The Assassin's Edge (Einarinn 5) (65 page)

The door wasn’t locked; there was no need, after all. ’Gren went through it without pause for breath, cutting down the man gaping at our unexpected arrival. He fell hard, blood dark against the flour spilling all around, mouth gaping like the sack he’d been filling from the chute beside him. I didn’t wait to see if ’Gren took a second stroke to kill the man, racing after Sorgrad up the ladders to the upper floors of the wide building.

The miller tending the great millstones heard the commotion below but with nothing to serve as a weapon at hand, he had no choice but death beneath Sorgrad’s impersonal blade. When we were done I could spare a pang for two poor bastards dead for simply being in the wrong place but, for now, I was more concerned with saving my own skin.

“Shut off the grain,” ordered Sorgrad.

I was already at the chute carrying kernels down from the hopper on the floor above. The bone slide poised to stop the cascade was immediately apparent and I rammed it home. Sorgrad was busy with the levers that governed the cogs driven by the shafts and axles turned by the waterwheels far below us. As he worked, I heard the rising roar of water gushing through the sluices.

’Gren found the right ropes.” I had to raise my voice above the rumble of the mill now rapidly gathering pace.

“He’s no fool.” Sorgrad did something that set the grindstones racing. “Not when he sees the chance of this kind of fun.”

I watched the grain already between the stones being ground to fine powder falling over the edge of the stone in dwindling trails. “We’re nearly done here.”

Sorgrad was pulling open the trap doors serving the various hoists that carried sacks up and down between the floors of the mill. Pale clouds puffed up from below and he coughed. “Close those shutters.”

Doing as he bade, I kept a close eye on the grindstones. A squeak like a knife scraping across an earthenware plate told there was barely any grain left for the rough-keyed gritstone to bite on.

“Time to go,” I warned him.

Sorgrad knew as well as I did what would happen when those harsh stones struck sparks from each other for lack of grist. We didn’t bother with the ladders, each grabbing a braided leather rope and sliding through the nearest trap to the floor below. I coughed and squinted through air opaque with flour. ’Gren was still slashing sacks with his knife, tossing handfuls into the air. “Come on!”

He didn’t need telling twice either. As white as if he’d been caught in a snowstorm, ’Gren ran for the door without delay. I was hard on his heels with Sorgrad a scant pace behind.

“How sharp were those stones?” Sorgrad yelled as we hared back along the causeway. “How hard?”

“I didn’t stop to look!” Ahead, I could see Ryshad’s set face behind the thorn bushes, Shiv rose beside him, apprehension more plainly written on his raw-boned face.

“Get down!” I waved to them.

As I spoke, the mill house behind us exploded. The noise was incredible, a thunderclap that struck like a box to the ears and left my head ringing. A buffet like a sudden wind made me stumble, ’Gren ahead of me was jarred just the same as a surge of air ran past to rattle the bushes where Shiv and Ryshad waited, racing beyond to be lost in the scrubland. Birds rose in startled shrieking clouds from the rippling waters of the pond and the rocky shores beyond the causeway.

Debris rained down all around. Shutters from the ranks of unglazed windows were ripped off whole, sailing far out across the millpond or splashing into the newly liberated waters racing for the sea. Shards of slate hissed through the air, rattling on the rocks of the dam. A sizeable piece struck me full in the back and I hunched my shoulders as I cursed it. Lesser pieces pattered against my head and shoulders. A monumental crash made the causeway shudder beneath our feet and told us a floor or a wall had given way. I didn’t turn to look until we reached the comparative safety of the thorn bushes. Ryshad stepped out to catch me as I flung myself off the edge of the causeway. I rested in his arms, panting for breath.

’Gren threw himself to the ground beside us, chest heaving, face alight with exultation. “There you are, Shiv. Not a sniff of wizardry needed!”

Shiv gazed at the wreck of the mill with a nice confusion of shock and laughter. “No wonder you don’t feel a need to study in Hadrumal, Sorgrad.”

He was looking back with a curious expression. “You mages could probably tell me why a spark can make powder in the air go up like firedamp.”

I twisted round in Ryshad’s arms to see just what we’d achieved. The only time I’d let ’Gren talk me into this before, it had been a little windmill we’d reduced to kindling. I was startled to see how comprehensively such a big, solid building had been wrecked.

“These people don’t use enough wood to fuel a really good fire.” ’Gren sounded disappointed.

“We can settle for this.” Ryshad shook his head at the devastation. Each side of the mill had a gaping hole punched through the wall, masonry still tumbling down. The beams and struts of the roof were broken and falling into the midst of the ruin of the shafts and axles and cogs that had driven the millstones, hoisted the sacks and worked all the other mysteries of the miller’s craft. A rapidly growing fire filled the hollow heart of the stricken building, voracious flames licking ever higher. As the ever-present breeze helpfully fanned the blaze, its greedy roar rose above sharp sounds of further collapse.

“You say you’ve done that before?” Ryshad’s embrace tightened round me.

“Twice, ’Gren confirmed gleefully.

“Just the once with me,” I reminded him.

“Why?” Ryshad’s bemusement made me turn my head to look at him.

“We needed a distraction,” I shrugged.

“Which is what we wanted here.” Sorgrad still wasn’t quite sharing ’Gren’s uncomplicated jubilation but his eyes were bright with elation. “I’d say we’ve got one.”

Beyond the causeway, the abrupt devastation of the mill had thrown Olret’s people into utter confusion. Girls ran screaming from the goat sheds, too startled to secure the gates so they were instantly pursued by their yammering herds. Girls and goats alike collided with men and women pouring out of the storehouses by the keep, some rushing for the shore, others pausing to look at the mountains inland, wild gestures eloquent of their fear that some fire from beneath the earth was about to erupt and destroy them. Wiser heads might have got some grip on the situation but went unheard as folk rushing from the long sheds down by the jetties added to the uproar with questions no one could answer.

Men in twos and threes headed unbidden towards the destruction but were diverted almost at once as the goats seized the chance to run loose among the yards and fields. Some leapt the walls surrounding the banked and enclosed fields, eager to gorge themselves on the precious crops. Others jinked around the troughs of gutted fish, heads high and noses questing. Several tried to evade capture by running out on to the landing stages only to misjudge their footing and fall with a splash into the sea or on to a boat and cause yet more chaos.

“Time to go, Shiv.” Ryshad held me closer still.

“This has to be quick so it’ll be rough,” the wizard warned.

“Hold on to your breakfast,” ’Gren advised.

I would have stuck out my tongue at him but on balance thought clamping my jaws shut more sensible. The magic was different this time; a rapid blanket of cold mist shot through with blue that enveloped us inside half a breath. Thorn bushes, dam and millpond all vanished into whiteness. The shift was a brutal one, jarring me from head to heels but paradoxically, I felt less inclined to throw up. Fog was still filling my eyes and I rubbed at them.

“Ah!” Shiv let out a harsh gasp. “I’ve one more spell in me.”

“Let’s make it count,” suggested ’Gren.

“Where are we?” Sorgrad demanded urgently.

As my vision cleared, I saw we stood in the corridor below the floor with the captive women. I headed for the stairs, Ryshad at my side, his sword drawn. ’Gren said something I didn’t catch. I turned to see him and Sorgrad racing down the corridor in the other direction.

“Where are they going?” demanded Ryshad.

’Gren’s just remembered something,” was all Shiv had to say with sharp annoyance.

“Leave them to it.” I was sorting lock picks and knelt by the metal gate.

“We agreed a plan,” Ryshad fumed.

“It’s only ever a plan as long as they choose to go along with it.” I glanced up to see he’d dearly love to expand on the dangers of such ill-discipline. “Keep watch and let me open this.”

Shiv stood where he could see down the corridor and Ryshad moved for a better view of the stairs. Turmoil was coming and going in waves below us, urgent shouts beating down wrathful voices answering impossible queries. People ran and doors slammed but, as we’d intended, everyone’s attention was on the inexplicable catastrophe over on the causeway. That’s where everyone was heading, either to help or more likely just to gawp and exclaim over the misfortune of it all.

“Can you work that concealment charm?” Ryshad asked, voice low and cautious.

“Would you like me to juggle a few knives while I’m at it?” I muttered the arcane words under my breath and did my best to hold the refrain in my mind while probing at the workings of the lock. I closed my eyes the better to concentrate, my fingers remembering the pattern I’d teased out of the hidden shapes before. The lock snicked open. “That’s it.” I stood and pushed the gate open.

“Lock it behind us,” Ryshad ordered.

“What about ’Grad and ’Gren?” I objected.

“Leave it.” Shiv was already taking the stairs two at a time. “If Olret comes after us, he’ll have a key.”

I shrugged as Ryshad hissed through his teeth and we both went after the mage.

“It’s me.” I knocked on the bolted door a brisk double tap. Ryshad knelt to pull the lower bolt aside, Shiv reaching for the upper one. “With friends.” I hastily wiped any wish for concealment from my mind and sincerely hoped someone within had the skills to read my intent for the truth. Otherwise we were in more trouble than I wanted to contemplate with no ally at our backs. I took a deep breath before I had to brave the stench within and lifted the latch.

“Do you bring help?” As before, Shernasekke’s lady wasn’t wasting time on pleasantries. “Have you spoken to our kin?”

“We’ll help you if you help us,” I matched her directness. “We’ve killed Ilkehan and now Olret wants us dead. Give me your word your friends will defend us and we’ll get you out of there.”

“I swear by the duty I owe the land of my line and those of my blood within it.” The woman’s blue eyes were pale in her drawn and filthy face.

“That sounds good enough.” Ryshad moved warily towards the cage that held her. “Stand back.” He kicked hard at the crude lock with his booted heel once, twice and with a curse, a third time. It might have been proof against the women’s fingers but this onslaught twisted it sufficiently for Ryshad to wrench the door aside. The woman seized her little daughter’s hand and pulled her out of their prison, slipping on the ordure underfoot.

Shiv was keeping watch by the door. “How far do you need to be from here to use your Artifice to contact your kin?”

She looked blankly at him.

“Your lore.” I remembered the Mountain word for the aetheric enchantments of the Sheltya. “True magic.”

The woman’s face cleared, then she grimaced. “Do you have anything to eat? I’m famished beyond all reason.”

I was about to say we didn’t have time to dine when Ryshad pulled a flatbread stuffed with goat meat out of his bag. “My lady.” He proffered it with the instinctive courtesy drilled into him by years in D’Olbriot’s service.

“I’m no one’s lady now, good sir.” She managed a wry smile around a mouthful of food before bolting the rest with far from ladylike grace. “Just Frala Shernasdir.”

“Get us out,” the grandmother demanded urgently. “If we can touch hands, we can work together!”

Ryshad broke her free and I tripped the locks of a cage that held one of Frala’s sisters. She gripped my hand as I let the door swing open. “You have the lifelong gratitude of Gyslin Shernasdir.” Her fervent words had a formality ill suited to her stained green dress and grimy face.

“You’re entirely welcome.” I moved on to the next sister who was all but rattling her bars in her desperation. Ryshad released the younger girls, both rushing to cling to each other in a shaky embrace.

“Get your wits about you,” their grandmother snapped. “Forget your aches and your bellies and concentrate on what has to be done.”

Of course, I realised belatedly. Olret wasn’t just being a vindictive bastard keeping them in this squalor. He was making certain sufficient physical discomfort hampered their capacity to use Artifice, if not curbed it all together. I dug in my own bag for whatever food ’Gren had cached there and shared it out as best I could between Gyslin, her sister and their daughters.

Ryshad handed the grandmother a battered hunk of sausage and unhooked his water bottle from his belt. “Shiv—”

The wizard cut him short with an impatient hand. “Someone’s coming up the stairs.” He moved behind the door, keeping watch through the crack at the hinges.

The women froze, food forgotten. Ryshad flattened himself on the open side of the door, sword ready. “Shiv, can you bolt it?”

An urgent whistle pierced the tense silence. “No, wait.” I left my last few darts still in my belt pouch. “It’s them.”

Ryshad muttered something under his breath. Shiv didn’t close the door and I risked a quick look around it. Sorgrad and ’Gren came running down the corridor from the opposite stairway, each with a cloth-swathed bundle over one shoulder, swords in hand.

“Here!” I beckoned them in and each dropped their burden with a muffled clatter.

“This is hardly the time to go thieving,” I told Sorgrad forcefully.

Sorgrad raised innocent eyebrows, plainly unrepentant. “Not even for more Kellarin artefacts?” The patterned cloth fell aside to reveal the gleam of old steel and the copper binding of a dagger handle. “Maybe even the last ones you need?”

’Gren was smirking too. ”Whatever Guinalle doesn’t want is ours, remember that.”