The Silent Blade

by P. S. Power

  The words got Naveed to wince, but also nod. The man seemed strained, for some reason.

  “At the meal, then, Prince Anders. Sister.”

  They both left then, allowing him to take a bath, under the waterfall that fell continually in the room next to his sleeping chamber, and then try to work out how to take the hair from his face with magic. It worked, but was hard to manage, without a mirror. Then, dressed in a fine enough robe, decorated well, without seeming to be claiming station that he didn’t have, Anders tried to find out where he was supposed to go for the feast.

  It took a while, but he eventually got to the right place.

  Chapter seven

  Walking the city streets, looking for the grand market, before the sun was even properly up for the day should have been a problem. No one was truly out and about, though it was clear that the households he passed were waking for the day already. His pace wasn’t rushing, since he didn’t truly know what to expect when he got into place.

  There were also two men with swords following him. Both were in different colors, but they wore head wraps, instead of hats, and had large curved blades on their sides. Scimitars. The rest of their clothing, in cut at least, told the tale of how they were employed at the grand palace of Sula Darian. At least Anders had never seen anyone dressed like that anyplace else in Barquea.

  When he looked back at the men, who were about twenty feet back, scanning the world as if they expected instant assault, one of them smiled back at him. There was a gentle nod as well.

  Anders stopped and walked back toward them, ready to fight if it was needed, and not expecting that at all.

  “Am I not supposed to leave the palace? I’m heading toward the central market. Um, Depak Sona suggested to a few people that I’d be there today, to do free healing for those in need? Is that...” He was willing to go back, if it wasn’t allowed. Depak was his mentor, and it was a good task to take on, since he was, at least in theory, a prince there. Helping their people seemed to be desirable, even if he wasn’t hoping to be made the ruler there one day.

  Still, Depak wasn’t the Sula, so if Darian had other plans, he’d do what the ruler said.

  The man in deep blue who had a nice polished rock in the center of his grand blue head wrap, at the front, smiled even larger.

  “Nothing like that, Prince Anders. It was just mentioned by one of the serving ladies that you were going to the market for the day, and might need help carrying things. We didn’t know it was to work. Also, your yellow hair marks you as a stranger here, so people might pay too much attention. So, here we are, to act as porters and guides, as needed.”

  He nodded.

  “So, that’s what you tell the nobles, so they don’t mind you walking along behind them, ready to kill anyone who looks at them the wrong way? That’s... Well, I’m not the type to have ever really had guards. Not outside of a war zone.” Even then, it had really only been one time, in a military camp. To make certain that the lonely soldiers didn’t mistake him for their new bed servant.

  At least that’s what he’d been told at the time. It might have been a jest.

  The other man didn’t smile at all, but nodded. He was the older of the two and had a long, powerful, black mustache. The other man, who was probably twenty or so, had a bare face. Anders had that as well, finally having worked out a good spell to shave his skin, without using a mirror for the task. Or a blade.

  There was a pause, before the other guard, the mustache having man, spoke.

  Then, when he did, his voice was dire and a little angry seeming.

  “Exactly. We make up pleasant stories, so they’ll let us do our jobs. You want the market, to do healing? This way, then. There are always some empty stall spaces. We don’t have one of those with us. We can order someone out of theirs.”

  The man moved to the front and marched, at a good clip, taking several twists and turns that Anders committed to memory, knowing he wasn’t going to find his way back, without using such a thing. Some of them were down streets that weren’t that at all. Crowded spaces between dwellings that were so narrow he, the shortest of them, could have reached out and touched the house on either side. They weren’t filled with trash, however, just being spaces, with some people starting to walk along them, mainly in the same direction he was traveling. A few had goods with them, but most had sacks, or in one case a barrow, with which to carry things away. Probably after shopping.

  The trip only took about half an hour of walking. Given the labyrinth like nature of the trip and the winding path they’d taken, it was probably about a mile and a half from the front gate of the palace complex. When they got there, the street opening from a small path to a strip large enough for three wagons to pass unhindered, lined with cloth covered stands on either side, mustache stopped them and looked around.

  “Where would you set up, Prince Anders?” His tone was a bit cool, actually. There was no glaring in particular, however.

  So Anders shrugged.

  “One of the empty places, if that won’t be stealing someone’s favorite spot? I can use the earth here to build a small structure, if that’s allowed?”

  The younger man rolled his eyes.

  “You’re a prince. If you say it’s allowed, it is. Not in everything, but in most. Will it take long to make a structure? We really could just ask someone if we might use theirs for the day.”

  Anders just started working, since doing the other thing sounded heavy handed and annoying. Especially since a lot of people were already well set up for the day, even with the sun only just being up.

  “Li Glarian, barrown, ere ot ere, sot geth neti, alloman fen.” There was pointing to instruct himself where to put the little shop, but it grew from the earth below, taking about ten minutes for the work to actually happen.

  That phrasing, alloman, was one he used to work with metal or stone, or had been so far. It was an instruction for the spell not to go at a faster pace than he could handle without discomfort. It was a bit slow that way. The place really wasn’t large and it had two above ground stories and a basement level, since it was made from dirt and that had to come from somewhere, so it worked well enough.

  It also didn’t disrupt things over much. A few people came to stare, their eyes wide, but no one screamed or ran away in fright. Then he colored the thing a nice green color, and put up a sign, saying free healing. Also that he was there.

  The elder guard made a grunting sound.

  “The Cart Boy is in? That won’t actually confuse anyone. There are only so many people with straw colored hair here right now, after all.”

  He could see that, but still shrugged.

  “You mean my clever brown outfit and fake name won’t actually help me here?”

  “Not even a little, I fear. Still, it’s a good enough thing to do. Even making such a structure is. I should get you to redo my parents’ house for them. I keep meaning to get to that, but it’s a lot of work and I’m not rich...” This came from the more youthful man. It was, it seemed, a jest. At least the older man finally laughed.

  Anders waved a bit in their direction, as they went inside. There were tables and chairs, so he arranged those, with a bit of help.

  “Say, I hope this isn’t rude, but is it allowed for me to know your names?”

  That got a chuckle, from both men. The older one grinned.

  “I’m Mikail. This other one is Baret.”

  “And I’m Cart Boy. Nice to meet you both. I should have asked earlier, but... I don’t know all the rules here. So, do you think anyone will come today? We could go shopping or something?”

  A man, smiling, if a bit tentatively, came to the door just then, holding his left wrist, which wasn’t hanging at a strange angle but was making him wince in pain, every time he shifted, even a little.

  The man went wide eyed, seeing the guards, who were impressive, Anders had to agree. Then he ducked his head, glanced at Anders and hunched.

  “Sorry, I saw the sign? I was pi
cking up a crate of dates and something just made a popping sound and... It’s rather painful?”

  Standing, Anders waved to the now open chair.

  “Here, have a seat. Do you mind if I look inside your arm with magic?”

  “That... Sounds fine? How much will this cost? I don’t have much on me.”

  Baret moved the chair, so the man could rest while Anders did whatever he had planned. The younger guard also spoke, seeming polite enough, if not truly gentle about the whole thing.

  “The healing is free. The Great One, Depak Eta, set his cart boy to doing some light magical work while he’s here. Healing and what not. I was just trying to talk him into remaking my parents’ home for them. He did this place in a few moments, earlier.”

  Anders nodded and muttered, before going into a wizard’s trance.

  “Nand insane, ere ot ere, fen ot...”

  The man sighed then.

  “The pain is gone!”

  The two guards seemed shocked at that happening, for some reason. Anders didn’t understand why, and didn’t speak, just going barely deep enough into a trance to feel the inside of the other man’s wrist. Then he nodded.

  “Ah... I see. One moment here...”

  He talked through what he was doing, which was reconnecting a tendon that had broken. It took several spells and nearly ten minutes, but he was able to end the pain control portion then, and set the man to doing some light exercises, to prove it wasn’t going to ache unbearably, without a spell running constantly.

  The man, brown skinned and in light tan, loose flowing, clothing, took a deep breath.

  “Amazing, sir! You must thank the Great One for me. For sending you today. Are you certain there’s nothing I owe for this?”

  Anders shook his head then.

  “Not a thing. It’s already taken care of. Now, that should hold, without issue. If there’s any problem, I should be here until mid-day, for the next several days. In the mornings, like this? I have to be off at other work, later in the day.” It felt important to explain why he had such limited hours, but the man, who didn’t bother giving his name, stood, waved with his formerly hurt hand and walked out then. Calling thanks as he did so.

  That was pleasant of him, so Anders smiled at his back. Then, before he could sit again, a woman came to the door. She was having lady troubles, which couldn’t be fixed, so he deadened the pain for her, and tried to take the inflammation and swelling from her middle. Only after making certain she wasn’t with child, which wasn’t the case, being an older woman with silver mixed in her otherwise black hair.

  She was a bit blank, but seemed happy with his work, when she left.

  The next several hours went on in the same fashion. People, often poor ones, or so it seemed, came and he did what he could for them. Only a few were things that he didn’t feel good about at the end. A boy with an animal lip, for instance. It looked odd and bothered the boy, clearly, but Anders had no clue how to do anything at all about it.

  No one yelled at him for not being good enough, however.

  They just came, and he did his best. At noon, his middle growling at him in protest of his early efforts, the first man, with the injured wrist, came back. With a small barrel of soft drink, a juice made from sourfruit and a collection of dried dates, figs and some oranges, in a large box.

  “This is from my wife and myself. I only have the one, so far. We run a stand, down the way, if you need anything else, Great One.”

  The man seemed almost humbled, for some reason. Which Anders wasn’t going to let stand. Plus, he wasn’t the Great One.

  “I’m just the Cart Boy, you can call me Anders? Andros, too, I suppose?” His Uncle Nedros had done that, most of the time, the year before. He wasn’t certain, but he kind of thought it was supposed to be an insult. That or a jest. Adding the last bit was an indication he was a soldier, he thought.

  The man nodded.

  “Andros? Like the Great Illusionist? Andros Brolly, the Prince from the northlands?”

  He nearly lied and said no, but Mikail laughed.

  “The same man. Don’t let that get around? He’s here for healing right now, not to put on shows for people in the city. I should go and buy some food, for the meal. We need to stay here and guard the Prince though...” It was kind of clear that the man expected the stranger to deliver more food for them, or possibly run errands.

  Anders just shrugged.

  “Let me make some cups and plates and we can feast on what our friend here brought for us? That will let us stay here, in case anyone comes?”

  No one did said no, so Anders went outside, hunched down and used some stones he found to make four matching cups, with handles attached, which were large and stout, as well as several tiny plates. The rocks ended up being smooth and all of once piece. It was brutally hard work and took him slightly longer to make the cups and plates than the entire building had, earlier.

  Again, he worked slowly, but still ended up breathing hard from effort. Dirt, or even sand, was simpler to work in than larger rocks were. Even if sand was made of the same things. When he finally had that done, feeling slow and a bit like he was going to be scolded for taking his sweet time, he set up a meal for the others. Including the man who had brought the food and drink, since he hadn’t left yet.

  There were enough cups and plates, and plenty of fruit. Some of it dried, which made the dates and figs like candy. The sourjuice contrasted nicely with it. Anders cooled that, using a spell. A simple one, that had the others going quiet, for some reason. They ate though, and drank the beverage on offer.

  Finally, Baret shook his head.

  “The midday rest is almost over. You’re doing several more hours here, Prince Anders? You should mark the schedule on a sign. That way people will know when to come to see you. We don’t want them wasting their time, waiting for you if you aren’t going to be here.”

  The others chuckled at the words, but it was a good idea, so he went to see to that, giving his plans that way, for the next several days, on a blue and brown sign, to the side of the open door. It could be closed at night, but didn’t have a way of preventing entry. Not that he couldn’t seal the door using magic, when they left.

  Not that it was needed. The worst anyone could do was come in and take his chairs and table, or the new cups and plates. He grabbed those, and cleaned them outside, then set them to the side. They still had fruit and juice left, which was good, since two of the people that came needed something for their families and were clearly unable to simply go and buy things, having been ill for too long. That they’d been brought to him left him feeling horrible. One man probably would have died, if he hadn’t been there.

  Anders was thinking about that when he left, at mid-day, about three hours before the late meal. He didn’t run back to the palace, but the day was nice out, without being too hot or even threatening weather of note. The sky had a few clouds, but they were the white and fluffy looking type that didn’t mean much.

  He worried the whole way back that people would come to find him, for aid, and he wouldn’t be there. It got so bad, that halfway there, he searched the work spot with his mind. Only to find that no one was there at all, or even coming. Those in the worst need had managed to make it earlier, it seemed.

  His mind put to rest by that fact, he started to mentally plan out some smaller illusions, in case that kind of thing came up. The big shows were, he thought, impressive enough. Sometimes people liked small amusements. Little things that could be arranged, while they did needlework or spoke softly with friends. Music, for instance.

  So, being involved in such thoughts, he almost didn’t notice when the blade flew at him. It was a silver and gold streak, at first, but his shield came up with his left hand and it fell to the ground, with a clatter. He’d made the motion and the mental sigil without even thinking about it. His months at war priming him for such things.

  Then, a single man attacked him, holding a curved sword and wearing a black and y
ellow mask. That was held tight to his skin. A thing of leather, that reminded him of one that he’d seen before. Seven, actually. In a similar sudden attack. On Princess Sweyn, at the time. In Istlan.

  The boy, and Anders could tell it was Prince Lassa without doing any magic to make certain of it, moved well, on the attack. Thankfully he realized who it was, and managed to check with wizardry, in time to do two things. First, he pushed the boy backwards, hard enough that he went to the ground with a thump, and slid on the rather smooth stones the road was made of there.

  The second thing Anders did was manage to speak, before the guards could hack Lassa to pieces.

  “Prince Lassa! There you are. I was asked to see to aiding you in certain matters, by your father, the Sula. I was thinking we could start with some light reading and working on magics that interest you, as well as some military tactics? Sword work is of interest to you particularly?”

  The boy groaned and Mikail, rather gently, took his face mask off, which meant unlacing it at the back. That took a moment and Lassa looked annoyed, rather than afraid, when his visage was shown to the world.

  “So I’d heard. I was hoping that stabbing you a few times might cause you to think twice about setting me to my paces. I take it that isn’t going to work? I could do that now, if you think it will? Just poke you a bit?”

  He laughed then, not really meaning it. They were real blades, after all.

  “No. If you do it again, you’ll die. Understand that, Prince Lassa. I nearly killed you just now, by mistake. So did these two fine men. You’ll do better than this, in the future. I don’t mean that you’ll be a better assassin, either. Not just that. That too, clearly. Still, you need to learn first, because if you fail at this again, at least with me or anyone around me, it will be your last chance.” He sounded mean, he realized. As if he was actually planning to kill a Prince.

  Because, he realized, he actually was. What was more, both guards, men who worked at the palace, who clearly knew the Prince who was still humbly sitting on the stones at their feet, nodded.