The Silent Blade

by P. S. Power

  If not, they could go hungry, which was probably a bit mean of him to consider, really. The people with him weren’t nearly as soft as they might have been, considering the titles and the fact that even the men from Modroc had been hand-picked to go to a different land. Some of those had probably been as rewards for good work in the past.

  There had also been the attack, on those peoples first day. Masked men, who had come with a Devica, an entity, that had tried to kill Sweyn and Eltha. Anders as well, but that had taken place after he’d started to fight. The masks had been a bit less ornate than the ones that the would-be assassins had worn in Barquea, but there was a similar and now that he thought about it, official seeming, line between all of them.

  No one had been able to find the source of that attack. Really, it hadn’t even been investigated, once they’d understood that Ganges was behind things. The idea that Ganges or at least Rothina, hadn’t been behind that attack hadn’t even occurred to him to ask about. Indeed, he’d avoided the topic, since it was going to be too hard to hear them say that yes, they’d tried to have innocent people killed, for their own political ends. A thing that pretty much had to be going on that day, much less historically speaking.

  You didn’t take over the world with pretty words, after all. Not that any history he’d ever heard of or read had spoken of.

  It was possible, given that attack, that they were dealing with other people who wanted to kill for their own ends. If they didn’t give up, then it meant that Princess Sweyn was a whole lot less safe than he would have figured. Possibly Prince Erold, as well. He nearly panicked and tried to come up with a way to get them both to safety. In a land so far off that no one could touch them. Then, he realized that he was being impractical and probably was simply wrong. For one thing, in the last years, no one else had tried for Sweyn at all.

  Not that he knew of.

  A lot of things were going on behind his back, however. More to the real point, most people just didn’t think to share everything with the thirteen-year-old boy in their midst, for some reason. Not even one with a strange historian in his head.

  That part was hard for him to wrap his mind around now. Having met Farad, the real man, still alive and walking about in a robust and very different way than what Anders knew about him, had changed how he thought about himself, a lot. In the days and months after the crystal had been placed against his forehead, Anders had felt, and considered, himself to be Farad Ibn Istel, linked to a little boy. His true spirit, come back from the land of the dead.

  Now he felt as if he were Anders, connected to a partial memory of a man from long before.

  Eventually he hoped to do what Rothina had mentioned and realize that he wasn’t either of those things, but was, in fact, simply himself. Not either part, or simply both, but something new. A different person than anyone would ever have expected.

  A thing, he understood, wasn’t real at all.

  No one expected anything of him, in particular. Not beyond what a boy his age, a young man, would have done or considered. It was himself who kept pushing to be more than that. Which made the idea of other people not thinking to inform him of everything in the world make a lot more sense, suddenly.

  Anders knew some of it now, of course.

  Before he’d left, he’d read the thoughts of the Sula, and then most of his family, the guards and the servants, specifically to see where the threat to Master Belford might lie. That had been shocking to work out, once he’d done it. Also a violation of people who, if they ever learned of it having happened, might well have him murdered for real.

  Possibly in an official fashion.

  The information collected was very different than what Nicoa Belford had feared however, though nearly as dark. He’d worried that those of the palace would murder him, for his perversions. At least he knew that they considered his love of men to be that. The truth was that the royal family barely cared about such things. Oh, if Anders had openly taken up with men as lovers, he’d be talked to about it and perhaps sent away from the palace if he refused to stop, but that was all. Sula Darian wouldn’t even have cut him off from funds needed to survive or suggest it was a punishment for his actions.

  All that the Sula wanted from Belford over it was to be more cautious about who found out. A thing that had, delicately, been mentioned to the Ambassador. Only, of course, it had been done too cautiously, for a man from Istlan, who could have simply been slapped on the shoulder and told to keep it in his pants, without much harm to his ego or self-worth at all.

  So a fear of murder over it had come into being.

  No, the shock to Anders was that the man that Belford had taken up with, Chalmers, had been being abused by the servants at the palace, harassing him, to try and make him leave. The men were still seeing one another, which wasn’t being discussed, but the other man was being harmed, fairly regularly, by those who were supposed to be his friends.

  Anders didn’t know how to help him, either. He had a list, in his head, of people to see about asking for aid, but he hadn’t yet, trying to work things out on his own first.

  That was going to have to change, soon, however. Otherwise, Chalmers would probably leave his family and friends, to seek a safer and happier life. That, of course, might be the best plan, but it felt a bit lacking, to his mind.

  After they all ate, which was serviceable military food, consisting of roasted meat strips, boiled grains and some hard-boiled eggs, along with some watered rum, he headed over to where he was to meet General Sendra and her people. At her house, which was number two, along the row of tan, double story dwellings.

  Inside, the woman met him with a glare.

  “Now, you want to give the Modroc free run of Barquea? A bridge... That sounds like a poor plan. That river ended the war. I’d ask if you knew that, but you clearly do, since you made the thing in the first place. How is this going to work?” She had people around her, but everyone else was kind of nodding along, instead of acting like they understood the need for people to communicate, if war was to be avoided in the future.

  “With a permanent base on either side of the bridge. A small one. The bridge itself will be designed so that it’s very strong, but... Here, I have some pictures of what I’m planning?”

  That meant him being led to a table, and rolling out the parchment he’d been working with and brought along for the meeting. He pointed at what looked like two beams. As if they were going to be made of wood, only, of course, that wasn’t his plan.

  “Hit these spots, on either side, with a large hammer, on both sides of the bridge width-wise and the whole thing will fall into the river. Both sets of forces will be able to do this. One person acting alone can’t do it, barring the use of magic, of course.”

  He tapped the paper, getting the General with the mustache, Eta, to nod.

  “I see that part. Both sides can prevent people from invading easily. At the same time, one man acting alone can’t cripple travel. How big of a force do you plan to build for on each side?”

  He actually knew that one, the Sula and Sulat both agreeing on that part of things.

  “Ten soldiers on either side. So five dwellings, in all. A bath house, a common kitchen, a privy, only what I have planned for that is much nicer than just that, and two dwellings, for five people each. Those are for guests and travelers. They should be nice enough. Nicer than this place, so being on bridge duty should be held out as an honor, for only the best troops. An easy post, given as a reward? Perhaps a retirement, without being one in fact?” He fought a grin then.

  So did the commanders.

  Sendra sighed.

  “We’re just off of a war. We’ve called it over... but Barquea didn’t start it in the first place. I know that there’s a marriage to link our two lands, but that hasn’t happened yet. Meaning we need to go carefully here, if at all possible.” She rolled her eyes then and got up from her chair, walked over to Anders and slapped him on the arm.

  “Do the build i
n the morning? We don’t have to like it, we just have to make it happen. Even if the idea itself is foolish.”

  It was, in part, his plan, but he had to agree with that himself.

  Chapter sixteen

  Anders stood back, looking at the two complexes, and the bridge between them. It was, he had to admit, rather pretty. The bridge wasn’t vast, since he didn’t want to invite thousands of armed men or dozens of heavy horses to ride across at one time, but it was covered at the top, spanned the river with a good amount of clearance, in case it ever tried to flood and was decorated in a way that he was rather proud of.

  Every inch of space on the heavy stone was carved or engraved with some rather decent scroll work, or pictures of peaceful animals. Birds, mainly. Doves and gulls. There was a large amount of plant life as well. Including flowers and herbs known to bring about a tranquil mind. Things that would, he didn’t doubt, be lost on most who saw it. Even if they knew the plants he had in mind. The trick though wasn’t in some form of magic. No, he just wanted it to look decorative and as if it were a purposeful monument to peace between the two lands.

  The barracks and facilities on either side where all in the same vein. Instead of plain, military style buildings, he’d created tiny homes, each fit for a baron, if not a king. They had plumbing and indoor facilities that even the palace of the Sula didn’t, as well as small cooking hearths in separate rooms, isolated from the houses themselves, to prevent the heat from affecting comfort by too much.

  There were also roads, on both sides, which were hardened and had decorative edges to them, as well as walking paths, so that no one would be in the streets with the horses much, no more than needed. A way back from each military enclave, Anders built inns, in case travelers needed a place to sleep, since where the bridge had been placed was well away from anything of note, other than the river. There were also large pools for bathing. Things he didn’t make deep enough for swimming, but that did feed from the river, the water pumped into a dark colored holding tank, to warm with the sun. That allowed for the water in the pool below to stay clean, running constantly, if in a fashion that was barely noticeable.

  After taking a moment, he glanced up at everyone else there, and nodded. Erold had Juniper, with all of his things packed on her back, which he took as a hint as to the plan for the day. The carriages pulling up did as well.

  “Well, that’s done then. I take it we’re leaving? It’s early enough... Are you doing the road work first?”

  That got a slow, rather disgruntled, nod.

  “Yes. I... Sweyn and her people figure that it might be best if you don’t do the work on that part of things? It wouldn’t be insulting, but you’re a Prince of Barquea, and that could be seen as being... Odd. Not that this place won’t be. At least it’s on both sides.” The Prince shook his head then and sighed. “We need to do some of these up in Istlan, if we get a chance. It’s incredible.”

  The work had taken three days, with one of those being him doing nothing but decorating. The bridge had taken a full day as well, since he’d used stone for it. That had been, Anders had to admit, brutal. Even the carvings on it had been. Stone was just so much harder to work in than almost anything else. The other structures, the buildings and the roads, were just made out of dirt. A solid enough form of it, but if you wanted to bother, you could scrape the walls away, pretty handily.

  Yes, it would take a metal tool and some hours of effort, but it could be done. The bridge wasn’t doing that very easily at all. Then, it was in the water. At least the feet of the thing were submerged. That meant it had to be made of something that wouldn’t wear away if it got a little damp. Not that the buildings would, but over the centuries they’d melt under the rains there.

  The bridge wouldn’t be coming down until something, or someone, took it down.

  Anders nodded, getting his friend’s point, easily enough.

  “Right. You’re from Istlan though and married into the royal family here, so it makes sense for you to do that kind of thing. Eltha is their Great One, and Duma Sett...” He grinned at that. The famous illusionist had very little reason to do that kind of thing. Except that, as annoying as it was, road work was useful and good practice.

  There was a nod.

  “Sweyn is planning on doing some small way stations, I believe? That and wells, so that travelers will have water in the desert.”

  Erold seemed a bit uneasy about that, which Anders didn’t ask about. After all, Sweyn wasn’t powerful, magically speaking. That meant it was a physical hardship for her to do such work. She was also pregnant, and while Anders had found nothing in the books he had memorized that spoke of that being a hazard for a woman with child, there simply hadn’t been anything much on the idea at all. Small magics were healthy for the baby, but large things were an unknown. That could mean anything, from not being an issue, to it simply having never come up before in all of history.

  At least not in a way that anyone had ever bothered to write down.

  Taking the reins caused Juniper to dance to the side a bit. She was a steady horse, if a small one, but she seemed ready to get out on the road.

  He grinned at the idea.

  “Easy there, girl. Let me get on your back before you start walking away.” His voice was soft, and he hoped, pleasant. A few things had been worrying him of late, but none of them were a good excuse not to be polite to his horse.

  As he got on her, Erold already on his black gelding, borrowed from the Sula, Anders sighed.

  “You caught what’s going on with Master Belford?”

  There was a rather stiff nod, as he looked straight ahead. No one was listening, even using magic, but the Prince still whispered.

  “He spoke to me of that, if only briefly. He and a man from Barquea, a palace servant, have taken up and it doesn’t seem to be setting well with the people there?” He looked back. They were in Modroc now, after all. Still on the road that Anders had made, with everyone following along behind them. That wasn’t a long stretch, but there was a defined road past that, if not a thing that had been well finished and smoothed.

  Anders nodded.

  “He’s safe enough, personally. It’s a scandal, but nothing that would cause anyone to go after an Ambassador. I sent him a message to that affect, so he knows of it. No, it’s his friend who is taking the brunt of this. Low level torments. Mean pranks and shoving from his peers, that kind of thing. He’s being driven from the palace. I... Don’t know what to do, to prevent that or aid him.”

  Erold sucked in a huge breath and then, slowly, let it out.

  “We probably can’t do anything, Anders. This, Barquea, isn’t our land. Even as a named prince of some rank there, you can’t hope to navigate things properly. More, these are grown men. It’s good to think of them, but they knew the risks they were taking, doing that kind of thing here. Truly, allowing themselves to be caught... That was lazy of them.” The Prince sounded hard on the topic, which was different enough that Anders, was taken aback.

  Oddly, it was the portion of his being that had once been Farad that understood.

  “I agree. It’s a different land, with different rules and Master Belford is representing Istlan there. If he couldn’t help himself, his need being that powerful, then he at least should have been careful enough to protect his new friend.” Anders shrugged. “I’d still help the man, if I could think of anything. Other than having him move to Istlan, I can’t, however. That’s probably a bit extreme, really. He’ll eventually just leave the palace and seek a new life, away from there. I suppose we could arrange for some coins for him, to ease his way?”

  That got a somber nod.

  “Perhaps. It really isn’t our business, so, if you do that, be... Discreet?”

  That bit of advice had Anders nodding in agreement. Not really feeling any better about the whole thing, but there was at least the inkling of a plan for his own behavior, which was enough for the moment.

  Then, gently nudging his horse with his
heels, Erold moved to the front by several lengths, and started to make the road anew. It was hard work, but the ground was dry and while it needed to be smoothed, the Prince was well used to such labor.

  For his portion, Anders rode in a trance that day, using eyes and mind to seek out possible attack in the dry wastelands they traveled through. Not all of it was desolate, he realized. There were patches of green in various locations, hidden in the valleys between the rocky outcroppings. Several small streams and two larger rivers, as well. The place looked barren, the life being hidden by the tan rocks that stuck up, but after some hours of riding, the world turned green again.

  One of the guards, who was on a horse, and familiar, having been in Istlan for over a year, rode up, after the mid-day stop.

  “The Princess is suggesting we put in here, for the night? It’s early to stop, but we won’t make the next city tonight. It’s about fifteen miles away.”

  That meant they probably could have reached it, if they’d hurried a bit, but Anders was fine with going slowly. After all, he was, more or less, just there to travel, and see the sights. Everything important that he had to do was either for a later date, like his school, or was finished.

  “One moment?” He sought water, as well as a good place to stay, that wouldn’t be occupied on the road. There was, it turned out, a nice spot, about a mile and a half in front of them.

  “Water and a flat camping spot, that way a bit? A little under two miles. No one is watching us, or seeking to harm us. Not that I can find.” A wizard could be tricked and there were complete schools that taught nothing other than that sort of skill.

  He didn’t know if the Modroc had that sort of thing as a discipline, but given a lot of it wasn’t magic, just being clever in how one moved or acted in the world, it was very possible. Forgetting that, or the idea that assassins had come from the land he was in, twice, would aid no one. Well, except anyone trying to kill one of them.