Assassin's Edge

by Juliet E. McKenna

’Gren blew at a crude mimicry of a boat fashioned from a scrap of wood and a dry furled leaf. It bobbed on the dark water. “What’s this?”

  Sorgrad used his dagger to probe and fished a bedraggled lump of cloth out of another cup-shaped hollow. “Solurans are great ones for votive offerings at their holy places.”

  “A prayer to keep a ship safe at sea would make sense hereabouts.” Ryshad tapped the little boat with a finger. “It’s not been there long.”

  Sorgrad squeezed water from the sodden lump. “Token for a baby maybe, wanting one or to keep a newborn healthy?” Cords tied the coarse cloth into an unmistakable swaddled shape.

  Ryshad stepped away to study the nearest toppled stone. “When would you say this was done?” He appealed to Shiv who was completing his circuit of the ditch.

  The mage paused. “Well before last winter.”

  “Someone still comes here.” Sorgrad dropped the baby poppet back in its hollow.

  “Loyalty’s harder to kill than people,” I agreed.

  Ryshad looked at us all. “Whoever might be coming could well have some answers.”

  “And no reason to love Ilkehan, if he did do this.” I looked around at the devastation.

  “Let’s set a snare.” Ryshad gestured. “We hide in the ditch, well spaced out, until whoever comes to make an offering is well inside.”

  “What if nobody comes? It could be days,” ’Gren challenged. “How long do we wait?”

  “Give it till dark?” suggested Ryshad equably. “It’ll be safer for us to travel by night in any case.”

  “Where to?” ’Gren countered. “And night’s a long time coming, pal, this far north, this far into the year.”

  “Shut up, ’Gren.” Sorgrad looked at Shiv. “If we catch someone, we don’t want him yelling for help and bringing trouble. What can you do about that?”

  Shiv ran long fingers through his hair, face thoughtful. “I don’t want to work magic within the circle, that’s for certain but I can wrap silence around the outside.”

  Sorgrad nodded. “You don’t want spells inside the stones. Two people finding they can’t hear each other talking will soon start wondering why.”

  “It’s not that.” Shiv shook his head. “Last time we were here, there was some aetheric ward that went off like a temple bell when I’d barely summoned magic”

  “I can sing a charm to hide us.” I dug a folded parchment out of my belt pouch. While Pered had been adding every last detail to Shiv’s map, I’d been copying out seemingly nonsensical words culled from Forest Folk ballads whose verses sang of enchantment. Guinalle had insisted and, in the circumstances, I hadn’t been inclined to argue. Besides, I was the one who’d been proved right when I’d insisted aetheric lore lay hidden in the lays sung in blithe ignorance by minstrels like my father. That surely entitled me to use the Artifice of my ancestors.

  Sorgrad flicked the parchment with a mocking finger. “Think it’ll work?”

  I stuck my tongue out at him. “Better than your magic, prentice wizard.”

  “Let’s get settled.” Ryshad gestured to Shiv. “You and me opposite each other?”

  “I’m thirsty,” ’Gren said abruptly. ”Where’s the nearest water fit to drink?”

  “Where’s your waterskin?” Ryshad let slip exasperation.

  “Empty.” ’Gren waved it provocatively.

  “Fill it from the ditch,” Shiv said curtly. “I can make sure it won’t poison you.”

  ’Gren was about to object and I didn’t blame him when movement in the distance caught my eye. “Something’s up over yonder.”

  That settled that squabble as we all ducked into the ditch. I looked out cautiously, my head barely over the lip. “That’s smoke.”

  Grey smudges rose listlessly to lose themselves against the leaden sky. The wind carried incautious shouts to us and I began to make out figures among the lumps and bumps of the uneven ground.

  “Someone’s setting fires.” Ryshad raised himself cautiously up on his hands for a clearer view. The smoke was marking out a distinct line by now, slewing across the grassland.

  “I don’t think they’re coming this way.” I began to sing the hiding song under my breath nevertheless.

  “What are they doing?” Sorgrad wondered, frustrated at not being able to see.

  We all watched as the men slowly came closer and I picked out some with nets, spreading out ahead of those carrying slowly smouldering torches. “They’re smoking something out.”

  The dense tussocks burned sluggishly with plenty of smoke but precious little flame. With the mossy dampness of our ditch, we were safe from any blaze with ambitions to better itself but being smoked like a Caladhrian ham became a distinct possibility. The shifting wind carried rank fumes to sting our eyes and throats.

  “Someone’s coming.” Ryshad flattened himself.

  I concentrated on the hiding charm as I watched a single figure falling behind the fire setters who were veering off towards a low saddle in the distant hills. Something long-tailed and russet-furred sprang up almost beneath the man’s boots but he paid no heed as it jinked and bounced away, all his attention on escaping notice as he headed for the fallen stones.

  “ ’Gren, Shiv, round the back. Sorgrad, you take that side.” Ryshad gave his orders and no one disputed them. We spread out around the ditch, me between Sorgrad and Ryshad, which suited me very well. As I crouched and waited, all the while trying to keep the charm running under my breath, I considered swapping my dagger for a handful of throwing darts. There was a small vial of poison in the same belt pouch, thick paste in a sturdy jar sealed with wax and lead and sewn around with leather. I settled for untying the pouch so the darts were ready to hand if I needed them. I left the poison untouched. We wanted this man fit to give us answers and he’d be hard put to talk if he was frothing at the mouth. Besides, I wanted that venom for whatever blade was going to cut Ilkehan’s malice short. If the opportunity arose I’d happily see him disgraced if that’s what Guinalle advised, but mostly I wanted him dead. Dead, with the least chance possible he’d see his fate coming or have any chance to ward it off. Ryshad could call it justice if he wanted to and perhaps Raeponin would agree. I’d settle for vengeance, quicker and more straightforward.

  “Let him get right inside the circle.” Ryshad was braced and ready in the bottom of the ditch. I huddled down as small as I could, all my concentration focused on the incantation.

  The Ice Islander didn’t even glance in my direction. All his thoughts were on the pitted stone and fulfilling whatever errand had brought him here. He was stocky beneath his crude shirt and a tunic that was little more than a length of folded cloth sewn roughly up both sides. As blond as Sorgrad and ’Gren, his hair was coarser, more dry grass than finished flax. A smouldering torch hung slackly in one hand and I hoped the idiot wouldn’t set light to the old yellowed grass all around.

  “Now,” Ryshad shouted in the same breath as Sorgrad’s whistle and we all sprang up to encircle our prey.

  “Run and we’ll kill you.”

  ’Gren took a step forward to level his viciously sharp smallsword at the man’s eyes.

  “Shout and no one will hear you.” Sorgrad held his own sword point down, voice more soothing than his brother’s.

  Our captive seemed to understand them well enough, for all the generations separating their bloodlines. Eresken’s antics in the uplands had shown us the Mountain and Elietimm tongues had stayed mutually comprehensible.

  Shiv and Ryshad were standing silent but needed no language to promise the man a fight if he tried anything. He looked warily at them before giving me a hard look. I held his gaze with all the threat I could muster.

  The man’s shoulders sagged but it was only a feint. He wheeled round towards me, swirling his firebrand to raise sudden flames from the smouldering pitch and jabbed the thing full at my face.

  I ducked to one side, bringing my dagger up to slice down his forearm. Ryshad and Sorgrad were almost on him from b
ehind, so I just sought a wound deep enough to give him pause. It was his bad luck he was still trying to take my head off with the torch. He brought it down as my blade went up and the steel went straight through his wrist. I felt it grate between the small bones and hold fast. Recoiling, he pulled the dagger’s hilt out of my hand and the burning brand spun out of his nerveless fingers. I had my arm up to block it but it hit me hard all the same.

  “Livak!” Ryshad looked up, horrified as he and Sorgrad pinned the man to the ground.

  “It’s all right.” I rubbed a painful bruise but I’d settle for that over being scarred for life. The molten pitch was cold and solid before it hit me. “Thanks, Shiv.”

  “My pleasure.” The mage grinned and kicked the torch into the ditch where it landed with a heavy clunk.

  “So much for not using magic inside the circle,” observed Sorgrad lightly. “What were you saying about aetheric wards?”

  As Shiv looked first chagrined and then puzzled, ’Gren grabbed the Elietimm’s collar. ”Let’s get our prize out of sight.”

  The three of them dragged him backwards, his heels scoring lines on the turf as he struggled vainly to dig in his feet. Shiv and I followed as they held him against the pitted stone. Ryshad pulled his shoulders back just enough to curve his spine uncomfortably against the unyielding stone. ’Gren had the arm with the dagger still in it; heedless of the blood running down to lace his fingers.

  Sorgrad stood in front of the man, Shiv on one side, me on the other.

  “I believe your life would be forfeit for coming here, still more so for leaving tokens.” Sorgrad spoke in conversational tones as he searched the man’s pockets to find an embroidered ribbon tied in an elaborate bow. “More lives than your own, I wouldn’t wonder.”

  The man’s eyes darted frantically between us, desperate for some hint of hope. Shiv conveyed a convincing threat, black brows slightly furrowed. Our prisoner wasn’t to know he had no clue what Sorgrad was saying. I at least knew enough to follow most simple conversations but Ryshad would be as hampered as Shiv by lack of the Mountain tongue.

  “Let’s get on with it,” ’Gren said with happy malice. “Before his pals come looking for him.”

  “Do you want me to try a truth charm?” I asked Sorgrad in the fast colloquial Tormalin we all used in Ensaimin.

  “Not for the moment.” Sorgrad switched back to the Mountain tongue. “You’re fortunate we’re no friends to Ilkehan.”

  The prisoner stiffened at that name.

  “Tell us what happened, here and over yonder, ” Sorgrad invited. The man winced as he glanced at the dagger still stuck into his arm, blood soaking his sleeve. He kept his mouth firmly shut.

  Sorgrad gave me a nod and I rattled off the liquid syllables of an incantation to leave those speaking falsehood voiceless until they opted for truth. Panic flared in the prisoner’s eyes as he saw we had Artifice to call on and I smiled warmly at him. Inside, I was chilled by how easily I’d terrified him. Elietimm Artifice was a more potent weapon than steel for ambitious men like Ilkehan. No wonder the Sheltya kept such resolute watch lest any of their number be seduced by the potential for power within their magic.

  “What happened?” Sorgrad asked again.

  “Ilkehan attacked last year,” gasped the man bitterly. “Ashernan paid full price for his folly in trying to challenge Ilkehan. When Evadesekke fell, we were encircled. Rettasekke might have come to our aid but Ashernan had dishonoured the truce. Olret held his own borders against Ilkehan but would not cross them.” Despair pained him worse than his wound. “His house is burned, his line sundered from past and future. We are no longer his people; we have no hargeard.”

  We all did our best to look as if we understood what he was saying. Then puzzlement wrinkled his brow along with his suffering. “Are you of Rettasekke? None other stands against Ilkehan. Or does some eastern sekke still hold out?”

  Sorgrad nodded at ’Gren. “We’re Anyatimm. Our companions are of Tren Ar’Dryen.”

  The ancient name for the Mountain Men who’d driven out the Elietimm forefathers meant no more to this man than the archaic name for the lands to the west of the ocean. Despair quenched the fleeting glimmer of hope that had chased across his square features. “Then all you bring is war upon us and death on yourselves.”

  Sorgrad considered this. “We should not challenge this Ilkehan?”

  “He is a monster.” Hatred thickened the man’s accent. “He raises armies that none can withstand and backs them with the strongest magic in these islands. When he took Evadesekke, he bridged the very bogs around the citadel with the bodies of his own dead. He will make truce upon a sacred islet and defile it that selfsame day. He has no honour yet he turns a kindly face to those who acquiesce when he declares himself their overlord. Many submit rather than face his wrath.” Now our captive’s face twisted with the anguish of uncertainty. “He claims the Mother’s favour, that her blessing dwells in his hargeard. He swears he is the sword of the Maker, forged in the fires of these testing times. Many believe it; how could they not?”

  He was genuinely asking a question but Sorgrad stayed silent, face as bland as I’d ever seen him waiting for an opponent to betray the runes held close in his hand. Our prisoner shook his head fervently. “The mountains speak with tongues of flame and destroy Ilkehan’s foes in floods of ice and fire. Those uncertain starve, no choice but to fall to their knees before him, if they would not perish. He will be overlord, whether all will it or none. If you are no friend to Ilkehan, you are his enemy. He will not have it otherwise.”

  Our captive fell silent.

  “So Ilkehan killed Ashernan and now holds his land?” Sorgrad smiled his understanding. “If you accept his rule, you go on much as you did before.”

  I explained as much to Ryshad and Shiv who were both visibly frustrated by now.

  “So you’re not about to cross him. You’re already thinking you’ve said too much.” The prisoner stayed motionless, watching Sorgrad warily.

  “I’ll get him to talk some more,” ’Gren offered obligingly. He made to twist my dagger in the man’s wound.

  “No.” Ryshad glared at him.

  ’Gren shrugged and pulled the blade out in one swift movement. Our captive gasped; suddenly weak at the knees and blood ran free from the oozing wound. ’Gren reversed his grip and cut the man’s throat in a single backhanded stroke. He was dead before his life’s blood choked his final breath.

  “Shit!” Ryshad let go and the corpse fell forward on to the dry grass.

  ’Gren crouched down, stabbing my dagger into the turf to clean it. ”That wants sharpening, my girl.” He handed it back, disapproving.

  “What did you do that for?” Shiv was shocked, Ryshad scowling blackly.

  ’Gren looked puzzled. “He’d said all he was going to.”

  Sorgrad had taken a prudent step aside to avoid the spray of blood. “You heard him; he was Ilkehan’s man, willingly or not. We couldn’t risk him trying to garner some favour by betraying us.”

  Shiv couldn’t argue with that, though his face suggested he’d like to.

  I looked at Ryshad with silent appeal. “Even if he kept his mouth shut for the sake of his own skin, that wound would set people asking questions in a place like this. Then Ilkehan’s adepts could pull the answers out of his head whether or not he wanted to give us up.”

  “True enough.” Ryshad was still looking thunderous. “It’s still a coward’s trick to cut a man’s throat when he’s not expecting it.”

  “It’s easier than when he does,” said ’Gren irrepressibly.

  “Shut up.” I didn’t like being in the middle of this argument any better than I liked the fallen stones encircling us. “It might have been better not to kill him here, if this is some kind of shrine.”

  “It’s done, so we move on,” announced Sorgrad. “We came looking for an ally but this Ashernan is deader than last year’s mutton. If this Olret’s still holding out against Ilkehan, I say we fi
nd him.” He turned to Shiv. “Where?”

  The mage slowly got out his map. “If we’re here, that’s the island with Ilkehan’s stronghold. He pointed to a long, wide island with a broken chain of mountains running through it. A river cut deep into a central plain.

  “Kehannasekke.” Sorgrad nodded impatient understanding. “So where’s this Olret?”

  “Rettasekke?” I pointed a tentative finger.

  ’Gren looked dubiously at the islands scattered across the substantial patch of sea between us and the possibility of an ally. ”How do we get there?”

  “You say there are fords and causeways over the sands and shallows?” Sorgrad raised his brows at me. “Travel by night and take it slow and careful.”

  Ryshad laughed with precious little humour. “I take it you pair are as handy with boats as Livak?”

  “There’s not much call for them in the uplands, pal.” There was an edge to ’Gren’s voice.

  Ryshad smiled at him. “I grew up on the ocean side of Zyoutessela and Shiv’s a Kevilman. We steal a boat.”

  “It’ll be easier to steer clear of other people if we’re on the water.” I looked appealingly at Sorgrad. “And it’ll be faster.”

  “Fair enough.” The notion plainly appealed as little to Sorgrad as it did to me.

  Ryshad was looking at the corpse with barely concealed displeasure. “We can’t leave this to start a hue and cry after us.”

  “We’ve nothing for a pyre and anyway smoke’ll bring people looking for the fire.” I wondered what to do. If Saedrin was marking down my share in this unfortunate’s death against the day when I had to explain myself to him, disrespecting the corpse wouldn’t win me any favours.

  “His shade won’t thank you for burning his bones, you ignorant lowlander,” Sorgrad rebuked me. “They should lie where his beliefs held despite all his terror of Ilkehan.” At his nod, ’Gren helped him carry the body to one of the pits beside a fallen sarsen.

  “Let me.” Shiv spread his hands and the earth, hard packed by a full year and more of rain and sun, crumbled into fresh-turned tilth, flowing up and over the tumbled corpse. It jerked and twitched with a nauseating parody of life as the soil shifted beneath it and soon disappeared from view.