The Silent Blade Read online

  “That went to Prince Naveed, directly. With a suggestion that, if he liked the idea, we sell it as having come from him, directly. Unless he wishes to marry Eltha himself, of course. I added a recommendation there. She’s a marvelous person. I need to check on what he intends that way. I also mentioned that he should summon me, personally, if it is desirable, so that everyone knows he’s in charge.” He didn’t let even a hint of a smile touch his lips at the words. “After all, I rather promised him that I’d only come and visit every ten years or so, and here I am, coming back already. That’s... a bit rude of me.”

  Even if it wasn’t his fault.

  Aisla, at least thought it was humorous and laughed at the words.

  “I recall that, now that you mention it. That isn’t a poor plan, getting him in on this with us. At least if he likes the idea.”

  That last bit was leading, and Anders closed his eyes, to focus on the far-off Prince. Heir to a land that was larger than Istlan was by five times, and who was also, potentially, capable of knowing when he was being spied upon. A thing that the man missed, totally.

  Of interest, he’d literally run to take the message to his father, the Sula. Anders didn’t really think of it as being that important. It could even be a ruse, if they wanted. A reason to make an extra stop on the way to their final destination, without it seeming too strained or odd.

  It took some time, and people spoke of different topics, as they sat there, for an hour and a half, while the matter was discussed. Oddly, it was being taken rather seriously, by the Sula. The man, vaguely, recalled having seen an image of Eltha Tennet, the year before, even. Anders had shown it to him, along with many others, in their first real meeting.

  Finally, the older man, rather on purpose, getting that he was being observed, spoke to his son.

  Anders nodded along, then repeated the words.

  “Eltha Tennet is invited to Lo’usa Tet, to see if she finds Prince Naveed to be a suitable marriage candidate. Also up for that position will be Prince Lassa and former Sula Hoatha Eta. This offer is being put forward even if it will not work as more than a simple marriage, the young lady coming with high recommendations, as she is.”

  Aisla gasped.

  “That’s... Wonderful! We should go and let her know of the offer? Lassa... He’s a bit younger. Fifteen, I think? He was a baby when I left and I didn’t get to see him this last trip. Mother Meegan? You know more there, perhaps?”

  The woman, instead of being mean, or undercutting anyone, simply let her head play side to side.

  “He’s a Prince... A bit slow in magical learning. Truly, we should send him to you, Prince Anders, for training that way. That or get Lissa to work with him? He’s not backwards, but perhaps not perfectly oriented to studies? It would... truly, I’ve only met Eltha Tennet in passing... She seemed a kind enough woman. Would she be a good Sulana, do you think, Prince Anders? I’ve heard that she is a special friend of your own?”

  He nearly defended her name, since all they’d done was share a few kisses, which nearly had him blushing to think of, but instead he thought about the idea for a moment and considered it carefully.

  “She’s hard working, and despite being called a student, is clearly a master of her art. She’s also learned other magics of late. The magician’s art of Barquea, as well as wizardry skills and the new null magics, so she’s well rounded that way. I don’t know if she speaks the language of Barquea, but she’s a capable person, so we can see to that, shortly, if it isn’t the case already. I’d have to say... Yes, actually. She’d make a fine Sulana. What she lacks is a title of note.” He shrugged. “We should proclaim her a Mage of Istlan, since that’s nearly the same as being a princess.” He paused then as everyone stared at him. “A High Mage? We’ll need something impressive sounding.”

  Everyone in the room managed to look either baffled or affronted, even if he was, mainly, joking.

  Only Prince Robarts considered the idea seriously.

  “A Great One of Istlan? That’s a title in the South, isn’t it, Depak Sona?”

  The man, instead of sneering or seeming angry at the claim of such a title, clapped his hands.

  “You know, it is now. Perhaps though, we should name her a Great One of Barquea? Or...” He paused for a moment, holding up his hand and lowering his head. “Ambassador, can we get a message to your Sulat Mondeth?”

  The older man nodded.

  “Yes? It will take some months, but it can be done. Probably not before we arrive there. We have no magical means of communications, as Prince Anders used a short while ago, unfortunately.”

  He nodded at those words, thinking.

  “I can teach her that, but for now... We should see if some of our Devica friends might not carry a message to the Sulat there? It’s a friendly land, for their kind, so, if we request politely, they might do that? Is there a Shaman we should seek, directly? If they’ll aid us, I mean?”

  The words had the Ambassador furrowing his brow.

  “Shaman Smidt? He isn’t the highest in the employ of the Sulat, but I know his name, having met the man several times.”

  Anders made a face.

  “Smidt? A relative of Natan’s?” The man had died, from drinking poisoned wine, over a year before.

  There was a sour expression on the man’s face and then a slow nod.

  “His brother. Warid Smidt. Still, he...” The man stopped then and sighed. “I don’t know if he’ll be seeking revenge for his brother’s untimely death or not. I explained, to the Sulat, in letters, but I have no information about what the family was told at all. It could be a problem, or not.”

  Anders wasn’t worried, personally. After all, he’d killed a man to avenge Natan already. The wrong one, but it was something to hold up, if needed at all. Proof that it wasn’t a thing they took lightly, if nothing else.

  Anders let his face tighten, then stood up.

  “If I have your leave, Sire? I’ll attempt to make arrangements and see if we can contact Warid Smidt, on this topic? That of Eltha Tennet?”

  The man stood up as well, his ample form making the chair under him creak a bit as he stood. He wasn’t fat, but it was clear that he was a wealthy man. Healthy and strong, since food hadn’t been too short in his life.

  “If you would see to that for us, please? You can deliver any return messages to Robarts’ directly? If you don’t see me, first, of course. Thank you for coming to aid us in this.” The man bowed, if only a small bit, so had that returned. No one else got up, meaning they intended to stay for some reason. Which was fine enough, really.

  It took Anders nearly half an hour, and walking back to the school, in order to find Far. The tan man, no taller than Anders was, for all he looked to be about fifty, was simply sitting under a tree, reading a book, outside the school itself. It was a bit cool for that, but the fellow was dressed warmly enough. His white blond hair was long and ran down the back of his head. He had no beard, having shaved that off, for some reason. Anders hadn’t asked why.

  His own face was showing the start of a real beard now, itself. It was a bit short and mainly on his chin, so far. It would fill in, he didn’t doubt. Prince Robarts sported a nice thick beard at least, and was his uncle. About half the men there in Istlan shaved. Meaning he probably should, himself, soon. The trick there was that he had no clue how to get that done.

  It involved a special blade or very sharp knife, he knew. Other than that, he had no idea about the process. In over a hundred years alive, in two lives, that had never once come up for him. As Farad, he’d always worn a big, full, beard. Trimmed at times, but only that.

  Now, the man himself, the original and true Farad, sat under a tree, his face rather lacking in that way, completely. It meant that Anders could see him smile as he walked up, the book being closed, but held on his lap, not risking the slightly damp ground, lest it damage the pages.

  Instead of saying hello, the ancient fellow nodded at the book.

  “A treatise
on the use of pole arms. I was just committing it to memory. How is your day going?”

  Anders smiled back, since being sour or angry all the time wasn’t going to work with... Really, anyone he knew.

  “My day goes well, actually. I was hoping that one of our Devica friends could help me pass a message? To a Shaman in Modroc. Um, Shaman Smidt. Warid is his personal name. He works closely with the Sulat there, I heard? The goal is to open communications there, of course. Nothing against Warid Smidt, of course. He’s the brother of a man I knew. He died, over a year ago. Poison. I killed the man found guilty of doing that.”

  The man under the tree snorted.

  “That was rather carefully spoken, wasn’t it? The man found guilty. Not the guilty man? Not the killer?”

  Instead of explaining, Anders nodded.

  “Exactly, and well noticed. It stopped a war. Anyway, as you know, they have a long tradition of working with entities, so that could work for them, I think? A message being passed that way? I don’t know how to get that done, really.” Except that, he kind of did. He’d been around Far for some time and the man had shown him, and openly explained, how to do such things, several times.

  He also got that Anders was leaving him an out, so that he didn’t have to help or risk his friends to the task. Not that it was a real problem or danger to the beings of pure energy.

  “Ah? Well, here, sit, and let us see if anyone around here feels up to such a task?”

  What transpired then was, as Anders should have understood when he walked up, not the man doing the work for him. No, he was there to teach, so walked Anders through making the request on his own. That took a bit, not having an innate link to such beings. Far did, but had worked out, long before, that everyone could work with the Devic, just like everyone could learn to do some basic magic of any sort.

  Some were strong in various areas, making certain skills easier for them.

  The trouble with the entities wasn’t in getting them to help you, of course. No, it was all about seeing and hearing them. Anders strained and struggled to note where such things were, and it took real work for them to make him hear them, most of the time. It wasn’t a physical thing, either. Not magical directly, either. The Devic or Devica, which were just two different names for the same thing, were clearly magical in nature, of course. Reading them using wizard skills didn’t really work that well.

  It was a different set of skills that were needed for that kind of thing. One that he was weak in, making it harder to find out how to improve enough for it to really work.

  So, over the course of an hour, as the sky darkened, he finally managed to get the right idea across, and three of the Devica flew off, in what he hoped was the right direction. As they watched the energy beings, looking like floating orbs in the air, fly away, Farad grinned at him.

  Anders, for his part, sighed.

  “So, that was slow and painful. Do you think they actually understood me?”

  The other man stood up then, and, book in hand, stretched, bending over, almost in half.

  “Oh, yes. Their understanding of us is always much better than the other way around. They see things differently, and some of them, those who were never human, can have a variety of issues in dealing with our world. They are terrifically powerful, but that doesn’t mean they know how things work, perfectly. These all understood your message, the target of the moment and that you were working very hard to be polite to them. That’s important, since we can’t really pay them.”

  That had been a surprise to learn, since Anders had always heard the dark entities took their payment in the blood and energy of the dead. That, it turned out, was a pure slander. They didn’t need anything of the sort. At times they’d take it, if it was offered, but it didn’t help them at all. They might take a sweet, or cup of wine as well, which would help them exactly as much as blood did.

  Not at all.

  The only thing people had to offer them was attention and praise. Which they liked, but only about as well as anyone might. It was part of why Far always called them his friends. Then, he honestly cared about them and tried to protect them, if it was at all possible. Even to the level of asking them to not continue giving him aid, if things appeared which might trap or contain them.

  Over a thousand years of doing this, that kind of being had learned that Farad Ibn Iftel honestly meant it. Consistently and in every case. He protected them, his friends, first.

  Always.

  Passing messages, even if the distance was great for Anders, was safe enough, however. The trick would be in the Shaman being open to such things. He probably would be, but the traditions of Modroc were different than the ones that Far used, day to day. They entreated and begged a lot more, and didn’t have some basic tricks down, as of yet.

  Like inviting one of the beings to ride with a living person and leave upon request. In Modroc, that kind of thing was left to the entities, which could lead to permanent possession if the being thought that was the best plan. Which, when Anders thought about it, made perfect sense to him. Farad had lived a long time, before he’d had his mind placed in a crystal. Anders had lived, rather poorly, for a little over a decade.

  To him it made some sense that Farad was able to live his life better than he could. He also got that the old man in his head had worked decently hard to not do that. He’d insisted, constantly, that they work and learn, even struggle at times, to become stronger or better at things, but what they actually did, he had to admit, was mainly what Anders wanted.

  At least for the big things. Like learning magic, or going on adventures.

  He thought about this for a moment, and then shook his head, which caught Far’s attention. The ancient man, who looked no older than Depak Sona, so around fifty, noticed that move and set his attention in his direction.

  “You have a consideration?”

  Anders shrugged, not really ready to share all of what he’d really been thinking.

  “I’m forgetting the memories that we shared. I have the broad strokes, and even a few specific scenes, but it’s as if I read them in a written work and didn’t bother using the memory skills for it. I was thinking, earlier, that I need to do my own learning. That... Well, everyone has to do that. It isn’t special.”

  The other man, who was still on his feet, glanced at the dark sky. Anders could make his light-colored hair out still, and that he was holding something, but that was all, really. Meaning it was probably close to time to go inside. He should have done it earlier, he knew. The school didn’t have a cook, other than him. A lot of the time people walked to the castle to get food, since he was busy enough that meals could be sketchy there, given that.

  Far laughed. It was a merry, and soft thing.

  “True. A person can get lost in bothering to think that they’re important, or blessed. The special chosen one... In my long life I have never met such a being. Only people who lived their lives, that others, normally well after their deaths, decided to proclaim as being more than normal. There are people who live grand lives. Huge things that impact those around themselves greatly.” The man stood there, silently for a moment, leaving the apparent contradiction hanging in the space between them. “They aren’t better than their fellows. They aren’t special in some fashion beyond what anyone in the same place might have managed. It isn’t that no one is worthy, of course. No, it’s simply that almost everyone is.”

  “Almost?”

  The man started walking then, headed toward the school.

  “Oh, there are definitely people who lose their right to be considered the same as others. Not by being too boring, slow or even lazy. History is filled with people who went out of their way to do the wrong things. It’s tempting to forgive them, from time to time. I’ve done that myself in fact. With a certain sort of person, that’s almost certainly a mistake.”

  The words were a bit dark at the end, and Anders wasn’t certain what the man was talking about. The Farad inside of him had an idea, of c
ourse.

  “Ganges and Rothina?”

  They both walked, the door only about a hundred feet away from Far’s reading tree. When Anders touched the handle and turned it, to allow them entrance, the other man spoke again, reaching out to touch Anders on the shoulder.

  “I don’t know. I fought them, both of them, for nearly fifteen hundred years, Anders. In that time, doing the very best I could manage, it never even occurred to them that I was anything except happenstance. Which is a bit rude of them, don’t you think?” The man sounded pleasant enough, suddenly. “My point here is that, in all that time, I didn’t truly know them or their minds. When we shared thoughts, some months back, I couldn’t help but wonder if they were capable of hiding things from us? I think I could do it. You can probably work that out as well. So, I see no reason they couldn’t manage it. The question then is, if they could do it, did they? And, if they did, is it to hide an abiding evil, or merely so that their old friend won’t be ashamed of what they have done, in other ways? I can guarantee that if you live a long enough life there will be things that haunt you with shame, Anders. Even one such as you will eventually feel it.”

  They went in then, but Far stopped talking, just clearing his throat.

  “Now, what would you have for the late meal? I think there was some saved cow from last night? I could make a beef pie, with some roots?”

  “I’ll do that? It’s my job. Unless you’re hinting that you can do a better job of it than I can? Which is just true. That being the case I should get you to show me how to do it, even if it takes twice as long that way.”

  Instead of acting put out, the ancient man slapped him on the back.

  “There we go! We’ll do that then. Say... Do you think you can make one of the cupboards cooler inside?”

  “I can. How cold do you want it? Enough to freeze water?”

  They discussed that, the other man wanting something warmer than that, but not by too much. Indeed, he had Anders working for hours, making a cool box, one for ice and another that would keep things warm. They each needed a spell to be used each time, but would hold in the hot or cold, thanks to layers of straw that were packed around the things. It took Anders going to the woods, to get some extra wood, but it looked nice enough, once they finished the effort.