The Invisible Hand

by Chris Northern

  I wanted to swear but my chest was a knot of conflicting pains and I couldn't breathe. My hands ran over my belly and chest as I looked down, too stunned to feel relief that there was no knife hilt jutting from my chest. My right hand was dark with blood. More blood dripped from my face. I licked my lip, tasting it there and feeling the sharp sting of a cut. Then the palm of my hand joined in.

  "Bastard," I ground out the word after I forced a breath into my stunned lungs.

  The soldiers to either side glanced at me, then away.

  Parast turned and paced back to stand in front of me. The soldiers now behind him moved cautiously through the room, assuring themselves that they were indeed alone. They kept back from the smoke that slowly filled the far end of the chamber and drifted up to cling to the ceiling. Most of the shadows were gone as though they had never been. Parast eyed me up and down, taking in the blood and assessing the wounds.

  "What," he asked calmly, "was that?"

  I gripped my right wrist with my left hand in an effort to cut down on blood loss. It would be better to apply pressure directly to the wound but I didn't feel up to it. The smell of smoke was thick in my nostrils and it and the wounds made me feel sick. I coughed a couple of times and then controlled it.

  "Damned if I know," I said. If he'd asked who, I would have answered that. But he'd asked what it was. And that had me puzzled. It was hard to be sure, but I suspected I should be dead; that I would be dead if that had been Silgar's objective. "But I think it was a warning."

  Parast frowned at me a moment longer then glanced up and around. The soldiers were already closing on us, retreating from the far end of the room, still alert but forced back by the smoke. I glanced up. A blanket of smoke clung to the ceiling, drifting like a cloud bank toward the doorway behind us and at the same time slowly descending in lazy tendrils. I was suddenly aware that we were in a chamber that was fast becoming an unpleasant place to be.

  "Out," I said, and walked away.

  Behind me Parast repeated the order.

  Back in the sun and the clean air, I stood at the top of the steps with Parast at my side as the soldiers passed us and returned to their task. Vesan was busy, working his magic on the fallen who were not moving. Many had climbed to their feet; they helped each other limp away and gathered in small, subdued groups. The tide of humanity had shattered on a cliff and dispersed into myriad small droplets spread throughout the town. I could hear them, but could make nothing of the disparate sounds they made. Some score or more were in sight, shocked and bewildered, inward looking or seeking out a familiar face, assuring themselves of the safety of others; each intent upon his or her own business. Men, women and children gathering again, and as those groups gathered who knew what form they might take? Who would be at their centre, focusing their intent? Caliran was out there. So was Anista. Were there others unknown to me?

  I wiped blood from my eye onto the sleeve of my upper arm; a pool of blood that had settled in the palm of my hand spattering on the steps in a wide arc. Some fell in a pool of another's blood like rain on a red pond. Following that trail led to the splayed body of the would-be assassin who had been on trial here. He lay like a drunk who had vomited pints of blood instead of beer. Dry sightless eyes staring at nothing. Caliran had fed him poison under my nose and I hadn't suspected. That much seemed clear, but nothing else did.

  "Better get Vesan to look at that."

  I glanced at Parast and nodded but made no move. Absent-mindedly, I watched the smoke that leaked out from the temple entrance and drifted and dispersed in lazy tendrils. I needed to get the sequence of events clear in my mind. Caliran had poisoned the prisoner to keep him silent; that seemed clear, at least. Caliran had then passed into the temple behind us. I gave a thoughtful nod; that was clever of him. He had my tacit approval to do so, though he hadn't asked for it. I'd intended him to speak. That was known. He had been allowed to follow us. Then he had stopped Hald Epwhel from touching the glass sphere that the statue of Hesta held in its hands. Stopped him on a pretext. The sphere was the key to Hesta's booming voice, repeating my words in my own voice. Words I'd spoken in private. The guard had shattered the glass; he had been close enough to be sure that it was the source of the voice of Hesta. And Caliran had triggered it, by touching it. I nodded to myself. That made sense. He had stopped Hald from touching the sphere because it was too soon. Now, how had he gathered my words? I didn't care how he had stored them for later use, that was unguessable. But that he had a means to spy on me and hear what was said was certain. Where had I been when I had spoken them? I had been speaking to Sapphire, and possibly Parast, but in any case certainly in the outer chamber of my suite. I gave a slow nod, my attention shifting to the body of the prisoner, staring at the sky with dead eyes. Something in the room that I used as an office allowed Caliran to hear everything that transpired there. I started to imagine the chamber in my mind, building a picture of it. Then shrugged. Why bother? I could be there in moments. I could take my time and look. And I wasn't doing anything worth doing trying to out-stare a corpse and bleeding all over the place. He couldn't tell me anything. His glassy eyes would never blink again.

  "The boar's head," I muttered.

  Parast cleared his throat but said nothing.

  Glass eyes. Next to the priest’s quarters a glass blower’s workshop. No one was working it now because it was Caliran who worked in glass. His own glass eyes, the glass sphere that the statue of Hesta had held, triggered by a touch. The glass eyes in the boar's head. And the broken glass sphere that Sapphire had given to me. Was it possible that Caliran had been giving instructions to his allies through such glass spheres? Glass spheres that they perhaps touched to alert him that they were free to hear his words? I suddenly began to see Caliran differently; a fat spider safe at the centre of a web of communication, information... knowledge.

  "I want to talk to the soldiers who guarded Caliran," I told Parast.

  "What do you want to know?"

  I didn't answer for a moment, thinking about it. Confirmation? I turned and scanned the area, looking for the one who had been guarding the temple door earlier. I didn't see him. The last of the injured were being moved, those who needed to be carried. Beyond this, people were gathering, but cautious and fearful. I couldn't see the one I was looking for, but it could wait.

  "How many people enter the temple and what do they do when they are there?"

  "More than a hundred a day," Parast said. He suddenly had all my attention. "I get reports," he explained.

  Of course he did. I probably had them in writing and hadn't read them. "That seems like a lot. What do they do?"

  "They enter, bow their heads, perhaps praying, sometimes speaking but as often not. They then touch their foreheads and touch the sphere held by the statue," he sounded like he was reading from their own report. "They wait briefly in silence, and then leave. Those who attend are as often from Learneth as from Darklake."

  Praying. Asking questions and leaving unanswered. As many from Learneth as Darklake. I wondered if there had been a temple to Hesta in Learneth or if worshippers had had to travel here to question the god. Probably unknowingly to question Caliran, I thought. Learneth had been but one day away from here; of course there had been travellers back and forth. No community lives in isolation. Deference to Hesta meant deference to Caliran, the representative of the god. How many followers would he have? How many would obey him? I had assumed that the people of Learneth were my natural allies. I had not thought through the consequences of the fact that they had lived but one day’s ride from Darklake. Close enough for relationships to be strong; close enough for ties of loyalty and common interest to have been built up over years. I had treated my enemies as allies. And now I could only hope that I wasn't going to pay too heavily for that mistake.

  "Patron." Parast's tone of voice required my attention. He wasn't looking at me.

  I glanced around, seeing what he saw. More people had gathered; still in small groups and
still not coming close; but now some were looking our way. Their expressions were not friendly. Sullen, resentful, angry faces looking my way. Not a threat; at least not yet. As my attention drifted over the faces I caught a glimpse of someone I recognised. It took me a moment to place the face, as I had only seen it once before. Sapphire but not Sapphire. He sat casually on the rail of an animal pen, talking and gesturing casually. Some of the people close by were paying attention to him. For a moment our gazes met over what must have been sixty yards or so. It seemed to me that the elaborate shrug was for my benefit but one or two in the crowd laughed. Further away a couple of heads turned at the sound of laughter. A small island of normality in a sea of tension. I wondered how far he could make that mood spread. Then I wondered how much easier it would be if I were not standing here in plain sight, a focus for the anger of the people.

  It occurred to me that right now he was doing more for my cause than I was.

  "Time we weren't here," I said, and at once put action to the words.

  Parast fell in beside me and we walked together back to the hall. I didn't hurry. Instinct, not reason, told me that any sign of fear might raise resentment to anger and possible action. I felt the attention of unfriendly eyes on me the whole way.

  It felt like a long walk. I didn't feel safe until I had passed through the archway and back into the courtyard in front of the hall. Even then, I knew that the feeling of safety was an illusion. Eighty soldiers cannot rule six thousand without their consent. My enemy was loose among the population, and Caliran would not be idle. I could not guess how soon he could begin to build opposition, nor how effective he could be, nor how quickly he could consolidate his position and act against us. I had no illusions as to his intent, not now. He wanted to rule these people and had been working to that end the whole time that I thought him isolated and harmless. I could not guess how many allies he already had, though I guessed he was somehow in communication with them; possibly through Silgar, who could have simply walked through walls to consult with him. Possibly through some application similar to the glass sphere with which he had somehow contrived to broadcast my words to the crowd. The strength of his position depended on too many factors. And I didn't know what I could do about stopping him.

  I caught a glimpse of the old healer as Vesan stepped across the threshold into the darkened hall; saw that he carried a child in his arms. I decided that my own injury could wait a bit longer. Smoke billowed in a pale and dark cloud rising over the gardens, driven by a mild breeze. I could hear raised voices in the gardens beyond the wall, could hear enough to know that some sort of fire-fighting effort was going on there. The smoke would act as a signal, if any were needed, to those beyond the walls that all was not well within the town of Darklake. Would Resh Ephannan and the other clan chiefs act? I gave it a moment’s thought; the gate was held by half my men. They were enhanced. Even without a battle mage, they would be able to hold, if there was an attack, which I hoped there would not be. I could hear no sign of it, and surely I would. No horns had sounded. Yet. My men had orders to let civilians pass through the gate, they would obey those orders, so no fear of a massacre should panicked crowds have headed that way. Best leave well enough alone, for now. The east gate hardly had a man to guard it; just watchmen on the walls. Any civilians who had passed that way would only have been harmed by themselves.

  I took in the situation in the courtyard as I kept moving, not yet sure where I was heading. The soldiers here were calm but grim; ready but inactive. There were more civilians here than I had expected to see; a hundred or more crowded around the edges of the courtyard. Shocked, fearful, some bloodied but all on their feet as far as I could see. It was Parast who called for a report just as I was considering the wisdom of ordering some of these men to assist in the fire-fighting effort.

  I stayed to hear it. It was the tracker, Inesk, who stepped forward and delivered a brief and succinct report. Those who had fled into the passage during the panic had been allowed to pass. No conflict and no casualties. Four men had been sent to supervise and assist the fire-fighting. Last word, that effort was progressing well.

  Parast glanced at me. I had nothing. I'd left the details of military matters to Meran and the centurions. It didn't seem smart to take back control now, especially as I had no orders to give. "Let things settle as they will for now," I said.

  It was the best I could come up with. It didn't feel like much.

  Parast accepted it without comment and turned back to Inesk. "Get these fed and watered," he ordered, "Give them something to occupy themselves with. Send any injured into the hall for treatment. Allow free passage but control any mob that attempts entry. Use your own judgement."

  "Sir," Inesk gave a brisk salute to both of us and turned back to his men.

  Parast turned back to me but made no move to speak or act. I let my attention drift through what I understood of the situation. "What a bloody mess," I said, calmly.

  "Yes, Patron," Parast seconded the thought, "But it could be worse."

  "I suppose it could be," I gestured to the fire, left hand still griping my right wrist. "Keep an eye on things while I go wait to get this tended to." We both ignored the brief patter of blood on flagstones at our feet. "Make sure that fire gets doused. Keep things calm. You know what to do."

  "Yes, Patron." He gave a salute of his own and headed for the gardens to supervise. I watched him go for a moment, then cast a glance about the courtyard before turning to head into the hall.

  Everyone knew what to do except me, I thought. I hadn't got a bloody clue.

  #

  Seldas hesitated in the broad doorway of the hall, backlit by the brighter light outside. I remained where I was, perched on a table, waiting for Vesan to get around to seeing to my wounds. He had been busy in the crowded hall and I'd decided to let him decide where I fit into the rankings of the wounded. I wasn't going to bleed to death any time soon. A few moments would pass and a drop of blood would drip off my eyebrow. Each time it happened, my thoughts were interrupted. Not that I'd been thinking that well. I was hung up on Silgar, trying to wrest his motives from his actions. I'd been unarmed; he had been all but invisible, cloaked in shadows. Give Sapphire the same advantage over me and I would be dead. I had no illusions about that. I had good reason to believe that Silgar was every bit as lethal as Sapphire. He hadn't wanted me dead. It all came back to that. But then there were only questions. What did he want? Why was he here at all? Who had hired him? Who was he trying to kill, if not me? Why wasn't his intended target dead already? The questions were endless and answers unforthcoming. Caliran was also a puzzle. I saw him now as a spider at the centre of a web, and even had a clue as the nature of the threads that connected him to the outside world; had he contacted Silgar and hired him? If not to kill me then to do what? The questions circled like vultures but refused to settle and feed. That was what I was thinking when Seldas finally picked me out from the crowd and headed my way.

  I gave him my attention as he came close; his expression a mix of nervous and shocked. A drop of blood dripped from my eyebrow. "It looks worse than it is," I said as he came to a halt before me, hands fluttering nervously. "Head wounds," I explained, "always bleed more than you'd think." I spoke with care of the cut on my lip; it had sealed and I didn't want to re-open it.

  He looked away, his twitchy gestures taking in the whole hall. "What happened?"

  "You were with Resh Ephannan?" I asked in turn.

  He nodded emphatically. "And the other clan chiefs, negotiating," he shrugged, "to little effect as both you and he seem to desire," he hesitated, waiting for me to offer some clarification. I didn’t, so he went on. "Word came that a crowd was gathering and we went to the crest of the rise to watch. He wanted to know what was happening and I told him."

  "How did he react?"

  "He is a barbarian," Seldas said it like it was an answer.

  "So how did Resh the barbarian react?"

  Seldas looked embarrassed. "He
was amused. He said what I already knew; that a chieftain gives judgement in his hall, surrounded by his warriors; that to make a public spectacle of a trial was stupid."

  I gave a little frown then winced as the scabbed-over cut on my lip stung sharply. I could feel a drop of blood run down my chin.

  "His words, Patron," Seldas protested, assuming my scowl of displeasure was meant for him.

  I shook my head, dismissing his concerns. "Then what happened?"

  "We watched. Then the crowd panicked and fled in all directions." His eyes widened.

  "And how did Resh react to that?"

  "He laughed." Seldas looked embarrassed, but I saw he watched for my reaction. "The clan chiefs were making bets on how many would die and speculating on how soon the people here would rise up against you and force you out of Darklake. One or two of the chieftains said they should attack the town while all was confusion but Resh shouted them down. He reminded them that the city is not known for clemency for those who kill its citizens. Better, he said, to seem a threat and negotiate from strength than to be an enemy of the city and suffer the consequences."