Juliet McKenna - The Assassin's Edge

“Foul this up and you’ll be explaining yourself to Halice,” added Sorgrad. That was one of the few considerations ever to give ’Gren pause for thought.

“Let’s try over there.” Ryshad pointed to a steep stretch of mottled shingle below a stretch of turf breaking the serried black columns.

“Solid ground again,” I murmured fervently.

“Did I mention that coming ashore’s the most hazardous bit of a voyage?” said Ryshad conversationally. I turned my head to stick my tongue out at him as Sorgrad and ’Gren chuckled.

“Fast as you can.” Shiv was concentrating ahead. “We must get above the waterline at once.”

Sorgrad and ’Gren picked up the pace of their rowing. I gripped my seat and trusted to Ryshad’s firm hand on the tiller. As we drew closer, I could see the long spill of gravel making a natural ramp down into the deeper water. The instant the hull bit into the stones, Shiv jumped out, splashing through the cold sea with the painter over his shoulder. Sorgrad and ’Gren tossed their oars into the bottom, sprang over the sides and joined in hauling the boat up the slope. Ryshad was over the stern, shoving from the rear. I stayed put until the boat was solidly grounded.

“Would my lady care to come ashore?” Ryshad swept a florid bow and offered me his hand with a grin.

I handed him his satchel and tossed the others their burdens before gingerly getting out of the boat. “These boots are new. I don’t want salt stains on the leather.”

Shiv was passing his hands over his sodden breeches, dry swathes appearing. “I thought you had more faith in my magic,” he said, mock sorrowful.

“When are you going to learn some useful spells like that?” ’Gren demanded of his brother as he tried to wring water from the bottom of his jerkin.

Sorgrad narrowed his eyes and steam began rising from his own clothes, leaving ’Gren open mouthed.

“Careful,” Shiv warned. “You wouldn’t be the first apprentice to set himself alight.”

“So Larissa said. ”A moment later, Sorgrad let out his breath with a triumphant grin. “What do you think of that?”

I ran a finger over his shirt cuff. “Just about dry enough for ironing.”

“Find me a nice flat stone and I’ll try heating it.” He grinned at me.

“I hate to play sergeant at arms all the time but we don’t have time to waste,” Ryshad pointed out.

“I hate being wet,” countered ’Gren.

“Permit me.” Shiv drove the water from ’Gren’s clothes with a brisk gesture. “Let’s hide the boat.”

“I don’t plan on rowing anywhere else,” ’Gren said firmly.

“I always plan on keeping every option open.” Sorgrad went to help Ryshad and I lent a hand as well. We wedged the vessel between two splintered black pillars and weighed it down with a few substantial stones.

“If we get separated, we’ll use this as a rendezvous.” Ryshad stowed the oars neatly beneath the thwarts.

Everyone nodded agreement as Shiv studied his map. “This way.”

We dutifully followed him up a steep hill shaped like an overturned boat, the blunt stern made by the stark cliffs. It was a punishing climb but the crest offered us a good view across the sound separating this island from Ilkehan’s domain. A line of rocks threaded between the sandy channels, the larger ones crowned with uncompromising cairns of ownership and one all but invisible beneath a small but sturdy fort. Ilkehan’s island beyond was hidden in secretive mists.

“This must be Rettasekke.” Shiv tucked his folded map away and we looked down on a fertile stretch of land dotted with a few houses, divided with neat stone walls and, in the distance, boasting a more substantial settlement.

“This is a clan leader’s holding, is it?” ’Gren looked distinctly unimpressed. “What do they reckon their wealth in? Rocks?”

If they did, this Olret had a plentiful supply. Beyond the narrow band of scrupulously tended land, jagged grey soon ripped through the thin coverlet of grass. Crags and outcrops ran away inland, ever taller and bolder, joining in daunting ramparts, massing to join the abrupt upthrust of the mountains at the core of this island. Some slopes were freckled black and grey like a rabbit pelt, others striped grey on black like a mousing cat, the patches of coarse scrub here and there doing little to soften the harshness of the landscape.

“There’s your goats,” Sorgrad pointed out as our path across the hill showed us more of the grassland below.

It was a scene of considerable activity. A massive wheellike structure had been built from the ubiquitous grey stones, one gap in the rim admitting a protesting herd of what looked like every goat on the island. Men drove the beasts between walls too high for leaping into the hollow centre, where the axle for this supposed wheel would have fitted. Other islanders were somehow identifying goats and shoving them into wedge-shaped pens formed by the walls that made the spokes.

“What are they doing?” I wondered. Ryshad handed me the spyglass he’d been using and I saw men wrestling the unruly beasts to a standstill for women deftly threading orange, black and green threads through holes clipped in their floppy ears

“Suckling kid for dinner?” ’Gren suggested hopefully.

“Let’s get past without anyone asking us our business,” said Ryshad.

I don’t think anyone would have asked, had we walked along the shelving shoreline accompanied by a travelling masquerade complete with flutes and drums. For one thing, I doubt they’d have heard us over the ear-splitting din of outraged bleating and curses provoked by a billy goat’s horns or some nanny’s razor-sharp hooves. It was a relief to leave the commotion behind as we approached the settlement at the far end of the stretch of tillable land.

“That’ll be the grave circle, I take it.” Shiv nodded at an enclosure considerably larger than the one we’d seen ravaged. Hereabouts the rock evidently split into handy slabs because this was made from a double ring of rectangular stones fitted precisely edge to edge, a barrier needing no ditch beyond the merest scrape. Two reddish-yellow monoliths framed the single entry to the solid circle and inside more stood in pairs and singletons with no readily apparent pattern.

“I’ve not seen stone of that colour before,” Ryshad frowned.

“Where are you three going to hide up?” Sorgrad shaded his eyes with a hand.

“You’re going in, just the pair of you?” Shiv looked to Ryshad for confirmation.

He nodded. “That was the plan before. No need to change it as far as I can see.”

That satisfied Sorgrad and we all studied the prospect before us. Long, low houses were dotted between the grave circle and a formidable keep rising four square and four storeys high within a solid wall. Beyond, a long range of buildings boasted upper floors and chimneys as well as stone slates to their roofs rather than the bundles of coarse vegetation thatching the smaller houses. More of those were scattered on the far side of the keep and its storehouses, the settlement ending in a line of open-sided goat shelters. Beyond, a surprisingly substantial causeway dammed a paltry stream to create a wide pond.

“Barely big enough to spit across.” That was ’Gren’s usual Ensaimin idiom for the more wretched villages we’d visited over the years.

“Only if you caught the wind right.” But I had to admit it wasn’t very impressive.

“Catching the wind wouldn’t be a problem.” The notion prompted a shiver from ’Gren and he was right. The whole settlement was exposed to whatever weather came sweeping up the channel, which was doubtless why nets fringed with substantial stone weights weighed down the thatch of the lesser houses.