Assassin's Edge

by Juliet E. McKenna

  The Island City of Hadrumal,

  18th of Aft-Spring

  Skewered like a rat to a fencepost,” Shiv said with distaste but his light touch on the wide earthenware dish that framed his scrying didn’t waver.

  “I don’t think he’s dead.” Usara looked sick and gripped the fronts of his sombre brown gown.

  The wizards were in Shiv’s neatly appointed kitchen, every pan on its hook above the wide hearth, plates and bowls racked by the window.

  “It could take days.” Pered scrubbed a blunt-fingered hand through his dark blond curls. “You wanted a copper-bottomed excuse to go to Kellarin, didn’t you?” He swung a kettle above the glowing heart of the slow-burning fire and chose a spice jar from the colourful array on a shelf.

  “Be careful what you wish for, you may just get it,” Shiv said without humour.

  “He can’t forbid us now, surely?” Usara absently ran a finger over the grain in the table raised by years of scrubbing.

  “Let’s ask.” Shiv abandoned his spell. He rolled down the sleeves of his leaf-green linen shirt and threaded silver links through the cuffs with deliberate precision.

  “Don’t let Planir turn you into a toad,” Pered warned lightly as he emptied the ink-tainted water from the bowl into the stone sink.

  Shiv paused, catching up a light cloak discarded on a chair. “ ’Sar will find a bucket to bring me home in if he does.”

  Usara grinned and sketched a wave of farewell. He followed Shiv through the front room of the narrow house where an iron-studded door opened on to an unremarkable street. Outside, an identical terrace of grey stone houses faced Shiv’s, the cobbles between dotted with detritus brushed from the flagway by proud housewives.

  A diligent youth hovered where the side street met the high road, offering his services as crossing sweeper. Shiv tossed the lad a copper but didn’t wait for him to wield his broom. He walked rapidly through booths and stalls set out along the centre of the wider road, oblivious to the blandishments of the traders.

  Usara waved aside an urchin offering him a basket of fish. “How are we going to play this?” he demanded.

  “By ear.” Shiv stepped around a barrow piled high with waxed ochre rounds of cheese. He didn’t slow his pace as they left the market behind and started up the shallow sweep of the hill where the halls that were the heart of Hadrumal loomed. Lesser dwellings lined their route, each storey jettied out an arm’s length further than the one below, homes and workshops for victuallers, cobblers, drapers and tailors and all the rest who supplied this sanctuary of wizardry with the mundane necessities of life.

  “’Sar!”

  The mage looked to see who had hailed him. “Planir, we were just on our way to see you.”

  “I thought I’d run a few errands to get the archive dust out of my throat.” The Archmage tucked a couple of small paper-wrapped and well-sealed packages into a pocket of his jerkin, whose original rich purple was faded to a midnight indigo, bare patches rubbed in the velvet.

  Shiv cocked his head to study Planir. “There’s news from Hadrumal.”

  “Bad news,” Usara amplified.

  Planir raised an eyebrow. “Let’s hear this somewhere a little less busy.”

  He led the way to a narrow gate all but invisible in the dark shadows cast by the tall houses on either side. Planir touched the lock and it opened with a grating whisper. He ushered Shiv and Usara through before securing it with another brush of magic and a smile. “We don’t want children or animals poisoning themselves.”

  Trees lined the walls that enclosed the garden divided into quarters and eighths by low walls and hedges. Every bed was patterned with herbs and flowers, some tall, some creeping, dull green and bright shoots mingled. On the far side of the physic garden a second gate gave access to a small orchard where bees bumbled among blossoms in the sunshine. Heady fragrances came and went on the fitful breeze, refreshing after the dry stone breath of the highroad.

  “Let’s sit,” Planir suggested genially.

  “Pirates have landed on Suthyfer, those islands in the mid ocean,” Shiv told him bluntly.

  Usara glanced around but there was no one else among the orderly ranks of methodically labelled plants. “It’s more than one ship and a formidable count of men.”

  Shiv gestured to the limpid pond at the heart of the garden. “Scry for yourself.”

  Planir shook his head, walking slowly towards a stone bench set in an arbour of aromatic vines. “No, no, I trust you, both of you.”

  “So what are you going to do about it?” Shiv demanded.

  “They’ve already captured two ships bound for Kellarin.” Usara’s face was grim. “Made slaves of crew and passengers.”

  “Those they haven’t already killed,” added Shiv. “The captain’s been nailed to his own mast.”

  Planir winced, then frowned. “Why do that?” He took a seat.

  “Naldeth and Parrail were on board the ship that was taken.” Usara perched on the edge of the bench.

  “They’re alive for the moment.” Shiv stood shifting his weight from foot to foot. “But who knows for how long.”

  “What are we going to do?” asked Usara urgently, looking from Shiv to Planir.

  Planir plucked a sprig of camomile from a wooden trough. “Has Naldeth bespoken you?”

  “No, but I don’t suppose he’s able to.” There was faint rebuke in Usara’s voice.

  “So D’Alsennin’s sent word? By Allin’s good graces?” Planir savoured the faint apple scent of the bruised herb.

  Shiv’s boots crunched on the gravel and he folded his arms. “Livak got Allin to send word.”

  Planir pursed thoughtful lips. “So this is no formal request for Hadrumal’s aid. Do we know what D’Alsennin’s planning?”

  “They’re talking about raising men and ships,” Usara said slowly.

  “But you can see the complications there,” urged Shiv. “Mercenaries—”

  “It’s a sensitive situation.” Planir nodded. “As is everything concerning Kellarin.” He tossed aside the camomile. “I appreciate the warning. As soon as D’Alsennin asks for my help, I’ll bespeak Cas. I’m not sure how much leeway the Emperor will allow us but we’ll do what we can, always assuming the Council doesn’t raise too many objections.”

  Shiv and Usara stared at him, aghast.

  “But Naldeth’s one of our own!” Usara sprang to his feet. “And Hadrumal’s name will be cursed in Vanam if Parrail dies.”

  “The mentors know as well as anyone else that taking passage to Kellarin entails risk,” said Planir curtly.

  “Storm and shipwreck, maybe.” Shiv looked belligerent at Usara’s shoulder. “Not being abandoned to pirates.”

  “We can help resolve this with the least bloodshed,” urged Usara.

  “Perhaps.” Planir looked up at the two infuriated wizards. “We can do so much, can’t we? Involve ourselves, brandishing the threat of raw wizardry and no mainland prince or powers could curb us, if we chose to ignore them.” He smiled. “But we’ve had this conversation before, more than once.”

  Shiv wasn’t amused. “Yes, Archmage, and I for one am tired of it.”

  “What is the use of power if it’s never brought to bear?” Usara was barely less confrontational than Shiv.

  “Dear me, you’re allying yourself with Kalion and his ideas.” Planir’s voice grew a little cold. “I had no notion.”

  “Forgive me, but that’s not true and you know it.” Usara swallowed his indignation with difficulty.

  “Kalion wants to be fed and feted by the rich and powerful and have them hanging on his every word, doing only as he tells them,” said Shiv with contempt. “We just want to save lives in imminent danger of being lost!”

  “It’s pirates, Shiv,” Planir said patiently. “They’re a running sore on Tormalin’s ocean flank and, yes, they could prove a serious problem for D’Alsennin. But they’re nothing new. The oceanward Sieurs have scourged the coast clean of wreckers and
raiders for generations. This is no sudden catastrophe that needs the Archmage to save Tadriol’s neck. Hadrumal’s action without justification will just stir up every old prejudice against magic and doom-laden ballads of wizardly arrogance will do the rounds of every tavern from Inglis to the Cape of Winds.”

  “What do we do to counter that ignorance?” challenged Shiv. “It’s all very well saying we don’t get involved with the mainland, not unless it’s a matter of life and death and some ruler comes begging on his knees but what does that get us in the long term?”

  Usara spoke with rather more moderation. “If the commonalty only ever see magic as a scarce resource for the powerful, they’re bound to resent it.”

  “Mages work everyday sorcery clear across the Old Empire.” Planir sounded indifferent. “Apprentices go back to their homes with the turn of every season.”

  “But they don’t go back to spread any knowledge of magic,” countered Usara. “Most just tire of our isolation here or find a life of study holds little appeal once they’ve learned sufficient control of their affinity not to be a danger to themselves and others.”

  “It’s fear that brings them here in the first place,” Shiv nodded. “Or has them sent, thanks to age-old bias. How many who leave here ever work anything more than cantrips to ease their way through life or impress the gullible?”

  “Wouldn’t you rather mageborn sons and daughters were sent to Hadrumal eager to learn useful skills?” pleaded Usara. “Knowing they’d be welcomed back home and valued for what they can do?”

  “I don’t recall hearing of mages starving by the wayside.” Planir plucked another sprig of camomile. “Even the least of wizards can earn their bread with their magic”

  “If their hide’s thick enough to put up with snide remarks like all I heard in Ensaimin last year,” Usara said with exasperation.

  “And jibes from the Rationalists,” snapped Shiv. “I don’t know what’s worse. Ensaimin, Caladhria and the rest with their credulous dread of tales from the Chaos where every wizard’s a threat, or the so-called forward-thinking Rationalists who say magic’s as much an irrelevance as outmoded piety in their search for quantifiable explanations of the world’s workings.”

  Planir smiled at Shiv’s indignation. “The most blinkered natural philosopher or wooden-headed Rationalist cannot deny the reality of elemental fire singeing his toes.” He turned to Usara. “And the rediscovery of Artifice should put paid to their scorn for religion. How much old lore have you unearthed in the temples of Col and Relshaz?”

  “More than I expected, but the greater part has been lost since the Chaos, thanks to ignorance and prejudice.” Usara looked steadily at Planir. “Are we going to see Hadrumal’s learning lost to worm and decay as well? Wizardry withering, disregarded?”

  “Look at Aritane’s people in the Mountains,” Shiv invited with an outstretched hand. “Their Artificers, the Sheltya, they won’t act to stop the Mountain Men being driven from their land, their forests, their mines—and they lose respect with every step and with every generation.”

  “As I understand Aritane’s explanations, the Sheltya hold back because aetheric powers were gravely abused in the past, by those clans who were driven into the ocean and became the Elietimm. You’ve seen the tyranny of Artifice in the Ice Islands at first hand.” Planir’s grey eyes were bright with challenge. “When the Elietimm offered help and the Mountain Men seized their chance, brutal Elietimm Artifice brought them to the brink of warfare with the lowland cities and further discredited the innocent Sheltya.”

  “There has to be a middle path between disuse and abuse,” insisted Shiv. “Look at Kellarin. Before the Chaos, aetheric magic was an everyday part of life. The colonists don’t fear magic of whatever hue or nature.”

  “Aren’t we rather getting off the point?” Planir stood up. “What has this to do with pirates?”

  The two mages hesitated.

  “Our help in Vithrancel would show Tormalin merchants wizards helping everyone, not just the rich and powerful,” said Shiv slowly. “And Dalasorian traders, whoever takes word home.”

  “I believe Guinalle and Allin work together as much as they are able.” Usara looked hopeful. “Seeing how their skills complement each other could be valuable to Hadrumal.”

  “That’s something to lay before the Council.” The Arch-mage’s face was inscrutable. “What if you fail?”

  Shiv and Usara looked uncertainly at him.

  “When you’re worn to exhaustion by trivial demands after a season or so in Kellarin?” Planir waved an airy hand. “I can’t see even the most bored apprentices joining you to spend all their time mending broken pots. What will there be to interest our more skilled mages? Will we see the rarified magic of Hadrumal’s masters cosseting sick beasts or digging out a mine collapse thanks to some fool thinking magic should save him the cost of shoring timber? What if some catastrophe does befall Kellarin and you prove unequal to the task? On the other side of the coin, what if you do drive off some disaster and everyone assumes you’ll be saving them from every peril from a cut finger up for ever more? Perhaps it’s not fear of failure that checks the Sheltya, but fear of the consequences of success.”

  Planir pointed a questioning finger at Usara before turning it on Shiv. “How exactly do you plan to rid the islands of these pirates? How do you plan to reach Suthyfer? You’ve neither of you been there, so you’ll need a ship. Where will you find that? The power to guide wind and wave is all very well but you’ll still need hands to reef sails and pull on ropes or whatever it is that sailors do. They won’t be doing it for the love of Naldeth or in hopes of a better future for wizardry. Have you got enough gold to hire them?”

  “We’ll find some from somewhere,” said Shiv crossly. “We want to help rescue Naldeth, Parrail and any other poor bastard who manages to stay alive. Do we have your permission to go?”

  Planir studied one well-manicured fingernail. “No.”

  Usara looked at him closely. “You’re forbidding us?”

  “Oh, no.” Planir glanced up. “As Archmage I’m duty bound to curb dangerous ambition but I trust you, both of you.”

  “So we can go?” Shiv asked with a touch of confusion.

  “That’s entirely up to you.” Planir smiled. “As I said, anyone can take passage to Kellarin, at their own risk, naturally.”

  Planir rose and the two mages moved apart as the Archmage walked away. “Lock the gate behind you.” He disappeared between the tall houses.

  “So we’re going?” Shiv looked at Usara.

  “He didn’t say we couldn’t.” The sandy-haired wizard scratched at his beard.

  Shiv took a deep breath. “Right then. Where do we find a ship?”

  “Zyoutessela?” suggested Usara. He looked doubtful. “Have you spent much time hanging round docks?”

  “Let’s deal with one problem at a time.” Shiv looked rueful as they left the garden. “I’ve got to tell Pered before we do anything else.”

  They walked in silence through the busy morning bustle of Hadrumal.

  “What’s going on?” Usara’s surprise as they turned the final corner startled Shiv out of his musing. He watched, mouth half open, as two less than competent lads manoeuvred a bed through the narrow entrance of his home.

  Pered appeared just as the two mages reached the doorway. He stepped aside for a grey-haired man who counted solid gold coin into his palm. “And here’s the luck back.” Pered delved into one pocket and handed the man a silver penny.

  “Morning, Shiv.” The grey-haired man nodded before following his purchase to the third doors up the row.

  “Master Wryen.” Shiv followed Pered into the house, Usara avidly curious behind him.

  The front room was still dominated by the broad slope of Pered’s copying desk but new ribbon tied all the parchments into neat bundles now, every stage of work from the first faint lines ruled for pen and ink to bright illuminations needing only the final burnish of gold. Pered picked
a slim wooden case out of a small casket full of coloured bottles and began putting pens into it. “I told you; the next time you went off on some quest for Planir or whoever, I wasn’t being left behind again.” His voice was affectionate.

  Usara ducked his head on a smile.

  “We’re not exactly leaving on Planir’s instructions,” Shiv admitted.

  “So much the better.” Pered put a careful lid on his pens. “You’ve been talking over your tisanes about striking out on your own for long enough.” He grinned at their guilty faces. “I’ve heard all your plans for setting wizardry to rights in the kitchen while I’ve been working in here.”

  A knock at the door saved Shiv from having to find a reply.

  Pered opened it to a thin woman who peered inside with lively interest, adjusting her tawny headscarf with nervous fingers. “So you’re off then?”

  “That’s right, Abiah.” Pered led the goodwife through to the kitchen. “So you’re welcome to whatever linens or pots you want, for coin on the table.”

  “Off to Col, are you?” The woman looked at Pered. “You’ve your sister there, haven’t you?” Her eyes brightened as she looked at the exotic array of spice jars. “You won’t be wanting all them weighing down your bags. Make a nice spot of colour in my parlour, they would.”

  “We’ll manage a few pennyweight of spice.” Pered’s voice was friendly but he stood protectively in front of his collection.

  “Rent’s paid up till the quarter year.” Abiah shook her head, at the same time continuing to make interested inventory of the kitchen. “Must be urgent business to call you away and leave that for old Barl’s profit. He’ll have someone in here before the hearth’s cold, you do know that.”

  Pered was proof against the invitation to confide in her. “If he does, you tell him to send the rent he owes us to my sister.”

  Abiah laughed. “I will, at that. You’d best write down her direction for me.”

  “Tell Barl I can keep an eye on him no matter where I am,” Shiv added.

  Abiah looked unsure that this was a joke. “I’ll do my best to see he does right by you lads.” She gave Pered a quick hug. “I only hope we get neighbours as good as you’ve been. You know, my daughter’s getting wed at Solstice. She’s no great store in her bottom drawer so I’ll go and get her, if that’s all right.” She hugged Pered again but Shiv stepped deftly out of her reach so she had to content herself with a wave of farewell.