin. “That, or the Tal Nareesh have managed to set a spirit to observing us, despite our precautions. Either way, we’re looking into the problem, trust me. Now, if you’d please, remove that thing from my presence.”

  I drew the neyajin’s blade back. I noticed that as I moved to put it away, Raaz shifted slightly to one side. It took me a moment to realize that he’d done it to make sure his shadow was nowhere near the blade’s.

  I slid the blade home more gingerly than I’d taken it out and resettled myself on the ground.

  “So, with all that said, what is it you want?” said Raaz.

  “For starters? Some answers.”

  “About?”

  I tapped my finger on the papers. “Why do you want the package?”

  For perhaps the first time since I’d met him, Raaz looked truly puzzled. “Because it’s ours.”

  “No. That tells me why you want what Jelem sent; I want to know why you want what’s in here. I want to know why you want Imperial magic.”

  Raaz didn’t even bother to deny it. “Is this a jest? You know what your Paragons can do—who wouldn’t want those secrets?”

  “Not me, for one. And not a lot of other Mouths I know, either.” I pointed at the papers. “Do you know what this is? It’s death, long and slow—just to have it, just to know about it. It’s the one secret the empire never gives out, the one thing no one besides the emperor and his magicians have ever been able to do. Imperial Paragons have turned men’s bones to iron and heated that iron until it burned through their flesh, just for asking questions about it. But to have these? To have notes about how it’s done, how it was discovered?” I frowned. I had no doubts about what was in that package—not after having had Jelem go through the ancient Paragon’s journal for me four months ago; not after letting him keep some of the notes in payment for his work. And definitely not after Raaz having had all but confirmed they were smuggling Imperial glimmer just now. “No,” I said. “I know plenty of people who’d want nothing to do with that package, either to hold it or to study what was inside. Too damn dangerous.”

  “Then why didn’t you destroy it when you figured out what it is?” said Raaz.

  It was a good question, and one I’d been trying to answer myself. The easiest solution would be the fire . . . and yet I hadn’t been able to bring myself to do it.

  “Three reasons,” I said. “First, because I gave my word that I’d deliver it. I don’t like breaking promises, not even when I’ve been tricked into them. But I will if I have to.”

  “And what would make you do that?”

  “The second reason.” I tapped the paper. “This isn’t Jelem’s first shipment—can’t be. Jelem’s had months to send portions of this down, and I can’t believe he’d wait until I suddenly had to come down here to start. That means that, even if I destroyed this, I wouldn’t be accomplishing anything. The damage has already been done—sooner or later, the empire is going to find out that one of their best-kept secrets is making the rounds and they’ll come looking, even if it means coming to Djan. And that means they’ll trace it back to me.”

  “Let them. This is el-Qaddice. Their magi will not be able to enter.”

  “Do you really think walls and laws are going to stop them when it comes to this? This is the foundation of the fucking Dorminikan Empire—they’ll tear el-Qaddice apart down to the bedrock if they get wind of what you’ve been smuggling down here.”

  “And your third concern?”

  “I’m an Imperial,” I said. “I may not have much use for the emperor, but that doesn’t mean I want the empire falling to Djan. And the idea of giving you the key to one of the secrets that have been keeping you from our door for centuries?” I shook my head. “Collapsing empires are bad for business.”

  Raaz rapped his fingers on the stone tiles. “Good arguments. And I can understand your con
cern. But what if I was able to reassure you that what you say won’t come to pass? Would that be enough?”

  “It’d be a start.”

  “Very well, then.” Raaz sat up straighter and held his left arm above the floor, pulling the sleeve back to reveal his iron magician’s manacle. Its edges were rolled and etched to suggest billowing clouds—or maybe, more appropriately, shadows. With one deft motion, he reached out with his free hand, twisted a hidden hasp, and spoke a single syllable. The supposedly permanent and unremovable symbol of a yazani’s duty to the despot opened and fell to the floor with a soft clink.

  I blinked, trying to understand what I was seeing.

  “In this,” said Raaz, “I do not work for the despot. It is a personal matter—a tal and a tribal matter. Jelem was exiled for . . . let’s say ‘politics,’ although that’s not quite right. It’s not for me to talk about. But the point is, there are those who think it was ill done, and wish to correct the matter. The Imperial magic you bear can help with that correction.

  “The secrets Jelem possesses are nowhere near powerful enough to bring down your empire, or to draw their attention: You know this, since you were the one who portioned it out to him. But.” He raised a finger. “It’s powerful enough for his friends to seek vengeance in his name, and perhaps even secure his return to Djan. Believe me when I say, I have no wish to see what you carry fall into the hands of another tal, or even the despot—I merely want the chance to turn the bones of my enemies to iron and watch them burn.”

  In point of fact, I didn’t know this—not for certain. When I’d made my original deal with Jelem, there hadn’t been another Mouth on hand to consult when it came to the notes and the glimmer. All I’d had to go on was what I was able to parse out on my own, both from the papers and Jelem’s reactions to my terms, and a healthy helping of bravado. To hear Raaz say what I’d passed along wasn’t going to bring down the empire, or even a corner of it, was frankly a relief. But that didn’t mean I had be excited about passing those secrets on to a group of yazani whose only character reference came from the man who’d tricked me into smuggling the magic into Djan in the first place.

  Not the best testimonial, but Angels knew I’d heard worse over the years. Hell, I was worse. And it wasn’t as if I was going to get any better offers. Besides, I didn’t want to keep the package on me indefinitely—that could only lead to bigger risks and worse outcomes.

  Still, nothing said I had to just hand it over.

  “All right,” I said, “I can work with that. But like I told you when I first sat down, I’m going to need something more. The price has still gone up.”

  Raaz ran his gloved hand over his chin. The fingers seemed fuller again. “What did you have in mind?”

  “I’m not sure yet,” I said as I finally slid the papers over to him. “But I figure I’ll come up with something.”

  “I’m certain you will,” said Raaz as he snatched up the packet. He began to turn it over in his hands, and then froze. “The seal on this has been broken.”

  “Has it?” I said. I leaned forward. “Huh. So it has.”

  His fingers flipped the folds back. He began to leaf through the letters. I’d looked at them earlier and hadn’t been able to find a damn thing besides tedious accounts of Jelem’s daily routine in Ildrecca. My guess was either some kind of code or, more likely, a hidden magical script.

  I stood up and brushed at my pants while Raaz shuffled the papers, turned them over, and shuffled them some more. He glared up at me.

  “Only half of the pages are here,” he said.

  “You got all that from that quick read through? I’m impressed.”

  “I know because Jelem wrote to tell me what to expect. This isn’t it—or, not all of it.” He waved the papers at me. “Where are the rest?”

  “Safe,” I said, as I resisted the urge to run my hand along my doublet’s seam. “And they’ll stay that way until I get the rest of my payment.”

  “That wasn’t our deal.”

  “Our deal said nothing about how many pages you get, or when . And I’m not stupid. I know that if I still have what you want, you’ll be quick to answer when I call. But if you already had all of Jelem’s papers?” I shook my head. “No, when I need people, I tend to need them in a hurry. This way works best for me.”

  “And what about what works best for us?” said Raaz, standing up. “What if something happens to you before we get the rest?”

  “That doesn’t sound like my problem,” I said as I turned away. “It sounds like yours. I suggest you think about ways to keep it from happening, yes?”

  I gathered up Fowler with a look and headed for the exit, pausing long enough to direct a nod toward the vestibule of the Banished god as I went. Somehow, it seemed appropriate.

  Chapter Nineteen

  I woke up to a pounding, startled that I’d been asleep. Last I’d remembered, I’d sat down on the edge of my bed to unlace my shoes. They were still on.

  The pounding continued.

  “What?” I yelled.

  “M-m-master Drothe?” said a voice halfway between boy and man—one of the hosteler’s sons. At a guess, I’d say the one with the pimples—his voice had the right crack to it. “The l-lady left instructions to wake you when, that is . . .”

  “Spit it out, boy.”

  “That you, um, should get up and, uh, keep your appointment. Sir. With the secretary?”

  Shit.

  I looked up at my room’s small window. It was well on into dusk—likely past the time I was supposed to have called on Heron. I’d slept maybe all of four hours in the last thirty, I guessed.

  “Why didn’t you wake me sooner?” I shouted as I stood up. I couldn’t believe Fowler would have let things run this tight.

  “I tried, sir, only you wouldn’t answer. And the lady was, um, very clear about why I shouldn’t enter your room.”

  Judging by the tremor in the lad’s voice, I could guess just how clear Fowler had been. Not that I’d set up any surprises for visitors, but a little healthy hesitation on their part of the help never hurt.

  “And where’s the lady herself?” I said, drawing on my slops. “Why didn’t she wake me?”

  “She’s abed, sir.” Pause. “She was also very specific about why I shouldn’t wake her, either.”

  I’d just bet she was. Fowler hadn’t been in much better shape than me by the time we got back from the temple.

  “Have a mug ready for me downstairs,” I said, slipping my last remaining ahrami into my mouth. “I’ll take it on the way out.”

  I lingered in my room just long enough to put on a less-dirty shirt, pour some water into a basin, and splash it over my face and through my hair, and then ducked out the door. The local public baths would have to wait until later.

  The common room was filling up as I came down the stairs—not only with the actors, but also some of the local inhabitants of the Quarter. Having people in from Ildrecca was a draw for the Angel’s Shadow, and Tobin and company were making the most of their celebrity status through stories, songs, and as many free drinks as they could scare up. The locals were happy to barter liquor for gossip of home, and I noticed the hosteler didn’t frown nearly so much as the day we’d arrived.

  Tobin caught my eye as I came down the stairs and began to rise. I scowled and shook my head. I didn’t have time for complaints cloaked in bluster just now. The troupe master scowled right back, stood, and began pushing his way across the room.

  I reached the door first. A boy—the one with the pimples, ha—met me there, eyes wide, a steaming mug in his hand. I took it from him and kept going.

  Behind me, I heard Tobin boom out my name. I kept going.

  Ezak was still out in the courtyard, working through a combat exchange with another actor named Paollus in the dying light. Neither looked up as I came out into the yard.

  That should have been my first clue.

  The tip of Ezak’s staff caught the front of my left ankle as I
passed. He didn’t strike or sweep so much as push my foot back, using the tip of his weapon to lift my leg up and behind me. Before I knew it, I was down in the dirt of the yard.

  I rolled over, a curse forming on my lips, my hand already going for a blade, when I felt Ezak’s staff tap me on the chest.

  “Don’t be hasty,” he said. “No harm done.”

  “Hasty?” I said, pushing the length of ash aside and sitting up. “The last damn thing on my mind right now is—” I stopped when the butt of the staff appeared in the air before my face.

  “No need,” repeated Ezak, “to be hasty. Tobin just wants a word with you. Has since earlier today.”

  “Tobin can wait until I get back.”

  “That’s where you’re wrong,” said Tobin as he came across the yard. “It can’t wait, especially not if you’re off to where I think you are.”

  “And where might that be?” I said.

  “To see the man who controls our collective purse strings.”

  I sighed. “Heron.” I stood up. Ezak didn’t stop me, but he didn’t lower the staff, either. “Fine,” I said, brushing myself off. “What’s so urgent that you need to knock me down in the damn yard?”

  “The play,” said Tobin, his voice heavy with meaning.

  “What about it?”

  “It’s unworkable,” said Ezak.

  “Unworkable?” said Tobin. “Were that only the case! It’s a disaster. The dialogue is wooden, the characters anemic, the story half a pace removed from a funerary march. Any company in its right might would either walk away from a monstrosity like this or rewrite it.”

  “So you don’t like it?” I said.

  “Don’t . . . ?” Tobin’s color rose faster than his drama. “We . . . I . . .”

  “No,” said Ezak. “We don’t like it.”

  “And you want me to do what about that, exactly?”

  “Petition Heron!” cried Tobin. “Tell him the state of things. That we can’t perform the work. That it’s not to our style.” The master stepped in closer. “We’re a tragedy and comedy company, you see. Highs and lows. This is more . . . I don’t know what to call it. Ezak?”