The Silent Blade

by P. S. Power

He spoke in Modroc, that, while perhaps not fluent, was clear and concise enough that no one asked him to repeat himself. The woman glowered.

  “That doesn’t matter! The portents told us to stop them, or our order will be destroyed for all time! We cannot allow the heathens to live!”

  Anders was a bit taken aback.

  “By heathens you mean...” He waited, it wasn’t a real question, but the lady glared at him and explained.

  “The Barqueans. Especially this one. Naveed. A cruel and feckless man, unworthy of our Great One! She is as a flower, growing sweetly from the sands and this brute seeks to split her legs and use her flesh to mark his conquest of our people!” She struggled then, as if hoping to shake off the guards and kill Naveed herself.

  “Oh. I see then. Normally I’m the one being called things like that. Heathen or barbarian. Now, we should probably tie you both up and see about taking you in front of Princess Sweyn and your Great One? Will that be allowed, do you imagine, Prince Naveed? I need to investigate them more, but so far they seem to be working for a religious order, not the Sulat or any of his people. Not directly. We also have that bridge to draw up and a message to send to him anyway, so we can, perhaps, add the information about this as well?”

  That, of course, would be up to the Sula and it seemed, Princess Sweyn and her people.

  Also, it soon worked out that neither he nor Prince Naveed were expected to handle such things at all. It was a delicate matter, after all, so the Sula needed to get with his advisors, before approaching anyone on the matter.

  As the prisoners were taken away, Anders walked back into the office space. It wasn’t vast, but it had a low table for writing and things such as pens and paper. Composing a message didn’t take hours, either, not even with a rough drawing of the river, which was very straight, since he’d constructed it that way, and where they were suggesting the bridge be placed as well as the location of the camps on either side. Which Naveed suggested they not let be too large. Enough for ten men, each. The idea being that if an army came, they could destroy the bridge, from either side, buying time for messengers to call in reinforcements.

  “Yes. A thing that can work here, since so few know how to swim. Not even enough to cross a deep but gentle river. I have an idea for the type of bridge? An arc, like this...” He took a while to draw that, a stone arc that had feet in the water below, for stability. It was wide enough for a wagon, even a large one, but not for two.

  Naveed took everything, and left, without asking Anders to do anything at all, including wait. So, acting on the idea that the plan might be good enough to send along with the message, he composed a magical message, for the ear of Farad Ibn Istel. Using the name for Far that he’d created, simply for such a purpose as the one at hand.

  The response came about half an hour later, when Prince Naveed came back. Not exactly at the same time, but about ten heartbeats before. So the entity that hovered there was noticed, its red glow brilliant as Naveed strode into the room and went completely still.

  “An attack?” He didn’t seem to know what to do.

  Anders did.

  “Not at all. A friend. Come to deliver the letter for us. These pictures as well, I don’t know if you can draw them...”

  There was a voice then, which was low and a bit gloomy seeming. Soft, but easily heard.

  “I could, but I can just take the papers? It isn’t far, to Modroc. I used to live there, when my friend Farad did, many years ago. I can find the way. To the new leader there? Sulatuth Mononeth?”

  Anders made the correction, figuring it was probably a linguistic shift, due to time, rather than the energy being not understanding the language.

  “Sulat Mondeth. If you have been away for a long time, things will have changed. Is there a payment you wish for this work? I could do a show of illusions for you and your friends, if you wish, perhaps?”

  There was a soft, almost imperceptible laugh then.

  “That would be marvelous. I do like entertainments. Thank you, Anders. I will be back. Perhaps with a message in return? I am Jonpries.”

  “Nice to meet you, Jonpries. This is Naveed. He works here. A prince, in case you need to be in touch with someone like that in these parts?”

  There was the sense of a bow, then the papers all of them, including the drawings of the bridge he hadn’t really meant to send along, vanished.

  There was a feeling, similar to the beating of a butterfly’s wings in the air. A thing that made ripples, but that could nearly not be noticed at all.

  Anders figured on waiting hours, or even days for a response and nearly moved back to his own room for that directly, when Jonpries came back. It was sudden enough that he jumped a bit, the red blob of translucent glow returning to the space so directly.

  “Sulat Mondeth is pleased you have reached out to him. Would you be able to draw pictures of the masks, and the faces of those who so foully sought the end of Prince Naveed?”

  The Heir tilted his head.

  “I hear words, but I do not know the tongue?”

  “Ancient Ethrite. It’s the base language that Modroc comes from. Jonpries, that’s the name of our friend here, was asked by the Sulat if we could provide drawings of the masks and the attackers? My skill that way is... Minimal, I fear. I can do some basic things... Really, we should ask if Depak Sona will aid us in this part? Unless you have great skill that way, Prince Naveed?”

  It was a slight surprise, but the older Prince simply nodded.

  “I’ve had lessons and it’s a hobby of mine, so I might serve that way. Well enough for hasty sketches, at any rate. I don’t want to keep, Jonpries was it?” He went on when there was a nod from Anders and a shifting movement from the cloud in the air. “I don’t want to make him wait on us. If... Is it a him? I... How rude of me to not know!” The man actually seemed concerned over the idea.

  Jonpries, when the whole thing was explained, seemed more relaxed.

  “I was never human, and never had one of those genders that you body people like to go on about. It seems a bit of a burden to you all, really.”

  That, when explained, got a chuckle from Naveed, who was already drawing and doing a much better job of the recreations than Anders would have without ten times the effort. When they were finished, from memory, the man had good likenesses of the masks and people involved. As soon as he showed Anders that, Jonpries vanished again, along with the new drawings.

  Then they got to wait for real.

  There was no answer for so long, in fact that Anders went to find his bed, hoping the change in location wouldn’t mess Jonpries up on the return, and he slept in a comfortable bed, uninterrupted, for the entire night, and ate in the morning with Master Belford, having missed the meal the night before. He started to explain, but the man, who was dressed in all blue that day, simply settled next to his wife, who was in a fine green robe.

  “I heard that there was a second attack on Prince Naveed. Also that you handled it, with no harm being done this time. We need to go carefully there, Anders. It was well done, but you saving lives too often will start to seem staged.”

  He nearly snapped at the man, exasperated at the idea. He hadn’t set things up after all. Which, while true, still wouldn’t stop anyone from thinking that. Luckily, he held his tongue for a moment and nodded.

  Speaking as he had been spoken to, in Istlan.

  “I understand. I should be leaving soon, if possible? It will be a few weeks, I think.”

  They all ate then, with Master Belford hinting at something vague for a long while, before Anders simply used his wizardry skills to find out what was wrong.

  It wasn’t, as he had expected, that the man wanted to borrow, or even have, some gold or other coins.

  No, the man, rather desperately, felt that the Sula, or at least some members of his family, were about to have him killed.

  Chapter fourteen

  The library of Sula Darian wasn’t a mere room, filled with some scant rows of scroll
s and tomes. It was a full building, just off the palace, with very high windows and shelves so grand that one needed a ladder to find what some of them were. There were tables, at which to read, with special lamps placed over them, in case late night reading was ever required. Those were of fine silver, with clear glass hoods on them, along with small metal chimneys, to take the soot outside directly, so as to lessen the marring of the books there. Anders had been in a different library at the palace on his first stay, a fine room with two tables and many texts and thought that place was what had been spoken of.

  “So, I live here now?” He tried to make his voice sound matter of fact, as he looked at the old man who ran the place. No name had been given, only that this man in brown robes was the keeper of that building.

  Also the one who had truly executed Lassa.

  The fellow laughed at the jest, at least.

  “I felt the same way, when I first saw it. Try to get at least some sleep? Otherwise, people will proclaim your mind gone and then you’ll end up doing nothing but reading all day long, to avoid them.”

  He could see it as a danger and smiled over the idea. There had been a time when, in many ways that had been the main portion of his life, after all. A thing he couldn’t truly allow, for Anders. That was largely due to the fact that, while Anders could see the use of learning new things, he wasn’t convinced that doing so without end or directed purpose was all that needed. Since it was his life, Farad knew that losing himself to books or learning wouldn’t be allowed. Even if it was tempting to push for such things.

  “Would you know if any of these works are modern texts on bridge building or perhaps manufacturing waterways? The Sula suggested that I memorize some works, if I have the time, and I find that I do, for the moment.”

  Instead of giving the boy, who had to seem strange with his pale skin and blond hair, a funny look, the man simply looked up and to the right for a moment, pausing, then dashed off toward a bookshelf, a good way toward the back of the large space.

  “This way, Prince Anders! I think we have several good selections to start with.” That was simply the truth and the man loaded him with several works, and then indicated where each needed to be returned on the shelf. He fixed that information into his mind, firmly, since it was important not to have things be too out of order, he had to imagine.

  Not with so many works being in one place.

  Then, with the man still there but not bothering him, Anders selected one of the works, a narrow tome with a brown cover that claimed to be about several types of bridge construction, and committed the whole thing to memory. It took focus and skill, and wasn’t as fast as reading, but he finished before the mid-day meal by enough he could pack things away.

  The Librarian came over, his wrinkled brown face seeming pleasant.

  “You have that one in your mind already, then?”

  He nodded.

  “It wasn’t too long. I can return, after the meal? I don’t know the hours that visits are allowed.”

  “Oh, anytime, really. It’s best to come during the day. Now... I think we need to flee. We’re under attack by a sluagh. Perhaps of the greater sort. Run. I will guard you as I might.”

  The man seemed to be getting ready not only to battle to the death to protect the strange prince, but also to die.

  Anders turned and looked near the front.

  “It’s not an attack. This is Jonpries, so there’s no need to fight. He’s a friend of ours, here... Jonpries!”

  He waved, even though that sort of being didn’t see reality in the same way that Anders did. From the description Far had given him, when you were a Devica, people looked a lot like energy clouds. Small ones, compared to a giant like Jonpries.

  The librarian froze for a moment, then tilted his head.

  “Ah? Well, that’s different, then! Welcome friend!”

  Anders smiled, since the thought was correct. Not all of that kind was instantly going to be your friend, but treating them as if they were evil beings, or attacking them, wasn’t going to win them over, either.

  “Do you speak any Ancient Ethrite?”

  The man switched to that tongue and his accent was a bit thick, but it was clear enough, if rough.

  “That tongue of old have I, this one.”

  Jonpries, clearly hearing that, moved in.

  “Hello, friends. Anders, the Sulat of the Modroc has sent missives and apologies. There is information about the cult that has attacked Prince Naveed. I am to carry that to his daughter, Sweyn, if allowed? I do not wish to scare her, so came to you, first.”

  Anders waved that away and spoke at the same time, not certain if the being would understand that small of a gesture.

  “She should be fine. This man is the librarian here. He can actually speak the same tongue you do, if you need to pass a message and I’m not around? Is that well with you, sir?”

  The man, even if he’d been about to fight to the death to save Anders, had already recovered from the fright, it seemed.

  “That is fine, of course! I am Rashid, the uncle of Sula Darian. Rashid Eta. Pleased to make your acquaintance.” There was a bow, but, Anders noted, it was done with palms down, even if to this man he was facing a great terror.

  Anders felt a bit of glee over that, to be honest. If people in Istlan feared all magic, people of Barquea were easily as worried, if not more, about sluoagh.

  “Excellent. I was just memorizing a book, on bridges. I’ll need to ask for aid, to find Princess Sweyn, I fear. I don’t really know where her room is. Not on the same hall that mine own.”

  He started to leave, with Rashid moving in alongside of him, chattering fairly merrily at the floating red cloud of energy.

  “Do you live in this area, Jonpries?”

  “I live, currently, with my friend Far, up in the north, at the grand college there. That is just beginning, so it is a rare treat, to see a great thing unfold, from the start.”

  Rashid clapped.

  “Oh, that does sound marvelous. A place of learning? What is it dedicated to?”

  Anders spoke then. After all, it was his school, or would be, if he was ever allowed to actually stay there and set things up.

  “Magics. With an eye toward both military efforts and good works, when no wars are present. All magical subjects will be covered. If we can find teachers for all of it. So far we don’t have even a single book. I’ll have to write some, so we can start filling the shelves of the room I set aside for that. As Jonpries mentioned, it’s just now beginning.”

  The older man smiled.

  “You write books as well? Amazing. Anything I’ve heard of?”

  That didn’t seem likely, but he smiled anyway.

  “Magic for Princesses? It’s in two languages now, so...”

  The other man clapped.

  “I’ve read it, then! Sula Darian was gifted a copy, and had it placed on the shelves here. An amazing work. We get copies of anything you write in the future?”

  “If you wish? Right now, I need to write some new works. A primer for magic, similar to the first, but in Modroc, and one for Apprentice Great Ones. That... Well, it’s a niche market, isn’t it? I’m not even one of those myself, either.” He paused and sighed, as he kept walking. “That bit of magic you did the other day, ending Lassa before he was beheaded, then making him seem alive for that, and in control of himself... That was a great kindness. Refined work, as well.”

  Rashid looked down at his feet.

  “Ah, you noticed that? It wasn’t meant to steal the moment, simply to ease the boy’s passing. That one never was right, but trying to kill people... Well, I never agreed with that sort of thing. It’s why I never went off to war, I suppose. I study, instead. Books and magics. Other things as they take my fancy. I have for, oh, a few hundred years now.”

  Anders nodded, not disagreeing with that time frame. Not directly.

  “The Sula isn’t that old, and you’re his uncle?”

  “Correct. At some th
ree removes. Great, great, great-uncle. Am I saying that right, Jonpries?”

  “Yes.” The voice from the cloud was ponderous. “That is a long life for one of you body people, isn’t it? Far is older, but few others are.”

  They went on in that vein for a while, the pleasant banter with the floating red, possibly evil as far as anyone watching knew, entity, seemed to calm everyone well enough. At least Depak Sona and his apprentices weren’t running at them, desperately casting spells.

  Even when they stopped to ask directions to the Princess, they only got strange looks, instead of fearful reactions. Meaning they managed to find the Princess and her people, Eltha, Sondra and Duma Sett, with only three false destinations, first.

  When they entered the room, Anders bowed. Using the Barquean fashion, since they were in that land and he was, more than anything else, acting for those people that day. Then he gestured, first to the energy being, since everyone was staring in that direction already.

  “This is our friend, Jonpries. He knows Far? This other man is the head librarian here, Rashid Eta. A Magician as well as versed in other magic, I think? Rashid, Jonpries, this is Princess Sweyn. These others are the Modroc Great One Eltha Tennet, Duma Clarissa Sett, who is a famous illusionist and Sondra Beregian.” She was a spy, but introducing someone that way seemed rude to him.

  So he left it there, repeating the whole thing in Ephrite. The Modroc women did seem to be able to follow that language, a little, since it wasn’t that far away from what they used at home. Just old fashioned.

  Jonpries sent out a feeling that seemed happy.

  “Hello. I am delivering a message to Princess Sweyn, from her father?” The deep voice seemed to be too hard for Eltha and Clarissa to easily get, but Sondra simply jolted back a bit, and Sweyn took a half step forward.

  “I’m Sweyn. What is the message?”

  That, it turned out, was dumped at the floor, near her feet, all in a rush. Nothing was there one moment, then the next, a small pile of missives, letters and even a small box of something or other appeared. It was more than Anders would have asked the cloud to carry, but it didn’t seem to be troubled by it. At least there were no complaints that way.