The Invisible Hand

by Chris Northern

  I kept with them, no closer to the tracker than they, and we were soon gathered around a soldier who had lowered his torch and stopped calling out as Inesk came close. In the night several other voices were being raised; 'Here!' called at intervals of a few seconds. I guessed that they had seen marks and were calling out so that the trackers could home in on them readily. We watched Inesk examine the ground, picking out the few gently luminescent marks and examining them intently but swiftly, then again picking a direction and heading towards a voice in that direction.

  Tracking in the dark by magically illuminated footprints linked to a wax impression of one such print. It still took the skill and experience of the trackers to interpret the marks and make progress through the night. The scattered soldiers looking for marks and calling their locations helped, giving options to the trackers who chose which to head for next. But Balaran's magic eased the process remarkably. Balaran had said that people think of magic as some kind of miraculous cure-all, and it was instances such as this that made them think that, I guessed. I had to admit that I was impressed, and slightly envious of his knowledge and ability. But ultimately, I was also disappointed. Twice in the space of a few minutes, Inesk indicated a dwelling and ordered a soldier to guard it before moving on. But after a few hectic minutes there were no more voices in the night calling out to the trackers. Inesk and we few who had stayed with him stood at the foot of the wall to the rear of Darklake and Inesk was staring at the wall with a perplexed frown on his face.

  "Well?" I asked coming to stand by him.

  He shrugged. "It's a wall."

  I glanced at the wall, some fifteen feet away. "Brilliant. What about it?"

  He turned and pointed back the way we had come, at the ground close by.

  I could see what he was pointing at, a piece of shale set in a minute patch of gritty earth that gave off a pale luminescence. "From the set of that print and the last one," he pointed further back, "I'd say he was running full tilt." He swept his hand in a wide gesture, ending it pointing at the wall. "And then the wall. He either ran right into it or jumped it or climbed it."

  I looked the length of the wall. The west gate was a good distance away, and to the right the corner tower about the same. There were sentinels there; I could see the braziers glowing warmly in both locations and just make out the guards themselves by that thin light. "So let's climb the wall and see what we can see."

  "No sense doing that, Patron. If there were anything to see the sentinels would have been calling, one would be here on the wall," he pointed up, "marking the place and calling it out."

  "Assuming they saw anything."

  "If there was anything to see, Commander, they would have seen it. They have the night sight; Balaran enhances it for the sentinels each night. It begs the question, how did this one run right at the wall and maybe over it and not be seen? Or heard, for that matter. Hetkla," he picked out one of the soldiers who'd kept with us and made a gesture to the gate, "you want to go ask the sentinels if they have anything to report?"

  "Wasted effort," Hetkla grumbled but nonetheless moved off briskly.

  "Well, we know where he went, as much as we are going to for now. Let's go find Jhen and see what he has learned about where he came from."

  All the while, walking back through the town I was aware of shadowy figures crowded in doorways, woken by the calling in the night, aware that something unusual was going on, but observing curfew and unwilling to break it. Once or twice men called out for news but the soldiers ignored them, and so did I. I had a lot on my mind. I had been thinking that the area was subdued, that any conflict was more or less in the past. I had been concerning myself with purely civilian matters of the economy and the welfare of the people, not to mention my own best interests in terms of investment.

  Now I knew that perhaps all was not well with my world. The main army was three days south, assuming they had stayed put. In the north, there was Hederan, a potential enemy, and those who had been the subjects of the Necromancers still further north. There was Duprane - I glanced at the moon, one day shy of new, and put her from my mind again - and there were the Alendi survivors of the battle for Darklake, fled south some days ago. If the scouts brought news of them it would be very welcome. Also, I knew that scattered through the mountains there were clans whose intentions and loyalties were unknown to me; though I had inherited hostages to influence them. And now I knew that there were enemies within Darklake, seemingly coming and going as they pleased and possibly conspiring against us. Paranoia stole over me; I felt surrounded by enemies and hampered by ignorance as to who and where they might be. The sooner Hederan and the north fell under our direct control the better. There was no decision to be made concerning the Alendi until I had word of their movements. I would soon enough hear from the clans for which I had hostages to ensure their cooperation. I expected representatives to begin to trickle into Darklake over the next few days and would treat with them as they arrived; the clans were small and few, and no threat individually. I put my paranoia away, knowing that I knew nothing and reminding myself to focus on one thing. One thing at a time.

  Jhen was standing by the south wall, pondering the ground at his feet and stroking the line of his jaw absently. I looked to see what he saw but there was nothing. I stopped close by and left it for a moment, not wanting to disturb his train of thought. "Well?" I demanded.

  He shot me a black glance and squatted, pointing to the ground while gesturing for the nearest torch-bearer to close-up. "You might not see anything now but there is a small sheep's turd here by the wall with a partial impression, just the edge of a sandal, really, but his for sure. I caught it just before the tracks faded. The back of a heel." He patted the wall with the knuckles of one hand then pointed to where he doubtless expected me to see something.

  "And?" I said.

  "Good question, Patron." He looked up at the top of the wall, maybe twelve feet. "He didn't jump down, the prints all wrong for that, the ground here is mostly shale raised to the top in layers like shale does. If he dropped to the ground twelve feet or more he'd leave a dent. No dent. No drop." He stood up and turned so that his back was touching the wall and carefully placed his foot a hand’s breadth from the stone. He looked at his colleague. "Not meaning to sound like a damn fool, Inesk, but near as I can figure it, he stepped out of the wall. Wha'daya think?"

  Inesk looked at me and I looked around for Balaran who wasn't there. Inesk shrugged and I resisted the temptation to imitate his gesture. "Magic?" I ventured.

  "Ain’t much that can walk through walls natural, Patron," Jhen said.

  It was one of the soldiers who muttered the words we were suddenly all thinking. "Rogue sorcerer."

  It had to be that, I thought. But who? And why?

  #

  "There are things we can do about that," Balaran said. "There are tells and wards and counters. If we have a rogue sorcerer here, I will detect him and bring him down... unless he happens to be better than me, of course."

  How reassuring.

  "Are my orders changed?" Meran said.

  We were gathered in the compound beyond the ruined gate. A bank and stakes had been raised, parallel walls between the gate and the lake, damp shale and earth glistened in the torchlight. The walls were manned. Simple box frames of timber were stark skeletons in the night; barracks in the making, prematurely occupied.

  We stood outside Meran's command tent. I had found a centurion consulting with Balaran when I returned to the area outside the hall. The vigil's watch had been coordinated by the duty centurion and Meran had stayed in the command tent so everyone would know where to find him, fielding reports. The centurion had passed on a request that I pass by here when I was free, so I had. The men under Meran's command were calm, organized, efficient; I had no cause to complain of him.

  "No," I decided. "Hederan and the north are important. You are expecting scouts in tomorrow?"

  "Tomorrow," he agreed.

  "Stand ready
to leave, but we will wait till the reports out of the north are in," I decided. "No sense you’re leaving without that information."

  I could hear the murmur of Darklake behind me. Several thousand people crammed into too small a space; their night's rest disturbed; many awake and nervous. My gaze fell on the trading post across the lake, calm and quiet, torches burning on the palisade. I wanted that tranquillity, that normality for the people of Darklake. I didn't seem to be any closer to it.

  "I am increasing the vigil's patrols from three watches of twenty to two of thirty," Meran informed me. "If I am taking one century and the Darklake auxiliaries and leaving ten for the hall, then there is nothing I can do about sentinels. With two runners for the command tent, then eight men is all that is left. I have already armed the twenty non-combatants and assigned them to secure this area."

  I blew out a breath. Stretched thin. My ten were covering the hall; I made it seven on duty and three resting, and now one man down. Sapphire's new dispositions were impossible. I didn't have the men. It occurred to me that of those ten men who secured the hall I knew only one name, that of Talin, who was dead.

  "The funeral pyre for Talin will be tomorrow at dusk?" It wasn't really a question. It was the traditional time. We would burn his body and gather a handful of bones to put in an urn, which would be carried with the unit and given to the family on their return to the city.

  "Tomorrow at dusk," Meran agreed.

  I had already moved on in my thinking; I would post a reward for information. Someone knew something; those close to where Talin was found weren't citizens; no one in my world would censure me for torturing some truth out of them. No one but me. Greed works as well as fear, and greed works ahead of you in your favour, fear works against you. Whoever had killed Talin had been moving with a purpose; he had a reason for going where he was going and that had to involve other people. Someone knew something. I spoke these thoughts aloud for the benefit of the centurion and others. They seemed content with that. Someone would be implicated and come under their hands for questioning. "I will not tolerate torture," I continued. I had been on the receiving end; there is nothing I can imagine that is worse than being a rational man in the hands of irrational people intent on forcing from you information you do not have. I could see the centurion was not so happy. I held his gaze with mine. "We need answers and we will get them. We will see who comes forward and with what information. I will handle any interrogations personally. Understood?"

  The centurion saluted. "Yes, Patron."

  He was not happy about it.

  Too bad. "Is there anything else?" I said.

  There wasn't. I left them to it.

  #

  "Jocasta?"

  I dreamed as I had dreamed before, wreathed in Jocasta's magic.

  She smiled but just for a moment. "Are you all right?"

  "No. Yes. I mean, there are problems but I'm working on them."

  "Tell me."

  I shrugged. Why? Then decided not to say that. Because she cared enough to ask. That's why. "It's complicated." I thought about it then remembered that she had had access to the colleges. "Have you read the Speculative Histories?"

  She looked down at her hands, shrugged lightly and looked back up. "Sumto, I've taken the oath. Balaran insisted. He saw what I could do. He knew I'd not come by that knowledge legally. I stole it. He insisted... join a college or face prosecution." She looked down at her hands again. "I could have fought but I'd not have won and I'd already decided. It seemed best. There are things I can't talk about now. The oath is binding. If I speak secrets of the colleges the oath will kill me. I have to be careful."

  I took that in. I hadn't known. We hadn't spoken since the Grave, and hardly even then. I knew about the oath, of course. Any noble can learn spells to a certain level if they pay, but beyond that the colleges require an oath of secrecy. It bars no public office so not much is made of it, but sorcerers can become incredibly powerful and dangerous individuals, and the colleges regulate their own, curb any excesses. I shook my head to turn aside from that line of thought. It didn't matter.

  "So you can't tell me."

  "It's difficult. I don't think I dare. I don't know what my limits are yet. I'll have to find out when I reach the city," She gave a little laugh, nervous, perhaps frightened. "I expect they will tell me, don't you?"

  "Yes," I said. "But until you don't know..."

  "Best not experiment. I'm sorry. You will have to ask someone else."

  I nodded. Who? Sapphire could contact my father. Maybe he would know something. Balaran knew something but he wasn't talking, except cryptically, and there was no compelling him.

  I didn't say anything for a while. Neither did she. It got uncomfortable.

  "Why did you...?" I gestured around me, indicating the dream.

  She glanced up, looking at me through her hair. "I wanted to know you were all right."

  No, I'm not all right. Better for seeing you. Or worse. It would better if you were here. I miss you. But I couldn't say any of that. And then I did, all of it, and she kept her gaze on her hands that had she clasped in her lap. "I don't even know why you left," I said.

  She looked up then, looked away, back to her hands. "It's for the best."

  No it isn't for the bloody best! But that I didn't say. It was best not to say that. How could it be for the best? I just looked at her. Really looked. Her hair hid her face but I was sure...

  "Are you crying?" I stepped forward, or tried to but she faded to darkness and was gone. No!

  "No!" I sat up in bed, tangled in coverings and with arms wrapped around my shoulders.

  "Sumto? Are you all right?" Anista said.

  I didn't answer. I didn't know what to say. "I'm fine," I lied. I hate lying. "I'm fine."

  #

  "Yes?"

  I'd heard the morning reports, learning nothing I didn't already know, and had settled into some correspondence. I had been expecting to be interrupted at any moment; today was the first day I was permitting any who wanted my attention to seek me out in my office. There was a small crowd of them, each with his or her own concern to be addressed. Some of them I had sent for, having picked their names out of the census. The boy standing before me was the first to be admitted; I had learned that his name was Elendas; he was Anista's son by Orlek and I had not sent for him.

  "I am to be your scribe."

  I leaned back in my chair and considered him. He was of medium height and blond. He had some breadth and depth to him though he had not achieved his full growth yet. I guessed he was in his mid-teens. His face was open and friendly, his gaze direct. I felt myself warming to him immediately, and that made me suspicious.

  "You have not yet taken the oath, Elendas; you are not my client."

  His steady gaze dropped away and he coloured slightly. "I cannot, as my father did not permit me adult status."

  "He did not think you ready?" It was a common enough practice that the head of the family determined when a child was ready for the responsibilities of adulthood. I was seventeen when my father registered my adult status with the office of the censor. I had left the family home and was living elsewhere, borrowing from creditors in my own name, and otherwise functioning as an adult. He'd had other options but had decided to cut me loose to stand or fall on my own. It had been a year before my mother had persuaded him to begin sending me an allowance to help me survive.

  "Why?" Elendas had not answered my question, so I prompted him.

  "I suspect he considered me a threat and was delaying."

  That was a more honest answer than I was expecting. "Oh? And were you a threat to him?"

  His gaze wondered over the room where his father had entertained, lingering on the weapons and hides that covered the walls and longest on the couches that had been pushed to the walls. "I don't think I care to answer that question."

  A more mature answer than I had anticipated. The boy was full of surprises. "And if your father considered you a threat,
shouldn't I?"

  His gaze snapped to mine. "I should rule here."

  "But you won't."

  "That has become clear to me. But you won't be here forever."

  I laughed. I couldn't help it. Arrogant pup, but a planner and honest. "True. I'll place a client or clients to rule this place when I leave, and you are planning to be one of them, am I right?"

  "Order my mother to name me a man and I will swear the oath."

  "You are literate?"

  He switched to my own language. "Caliran has taught me several languages, I am not fluent in all of them for lack of practice but I can write several in a clear hand."

  I made the same switch. "And as my scribe you will be privy to everything I write, say or do."

  "I will learn everything I can from you and rule well when you are gone."

  "If I give you that power."

  "You are creating titles, magistrates, and there is talk of elections. One of those magistrates will become pre-eminent, it is the way of things. I will do well enough."

  "Can I trust you?"

  He seemed genuinely surprised. "Of course. My father might have kept me a child forever, or had me killed if he caught me working against him. Now that you are here I have a chance. Without you I would be nothing. I owe you a debt already."

  Good enough. "Tell your mother you are to be declared a man. When that is done I will accept you as my client and as my scribe."

  He beamed with pleasure and spun away. "At once, Patron."

  I chuckled to myself as I returned to my correspondence. Honest ambition was a good thing, and better still when coupled with the ability to achieve those ambitions. I would remind him that he would have to do some military service to become a citizen; in time he would be an asset to us.

  I was still smiling when a knock announced another interruption. I didn't recognise the man who hovered uncertainly in the doorway.