Night of Knives

Her aunt’s shrug told her that she considered the full explanation beyond even her knowledge. ‘You saw these things simply because on this one night of all nights every portal, every gateway, every fault between Warrens, all open a crack. Every ghost, revenant or god can touch the world, however tenuously. So far you have been unusually lucky in your encounters, given what you may have run into, which is why-’ She stopped herself, dried her hands. ‘Well, we can talk of that later.’ She sat at Kiska’s side, took her hands in a surprisingly strong grip. ‘You see? There is too much here for any one person to get hold of. This is a night for long-awaited vengeance and desperate throws. A rare chance for the settling of old scores when the walls between this world and others weaken… when shadows slip through. Dawn will come — and it will — no matter what occurs tonight. It will, no matter who lives or dies. Tomorrow there will still be a need for spices and herbs, and for nosey non-commissioned intelligence agents who know the town. Even fat old Sub-Fist Pell will probably still command the garrison. Life goes on, you see?’

Kiska pulled her hands free. ‘I know what you’re getting at. But I can’t just sit here. Not again. Not after the riots.’

Agayla’s mouth thinned. ‘I probably saved your life, child.’

‘I’m not a child. I won’t stay locked up tonight — or forever. I can’t. I’d go insane. In any case, I’m involved. I have a message to deliver.’

Snorting lightly, Agayla waved that aside. ‘The insane predictions of a selfish, power-hungry fool.’

It did sound ridiculous — but that ancient creature, Edge-walker, accepted it. She regarded Agayla narrowly. How much did she really know of her? She called her Auntie yet no blood tie lay between them. Sometimes it seemed that half the people on the island called her that. During the enforcement of the Regent’s edict against magery, Agayla had done her best to keep her indoors, though she’d managed to be out for most of the unrest. Only for the worst, the wholesale rounding up of anyone suspected of Talent, had she kept her locked upstairs.

What a night that had been! Crying, pleading with the woman, trying to force the windows but finding them somehow impervious to her hammering. Having to content herself with merely watching and listening from the small upper window. Who could’ve guessed that fires could be so loud? The roar of the flames, the crackling and tornado of burning winds. The reek of scorched flesh; the screams. Men and women charging back and forth in the darkened streets. And the blasts — magery! Later that night she had spied from the top of the stairs, while at the door Agayla faced down a mob of rioting soldiery. Its leader had barked at her, ‘You’re under arrest, you damned witch.’ His grey surcoat and cloak appeared dark, so fresh were they from their dyeing. An Imperial Marine recruit.

Agayla had merely crossed her arms. Kiska had imagined her hard reproving stare. A look that seemed able to melt stone. The soldier had hurriedly raised a hand against the evil-eye and drawn his sword.

‘Curse me, will you-’ he snarled.

Another soldier pushed this one aside. He too wore marine greys, though these hung loose, frayed and discoloured. Kiska caught the flash of silver regimental and campaign bars at his breast. An Imperial veteran.

‘There are plenty of wax-witches and sellers of love potions elsewhere,’ Agayla told this one. ‘You aren’t going to harass me, are you, sergeant?’

This soldier drew off his gauntlets and slapped them against his cloak. Rust-red dust puffed from the cloth. Ochre dust! The very sands of Seven Cities still caked to the man’s cloak? The veteran and Agayla eyed one another. After a moment he spat to one side, muttered, ‘We’ve five cadre mages with us if push comes to shove, you know.’

‘Go ahead and summon them. But think of your mission here, sergeant. Is it to train these men, or to lose them?’

The solder snorted at that, said under his breath, ‘Train my ass.’ He inclined his helmeted head to Agayla, waved to the troop of soldiers. ‘Get a move on, you worthless camel shits.’

The one who’d been shoved aside raised his sword. ‘But Aragan, this is one of ‘em. And they say she’s-’ He eased up close to the sergeant, whispered something.

Kiska thought she heard the word rich. The veteran snatched the man’s sword from his grip and hit the flat of the blade across his shoulder. The man yelped and ducked from sight.

The sergeant shouted after him, ‘I said get a move on! Damn your worthless hides.’ He turned on Agayla, pointing. ‘You,’ the fellow ordered, ‘keep that damned door shut or I’ll come back here and drag you out by the hair.’

Agayla inclined her head in kind. ‘Yes, sergeant. I shall.’

When Agayla came back upstairs, Kiska told her that she would never forgive her for locking her inside during the most exciting day she’d ever known. Agayla had merely cocked one brow. ’Exciting?’

Now, here she was, once more in Agayla’s chambers, on another similar night. Yet again she had delivered herself into the protection — and judgement — of this woman.

Kiska cleared her throat. ‘This is what I’ve been wishing for all my life. Please. Let me do something.’ She stared to one side, not daring to catch Agayla’s eye, afraid she sounded like a spoiled child. In the air above the basin of water she saw vapour curling. Vapour?

Agayla remained silent.

‘Auntie… what is that?’

Agayla peered down. She went still, then whispered, ‘Dear Gods.’

What moments before had been a basin of hot water was now a frozen hemisphere of ice steaming next to the fire. Kiska said softly, ‘What’s going on?’

Her face rigid, Agayla rose. The fabric of her skirts whispered as she crossed to an old desk piled with scrolled correspondence. ‘Very well,’ she said brusquely. ‘I have to admit that I would prefer to keep you here against your will.’ She glanced over her shoulder. ‘But then you would never forgive me, would you?’

Kiska merely nodded, fighting a smile and the urge to throw herself at the woman’s feet.

Agayla sniffed, plucked a scroll from a cubby-hole. ‘Yes. All these years wishing for action, marooned in this forgotten corner of the Empire, and now you have it, and more than you or I expected, I should think.’ She scratched a message on a yellow sheet. ‘If you must do something or never forgive yourself — or me — then I will give you something to do.’ She rolled the parchment, sealed it with a drop from a candle, and pressed a ring into the wax.

‘Well?’ She waved Kiska over. ‘Come here. Now, take this to the man you call your target. Do what he says after he’s read it. Hmmm?’

Kiska tucked the scroll inside her shirts. ‘Yes, Auntie. Thank you so much. But who is he? Where will he be?’

Agayla waved the questions aside. ‘He wouldn’t appreciate me telling you. But if anyone can take care of you this night, he can. You’ll find him somewhere between here and Mock’s Hold. And girl, if he gets to the Hold before you reach him, don’t go in there. Promise!’

‘Yes, Auntie. I promise.’ She hugged Agayla round the neck, inhaled her scent of spices.

‘Now, child,’ she warned, pulling away, ‘you might not thank me later. I’d rather you stayed. But somehow you’ve become entangled in all this, so I must not interfere.’

Kiska nodded, adjusted her shirt, pocketed vest and cloak. She touched gingerly at the dressing over her neck and found that the pain had gone.

Agayla took one of her hands. Kiska glanced up and was surprised by how the woman studied her, her eyes warm, but with a touch of hardness. ‘There are things out there that would crush you without a thought. If you should meet one of those beasts, just stand still as if it were any normal wild animal.’ Agayla took a slow breath. ‘It should ignore you.’

Now that she was free to head out under that moon, Kiska paused. That bellowing. The scouring of those claws on cobblestones. Fear crept back. She ventured, her voice faint, ‘Yes, Auntie.’

‘Good. Now, before you go, I’ll prepare some things for you to take,’ and she led the way to the front.

Temper shouldered Coop on his back while Coop’s boots dragged behind, scoring twin trails through the mud. One of the brewer’s beefy arms was slung stiffly across one side of Temper’s neck. The other Temper trapped in his left hand, one of Salli’s largest cooking knives gripped in his right. Coop was a heavy man but Temper ignored the