The Silent Blade

by P. S. Power

  Several of the other men nodded and smiled, if gently.

  Anders was sized up, his pale skin no doubt noticed, and the girl tossed him a set of oversized clothing, that was basically some kind of wrap. A thing strange to him, but common seeming there. It wasn’t really clothing, as much as a set of lengths of cloth, to be tied loosely around himself. The colors on his were sky blue and a deep orange. Not wonderful colors, when placed together. The others were putting theirs on well enough, but he looked at it, and started muttering.

  The woman crossed her arms and sneered at him.

  “What, it isn’t good enough for you? You think that the gifts of the Sulat are...”

  She gasped when, very, very slowly, it started to change in both style, fit and color.

  He still had his boots on, but those were going to have to change as well, to match the new outfit. Eventually, they would need to be altered, at least. He grinned as several of the other men there laughed at the girl.

  “Ah... That is Prince Anders, of Istlan. The war mage and illusionist. Also, a magician, like the kind from Barquea? A Shaman, too. I don’t think he’s making a comment on what you brought, though?” The young man who spoke, Ken, looked at him, as Anders first cleaned himself with magic, then got dressed. Slowly. He ached, all over, after all.

  “That’s true. I just don’t know how to get into those, I’m afraid. My lack, of course, not yours. The clothing looked very nice. Thank you.”

  The woman, who wasn’t old at all, stepped in and touched his chest, or at least the shirt over it.

  “This is illusion?”

  He shook his head.

  “No. I changed the other clothing into this, that’s all.” It honestly didn’t seem like a large thing to him any longer. Even though he recalled the first time he’d noticed Depak Sona having done that same kind of thing.

  It had been a thing that was a sign of incredible power to him. Now, even being tired and unable to do much at all, he’d just done a thing that the woman had probably never seen a human being even claim to be able to, before. She blinked, stammered a bit and then gasped.

  “I... Um...” Then she marched from the room.

  “I hope I didn’t offend her?” Anders understood what was going on, or thought he did, so wasn’t shocked when everyone else just went on with their own dressing. None of them moved that quickly either, in their task of the moment.

  As he finally altered his boots, making them black instead of brown, not bothering to change the style of them, since that seemed too hard, at the moment, he sat on the edge of his bed. That was, he thought, filled with feathers of some kind. The feel of it was strange, but not bad at all. There was art on the walls, and the space was both clean and scented of spices.

  Something similar to pepper and pine, he thought. It worked, when put together, whatever it was.

  The woman from before came back, sometime later, with two helpers and a cart, which had food of various types on it. One of the people was an older woman, with gray hair and a tight expression on her lips.

  “We didn’t know that one of you was a Prince. We don’t have another room ready, yet. Please forgive us!”

  Anders smiled up at her.

  “Sorry, I should get up and bow, but... It’s been a day. Not a good one, either. This is fine. Thank you. I could use some food, if that’s all right with you?” He checked it, to make sure it hadn’t been poisoned, searching all of it, including the solid dried fruits and the exotic bean spread, that seemed to be mixed with honey.

  There were trays, made of wood, on which a selection of things was placed, and then passed to him directly, by the older lady, even though the rest of the men were expected to get their own. None of them seemed to notice the difference in treatment. It was, he knew, probably how the world worked, most of the time. If you were considered rich, powerful or important, you were treated that way. If not, you took what you were given and had to pretend to be glad about it.

  For the moment, Anders simply ate, and drank some of the juice that had been offered. There was wine as well, but no one there bothered the pitcher of it at all. Anders just didn’t drink such things, most days, taking only sips to be polite, on occasion. That was so his head would be clear, and he wouldn’t make too many mistakes, of course.

  Not that he didn’t manage that anyway, far too often.

  They were left in the room, just sitting, for hours. It was long enough that Anders started contacting people, getting a few messages back, from various sources. Depak Sona was first, his mental voice projecting focus, but not anger or anything that suggested emotions at all. Then, that was part of his own communications system, not the fault of the man. The words were spoken to the ear of a man or woman in the distance. It was always the same. A given line would always sound the same, no matter how you felt about it.

  When Depak’s voice came back, Anders tensed, at first.

  “Understood. Sula Darian had commanded a search of everyone here, to see if there is merit to what Princess Liasa said. She is missing, having left weeks ago, on a claimed journey for entertainment. Ten others are also missing. Is it possible to confirm who the dead are there?”

  That repeated, but only five times. Anders knew the answer though, which was that it was possible, but not from the physical bodies. Those had burned in the white light, the glow from their necks having destroyed even the bones that had been inside of the men and women. Only ash was left. He could, he thought, recall the faces from his memories, well enough. What he lacked was a good way to record such things. Which, as it turned out, was less of an issue than he would have figured on it being.

  He sank into a trance, without speaking, and captured the face of one of the people who had been hung upside down, moaning and complaining about it. Then he flipped that image over and used illusion to call the man, a decently youthful one, into being.

  “I need to draw this. I’m not that good at such things.” He nearly whispered the words, but one of the men there grunted.

  “I have that part then. It’s my job, after all. Making art. I have some paper and pens. Paints, too, if that’s preferable?”

  Anders nearly said no, having seen some art from Modroc before. It wasn’t all bad though, and the one painting that he’d seen had been rather stylistic, instead of meant to show the person in it correctly. That had been part of a trick, so he simply nodded.

  “We need to identify these people, if we can? It might not work, but...”

  That got a nod, and several of the men offering aid in the project. In part it was a desire to help and prevent a war, most likely. The rest was just down to the fact that, while they hadn’t been told to not leave the lovely room, no one had suggested that they could walk freely, either. Given the stress of the day, Anders would have wanted them to stay put, while things were figured out, if it had been him in charge there.

  So, even as food came again, Anders kept working, eating as he held the images of the attackers, one by one, so their faces could be recorded. The artwork done was meticulous and did give a good sense of what the men and women looked like, imparted to the smooth brown paper in delicate lines and with careful shading of the pen stroke. It took about half an hour for each face to be recorded, so, eventually, they had to put the lamps out and sleep, for the night.

  In the morning, first thing, before his eyes even opened, he had a message from King Matheus.

  “Prince Anders. This attack on your person from Barquea will not be taken lightly. We wait on your word, as to what you wish done about this matter.”

  The words were in Master Tolan’s voice, but he understood what wasn’t being spoken of, as soon as he heard them.

  Going to war over it was foolish, of course. It made far more sense, if it was an intractable issue, for him to simply get himself removed from the list of princes in that land. It didn’t leave him feeling happy, thinking that some of them, people he probably didn’t even know, had tried to murder him, but his feelings, or even his
single death, wouldn’t be worth the death of thousands or more.

  So, for the time being, that was going to be his plan that way. That and simply not going back to Barquea, of course. If they were using magic to hide their intentions toward him, anyone from that land could be an agent against him. Really, anyone from Modroc might be as well.

  Istlan...

  Was truly, much the same for him. The one saving grace there was that the royal family itself didn’t seem to actually want him dead. Modroc... Honestly, he had no clue as to where those particular people stood, in regards to him. It could honestly end up being that his best option was to stay there, if they’d have him. Away from the seat of power, doing some kind of useful work. Maybe doing some shows with illusion, if he could become well enough trained in that area to actually do the job, night after night.

  That wasn’t the message he sent back, however.

  “An investigation is underway. Waiting on findings, for the moment. There will not be a war.” He wanted to be firm on that point, but all he could do was send the words, dispassionately.

  When he rose, bathed himself and altered his clothing for the day, shaving his head again, using magic, since the hair on the back had melted off anyway, they started the identification efforts again. By noon, or at least twelve horns, which he took to be about that time, Anders was passed a collection of rather well-done drawings. The slick brown paper made a decently thick stack of carefully done artwork. Easily well enough done to identify people, he had to think.

  They were already dry so he put those together, wrote out everything that had happened, in several languages and then made copies of everything, using magic. He also bound them into small books, if with only paper as a cover. Then he stood up and sighed.

  “Now... I think I need to meet with... Shaman Smidt? How do I do that?”

  No one in the room knew, being strangers to the palace of the Sulat but when he poked his head out, to see if there was a helpful guard or maid who might lead the way, he found a hovering green Devica, instead. One named Kines, in fact, who spoke with a rather youthful and girlish voice.

  They chatted for some time, with the floating energy finally drifting down the hallway, a bit.

  “I can lead you to him? This way, new friend Anders.”

  Chapter twenty

  For some reason Anders had envisioned an angry man, when he thought of Shaman Smidt. Perhaps a fellow with a grand gray beard, lines around the eyes and mouth and a disapproving manner to him. Also, clearly, the man was supposed to be ensconced in a dark stone room, with arcane symbols on the walls, which smelled a bit of something strange. Anders hadn’t worked out precisely what that part should have been, but it was certainly there, inside his mind.

  The reality of the situation was so very different that he didn’t understand what he was seeing, at first. There was a man, and he did have a beard, but nothing else in the scene was correct. At least to what he would have imagined. When the fellow turned, the young seeming man, who looked barely older than Anders, let his face light up, happily.

  “Hello! May I help you find something? You are one of the people who came to visit, with the Princess?” The man spoke slowly, in modern Modroc, as if he feared Anders might not understand him. He wasn’t loud. Just as if he wanted to be very clear about what he was saying.

  “Hello. I’m Anders. Anders Brolly. You’re Warid Smidt? The Shaman? Kines here brought me to you.”

  For some reason those words had the man frowning and going wide eyed.

  “Kines did? That... You’re a Shaman as well? I hadn’t heard that anyone coming would be devoted to such things. Amazing!”

  Anders shook his head, just a bit.

  “I’m involved in other types of magic. She was simply kind enough to show me around. I was hoping to ask after Hollan and Wopat? We have a friend in common, Jonpries, and they might be able to get a package to certain places for me, if I ask nicely enough. I promised them a show and some entertainments and haven’t really paid off as of yet, so I might need to do that first. Illusion, music and so forth? You can come as well, Kines? If I can find a space here, we should be able to do that in a few days. I think I have the time, so...” He shrugged, looking at the fairly small floating green cloud.

  Her voice came back rather pleasantly.

  “I’d heard that might be in the offing. From Hollan. She’s... Not here right now. Off watching after Princess Sweyn. Jonpries though... The red one? I could, possibly, find them? What is it you wish of them?”

  Anders hefted the well bound copies of papers that he had.

  “Drawings and a write up of the attack that took place yesterday. We need to get these to different locations. Barquea, Istlan and Yanse, if possible. I have one for here, as well but I can deliver that one myself, obviously. Really, I wouldn’t ask after it at all, except that assassination seems to have been the goal, and this information might be important to how things play out.”

  Warid seemed concerned, but Kines chuckled a bit.

  “Just moving some papers? I can do that. Who are they going to?”

  He had specifics on that, but stopped, when he got to Depak Sona.

  “I need to contact him first, so he knows that you’re a friend. We won’t let you go anyplace that might be too dangerous for you. Not if I can help it.” He meant the words, feeling a little protective of everyone around him, for some reason.

  The Devica moved a bit closer to him, her voice going soft.

  “That’s a good plan. I don’t speak the language of Barquea. I can find places and people, easily enough, but it’s hard to communicate at times. Some people can’t hear me at all, so there’s that, as well.”

  Warid Smidt stood back, near the plants that seemed to make up the main portion of the room they were in. The thousands of flowers, moist soil and in the center, a small pond, with splashing that seemed to indicate it had fish in it. There was stone all over the place, but it was covered with green. The sky above was visible, through a great structure of glass, the light beaming straight down on them, with the sun overhead. Almost directly, in fact.

  It took about ten minutes for his message to go out, the same thing being sent to each person who was getting a delivery, at least in theory. As soon as that was done, he spoke to Kines, but smiled over at Warid, since Anders was asking things of his personal friend.

  “That should alert everyone. Some of the places have people who might be frightened to see you. Not the people having things delivered, but those lands. You should take a moment to speak to Farad, if you have a chance? He founded Modroc, after all.”

  There was a gasp, from two locations. Kines seemed pleased and Warid looked scandalized. At least Anders figured that was the case, until he spoke.

  “You know where The Founder is? How? No one has heard of him in... Hundreds of years!”

  “That, is a long story. Right now, he’s working with me, at the school I’m supposed to be starting, up in Istlan. Obviously, I’m here, instead of doing my work, but that’s the short version. The long one is... A better story, really.”

  The man didn’t press for that, since Kines moved over the packages, which all vanished. Then she did that herself, not even bothering to float out of the room to make that happen. It was different than what he’d noticed that type of being doing before. They always floated away, if at times with good speed.

  Smidt shook his head.

  “That was Amazing! The Founder taught you how to do that? To work with the Devica so easily? I would have been doing hours of entreating and begging for the same effect. Truly, Kines is always a bit... reticent to aid me at all. You didn’t even offer a sacrifice...”

  Anders winced, since he’d learned of that kind of thing, from Farad.

  “Ah... They don’t need anything, really. Not that we can provide. Just consider them friends and treat them as you would if it was a family member you wanted things from and they often seem to enjoy that more. Conversation, entertainments, ev
en teaching them things, might work well for gifts to them?” He hunched a bit, since he was, in short, telling the man that he’d been doing his entire job wrong, the whole time he’d been doing it.

  He did seem upset about it, too. What he didn’t do was lash out at Anders, or act angry.

  “That... I can see it, but, it works? I was taught to do very different things. To fear the Devica, and entreat them as if they were minor gods... You seem to be suggesting something different. Won’t that anger them? They need devotion to continue, and to act in this world, don’t they?”

  Making a face, he shook his head at Warid, just a bit.

  “No? Really, we should probably just ask some of them about that? Hold a small party or get together? They might not come, but it could work.”

  It was rather clear that the man didn’t believe him, but also that he wanted to be kind to the stranger. That was, Anders had to consider, about the best he could have hoped for. The young seeming man, cleared his throat, after a moment.

  “Ah, my manners! Would you like some wine or perhaps food? I don’t have anything here, unless you’d like a banana? We have some ripe red ones, back here. They’re very good, actually. The seeds are soft and you can simply eat them. Here, let me get some of those? It sounds good, at the moment, now that I speak on the topic.”

  Anders followed, interested in seeing what kind of tree such a thing grew on. That, it turned out, was a bush. Though a long, tall, thin one with giant green leaves that were nearly the size of his own chest.

  The treat was passed over to him, and was indeed red on the outside, with a thick skin, that required a good bit of strength to rip open. Warid actually pulled a small blade and cut his, but he didn’t look sideways at how Anders had done it. The fruit itself was delicate, pale cream in color and had a slightly flowery odor. The flavor was incredible.

  “This is wonderful. Thank you for thinking of it.”

  The man grinned at him, his face pleasant, if a bit conspiratorial.

  “These are my favorite. Now, you said that you’re from Istlan? My brother, when he lived, was up that way. He died. It was mysterious as to how it happened. Poison, but no one knows more than that. I nearly asked the Devica to go and see what went on, but the Sulat asked me not to risk such an action, lest it start a war.”