Juliet McKenna - The Assassin's Edge

“Can’t you do that with some Artifice?” asked Pered, curious.

“Not till I have convinced myself.” Guinalle froze and snatched her hand away, unsure if she’d spoken or merely thought that frank admission. Pered’s instinctive hug of sympathy startled her still further and she pulled herself abruptly back. “That would be an abuse of my powers, with him so vulnerable.” He was vulnerable, not her. She couldn’t afford to be. Guinalle looked down at Naldeth who lay asleep, wearing only a creased linen shirt, long enough to preserve his modesty. “Hold this.”

Pered took the dressings and the salve and Guinalle sensed his instinctive sympathy as he watched her carefully remove the bandages from the mage’s stump. That was another distraction she could do without, she thought crossly. It must be some consequence of the rude shaking she’d been given by those undisciplined Elietimm.

“That looks a lot neater,” Pered said bracingly.

Guinalle looked closely at the lines of stitches black against the white skin. “We had to cut the bone at mid thigh so as to have enough skin to sew together.” She gently wiped away dark encrustation. “That’s no bad thing since it meant all the torn flesh that might have mortified was safely taken off. There’s no hint of rot and the wound is knitting nicely.” She gave Pered a meaningful look and nodded at the mage, his face not relaxed in sleep but unnaturally still.

“He’s enough leg left to take a prop, if he prefers that to a crutch.” Pered’s voice was warm with encouragement but he looked anxiously at her.

Guinalle smiled her approval and smoothed fresh salve over the wound. The mage’s whole body tensed beneath her light touch and she saw Pered cringe in sympathy. Yes, she decided, he was a good choice to help the wounded and, unlike her, he wouldn’t be battered by Naldeth’s constant, unconscious self-reproaches. She took a breath and renewed her defences once more. She really must get some untroubled sleep.

“Why’s that salve blue?” Pered asked abruptly.

“It’s made from woad; it stems bleeding.” Guinalle re-dressed the wound with deft fingers. “A most useful plant, even if preparing it does raise the most appalling stink.” She tied off the ends of the bandage briskly. “Sieur D’Alsennin needs me, Master Mage. Pered is here to watch the wounded while I’m occupied, so he’ll have your dose ready for you when you need it.” She put her arms around Naldeth with impersonal efficiency and lifted him more comfortably against his pillows before gently lifting the dressing on his arm to assess the healing sore beneath. “When the pain rouses him, make him take a spoonful of this. We don’t want his torment setting his elemental powers running loose. Arimelin grant most of the others will continue to sleep and those that wake should be content to wait awhile but if anyone is in great distress, come and get me. I’ll be back as soon as I can.”

She won a grin from Pered but Naldeth lay stony faced as before. Guinalle hid her own misgivings beneath a bland face and left the hut quickly. She’d achieved something at least; setting Pered a task to keep his mind off whatever peril Shiv might be facing. If only the artist’s vivid appreciation of the life all around him could turn Naldeth from the despondency cutting deeper than the bone saw she’d used on him. As she thought that, some pang she wasn’t prepared to identify left her stomach a little hollow.

“What’s the matter?” Temar asked sharply as she reached the door of the hut.

Guinalle lifted her chin to meet his challenge. “I’m concerned for my patients, Naldeth in particular.”

“Oh.” Temar looked sheepish. “How is he? Has he woken yet?”

“Not to speak with any clarity but Artifice tells me he’s wearied by pain and distress,” Guinalle said tightly, ignoring the treacherous thought that the same could be said of herself. What had she been thinking of, betraying her own melancholy like that? There was no comparison. She had a sacred obligation to give her life purpose; to use her skills and learning for the benefit of others.

“Would you like some bread?” Usara appeared with a handful of the long twists of dough the mercenaries were wont to cook over their fires.

“Thank you.” Guinalle wondered when she’d stop missing the fine white loaves she’d been used to. Now that really was a pointless regret, she thought with asperity, worthy of those undisciplined Elietimm women.

“You’re entirely welcome.” Usara smiled at her, eyes warm with affection.

Guinalle dropped her gaze and tore a piece off the coarse bread. No matter how fond Usara seemed at present, the mage would return to Hadrumal when this strife was ended, she reminded herself. She would return to her life in Kellarin, meagre as it was. Letting go of lamentations over bread was one thing; risking heartbreak for the chance that Usara might help ease her sorrows was entirely too much to hazard. She’d sought paltry solace in Temar’s arms, with all his familiar deficiencies as a suitor and against her better judgement, only to have him make his disdain plain. She wasn’t going to lay herself open to such weakness again. But how it would ease all her sorrows to have the support of a love such as Shiv and Pered shared. Oh, this is ridiculous, she scolded herself silently. Get yourself in hand!

“Larissa sent word that Ilkehan is dead,” Temar began as they walked towards the cook fire.

“So Pered said, ”Guinalle interrupted. “From what I can read of the Elietimm, it seems to be so.”

“Seems?” said Halice sharply. “It could be a lie to deceive us?”

“No.” Guinalle chose her words carefully. “Ilkehan is truly dead. What I cannot divine is precisely by whose hand or when.”

“Where are Livak and the others?” Halice demanded.

“Safe, for the moment.” Guinalle shrugged. “Beyond that, those holding power in the islands and who know of Ilkehan’s fate are in disarray.”

“We need to know how Muredarch’s Elietimm are reacting.” Usara’s face was intent on this new question, tenderness for her vanished. Treacherous disappointment piqued Guinalle, but she rebuked herself. This turmoil was folly.

“Guinalle?” Halice was looking curiously at her. “Are you all right? You seem distracted.”

“I’m tired.” She managed a thin smile. That must be why these idle fancies were distracting her.

“Not too tired?” Usara was concerned.

“Don’t worry.” Guinalle waved away Temar’s hand as she brushed aside the perplexities that had inexplicably come to plague her. Familiar incantations warded her with the uncomplicated purity of Artifice. Armoured with aetheric magic, she reached out to the pirates’ lair and searched for the enchanters.

“They know he’s dead.” Guinalle couldn’t hide her own elation. “More, they have lost their grasp on the aether. All their training was focused on Ilkehan, not any understanding of independent enchantment. They’re completely at a loss.”

She opened her eyes to see Temar and Usara gazing at her. Halice’s face was unreadable as she chewed on a twist of bread. Allin stood beside her, a slowly dripping spoon held above a cauldron over the fire, her round face anxious.

“Can they recover their Artifice?” asked Temar urgently.

“Once they’re over the immediate shock, perhaps,” Guin-alle allowed. “But with nothing like the same potential.”

“We need to attack while they’re still off balance.” Halice took a pace in the direction of the open beach.

“There’s more,” said Guinalle hastily. “They haven’t told Muredarch. If they’re of no use to him, they fear he might try to trade their lives for his own and his closest confederates.”