The Arcana: Shadow Wars, Codex I

XIX

The Incident at the Workshop

In which the enemy makes its move

Edana reacted swiftly, launching herself into the room with one foot, twirling around on that same foot so that she shut the door the moment she cleared the entry.

Bessa’s heart leapt to her throat—keeping her screams from escaping, as she would later joke. In the moment; however, her pulse accelerated as she tried to think of her next move.

How long did Edana have? Who was the man who threatened her? Who was the hostage?

And what could she do to save them?

Only when she saw Keziah stepping back inside the front room did Bessa realize she’d run downstairs. Vaguely, she remembered last seeing Keziah giving farewells to the candidates. Good, they weren’t a factor to take into account.

The words that came from her mouth seemed to belong to someone else, but they were so perfect that Bessa didn’t question them.

“Go to the Watch,” she said quietly. “And please send in the guards.”

Keziah cocked her head at Bessa. Her lips began to form a question, which Bessa intercepted.

“Edana is in danger. Please hurry.” She didn’t wait to see if Keziah would obey, she simply turned and rushed to the workshop.

The silversmiths were still carving their wax figures, breaking open molds, or polishing their creations. Quickly, Bessa looked over their tools, trying to guess which hammer, stake, or knife would make a suitable weapon.

The scent of pitch and beeswax filled her nose, and for a moment she was transported to her childhood in the Nuriels’ workshop. Then the faces of her vinedressers came back to her, and suddenly the world became very real to her. Clarity returned.

The tongs by the oven caught her eye. Without a word Bessa strode over to the oven, swiping a towel from a work table as she went. Ever so casually, she folded the towel as she surveyed the men.

If the men weren’t here, they would be safe. Or, she could enlist them to fight the intruder. Or…

“We are under attack. Someone is holding a hostage in Edana’s apartment, and she’s there, too. Are you all accounted for?” How calm she sounded!

The smiths froze. As one, they alternated dropping their tools or mouths. Understanding dawned in their eyes when she reached back to tightly grip the tongs with the towel, and brought her would-be weapon to her side.

“I’ve sent Keziah to the Watch, and my guards—”

At that moment, two of the hired guards rushed in and looked around. One frowned, clearly confused.

“Come with me,” Bessa said briskly.

“What’s going—”

“Now.”

“Wait—”

“I think it’s the Red Daggers,” Bessa said impatiently. “We don’t have time. Those of you willing to help, go to Edana’s door. The guards and I are going in from the roof. The Red Daggers are vicious, and I won’t think less of you if you would rather not face them. But please, someone should go and make sure Keziah reached the Watch safely.”

She fled the room without waiting to see who would follow.

Outside, shadowy figures moved about on the rooftop. Pointing up at them with her tongs, Bessa directed the guards.

“There. Edana is trapped inside. My guess is the hostage is one of your own.”

The guards sprang into action, dashing up the back stairs two at a time. Bessa followed, holding the tongs out behind herself as she ran.

On the roof she narrowly avoiding tripping over the remains of two strangers, clear losers in the battle against Edana’s hired guards. Ignoring them, Bessa headed straight to her left, where she thought Edana’s apartment would be.

At the ledge she dropped to her knees and bent over to confirm her guess. Yes. A balcony below, with two doors—and one obviously broken. From inside came Edana’s voice, and Bessa’s shoulders sagged with relief. Talking meant Edana was alive.

However, the guards weren’t by her side. They were looking over the dead strangers. Bessa jerked her tongs at one of the corpses.

“His head. Quickly. Give me his head.”

The guards recoiled, and in the back of her mind Bessa was grimly amused. Obviously, the men were not Silurans, obliging Bessa to put iron in her voice when she repeated her order.

“Is—”

“The head, please, and be quick about it. We’re going in from the balcony over there. This will take the intruders by surprise, and allow us to overwhelm them. They will die. Edana and the hostage will live. Questions?”

Bessa re-wrapped the towel around the tongs, this time to cover more than the handle. Back on the ledge she swung her legs over the side. With one hand on the ledge she allowed herself to dangle onto the balcony, in front of the intact door.

This time, the guards were with her, as a backward glance proved. So silently did they move that she was glad they were on her side.

One of them handed her the head she had requested. Bessa grimaced as she struggled to hold it tightly by its hair, which was gunked with pomade. When she succeeded in getting a grip she had to suppress her macabre mirth at the sight of its open, sightless eyes.

Justice. Beheading him was justice. After all, he beheaded his victims. Perhaps they were watching, and enjoying this moment from wherever they ended up.

“Destroyer, be with me now,” Bessa whispered. Through the broken door she peered into the room.

Inside, Edana stood near the center of the room. No injury marked her, and she sounded well enough as she spoke to someone whose back was to Bessa. Between Edana and the intruder lay Bana, leader of the guards they’d hired. He was bleeding from a shoulder wound. Was it a fatal injury?

This is for you, Grandfather, Bessa said to herself. Summoning every shred of courage, Bessa let out a bloodcurdling battle cry as she hurled the head inside the room. The intruder whirled about. She had just enough time to take pride in the expression on his face as his partner’s head landed at his feet. Then the guards overtook her, rushing into the room in its wake.

The entry door flew open. The brawniest of the silversmiths cascaded through, apparently using Bessa’s scream as a signal from their side.

In no time at all the intruder was vanquished, screaming as he clutched what was left of his hand. Bessa stepped forward, coldly pressing the hot tongs into the wound to cauterize it. The reversal of her purpose made her shake her head.

Ostensibly her act gave the man medical aid, but she knew she had done him no kindness. Papouli had kept lenses in his office to use the sun’s rays to cauterize wounds, which he had told her provided superior healing. By his standard her method was barbaric, and she felt a twinge of shame.

“Papouli, if you’re watching, please forgive me,” she whispered. Aloud she said, “Edana,” but she kept her eyes on the intruder, focusing on him as she listened for Edana’s reply.

The intruder stared at Bessa in shock and horror. Calmly, Bessa met his eyes. Did she look sufficiently fearsome? In her place, either of her grandmothers would have made the man wet himself. Beneath him, the floor remained distressingly dry, so she used her foot to roll his companion’s head closer.

“Here.” Edana’s voice came from somewhere to her left, light and calm.

“Are you hurt?”

The intruder averted his gaze from Bessa, while she in turn scrutinized him. In his plain, unassuming tunic he passed for an ordinary workman. His tool belt hid his dagger in plain sight; the hilt could be taken for a tool.

“I don’t have a scratch.”

“Do you have him?” Bessa asked the guards.

The stranger eyed her warily.

“We have him,” came the cool reply. Armed with long knives and staves, five of the guards fanned out, neatly surrounding her and the intruder.

Good. Taking the tongs with her, Bessa stepped away and took in the scene. Silversmiths surrounded her and Edana. In awe and disquiet they stared, their gazes traveling from her, to the head on the floor, and back again. A few openly appraised her.

“Are you a sorceress?” one ventured to ask.

Bessa frowned, and stared at the tongs in her hand. Would a sorceress resort to a common tool? Wouldn’t she use her powers against the cutthroats?

In her stead Edana replied, “Bessa is Siluran.”

“Ahh,” the man said, as if that explained everything.

“See if Keziah has returned,” Bessa said, directing herself to the smiths. “If she made it to the Watch unharmed, we may let this man live. I count his hand as payment for Commander Bana’s shoulder. Do you agree, commander?”

As far as she knew the chief guard, Bana, was not officially ranked as a commander—he was no military officer—but it was the title bestowed on the chief guardsman in the Philomelos household. And it was not her way to skint on courtesies with people who had gone out of their way for her.

Bana grunted, and stood up. “It will do,” he growled. He clutched his shoulder, but maintained a stoic expression.

Bessa smiled. She turned to the intruder and stopped smiling. “Well, stranger, if the girl is unharmed, then your life goes on. If not, it ends here.”

Behind her, one of the smiths reported that two of their number had already gone to check on Keziah. At that moment a shout came from below.

“Kyanopolis Watch! Stay where you are!”

Footsteps pounded against the stairs to Edana’s apartment, and in only a moment they were joined by four soldiers from the Watch.

Edana smoothly took command at that moment. With a sweep of her hand she introduced her “brave smiths,” her “stalwart guards,” and her foster sister, Bessa.

“And this one here, with one hand less, is the one who wounded Bana, and threatened me—after breaking in, you see.” With that, she asked the remaining smiths to wait for her in the workshop.

Reluctantly—Bessa could clearly see they didn’t want to miss anything—the smiths went back downstairs, but not without extracting a promise from Edana to explain everything later.

“I tried, but I could not persuade my uninvited guest to share his name with me,” Edana sweetly continued once the smiths left.

One of the watchmen rubbed his neck as he stared at the head still at the intruder’s feet.

“Who was that?”

Edana glanced at Bessa, who supplied the answer.

“A friend…? Brother…? Associate…? Connected somehow to Lord One Hand here. Maybe he will tell us. Or you. The rest of the O Bodyless One is on the roof, along with the body—with head attached—of another friend-brother-associate.”

“Sooo…you took his head?” the watchman pursued, staring at Bessa as if she had two heads.

“I’m Siluran,” she said innocently, and valiantly managed to maintain her innocent expression as Edana’s shoulders shook with her silent laughter.

Bessa eyed the watchman, whose light brown hair and dark eyes suggested an ethnic Rasenan heritage. Were Silurans alone in the belief that the soul resided in one’s head?

“Oh. Right. Well then.” He cleared his throat and ordered the healer among his group to attend to Bana, then directed his attention to Lord One Hand.

“You are under arrest. You will submit yourself to our authority. Is that understood?”

The man’s eyes shifted from Bessa to the watchmen in undisguised calculation.

Bessa glanced at Edana. As usual, Edana gave nothing away. Did she need to question him? Was she as unsuccessful in questioning him as she claimed to have been? Or did she have a plan? Bessa kept silent, following Edana’s lead.

Edana folded her arms, watching silently as the guards jerked the would-be killer to his feet. One of the guards turned out to be a sorcerer, for he uttered something that made the intruder go rigid. His face slackened, a sure sign that his will was no longer his own.

Startled, Edana flinched. Didn’t sorcerers need to use blood spells to compel others? How did the sorcerer manage the compulsion spell?

The sorcerer held no knife; the only object in his hand was something clasped around his neck. He let go of it, revealing a small glass ampoule with certain glyphs etched in low relief upon it.

A blood vial.

Such objects were typically used to carry the blood of dragons or other such creatures, but the sorcerer’s bore a cartouche at the top, which would only have enclosed his own name.

Edana couldn’t help the small shudder that rippled through her. Until now, she naively assumed sorcerers intended honest dealings whenever they didn’t carry knives. How else could they cut themselves? But now she knew they had a loophole.

Two of the watchmen went up to the roof, and Edana and Bessa followed. A creaking noise made Edana glance at the far side of the roof. Her heart jumped in her throat.

In keeping with the customs of her father’s people, she kept a small dwelling on the roof for guests. For the past four years Keziah and her brother had lived there, since the dwelling included every amenity they needed.

Someone had smashed open the front door. Just barely it hung on its hinges, creaking and squeaking in the breeze.

Below her breath Edana thanked the Great Speaker that Isaac was now in Karnassus, and Keziah hadn’t needed to run back to her room for anything. Keziah may well have been taken for her; they did have the same general description.

Never in her life had Edana regretted so profoundly that she didn’t resemble her mother. If she possessed Sorcha’s inky black waves it would have protected Keziah from mistaken identity.

Edana gritted her teeth, trying to clamp down firmly on her anger. Until she knew definitively otherwise, she would assume Keziah had not been waylaid. For now, she needed to concentrate on what was in front of her.

She observed the watchmen as they examined the bodies, paying special attention to the one kneeling beside the body. A glint of light from that body caught her eye. She strode over and dropped to her haunches beside the watchman.

“Are you a sorcerer, too?” she asked.

The watchman glanced at her, surprised. “Is this just another day to you? Someone breaks in, tries to kill you, and your friend takes his head—and you’re not surprised? Impressed? Afraid?”

Edana arched an eyebrow. “I have survived worse. Neither of us are strangers to violence. Sir. Now, I ask you, are you a sorcerer?”

“Do you have enemies?”

A reasonable question, but Edana decided it was best to throw him off the scent of the true situation. Every instinct told her this was a Star Dragon affair, not one for the Watch to deal with. If Murena truly was an infernal being, then Edana would do everything in her power to avoid involving bystanders. Even ones who were sorcerers.

“None, to my knowledge, and I have no acrimonious business rivals, either. Perhaps the bandits were after a ransom.”

“Any other reason?”

“Such as?”

“You don’t appear to be married. You’re not wearing the chiton or colors of a married woman.”

Married Rasena Valentian women were permitted to wear the richest shades of blue and vermilion. Some matrons made a point of wearing at least accessories in those colors, but as far as Edana knew they weren’t legally obligated to wear those colors. As for the style of chiton…well, Edana was showing a bit of ankle, so the man had her there.

Roguishly, Edana again arched an eyebrow. He must be new to Kyanopolis, she said, if he didn’t know that Terebinthian women didn’t use colors to distinguish marital status.

“And for the record, I am skeptical that marriage-by-kidnapping is on the menu here. Let’s stick with I-have-lots-of-money-to-pay-a-ransom. For all I know, the killers were here about my partner, who lives in Valentis.”

The watchman stared steadily at her, and Edana was forthright in returning his stare. She broke the stalemate by speaking first.

“If you are not a sorcerer, I would like for you to get the one you brought with you, please. Look at the necklace this one is wearing.”

Nothing unusual about the necklace, as least for her: a good luck charm from Yriel. Mama’s homeland. Pearl divers by trade, the Yriellans also set great store by the charms they sold in market stalls throughout Silura. Of course, Mama never made those charms; she abandoned Yriellan beliefs once she decided to worship the Speaker.

While on the one hand Edana was pleased her mother’s people had penetrated as far as Kyanopolis…on the other hand she hoped their baubles were not yet widely known.

With a wry smile she mentally acknowledged her plan depended on the watchman being ignorant.

The watchman seized the necklace. His brow furrowed, and he turned the pendant over in his hands. “Is this some kind of spell?”

As he examined the necklace, Edana casually placed her hand over the dead man’s. “Surely your sorcerer could apprise you?”

The watchman got to his feet, and turned to shout at his partner to “go get Lucius.”

Seizing the opportunity, Edana slipped off the ring she’d spotted on the dead man’s right hand. Surreptitiously she hid it in the sash she wore around her waist.

Excitement made her nerves tingle. The ring was sardonyx, but it bore a concave glyph, which suggested it was not a seal ring. A keystone, surely. Did it, too, lead to Murena? She shook herself. More likely it led to whatever den or sewer or lair the Red Daggers dwelt in.

The second watchman hurried off, and returned a few moments later with Lucius. When Lucius came up, the second watchman went back downstairs. Observing this, Edana suspected a time limit on how long a sorcerer’s compulsion endured. Therefore, the watchmen couldn’t risk a formerly-compelled prisoner getting a jump on them, hence two guards at a time.

As soon as Lucius jogged over, Edana stood up and went over to Bessa. Bessa stared at Edana’s sash, but said nothing. Sheer force of will kept Edana from grabbing Bessa and rushing downstairs. Since she had so insistently called attention to the necklace, it would seem odd not to stay and hear Lucius assay it.

After a moment Lucius determined it was a benign charm, and of no consequence. He did not recognize its provenance, and Edana exhaled in relief.

From their chatter, it was clear the watchmen weren’t making any findings she needed to know about. As soon as she was sure they were engaged in only routine duties, Edana announced she was returning to the workshop. The watchmen nodded perfunctorily. To her surprise they followed her a short while later.

More of their number awaited inside; apparently the watchmen were loath to leave with the prisoner until they were sure the place was secure.

Lord One Hand—Edana shook her head at Bessa’s droll humor—was still docile as they led him away. How fast could the Star Dragons would break him out of the prison once she alerted them? Or, would they question him on the spot? She wanted to hurry now to Lady Nensela, who possessed a seer’s ability to use any reflecting surface to contact anyone she pleased.

In the workshop her smiths were chatting excitedly with Keziah, who stood in their midst, alongside someone Edana recognized from their temple. Seth, Keziah’s betrothed. Until Keziah’s letter announcing her betrothal, Edana had thought Seth was simply Isaac’s friend. But the protective arm he held around Keziah underscored that Isaac was merely the pretext for Seth coming to her shop so often.

She spared a moment to assess him. Respected by all who knew him, Seth always volunteered his assistance in times of crisis—and not only with Keziah. He was kind, good humored, and quick witted. Furthermore, Edana had seen for herself that he was a skilled and clever carpenter, so he should not have any trouble providing for Keziah and any children they might have. An excellent choice.

Quickly, Edana gave them the bare bones version of Lady Nensela’s warning to hire guards, and explained that she had walked in on an intruder fighting one of those guards. They accepted this easily enough.

Lady Nensela was the key factor. Eitanim usually kept foreign prophets at arm’s length, when they didn’t actively disregard them. However, Lady Nensela was Ta-Setian, and Eitanim and Ta-Setians shared history together. In times past Ta-Setians fought by their side, and offered either refuge or assistance. It was also not unusual for Ta-Setians to live in Eitan.

On rare occasions, Lady Nensela strongly hinted she was part of that history. She respected the Great Speaker, and Eitanite customs, and fluently spoke their language. All of which made the Eitanim of Kyanopolis willing to heed her when she spoke, and Edana traded on that now.

“What of us? Will we be safe here?”

“I will hire a new set of guards for just this shop alone. And, if Keziah would like an escort to Eitan, I will provide that as well. But there’s more,” she said, and took a deep breath.

She told them of Lady Nensela’s vision of the giants, and all who the giants had attacked so far, including Bessa’s vineyard, and the Battle of Red Pointe. Last, she told them of the Pendrys’ new weapon.

“This matter is not limited to Silura or the Cauldron or other places. All of Rasena Valentis is under attack.” Yes, even Eitan, though she didn’t say that part aloud. “Keziah is not the only one of us who will be leaving town. I must leave, too. I truly thought I would come and go too quickly for anyone to threaten this place, but I was wrong, and I’m sorry.”

They looked bewildered, and Edana wasn’t sure why. Did they feel betrayed? Well why wouldn’t they, after she failed so miserably to shield them from harm? Had the Red Daggers scried for her whereabouts in particular? Were they watching her shop all along, waiting for her return? Her fingers unconsciously strayed to her sash, where she’d hidden the keystone.

Visions of Bessa’s vinedressers came to her, and she clenched her fist. Fortunate. Lord One Hand was damned fortunate to be in the tender care of the Watch, and far away from her firestone blades.

Edana stared at the faces of her craftsmen. For the past five years she worked hard to win acceptance among the other Eitanim of Kyanopolis. To prove having an Yriellan mother and growing up in Silura did not make her less than. Captain Asher was right about one thing: knowledge of the Sayings of Truth could serve to smooth the way.

Even so, Edana’s Siluran accent, customs—and most of all her name—counted against her. Silurans were so strange, so suspect a people after all. Barbarians! But her mother had named her for her own sister.

She stood up for what was right. May you live to do the same, Mama had said to her. Bearing the name of her aunt, who had died long before Edana was born, was an honor Edana would never allow anyone to take from her. Changing her name to fit in was not an option.

The men arrayed in her workshop, and Keziah, had welcomed her, and helped her to assimilate into the community. They didn’t demand she give up her mother’s legacy as a precondition of acceptance, and she treasured that about them. The knowledge that she had endangered them made her heartsick.

“There is one more thing. Tell everyone you can what I have told you here. In Silura I saw evidence that someone is actively trying to hinder us from defending ourselves against the giants. Someone wants them to win. I don’t know what their goal is…but I do know a Sleepless Enemy is involved.”

Sleepless Enemy was how the Eitanim referred to fellshades and other malevolent spirits.

Edana had carefully reserved that detail for last. As with Silurans, Eitanim were likely to see the giants as not their problem. The giants’ attacks were a Rasena Valentian affair, and whatever happened to the empire was not their concern—so long as they were unscathed.

Indeed, Eitan might benefit from the destruction of Rasena Valentis; surely Eitan would regain its independence.

However, the malevolent entities of Erebossa had certain arresting, attention-grabbing qualities, which Edana was certain would focus her smiths’ minds on the possibility that there were more important things at stake than temporal politics. If her coming journey wouldn’t take her to Eitan, she wanted the ones gathered before her to make use of their connections to warn any kinfolk who resided there.

At this news, the room grew so quiet she could hear the dulcet tones of the harpist rehearsing next door. The others exchanged looks.

“It’s that serious?” Zedekiah demanded.

“It is,” she confirmed.

Everyone began talking at once, peppering Edana with questions when they weren’t making interjections. Suddenly, Keziah broke free and came up to her. To Edana’s surprise, Keziah hugged her, clasping her in a tight embrace.

“You carry a heavy burden,” she solemnly observed. “May the Great Speaker be with you. Know that wherever you go, whatever you must do, you take with you our love.”