The Silent Blade

by P. S. Power

  “Or, you know, you could stay and practice?” That made sense to him, but Erold laughed at the idea.

  “We could, of course, but the truth is we all need to see to our own packing up. We leave in three days. The first snows have fallen in the hills, after all. Early, but the ship will be here soon, I think. I tried to track it, using magic. There are several headed this way, though I can’t tell which one is coming for us.”

  The boy, who was a man now, tempered in war despite his years, brushed at his blond hair. That wasn’t too long, since he fought, daily, and while pretty and long locks were the fashion at the castle, even for men of the court, Prince Erold had been working too hard each day to have time for that kind of thing.

  The women there had long hair, except for Sweyn. Hers had grown well, over time, however. She’d cut it dangerously short a while before, as part of a disguise. Anders thought that was the case, at least. They’d never discussed the idea fully. She was a friend of his, after a fashion, but not so close that they sat by the fire in the evenings sharing their secrets and stories.

  There was a pause, and then Master Tolan spoke, clearly in a wizard’s trance. While he walked, which was impressive. Anders could, he thought, do much the same thing. Possibly. He tried it, attempting to follow the other man, in what he was seeing, as they moved. It was difficult, but he thought he got a hint of the sea, waves and billowing canvas sails, as the man spoke.

  Then he was able to focus on the men working the ship. They spoke Modroc, with an accent. None of them were men he recognized, however. Their words were bland and about what they were doing, in the moment.

  Tolan sounded serene, as he spoke. The thin man, looking no older than thirty, having worked out over the last months how to de-age himself, nodded as he did it.

  “The Sea Otter, the chartered vessel, is indeed about two days from the docks here. They should be putting in for a week, to load goods.”

  Anders had tried to look at the same thing, using the same skills and gotten a mere fraction of that information. More than that, he wasn’t even certain how to get at it. Reading the thoughts of the Captain would inform him of what the man was thinking at that moment, but nothing more. On the top deck, at the wheel, there was a man, but Anders wasn’t even getting a sense of who he was in the scheme of things there, much less the trove of riches Tolan had taken from the same situation.

  It was impressive and reminded Anders that he truly had much to learn.

  The other man, who nodded at his own thought, sighed and looked down at his clothing, then, slowly, fighting to recall the correct phrases, transformed his own outfit into a simple, but nice, silk uniform in black and purple. Not the colors of the King, but still a fine-looking outfit, in a simple fashion.

  Everyone else did much the same, though the ladies all ended up in pretty gowns, since it was what that sort was forced to wear, inside the proper confines of the castle.

  Princess Lissa, still carrying a four-foot-long stick, decorated it, as she moved. Salina, for her part, just tossed hers by the side of the road, as they got to it. The others in that Anders beating crew did the same, making a small pile of the things. He tossed his own little fake blade on the pile, since it wasn’t going to aid him at all, if a real fight came. Carrying a stick around was probably a good enough idea, given that.

  Even in the castle, no one would think of it as a real threat, and it gave a person something that would even the odds if a larger person decided to start throwing punches. True, he had magic for that, himself, but life had shown him, very recently in fact, that his magical powers could be taken away. Then having a stick would have been fairly useful.

  Since that had been no more than five minutes before, he stopped, walked back to the pile and took the five-foot length of oak that Salina had been thrashing him with. It wasn’t his custom to work with lengths of wood like that, so he altered it as they walked. First shortening the thing, to about four-foot, matching Lissa’s endeavors there, then placed some rather intrigued carvings along the length. At the top there was a handle that formed, all out of the one piece. Then he polished it to a shine, as if it were an affectation, instead of a weapon of last resort.

  Depak smiled at it, as they moved.

  “A lovely piece, but you could do finer work on the carvings? Perhaps show some birds and trees, rather than a simple pattern?”

  The rest of the trip to the castle was taken up with him doing more work, with Depak clearly not being truly happy with his artistry at all. The man didn’t scold him, just had him change the thing three times and shrugged as they approached the outer gate.

  Then he was finally allowed to put the butt of the thing on the ground, holding the handle, which was too high for the purpose, really. Then, his point wasn’t to have a walking stick, but a weapon. One that wouldn’t alarm anyone too much, if they thought anything of it at all.

  There were guards on the gate, but other than nod, they didn’t indicate anyone needed to announce themselves. It was Anders figured, that he was walking with all the important people. If it had just been him, alone, the men, people he’d been around for years, would have stopped him and requested exactly what he thought he was doing there that day.

  Which wasn’t wrong. He didn’t live in the building, any longer.

  Instead of doing that stopping, he waved a bit, and gave a nod to the man on the right, Carter, who did it back, without so much as narrowing his eyes. Not that it was the last set of guards they had to pass. It happened three times as they walked down the hallway. To Prince Robart’s office, instead of to where the King normally met with people.

  Not everyone tried to come with him, as he made his way in the correct direction, able to feel where King Matheus was, at the moment. The ladies all moved away, with a gentle smile from Sweyn, and Prince Erold was actually called away, with some rather urgent signaled to by Count Vertis. The older man glared at Anders, for some reason, but had a softer expression for Depak Sona. A polite one, at the very least.

  Instead of just leaving the look alone, the man not having been against him in the past, Anders focused on him, which was clearly noticed by Master Tolan. What he found there was...

  Nothing all that dire.

  The man had a sore foot, and wanted to approach Anders to see about healing it. The strange look was merely due to the idea that he wasn’t certain how to make the connection, given that Anders had, of late, rather changed in status. Sending a missive or a gift might be in order, since Anders Brolly was a Prince now, if in a foreign land. A thing that the Count actually accepted easily enough. After all, nobility was a fiction to the fellow. Even having been born into it. A castle boy being claimed as such didn’t harm his feelings in the slightest. Truly, he figured that it had been someone merely acting in a clever fashion, when he’d learned of the idea. Either to promote the boy, or just as possibly, to promote Istlan or even Barquea, after a fashion. Things that he could see being of value in all cases.

  Before the fellow could move off with the Prince, who was also needed for real work, it seemed, Anders signaled to the man, with a wave.

  “Count Vertis? You seem to be limping... Would it be improper for me to look into that, using magic? I’ll understand if it is, of course.”

  The words had Master Tolan schooling his face, dropping into a deep trance. Understanding more of what was going on than Anders did, clearly. Even as he read the Count’s response, directly. A thing that probably would have started a battle if it had been noticed.

  “Ah... That would be most welcome. The pain in my large toe is... Breathtaking, to be honest. I can barely manage walking, though I don’t wish to appear weak.” The man looked down, as if actually shamed by the infirmity.

  Anders simply moved over to the man, and stared down at his foot. The condition was one that was both odd and familiar to him, at the same time. From his first life, in fact. Several of his brother historians had suffered the affliction. Enough so that Farad had researched the malad
y, to find a cure. None had come, only warnings to stay away from rich foods and wine.

  Now, using magic, he smiled a bit and pointed at the shoe, focusing his mind to take the sharp crystals from around the joint lining. Moving them through the flesh, without contact. He was a little slow, since he didn’t have specific terms for the dangerous things. That meant using will and focus to make up for the lack. Once he moved the fine dust of crystals, which were almost invisible in the air, out of the foot, and passed them through the shoe as well, he collected them into a small white orb, about the size of a pea. That was held in his hand, so as to not pollute the stone hall they stood in.

  Then he removed the swelling, and the pain of the damage that had been done.

  Count Vertis moved his foot, closed his eyes and smiled.

  “That is amazing. Simply incredible. Will this come back?”

  Before he could speak, Depak Sona did, nodding.

  “It likely will. The problem, I believe, is solved, for the moment, but this is a persistent type of illness that will require treatment on occasion. On the good side, this probably purchased you a year, perhaps several, without similar pain.”

  The old man, the count, nodded then.

  “I understand. This has happened before, several times. Now, what do I owe you for your efforts, Master Healer?”

  That, of course, was a bit of a trap, for him. He’d taken some payments, in the past, but the truth was that he had what he needed, as far as riches went. It had been pointed out to him, some time back, that as a Prince, one acknowledged by Istlan now, if not in line for the throne at any close remove, that he must never seem more interested in coin than in aiding his people.

  So, scrambling a bit, he smiled, then bowed, using first courtly.

  “Perhaps a missive, sent to Prince Robarts? Letting him know that I am taking my duties seriously?” That wasn’t a thing there, not that Anders had ever heard about but the Count, perhaps understanding the whole thing more than most, bowed back, with a twinkle in his eye.

  “It will be done, as you suggest. Thank you, Master Healer. Now, Prince Erold, I’m afraid I’m making us late to the meeting that sprung up. Would you...” The man gestured gently with his left hand, causing Erold, who grinned and rolled his eyes, to start walking.

  They spoke as they moved off, but other than hearing a bit about Master Brolly, Anders didn’t understand what was being spoken of.

  Which was fine, of course. It wasn’t his business after all.

  There were two guards on the door to the chamber they needed, but it opened, before either of the familiar men could ask what they wanted.

  Robarts tucked his head out, looked at everyone and nodded, with a small smile.

  “Ah! Excellent. We’re working in here today, gentlemen. There are some small matters, if we could gain your council on them?”

  The guards barely shifted out of the way, leaving just enough room for one man to pass at a time, between their spears. If that fellow wasn’t too large and turned sideways. Inside the room there were several chairs, as well as the King, and surprisingly, several others.

  Sulana Meegan sat next to Princess Aisla, who for her portion, was next to Ambassador Fromet, from the Modroc. Everyone seemed a bit stiff, but no one was shouting or making threats, it seemed, even if they had all recently been on different sides of the same far-off war.

  Seeing them all, Anders just started bowing. After all, as was so common, in that space he was, clearly, the least important person.

  Not admitting that could be courting disaster, so he bent in half and gave what he hoped was a polite smile, attempting very hard to include everyone.

  Chapter two

  King Matheus gestured toward the other chairs, across from himself, near Prince Robarts’ desk, with a rather long-suffering expression. One that, Anders was certain, would have been thought rude, if it had been on his face, and not the man in command. Still, the man locked eyes with him, not anyone else there, as if he, in some fashion, was the problem.

  Anders hoped not, but honestly couldn’t think of a single way that it could be such, to be honest. He tried, and nearly started to read thoughts, when Matheus sighed.

  “I dislike bothering you, Master Brolly, but it seems that a duty has come up, and only you are acceptable as an agent to carry it out. It’s rather an issue, or we all would leave you to your new school, as it is your chosen task...” The man actually went hard for a moment, and was clearly fighting an urge to glare at someone else in the room.

  Sulana Meegan, seeming nearly nasty in her tone, glared herself. Not at the King, or his heir or even the former enemy. No, her eyes went directly to her side-daughter, Aisla.

  “Rather! The Sulat of Modroc has requested you attend him, as a common entertainer!” She softened then, actually managing a slightly brittle seeming smile. “Not that I blame him. Your illusion shows are well worth seeing. Still, if you’re going to that portion of the world, you have to go to see Sula Darian, or it would be considered an insult. Also, as a Prince of two lands, that request is, perhaps, untoward.” On the last word, she turned to glare at, once again, her own side-daughter.

  Princess Aisla shrugged at him.

  “I don’t think father will panic if you skip going out of your way just to give him a hug. As for being a simple entertainer... Well, I suppose that is an issue. When you were requested, my understanding is that your situation that way wasn’t established, so it’s perhaps a bit much to blame the Sulat for not having learned of it yet? Both Princess Sweyn and Duma Sett suggested in letters that you be invited to live in Modroc, in fact. Back when you were merely their room servant. I don’t think any insult was meant in that, either.”

  Prince Robarts, fighting a grin, rather valiantly, gave a slow nod.

  “Indeed! They didn’t request it for your room services, however. They sought only to attract your magical talent to their land. A well thought out plan, I have to admit. Truly, they might attempt to get you to stay on, which would be a loss to us, here. I can’t blame them for it, if they try. Perhaps a pretty wife, some lands and titles to smooth the way?”

  This, interestingly, was directed at the Ambassador, who narrowed his eyes, and slowly, allowed his own face to seem slightly mischievous.

  “I will send a note, to that affect? Princess Sweyn has a younger sister. Dimian. A lovely young lady. She’s... I believe a year older than you are, Prince Anders? You didn’t hear it from me, but she’s even lovelier than her older sisters. They have a different mother.” The man was clearly teasing, though, instead of glaring at him, Sulana Meegan took a sharp breath.

  “That... Is possible, I would have to think. Allow me to pass that idea past my husband?” She turned then toward Aisla and shook her head, firmly. “As for Anders not going to Lo’usa Tet when he’s in that area, I have to disagree. He will be going to see the family there!”

  At first, Anders and even Old Farad, didn’t get the idea. It was an extra step, but it made sense that if people were going to call you family, you should act like it was a real thing. At least if you wanted it to be such. It wasn’t until Aisla tightened her lips and spoke that he caught the idea.

  “How do we make that work, Mother Meegan? Send Princess Sweyn and her cohort with him to the land of their recent enemy? Have Anders travel alone into a strange land, after such a visit? It would be much easier for everyone to travel to the north port, drop off you and the girls, as well as the servants and then travel on to Main Port, around the bend of the continent.”

  Instead of giving a large speech on the matter, the Sulana merely shrugged.

  “I have to imagine that the princess and her husband would be most welcome, in their travels. Even their people here are delightful, or so I hear. Why, from you, Daughter Aisla. We of Barquea will not hold these people guilty over a minor war they had nothing to do with. We are a civilized people, after all. As are the Modroc. It isn’t an issue.”

  Anders could see it as a problem, but o
ddly, had an idea that would make doing just that, taking the Modroc with them into the heart of Barquea, make some small sense.

  He spoke, his voice low. For him at least. It was still a child’s sound, though on occasion of late it had taken to breaking and making strange squeakings and rumbles, as happened to men of his age. Not constantly, and that had, thankfully, not been a problem that day.

  Anders held up a single finger, and touched it to his lips. Everyone looked at him, as if he were demanding silence, instead of thinking. He could see that, since covering a mouth like that was a signal of exactly that, in many places.

  He didn’t tap the stick he was holding, looking over at Depak Sona, instead.

  “Some months ago there was a discussion of marrying Eltha Tennet to Hoatha Eta, to sooth the anger of war. We’d need to gain a greater station for Eltha, I think. Duma Sett had mentioned something along those lines, I believe. Still, it doesn’t have to be real to work. Would the Sulat be amenable to such an idea, do you think, Ambassador Fromet?”

  The man didn’t blurt anything out, touching his own mouth then, stroking his beard. That was gray, and well kept, trimmed in a fashion that showed consideration of the fashions in the land he’d found himself.

  “I do not know? The idea isn’t inherently a poor one. Truly, none can doubt that a former ruler of that land would be of significance for such a marriage. The true question then, is, would Eltha Tennet, a woman of... Rather humble origins, be considered worthy enough for that to count as an alliance pairing? We would need the word of your Sula, for that.”

  Anders, knowing he was being rude, hunched a bit, sighed and waved at Robarts.

  “Could I borrow something to write on? I’ll need to compose a message.”

  That wasn’t a short thing, and he didn’t send it directly to Sula Darian, when he spoke the spell. A thing that both Depak and Tolan understood, even if they didn’t know who he was contacting. It wasn’t until he was finished speaking the far-talking spell that he explained to the others what had just taken place.