Goldenfire

by A. F. E. Smith

  ‘Right,’ Caraway said. ‘Then I suppose I’ll proceed with the one-on-one testing as planned, and try to make my final selection without second-guessing myself.’ He offered Bryan a rueful smile. ‘Easier said than done.’

  At home that evening, after their usual lavish dinner, Bryan looked over at Miles. Caraway had carefully not made even the suggestion of an accusation, earlier, but Bryan had heard it all the same. His first instinct had been angry rejection, of course, but now … now he couldn’t stop thinking about it. Because Miles had never been part of his life in the fifth ring before, and certainly not part of Darkhaven, and yet here he was: training the recruits, handling pistols, advising Ayla Nightshade. He had access to the target. He had knowledge of firearms. Albeit reluctantly, Bryan could see why Caraway might think him an obvious suspect.

  Bryan could imagine how this would go, in another relationship. He would watch Miles in silence, letting the tiny uncertainty grow between them. Miles wouldn’t understand why they were becoming distant from each other. Neither of them would confront the other. Until one day, whether Miles turned out to be an assassin or not, they found they were no longer what they used to be.

  Because Bryan knew himself, and knew Miles, he decided to bypass all that nonsense.

  ‘Milo, are you a traitor?’

  Miles turned to him, a shade of alarm in his eyes. ‘What? I do not –’

  ‘Only Captain Caraway very politely didn’t point out to me that you’re a direct match with the profile of this damn assassin.’

  Concern faded into a grin. ‘Ah. I see. Then let me assure you that if ever I were to murder someone, it would not be for the benefit of Sol Kardis.’

  ‘Of course,’ Bryan said. ‘You’re a Parovian patriot.’

  ‘Exactly. I am so patriotic, in fact, that I plan to stay in Arkannen for good.’

  ‘You do?’ That was news to Bryan. In the past, it had always been understood between them that Miles would be returning to Parovia once his five-year term at the university came to an end. Though that endpoint wasn’t close enough to require any difficult decisions as yet, it had always been somewhere at the back of Bryan’s mind. But now Miles was nodding very seriously.

  ‘If I can be useful enough to Lady Ayla, perhaps she might employ me as the royal alchemist,’ he said. ‘Such a role existed, a few generations back. If she were to reinstate it …’ He shrugged. ‘I would have no need to leave.’

  ‘Then your research with her is going well?’ Bryan asked, and Miles smirked at him like a well-fed cat.

  ‘I have every reason to believe that we are close to a breakthrough.’

  The door to Sorrow’s cell opened with a bang, startling her out of a fitful doze. She was sore all over. There was only so long a person could sit on a chair with her wrists tied behind the back and her ankles fastened to the two front legs. They’d brought her food at one point – yesterday? It was hard to be sure – so she wasn’t starving. The cell contained a single gas lamp, high up in an alcove on one wall, so she could see all right. And she’d shut up after they threatened to gag her if she didn’t stop swearing, so at least her jaw didn’t ache along with the rest. But those were very minor consolations compared to the fact that she was tied to a chair in the custody of the fucking Kardise Brotherhood.

  Unable to wipe her grainy eyes, she contented herself with rubbing her cheek against her shoulder to rid herself of the patch of drool that had collected on it, before lifting her chin to face the woman who had just entered the room. It was Five, the one who’d captured her in the first place. In one hand she carried a pistol case, and in the other a lantern. Once the latter was hanging on a hook beside the door, the light in the cell was almost decent.

  ‘What do you want?’ Sorrow muttered, and the other woman smiled.

  ‘Information, of course.’

  It was a strange echo of that first overheard conversation, and Sorrow repressed a shiver. She couldn’t afford to show any weakness.

  ‘About what?’

  Five put down her case and took out her pistol. Then she walked forward until she was just under an arm’s length away: close enough to strike Sorrow, if she wanted to, but not close enough for any sort of retaliatory effort on Sorrow’s part. ‘You can start by telling me how long you’ve been working for the Mirrorvalese.’

  ‘I’m working for Fourteen,’ Sorrow shot back. It wasn’t as if she’d be able to work for him any more, now that she’d been discovered, and better they think her a spy for one of their own than a spy for a rival country … but Five was looking amused.

  ‘I’m sure a renowned mercenary like you is capable of having more than one paymaster, Naeve Sorrow.’

  ‘Maybe. Maybe not. Why should I tell you anything?’

  ‘It might be to your advantage.’

  ‘Perhaps I could come up with something useful if you promise to let me go –’ But she stopped, because Five was laughing.

  ‘Come on, Naeve! Your death warrant was signed as soon as you showed Fourteen that you knew who he was. Seeing one of our faces is normally grounds for instant execution; if we hadn’t thought you’d be useful to us, you’d already be dead. Surely you knew that.’

  Actually, she hadn’t. Yes, she’d heard that no-one knew who the Brotherhood were or what they looked like. She just hadn’t realised that was because they killed anyone who found out. Stupid, stupid, stupid.

  ‘In that case,’ she forced herself to say coolly, ‘what incentive do I have to tell you anything? Seeing as I’ll end up dead anyway.’

  ‘As I said, it might be to your advantage. Or, if not yours, then someone you care about.’

  Rebellious, Sorrow shook her head and said nothing. Five sighed, her fingers moving slowly and almost caressingly over the pistol in her other hand.

  ‘Let us come at this from a different direction. I already know you’re working for Mirrorvale. The important question is, really, what do they know?’

  Still Sorrow said nothing. With a shrug, Five smashed her across the side of the face with the butt of the pistol. It was like a miniature explosion going off inside her skull, rendering her temporarily unable to move or speak or do anything except suffer through it.

  ‘I don’t –’ she began as soon as she could force the words out. Five hit her again.

  ‘What do they know?’

  ‘Nothing – I –’

  Five laughed under her breath. ‘Dear me, Naeve. Anyone would think you felt some kind of loyalty towards them.’

  Then she leaned down and positioned the pistol just beyond the steel toecap of Sorrow’s boot, the one with the retractable blade. Sorrow just had time to think, So she did notice it … before Five pulled the trigger.

  When the searing, white-hot pain faded to something on the edge of bearable – when the jagged lump in her throat subsided slightly and her vision began to return – Sorrow realised she was talking. No, not talking: swearing. An endless stream of bitter swearwords. Her interrogator slapped her, with detached efficiency, and the flow ceased.

  ‘What do they know?’ Five repeated with no change of inflection.

  Gasping, Sorrow shook her head.

  ‘All right.’ The woman returned to where she’d left her case and began reloading her pistol. ‘Then I suppose we’ll have to pay the other one a visit.’

  Other one? Even through the pain of her shattered foot, Sorrow felt her heart rate increase. ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘You know,’ Five said. ‘Your lover. That girl who looks so much like a Nightshade.’ Her voice dripped scorn on the last word.

  ‘I don’t know what you’re talking about,’ Sorrow managed, then winced. What a fucking cliché. Everyone knows people only say that when they mean the exact opposite. Not her finest moment. And by Five’s derisive expression, she agreed.

  ‘Don’t waste my time. The Brotherhood may not trust each other, but we trust the rest of the world even less. Particularly when they come from Mirrorvale.’ She pulled a face of mock
regret. ‘Any normal mercenary would have fled as soon as they realised what they’d got themselves into. But not you. As soon as you agreed to do another job for Fourteen, he knew there must be a deeper reason for it. And so he had you followed.’

  She’d finished reloading her gun, now; stroking it lovingly, she gazed into Sorrow’s eyes.

  ‘We know all about Elisse and her son, and the little house where the three of you play at happy families,’ she murmured. ‘So who is she?’

  Sorrow pressed her lips together and said nothing.

  ‘Let me tell you what I think,’ Five said. ‘Three years ago, a Nightshade baby was born in Darkhaven. Born, and lost. Very few people in Mirrorvale were aware that it had happened. Even fewer knew that he and his mother had fled the country. We heard of it only as a rumour, a suggestion that somewhere another Changer child yet lived. Until you came to Fourteen’s attention. A mercenary in exile, carrying out one dirty job after another in our cities … except for the infrequent weeks you spent in a cottage in the middle of nowhere, with a pale-skinned woman and a three-year-old boy. Even a child could put those pieces together, Naeve.’

  Sorrow scowled. ‘If you know, then why are you asking?’

  ‘Because I want you to cooperate with us. You’re already dead; you know that. But if you tell me the truth – confirm that Elisse is who we think she is – I’ll convince the Brotherhood to leave her and her son alone. They’re not doing any harm, after all. As long as we know where they are, I see no reason to bother them – particularly now that you won’t be whispering in her ear any more.’

  Shit. Shit, shit, shit. It was painfully clear, now, that Sorrow should have convinced Elisse to leave Sol Kardis as soon as she learned of the assassination plot, and left Darkhaven to fend for itself. If I hadn’t been seduced by just that little bit more danger, that little bit more recklessness –

  This isn’t helping. Concentrate on deciding what to do.

  She stared straight ahead, keeping her expression impassive, whilst thoughts whirred and bounced in her head like exploding clockwork. But in the end, it was very simple. The Brotherhood knew where Elisse was, and they strongly suspected who Corus was. If, by confirming those suspicions, Sorrow could preserve Elisse’s liberty – temporarily, at least; she wasn’t so naïve as to believe otherwise – then she had no choice but to do so. As long as Elisse and Corus remained outside the direct control of the Brotherhood, there was still always the chance they might escape back to Mirrorvale.

  ‘All right,’ she muttered. ‘All right! I’ll tell you whatever you want to know.’

  Five smiled. ‘You just have.’

  Her long fingers reached up to turn the knob that would extinguish the gas lamp; then she unhooked her lantern and made for the door. Sorrow fought to go after her, but the ropes held her firmly in place.

  ‘Wait. You said you’d leave them alone. You said –’

  ‘Come on, Naeve. Where are those famous wits of yours? Our assassin will take care of Ayla and her brother’s child. That only leaves your Elisse’s boy.’ Five shrugged. ‘If it’s any consolation, we would have gone after him whatever you said today. Your contribution has merely, shall we say … tipped the balance.’

  The door clanged shut behind her as she left the room.

  TWENTY-ONE

  Caraway always ended the seven-week assessment period with a series of one-on-one tests. They weren’t the sole factor that determined which of the recruits he admitted to Helm training, but they made it easier to identify how each person had changed over the course of the seven weeks. Besides, it only seemed fair to give them all a final chance to demonstrate their skills.

  Back when he’d done the testing for the first time, Ayla had unexpectedly announced that she was interested in coming along to watch. If I’m going to be guarded by them, she’d said, I’d like to have some say in who gets chosen. Caraway had been doubtful, but he’d agreed to it all the same. And so she’d sat quietly up at the top of the tiered seating in the demonstration hall, concealed in the shadows, and observed the day’s testing. Afterwards, he’d asked what she thought.

  I can’t say much about their technical proficiency, she’d answered. But I’d prefer you not to employ the tall boy with the reddish hair. I didn’t like him.

  Caraway had been rather taken aback by that, because the red-haired boy was one of his most promising students. He’d made a noncommittal reply and admitted the boy to his training programme anyway – after all, he’d thought, it would be another year before any of them found a place in Darkhaven, long enough to see if Ayla’s instinct was right. And sure enough, a few months into it, the boy had lost his temper with another recruit and beaten him almost to death.

  Since then, Ayla – unseen – had attended every one of Caraway’s testing sessions. And although he selected the trainees based on his own judgement, he always listened to what she had to say. So it was a shame she couldn’t attend this time; he would have found it useful to get her opinion on the current cohort. But having her in the same room as a potential assassin and a whole lot of weaponry would have been foolish beyond belief, so he’d told her he thought it would be better for the trainees if she wasn’t there on this occasion. She hadn’t objected. Admittedly, he’d walked away before she had the chance, but what choice did he have? When it came to the subject of the assassination, she wouldn’t listen to reason.

  The door to the hall opened to admit Penn, the first recruit due for testing, and Caraway turned to tell him he was early. Only it wasn’t Penn standing there with a chin raised in defiance. It was Ayla.

  ‘What are you doing here?’ he snapped. Her eyes narrowed at his tone, and he caught a fleeting glimpse of one of the contemptuous glances she’d been in the habit of giving him while she still blamed him for her mother’s death.

  ‘I came to watch the testing, as usual. I’ll be in no danger. No-one will even know I’m here.’

  He sighed. ‘Go home, Ayla.’

  ‘Don’t tell me what to do.’ She was cold. Haughty. Three years ago he would have backed down and let her overrule him. But that was three years ago.

  ‘Do you want me to resign?’ he said quietly.

  ‘What?’

  ‘I’m in charge of your safety. That’s what being Captain of the Helm means. And I refuse to have the weight of another failure on my shoulders. So if you don’t want me to do my job, I had better resign now.’

  ‘Don’t threaten me, Tomas.’

  He shook his head in exasperation. ‘It isn’t a threat! I don’t want to do it! But it’s like you’re asking me to fight a duel without giving me any weapons. How can I protect you if you won’t let yourself be protected?’

  ‘You’re taking it too far,’ she shot back. ‘Do you think my father would have let Captain Travers control his every movement? No! He would have done whatever was necessary for the smooth running of his country, threat or no threat, and Travers would simply have had to deal with it. You’re letting the Kardise win, Tomas, and they don’t even have to kill me to do it!’

  ‘Ayla –’

  The door banged open again, and Ayla was up the tiered seating in a flash, concealing herself in the shadows at the top. Caraway forced himself to turn with a smile, despite his anger and frustration.

  ‘Come in, Penn.’

  He selected two practice swords from the rack on the wall and offered one to the boy, pushing every single bit of his argument with Ayla to the back of his mind. He couldn’t fix it now. Time to find out what his trainees had learned.

  He turned over the big glass-and-sand timer that stood to one side of the floor, and began the test.

  Penn fought as if he took it personally – and maybe he did. Though the boy had become much easier to get on with since their conversation in the sixth ring, Caraway hadn’t shaken the idea that Penn nursed a special hatred for him in particular. Yet he couldn’t see why anyone would want to train under, and maybe even be employed by, a man they despised … unless, of c
ourse, they were an assassin and were using it as cover to get into Darkhaven. Though if that were the case, then surely Penn would make every effort to hide his antagonism? Caraway couldn’t work him out. But the lad was a good swordsman with the potential to be a brilliant one. If he hadn’t still possessed a little of that prickly edge, he’d have been through without a doubt – and so Caraway couldn’t in good conscience exclude him. All the same, it would be a good idea to ask Ayla specifically what she’d thought of Penn …

  Don’t ask her anything! he reminded himself. She’s not meant to be here, remember?

  Exasperated with himself, he hit Penn’s sword upwards and said, ‘That’s enough, Penn. Thank you.’

  Penn didn’t seem to hear the instruction. His mouth set in a grim line, he pressed forward, forcing Caraway to dance back a few steps. His eyes narrowed as he lunged –

  ‘Penn! Enough!’ Caraway used a move that he hadn’t taught the trainees yet, sending the practice sword spinning out of the boy’s hand. They stared at each other. Then Caraway lowered his own weapon and said mildly, ‘If you want to kill me, you won’t get very far with a wooden sword.’

  Penn flushed and lowered his gaze. ‘I just wanted to prove myself,’ he mumbled.

  ‘Well, I think you’ve done that. Go on back to the barracks. Test’s over.’

  Penn looked up, alarm creeping into his eyes. ‘Captain Caraway, I didn’t mean to – I wouldn’t have –’ He hesitated, then – apparently with great effort – got the words out. ‘I’m sorry. Really. This won’t make a difference, will it?’

  Caraway regarded him in silence for a moment. ‘Why do you want to join the Helm, Penn?’

  ‘I –’

  ‘You told me yourself that you don’t like anyone very much. And though you’ve made an effort to get over that, I still see it in you. But my men are a team. They have to be. If you’d rather work alone, it’s not the job for you.’