Juliet McKenna - The Assassin's Edge

The only interest I’ve ever had in justice is keeping well clear of it. In some towns that means playing an honest game, watching my manners and trusting to Halcarion to keep my luck polished up. In other places it means taking every chance that offers and making my own besides. Sometimes, you just have to trust to a fast horse waiting to take you out of reach when some fool with an empty purse goes crying to whoever thinks they’re in charge.

I pared my nails and wondered if it mightn’t be more interesting to go home and wash the bed linen.

To Cadan Lench, Prefect and Mentor of the University of Col,

From Aust Gildoman, Registrar to the Magistrates of Relshaz.

Dear Cad,

You asked me to keep a weather eye out for any news of interest in aetheric magic hereabouts. Don’t think this counts as interest, exactly, but I thought you’d like to know how high some people’s feelings can run.

Your friend, Aust

Every clear-thinking man has rejoiced in this generation’s rise above the falsehoods and myths that so encumbered our forefathers. The pernicious influence of wizardry over the fearful is finally quelled just as the malign grip of religion upon the credulous has been broken. Now we must take a stand against insidious new fables as we are assailed by a mendacity combining the worst elements of magic and dogma.

Aetheric magic, also called Artifice, is noised abroad as the answer to every woe that afflicts the feckless. It will bring bread to the idle, succour those suffering through their own debauchery, and provide undeserved wealth for the inadequate. If half the powers ascribed to this ancient lore are to be believed, Artifice could bring the very moons down from the heavens. It takes but a little rational thought to see all such hopes have no more value than the silver of moonshine reflected in the gutter. Those few with any knowledge of these supposed enchantments are far from our shores and Tormalin nobility besides. Whatever slight benefits might accrue from their lore will inevitably be reserved for those born to rank and precedence. The commonalty is offered mere garbled cantrips barely understood by priests eager to snare the gullible once more with the comforting deceptions of piety.

Counter such folly with insistence on the study of the tangible. Remind any friend tempted by lies and half-promises of the proven benefits accruing from advances in every field of natural philosophy. We must not return to those naive days when the study of proportion was the realm of the mystic rather than the objective man, when anatomists were shunned for encroaching on Poldrion’s privilege and alchemists and apothecaries won only derision for their pains. Let us look forward to the advantages we will secure through rigorous application of the intellect explaining the richness of the living world, unlocking the secrets of death and disease, charting the cycle of the heavens and seasons and answering a myriad other questions besides.

Magic of whatever nature promises unearned boons but let us never forget the heavy price paid in the past by those succumbing to such temptations. No rational student of history can deny the Chaos enveloping the Old Empire must have been less comprehensive in its destruction, had not ignorant rulers summoned the unprincipled powers of mages in undisciplined pursuit of selfish aggrandizement. Malevolent magecraft wrought misery through every land from the ocean shore of Tormalin to the Great Forest beyond Ensaimin. No renewal could begin until amoral wizardry was driven from our shores, exiled to that isle where the mage-born skulk to this day.

Artifice may not offer such dramatic distortions of air and earth but its insidious threat is no less ominous. Consider the testimony of this Temar D’Alsennin, lately feted in Toremal. He tells of enchantments woven into every aspect of governance. Their false promise encouraged the Old Empire to spread ever further, ever thinner, relying on frail cords of Artifice to link all together. There was no understanding underlying this magic. In using enchantments to attack an enemy rather than honest strength of arms, D’Alsennin’s ignorant sorcerers cut the bridge from beneath themselves as well as their foe. With one thread cut, the web of Artifice unravelled throughout the Empire. The seeds of the Chaos were sown, ready for the fire and water of heedless mages to bring them to full bloom. D’Alsennin credits aetheric magic with his salvation and that of his people without ever acknowledging that same sorcery held them all senseless beneath the earth for more than twenty-four generations. This was not salvation but mere cowardly postponement of an evil day. What rational man would ever consider such a fate preferable to an honest death?

Ignore those who assure you latter generations of wizards have both wisdom and discretion. Remain vigilant lest misguided sentiment over this archaic Artifice seduces anyone into thinking magic of whatever nature has any claim on these enlightened times.

The islands rose from the vast ocean with shocking abruptness; sharp ridges strung out across the waters. Closer to, tree-clad hills hunched defiant shoulders beneath the infinite blue skies, steep bulwarks drawn up close beneath serried spines grudging the barest suggestion of a beach to the all-encompassing seas. The sea matched that niggardliness with a paltry band of surf, meagre waves lifting listless sweeps of white before retreating to the coruscating deeps. No hint of reefs threatened the ship shunning the lesser islets, intent on a narrow strait just visible between two emerald promontories.

Clouds drifting unfettered cast light and shade on restless waters already brilliant with fleeting shimmers like fish darting away from inquisitive eyes. The isle ahead offered an impassive mosaic of greens unruffled by the steady wind carrying the fast-approaching ship inshore. Stalwart trees carried sober hues beneath the verdant highlights of new growth and underbrush, motionless patterns framed by the dark mossy bulk of the rising peaks. The wind shifted and moist earthy scents momentarily won over the scouring salt of the sea breeze and seabirds’ cries pierced the creak and thrum of rigging and sail.

“I’ll be so glad when we land!”

“That sounded heartfelt, Parrail.”

The man clinging to the rail of the ship greeted this new arrival with a weak smile. “Naldeth, good day to you.”

“Duty to you, gentlemen, but clear out of the way.” A sailor hurried past, bare feet deft on the swaying deck, oblivious to the chill wind despite his sleeveless shirt and ragged knee breeches. “Can’t you go below with the rest of the passengers?” He didn’t wait for a reply before hurrying up the ladder-like ratlines running from the rail to the crow’s-nest where the top half of the mast was securely stepped to the lower.

Parrail looked apprehensively at Naldeth. “I don’t think I dare.”

“Over here.” Naldeth led the way to a stack of securely netted cargo. He cast a wary eye up at sailors deftly reconfiguring the creamy sailcloth billowing on the Tang ’s tall square-rigged fore and main masts. “Still no sea legs?”

“It’s not so much my legs as my stomach.” Parrail took a reluctant seat, lifting his head to see past the intricacies of ropes and pulleys. “It’s better if I can see the horizon. One of the sailors told me that.”

“I do what I can to keep the ship on an even keel,” said Naldeth lightly.

Parrail managed a faint smile. “My thanks to you, Master Mage.”