The Assassin's Edge (Einarinn 5) (32 page)

Sorgrad stood in front of the man, Shiv on one side, me on the other.

“I believe your life would be forfeit for coming here, still more so for leaving tokens.” Sorgrad spoke in conversational tones as he searched the man’s pockets to find an embroidered ribbon tied in an elaborate bow. “More lives than your own, I wouldn’t wonder.”

The man’s eyes darted frantically between us, desperate for some hint of hope. Shiv conveyed a convincing threat, black brows slightly furrowed. Our prisoner wasn’t to know he had no clue what Sorgrad was saying. I at least knew enough to follow most simple conversations but Ryshad would be as hampered as Shiv by lack of the Mountain tongue.

“Let’s get on with it,” ’Gren said with happy malice. “Before his pals come looking for him.”

“Do you want me to try a truth charm?” I asked Sorgrad in the fast colloquial Tormalin we all used in Ensaimin.

“Not for the moment.” Sorgrad switched back to the Mountain tongue. “You’re fortunate we’re no friends to Ilkehan.”

The prisoner stiffened at that name.

“Tell us what happened, here and over yonder, ” Sorgrad invited. The man winced as he glanced at the dagger still stuck into his arm, blood soaking his sleeve. He kept his mouth firmly shut.

Sorgrad gave me a nod and I rattled off the liquid syllables of an incantation to leave those speaking falsehood voiceless until they opted for truth. Panic flared in the prisoner’s eyes as he saw we had Artifice to call on and I smiled warmly at him. Inside, I was chilled by how easily I’d terrified him. Elietimm Artifice was a more potent weapon than steel for ambitious men like Ilkehan. No wonder the Sheltya kept such resolute watch lest any of their number be seduced by the potential for power within their magic.

“What happened?” Sorgrad asked again.

“Ilkehan attacked last year,” gasped the man bitterly. “Ashernan paid full price for his folly in trying to challenge Ilkehan. When Evadesekke fell, we were encircled. Rettasekke might have come to our aid but Ashernan had dishonoured the truce. Olret held his own borders against Ilkehan but would not cross them.” Despair pained him worse than his wound. “His house is burned, his line sundered from past and future. We are no longer his people; we have no hargeard.”

We all did our best to look as if we understood what he was saying. Then puzzlement wrinkled his brow along with his suffering. “Are you of Rettasekke? None other stands against Ilkehan. Or does some eastern sekke still hold out?”

Sorgrad nodded at ’Gren. “We’re Anyatimm. Our companions are of Tren Ar’Dryen.”

The ancient name for the Mountain Men who’d driven out the Elietimm forefathers meant no more to this man than the archaic name for the lands to the west of the ocean. Despair quenched the fleeting glimmer of hope that had chased across his square features. “Then all you bring is war upon us and death on yourselves.”

Sorgrad considered this. “We should not challenge this Ilkehan?”

“He is a monster.” Hatred thickened the man’s accent. “He raises armies that none can withstand and backs them with the strongest magic in these islands. When he took Evadesekke, he bridged the very bogs around the citadel with the bodies of his own dead. He will make truce upon a sacred islet and defile it that selfsame day. He has no honour yet he turns a kindly face to those who acquiesce when he declares himself their overlord. Many submit rather than face his wrath.” Now our captive’s face twisted with the anguish of uncertainty. “He claims the Mother’s favour, that her blessing dwells in his hargeard. He swears he is the sword of the Maker, forged in the fires of these testing times. Many believe it; how could they not?”

He was genuinely asking a question but Sorgrad stayed silent, face as bland as I’d ever seen him waiting for an opponent to betray the runes held close in his hand. Our prisoner shook his head fervently. “The mountains speak with tongues of flame and destroy Ilkehan’s foes in floods of ice and fire. Those uncertain starve, no choice but to fall to their knees before him, if they would not perish. He will be overlord, whether all will it or none. If you are no friend to Ilkehan, you are his enemy. He will not have it otherwise.”

Our captive fell silent.

“So Ilkehan killed Ashernan and now holds his land?” Sorgrad smiled his understanding. “If you accept his rule, you go on much as you did before.”

I explained as much to Ryshad and Shiv who were both visibly frustrated by now.

“So you’re not about to cross him. You’re already thinking you’ve said too much.” The prisoner stayed motionless, watching Sorgrad warily.

“I’ll get him to talk some more,” ’Gren offered obligingly. He made to twist my dagger in the man’s wound.

“No.” Ryshad glared at him.

’Gren shrugged and pulled the blade out in one swift movement. Our captive gasped; suddenly weak at the knees and blood ran free from the oozing wound. ’Gren reversed his grip and cut the man’s throat in a single backhanded stroke. He was dead before his life’s blood choked his final breath.

“Shit!” Ryshad let go and the corpse fell forward on to the dry grass.

’Gren crouched down, stabbing my dagger into the turf to clean it. ”That wants sharpening, my girl.” He handed it back, disapproving.

“What did you do that for?” Shiv was shocked, Ryshad scowling blackly.

’Gren looked puzzled. “He’d said all he was going to.”

Sorgrad had taken a prudent step aside to avoid the spray of blood. “You heard him; he was Ilkehan’s man, willingly or not. We couldn’t risk him trying to garner some favour by betraying us.”

Shiv couldn’t argue with that, though his face suggested he’d like to.

I looked at Ryshad with silent appeal. “Even if he kept his mouth shut for the sake of his own skin, that wound would set people asking questions in a place like this. Then Ilkehan’s adepts could pull the answers out of his head whether or not he wanted to give us up.”

“True enough.” Ryshad was still looking thunderous. “It’s still a coward’s trick to cut a man’s throat when he’s not expecting it.”

“It’s easier than when he does,” said ’Gren irrepressibly.

“Shut up.” I didn’t like being in the middle of this argument any better than I liked the fallen stones encircling us. “It might have been better not to kill him here, if this is some kind of shrine.”

“It’s done, so we move on,” announced Sorgrad. “We came looking for an ally but this Ashernan is deader than last year’s mutton. If this Olret’s still holding out against Ilkehan, I say we find him.” He turned to Shiv. “Where?”

The mage slowly got out his map. “If we’re here, that’s the island with Ilkehan’s stronghold. He pointed to a long, wide island with a broken chain of mountains running through it. A river cut deep into a central plain.

“Kehannasekke.” Sorgrad nodded impatient understanding. “So where’s this Olret?”

“Rettasekke?” I pointed a tentative finger.

’Gren looked dubiously at the islands scattered across the substantial patch of sea between us and the possibility of an ally. ”How do we get there?”

“You say there are fords and causeways over the sands and shallows?” Sorgrad raised his brows at me. “Travel by night and take it slow and careful.”

Ryshad laughed with precious little humour. “I take it you pair are as handy with boats as Livak?”

“There’s not much call for them in the uplands, pal.” There was an edge to ’Gren’s voice.

Ryshad smiled at him. “I grew up on the ocean side of Zyoutessela and Shiv’s a Kevilman. We steal a boat.”

“It’ll be easier to steer clear of other people if we’re on the water.” I looked appealingly at Sorgrad. “And it’ll be faster.”

“Fair enough.” The notion plainly appealed as little to Sorgrad as it did to me.

Ryshad was looking at the corpse with barely concealed displeasure. “We can’t leave this to start a hue and cry after us.”

“We’ve nothing for a pyre and anyway smoke’ll bring people looking for the fire.” I wondered what to do. If Saedrin was marking down my share in this unfortunate’s death against the day when I had to explain myself to him, disrespecting the corpse wouldn’t win me any favours.

“His shade won’t thank you for burning his bones, you ignorant lowlander,” Sorgrad rebuked me. “They should lie where his beliefs held despite all his terror of Ilkehan.” At his nod, ’Gren helped him carry the body to one of the pits beside a fallen sarsen.

“Let me.” Shiv spread his hands and the earth, hard packed by a full year and more of rain and sun, crumbled into fresh-turned tilth, flowing up and over the tumbled corpse. It jerked and twitched with a nauseating parody of life as the soil shifted beneath it and soon disappeared from view.

Sorgrad muttered something sounding vaguely liturgical in Mountain speech too archaic for me to understand.

Untroubled, ’Gren gazed down into the pit. “The Maker can hold his bones until the Mother takes back his spirit.” He used the same terms as the Elietimm had.

“Misaen and Maewelin?” I guessed. Those two gods had been sufficient for the ancient Mountain Men and even these days, the uplands paid scant respect to the rest of the pantheon.

Shiv drew a deep breath and continued to concentrate on the pit. The soil sank down, smoothing itself to the sides of the hole, soon as compact as if it had never been disturbed.

“Nicely done, Shiv,” Ryshad approved from the far side of this new grave. “Now let’s go and steal a boat.”

Suthyfer, Sentry Island,

3rd of For-Summer

Halice came striding across the beach, the early sun throwing a long shadow behind her. “You’re not scrying, are you?” She looked into the pool left shining among the scoured slabs of rock by the retreating sea.

“No,” Usara assured her. He dusted sand off his hands. “Though Guinalle thinks working with a natural pool would make it harder for the Elietimm enchanters to find me.”

Halice looked uncertain. “I thought you needed antique silver bowls and priceless inks.”

“Hedge wizards and charlatans can’t work without them,” Usara told her with some amusement. “And granted, ink or oil makes it easier but I can scry in anything.”

Halice looked at Guinalle who was swathed in a soft grey cloak against the dawn chill. “Have you any Artifice to show you how they’re getting on?”

“I think it best to let well alone,” Guinalle said without emotion. “Shiv was taking them to a place well outside Ilkehan’s domains. If some mischance shows these enchanters my interest there, that could just give him reason to go looking.”

“It’s not worth the risk,” said Usara firmly. “For anyone.”

“You didn’t feel any hint of that Ilkehan noticing them arriving?” Halice looked out at the placid ocean barely troubled by so much as a rippling wave, gilded by the sun huge and orange on the horizon. The tide had washed away most of the evidence of the slaughters.

“Not a suspicion.” Guinalle looked north and east to the unseen Ice Islands as well.

“His kind suspect everyone and everything, every waking moment,” Halice said sourly. “That’s how they avoid knives in the back.”

“They’ve got Shiv,” Usara pointed out. “He can bespeak wizards from here to Hadrumal if they fall foul of Ilkehan’s malice.”

“Which could leave him no better than a drooling idiot.” Halice put her hands on her hips.

“Not if he’s careful, and he will be,” insisted Usara. “And now we’ve worked together, it need only be me, Larissa and Allin bringing them back. We don’t even need Shiv in the nexus.”

“Ilkehan won’t be able to touch mages at this distance, not with Artifice warding them,” Guinalle added.

“As long as he doesn’t somehow rope in those adepts of his to help.” Halice scowled at the central islands of Suthyfer secretive across the dark blue waters.

“The best way we can keep Ilkehan from realising he has enemies close at hand is to keep his attention turned to his people’s fight here.” Usara nodded at Guinalle. “We’ve been discussing how best to do that. Do you fancy working a little magic, Halice?”

“Me?” The mercenary was startled.

“You can hold a tune can’t you?” Usara asked innocently. “Sing a marching pace or a rope song along with a ship’s crew?”

Guinalle had a book in one hand, her fingers pale against the age-darkened patina of ancient leather. Whatever gold leaf had once illuminated the spine was worn to an indecipherable shadow. “The Artifice in these songs is ancient but none the less effective for that.”

“What are you thinking of doing?” Halice was intrigued, despite herself.

“The pirates have one sailing ship left. It’s only a single-masted sloop but it could make a break for the open sea,” the noblewoman replied composedly. “We’re discussing how we might discourage it.”

Halice looked out to sea again. “The
Eryngo, Nenuphar
and
Asterias
have closed off escape to the south. We’ve the other three ships keeping watch up here.”

Usara raised his eyebrows. “Wouldn’t six ships north and south be better? Maybe nine?”

Halice folded her arms, head on one side. “How?”

Usara’s grin widened. “Aetheric illusion.”

“I’m certain the jalquezan in the ballad of Garidar and his hundred sheep creates mirror images to baffle an enemy.” Even Guinalle, tired as she was, couldn’t restrain a smile.

Halice nodded but frowned an instant later. “There’s no chance these enchanters are making fools of us with some Artifice masquerade? Showing you what you want to see while Muredarch’s lads come sneaking up the strait?”

“No chance at all.” Guinalle shook her head. “That’s one advantage aetheric far-seeing has over scrying.”

“You’re sure?” Halice plainly wasn’t. A new thought occurred to her. “If you could see through any illusion they wrought, why won’t they just see straight through this trick?”

Guinalle looked affronted. “Because I can ensure that they don’t.”

Usara stepped in. “Halice, please allow we’re as competent in our duties as you are in yours.”

“Of course.” A rueful smile lightened the mercenary’s severe expression and she bowed with mock solemnity. “I beg your pardon, both you and your lady mages. So, how will this work?”