Dagger's Edge (Shadow series)

by Logston, Anne

  “But it didn’t?” Jael asked. “Why not?”

  “There are many reasons why these divinations sometimes fail,” Donya said, shrugging. “Too much time or distance between death and the divination is one, but that shouldn’t be the case here. Elven corpses are always poor subjects for these spells, though. An elf’s spirit leaves their body so soon after death—hurrying back to the Mother Forest, they say. Oftentimes that emptiness makes even simpler traces, such as blood to blood, more difficult, because all the life has fled from the blood.”

  “What about the beggar, though?” Jael suggested. “He was human.”

  “He wasn’t quite like the others, though,” Donya said, sighing. “Nessle was killed and left where he fell, and killed quickly. He likely never even had a clear look at his killers, he being a human in a dark alley at night, or at best had only a glimpse. There’s little or nothing to be learned from him.”

  “You mentioned tracing the dirt, though,” Jael said. “Even if everything’s gone out of the elf, wouldn’t the dirt still be useful for that kind of divination?”

  “It should.” Donya glanced around her and found an empty bowl that had once held soap. She dipped it into the bath and rinsed it out, then filled it with water and sat it on the edge of the bathing pool.

  “Think of looking into this bowl as scrying,” she said. “As

  long as the water’s clear, you could see pretty much what you liked. But look now.” Donya reached into another bowl, scooped out a handful of bathing salts, and dropped them into the water. Instantly the water clouded and foamed. “It doesn’t take much to muddy the image. There are any number of spells which could do it, all very difficult and time-consuming to break. Each of the bodies we’ve found—except the beggar, of course—has been ‘muddied’ in just that way. That does tell us one thing, though—that there’s at least one mage involved. Unfortunately it means we can’t learn much else from the bodies.”

  “What about a necromancer?” Jael asked boldly. “Can that kind of spell block necromancy?”

  “No.” Donya dumped the bowl into the bathing pool, avoiding Jael’s eyes. “No, there’s very little that can obstruct a necromancer. That’s a different kind of magic.”

  “Then why haven’t you and Father authorized necromancy?” Jael asked. “I mean, if it might let you find out who killed them.”

  “It’s not that simple, Jaellyn,” Donya said slowly. She crossed her arms on the edge of the bathing pool and rested her chin on her crossed wrists. “Necromancy has been outlawed in Allanmere for a long time. I’m sure there are necromancers in the city, but I doubt they’re the kind of mages we can trust for something so important.

  “Then the victims are elves. Elves have strong convictions against necromancy, think it’s an abomination to bring an elf’s spirit back, however temporarily, from the Mother Forest. The elves’ influence was a large factor in outlawing necromancy in the first place. Elves themselves are rather resistant to necromancy—perhaps for the same reason—but a good enough necromancer can drag anyone back, it’s said. What concerns me is the effect on the city if Argent and I called in a necromancer. Some elves might think it worth the—well—the offense to the elf and to the Mother Forest, if other murders could be prevented, but others won’t. The city’s elf-haters will protest, of course, if Argent and I authorize necromancy when it’s been proscribed so severely for so many years, especially if we utilize necromancers who have been living and practicing illegally in Allanmere. And it might take weeks to bring in a necromancer from another city.”

  “That can’t be what’s holding you back,” Jael protested. “I’ve never known you and Father to worry about what a few angry people would say when something needed to be done. You always used to say ‘You can’t swing a sword in a crowd without letting a little blood.’ And if it would save citizens’ lives—”

  “That’s not exactly the problem,” Donya admitted. “Fresh human or elven blood, hearts, entrails—those are things that necromancers use in some of their darker spells. Argent and I believe that it may be a necromancer doing the killing, or having it done.”

  Jael was silent. She hadn’t thought of that; had Aubry? And that raised an even more complicated problem—should she give any aid to these necromancers at all, or should she be trying to find out who and where they were so that her parents could be told?

  “Argent and I have discussed it,” Donya said, sighing. “I simply can’t see any way to use a local necromancer, even if we could find one. We simply must find other ways of getting information, or perhaps my mages can break the divination shroud on the corpses.”

  Jael sipped her ale, grimacing as she realized that the chilling spell was gone from the mug. Gods, couldn’t she even drink a mug of ale without ruining something? She ground her teeth and pushed the mug away, then froze as an idea occurred to her.

  “Mother,” Jael said slowly, “what if you had something— someone—who could make spells fail?”

  Donya glanced at her daughter; then her eyes widened as she realized what Jael was saying. Water splashed everywhere as the High Lady of Allanmere bolted naked from her bath, snatching a cloth to wrap around herself as she strode to the door.

  “Get dressed and meet me in the main hall immediately,” Donya told her. “I’ll fetch Jermyn and Argent.”

  Jael knuckled water out of her eyes and scrambled out of the bathing pool. She pulled on her tunic and trousers, snatching up her mother’s clothes and her boots and trotting down the hall barefoot.

  Jermyn was already in the large hall, and Donya and Argent arrived just as Jael did, Donya still wrapped in the wet cloth. Jael mutely handed her mother her clothes, then sat down on the stone floor to pull on her boots.

  “By the Mother Forest, Donya,” Argent chuckled, “the poor elves have already been dead for some time. A few moments for you to put your clothing back on wouldn’t have made a difference to them.”

  “No, but it might make a difference to the next elf destined for an alley in Rivertown,” Donya returned. She glanced down at the wet cloth clinging translucently to her body and flushed. “Argent, take Jael and Jermyn to the cellar. I’ll join you in just a moment.”

  Argent sighed and led Jael and Jermyn down the cellar stairs. He stopped at the wine cellar first, however, opening the tap of one of the great casks and filling a goblet, then soaking his handkerchief in the wine.

  “Hold that over your nose and mouth,” he told Jael. “The bodies have been preservation-spelled, of course, but Aliss was in the water for a time before she was discovered, and the smell is unpleasant.”

  Jael swallowed heavily, squeezing the excess wine out of the cloth and holding it ready. Gods, she hadn’t even been able to look at Evriel in that alley, and now—

  Argent and Jermyn stopped at one of the small locked cellar rooms, and Jermyn made a brief pass over the lock with a wand before Argent fitted his key into the lock. Jael took a deep breath and held the cloth over her nose and mouth, steadying herself as Argent opened the door.

  The smell was not as bad as Jael had feared, being well mixed with the pungency of incense, sulfur, and other magical ingredients from the attempted divinations, and muffled by the wine-soaked cloth. Jael briefly noticed the light globes on the walls and quickly turned her attention away from them. Four still figures lay on tables in the room, mercifully covered with cloth. On a smaller table there was a covered box; that must be Merchant Najel’s head.

  Jael started violently as Argent laid a gentle hand on her shoulder.

  “If you need a little time before you go in,” he said under-standingly, “we’ll wait.”

  “No, I’m all right.” Jael was half lying, but Mother had been right; saving lives was more important than the steadiness of her stomach. Jael took another wine-scented breath and stepped resolutely into the room.

  “Can you tell if the spell fails?” Jael asked Jermyn, forcing herself closer to the nearest table. With any luck, maybe if she was cl
ose enough, that would do it.

  “Not without attempting the actual divination,” Jermyn said, running his fingers through his dark brown hair thoughtfully. “And if you’ll forgive me, Lady Jaellyn, I’m not certain that—ah—”

  “That my being here wouldn’t just make your own spell fail, too,” Jael finished.

  “How will you know, then?”

  Donya stood in the door, fully dressed now and with a mug in her hand, and Jael jumped again; for once, her sharp ears hadn’t heard her mother’s footsteps approaching.

  “I’ll try the divination later,” Jermyn said. “If necessary, I’ll simply call Jaellyn back down.”

  Jael shivered. It had been hard enough to come down here once. Well, she’d just have to be sure it worked the first time.

  She tried to remember what she’d done before. She’d only looked at the illusions in the market and the light globes in the dining hall, but she’d seen other magic that hadn’t failed. Attention, yes, but more certainly—

  Jael took a deep breath and lifted the cloth over the body nearest her, uncovering what she hoped was the feet. Fortunately, nothing more horrible than a pair of water-molded boots confronted her, and Jael was thankful she didn’t have to look at Aliss’s probably fish-eaten face. Before she could think, Jael reached out and laid her hand on the boots.

  “I hope that’s done it,” she said. “I don’t know how to tell.”

  She stepped from table to table, gingerly lifting the edges of the cloth to expose a foot or a white hand to touch. When she came to the covered bucket, however, Jael hesitated.

  “Surely there’s no need—” Argent said hesitantly.

  “No.” Donya laid her hand on Jael’s shoulder. “We need to learn everything we can about each murder, and this is the newest corpse.” She squeezed Jael’s shoulder comfortingly.

  Jael’s hand shook as she slid the cloth off the bucket. She couldn’t just reach blindly in; who knew what she might touch? She tried to tip the bucket slightly, but her shaking hand fumbled and the rough wooden container toppled onto its side, its gory contents rolling out onto the tabletop. Mud-slimed hair rolled over Jael’s hand and she stared into empty eye sockets; then she turned away and spewed the remains of three spiced meat sticks, half a melon, and two baked tubers with gravy into the basin that appeared as if by magic in front of her. When she was finished, Donya smiled sympathetically and handed Jael the mug of cold ale.

  “Sorry,” Jael mumbled, wiping her mouth with the wine-scented cloth.

  “No need,” Donya said easily, her arm around her daughter’s shoulders as she led Jael from the room. “Do you know, the first corpse I ever saw, not only did I belch up my meal, but the next one, too. And my first corpse didn’t smell, either. We’ll let Jermyn do his work, and I think you’d like to go back to your bath, maybe, and I’ll fetch you a clean robe.”

  In the bath, Jael scrubbed herself perhaps harder than necessary, wanting to be sure no trace of the odor remained on her skin. She lathered her short curls with perfumed soap twice after imagining she could smell a faint scent of rot. The only thought that distracted her from her disgust was, Whatever am I going to do about Tanis?

  Argent peered in the door.

  “May I come in?”

  “Uh-huh.” Jael ducked under the water, scrubbing at her hair to rinse it, and contemplated yet another soaping. She reached for the bowl of bath salts and dumped most of the bowl into the bubbling water.

  “I was thinking of joining you,” Argent said wryly, “but I believe not.” He laid a robe near the bathing pool and set a goblet at the pool’s edge. “Tomorrow morning we’ll hear what Jermyn has learned, if indeed there is anything he can learn. Here is a clean robe for you, and I brought you a potion to settle your stomach and ease your sleep. Your mother thinks I’m fussing.”

  “You probably are, but I’m glad,” Jael admitted, draining the potion as quickly as she could. “I’m sorry I don’t have Mother’s steel stomach.”

  “Well, you certainly have her courage.” Argent sat down on the stone edge of the pool, reaching out to stroke Jael’s wet hair. “You were very brave, Jaellyn, and that was a difficult task. Donya and I were both proud.”

  “I wasn’t,” Jael said, grimacing. “Especially when I threw my supper into a bowl.”

  Argent sighed and shook his head.

  “Jaellyn, sweetling, when I saw Najel’s head I nearly did the same, and I’ve seen corpses enough in my years, the Mother Forest knows. Warrior or High Lady, it never becomes easy to see your friends or kin lying dead. There’s no special honor in holding your supper in the face of horrible and gruesome death, and your mother would be the first to say so. The honor, Jaellyn, is in doing what you must even while you empty your stomach. You have every right to be proud.”

  Jael couldn’t quite manage a grin, but his words made her feel better than his potion had.

  “I suggested that perhaps it might be best to miss your lessons tomorrow, at least in the morning, but Donya disagreed,” Argent said hesitantly. “I suppose I’m fussing again.”

  “Oh, no, I can’t miss my lessons,” Jael said hurriedly. “Not when I’m only just beginning to make progress.”

  Argent laughed.

  “I never thought to hear you say such things,” he said. “But it makes me glad to see you applying yourself, and I know your mother is reassured. I’m sure she’s hoping you’ll become a master swordswoman and roam about the land hewing your enemies in half.”

  Despite his jocular tone, Jael could hear a note of concern in his voice. The thought of hewing someone in half carried unpleasant overtones of what she’d just seen in the cellar.

  “Don’t worry,” she said honestly. “I’d like to become a good swordswoman, but it doesn’t look as if I’m much made to be a warrior. And after seeing those bodies, it sounds even less appealing.”

  “I’d be deceiving you if I said I was sorry to hear you say that,” Argent admitted. “But you mustn’t make such decisions when you are so upset. Dry yourself and go to bed, dream sweetly and rest well, and soon tonight will only be another unpleasant memory of this terrible time.”

  The potion she had drunk was already starting to make her drowsy, and the heat of the bathing pool intensified her languor; Jael thought that Argent’s advice was probably sound, and stumbled back to her room in the robe, leaving her clothes where she’d dropped them.

  Despite the potion, however, her dreams were troubled. First she dreamed that she was dining with Urien, and he gave her an ornately wrapped box; opening it, however, she was horrified to find that it contained Merchant Najel’s severed head, the eyeless sockets staring horribly up at her.

  Jael sank into the sheltering refuge of stone, sank through the streets of Allanmere until she found herself in some dark place smelling of dust and mold. For a moment the darkness was almost comforting, quiet and still; then gradually she could hear voices from somewhere overhead, muffled as if far away.

  Slowly Jael became aware that she was not alone in the darkness. She could hear breathing, deep and slow, and quiet, strange sounds, as if something huge stirred slightly in the space. She could feel huge, cold hands starting to close around her in the darkness—

  Jael bolted upright in the bed, shivering and clutching the bedclothes around her. What had frightened her? Had she dreamed? For a moment, a wisp of memory flashed through her mind—stone, darkness—and then was gone.

  Her room was still and dark, lit only slightly by the embers of the fire and what little moonlight could trickle through the clouds. Her keen elven vision quickly reassured her that nothing was out of place; she was alone and safe in her room as always. Still Jael could not return to sleep, imagining sounds or shadows that moved. Well, no wonder, she told herself. Being chased around alleys by horrible illusions, and then coming home to fondle corpses—excuse enough for a good case of the night shakes.

  At last she gave in and took her sword from its resting place on her table and
took it back to bed with her. Finally, clutching the sheathed blade like a talisman, Jael slept.

  VII

  Jermyn apparently spoke with Donya or Argent in the night, or very early in the morning, indeed, for it was Donya and Argent who took Jael quietly aside after breakfast to tell her the results of the previous night’s divinations. “I didn’t think this was a subject for the table, or for the twins, come to that,” Donya said quietly, “and I wanted you to eat your breakfast. Jermyn was able to get a few impressions from some of the bodies, although nothing too helpful—as I told you, elves are poor subjects for hindsight after they’ve died. Still, it was enough for him to be certain that all five elves were killed by the same group of people. He was certain there were several persons involved, although he couldn’t say whether it was one person or many who actually killed. He had an impression of darkness and of chanting coming from somewhere nearby, and believes that the killing was part of a magical ritual of some kind. His only other impression he received was that of some powerful presence nearby in the darkness, or perhaps two such presences.” Jael shivered. Donya’s description sounded somehow familiar, uncomfortably so.

  “So you think a necromancer might be involved?” Jael asked her.

  “Jermyn says it’s likely,” Donya said, looking far from comfortable herself. “Necromancers often use human blood and—and parts in their summonings.”

  “But why elves?” Jael pressed. “Wouldn’t—uh—parts of elves be less useful for that kind of magic, since you said the life goes out of them so fast?”

  “Not if the elf was killed then and there, as a part of the ritual,” Donya said quietly. “I think Celene mentioned to you how killing uninitiated mages released a large burst of power. None of the elves killed were mages, but all elves have at least a little magic in their blood, I’ve heard. The release of that magic may be why elves were killed, or the mage may simply prefer killing elves. I’m afraid the divination didn’t give us much help. But I thought you deserved to know, after your assistance.”