Juliet McKenna - The Assassin's Edge

Allin reached into her coffer for a shallow silver bowl and Guinalle fetched the wide-bottomed, narrow-necked ewer from the table. Usara rested the bowl carefully on his knees and studied it as she filled it.

“Let’s see what we can see,” Usara murmured, taking a small vial from Allin with a nod of thanks. He let delicate drops of herb-scented green oil fall on to the water before cupping his hands around the bowl, taking a deep breath.

Temar waited tensely for the glow of magelight in the water. His heart sank as a feeble radiance barely reached the low rim of the bowl. Usara scowled and the circling swirl of oil began to whirl faster but just when Temar thought the shimmering light might break into the unearthly brilliance of magecraft, the spiral broke to leave blobs of oil floating aimlessly on the stubborn water.

Usara’s lips narrowed to invisibility. “I’m faring no better than you, Allin.”

“We just need some rest.” Woebegone, the mage-girl looked at Temar and Halice. “I’m so sorry. It’s just we’ve—”

“Hush, sweetheart.” Temar reached for her hand. “No one blames you, either of you!” He was about to elaborate on all that the fighting men owed the wizards when Guinalle began a soft incantation. “What are you doing?”

“Seeing what my skills can do for us.” The demoiselle sat on her stool, eyes closed as she concentrated. “ Tiadar velaesar lei, Livak eman frer. Sorgren an vel arimel, lek al treradir. ”

Her rhythmic chant was the only sound in the cabin. Usara leant forward, eyes fixed on Guinalle and full of questions. Temar put his arm round Allin’s shoulders as she still agonised over her own failure to work the magic he needed. Halice folded her arms and leaned against the door, face impassive.

“I cannot find either of them.” Guinalle threw up her hands in uncharacteristic exasperation. “So much for the superiority of Artifice over wizardry.”

“You’re weary, just the same as Usara and Allin,” Temar pointed out.

“Could you seek out Ryshad instead, or Shiv?” suggested Usara.

Guinalle shook her head. “Any wizard is horribly hard to find—unless he’s working magic of course, and Ryshad’s distrust of Artifice is such that it’s almost a defence in itself. Anyway, that’s not the problem.”

“Then what is?” Temar asked, frustrated.

“Livak’s working a charm to conceal them.” Guinalle’s brows knitted. “She doesn’t want to be found by anyone’s Artifice, not just mine.”

“But Ilkehan’s dead,” began Temar.

“So she’s hiding from someone else,” said Halice from the door. “Which likely means some trouble’s chasing them.”

“Someone probably took offence at them killing Ilkehan,” Usara said drily.

“What can we do?” cried Allin.

“Rest and restore yourselves and then you can bespeak Shiv or Sorgrad.” Temar tried to keep the vexation he felt out of his words.

“There’s only so much you can do before you overtax yourself. That’s what the masters say, isn’t it, Allin?” Usara let slip a wordless growl of anger. “This is a pissing inconvenient time for Otrick to be proved right!”

Halice snapped her fingers with exasperation and dug in her breast pocket. “Would this help either of you?”

“Where did you get that?” Usara was astonished.

“Otrick’s ring,” said Allin in the same breath.

“Otrick’s and Azazir before him.” Usara held out a hand and Halice handed it over. “But polished like new. Planir’s ensorcelled it.” He looked at the unblemished circle with wonder.

“Which means what?” asked Temar keenly.

“This is a ring of elemental power.” Usara slipped it on the central finger of his off hand and studied it. New colour rose in his drawn face and he laughed. “Kalion would have four kinds of fit if he knew about this!”

“Why so?” Guinalle sat forward, curiosity getting the better of her weariness.

“Wizards haven’t instilled inherent magic into things for a handful of generations, maybe more.” Usara held up his hand. “People like Kalion have decreed it degrades the mystery of wizardry to allow the non-mageborn any sense of magic.”

“One of us could cast spells wearing that?” Halice was incredulous. “That sounds like something out of a bad ballad!”

“No, that’s truly a minstrel’s myth.” Usara took off the ring and tossed it to Allin who fumbled but caught it. “But a mage can bespeak a non-mageborn person wearing such a thing.”

“That could be useful.” Temar’s interest grew.

“Oh!” Allin blushed with surprise as she tried the ring on. Temar looked at her with some concern.

Usara grinned. “What Kalion and his ilk don’t appreciate is the main use of such things isn’t to favour the mundane with some taste of mageborn power but to share and renew elemental powers between wizards.”

“Does it give you the strength to scry for Livak and the others?” Halice demanded at once.

“It’s worth another try.” Usara held out a hand to take the ring from Allin but paused and looked intently at Guinalle.

“What is it?” She coloured slightly.

“I was just wondering,” the mage said slowly, “what might happen if you tried it on.”

Are you ready?” Sorgrad looked at Ryshad and Shiv.

“It’s all right. We’ve done this before.” I smiled at Ryshad with a reassurance rather more feigned than sincere. Beneath his studied calm, I could see enough concern for both of us.

“Come on!”

’Gren was already barely concealed by the thorn bushes fringing the long pond between us and Olret’s demesne. Water lapped at the dam. The recent tide had brought it surging through the open gates and now the sluices held it until it was needed. We had plans for that water.

“Go,” Sorgrad ordered and ’Gren ran, long knives out and ready. Sorgrad and I were a bare stride behind him, boots scuffing dust from the trampled top of the causeway. The tall block of the mill house shielded us from the keep’s view but we weren’t about to take any chances.

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.”