The Assassin's Edge (Einarinn 5) (40 page)

Guinalle laid a gentle hand on Naldeth’s forehead. “Concentrate on my touch, on my voice. Let me take you away from the pain.”

The stricken wizard flinched but Guinalle persisted with gentle, inexorable hands bending close to whisper her incantations. Naldeth swallowed a sob, deep in his throat, eyes rolling beneath flickering lids. Gradually his laboured breathing slowed, the rigid tension lessening down his body.

Temar saw tears trickling down Allin’s face. She sniffed irritably, trying to scrub her cheek dry on her shoulder. Temar dug in a pocket for his kerchief and went to dry her face. As she mouthed her gratitude, he thought how remarkably sweet her smile could be.

“Mind your backs.” Halice held the cabin door open as the
Dulse
’s shipwright carried in a small brazier held tight between thickly padded leather gloves. His apprentice followed, lugging a hefty slab of slate. “Set it down there.” The shipwright steadied the brazier as it rested on the tile. “I don’t know what irons you might want, my lady, so I brought a fair selection.” The lad ground pincers, tongs, a small prybar and a plain length of iron into the glowing charcoal.

Allin pulled on a glove the apprentice offered her. As she took the iron bar from the coals, the end glowed with a white heat the brazier could never have imparted. “Hold his leg for me,” she appealed to Temar.

Catching his lip between his teeth, Temar knelt to grip Naldeth’s thigh as steadily as he could. Allin quickly uncovered the butchered flesh, fresh blood flowing from the ruin of torn skin, chewed muscle and sheared bone. Temar had to turn his face away. He’d seen his share of battlefield injuries but this was worse, a man so savaged by a mindless seabeast.

Allin bent closer to wield the thick bar with the delicacy of a fine pen picking through a manuscript. Naldeth whimpered and Temar felt his thigh tense beneath his hands. This close to Guinalle and with all that linked them, he sensed her fighting every impulse that screamed at the mage to rip himself away from this torment. The stink of burning flesh assaulted Temar’s nostrils, stinging his eyes but he could not turn away, lest he hinder Allin, lest he meet Naldeth’s eyes.

“Nearly done,” Allin murmured. The second application of the iron only took a moment but the smell was just as bad. Feeling Naldeth falling slackly unconscious, Temar couldn’t help clapping a hand to his mouth.

“He’s out of his senses.” Guinalle tried to stand but her knees gave way and she would have fallen if Temar hadn’t caught her. She began to retch, catching them both by surprise.

“Outside.” Temar gripped her around the waist. “Come on.”

Allin, moisture beading her forehead, continued determinedly dressing Naldeth’s stump with fresh linen. “Not for the moment.”

Temar realised sweat was sticking his own shirt to his back as he half escorted, half dragged Guinalle out on to the main deck. The noblewoman was ashen but the salt-scented breeze saved her from vomiting.

“It’s working Artifice on water,” she said faintly. “I just need a moment before I go back.”

“Is he going to die?” Temar dragged clean air deep into his lungs and his own nausea faded.

“Not just at present.” Guinalle smoothed her braids with shaking hands.

“Then you work no more healing on him until we are safe on land,” Temar told her bluntly. “You push yourself too hard.”

“Who else is there?” Guinalle glared at him.

“For combating the Elietimm enchanters, no one,” Temar retorted. “So I will not permit you to exhaust yourself tending Naldeth. Sailors and mercenaries have lost legs before now and lived through it without aetheric healing. I’m sure Halice and Master Jevon know what to do.”

“You will not permit me?” Rage lent a spurious colour to Guinalle’s pale cheeks. “How do you intend stopping me? What right have you to command me when your callousness cost that poor boy his leg in the first place?”

“Me?” Temar gaped at her.

“You could have had him safe and whole!” Guinalle stabbed an accusing finger in Temar’s chest. “For the sake of some nails and some sailcloth!”

“And that would have been the end of it?” Temar folded his arms to stop himself slapping Guinalle’s hand away. “Don’t be so foolish! Yield once to a bully and he comes back asking for twice and thrice.”

“What price a man’s life?” cried Guinalle.

“What price would Muredarch settle for, once he had me on the run?” countered Temar angrily. “He plans to hold these islands for his own and Kellarin can go hang for all he cares. We stand against him now or he’ll bleed us dry and spit out the husk.”

“This has been a trying day for all of us.” Usara’s hand closed on Temar’s arm, catching him unawares. “Why don’t you leave this discussion for some other time, somewhere a little less public?” For all his peaceable words, the wizard’s voice was tight with anger.

Guinalle blushed a ferocious scarlet, turning her face out to sea, back stiff with outrage.

Temar took a measured breath. “What have you there?”

Usara carried a haphazard collection of jars and bottles in a frayed wicker basket. “Half the sailors seem to have some shrine-sanctioned cure-all in their sea chest, or a salve with the seal of the Imperial Apothecary.”

Guinalle looked over her shoulder. “Do you know what’s in them?”

Usara shrugged. “Not really.”

“I’ll see what Allin and I can make of them.” Guinalle took the basket without ceremony. Usara would have followed her to the cabin but Temar caught him by the arm.

“I didn’t start that. It was Guinalle.” Sounding like a whining apprentice again, Temar thought crossly.

“What has that to do with anything?” Usara was unforgiving. “You’re our leader and you should be setting an example.”

“By refusing to give in to extortion?” Did no one appreciate his impossible position? Temar shook his head. “Never mind. It’s Guinalle I’m worried about.”

Usara’s annoyance softened to wary concern. “You and me both, but she insists she’s all right.”

Temar waved a hand in frustration. “She’s like a lyre some fool’s tuned to too high a pitch. We may get some fine music for a while but she could snap without warning and then we’ll have no strings to our bow at all.”

“I believe that expression refers to the weapon rather than the music tool.” Usara tried for levity with a resounding lack of success.

“Adepts are trained to suppress their emotions away from their enchantments. Guinalle’s so very effective at using Artifice because she’s so very good at divorcing herself from her feelings.” Temar hesitated. “But she used to allow herself to feel pleasure, to relax, enjoy a dance, a flirtation, just like any other girl.” He gave the wizard a hard look. “Don’t you admire her?”

“I hold her in the highest esteem,” Usara said awkwardly. “She has a remarkable mind.”

“Take it from me, she’s as much woman as intellect,” Temar said fervently. “But she’s forgotten that and that’s just making things worse. You’re probably the only person who can remind her, soothe her to some proper relaxation.” He gave the wizard a meaningful look.

“Are you suggesting I roll her into a handy bunk and tumble her into a more amenable temper?” Usara was caught between incredulity and outrage.

Temar blushed scarlet but held his ground. “If that’s what it takes. Don’t tell me you don’t want to.”

“I’ll tell you to mind your own business.” Usara rubbed a hand over his beard. “And I’ll write off your crashing lack of tact against the stresses of today. And since we’re talking so frankly, Messire, may I suggest you look to your own affairs?” He turned on his heel and disappeared into the stern cabin before Temar had any chance to reply.

That could have gone better, Temar thought gloomily. No, curse it, someone had to get through to Guinalle and Usara was the man to do it. He wondered about joining Halice on the forecastle where she was talking to Master Jevon. Would she congratulate him for defying Muredarch or blame him for Naldeth’s mutilation? Would she just be furious with him for not killing all the pirates out of hand, parley or no? How many such outrages would Raeponin have tallied against Halice’s name when she came to render her account to Saedrin? Temar wondered sourly. Maybe it was different if you were a mercenary.

The
Dulse
sped on, cleaving through the great swells rolling in from the endless ocean. The vessel swayed as the helmsman turned their course to ride the waves. Temar stared at the rise and fall of the waters, catching every detail of windblown spume, every glint and shade of sunlight on the dense blue. How did those birds so blithely riding the vanishing crests find fish in this vast emptiness? Did they sleep on the waters or fly back to land to roost for the night? Had anyone ever seen those birds but those few who’d discovered these isles lost in the deepest ocean?

No, he decided, he wasn’t going to think about Suthyfer. He’d been telling Guinalle she needed to set her problems aside for a while so the very least he could do was take his own advice. But how was he going to find an answer to Muredarch’s threat? Never pull a rope against a stronger man, that’s what his grandsire had always said.

A soft step beside him roused Temar from his fruitless thoughts. It was Allin, her sombre brown dress stained with blood and water, a smear of unguent greasy on one sleeve. Her round face was sad, brown eyes vulnerable, and a quiver tugged at the corners of her downturned mouth.

“Am I needed?” asked Temar, bracing himself.

Allin shook her head, silent for a moment before answering. “No, Guinalle and Usara are sitting with Naldeth.” She managed a wry smile. “They’re debating theories of magic so I thought I’d get some fresh air.”

“Theories of magic?” Temar was confused.

The mage-girl nodded. “Usara recalls some ages-old treatise arguing elemental affinity is an extension of the five physical senses into the unseen realms of nature. They’re trying to decide if there are any correspondences between this theory and this doctrine of the five wits that Guinalle says underpins Artifice. He’s always had this notion that there must be fundamental balances underpinning everything.” She sounded sceptical.

“Guinalle needs to rest, not boil her brain with puzzles,” said Temar, exasperated.

Allin’s short laugh surprised him. “Actually, I think they both find a little intellectual debate welcome distraction from the bloody reality we’ve been dealing with.”

Then they were welcome to it, Temar thought. “How is Naldeth?”

Allin drew an abrupt breath and squared her shoulders. “Insensible but the bleeding has stopped.”

“He owes you his life.” Temar sought to comfort her.

“For the moment.” Allin’s mouth pressed into an unhappy line, tears welling in her eyes. “It’s all rags and gobbets of skin and flesh that will turn to green rot given half a chance and that’ll have him dead inside a couple of days. We have to take the rest of his leg off, mid thigh somewhere and find enough skin to cover the stump.” She was struggling not to weep. “But he’s lost so much blood already, I don’t know he’ll be able to stand it. But, if we delay, we risk the wound festering.”

Not knowing what to say for the best, Temar just gathered her to him, holding her close, silky hair smooth against his cheek.

“If only we could get him to Hadrumal,” Allin sobbed. “But Guinalle says the enchanters will be watching and we’d all be at risk, Naldeth most of all. What do I tell Planir if he dies?”

“Why should he blame you?” Temar fumbled awkwardly for his kerchief to wipe the tears from Allin’s face again. “I’m the one bears the guilt for defying Muredarch.”

Allin gazed up at him, reddened eyes wide. “You couldn’t give in to him!”

“Thank you for that.” Temar kissed her forehead absently. “I only hope a few others agree with you.” Allin’s arms tightened around his waist in mute support, warming him.

“I’m not playing this game again.” Halice’s arrival took them both by surprise. Allin would have moved away but Temar resisted and she stayed in his embrace.

“Muredarch may think he’s got all the runes in his hand but I aim to spoil his fun.” Halice was looking as dangerous as Temar had ever seen her. “He can’t torture us by killing prisoners if we take them off him.”

“You can’t attack while we’re still waiting for Ryshad and Livak to kill Ilkehan.” Temar just about managed to keep his words a statement rather than a question.

“I’m talking a raid, on that cursed stockade of theirs.” Halice’s face was hard and cunning. “We loose the prisoners and take them into the forest. That’ll give Muredarch and his cursed enchanters something new to worry about while we wait for ’Gren to have his fun.”

Temar realised he’d never quite appreciated just what qualities had raised Halice to such pre-eminence among the mercenaries of Lescar.

Rettasekke, Islands of the Elietimm,

6th of For-Summer

These people have some bizarre ideas about what’s edible,” I murmured to Sorgrad. The time of day suggested this was breakfast but we were served much the same food at every meal. “Didn’t we see a lot of this last night?” Olret might consider himself master of all he surveyed but my mother, mere housekeeper to a prosperous merchant, would have scorned serving up the previous night’s leavings.

“Pickled moss?” Sorgrad innocently offered me a bowl of soused green lumps.

“Thank you, no.” I reached for some tiny sweet berries, topping them with something halfway between thick cream and underpressed cheese that, remarkably enough, didn’t taste of goat. “Oh, you’re not going to eat that!”

’Gren was contemplating a plate of glaucous grey lumps that I’d thought looked unappetising even before I realised that’s where the smell halfway between rancid milk and a plague house privy pit was coming from.

He raised a golden eyebrow at me. “Why not?”

“Suit yourself.” I picked up my spoon. “I’m not sitting near you if you do.”

“All right.” He gave up his teasing and pulled a leg from a vaguely goose-shaped bird. I’d tried some of that the previous evening and would have sworn I’d been eating fish, if I hadn’t carved it for myself.