Juliet McKenna - The Assassin's Edge

The stone was about the height of a table made to feed a farmhouse and maybe half as long again. The top was scored with interlaced circles and some had narrow hollows at their centre, steep sided and filled with rain. Judging by the grass growing thick all around, it had been left undisturbed by the wreckers.

I poked a long grass stem into one. “A handspan deep.”

’Gren blew at a crude mimicry of a boat fashioned from a scrap of wood and a dry furled leaf. It bobbed on the dark water. “What’s this?”

Sorgrad used his dagger to probe and fished a bedraggled lump of cloth out of another cup-shaped hollow. “Solurans are great ones for votive offerings at their holy places.”

“A prayer to keep a ship safe at sea would make sense hereabouts.” Ryshad tapped the little boat with a finger. “It’s not been there long.”

Sorgrad squeezed water from the sodden lump. “Token for a baby maybe, wanting one or to keep a newborn healthy?” Cords tied the coarse cloth into an unmistakable swaddled shape.

Ryshad stepped away to study the nearest toppled stone. “When would you say this was done?” He appealed to Shiv who was completing his circuit of the ditch.

The mage paused. “Well before last winter.”

“Someone still comes here.” Sorgrad dropped the baby poppet back in its hollow.

“Loyalty’s harder to kill than people,” I agreed.

Ryshad looked at us all. “Whoever might be coming could well have some answers.”

“And no reason to love Ilkehan, if he did do this.” I looked around at the devastation.

“Let’s set a snare.” Ryshad gestured. “We hide in the ditch, well spaced out, until whoever comes to make an offering is well inside.”

“What if nobody comes? It could be days,” ’Gren challenged. “How long do we wait?”

“Give it till dark?” suggested Ryshad equably. “It’ll be safer for us to travel by night in any case.”

“Where to?” ’Gren countered. “And night’s a long time coming, pal, this far north, this far into the year.”

“Shut up, ’Gren.” Sorgrad looked at Shiv. “If we catch someone, we don’t want him yelling for help and bringing trouble. What can you do about that?”

Shiv ran long fingers through his hair, face thoughtful. “I don’t want to work magic within the circle, that’s for certain but I can wrap silence around the outside.”

Sorgrad nodded. “You don’t want spells inside the stones. Two people finding they can’t hear each other talking will soon start wondering why.”

“It’s not that.” Shiv shook his head. “Last time we were here, there was some aetheric ward that went off like a temple bell when I’d barely summoned magic”

“I can sing a charm to hide us.” I dug a folded parchment out of my belt pouch. While Pered had been adding every last detail to Shiv’s map, I’d been copying out seemingly nonsensical words culled from Forest Folk ballads whose verses sang of enchantment. Guinalle had insisted and, in the circumstances, I hadn’t been inclined to argue. Besides, I was the one who’d been proved right when I’d insisted aetheric lore lay hidden in the lays sung in blithe ignorance by minstrels like my father. That surely entitled me to use the Artifice of my ancestors.

Sorgrad flicked the parchment with a mocking finger. “Think it’ll work?”

I stuck my tongue out at him. “Better than your magic, prentice wizard.”

“Let’s get settled.” Ryshad gestured to Shiv. “You and me opposite each other?”

“I’m thirsty,” ’Gren said abruptly. ”Where’s the nearest water fit to drink?”

“Where’s your waterskin?” Ryshad let slip exasperation.

“Empty.” ’Gren waved it provocatively.

“Fill it from the ditch,” Shiv said curtly. “I can make sure it won’t poison you.”

’Gren was about to object and I didn’t blame him when movement in the distance caught my eye. “Something’s up over yonder.”

That settled that squabble as we all ducked into the ditch. I looked out cautiously, my head barely over the lip. “That’s smoke.”

Grey smudges rose listlessly to lose themselves against the leaden sky. The wind carried incautious shouts to us and I began to make out figures among the lumps and bumps of the uneven ground.

“Someone’s setting fires.” Ryshad raised himself cautiously up on his hands for a clearer view. The smoke was marking out a distinct line by now, slewing across the grassland.

“I don’t think they’re coming this way.” I began to sing the hiding song under my breath nevertheless.

“What are they doing?” Sorgrad wondered, frustrated at not being able to see.

We all watched as the men slowly came closer and I picked out some with nets, spreading out ahead of those carrying slowly smouldering torches. “They’re smoking something out.”

The dense tussocks burned sluggishly with plenty of smoke but precious little flame. With the mossy dampness of our ditch, we were safe from any blaze with ambitions to better itself but being smoked like a Caladhrian ham became a distinct possibility. The shifting wind carried rank fumes to sting our eyes and throats.

“Someone’s coming.” Ryshad flattened himself.

I concentrated on the hiding charm as I watched a single figure falling behind the fire setters who were veering off towards a low saddle in the distant hills. Something long-tailed and russet-furred sprang up almost beneath the man’s boots but he paid no heed as it jinked and bounced away, all his attention on escaping notice as he headed for the fallen stones.

“ ’Gren, Shiv, round the back. Sorgrad, you take that side.” Ryshad gave his orders and no one disputed them. We spread out around the ditch, me between Sorgrad and Ryshad, which suited me very well. As I crouched and waited, all the while trying to keep the charm running under my breath, I considered swapping my dagger for a handful of throwing darts. There was a small vial of poison in the same belt pouch, thick paste in a sturdy jar sealed with wax and lead and sewn around with leather. I settled for untying the pouch so the darts were ready to hand if I needed them. I left the poison untouched. We wanted this man fit to give us answers and he’d be hard put to talk if he was frothing at the mouth. Besides, I wanted that venom for whatever blade was going to cut Ilkehan’s malice short. If the opportunity arose I’d happily see him disgraced if that’s what Guinalle advised, but mostly I wanted him dead. Dead, with the least chance possible he’d see his fate coming or have any chance to ward it off. Ryshad could call it justice if he wanted to and perhaps Raeponin would agree. I’d settle for vengeance, quicker and more straightforward.

“Let him get right inside the circle.” Ryshad was braced and ready in the bottom of the ditch. I huddled down as small as I could, all my concentration focused on the incantation.

The Ice Islander didn’t even glance in my direction. All his thoughts were on the pitted stone and fulfilling whatever errand had brought him here. He was stocky beneath his crude shirt and a tunic that was little more than a length of folded cloth sewn roughly up both sides. As blond as Sorgrad and ’Gren, his hair was coarser, more dry grass than finished flax. A smouldering torch hung slackly in one hand and I hoped the idiot wouldn’t set light to the old yellowed grass all around.

“Now,” Ryshad shouted in the same breath as Sorgrad’s whistle and we all sprang up to encircle our prey.

“Run and we’ll kill you.”

’Gren took a step forward to level his viciously sharp smallsword at the man’s eyes.

“Shout and no one will hear you.” Sorgrad held his own sword point down, voice more soothing than his brother’s.