by Tom Lloyd
The man inclined his head, unsurprised that Lastani could sense it.
‘Then please attend,’ Lastani said in a teacherly tone.
She raised her hand and began to draw hard on her magic. Sitain could sense the rush of power tighten like a net snagging a huge fish. It even pulled on the power inside her own body as Lastani continued the flow. She couldn’t see what Lastani was doing in her hand, only the haze of white, but, as the surge of magic continued to build, the willow-pattern tattoos began to glow.
In seconds they were blazing with light. The temperature of the room dropped like a stone. Sitain saw her own skin start to glow as the large oval room became an ice house. Glittering motes of frost sparkled in the air all around Lastani. She held it a few moments longer, long enough for the skin on Sitain’s face to prickle with cold. The mage lamps in the room started to flicker and falter and tentacles of frost spread out across the floor from Lastani’s feet. Before long Sitain felt the sharp bite of winter on her cheek and frost started to form on clothes and furniture alike. Only then did Lastani break off, dismissing the magic as she turned to the old man.
He croaked and flinched under her imperious gaze, the blood drained from his face. Pressed back into his seat, it took him another few seconds to recover himself and form words.
‘She … spirits of the deepest black, how is this possible? This young woman … She’s the most powerful ice mage in the world.’
‘What?’ Sitain yelped. ‘What do you mean? Don’t be so fucking stupid!’
All eyes focused on her for a moment and the room fell silent. Despite the urge to edge behind Atieno, Sitain was too astonished by his words to move.
‘Stupid or not, young lady, I am the highest authority of ice magic in the city and among the foremost in all of the Riven Kingdom,’ the man said at last. ‘I know every ice mage in Caldaire; Mistress Ufre surpasses them all. I doubt anyone on the entire continent of Urden could be so powerful and escape our notice.’
‘We three have all been changed by the Labyrinth in this way,’ Lastani confirmed.
‘Screaming shits,’ Sitain muttered. ‘Stronger yes, but the most powerful on Urden? All of us? But I’ve hardly even started to learn what I’m doing.’
‘And still we witnessed what you were capable of, almost without training,’ Lastani reminded her.
‘Indeed?’ the Shard said in a thoughtful purr. She brushed at the sheen of frost covering her desk’s top and leaned forward to peer closer at Lastani. ‘You have my interest, Lastani Ufre, oh indeed you do. Tell me more.’
Chapter 12
‘What’s with the face?’ Kas said as she appeared at Lynx’s table. ‘Black dog got its teeth into you?’
Lynx scowled and tried to ignore the fact he’d flinched at her arrival. He’d been lost in the view over the balcony, or rather staring blankly into space. A slim, well-worn Hanese novel lay unopened beside his hands.
Nquet Dam was a bustling, attractive district – wealthy in these parts and ostentatious too. The hard lines of the city’s mage-carved stone were softened by brightly coloured awnings and flags, red, ochre and yellow. There were swirls and circles of script on each: prayers, Lynx assumed, despite the more relaxed approach to religion in these parts. Where he would expect to see wells or statues in the street there were raised beds of earth instead, supporting lemon trees and vine-laden pergolas. Every sheltered corner above street level was similarly colonised by greenery, the early season fruit bright against the leaves.
‘Just hungover,’ he muttered.
‘Sure,’ she said, patting Lynx on the shoulder as she sat alongside him. ‘If you say so.’
‘What’s that supposed to mean?’
Kas sighed and took his arm. Lynx tensed and quietly cursed himself for it, but Kas made no sign of noticing. She leaned against him in a sisterly way and reached for the plate in front of him, teasing up a strip of sticky pastry. She popped it in her mouth and licked her fingers clean before answering.
‘I’ve seen you hungover, remember? Seen you naked too, and sleeping. More’n any man I’ve ever known, you always look like there’s a black dog after you. Especially when you’re dreaming.’ She squeezed his arm. ‘Sometimes the fucker gets too close and takes a bite, there’s no shame in it. This life we lead is hard on the sunniest o’ folk.’
In the street ahead a winding column of the sloth creatures, all bearing laden bamboo frames on their backs, cut a path across their view and blocked the street for a minute. It didn’t take long for the shouting to begin, pedestrians and traders yelling at the squat beast-master leading the sloths. More faces soon appeared at balconies to watch the fun. Several of those yelled their own contributions to the impromptu street theatre while the sloths drifted back and forth in confusion.
‘I like dogs,’ Lynx said at last. ‘I never think of it as a dog.’
‘No?’
He shook his head. ‘Dogs come in three types. They love you like all the world, they’re not interested, or they want to rip your face off. My demons,’ he tapped the side of his head as he spoke, ‘the bastards that claw all sense from my head, they ain’t dogs.’
‘What then?’
Kas kept where she was, gaze away from him and sharing the view of the tangled stone streets. The Siym Holding compound was just about visible from there, the heart of Kabat Siym’s modest trade empire, encompassing six narrow streets that were sealed off from the city at night.
Lynx willed his shoulders to relax, to accept the warmth of that weight on his body. Kas kept still, just a companionable presence that meant he didn’t end up staring too deeply into those beautiful brown eyes. Like this, he could almost believe he was just talking to himself.
He glanced down as best he could without moving his head. Fuck, I’m an idiot, aren’t I? The breeze caused the awning above him to flutter sharply, rattling its agreement, but he shook the feeling away.
‘My demons are cats,’ Lynx began. ‘It’s a black cat that lurks on the edge of eyesight. You only catch a glimpse – you don’t hear a thing, but suddenly it’s there. Gentle at first, worms its way in under your guard. Then it sinks its claws in, all sharp and hot and it’s too damned late.’
‘True enough,’ Kas conceded. ‘Bastards act like your friends right up to the point they’re drawing blood.’
‘Exactly. If a black dog was hunting you, you’d be able to choose – to run or to fight it. There’s no fighting the black cat, it just appears. All you can do is hold your breath and wait to see what it decides to do. Mebbe it acts nice, mebbe it plays with you and draws a little blood just for fun. Or mebbe the claws dig in deep.’
‘So how do you chase the cat away?’
‘Fucked if I know. Being in a stone city don’t help much though. Reminds me of Shadows Deep more’n I’d like.’
‘Yeah, you’re not alone there. Happy memories, hey?’ He felt her hesitate, poised on the edge of speaking. ‘Don’t take this the wrong way, okay, Lynx?’
‘Uh, sure. I’ll try.’
‘All this.’ Kas waved her hand towards the view ahead. While she just made a general gesture, Lynx knew what she meant. ‘Does it make things worse? Should you be sticking around?’
‘Yes and no,’ Lynx said eventually. ‘There’s good and there’s bad. I’ve lived with these demons long enough to know that much.’
‘Violence, terror and a woman who’s got you always off-balance?’ She held up a hand. ‘I know, but I’m talking as a friend here. You don’t know where you stand with her – that’s who she is as much as how she plays. Her life ain’t simple, never going to be.’
‘I don’t do simple, really,’ Lynx said. ‘Not without screwing it up. But yeah, I know. Some days all you can do is keep moving, make it hard for the black cat to catch up. Have a job, have a goal, have a problem you’ve got to work round. Boredom’s bad. Boredom gives you time to hear the scratching in your head. This ain’t perfect, but some o’ you are decent company. There’s usually someth
ing to focus on when I need a focus.’
‘Even if it gets you killed?’
‘I got to earn a living somewhere, somehow. In the Cards I do it around folk who’ll hold me back when the scratching stops me thinking clearly.’
Walking the streets somewhere ahead of them were Toil, Teshen, Payl, Safir and Llaith – each one tasked with making a few observations they could then pool. Kas had been doing the same, but the job called for them to never linger so she’d stepped away. Lynx was there as back-up. His job mostly comprised eating enough to justify sitting in one place for two hours. That part he’d liked, but it had turned out to be a bad morning to be left with his thoughts.
‘Right you are,’ Kas said with a nod. ‘Start thinking then. From here, how’d you want to do it?’
‘Not my call.’
‘No, but I’m asking. You were a gods-damned Hanese commando, you led strike missions.’
‘You don’t need me to work it out, you know your shit already.’
‘Shitting gods, Lynx, I’m not asking for your help. I’m asking you to use the brain of yours to distract you from your black cat.’
‘Oh. Right. Yeah, fine.’ He took a long breath. ‘Not knowing what the others will come back to say? I’d do it the Hanese way – hard and fast.’
‘For the sake of this conversation, I’m going to let that one pass,’ Kas purred, ‘but we’re going to have to come back to mocking that statement later, okay?’
‘Dammit. See? Not thinking clearly.’ Lynx shook his head. ‘Anyways, their strength is their position and their Masts crews. They’ve got the numbers, but we’re better armed. So we get there when the crews are asleep or unprepared. Kill the sentries and we’re inside before anyone reacts. With luck they’ll see they’re beaten and surrender.’
‘Could turn into a street fight. The guards in the mansion just need to hold out long enough for other crews to appear.’
‘True. We need a second breach team for the mansion. Everyone’s looking one way while they slip in the other. Atieno can bust open doors, Sitain can put any guards down. Once they’re inside, Suth’s quickest on the draw and all the marked Cards see better in the dark after Jarrazir.’
Kas nodded and sat up, helping herself to more of the remaining food as she considered his idea. ‘I like it,’ she said finally. ‘I was going to go in to the offices, use it as bridgehead.’
‘Using an earther to breach the gate? Surely there’ll be some sort of rattle-cage behind each one?’
‘Using Estal. She knows her grenades. We get her to rig something for those big hinges and pull the gates down.’
‘Risky. Anything slows you up and it becomes a prolonged fight.’
‘Hey, I didn’t hear your idea to actually breach the wall – what was that again?’
‘Fair point.’
‘Thank you.’ She paused and leaned forward to look over the remaining food. ‘Hand me those prawns, would you? You know what, I don’t think I’ve ever seen so much unfinished food on a table you’re sitting at.’
That made Lynx crack a smile. ‘Then you didn’t see the four plates they’ve already cleared away. Stuffed squid cooked in wine, fried rice balls, some sort of little red plants that tasted like nuts, and smoked fish and samphire in a pot of garlic oil. Try the soup too, there’s slivers of some sort of meat in it even I can’t work out. Might be it’s tysarn I guess, but sweetened somehow. And who says I wasn’t going to finish it all in my own time? I’m just pacing myself.’
‘Your famed Hanese way, eh? Hard and fast with a soft finish?’ Kas laughed, waggling her eyebrows at him as she reached for the soup. ‘If one of us had needed back-up, would you even be able to move?’
‘I was mostly planning on rolling to the rescue, then vomiting as a distraction. Toil inspired me with that brawl ruse.’
‘Smart, very smart. You should probably drink lots of wine to add authenticity there.’
‘Way ahead o’ you.’
She smiled and raised a hand for a waiter.
Chapter 13
The administrative offices of the Siym Holding were modest affairs, sparsely populated and possessing a near reverential hush. Despite the reach of their interests, only eight clerks attended an elderly couple who had devoted their life to the day-to-day running of the Holding. Uncle and aunt to the kabat, Quelo and Udar Siym had been a couple for close to fifty years – the initial decision made out of pragmatism more than infatuation. Each loved order and sobriety of thought and mind. They cared nothing for the rule of the house other than it was done well.
Sparrow-thin and permanently draped in a neat formality all of their own, the couple mirrored each other in almost every way. They dressed almost identically each morning, ate the same food and often would pace the offices shoulder to shoulder as they inspected the work of their underlings. Quelo was darker-skinned than his partner, but such was their neat co-existence that small cosmetic differences were all that differentiated the two of them. They had no children and could not abide the presence of anything so chaotic, but worked tirelessly on behalf of their extended family. What one was told, the other would know. What one decided, the other would agree with.
Ferociously intelligent and masters of their small domain, they barely needed the rooms of ledgers stored on the floor above, but were also scrupulous about their records. When a fist hammered on the door early one morning, the pair had not yet retired to their office and were the only ones in the room not to jump at the sound.
‘Foolish mice,’ Udar muttered.
‘As if Whitesea Consortium enforcers would knock on a door,’ agreed Quelo after a phlegmy cough.
‘Why do you all stare?’ Udar demanded. ‘Back to your work. Junior Scribe Sarams, see to our visitors.’
The Junior Scribe jumped to his feet and scampered to the door. He had barely begun to open it before the person on the other side decided even this task was beyond his ability. Sarams gave a squawk as he was swept up by the door. Even with the impediment that was the Junior Scribe, the door was flung back and Sarams half-crushed against the wall behind. The woman who stepped through the door seemed entirely unsurprised by the howl that resulted and looked around the room with a self-satisfied expression.
Udar and Quelo exchanged a look. They had seen this type before. Vain and convinced of her own intellect, she would no doubt equate a loud voice with acumen.
‘Who’s in charge here?’ the woman demanded in Parthish, the language of thugs so far as the Siym were concerned, but thugs with money.
All heads turned towards the elderly pair who said nothing. If the question needed answering, the visitor had no purpose here.
The woman stepped forward. Her clothes were intricate and fussy; a flowing dress of layered silk, grey and blue, inlaid with pearls and embroidered with pictures of fish. Her cloak had a fox-fur collar, her silk shoes were laced with blue ribbon of all things and her long red hair was pinned with a dozen silver clasps set with sapphires.
Or perhaps blue glass. To present herself here in such a way, how important can she be?
‘You speak for the Siym family?’ the woman said, advancing on them. She was tall and muscular, hardly the image of noble Parthish wealth one might conjure from the stories told of that inland sea.
‘We are Siym,’ Udar acknowledged.
‘Excellent, my name is Iliatory Esber. I wish to buy from you.’
‘Does this appear to be a shop, Mistress Esber?’
‘What’s that got to do with anything?’ the foolish woman said. She pointed back behind her where they saw two figures. ‘We wish to establish a business relationship, not purchase goods.’
One of her companions was dark-skinned and dressed in similarly foolish fashion, the other was an easterner, Olostiran by his colouring and skirt. They took a long look at each other. All three were handsome, self-assured and entirely comfortable in unfamiliar surroundings. None looked like the Siym’s usual trading partners.
To underline that
fact, they had come armed to the compound gates, a detail which marked them as newcomers to the city and grossly ignorant of all its customs. The women wore now-empty holsters at their belted waists and the man an empty rapier scabbard.
Like a dirty afterthought, a fourth stranger appeared at the doorway. This one was clearly just a guard, albeit dressed in better clothing that the usual mercenary. She was a tall woman with a scowl on her face who did not enter, no doubt under instruction from the guards who’d taken the women’s mage-pistols.
‘And what do you seek in this relationship?’ Udar asked finally.
‘We represent a consortium of interests in Sha Sain,’ the foolish woman said. ‘One of our city’s more creative apothecaries has developed a new use for one of your drugs – a use that has proved most popular.’
‘And we export to Sha Sain,’ Quelo said.
Esber muttered something in her own language then took a breath. ‘I am well aware of that. The problem is who you export it to.’
‘The drug is?’
‘Yellow-spore.’
‘I fail to see the problem. Humble Inshir is a man with whom we have a long-established and steady business arrangement.’
‘Humble Inshir is a—’ The woman broke off into her own language and unleashed a torrent of abuse that went on for quite a while. Quelo and Udar exchanged a look of boredom.
Quelo raised a hand. ‘Master Inshir is our client in Sha Sain,’ he said after the bluster and noise had lost its initial burst of energy. ‘Should you wish to buy, I’m sure he is willing to sell to you.’
‘Only on unacceptable terms!’ Esber protested. ‘We want to buy ten times what he offers and he demands the process our apothecary has devised, so he may cut us out entirely.’
‘That is hardly our concern. We do not trade with strangers. Good day.’
‘What? Don’t be damned fools – we’re willing to pay above what Inshir is and in far greater amounts.’
‘On what assurances? The drug cannot be produced in much greater numbers, it is delicate to transport and we still do not know you. Why would we restrict supply to our established partners in the hope that you have the funds to pay on delivery and continue to pay?’