The Invisible Hand

by Chris Northern

  Heads turned my way. I held a dying man. They held sacks and chests of coin. I was armed. They were many. I had surprised them. They wouldn't stay surprised for long. The scene held static for a moment. Then I pulled my blade free, a spatter of blood coming with it and a gust of hot gas that stank. Part of me was horrified, but that part seemed far away as a cold certainty washed over me. I shoved Orasin hard and he staggered back limply; his hands moved ineffectually to stem the tide of blood that washed down his belly and legs. The back of his calves hit a chest and he buckled at the knees. He fell backward, one hand flailing for balance. None of it would save him. His near dead weight struck one of the two men close to the opening and knocked him off balance. He clasped the weight of the sack to his belly and took a step over the shaft, caught his balance and hesitated. I had already moved, two quick paces into the room brought me close enough to strike at a man to my right. He lifted a sack of coins and my blade sliced it open, taking off two of his fingertips. Coins cascaded at my feet as he leapt backward, dropped the sack, reached for a weapon with his mutilated hand, only when his grip failed did he look and see why. It was almost the last thing he saw; the last thing was my blade as it flashed in front of his eyes and slid deep into one socket. He fell without making a sound. As I recovered from the thrust and turned, my footing went sour, coins sliding under my foot. I fell, landed heavily across his body. As I rolled away, trying to get my feet under me, something hit my hard on the back of the head.

  It felt like a sack of coins.

  It was the last thing I felt. Not quite the last thing I heard, though. That was Caliran's voice, I think. It was only two words, drifting through the growing darkness that filled my head. "Bring him," he said.

  #

  "There you are."

  I blinked in the dim light, slowly focused on the twin pools of light and the woman who sat behind the desk on which the candles rested. The rest of the library was shadowy and indistinct. A dream.

  "'Casta?"

  Jocasta sighed. "Please don't call me that."

  I drifted closer. Tried to clear my mind. "Sorry," I told her. "not thinking straight."

  "I've been looking for you. I lost you and I wasn't done. Have you thought about what I told you?"

  Not much. Too busy trying to get myself killed. I didn't think I had, though. Bring him. That's what Caliran had said. You don't bring a corpse. Yet he had wanted me dead, hadn't he?

  I didn't say any of that, though. "No."

  This time her sigh was clearly one of exasperation. "Why not? You've been awake or I would have found you."

  I shrugged. "I was busy."

  "Well think about it now. It may be important. You could be in danger."

  I almost laughed. "Could I?"

  "Sumto, are you all right?"

  I made an offhand gesture. "I'm fine," I told her. "Tell me what I should be thinking." Her hands toyed with a stone that looked like jade, thirty carats or more. It reminded me of something. "You lied about making the sorcerer’s loupe."

  "What? Oh, that. I was making a point, Sumto. It was the first thing that came to mind. Haven't you ever stretched the truth when making a point?" She stood up and came around the desk. "Are you sure you are all right?"

  "I'm fine," I lied. "Now tell me."

  I backed up a step as she came close. It was involuntary, a rejection that had nothing to do with my conscious mind. She saw it and froze in the act of reaching up to touch my face. She looked hurt then turned away so that I couldn't see her expression. I reached out to touch her arm and turn her around to face me. Stopped myself. Maybe it was better this way. I wanted to ask why she had left me, but couldn't think of a single reason why she would stay. The question died on my lips.

  I wrestled my thoughts into some kind of order, tried to get back to the subject in hand. Not that it mattered much. I was captured, in Caliran's hands. The thought reminded me of the last time I had been captured by an enemy. They had tortured me. I shuddered and turned away so she wouldn't see my face. The fear and horror there wouldn't be pretty, I knew.

  "The colleges of magic have to be involved." Jocasta's voice was faint, distracted. I listened anyway, tried to focus on her thoughts and not the sound of her voice. Crushed. Hurt. I listened to the words and pushed the rest away. "They say the Secret Histories are a myth, that they don't exist but I found a copy here in less than an hour of looking."

  "How did you get in here?" The thought occurred to me and I blurted it out, just to be saying something. It was odd, though. This must be her first night back in the city, even if she had travelled fast.

  "Getting around wards was the first thing I learned, Sumto. I'd hardly have learned anything else." She sounded impatient.

  It made sense. "So the colleges know about the Speculative Histories. I knew that," I turned back, my expression under control. She had done the same and was back behind the desk. "Balaran asked me if I had read them."

  "Exactly. Why did he ask you?"

  "I don't know." I couldn't remember what we had been talking about. "Does it matter?"

  Her expression flickered through exasperation and back to impatience. "Of course it matters. I think he was sounding you out. Think about it; some people know about this. To some it's accepted, or assumed, or at the very least guessed at. You can't play the game if you don’t know what the game is. He was sounding you out. He would probably think that your father knew, don’t you see? The war in the north had nothing to do with the family Cerulian but you go north with the army; in some circles that might be tantamount to your family declaring an interest, choosing sides. And Balaran knows about the Secret Histories. He has chosen a side. Whose side?"

  I blinked. "You say the colleges are neutral."

  She shrugged lightly and glanced down at the open book in front of her. "They have to be, don't they? Otherwise any conflict would escalate out of control. Almost all nobles know some magic. Everyone in the first three classes can at least afford to learn, but very few know much unless they are members of the colleges and therefore outside politics. If only the nobles are involved in this, then magical conflict is kept to a minimum."

  I thought about it. It made sense. Any Patron going to war petitioned the colleges for magical support, hiring sorcerers, in effect. The colleges supplied them, mostly Battle Mages and Healers. They were there to aid the army, to assist the commander. But there might be nobles involved with the enemy, if the Secret Histories were right. At least behind the scenes. And some among the sorcerers would know that. "The more senior sorcerers would be set on maintaining the status quo, keeping things under control, stopping nobles from coming into direct conflict." Like parents supervising a child's game that might get ugly at any moment. Making sure everyone played by the rules, and that things didn't get out of hand. "Stepping in to stop play," I mused out loud, "and with the power to end the game. But the only way to do that would be to take sides."

  "If the conflict got too large, became a genuine threat to the city."

  I remembered Balaran at the Grave. He had ridden ahead of me, got there first, and then done... nothing. He'd been there, but passive, watching. He is playing his own game, now, Sapphire had said. Playing his own game or making sure the game was being played by the rules.

  What Jocasta had just said filtered into my thinking, merged with the rest. Everything that had happened since I had left the city ran through my mind, but this time each event took on a different meaning. My father’s new son-in-law threatening me, forcing me to join the army. Sapphire, moving in the background, killing enemy spies and agents. But to whom were those agents loyal and on whose orders were they acting? And Tahal Samant among the Necromancers, aiding them a little, here and there. But then at the Grave, he had taken full control of that artefact and turned the undead against the Necromancers. Was he trying to get out of the game, trying to signal that the conflict was resolved, trying to signal to Balaran that it was all over? Had he tried to end the conflict to save his life
?

  "If the real reason for this war is over," I looked up and saw that Jocasta was studying me intently, watching me think it through, "then Balaran must be asking himself why I'm still here."

  She nodded. "And not just Balaran. The factions in the Assembly who were in conflict."

  "The Assembly ordered me to return to the city," I told her. "I'm to stand trial."

  She closed her eyes, expression and body slumped. "Oh, Sumto. What are you going to do?"

  I didn't know. I really didn't know. "Try and get out of this alive," I said softly. Other thoughts were surfacing. Silgar would be going south if Caliran had the money to pay her. Why would an assassin of her calibre be going south? Who was her target? Who was behind Caliran? I no longer entertained any illusions that he was acting alone. Someone in the city was behind him. Someone in the city was behind everyone. Even me.

  "It was Balaran who persuaded you to go, wasn't it?" It suddenly seemed inevitable; removing a piece from the board now the game was supposed to be over. But it wasn't over, because I remained. And so other players remained involved, or had become involved, wondering what my game was without guessing that I had no game.

  Jocasta looked down. Her face flushed. Was it shame? "I didn't need much persuading," she said softly. She hesitated then looked up to meet my gaze with sudden resolve in her expression. She opened her mouth to say something else but I couldn't hear anything for the sudden roaring in my ears.

  I raised one hand to my forehead as something cool and wet seemed to touch it. Suddenly dizzy, I closed my eyes.

  "Sumto?"

  Was that Jocasta's voice, suddenly faint and distant?

  #

  "Sumto?"

  Both hands. Both hands were at my forehead; my wrists were bound. My fingers touched another hand at my forehead and I opened my eyes to see a woman's face looking down on me, framed by stars. I closed my eyes rapidly. Tried to set myself in a time and place that made sense. I could hear moving water close by. I was outside, under the stars. I could hear sounds of conflict; confused, distant and muted. Fighting in Darklake, I decided. Which put me outside the town and not alone. I opened my eyes again.

  She was still there.

  "Anista." I just managed to keep the disappointment out of my voice.

  She leaned down and kissed me before I could react, her lips moving against mine as she spoke softly. "He'll kill you if you make any trouble, so lie still." Her hair had fallen over my face. It tickled irritatingly. I wished that she were Jocasta. I was angry with her because she was not, and knew that my reaction belittled both of them. I'd found some brief comfort in her bed, yet bitter anger washed through me at thought that Jocasta had also taken a lover. Sorting out that tangle would have to wait. I forced myself to accept the kiss and concentrate on what she had said. What she had said was important.

  "Caliran?" I whispered back. My body felt like it belonged to someone else. Lying flat on hard stone seemed about all it was capable of doing.

  "I was wrong about him. I thought he was a good man. He's a monster. Don't blame my son, he has no choice."

  Suddenly she was gone. Her hair whipped away from my face as she was kicked aside. A footstep and the sound of a boot in her side only made sense to me after the fact. In her place, a massively powerful figure stood over me, glaring down at both of us. The light was poor but I could just make out the young-old face of one who had absorbed the body, youth and vitality of a child. One of Caliran's brood of monsters. He peered down at me then looked away. "He's awake."

  I groaned as I sat up, slowly, making an effort not to look like a threat. I didn't have to try hard. Even so, the guard took a step back and set himself to react to any attack. I looked around, automatically, searching for a way out. There wasn't one. We were in against the cliff walls, not far north of Darklake. The lake itself was close enough to see the light of fires reflected in its surface. The whirlpool danced as the waters were pulled into some underground chasm. I watched the waters swirl and the distorted images of Darklake in flames for a moment and then looked away. Women and children clustered in a fissure in the rock. We were closer to them than the semi-circle of armed men around us. Among them was Caliran. His face twisted into a warped smile, half humour, half contempt. He came nearer, in no hurry.

  "From the reports I'd heard, I thought you were dangerous," he said. "If I'd know you were stupid I wouldn't have been so worried about you." He turned away, looked at Darklake and then across the rocky plain toward the woodland and Duprane's Keep. I got the feeling he was waiting for something. He didn't seem to want a response and I surely had nothing to offer in my own defence.

  "What are you waiting for?" I looked around, searched for any avenue of escape, and tried to piece together what must have happened while I was out of it.

  "Plans to come to fruition, one way or another," he glanced back at me. "I heard you picked up Kukran Epthel and carried him bodily into a fire," he cocked his head to one side.

  I looked away, remembering. Nodded once.

  "I thought that was extraordinarily brave, but now I realize it was remarkably stupid."

  That was enough about that, I decided. "You seemed happy enough when you thought I was dead."

  He shrugged his skinny shoulders. "Dead will do, but alive is better. Power is a constant juggle. I had to give up most of the treasury to take you, but there will be other opportunities to get control of the money I need, and there was only one chance at you. It was an easy choice. Even now your soldiers receive word that you are held hostage, along with their instructions for your safe return."

  I thought about it. Wondered if they would obey.

  "It doesn't matter if they obey," he told me, reading my mind. "As long as they are kept busy until dawn. I'll crush them if they are still here, though if they march south before then I'll let them go. But I'll keep you, I think. I wonder what your father will do to keep you alive or have you returned? Hostages are useful levers; the Necromancers used them to great effect."

  I glanced to where Anista had pulled herself up to sit nearby, holding her ribs where she had been kicked. She was looking at me, her expression pleading for understanding. Her whispered words made sense, then. Her son worked against me in order to keep her alive. As Resh Ephannan and the other chieftains would.

  I didn't have anything to offer Anista, so I turned back to Caliran. He wasn't looking at me; his attention had drifted to Darklake, head cocked to one side as he listened to the rise and fall of chaos and violence there. "I underestimated you."

  He turned back to look at me from his cold glass eyes and sneered. "Don't dignify yourself with insight you don't possess, Sumto. You walked into the seat of my power in ignorance, put the focus of your attention in areas where it would make no difference and I manoeuvred around you as though you were blind. While you tried to buy loyalty with money and the promise of prosperity to come, I sorted through the reins of power and took control of everything around you. I thought I was taking a terrible risk, remaining in Darklake until you came, but one look at you when you walked into my library and I knew I could control you. When you saw the books there your eyes lit up like a child offered a sweet. You looked at me but saw nothing. I knew you were a fool. Really, the list of your inadequacies is almost endless; impulsive, rash, naive, ignorant, arrogant," he broke off and turned away. A cheer had gone up in Darklake, ragged at first but rising steadily. "Ah, Elendas, the son of the former chieftain arrives home in Darklake with Resh Ephannan and his force of liberators. How comforting for the people to know they will be ruled by a familiar lord. What a relief for those of Learneth to know they will soon be able to return home to live free from the tyranny of the city." He turned back to me. "It is all in the perception, you see? People will always return to what they are used to, always find comfort in the familiar. Offer them something new and they are suspicious, but offer them what they already had and they are grateful."

  "And the Necromancers’ people?"

&nbs
p; "Are the Necromancers’ people still. You brought one of them with you and they obey him as they always have and always will. They were trained in fear and obedience from birth; what could they do with freedom? The Necromancers kept wolves among them to keep them in check, like shepherds among sheep, to remind them of their fear and the consequences of disobedience. It only took one to herd them. You even brought him onto your confidence, made him a magistrate, and they of course assumed you knew." He cocked his head to one side, expression bright with malicious curiosity. "Tell me, when you chose one among them that they looked to, as you put it, didn't it occur to you that that one might be a Necromancer or their agent? Did such an obvious conclusion even cross your mind for an instant?" He didn't wait for a response. He probably saw it on my face. He cackled and turned away. "We don't need to be here any longer," he addressed his men with confidence, and moved to lead the way. "Time to let things here play out as they will. No matter which way things fall it will serve me well enough," he turned back as his men gathered the prisoners and got them moving. "Are you not going to ask where we are going?"

  I had pulled myself to my feet to avoid being dragged there. I set my balance and hunted through my body for any hint of strength as I studied him. There wasn't any strength in me, so I would have to do without. "Duprane's Keep."

  He smiled thinly. "My Keep."

  "Not while Duprane is still free."

  He giggled and started to walk away. "She isn't free. Even now she is being brought back, bound and gagged and once more mine." He sighed. "Of course, the contents of her mind will not be mine tonight," he glanced back at me, "but there will be other nights."

  I watched him as he stood there, waiting for something, malice writ large on his small features and seeming to glitter from his artificial eyes. I searched my fatigue-fogged mind but couldn't see what it might be. After a moment he shrugged and turned away. One of his men shoved me in the back and I staggered after him.