The Cutting Edge (5 page)

"And I can think of three that tried it and vanished without trace. Thume is totally unpredictable."

Shandie sighed. "Then Hushipi will have to handle the gnomes without me. Omnipotence ... tell me about the caliph."

"What about the caliph?"

"Is it personal, his feud with the Impire? When my grandfather dies, will he relent? Gods know, I don't want a war with a united Zark!" Without looking around he said, "Sit down, Signifer. "

Gratefully Ylo tottered over to a chest.

The warlock was shaking his head. "I don't think so. He's spent sixteen years making himself overlord. No one's ever managed to unite the djinns before, except after the Impire's invaded and they want to throw us out again. Yes, he has a personal grudge against your grandfather, but I don't think he'll stop now."

There was a moment's silence, and then Olybino chuckled. "After all, you were there, too."

Shandie looked startled. "Where?"

"In the Rotunda. You were only a child, but you were a witness when Emshandar insulted him."

"Stole away his wife, you mean?"

"Exactly. The woman who is now queen of Krasnegar."

"And that's what's been driving the man all these years?"

"Djinns never forget an insult, and Caliph Azak is no ordinary djinn."

"No, he isn't," Shandie agreed mournfully. "The Impire is being stretched very thin, Omnipotence."

"A few more victories like today's and it will be stretched much thinner. "

"Exactly!" the prince snarled. "As I said-you could have helped! "

Ylo held his breath, but the warlock merely smiled. He stretched like a great bear; lamplight flickered on the jewels of his cuirass and rippled on the muscles of his forearms. "Why should I help in every little feint?"

"Feint? Karthin was a feint?" Shandie leaped to his feet. "What's he up to?"

No more! Certainly Ylo would like to see the caliph taught a lesson, a real lesson, but not now. Not with this army. In a month or two, maybe ...

Olybino was grinning big white teeth. "Ever heard of the Gauntlet? "

"No."

"It's a traders' pass through the foothills, just outside of Ullacarn. While you're licking your wounds here, the caliph is pushing his army through it. He'll take the city, cut you off ... The harbor at Garpoon is all silted up, of course. Four legions-"

"God of Slaughter! Tell me! "

"I'm trying to, sonny! As far as I know, no one's ever brought an army through there, because it's got more good ambush sites than there are fleas on a camel, but the caliph happens to know it personally-"

Shandie stamped afoot. "We can intercept?"

Olybino rubbed his hands together in a gesture that seemed totally out of keeping with appearance, something an old man might do, not a youthful giant. "He'll be all strung out in column of route, and you can come in on a side track and cut him like a snake."

"A map! I need a map!"

The warlock shrugged and held out a roll of vellum that he had not been holding a moment earlier. Ylo's gut tightened at this evidence of sorcery.

Shandie took it, but he did not open it. "Your Omnipotence, I ask a favor. "

"I thought you might. " The warlock's deadly gaze settled on Ylo, who cringed. He just could not take any more of this! "It's his first battle," Shandie said. "He's beat, and I need him. I was hoping to go over his duties with him tonight, if you would help-and now I need him even more!"

Olybino chuckled. "Perk him up a bit, you mean?"

Aargh! Ylo sprang to his feet, feeling as if he'd been struck by lightning. The tent blazed brighter for him. Even the fur on his wolfskin seemed to crackle. A moment before he had been slumped down, trembling with exhaustion, and suddenly he was up and shaking with a fierce desire to do something, fight someone, run somewhere ... His aches and weariness had vanished and he was as eager for action as a yearling colt.

Shandie looked him over, and smiled. "Thank you, Omnipotence. Signifer, get me the proconsul! I don't care how you do it, but get him here now! "

Ylo shouted, "Yessir! " and raced from the tent.

Three days after the Battle of Karthin, as the Caliph's forces threaded the deadly narrows of the Gauntlet, the Imperial legions stole in on their flank under sorcerous concealment, like an invisible razor moving to sever a sleeper's throat.

At the Keez Place, beyond the ranges, the old woman Phain lay still a-dying.

The Blood Laws forbade anyone to remain within earshot of the Departing, except the Watcher, but a woman knew best where her own duty was. So Frial had found herself a convenient stump at the edge of the clearing, and there she sat and wove a basket. She had woven a heap of baskets these last three days, until her fingers were sore and she had denuded the area of withes. Her grandmother would die in her own good time, no doubt, as the old dear had always done everything in her own good time.

Frial did not need to be there. There were many relatives and neighbors more than ready to keep an eye on little Thaile for her, and the Gods knew that there were enough chores piling up back at the Gaib Place to keep her busy from dawn till duskbut she was going to remain here, where Thaile could see her anytime she wanted to look, and be comforted.

The weather was remarkably good for so early in the year. The rainy season seemed to have tailed off into scattered showers, and there were thick trees to shield her from those.

It was a pleasant enough Place, with the stream chattering and the great cottonwoods towering like guardians all around. Beyond them, the wall of the Progistes formed a jagged barrier against the sky, white on blue, and they were a comforting sight. The forested slope of Kestrel Ridge closed off the west. The glade was carpeted with cool ferns. She liked the Gaib Place better, set in its own protective little hollow, but she knew lots worse-cottages built out in the open, even, visible for leagues. Gave her the shivers, some of them.

The Keez Place must have been even better, long years ago, when her grandfather had chosen it. A couple of others had crowded in since then, indecently close. Her own brother, Vool, now, and his snarly wife Wiek ... the Vool Place was far too close, barely out of sight over the rise. Shameful!

That same pestering brother had come to see how she was doing, hovering around her like a midge, sending out waves of discomfort. He'd been a fusspot as a child, Vool, and he was a fusspot now, at forty.

"It could be a long time yet, Frial." He had settled on a fallen log to be miserable in comfort.

"I'm sure it will seem longer to Thaile," Frial said complacently. "She's a very sensitive child."

"Like you," he agreed. "You were always sensitive. Always the most sensitive of the family. Even before your Watch. " Vool himself wasn't sensitive, she thought, eyeing her own busy fingers. If he'd been the least bit sensitive, he would never have married that born-miserable, complaining wife of his. His face had taken on a morose look right after his marriage and never lost it.

"It's not always a blessing, " she said. Like now, for instance. Frial was not merely sensitive; she had the talent they called Feeling. She could Feel people's emotions farther than she could hear their voices, often. Right now she could mostly Feel Vool's misery. He was unhappy because he lived closest to the Keez Place, where old Phain lived-and was now dying-and that made him feel responsible, although he wasn't. He was unhappy because Frial was here and his irritable wife was just over there, and he knew they did not get along. And he was unhappy because he had two kids of his own who would be due for Death Watch very soon.

Over in that ramshackle cottage, little Thaile was dozing, most like. At any rate, she was less worried than she'd been for the last four days. The old woman was asleep, certainly, for Frial could Feel the confused, meaningless patterns of dreams.

And in the distance, her ill-tempered sister-in-law was worrying as hard as always, and probably about nothing. There were happy children somewhere down the hill, and they helped.

The cottage was a disgrace. Why hadn't some of the family kept it in better repair for the old woman? Frial herself would have, if she had lived near, and Gaib would have helped, too, just for her sake. Gaib helped out lots of neighbors, not even relatives, sometimes walking half a day to take supplies to an elderly friend or fresh food to an invalid. Gaib was a truly kind man. Of course a woman with Feeling couldn't have married any other sort. The thought of being married to a brooding type like Vool made her skin crawl.

And now he was dredging up one of his worries to share with her. She held out her basket to admire, but before she could draw his attention to it, he launched into one of his frequent complaints.

"I think all this is wrong! A kid shouldn't have to do a Death Watch on a relative. Makes it a lot harder."

"You know there was no one else in the area qualified. Lucky we'd dropped by, really. "

He was not deterred. "Well, Thaile shouldn't have to do a Watch anyway! It's a waste of words, and we ought to tell the recorders so. "

Frial sighed, having heard all this before. He was brooding about his own brood. "The recorders know best, Vool."

"Maybe they do. Maybe they don't. Maybe they just think wed be offended if our family was taken off the Gifted list. Maybe if we offered, they'd be glad to."

"Glad to what? " she muttered absently, wondering about the chickens back at the Gaib Place. They'd be laying all over the landscape at this time of year, and Gaib would be too engrossed with digging over the vegetable patch to give them a thought. When she got back, there'd be no eggs pickled, and the hawks too fat to fly.

"Glad to take our family off the list, of course! None of our relatives have shown any real Faculty for generations. "

That wasn't true, she thought with a shiver. The recorders had been very interested in her Feeling. They'd eventually decided it wasn't quite strong enough to show she had a true Faculty, but for a while she'd been very worried, and her parents, also. They obviously hadn't told Vool, or else he'd conveniently forgotten. Vool himself had neither Faculty nor any special talent at all, except perhaps for fussing.

"If what you say is true, then we have nothing to care about. "

"But it's a waste of magic!"

"That's recorders' business, Vool." Their worry, not his. "You want to come over to our Place for some lunch?" he muttered, abandoning the argument.

And be close to that grouch of a sister-in-law? "No, thanks. But I'd sure appreciate a bite if you could bring one again, like before. "

"It's sure to rain later," Vool muttered, glowering up at the cloudless sky. "You'll sleep at our Place tonight. All this sleeping out of doors'll give you rheumatics for certain."

Her worry, not his.

"I'll survive," she said, unwilling to admit to her sore hips.

"And . . ."

Pain! She dropped the basket. "What's wrong, Frial?"

"I think it's come," she mumbled, staring at the cottage. Wake up, Thaile!

"Grammy?" Vool demanded nervously.

Frial nodded. The old woman was awake, and her pain and fear were rolling like thunder across the glade.

Then Frial Felt her daughter awake, also. Confusion! Alarm! Oh, Thaile, my darling! Fear! Terror!

Terror from the dying Phain ... terror from the child . . . Frial clenched her fists, fighting the urge to rush to the aid of a daughter in distress.

Then calm intervening. Resolution. Sympathy. Thaile was coping, good girl!

"It's going to be all right," she muttered, conscious of perspiration wetting her face, aware also of Vool's concern close to her. He jumped up and came across and hugged her, and for a moment his worry blanketed all the other sendings. She had never realized how much she mattered to him! She began to weep as the clamor of emotions rang again in her head.

Panic. Agony! She cried out. Love, then, and help ...

It was over. Confusion from little Thaile as the word registered. Huge torrents of concern from Vool. Relief and peace and almost happiness fading as the old woman passed away . . .

"It's done!" Frial wiped her eyes and tried to stand up. Her brother held her down.

"Wait, love," he said. "You're shaky still. It isn't your Watch. Thaile will do fine, I'm sure. We don't need to worry about Thaile. "

Fancy Vool talking like that! She felt guilty at having thought poorly of him for so long. He did care.

"Yes," she agreed, striving to relax. Old Grammy had passed on her word of power and gone to the last weighing, and the Gods would find much good in that kindly old soul, and very little evil. Her balance would join the Good, and ... and ... and Frial was weeping, which was silly and not like her. She ought to be concerned for her daughter, who had just had a shattering experience. But Vool was right; Thaile was fourteen now, and a young woman, really, not a child anymore.

It would be all right. There was nothing to worry about. No one in their family had shown any real Faculty for generations, she reminded herself sternly. Of course she did have Feeling, and Gaib had a wonderful gift for green things. But those were details, just talents. Everyone had some sort of talent, even if it was only for worrying. Nothing directly to do with Faculty.

They would have to wash the body now, and gather all the relatives for the wake, and . . .

Terror! Now what? Something new ... Awful. "Mother! Mother!"

Thaile raced out of the cottage and came hurtling across the glade, long arms flailing for balance, close-cropped hair awry. Even at that distance, Frial could see the pallor on her face. She cried out and tore loose from her brother. She sprang up and ran to meet her daughter.

They collided into an embrace hard enough to knock the breath out of both of them. The child was sobbing, almost screaming. Hysterical. Terror and agony . . .

"Thaile! Thaile! What's wrong?"

The thin body was shuddering with pain. Stricken young eyes huge with terror . . . "Can't you Feel it?"

"Feel what?" Frial shouted. All she could Feel was her daughter's own freezing dread, so close.