The Black Knife

by Christopher Nuttall

  “What a mess,” Eric said, so quietly that Hind could barely hear him. “And they insist on doing this every year.”

  Hind nodded in understanding. The Midsummer Faire – and the Trials – provided a safety value for the magical population, even though it was – at best – unnerving for the mundane inhabitants of the city. She caught sight of a pair of magicians wearing Master robes and hoped that they could keep a lid on the chaos, even though there were never enough Masters willing and able to patrol the city during the Midsummer Faire. Her old master had once spent an afternoon undoing a complex spell that an unknown magician had cast on a barmaid, turning her into a monstrous old hag. No one had ever been able to identify the magician responsible...and no one would have cared. Unless someone was caught in the act, no one would bother to give chase, or try to bring the magician to justice.

  The next hour passed slowly as Eric exchanged small talk with the Mayor and his cronies, while Hind tried hard not to look bored. Eric seemed to be good at being diplomatic to the city’s rulers, she noted, although it wasn't something she could handle for long. If she’d had to make small talk with them for more than a few minutes, she would have probably ended up turning them into birds. At least then they would have sung in tune. The Mayor seemed to be complaining about the mess, and the disturbance, but at the same time he welcomed the influx of magic. No one could be more generous than a drunken magician.

  Eventually, they freed themselves from the Mayor and were able to wander the streets. Hind smiled at the rows of tiny stalls, each one offering a different magical product to anyone willing to put down the gold, silver or bronze coins they cost. She opened her third eye and studied some of the products, somehow unsurprised to discover that most of them were nothing more than cons. The mirrors that promised to turn their user into the most beautiful woman in the world were nothing more than standard mirrors, without even a tiny glamour to confuse potential buyers. The various health potions – they promised to cope with everything from a broken heart to broken bones – were just standard potions, with barely any – if any – magic within them. The Head of Alchemy at the Academy would have laughed his head off at any student who produced such a potion, before sending them down for a punishment duty.

  “Look at that,” Eric muttered, out of the corner of his mouth. “Do you think those actually work?”

  Hind followed his gaze towards an old crone who was rocking backwards and forwards in her chair, sometimes letting out a loud cackle that drew attention back towards her. She was selling love potions, with a handwritten sign that promised that anyone who drank such a potion would fall in love with the first person they saw. Hind opened her third eye again and shook her head. The potions were nothing more than oddly tinted water.

  “No,” she said flatly, unwilling to admit how disturbing the whole concept was, at least to her. Love potions were no joke. A real love potion could leave its victim fixated on one person, without any way of realising that they had been drugged. Some of the simpler ones could be undone – although it was hard to convince the victim that their feelings were anything, but pure – but the stronger ones were impossible to cure. The only way to deal with that was to swing the fixation onto something – or someone – else. The whole concept of love potions struck her as little more than rape. “There’s no magic in them at all.”

  Leaving the old witch behind, they walked down towards the proving ground, where the Trials were slowly taking place. On the field below them, surrounded by some of the most powerful wards Hind had ever sensed, new magicians were duelling with one another to see who was the most powerful – and adaptable. The crowd was cheering them on indiscriminately, while bookies moved from person to person, taking bets on which magician would survive the trials and make a try for the position of Grandmaster. Hind watched as two young magicians – wearing basic white robes, not the colourful robes of Master Magicians – threw spells at each other. The crowd was cheering them on, but she could tell that neither of them were Master Magicians. The odds were that neither of them would survive the Trials.

  “There’s always some young idiot who wants to prove himself,” Eric said, when she pointed that out. The crowd roared as one of the youngsters was caught by a spell he hadn't prepared for and slowly melted down into a pile of goo. The umpires examined the remains, declared his opponent the victor, and used transport spells to move the remains somewhere else. The victor did a victory lap around the ground that ended when the next challenger, a Master Magician, stepped into the arena. “This isn't going to end well.”

  Hind nodded, looking over at the statue that dominated the arena. Lord Byron had been a novice magician, someone who had never been through the Academy yet had somehow picked up enough magic to consider himself an expert. A couple of lucky wins and he’d thought that he was greater than any other magician, so he’d called out the Grandmaster himself. The Grandmaster, having nothing to prove to a mage who hadn't even gone through the Trials, had declined the challenge, so Lord Byron had started a whispering campaign that had suggested that the Grandmaster was a coward and the Trials were rigged. After several weeks, the Grandmaster had accepted the challenge, walked into the arena and just stood there while Lord Bryon tried time and time again to break through his wards. Eventually, his stamina had failed, whereupon the Grandmaster had casually broken through his wards, turned him into a statue and left him mounted at one end of the arena as a warning to all comers. No one had dared to suggest that the Trials were fixed again.

  She turned and allowed Eric to lead her away from the arena, up towards some of the other displays. A screeching racket assailed their eyes from the mermaid lake, where a dozen mermaids played a bizarre collection of instruments, terrorising everyone else. Hind had heard that mermaid music was supposed to be good when underwater, but above the waves it was just a senseless racket. The mermaids didn't care. Eric spoke briefly to the mermaid leader, before moving on to the werewolves and introducing himself to their pack leader. The werewolf-dominated kingdom of Lycanth was a strong supporter of the Empire, if only because they knew that without the Empire, humans would start hunting them down like animals. Hind felt the hair on the back of her neck stand up as she looked into the eyes of a werewolf, but she kept her composure. Besides, she’d killed werewolves before.

  “Tell me something,” she said, as the day finally drew to a close. “Are all your days always like this?”

  Eric considered it. “No,” he said, finally. “Some of them are downright packed.”

  Before Hind could think of a suitably cutting reply, Eleanor interrupted them. “You received a message while you were at the Faire,” she said. “The Oracle has said that you will be visiting her tomorrow.”

  Hind blinked. “The Oracle?”

  “Yes,” Eric said. He seemed indecently amused at her surprise. “We’ve had one here for the last six months. A genuine Oracle, not some fake. And she thinks you’re going to see her.”

  He winked. “It must be something important...”

  Chapter Five

  It had taken hours of argument, but Hind had finally talked Eric into allowing her to visit the Oracle on her own, without escort. He’d argued that as his potential bride she was at risk from factions within the Royal Court who might wish to do her harm, but Hind had refused his arguments. If the Oracle had summoned her – and her alone – it would not do to offer offence. Besides, she was a Master Magician and, wearing her robes, very few people would dare to pick a fight with her. Those who wouldn’t would not be deterred by the Royal Guard, or even the Knights of the Golden Order.

  The Street of Temples stretched from one end of the Golden City to the other, a living monument to the vast array of gods and goddesses that made up the pantheon of Touched. The buildings ranged from the massive Temple of Solaris – glowing with golden light generated by some of the artefacts held within the building – to tiny temples that housed a handful of worshippers, praying the gods that the rest of the world had forg
otten and allowed to lapse. Hind had always found formal religion to be a distraction, but she’d prayed with her family at the family shrine and remembered some of the celebrations held for the major gods. She felt a sudden burst of homesickness as she walked down the street, nodding in passing to a pair of Master Magicians heading in the other direction, and pushed it down as hard as she could. Even if she didn’t marry Eric, she couldn’t go back home and hope to fit in. She belonged to a different world now.

  She passed a cluster of buildings belonging to a set of gods who were, according to legend, not only siblings, but mortal enemies. Their followers seemed to embody that hatred, although in the Golden City they normally confined that hatred to blazing sermons and the occasional bloody scuffle after dark. Outside the Golden City, where the rule of law was weaker, the various cults didn’t hesitate to fight each other to the death, slaughtering men, women and children to exterminate their foes. Hind had seen the aftermath of one particularly bloody raid and it had left a lifelong impression on her. The men and women in blood red cloaks would never have any impact on her children, not if she could help it.

  Outside the temples, hundreds of street preachers sang the praises of this god or that, trying to convince the tourists that their god was the greatest of all gods. Hind paused to watch a miracle worker show off some of the powers his god had granted him and smiled when he lost control of the flames and burned himself with his own magic. The tourists loved it, of course; everyone in the continent tried to make at least one visit to the Golden City, for where else could they see such sights? They even believed that the streets were paved with gold. That rumour, at least, had no basis in truth, luckily for the city. Some enterprising Mayor would have dug them up and sold them to make a profit.

  She smiled and walked onwards towards the single building at the end of the street. Unlike the other buildings, there were no preachers outside, only a single sign written in the Old Tongue. Hind could read it vaguely, but few of the tourists could have hoped to understand, let alone speak it. The sign for Oracle was followed by warning signs, informing supplicants that the Oracle was only open for business after noon and anyone who tried to come in early would be pushed away by the wards. They were strong wards too, Hind noted, although few would dare to try to break into the temple. An Oracle wasn’t supposed to take part in the political game, but Hind knew of stories where an Oracle had worked to influence events, always against someone who had annoyed her. No one wanted to risk irritating even a young and unformed Oracle.

  Hind smiled and stepped up to the wards, allowing them to flow over her. It seemed that she was expected – unsurprising, with an Oracle involved – for the wards seemed to move back, allowing her into the courtyard. There were no guards stationed outside, which suggested that the Oracle and her Sages were very confident in their defences, and no one moved to bar her passage as she stepped through the darkened door. Inside, a wave of cool air struck her in the face, something that she suspected cooled down angry supplicants. An Oracle had to stay one step ahead of everyone else.

  “Mistress Hind,” a voice said. “Welcome to the Temple of the Oracle Kuralla.”

  Hind bowed as the Sage stepped into view. He was a middle-aged man with a long brown beard, wearing the dark robes of a Sage. A cluster of tiny badges on his chest marked out a series of awards, including combat and medical spells. The Order of the Sages was dedicated to identifying and protecting Oracles and no one ever crossed them twice. They were devoted to their charges and would happily die to protect them. Hind had heard that they were celibate and would remain so until they were released from service. That typically only happened after they had grown old.

  “You are expected,” the Sage continued. He had a pompous voice that reminded Hind of some of her tutors, although she did note that the Sage hadn’t relaxed in her presence. It was extremely difficult to fool an Oracle, but the limitations the gods had placed on their very rare magic meant that it was possible. A very determined attacker might be able to get through the wards and assault his charge. “If you would come with me…”

  He turned and swept into the inner chamber before Hind could respond, forcing her to follow him. The interior of the temple was much as she had imagined, combining a surprising amount of luxury with the drab existence of a student. The entire temple was geared towards the young woman sitting in the throne at one end of the room, a young woman – Hind realised in a moment of surprise – who couldn’t be much older than Eleanor, if at all. Kuralla had frizzy brown hair, a very wide smile…and eyes that were older than her body. One day, Hind was sure, she would be beautiful, but for the moment she looked like a girl who was slowly growing into her teens.

  “Hind,” Kuralla said. She had the voice of someone who wasn't sure that they belonged where they were. “Welcome to my temple!”

  She jumped off the throne and advanced on Hind, holding out a hand for Hind to clasp. “Don’t worry,” she said, chattering away to the Sage. “The Oracle of Ars used to greet people by hugging them, while the Oracle of Thyme used to hide herself away behind a veil and insist that all of her supplicants came towards her naked and alone. I can at least shake their hands.”

  Hind frowned, with the uncomfortable feeling that she’d entered into a conversation that had been going on long before she had arrived. Oracles were supposed to follow strict protocol, but no Oracle in history had ever followed protocol exactly, with so many different examples that no one knew for sure what was protocol. Their magic was very rare – only one or two Oracles appeared in each generation – and was subject to its own limitations. The Sages had their work cut out for them.

  “So, you’re going to marry the Prince,” Kuralla said, as she waved the Sage out of the room. She sat down on the floor and motioned for Hind to sit facing her. “I have Seen that you will marry him, but all of the visions have been…vague and imprecise. We are standing at a point where everything will change and your decisions will determine the future of Touched.”

  Hind frowned. “My choice, if I marry Eric or not, will determine the future of Touched?”

  “Oh, not that choice silly,” Kuralla proclaimed, with a big smile. She managed a child-like giggle that was somehow not at odds with her appearance. “You’ve already made up your mind, even if you don’t want to admit it to yourself. I’m talking about later choices. One of them is going to determine the future of Touched.”

  “I see,” Hind said. It was a lie and she knew, by her smile, that Kuralla knew that it was a lie. “And what have you Seen?”

  Kuralla leaned forward, as if they were old friends sharing a confidence. “It doesn’t work that way,” Kuralla said. “I have to Show you what I have Seen. Will you link hands with me?”

  She held out a hand. Hind hesitated, thinking hard. There were only a handful of classes on Oracles and their magic at the Academy because they were so rare and never went to the Academy once they came into their magic. What she did know wasn't encouraging. An Oracle could see a glimpse of the future, but without any context or understanding of the meaning behind the vision. Their visions could change depending on what choices people made – many perfectly genuine Oracles had had plenty of visions that had never come true – but it wasn't uncommon for a vision to remain a puzzle until after it had taken place. Few magicians were comfortable around Oracles. They claimed that they had a dangerous effect on reality itself.

  Kuralla was still holding out her hand. “It’s going to be fine,” she said, as if reassurance was what Hind wanted. “Take my hand.”

  Hind braced herself and took the young girl’s hand in hers. A moment later, the visions started to flicker through her head, like riding on an uncontrollable horse. The mental magical discipline had never been her best, but she knew the basics – all Master Magicians were expected to know the basics of all disciplines – and her training allowed her to remain calm. It wasn't real, not yet…which didn’t alter the fact that an unprepared magician could be killed by mental communication
. Hind had heard enough horror stories to know that the magic could easily turn on its user. Her head spun…

  …She was standing on a stone floor, watching in horror as blood dripped down around her. A man she didn’t recognise was standing in front of her, lifting his blade for the kill. She tried to focus on the knife he carried – it was a strange weapon to assault a magician – but it twisted out of focus, as if it wasn't really there. The man lunged towards her with his blade…

  …Eric took her in his arms and held her close, kissing her on her lips before allowing his fingers to trail down her shirt. No, it wasn't Eric, it was someone else and the grip was suddenly becoming painful. Cold icy hands clawed at her and she found herself reaching for magic, but it slithered away from her…