Emperor's Edge Republic (16 page)

Basilard’s smile faded, and Maldynado regretted voicing the question.

She is somewhat of an important person in my country, but she’s also a teacher. We met last month. She works with handicapped children and was intrigued by the modifications I made to the Mangdorian hunting code. Some of her students are deaf or mute.

“That’s brilliant, Bas. I never would have thought of the less, er, tactical applications for your signs, but that makes perfect sense.”

Actually sharing the hand language was Professor Komitopis’s idea. She planted it in my brain last winter.

“Ah. Did she also suggest you seek out your head chief or whoever runs your country to ask for this job?” Maldynado should have learned more about Mangdoria at some point, but Basilard had never spoken of his family or his homeland often. It had always pained him too much. Since his people were religious pacifists, he had, after the killing he had done in the pit fights and later as a mercenary, worried he would never have a place among them again.

That came about because of... a certain awkwardness. With me.

“Because of your scars and... past?”

Basilard nodded.
I was determined to see my daughter and the friends and family I had grown up with, and I did, but I was... judged harshly by our priests and... many of my kin.
He shrugged, though it didn’t come across as blasé as he probably intended. The humor had left his eyes.
I anticipated as much. I was allowed to see my daughter, but it was made clear that I wasn’t welcome, not for the long term
.

“Oh. Sorry, Bas.” Maldynado didn’t know anything more useful to say, so he took a swig from his snifter and waved at Basilard’s glass, suggesting he should do the same.

I wish I could have spent more time with my daughter, because she seemed... curious about me. She did remember me, at least.

“That’s something. You’d been gone for several years, right?”

Yes. As to how I came to the chief’s attention, I can thank the makarovi.

Maldynado curled a lip. He couldn’t imagine thanking those horrible beasts for anything. “How so?”

At the time, I didn’t know why I was doing it, but before I left the capital, I cured a pelt and made a necklace of teeth and claws.

“That passes for fashion in Mangdoria, does it?”

For all that we—
they
—are a peaceful people, Mangdorians value great hunters. The makarovi may be rare, but they have long hunted in the same mountains where we live. As a child, you’re told not to wander into the woods, or the makarovi will get you. There have been only a few times when my people have succeeded in slaying one, so when I came in wearing the proof of the deed—

“Dear ancestors, Basilard, is
that
what this shaggy fur is?” Maldynado tugged at the coarse black stuff on his vest. “I just thought you were cold. Very cold.”

Makarovi fur, yes.

Maldynado sniffed the air experimentally. “How did you manage to get rid of the smell?”

My people are also expert fur and leather workers.

“Trade secret, eh?”

Basilard nodded.
So, news that I had slain makarovi reached the chief, and he called me to his yurt.

“His yurt? Your people live extravagantly, don’t they?” Yurts. Please. No
wonder
Basilard had come back to the empire.

Basilard shrugged.
It’s a big yurt. Regardless, I had a long discussion with him, much to the irritation of his spiritual advisor. The priest stood in the background, glowered at me, and kept making signs to ward off the wrath of God.

Remembering that Basilard actually believed he was going to some Mangdorian hell for his sins, Maldynado kept himself from making a snide comment about the religion and the idiot priests who preached it. Anyone who couldn’t see that Basilard was a good human being... ought to be gnawed on by wild animals. Makarovi, perhaps.

The chief was more reasonable. He listened to my story, all of it. He suggested that a position going back and forth between Mangdoria and Turgonia as a diplomat would allow me to see my daughter on occasion without... making the whole village—and myself—uncomfortable by trying to live there permanently. It is not ideal, but it is perhaps the best I could hope for. In time...
Basilard finished with a shrug.

“That’s smart of your chief, not to waste your talent and connections.”

Talent? Do you believe sticking knives in people will be required to negotiate with the president?

“You have other talents, Bas. You’re patient and you listen well, and you’re easy to confide in. Those sound like diplomacy things to me. Although...” Maldynado tapped his chin. “A lot of important meetings
do
take place in the gymnasium here. If I were you, I wouldn’t let those defensive skills of yours get rusty.”

I see. Perhaps we shall have to spar while I’m here.

“I may have an even better idea for a spot of training.” Maldynado thought his casual statement sly, but Basilard’s eyes closed to suspicious slits immediately.

Does it involve diving suits?

“Whatever makes you think that?” Maldynado finished his brandy and set the snifter down. “Now, why don’t you tell me more about this cute translator of yours? She
is
cute, isn’t she?”

Chapter 6

T
ikaya had already searched the library, so she didn’t know why she was searching again, other than that Rias spent a lot of time in there. The attached conference rooms were more spacious than his office, so he met with groups there daily. Also, their own suite was on the floor directly above the library and in the same wing of the hotel. That might be close enough to affect him. A mind-altering artifact would need to be in close proximity to him for a few hours a day to have an impact, and she had already scoured the suite from within and found nothing.

On a whim, Tikaya climbed one of the sturdy bookcases so she could peer across the aisles from above. She hadn’t looked up there last time. Alas, she found nothing except dust and cobwebs. She would check his office next. It had been locked the last time she had tried. The last destination on her list was the gymnasium, though she hoped to find something elsewhere, so she could avoid that. The men might think her odd—or lascivious—if she kept strolling through their sacred area of steam, wrestling, and nudity.

A throat cleared behind her. “Mother?”

“Yes?” Tikaya refused to feel embarrassed because she was standing three shelves up on a bookcase.

“Have you... read all the other tomes already, and you’re looking for some choice gem that might have been hidden?”

“No.” Tikaya climbed down, careful not to miss a step and tumble—Rias wasn’t around to catch her. “I’m looking for...” As she turned to face her daughter, she saw Mahliki wasn’t alone.

Sespian, Sicarius, and Amaranthe Lokdon stood beside her, all regarding Tikaya curiously.

“Never mind,” Tikaya finished. Though she liked Sespian and had come to know Amaranthe somewhat before the woman left the city, she didn’t feel comfortable admitting that some weakness might be plaguing Rias. She was even less comfortable admitting it—admitting
anything
—in front of the assassin. He had been civil to her in all of their encounters, but he wasn’t much different in his cool mannerisms than he had been twenty years earlier, so she struggled to believe he was a better person now.

“If you’re not too busy—” Mahliki’s eyebrows rose in her you’re-being-odd-mother look, “—we could use your help to translate a language.”

“Oh?” Tikaya wiped her dusty hands on her skirt and stepped forward.

Amaranthe eyed the dust smears, and her fingers twitched toward the garment. She grimaced and clasped her hands behind her back instead.

“Some ancient puzzle that needs to be decrypted?” Tikaya asked.

Mahliki lifted her own hand. “Don’t get too eager, Mother. It’s nothing quite that obscure. Sespian?”

He strode forward, holding out the note. “It came attached to this.” He waved the arrow.

Tikaya perused the Turgonian line first, snorted at the idea of a favor being required for such an act, then read the last passage. “The honorable hunter does not kill the kits to avenge the chickens stolen by the vixen.”

“That’s... what it says?” Sespian asked.

Sicarius and Amaranthe exchanged looks, having clearly read some meaning into the old proverb.

“Yes.” Tikaya returned the note to him.

“In what language?” Amaranthe asked.

“It’s a Nurian dialect used solely among a very old, very secretive society over there.”

“Such as?”

“The mage hunters,” Sicarius said, as if he had known all along. Maybe he had.

“Yes,” Tikaya said.

“That sounds familiar,” Sespian said. “Can someone remind me?”

Tikaya thought Sicarius might respond, since he was obviously familiar with them, but he waited with his hands clasped behind his back, his face toward her.

“Nuria has long been a place where magic reigns,” Tikaya said. “As on Kyatt, the Nurians shun that term now, having refined the skills required to turn various mental feats into repeatable sciences, but in the old days, they referred to those we call practitioners as mages and wizards. The difference in the terms has been largely forgotten over the years. A powerful practitioner is still called a mage or a wizard, and one who studies at Stargrind, an academy that teaches a combination of fighting and Science skills, can aspire to the title of warrior mage.”

Amaranthe stirred and met Sicarius’s eyes again. That man who had possessed him the winter before had been a warrior mage, but Tikaya decided not to bring it up. She had never forgotten the violation of having her own memories stolen by a telepath back during her first encounter with the alien technology. To be a slave to another... That could not have been a pleasant experience.

“Practitioners of all types and ability levels are given an honored status in Nuria with privileges not unlike those your warrior caste has had over the centuries, but the separation is even more pronounced. Mundane individuals without the aptitude or interest in pursuing a Science-based career can never aspire to wealth, government sway, or land ownership. For those who have family members with power, that is enough, for the entire family receives the right to claim honored status. For the rest of the nation, they are forever second-class citizens. This hasn’t always gone over well with the populace.”

“Imagine that,” Sespian murmured.

Mahliki stifled a yawn. The hour had grown late, and she might be genuinely tired, but, in case that was a hint, Tikaya trimmed her history lesson to get to the point.

“More than a millennia ago, someone founded a secret training academy to study methods for defeating practitioners without using the Science.”

“Methods other than a sword in the belly?” Sespian asked.

“They
did
train as fighters, with that making up a large part of their studies, but they also learned many methods for breaking a practitioner’s concentration so they might close in and slay him with mundane means. They learned to block or deflect mental attacks and battle through assaults that could cripple another man—or drive him insane. The idea behind this secret sect was to overthrow the government and rid the land of any practitioner who sought to use his skills and powers to punish or exploit the mundanes.”

“They couldn’t have been very successful,” Sespian said.

Amaranthe nodded as if she had heard this story before. Sicarius remained stony and impassive; one never knew if he was listening or not.

“They weren’t remotely successful,” Tikaya said. “As it turned out, it took years—
decades
—of training to master the skills to combat mages, and this was no path toward reward except for those who believed they could actually pull off a usurpation. Some did believe that to be possible, mind you, but not enough trained to become mage hunters. The organization never grew large enough to threaten the government. Still, there’s always been a mystique about them, and practitioners do indeed fear them. That’s one reason bodyguards are so often employed. There have been many assassinations by mage hunters over the centuries, with some of the great chiefs themselves falling to their blades.”

Mahliki raised a finger. “Dak said there’s a Nurian assassin in the city, so can we assume this person is a mage hunter?”

Tikaya spread her hands. Dak hadn’t shared much with her.

Sespian rotated the arrow in his hands. “Why would a mage hunter be sent after me then? I’m no practitioner. Although... that thing about kits and vixens...” He looked toward Sicarius.

Now
all
eyes turned toward Sicarius. His face remained neutral, though he considered Sespian, Mahliki, and Tikaya in turn. Then he met Amaranthe’s eyes—she was gazing at him, an expectant expression on her face.

“The honorable hunter does not kill the kits to avenge the chickens stolen by the vixen,” Tikaya murmured, repeating the translation. “Is Sespian... a kit?”

“Only if Sicarius is a vixen,” Sespian said dryly.

Amaranthe touched the back of Sicarius’s hand. “Any mage hunters on your trail that you would like to tell us about?”

“I am unaware of anyone seeking me specifically,” he said.

“Anyone you dealt with long ago, who might have kin out for revenge?”

“I dealt with many people for Emperor Raumesys.”

Tikaya shivered. The man still uttered such statements without any humanity, any hint of remorse. Amaranthe seemed a sane woman, but Tikaya had a hard time seeing why she would have chosen Sicarius for a mate.

“Mage hunter people?” Amaranthe asked.

“No.”

“Never?”

Sicarius’s eyes narrowed ever so slightly. Tikaya wouldn’t think anything of it on anyone else, but had a feeling the expression might pass for a sign of emotion from him. He glanced at the others again... and said nothing.

“Mahliki,” Tikaya said, “perhaps we should leave them to talk about assassins and mage hunters among themselves.”