Juliet McKenna - The Assassin's Edge

Usara raised his eyebrows. “Wouldn’t six ships north and south be better? Maybe nine?”

Halice folded her arms, head on one side. “How?”

Usara’s grin widened. “Aetheric illusion.”

“I’m certain the jalquezan in the ballad of Garidar and his hundred sheep creates mirror images to baffle an enemy.” Even Guinalle, tired as she was, couldn’t restrain a smile.

Halice nodded but frowned an instant later. “There’s no chance these enchanters are making fools of us with some Artifice masquerade? Showing you what you want to see while Muredarch’s lads come sneaking up the strait?”

“No chance at all.” Guinalle shook her head. “That’s one advantage aetheric far-seeing has over scrying.”

“You’re sure?” Halice plainly wasn’t. A new thought occurred to her. “If you could see through any illusion they wrought, why won’t they just see straight through this trick?”

Guinalle looked affronted. “Because I can ensure that they don’t.”

Usara stepped in. “Halice, please allow we’re as competent in our duties as you are in yours.”

“Of course.” A rueful smile lightened the mercenary’s severe expression and she bowed with mock solemnity. “I beg your pardon, both you and your lady mages. So, how will this work?”

Guinalle held the book up. “We convince one man on every ship that this will defend them and then he can lead the rest in singing it as they work.”

“Then you want the boatswains. They love their ships better than their mistresses.” Halice stretched out her well-muscled arms before easing her broad shoulders with a grimace. “Very well, we’ll have mystical ships as well as wooden ones to blockade these wharf rats. The next thing we need to make is a plan for attacking their hole.”

Usara was watching Guinalle who had paled. “We need to be ready to act as soon as Ilkehan dies,” he said gently.

“I wish I knew how long it’ll take them.” Halice was looking out to sea again. “The sooner we can attack, the less time Muredarch’s mob have to dig themselves in. On the other hand, the more we can drill Temar’s haymakers and Sorgrad’s dock-sweepings, the more chance we’ll have something approaching a corps. Well, that’s something I can make a start on. Let me know what your far-seeing shows you.”

Mage and noblewoman watched Halice walk away across the beach, kicking sleeping feet, pulling resentful blankets away from blinking faces aghast once they realised how early it was. “All of you, boots on. Let’s see if you’re as good with those weapons as you are with your boasts. As soon as we get the word, I’ll want you going through those pirates like scald through a cheap whorehouse!”

Usara smiled before turning serious once more. “Shall we ask the Maelstrom ’s master when the best time to contact the other ships might be?”

Guinalle didn’t reply and when the mage looked to see why, he saw desolation in her eyes. He held out an impulsive hand but she affected not to see it, hugging the ancient songbook close to her breast like a talisman. Usara looked away, tucking his hands through the braided leather strap he wore buckled around his waist. He hesitated before continuing with studied casualness. “You said something about finding a way to knock the wits out of those enchanters?”

Guinalle closed her eyes before replying with determined composure. “The question is, which wits should I harass first?”

Bemusement replaced the faint injury in Usara’s eyes. “I’m sorry?”

Guinalle looked at him, puzzled in her turn. “What do you mean?”

“You say ‘which wits’?” Usara spread uncomprehending hands. “I don’t understand.”

“I cannot decide which of the five wits I should try undermining first,” said Guinalle slowly.

“Five wits?” asked Usara with lively curiosity.

“Are you going to repeat everything I say?” Amusement animated Guinalle’s weary face.

“Please explain,” Usara invited. “Talk of five wits means nothing to me.”

“It was the first thing I was taught at the Shrine of Ostrin. The least of adepts would have known it before—” Guinalle bit off her words. “Very well. There are five wits that make up the whole mind, as I was taught anyway. Common wit; the everyday intelligence that we use to live by.” She tucked the songbook under one arm and held up a hand, ringless fingers spread. She tucked her thumb to her palm before continuing. “Imagination; weaving ideas of the practical kind. Fantasy; giving free rein to unbounded notions. Estimation; the sense to make a judgement. Memory; the faculty for recollection.” Guinalle folded her little finger down and considered the fist she had made before opening her hand as if releasing something. “Artifice is the working of stronger and more disciplined will upon the wits of another. Surely Aritane told you that? You said you’d been working with her all winter.”

Usara shook his head slowly. “There’s nothing like that in the Sheltya tradition. They liken their true magic to the four winds of the runes; calm, storm, cold dry wind from the north, warm wet wind from the south.” He sighed with frustration. “We really must find time to sit down and go through your initial instruction. If we’re to find any correspondences between aetheric and elemental magic—”

“I fear that will have to wait.” Guinalle gestured towards the pirates’ cabin. Temar was heading in their direction, picking his way between men hastily cooking scavenged breakfasts.

“Usara, Allin needs your help.” He waved a hand back towards the rough-hewn hut.

“Is there word from Shiv?” Usara was instantly alert.

“No, no,” Temar reassured him. “Allin’s thinking of ways to make the pirates’ lives that bit harder. She was wondering if the pair of you couldn’t combine her fire affinity and your power over the earth to dry up the wells and springs around their encampment.”

Usara rubbed a hand across his beard. “That’s an interesting notion.”

“See if you can do it,” Guinalle suggested.

“It can wait until after breakfast.” The mage looked at her. “You could do with something to eat.”

“In a moment.” She didn’t meet his eye, turning instead to the sea. “Halice wanted me to work a far-seeing to the southern ships. Temar can spare a moment to help. It’ll put my mind at ease as well.”

Usara looked as if he’d like to argue the point but settled for giving Temar a warning look. “Don’t take too long about it.”

Temar watched him go. “What was that all about?”

“Nothing.” Guinalle coloured and held out a hand to Temar. “Help me?”

Something in her voice made Temar uneasy. He scanned the encampment. “I see Pered over there. Let’s get you some breakfast first and then we can both support you.”

“Halice will have Pered copying maps all day.” Guinalle reached for Temar’s hand. “We can do this between us. We’ve done it before.”

“When we were surveying upriver for Den Fellaemion?” A laugh of recollection surprised Temar. “I was going to say that feels like an age ago, but then it was, wasn’t it?”

“Not to me.” Guinalle tightened her grasp.

Temar gasped. “I don’t think this is wise.”

“Let me be foolish, just for a little while.” Guinalle closed her eyes. “I want to remember something better than all this strife.”

Memories wrapped Temar in peace and contentment. High on a hillside above an irregular bay, a perfect circle of dry stone devotedly fitted, offered sanctuary from the sternest weather that might storm in from the ocean. On the inland face, away from the prevailing winds, the gate stood open to welcome any seeking knowledge in this distant place. The path to that gate met the lines of rounded tiles covering conduits bringing water from a springhouse some way further up the slope. Within the wall, a neatly worked garden surrounded each modest dwelling, round beneath a conical roof of slate slabs. In the centre, three bigger square buildings with steeply pitched roofs had larger windows to throw light on the adepts within, unshuttered now that winter’s squalls were past.