Juliet McKenna - The Assassin's Edge

“No danger of that,” spat Temar.

“We definitely have to attack while he doesn’t know they’re crippled.” Halice accepted a steaming bowl from Allin.

“We set sail as soon as we’ve filled our bellies.” Temar found a horn spoon in his pocket and took a bowl of the meaty frumenty. “Thank you, my lady mage.” He ate hungrily, smiling all the while at Allin.

Guinalle accepted a bowl herself, savouring the swollen grain thickening the broth. Allin had even found a little dried apple to add, doubtless for Temar’s sake.

Halice jabbed her spoon at him, words muffled by her mouthful of food. “You need to decide what we’re doing about prisoners. If I don’t tell my lads while they’re still calm enough to heed me, they’ll just kill them all as usual and trust Saedrin to sort them out.”

Temar swallowed slowly. “The pirates’ lives are plainly forfeit but we should give those who were captured the chance to surrender. We can mete out justice in due course, can’t we?”

Halice shovelled down her food. “That oath of Muredarch’s seemed to bind those who swore it pretty tight.” She looked at Guinalle. “How will that affect them if they want to turn their coats in a fight?”

Guinalle’s spoon hesitated in mid-air. “I’ve no idea.” What a perversion of aetheric power that was. If nothing else, her presence in this age should help put a stop to such foulness. That unbidden thought came as unexpected comfort.

“Your guess?” Temar persisted.

“Guesses are no good and no gold. We could talk till sunset and be no further on than a louse’s skip.” Halice dropped her wooden bowl into the emptied cauldron. “We’ll take prisoners but no one’s parole, man or woman. Let’s be on our way.” Her long stride took her rapidly down the beach where everyone bar the recently freed captives was preparing for battle.

“It’s hard to tell the mercenaries and the men of Vithrancel and Edisgesset apart,” mused Guinalle. Men and women checked blades and baldrics, adjusted straps and jerkins, boots and belts, faces set with determination. Some of the sailors were already rowing longboats out to the anchored Dulse .

“It’s all the drilling.” Usara was at her side. Guinalle blushed with irritation. She hadn’t meant to say that aloud either.

“We’re all fighting for our future, be it in Kellarin or just on the road with a pocket full of gold.” Temar gave his bowl to Allin who was pouring hot water from the kettle into the cook pot. “Leave that for someone else. Let’s get aboard.”

Allin smiled nervously at him. “Let’s hope we can put an end to all this today.”

“I’ll be glad to get back to Kellarin and a proper bed.” Temar took Allin’s hand and tucked it through his arm, keeping her close.

“Shall we?” Usara offered Guinalle his arm. “We’re all to go, if this is the final assault.”

Guinalle took a deep breath. “Will this be an end to it all?”

“If we all give it our very best.” Usara gazed at her intently. “Then we can look to the future.”

Guinalle had no answer to that so settled for a noncommittal smile and resting her hand lightly on the wizard’s forearm.

They followed Temar and Allin whose conversation had turned intense.

“I want you safe on the Dulse , out of any danger,” he was insisting.

Allin pulled Temar to a halt. “I can’t work the magic Halice needs unless I’m close at hand.”

Temar seized her by the shoulders. “Then be careful, do be careful.”

She gazed up at him. “I will and so must you.”

Guinalle watched Temar kiss the mage-girl, her own thoughts in turmoil once more. Was this how he managed to rise above the torments of memory and regret?

“No time for that, Messire,” some anonymous sailor safely out of sight chuckled lewdly.

Allin was scarlet but her eyes were bright and she raised herself on tiptoe to kiss Temar back.

“Nice to see the Sieur doing his bit to boost morale.” Halice grinned as Temar, colour burning on his cheekbones, ran the gauntlet of approving ribaldry and whistles from mercenaries and colonists alike.

He laughed, unconcerned. “Cohort commanders always reminded us we were fighting for hearth and home, wives and daughters.” Allin giggled as he helped her into the longboat from the Dulse .

“Demoiselle.”

Guinalle followed with Usara, all the doubts and confusion she’d thought she had safely ignored whirling around her mind.

Halice helped her up over the rail with a grim light in her eye. “Let’s get this battle done.”

Any sign of pursuit?” demanded Ryshad.

“None so far.” Sorgrad was a little way behind us all, searching for any trace we had left in the pathless thickets of berry bushes. Shiv had held up the whirling veil of dust until we were past the first rise beyond the keep. As we’d disappeared like coneys into a heath, he’d sent the dust storm out to dissolve on the seashore. With any luck, the Elietimm would think we’d disappeared with it. Not that we were trusting to luck, naturally. Getting caught and shown up for Planir’s assassins painted as Eldritch Kin was not something we were going to risk.

So now we were crouching beneath more berry bushes, on a rise that gave us a view over both keep and the hargeard that was our next target.

“Too busy chasing their tails in there,” ’Gren remarked with satisfaction.

The breeze brought us indistinct shouts from ramparts and courtyard. Tiny figures in black livery and in none ran to and fro across the gaping hole in the wall where the gate had stood.

“Good,” said Shiv fervently. I looked at him with a frisson of concern; he looked exhausted.

“Not necessarily,” frowned Ryshad. “Not if we want an audience to see us wrecking their hargeard.” He banged his elbow on the salvaged chest and cursed under his breath.

“Are you up to bringing down a whole stone circle?” I asked Shiv. As a general rule, I’m grateful magecraft takes such a toll on its users. It’s most reassuring to know any wizard with ambitions to rule the world would die of exhaustion before he managed it but at this particular moment, I felt that Saedrin, Misaen or whatever deity ensured that was being unduly meddlesome.

“Are we still doing that?” ’Gren was redistributing his loot into more secure pockets and tucking the larger items into his pack. “We could get back in time to fight the pirates, if we didn’t.”

“Mercenaries.” Ryshad’s sudden grin was white against his blue-painted face. “Never want to finish a job properly.”

“Regular troops,” Sorgrad countered with mock sorrow as he came up to join us. “No imagination beyond their orders.” He nodded at the chest. “Get that open, my girl. I’m not carrying it all the way back to Olret.”

“We don’t want him cutting himself in for a share.” ’Gren buckled his pack, which gave a satisfactory clank. “You know, we could rob the Tormalin Emperor with a shadow play like that.”

“Try it and you’ll have half the sworn men in Toremal after you,” Ryshad growled with half-feigned ferocity.

“You don’t think Planir might object, ’Gren?” mused Sorgrad. “Though he’s never short of coin. Maybe that’s how he fills his own coffers.”

I had the chest open and lifted the lid to reveal bundles of faded velvet. “Can we save the banter for a safe fireside?” But I was also feeling the elation that comes after taking an insane risk and getting away with it. “Ideally one with an inn wrapped round it.”

“Who gets first pick?” ’Gren reached for a close-wrapped lump but I slapped his hand away. “This isn’t loot, ’Gren, it’s people’s lives and don’t you forget it.” I locked gazes with him until I was sure he was heeding me and then stirred the velvet with a careful dagger point to reveal a handful of trinkets. Sorgrad squatted beside me and weighed them in one hand before handing them to his brother.