The Silent Blade

by P. S. Power

  No, the issue was that they were traveling with Clarisse Sett. When that was discovered, people thronged their inn, making it almost impossible to come or go at all.

  They had to go inside to pay for the rooms, which, for some reason, didn’t get the people to back away at all. Girls, in particular, their dresses and scarves flying, ran inside, and tried to touch Duma Sett. Just patting or stroking her. Like a pet.

  Anders nearly started making people explode, in the press of bodies. He held his hand, thankfully, and called out instead.

  “Hold! Hold!” No one listened to him, pressing in as they were. That and screaming. So he used a bit of illusion, and made his voice very loud. Also commanding, as he called out, in Modroc.

  “I said hold! Move back! Don’t touch people without permission. It’s rude and unwelcome.”

  That, his near deafening yelling, worked. For about ten seconds. Then he was totally ignored, as Eltha leaned into him, speaking almost directly into his ear, so she could be heard.

  “It’s no good. They won’t leave until she does. Next time we should hide that she’s with us. Make her look like an old matron or a dock hand.”

  Anders nodded, having seen something like what was happening before, with Depak Sona. That had been subdued, compared to what he was seeing there, of course. It felt like the crowd was about to go for blood, at any moment. There was actual shouting and a few screams of pain, as people harmed each other, trying to press in.

  “Ah... so...”

  The answer was that they had to wait for their names to be taken and rooms to be assigned. They were each given a room key, even if they were sharing a space with someone else, and then, as soon as they were taken to the large staircase, they ran. Scurried at least. With people trying to follow them, as the strangely dressed men and women from the inn stood in the way, valiantly attempting to allow them time to escape.

  Anders tightened, as they walked up the spiral steps, which wound around the building, on the inside. The whole space was a spiral, with all the rooms on what seemed to be a slightly different level. Anders didn’t have the lowest room, being firmly in the middle of their group, in fact. Room seventy-three. Next to him, in seventy-two was a collection of several familiar men from Modroc. On the other side was Duma Sett, which meant that Anders probably wasn’t going to be allowed to sleep. Not with all the carrying on that was happening.

  The building was a marvel, and the room had large glass windows, without even a single air bubble in them. As he closed his room door, which was made of fine, heavy and dark wood of a type he’d never seen before, a group of people, a mixed group of young men and women, dashed up the stairs, directly at him.

  Feeling a bit mean, he made a wall form across the stairs. One that would, when touched, feel real. That meant he was gasping about half a minute later, as the gray stone wall, based on the castle he grew up in as far as look went, wasn’t just touched, but from the energy drains happening, it was being petted, struck and even kicked. By at least ten different people, on a fairly constant basis.

  That meant he was standing in the hallway, to hold it in place. Which, interestingly, had Duma Sett in next to him, not too long later.

  “Well, that will get around, I bet! Now I’ll be known for making real walls suddenly appear, no doubt.”

  Anders got her meaning. No one there knew, or expected, anyone else in their group to be doing any magic at all. Given the nature of such things in Modroc, that only made sense. Gasping a bit, Anders finally pointed at the building.

  “This place is a marvel. How are the buildings made?”

  That had the woman winking at him.

  “It’s a combination of rather boring workmen with hammers and normal materials and Devica. They are capable of great things, if entreated properly. They don’t actually make the structures. They lift the large things for us, up into the sky? Though, I believe that there are city Devica who bring the water up into the towers on the top of the buildings? I never really asked about that, myself. I wasn’t suited to Shamanism, as a child, so was given other training.”

  “Ah! That makes sense. I saw one of that sort lift and move an inconvenient river, once. A friend of Far’s.”

  The pressing on the wall slowed, or at least the energy drain did. It didn’t stop, of course, so he held it in place, waiting for the people to go away. It was slightly annoying, having his energy drain like that. It wasn’t simply the work, either. It was the pattern of the effort. He couldn’t see when it would be happening and it was staccato and not regular in how it happened at all.

  Clarisse stood next to him, as if waiting for him to leave his post. That or fight. A thing she could do with magic now, if the need arose. They needed to drill on that kind of thing more, if assassins might be coming for Eltha. Duma Sett was often in the same room with her, after all.

  Plus, it seemed like she needed to learn to hide herself, while moving. At least if she was going out in a city.

  “Are there many cities like this here? I think the largest one in Yanse is only this large and this place is bigger than Kingston.” He was just making conversation, but the Duma went silent, for a bit.

  “I... This isn’t even a major city here, Prince Anders. We have ten or so this big and six that are larger. Billeth is, oh, ten or more times larger than this place? It’s impressive, I suppose.”

  Anders understood that she wasn’t trying to rub in how massive and well-built the cities of her land were, compared to what must seem like a collection of huts that Kingston had to seem to her. They tended to be huts made of stone, true, but still, it was a humble place, comparatively. Part of him felt humbled at the information.

  Rather than let that get to him, he sighed.

  “It’s an incredible place, compared to what we have in Istlan. Well, we’ll have some nicer things, soon. I just have to teach more people to do the work, making buildings and all that. Not an issue, I’m certain.”

  A warm hand patted him on the shoulder.

  “For you? That’s simply the truth, Dumo Anders. Also, if you come and live here, you can likely aid us in our own aesthetics? That bridge you built was lovely. I can guarantee that the men and women of our military won’t be staying in any place that nice otherwise. Many of the Devica refuse to aid in combat or related things. Those that can be... Coerced to such lengths tend to be the weaker of their kind and rather surly to begin with.”

  Anders nodded, holding the wall across the stairs.

  “I’d be upset too, if someone was forcing me to fight.”

  “Rather. They are very good at building and aiding in farm work, however. I noticed that you’ve been working with some of that sort, of late? That’s rather... Powerful, isn’t it? You’re a force in your own person and you can communicate with and entreat such beings?”

  He nodded, not explaining. The woman had heard a lot about Far, after all. What Anders suspected she knew and hadn’t bothered to check on was if she understood he had a copy of what that man once was in his head.

  After fifteen minutes or so, the noise and other indicators of people seemed to leave, so, cautiously, Anders made the stone seeming of a wall vanish. Rather, he dropped it. Only to find that seven people, mainly girls between fourteen and twenty by their looks, and one young man who was dressed as an employee, were standing there.

  The dark-haired man looked relieved and stepped forward.

  “Oh, good! I was in a panic, thinking it was permanent. I need to take this wine and fruit to various people. Clarisse Sett, naturally, also Princess Sweyn? She has a husband now, I hear? One of the blond boys, right?”

  The man, clearly getting who was standing there, and pretending that they weren’t themselves, seemed affable enough, if a bit familiar. That was, Anders thought, a Modroc thing. They were like that, with almost everyone. At least inside their own land.

  So he nodded.

  “The other one with light hair. I’m Anders. Um, room seventy-three?”

  The
man, trying hard not to look at Duma Sett, seemed annoyed by the girls and women trying to move in behind him.

  “Back, back you beasts! I’ll call the guard on you, if you don’t move away!” He sounded too playful, so no one moved at all. Not even to aid him with the several large baskets he had. Anders did that, not being too awful as a person. Duma Sett took one as well.

  “You’ll aid our friend in delivering these, Dumo Brolly? If, of course, you aren’t needed to put that wall back up?” She let a single eyebrow rise, and looked at the girls there. Getting, clearly, their response before it even came.

  One of the woman, probably the oldest there, gasped.

  “Is he your new apprentice? That wall was solid!”

  Clarisse laughed. It was a very fake sounding thing.

  “Notice, I called him Dumo Brolly? He is a master of many types of magic. Including illusion.”

  Another of the girls rolled her eyes, and crossed her arms over her loose red and gold colored wrap style dress. It was an unusual thing, except that, clearly, the fashion was popular there, since several of the other women were basically wearing the same thing.

  “He’s a bit young to be a master of anything, isn’t he? Also, a man... Can men do illusions at all?”

  Anders, holding several of the baskets, the man with the rest trying to walk away, rolled his own eyes back in response.

  “It isn’t my best art. What do you want to see?”

  Clarisse narrowed her eyes, and smiled, a bit wickedly. Then she crossed her arms.

  “Done it now, haven’t you? Well, you challenged him. Go on, come up with what you want to see? Something clever, or everyone will think you’re boring.”

  The oldest woman, who was perhaps twenty, spoke then.

  “My greatest desire?”

  The words were debated, among the others, since that wasn’t a thing that a normal illusionist could have known. Not without being told. Anders had to drop into a trance, to find out what she really and truly held that way. It was just a man. The image did make him seem attractive, and tall, but not so much as to seem impossible to reproduce. He had to mutter a bit, but no one noticed him doing it.

  Not even when the man came walking down the stairs. Seeming rather real.

  The woman went wide eyed, on seeing him.

  “Fargoth? What are you doing here? I...”

  The man, who was sturdy, in a lean way, and easily a head taller than Anders, who wasn’t a short person at all, smiled.

  “Liasa? I didn’t expect to see you here! How wonderful. Clarisse and I were just speaking of you, earlier. She and I are planning to get married, isn’t that incredible?” He moved in, and took Duma Sett’s hand. She did it back, clearly being nearly as mean as Anders was. Reaching out, with the other hand, the seeming of Fargoth placed a hand on the girl’s arm.

  Then he shook his head.

  “It’s a shame, really. I always liked you, but you didn’t seem to return my feelings, so I eventually moved on. Well, you’ll come to the wedding?”

  The girl, Liasa, looked about ready to cry, and in shock, so Anders had the vision take her hand, and hold it.

  “Also, Liasa?”

  The return voice was quiet and pained.

  “Yes?”

  “I’m an illusion.”

  Everyone looked at the scene then, as Liasa looked up.

  “Sorry, you’re what?”

  “An illusion. You asked Anders to make your heart’s desire? This was a bit rude of him, but you are all kind of invading the inn here, so... Anyway, I’m not real.” Then he vanished. That had everyone standing there open mouthed, accept Clarisse.

  She simply cleared her throat.

  “So, yes, men can be illusionists. Now, go on, before he decides to turn you all into sea slugs. Go... Go...” She grinned, as the girls, all but one of them, scurried off. That last one, of course, was Liasa.

  She frowned, at Anders.

  “You’re an evil man, aren’t you?”

  She wasn’t pleased with him, it was clear.

  Still, she also wasn’t wrong, given what he’d just done. It truly hadn’t been all that kind of him.

  He bowed, using first courtly as well as he could standing on the stairs.

  “Forgive me. I meant it to be humorous and clearly took things too far.” He held the move, waiting. The woman simply huffed at him. Then, eventually, smiled.

  “Fine. This time. You should be kinder to people. Dumo Brolly. That was... I thought it was really him. He touched me? Illusion isn’t like that...”

  Anders made a small ball, about a hand span wide, glowing softly in red, appear in front of the girl. Then he muttered a few words, which probably seemed like nonsense.

  “Pluck it from the air?”

  It took work for him to follow what she was doing with her hand, but the ball, the image of it in his mind, responded properly to her touch. The drain from that was relatively tiny, since she just tossed it in the air, and then to Duma Sett, who snagged it herself, and threw it back. Halfway to the girl, it stopped and hovered, then went away, as if it had never been there at all. Which, of course, was the truth.

  “Only a seeming. Made to feel real, but that too is only an illusion. Now, we should go and pass out these wonderful baskets. Does everyone get this kind of thing?” That was for the man who worked there, who shook his head.

  “Oh, no, Dumo Brolly. Most who stay here don’t get gifts at all. We have a Princess and her husband in. I hear he’s from the far north? That must be interesting. This way? We need to start at room Seventy-six. Then work back to seventy-three.”

  They did that, standing on the strange triangular stone steps what whole time. Working down the spiral, one door at a time. Each of the rooms seemed to take up about one tenth of the space that a real room would have, in a proper building.

  Not that he wasn’t stealing the plans for the one he was in, to see if he could copy it. It would be interesting to try some different things, having made about a hundred and thirty buildings of one sort or another, on his own, so far. He’d thought he was being daring when he’d put a fourth floor on some of them. It was clear that a lot more could be done that way, if one had the trick of it.

  Once he was back in his room, Anders expected to be abandoned, until the morning came. He had food, and it was early enough in the day that he probably needed to find something to do, instead of just eating and going to bed. That idea was why, when a knock came at his chamber door, about two hours later, he jumped, more than a bit. He’d simply been considering fighting with a stick and practicing some of the movements, aiming at an image he held in his mind, which meant he had his staff in his left hand as he opened the door.

  The man who surged in then, pushing him back, was struck on the leg, near the knee, rather soundly. That didn’t stop him, but the weapon in his hand was...

  A small bunch of flowers. A decently nice bundle of them.

  So, even if it was tempting, knowing the man could still be a killer, even if he was older with gray hair and a full beard, not wearing a mask at all, Anders held his hand.

  Mainly because the fellow called out, sounding pained. Most of the fighters that Anders had faced had done that as well, but this man sounded scared. Also, not well armed for a battle, unless the flowers held a hidden blade. To that end, he struck the man on the left wrist, forcing him to drop them. They landed easily, without any clanking noise.

  “Name yourself, please sir?”

  He was being a bit formal, but the man didn’t speak to him, simply grimacing, in discomfort.

  “Or, I suppose you can just sit there and not say anything. Whichever pleases you.” Anders had all day, after all. If he lost sleep, guarding the man, then he did.

  The fellow looked down and made a strangled sound.

  “I came to see her? My Clarisse. My heart and love. She’s been gone for so long and...”

  Anders started out by shaking his head.

  “No? If you were expe
cted, or even welcome, you wouldn’t have rushed into the room. That speaks of sinister intent. I’m not really certain what to do, given that.” He shrugged. “Help! Intruder! Help!”

  The door was still open, so he wasn’t shocked when a dozen people ran in, most of them armed. Not all of them were people that he knew, however, which was interesting. One of them was an older man in a blue outfit that was wrapped around him, with a head wrap on that had a large stone in the middle of the front and large white feather sticking out. He was barrel chested and well wrinkled.

  He also had a blade drawn, and was standing there, seeming baffled over the whole thing.

  Which Anders could understand.

  “He forced his way in, when I opened the door. I hit him a few times, with my stick. Then he started speaking about Duma Sett, as if they were familiar, which could be true, but as I said to him, if he was expected, or even welcome, then why rush in and push me out of the way like that?”

  The man stammered a bit, but rallied when Clarisse and Eltha came in.

  “Ladies! How wonderful to see you. I seem to have gotten the wrong room. This fine young fellow was just mentioning that I might not want to seem so eager?”

  Duma Sett rolled her eyes.

  “Kaidan. I wasn’t expecting you to try something like this until we got to Billeth. I see you met Prince Anders? Anders Brolly. A nobleman of three lands, before you try to hire him for your circus.”

  The man, gingerly, stood up.

  “Well met, then, Prince Brolly. That... Why would I try to hire him, dear?”

  Clarisse narrowed her eyes.

  “I’m not your dear. Not any longer. If you recall, you divorced me? Rather publicly, as I recall. So, what brings you here, starting fights with young men in their rented rooms? That’s a change for you, isn’t it? Going after a man like that?”

  The man glowered then, and glared.

  “Divorce? I merely suggested that you go away for a time. I didn’t rebuke you. Pretending that I did, when that isn’t what happened is against the law, Clarisse. Also, the show needs you. Proceeds are down sixty percent since you left.”