The Dagger of Trust

by Chris Willrich

  "It seemed unwise to kill you all in front of so many witnesses," said one of the men, and he did indeed bear a Chelish accent. He stepped forward, a smile growing like a fresh gash upon his heavily scarred face. "Thank you for solving that problem."

  Chapter Four

  Dirge for Spies and Ghosts

  This is all a mistake," Leothric called out. "We're just looking for a missing man."

  "You'll find him soon," said the smiling Chelaxian. A dagger appeared in his hand. Behind him the other figures in gray were commencing incantations.

  Gideon recalled something the Mistress of Stillness and Motion had once said. You may find that if you're overwhelmed, time will seem to pass quickly, in a flurry of sharp impressions. By this you'll know you've lost command of a struggle, and are in desperate peril. Escape these fights if you can. By contrast, there will be times when you're ready for battle, when your heart thunders blood, and everything seems to slow down. In such a fight you may have greater confidence.

  Although Gideon hadn't expected such opposition, he'd expected trouble, and time had indeed slowed. He didn't recognize the incantations, but he knew a wise man would interrupt those spells.

  He grabbed Sir Gothmoor from the sputtering Leothric's hand and threw it into one of the spellcasters' faces.

  The puppet hit hard, and the man swore; his subsequent phrases were colorful, but in no way magical.

  "Sorry," Gideon told Leothric, and advanced with his own dagger drawn.

  Viridia danced and kicked at the grinning knife-wielder. He evaded her attacks, though not so smoothly as would the Mistress of Stillness and Motion. Ozrif charged past Viridia, attempting to halt the second spellcaster.

  Leothric, meanwhile, was doing something with another puppet.

  Even so, Gideon was starting to feel optimistic.

  That was when the second caster unleashed his spell.

  What might have been an octopus tentacle vanished from the man's hand, and huge ebon tendrils rose up uncannily from the cobblestones. They snared Ozrif and Viridia, and nearly caught Gideon in their crushing embrace. The smiling, scarred Chelaxian stepped back at just the right moment, so that Gideon now found himself facing three foes.

  Gideon stabbed at the nearer spellcaster. But the man, better alerted now, dodged. Gideon's optimism retreated.

  There came an unearthly roar from behind.

  Leothric had stepped forward, the dragon puppet on his hand making angry gesticulations. From its wooden mouth came a blast of sound that would impress a true dragon.

  The spellcaster nearest Gideon reeled, hands pressed to his ears. The other two Chelaxians winced, but appeared able to fight.

  "Thanks," Gideon called to Leothric.

  "You owe me a puppet," Leothric answered.

  The lead footpad advanced, his dagger making slow circles, and Gideon stepped back, risking a spell of his own. He began humming an old song of lost love.

  You broke my heart so neatly

  For a while I thought

  It was meant to be in two pieces...

  The song and the memory of enthrallment (wrapped up, he had to admit, with the image of Corvine) were key components for the hypnotic power of the spell. Gideon drew swirling, spiral shapes with his hands, and intoned arcane syllables that conveyed the rapt amazement of sudden love, or religious vision, or astonished wonder at the natural world.

  One of the two remaining assassins dropped his hands and stared blankly at Gideon.

  Unfortunately, it was not Mister Scarsmile.

  "Why don't you go grab us all some pesh?" Gideon called to the man he'd managed to ensorcel, and that one nodded obligingly and shuffled toward the Kismet House.

  The man passed too close to the region of tentacles, and was snared.

  Scarsmile lost his grin. "Dismiss the tentacles!" he commanded the other spellcaster, even while slashing at Gideon.

  His dagger, Gideon noticed, was of Qadiran make.

  By now the Chelaxian he'd hit with Sir Gothmoor had recovered enough to cast a spell as well. He pulled a white feather from somewhere behind his gray cloak and began gesturing. Gideon was beginning to think he'd never escape this alley.

  But the tentacles had vanished, and Viridia and Ozrif were again free. So too was the second enemy spellcaster, who was released from Gideon's compulsion as well. That one tangled with Ozrif, while Viridia launched herself against Scarsmile. Gideon grappled with him too, shouting, "Leothric! Got anything else?"

  The spellcaster with the feather groaned something deep within his throat, the vocal equivalent of a collapsing tomb.

  Terror gripped the closest bards.

  Gideon's heart raced. He felt as if he were a boy again, lost from his family.

  Beside him, Viridia called out, "Mother! Father!"

  Leothric managed a wordless cry.

  Scarsmile's grin returned.

  Even through his rising panic, Gideon recognized the spell that awakened one's deepest fears. Desperately, he began to sing "Ain't No Devil's Gonna Move Me."

  You brought me gold, you brought me wine

  You brought me a woman who wasn't mine

  You brought me tools to kill any I fought

  You brought me what would get me bought.

  I told you no, you became my foe

  You raised up legions to bring me woe

  But kill me dead, I'll still be free

  Ain't no devil's gonna move me.

  As he reached the end, he raised his hands, forming arcane gestures. The tune shattered the Chelaxian's spell, the fear falling away like a shed cloak.

  "Enough of this!" Scarsmile snapped, and slashed the ducking Gideon across the arm. Viridia moved in, and the man kicked Gideon in the gut. Pain lashed his vision—and at first he thought it was a hallucination when five separate Leothrics ran into the fray.

  All of the magical reflections of Leothric raised dragon puppets, making the dragons seem to roar defiantly. It was like a cavalry charge, except that every member of the cavalry looked identically terrified. Scarsmile jabbed at one of the big-eyed Leothrics. The blade passed right through its target, and with a shimmering in the air like a heat mirage, that particular Leothric faded.

  Gideon hadn't died, so presumably Scarsmile hadn't applied poison to this blade. That was something. Nonetheless, his assessment of the fight, now that Leothric had bought him a moment, was not good. Viridia was struggling to stand. Ozrif was grappling with one spellcaster. The other spellcaster looked to be readying yet another work of magical mischief.

  He had to hope that Leothric could delay the knife-fighter long enough to let Viridia recover. Gideon himself, unable to think of a use for his remaining spells, leapt against the spellcaster, kicking and snarling, hoping to make himself terrifying.

  "Zar yogvark vashnok blarg!" Gideon screamed. It meant absolutely nothing, but the spellcaster turned pale.

  Alas, fear made the man bold. He incanted and the air shimmered before him, a vast creature appearing to materialize between him and Gideon. It was a conglomeration of angry Andorens, who seemed human from about the knees up, but whose lower bodies merged into a slimy mass of tentacles spiraling from a gelatinous hub, a vast crimson brain the size of a small boulder that glowed and oozed. The humanlike extensions roared and shouted and spat and waved clubs. They screamed things like "Death to outsiders!" and "Long live the real Andoran!"

  His brother's bloody corpse lay at their feet.

  At the sight, Gideon's heart threatened to stop. As his vision swirled, his lungs refusing to draw breath, he realized that was the whole point.

  "No!" he screamed at the mob-monster. "No!"

  The vision faded; yet the effort of battling it, of insisting on living, had left him pained and dazed. He was likewise aware that Viridia was retreating from Scarsmile's assault, Ozrif was reeling from some manner of magical attack, and they were down to just one Leothric.

  From the street behind, a voice bellowed, "Cease! In the Harbormaster's n
ame! Cease!"

  The Chelish force (if such they were) withdrew from battle as quickly as they'd engaged. The spellcaster who'd engaged Ozrif gestured as they fled, and a milky fog engulfed half the alley, concealing their retreat.

  "Move!" said the wizard. "Let the mob take them."

  Gideon rose and tried to follow. This fog lacked the eldritch chill of the apparition from the Shadow School, but nonetheless it seemed to be pushing back at him. Traversing it was like wading through murky water. In his exhausted state, he couldn't follow.

  "Gideon!" Viridia called. "Look!"

  Gideon turned around, and realized in that moment that the voice calling Cease! had not actually been addressing them.

  The street was filled with snarling patrons from the Kismet House, some of whom shuffled into the alley. Gideon heard the patrolman futilely try to warn them off. His voice sounded increasingly frantic.

  "Something's wrong with them," Leothric said. "Something more than pesh."

  "The eyes," said Ozrif.

  In the dim light, it took a while to understand what Ozrif meant, but then Gideon saw it. There were no pupils or irises visible in these people's eyes. The orbs were a milky gray, with a hint of green. It was the color of the strange fog from the Shadow School.

  "You don't belong," one man told them, spittle dripping down his lips.

  "Keleshite!" snarled another, froth at one corner of his mouth. "Andoren!"

  "Um, no, just these two," said Leothric, snatching up the Sir Gothmoor puppet.

  "Thanks, roommate," said Gideon.

  "We should burn them," said another pesh-taker.

  "Hang them," said another.

  "Cut them."

  "Gut them."

  Gideon had the impression of a group of mountain lions ready to spring. He and his companions edged back toward the fog.

  "You need to back off from my friends," said Viridia. "And you need a nap."

  She pirouetted and blew crushed rose petals in the direction of the fog-eyed patrons, following up with an incantation and a gentle series of gestures traced in the air.

  The four nearest lunatics fell to the stones.

  "That's how you do it," Viridia said.

  Many more of the possessed figures now entered the alley, stepping over the fallen.

  "Now let's show them how we run," Viridia added.

  As it happened, they couldn't run at all, but stumbled and shoved through the clammy magical fog that filled the alley's far side.

  As they escaped it into the lamplit street, Gideon found himself grabbed by two men who seemed to have stepped directly off some pirate ship, what with their mismatched leathers and tricorne hats.

  "Stand down!" said a man. "You'll answer to the Westport Guard!"

  "Gladly," said Gideon. "But watch out for what follows us."

  They waited, the other bards following his lead and letting their captors immobilize them.

  Nothing emerged from the fog.

  A dwarf with an ill-fitting mariner's coat and an oversized voice ran around from the other side of the Kismet House. "Whatever's wrong with that lot from the pesh den, they're back to normal," he said, and Gideon knew him for the one who'd originally cried Cease! "They don't seem to know what's happened. And the men who ran off got clean away."

  "At least we've got these miscreants," said one of the men who held Gideon's arms.

  "That's bards, good sir, bards," said Ozrif.

  "Fine. Arrest the bards."

  The bards were chained, their weapons and instruments and spell pouches and puppets confiscated, then led to the Harbormaster's Residence.

  The building was a four-story brick manse, a noble's house from the days when Westport was an outlying district and not the heart of Oppara's maritime trade. A wooden guardhouse had been affixed to the structure, and beyond it a stone stairway descended to a warren of underground chambers.

  "I feel a little as if we've been abducted by pirates," Leothric said, "not rescued by the police."

  "That's not entirely inaccurate," said Ozrif. "The Guard is made up of some interesting—"

  "Shut up!" snarled a member of the Guard.

  "He means," Viridia said loudly, "that he's glad we're not in the hands of ordinary police. Boss Hallador's known as a good man."

  "Tell it to the Boss!" said another guard. Yelling seemed to be a perk of joining the Guard.

  Gideon stumbled his way down into a torchlit chamber. The Guard, for all its fearsome appearance, did indeed boast a good reputation in Westport, which had been all but abandoned by city law enforcement until Harbormaster Hallador had, out of sheer exasperation, built his own militia.

  Sitting on crates, surrounded by glaring guards, the bards awaited the Boss's appearance.

  He soon arrived, showing his reputation for both efficiency and temper. The Boss loomed over his people and had to nod and suck in his breath to squeeze through the passageway. He had the look of a man who, if he didn't continually hurl himself into frenetic activity, would soon go fat. He was not fat. There was no ostentation in his dress, just simple leathers and cloth, with a wool stocking cap. His seal of office hung from a chain around his neck. His burden of office was represented by the thick ledger he carried with him, and which he studied as he walked. Boss Hallador did not look up as he said, "What do we have here, Cediric?"

  "They were fighting in an alley, Boss," said the lead guard. "Against some wizards, who got away."

  The Boss continued scanning his ledger. "Rival ships?"

  "These're from the college, sir."

  At that the Boss grunted and looked up. "You're a long way from school," he said. "Why're you fighting in the streets?"

  Gideon explained, with some interjections from the others. He left out anything to do with the Shadow School, although the missing groundskeeper story would serve well enough.

  "Something evil's at work, Boss Hallador," Leothric insisted, acting as though Gideon was being far too calm about everything. Perhaps that was true.

  "Name?" Hallador said, and Leothric gave it. Hallador went around the room. He raised his eyes when he heard Gideon's name.

  "You know my performances?" Gideon said with gratified surprise.

  "No," said the Boss, flipping over several pages on his ledger. "I have a note here that one Matharic, Royal Adjunct Vice-Critic for Moral Suasion in the Fine Arts, put you on a watch list."

  "A watch list? What sort of watch list?"

  Boss Hallador read, "My 'weekly list of persons to watch, lest they threaten the Empire through sabotage or incitement.'"

  "Fame at last," Gideon sighed.

  "You and your friends will be my guests in the common gaol, until this Matharic can be alerted."

  "Gaol?" Leothric blurted.

  "We're grateful for your forbearance," Gideon said.

  "We are? He's locking us away!"

  "You would prefer the Screaming Pillars?" Boss Hallador asked. At the nickname of the headquarters of the official city constabulary, Leothric and the others were silent.

  The gaol for disturbing the peace was on the uppermost story of the residence, and was fairly pleasant as such places go, although the high window conveyed a chilly draft. Someone had carved inscriptions into the wall, like cheap imitations of the sloganeering in the Shadow School. To be unnoticed is the greatest good in this world. Be patient with your lot. Do not aspire to be a knight or even a pawn; be rather as the dust upon the game board.

  "Some prisoner wrote this in his despair," said Leothric.

  Ozrif snorted. "Just as likely one of the jailers wrote it to promote cooperation."

  "You have a most devious mind, Ozrif."

  "Thank you."

  "Well, we're here for a while," said Viridia. "Let's not despair." She raised her voice. "We've survived assassins! I, for one, am grateful. Let's be of good cheer and entertain each other, and our hosts. It's our calling, after all."

  She winked at the guards and began to dance.

  Afte
rward, thinking of him and Ozrif and Leothric staring at Viridia's swaying movements, Gideon would wonder if Viridia's act was one of kindness or cruelty. For all that he longed for Corvine, over the waters beyond the window, Gideon considered asking the guards for a bucket of cold water, so that he might empty it over his head. Leothric was rapt, looking hopeless. Gideon felt an unexpected sympathy for the puppeteer. Meanwhile, poor Ozrif was receiving the lion's share of Viridia's sultry glances. Gideon's colleague adjusted his clothing uncomfortably. He'd looked happier during battle.

  When the dance was done, Gideon applauded, noting that the guards had begun watching as well and joined in the applause. He also noticed that their dinner of water and hardtack had been replaced with servings of stew and wine. Gideon didn't know whether Viridia was brilliant or foolish, attracting their captors' attention thus. The guards seemed honorable sorts, and having them think positively about the bards couldn't hurt. But maybe some cold water was indeed called for.

  "And now a song," Gideon declared, and he sifted his brain for something strident, brave, and full of war, something that could refocus a room full of lusting men. He wished he could think of something Taldan, but what came to mind was a patriotic song about the Andoren revolutionary Alysande Benedict, seizing Augustana harbor to keep the warships there from the defiant Old Guard who sought to prevent democracy's rise.

  I've seen the fires burning on the margin of the world

  They're spinning in confusion like a battle flag unfurled

  They'll burn in people's hearts until the final spear is hurled

  Ride on, Alysande!

  We've had our fill of holy men who make the world a hell

  We've suffered under venal men so quick their souls to sell

  They'd whip us to submission, so let Andoran rebel

  Ride on, Alysande

  Ride on, Alysande

  Till Augustana's dawn!

  And so on, until even the Taldan guards were joining the chorus. He supposed that Andorens rebelling against Andoren nobility was an acceptable topic.

  After that, Ozrif asked for things to juggle (everyone laughed when he suggested keys) and so his hands danced soap, two plates, a spoon, and a guard's hat through the air. Leothric got his puppets back, and Sir Gothmoor proved less damaged than he'd feared, allowing knight to battle dragon to the cheers of the guards.