Juliet McKenna - The Assassin's Edge

Our captive seemed to understand them well enough, for all the generations separating their bloodlines. Eresken’s antics in the uplands had shown us the Mountain and Elietimm tongues had stayed mutually comprehensible.

Shiv and Ryshad were standing silent but needed no language to promise the man a fight if he tried anything. He looked warily at them before giving me a hard look. I held his gaze with all the threat I could muster.

The man’s shoulders sagged but it was only a feint. He wheeled round towards me, swirling his firebrand to raise sudden flames from the smouldering pitch and jabbed the thing full at my face.

I ducked to one side, bringing my dagger up to slice down his forearm. Ryshad and Sorgrad were almost on him from behind, so I just sought a wound deep enough to give him pause. It was his bad luck he was still trying to take my head off with the torch. He brought it down as my blade went up and the steel went straight through his wrist. I felt it grate between the small bones and hold fast. Recoiling, he pulled the dagger’s hilt out of my hand and the burning brand spun out of his nerveless fingers. I had my arm up to block it but it hit me hard all the same.

“Livak!” Ryshad looked up, horrified as he and Sorgrad pinned the man to the ground.

“It’s all right.” I rubbed a painful bruise but I’d settle for that over being scarred for life. The molten pitch was cold and solid before it hit me. “Thanks, Shiv.”

“My pleasure.” The mage grinned and kicked the torch into the ditch where it landed with a heavy clunk.

“So much for not using magic inside the circle,” observed Sorgrad lightly. “What were you saying about aetheric wards?”

As Shiv looked first chagrined and then puzzled, ’Gren grabbed the Elietimm’s collar. ”Let’s get our prize out of sight.”

The three of them dragged him backwards, his heels scoring lines on the turf as he struggled vainly to dig in his feet. Shiv and I followed as they held him against the pitted stone. Ryshad pulled his shoulders back just enough to curve his spine uncomfortably against the unyielding stone. ’Gren had the arm with the dagger still in it; heedless of the blood running down to lace his fingers.

Sorgrad stood in front of the man, Shiv on one side, me on the other.

“I believe your life would be forfeit for coming here, still more so for leaving tokens.” Sorgrad spoke in conversational tones as he searched the man’s pockets to find an embroidered ribbon tied in an elaborate bow. “More lives than your own, I wouldn’t wonder.”

The man’s eyes darted frantically between us, desperate for some hint of hope. Shiv conveyed a convincing threat, black brows slightly furrowed. Our prisoner wasn’t to know he had no clue what Sorgrad was saying. I at least knew enough to follow most simple conversations but Ryshad would be as hampered as Shiv by lack of the Mountain tongue.

“Let’s get on with it,” ’Gren said with happy malice. “Before his pals come looking for him.”

“Do you want me to try a truth charm?” I asked Sorgrad in the fast colloquial Tormalin we all used in Ensaimin.

“Not for the moment.” Sorgrad switched back to the Mountain tongue. “You’re fortunate we’re no friends to Ilkehan.”

The prisoner stiffened at that name.

“Tell us what happened, here and over yonder, ” Sorgrad invited. The man winced as he glanced at the dagger still stuck into his arm, blood soaking his sleeve. He kept his mouth firmly shut.

Sorgrad gave me a nod and I rattled off the liquid syllables of an incantation to leave those speaking falsehood voiceless until they opted for truth. Panic flared in the prisoner’s eyes as he saw we had Artifice to call on and I smiled warmly at him. Inside, I was chilled by how easily I’d terrified him. Elietimm Artifice was a more potent weapon than steel for ambitious men like Ilkehan. No wonder the Sheltya kept such resolute watch lest any of their number be seduced by the potential for power within their magic.

“What happened?” Sorgrad asked again.

“Ilkehan attacked last year,” gasped the man bitterly. “Ashernan paid full price for his folly in trying to challenge Ilkehan. When Evadesekke fell, we were encircled. Rettasekke might have come to our aid but Ashernan had dishonoured the truce. Olret held his own borders against Ilkehan but would not cross them.” Despair pained him worse than his wound. “His house is burned, his line sundered from past and future. We are no longer his people; we have no hargeard.”

We all did our best to look as if we understood what he was saying. Then puzzlement wrinkled his brow along with his suffering. “Are you of Rettasekke? None other stands against Ilkehan. Or does some eastern sekke still hold out?”

Sorgrad nodded at ’Gren. “We’re Anyatimm. Our companions are of Tren Ar’Dryen.”

The ancient name for the Mountain Men who’d driven out the Elietimm forefathers meant no more to this man than the archaic name for the lands to the west of the ocean. Despair quenched the fleeting glimmer of hope that had chased across his square features. “Then all you bring is war upon us and death on yourselves.”

Sorgrad considered this. “We should not challenge this Ilkehan?”

“He is a monster.” Hatred thickened the man’s accent. “He raises armies that none can withstand and backs them with the strongest magic in these islands. When he took Evadesekke, he bridged the very bogs around the citadel with the bodies of his own dead. He will make truce upon a sacred islet and defile it that selfsame day. He has no honour yet he turns a kindly face to those who acquiesce when he declares himself their overlord. Many submit rather than face his wrath.” Now our captive’s face twisted with the anguish of uncertainty. “He claims the Mother’s favour, that her blessing dwells in his hargeard. He swears he is the sword of the Maker, forged in the fires of these testing times. Many believe it; how could they not?”

He was genuinely asking a question but Sorgrad stayed silent, face as bland as I’d ever seen him waiting for an opponent to betray the runes held close in his hand. Our prisoner shook his head fervently. “The mountains speak with tongues of flame and destroy Ilkehan’s foes in floods of ice and fire. Those uncertain starve, no choice but to fall to their knees before him, if they would not perish. He will be overlord, whether all will it or none. If you are no friend to Ilkehan, you are his enemy. He will not have it otherwise.”

Our captive fell silent.

“So Ilkehan killed Ashernan and now holds his land?” Sorgrad smiled his understanding. “If you accept his rule, you go on much as you did before.”

I explained as much to Ryshad and Shiv who were both visibly frustrated by now.

“So you’re not about to cross him. You’re already thinking you’ve said too much.” The prisoner stayed motionless, watching Sorgrad warily.

“I’ll get him to talk some more,” ’Gren offered obligingly. He made to twist my dagger in the man’s wound.

“No.” Ryshad glared at him.

’Gren shrugged and pulled the blade out in one swift movement. Our captive gasped; suddenly weak at the knees and blood ran free from the oozing wound. ’Gren reversed his grip and cut the man’s throat in a single backhanded stroke. He was dead before his life’s blood choked his final breath.

“Shit!” Ryshad let go and the corpse fell forward on to the dry grass.

’Gren crouched down, stabbing my dagger into the turf to clean it. ”That wants sharpening, my girl.” He handed it back, disapproving.

“What did you do that for?” Shiv was shocked, Ryshad scowling blackly.

’Gren looked puzzled. “He’d said all he was going to.”