Juliet McKenna - The Swordsman's Oath

“What would it make at auction, just out of interest?”

He was polite enough to take me at my word, despite my distinctly unaristocratic appearance. “I would expect you would get offers upwards of two thousand Crowns. We could sell it for you, should you wish to part with it for any reason, but I’m honor bound to say we don’t deal in swords as a rule, so you might well get a better price elsewhere. We don’t really have clients looking for such things. If you take the second turn after the fountain on the Gulf side, you’ll find dealers who specialize in blades,” he added a little reluctantly.

“Many thanks.” Waving an airy farewell, I sauntered off along the street, following his directions. Satisfaction warmed me as I discovered a cluster of merchants dealing in everything from ivory-handled daggers for ladies to efficient glaives to keep watchmen at a suitable distance from anyone trying to do them damage. I would look for a nice little blade to take back for Livak, I decided, doing a little business would give me better reason for being here. I’d been wanting to get her a present for some while now.

I rejected a long salesroom whose two open doorways were thronged with a lively clientele of fashionable youths trying out impractical rapiers. The place looked too busy and would most likely be too honest to do more than tell me what I already knew about the blade. A more subdued establishment off the main thoroughfare looked more promising until I saw an ill-shaved handful idling the morning away in an alley opposite. As a customer left, with a friendly pat on the shoulder from the pockmarked craftsman, one detached himself from the group and sauntered purposefully after the heedless merchant. I made a note of the name above the counter-front to pass onto Mellitha; I was sure she could use the information to earn a few Marks of goodwill with the Watch. Laying a hand negligently but noticeably on my sword hilt, I continued on my way past.

Back on the busy carriageway, I paused and wondered which way to go; my initial ebullience was fading. I felt a sudden familiar pang of loss, missing having Aiten waiting in a doorway for me, watching my back before taking his turn with the questions and chat while I looked out for anyone taking too much interest in him. This was a job for two and, with Halice tied by her leg and none of the wizards more reliable than a wax rune, perhaps I should have waited for Livak. “Then you’d have nothing to match her with, when she comes back with the name of the inn where the Elietimm are staying and tells you what they ate for breakfast.”

I tried to laugh at myself but I could not shake off a growing feeling of unease. I turned abruptly down an alley and cut across a back entry to take another on to a side street. A mercer’s cart provided some handy cover and I waited for a long moment to see if anyone came out of the alley looking for me. No one did but I couldn’t shake off a prickling at the back of my neck.

“Anyone would think you’d had an Eldritch man tread on your shadow,” I mocked myself with some irritation.

This street had a choice of more workaday metalworkers. I crossed to one whose shutters stood open to reveal a display of old as well as new blades in a wide range of styles. Pausing to rumple my overlong hair across my eyes and pull the laces of my jerkin askew, I went in, rounding my shoulders and ducking my head.

“Good mornin’,” I drawled in the tones of the dock urchins my mother had spent my childhood warning me about.

“Noon chime’s been and gone, friend. Good afternoon.” The smith was a thick-set man, muscled arms scarred with the burns of his craft and his black eyes had all the warmth of wet coal.

“I was wondering what you could tell me about this sword?” I gave him a slack-jawed smile and shuffled my feet in the dust of the floor.

He reached for the blade and turned down the corners of his mouth, unimpressed. “Where’d you get it from?”

“Borrowed it off my brother,” I snickered, remembering a time I had helped myself to a rather lewd carving Mistal had been cherishing, concealed, as he had thought, inside his tool-bag in our father’s workshop.

“These leaves graved on the metal, that’s Delathan’s style, but this isn’t Old Empire.” The smith shrugged, his tone dismissive. “ ’Tis a good copy though, I’ll give you two hundred Crowns for it, Tormalin minted.”

“That’s a deal of money.” I grinned vacantly. “I’m not after selling it just yet, though.”

The smith scowled and shoved the blade back toward me. “Why are you wasting my time then?”

I hunched my shoulders and shuffled my feet some more. “Well, a man never knows when he might need some spare coin, not in a city like this.”

I snickered some more with a suggestive grin and the smith smiled back broadly.

“True enough. If you’re looking for a nice clean girl, try the Hole in the Wall, off the Lantern Way.”

I nodded with unnecessary enthusiasm. “Thanks for the tip.”

The smith made a creditable try at registering a sudden thought. “You know, I might have a customer who’d be interested in making you an offer. Where was it you said you were lodging?”

“Plume of Feathers,” I told him readily. “Thanks again.”

I shambled out of the workshop and made my way around a handy corner before straightening up. That had certainly started a hare or two but I realized with some frustration that this was going to be a hard game to course. If I’d had Aiten with me, I could have set him to watching the friendly metal-beater while I kept an eye on the Plume of Feathers. Livak might be able to take Ait’s place, if she hadn’t come up with any leads, but I wasn’t any too keen on the idea of her hanging around this neighborhood on her own. I couldn’t very well stay with her, not without risking suspicion, even if we could somehow get Halice to keep watch at the Plume of Feathers. It wasn’t that I didn’t think Livak could take care of herself, as I knew only too well that she could; the problem was I didn’t want to risk any Elietimm spotting her, dyed hair or not.

I was feeling uneasy again. I turned back to the end of the alley, looking back at the smithy, wondering what to do for the best. My wits seemed to be unraveling, and I swallowed on a suddenly dry throat. It was a warm day, sure enough, but I hadn’t been that long without a drink. I scrubbed a hand across my face but that seemed to make things worse. My eyes began to blur and the noises of the street around me became oddly distorted, echoing around my ears then lost in a sound like crashing waves. Cold sweat began to pour from me, my shirt clung stickily to my back as I crumpled against a wall, legs suddenly unable to support my weight. The blood was pounding in my head like the beat from Misaen’s own anvil and my breath was catching in my chest as I fought off the panic that threatened to choke me.

I heard a footstep on my off hand and gripped the hilt of the sword with nerveless fingers; as I did so, Saedrin opened the shades to swallow me.

He was an imposing figure; tall, dressed in black velvet with a subtle embroidery of scarlet and gold flames at the neck, indicating his mastery of fire to even the most untutored apprentice. A ruby glowed on his breast, clasped in the jaws of a sinuous dragon brooch, the red gold of his ring of office catching the sunlight as he raised his hand to adjust the hang of his maroon cloak. This and the excellent cut of his gown happily concealed much of his bulk, but regretfully the current fashion in high, tight collars was cruelly unflattering to his thickly jowled neck. Several apprentices hastily removed themselves from his path as he strode through the courtyard, an expression of extreme displeasure on his flushed face.