The Assassin's Edge (Einarinn 5) (67 page)

“Mama?” She knelt to push at Frala’s shoulder.

I was on my knees and couldn’t have got to my feet if Saedrin himself had asked for it but there was still the noise of fighting in the corridor. I scrubbed at my eyes so fiercely it hurt but I was determined to clear every vestige of aetheric blurring from my vision. I fumbled at my belt, reaching for darts, dagger, anything to use against whatever might come through the door.

I forced my head up, blinking furiously as tears filled my eyes. Olret stood just beyond the doorway; the real Olret. He was held stock-still and from the flickering patterns of many hued light wheeling round him, this was some magical coil worked by the nexus of wizardry. His remaining men were doing their best to reach him but Ryshad and ’Gren stood on either side, barring their way with lethal effectiveness.

That bastard wasn’t dead yet no matter what had happened to his aetheric counterpart. I took a deep breath and reached carefully for a dart, reminding myself that poisoning myself by accident would be a monumentally stupid thing to do. I need not have troubled.

Sorgrad threw a handful of lightning at Olret and this time it scored him from head to toe, raising blisters down his blackened face and shattering his forward foot. If wizardry hadn’t held him up, he’d have collapsed. Even with the magic pinioning him, he cried out in agony.

“Nothing to save you now, shithead,” crowed Sorgrad.

“Let’s just kill him,” said Shiv wearily.

The wheeling light closed in around Olret and he burst into flames. The fire burned odourless and so hot I could feel it on my face and the brightness of the ruby, emerald, amber and sapphire in the flickering blaze was too painful to behold.

Ryshad and ’Gren stumbled in through the door as everyone fighting them fell away, fear more potent than loyalty for Olret’s men. Both were bleeding or covered with someone else’s blood, I couldn’t tell which.

“Burn him, burn every bone in his body. Scatter him on the winds to be lost in the trackless ocean.” It was the grandmother, crouching on her hands and knees with more of the poised cat than the whipped cur about her. The white fire consuming Olret reflected in her hungry eyes.

Ryshad staggered towards me, falling to his knees, bleeding from a handful of shallow nicks on arms and legs. I clung to him and together we watched Olret die. The old woman got her wish. When the flames closed in on themselves to finally vanish, all that was left was a twisting column of ash. Shiv shattered the windows with a rattle of hailstones and Sorgrad swept all that was left of Olret out to oblivion on a rush of icy air.

“Are we done?” I was shaking so much I could barely get the words out.

“Dast’s teeth, we’d better be.” Ryshad wrapped his arms around me, cruelly tight but I didn’t mind as his strength damped down the tremors wracking me. I could do without breath for the moment. He pressed his head close to mine and whispered words for me alone. “It’s all right, it’s all right. I know, I know.” That was no meaningless reassurance and I clung to the distant promise of calm. Ryshad knew. I heard the truth of it in every beat of his heart hammering beneath his ribs. He’d been imprisoned by Artifice, used by another’s will. I’d never be impatient with his distrust of enchantments again, I vowed. I should have stuck to my old beliefs; all magic brings is trouble.

“I need clean linen and water!” Sorgrad’s urgent shout roused me from these incoherent thoughts.

“What?”

“Where?”

Sorgrad was kneeling over ’Gren. He was face down on the filthy floor as Sorgrad sliced off his jerkin, already ripped through and soaked in blood. “One of them got him as he turned,” he explained tersely.

“Shit.” Ryshad tried to wipe away the blood coating ’Gren’s back but there was just too much, soaking his breeches, pooling on the floor around Ryshad’s knees. Sorgrad was already bloodied to the elbows.

I lifted ’Gren’s head out of the muck, cradling his face, biting my lip so hard I drew blood, welcoming the pain as it cleared my mind enough to still my shaking hands.

“Just hold on.” I told him with a smile that hid pain twisting inside me like a hot knife. Drianon, Halcarion, Saedrin, Poldrion, any cursed god who might be listening, please don’t let this happen, please don’t let him die. We’d won, hadn’t we? Why couldn’t we just walk away with our victory? Why did it have to be stained with blood?

’Gren squinted up at me with one blue eye glazed with pain. ”It hurts, girl. Curses, it hurts.” He tried to grin but could only manage a puzzled grimace.

“Give me some room.”

Ryshad moved to let Shiv get closer and water poured from the wizard’s hands on to ’Gren’s naked back. Washed clean, we all saw a deep, ragged gash slicing deep into his side just above his hip. It vanished again as ’Gren’s lifeblood came welling out. Ryshad ripped off his jerkin and shirt, Sorgrad doing the same and bundling the linen tight.

“Come on, you skinny little bastard,” Ryshad muttered. “Put that bloodymindedness to good use for a change. Tell Poldrion where he can stick his ferry pole.”

’Gren meant precious little to Ryshad but Aiten had been his closest friend for ten or more years and I could see the memory of that loss darkening my beloved’s brow.

“Let me see him.” The grandmother was at my side.

“You don’t touch this wound with those foul hands,” snarled Sorgrad and if he hadn’t been fully occupied trying to staunch the flow, I swear he would have hit her.

But she didn’t want to touch the wound. Rather she laid a gentle hand on ’Gren’s head as it rested in my hands. “What manner of man are you?” she wondered softly.

’Gren was barely conscious. ”What Misaen made me.”

“And that is—”

I knew the reason for the grandmother’s sharp intake of breath. I loved ’Gren like a brother but that didn’t blind me to his blithe lack of conscience. Then there was the uncomplicated delight he took in bedding any girl willing and fighting any man fool enough to think ’Gren wouldn’t kill him just for the excitement of proving his prowess and filling his purse by way of a bonus.

“He’s my friend,” I begged her. “And he risked his life to save you all.”

The woman looked at me stony faced. “Which might count for something if he valued what he risked, if he valued what he fought for, if he ever looked beyond the moment he dwells in.”

All at once I was furious with the skinny old crone. What did she know about ’Gren and what he meant to me, no matter what he was? Nor was I about to leave someone else dead on these god-cursed rocks, not after losing Geris and Aiten to this horrible place and its cruel people with their ice-coated hearts.

“Whatever you can do, you just do it.” I wasn’t begging now, I was telling her and I started to rack my brains for some way of forcing her to act. Unfortunately all I could think of was knocking her on her bony arse, which didn’t promise to be either effective or overly safe for the rest of us.

She tried to rise but stumbled. Frala caught her arm, helping her to her feet and something passed between them that replaced Frala’s look of confusion with one of wary distaste. “Who are you to make such demands on us?” she snapped curtly. “Outdwellers all and tainting true magic with your corrupted touch.”

Shiv’s distress turned to bitter rage. “Without our wizardry, my lady, Olret would have ripped your head off!”

“Silence!” The grandmother cut off Frala’s reply with a sweep of her hand.

“It’s slowing, the bleeding’s slowing.” Relief and disbelief mingled in Ryshad’s voice.

I looked from the old woman to the horrible wound and saw that the blood was indeed lessening. As I watched, it stopped altogether; gore clotting around the ugly gash already beginning to knit together, swiftly closing to a lumpy purple scar.

“Thank you,” said Sorgrad tightly.

“I don’t want your thanks.” The grandmother fixed him with a cold glare. “I would not have his blood stake any claim to this land, not even though it be that of my worst enemy. Nor yet will I condemn mine own hargeard to have such ill-omened bones entombed within it.”

“The life of your friend settles all debts between us,” Frala declared with finality and a hint of hostility. “Make no more claims upon us.”

“They’re here, Vadesor and his men.” Gyslin had managed to drag herself to the window and was peering out to the court below. I realised I could hear a distant commotion. “Olret’s men are surrendering.”

The younger women looked towards the windows and at each other, their fearful expressions saying more plainly than words that they’d rather take their chances with whatever army had turned up downstairs than the four of us still standing.

“You may leave,” said Frala, uncompromising. “As soon as you may.”

“Then we will.” Sorgrad threw away the blood-soaked remains of his shirt and nodded at ’Gren, still prostrate and unconscious on the floor. “Help me get him up.”

Ryshad laid a firm hand between ’Gren’s shoulder blades. “No. We don’t want to move him any more than we can avoid.”

I began to shake again, exhausted, too tired to deal with any quarrel between Ryshad and Sorgrad, too scared and too angry to tell these ungrateful bitches what I thought of them, too furious with myself for ever suggesting we come back to these god-cursed islands.

“Shiv,” I forced the words out. “Just use that pissing nexus to get us home.”

Even as my gorge rose within me under the assault of the magic, I welcomed the nausea.

CHAPTER NINE

To Keran Tonin, Mentor at the University of Vanam,

From Casuel D’Evoir, residing in the House of D’Olbriot, Toremal, by the grace of the Designate.

Esteemed Mentor Tonin, my compliments.

My researches into those archives that reach back to the Chaos continue to turn up documents of considerable interest. I copy to you an open letter circulated at the final Convocation held in the reign of Nemith the Seafarer, by Hafrein Den Fellaemion. I am not surprised that Nemith the Last looked askance at such radical aspirations for the Kel Ar’Ayen colony but perhaps the time has come for Temar to realise something of these wishes. I have accordingly sent a copy for the Sieur D’Alsennin to include in his own archive.

Your humblest of associates Casuel, Esquire D’Evoir

Be it known to all men of courage and virtue that I am lately returned from my voyages into the deep ocean and bring news to hearten all men of virtue and valour.

I bring news of an empty land across the seas where broad grasslands rich in deer and deep for the plough stretch between generous rivers offering safe harbour in their wide mouths and giving easy access to thick forests, flush with game and timber ripe for felling. Beyond rise hospitable hills where we have already found stone for cutting, ores for milling and even gems in the gravels of the streambeds.

Let us turn to this new land, revealed by Dastennin’s grace and Saedrin’s bounty rather than struggle to shore up the crumbling bounds of our old provinces, in the face of rebellious ingratitude and selfish spite. Let us not squander the strength of our youth on ventures that Talagrin and Raeponin alike have turned their faces from, leaving our cohorts with scant choice but retreat in disarray.

I invite all men, bold and unafraid, to join me in taming this wild and beautiful land. Noble born yet dispossessed of their ancestral lands by the long years of calamity may repair their fortunes. Merchants and craftsmen impoverished by recent constrictions of trade may find both new markets and new resources. The commonalty with but broad backs and strong arms to offer will find their labours rewarded with unencumbered land to till for themselves.

Let none who sail shirk any duty from false expectation of privilege. Respect is to be earned in this new land just as surely as bread and meat will reward those who sow and those who hunt. Those that meet and exceed their obligations will rise, not to be held back by those who will not make shift for themselves or the dead weight of outmoded custom. Every man will be called upon to shoulder responsibility both for himself and his fellows.

I do not promise ease or luxury. I offer you toil and sweat. What such labour will win you is an untrammelled future and the right to make of that all that you can, in the certain knowledge of full title to pass all you might gain on to your heirs and assigns.

Suthyfer, Fellaemion’s Landing,

29th of For-Summer

Some mercenaries can carry balance and coordination learned in close-quarter fighting over into dancing. A lot can’t but that never seems to stop them. I watched ragged squares and circles form and break and hurriedly change direction, cries ringing above the miscellany of pipes and drums. A reasonable excuse for music rose into the late afternoon sky along with a sudden burst of laughter as three mercenaries got the figure spectacularly wrong.

“Do you reckon they’ll have it right by Solstice?” I asked, amused. “Or are we celebrating mid-summer early for some reason?” I’d been out with a hunting party since first light and hadn’t expected to find an impromptu festival on our return.

“Just a little merrymaking to mark the double full moon.” Halice waved an expansive hand towards the spits by the shoreline where Minare’s lads were roasting joints from the impressive array of game we’d culled from the islands’ forests. Rosarn and Deglain were busy around a collection of pots seething roots and spices and a large cauldron frothed with boiling shellfish. Dotted with whatever early fruits the woods had to offer, huge slabs of travel bread baked on scrubbed boards propped to catch the heat of the fires.

“Have a drink.” Halice offered me a horn cup.

I sniffed suspiciously but was agreeably surprised by the fragrance of Califenan red. “This isn’t something Vaspret’s been concocting from berries, sugar and hope.”

“D’Alsennin had the
Maelstrom
load up what was left of his cellar.” Halice gestured towards the ships at anchor in the strait. “There was plenty of space for the return voyage.”