Dagger's Edge (Shadow series) (17 page)

Such as melting a hole in a stone altar?

Or perhaps, drunk on Bluebright, melting a metal drinking mug?

Jael put down the precious dagger and scrabbled in her coin box, pulling out a copper piece. She cupped the coin in her hands, staring intently at it. She willed the copper piece to melt. She stared at the coin, concentrating until her head throbbed and her eyes burned. At last she put the coin down with a sigh of disgust.

Apparently
that
part of her wasn’t going to work, either.

As Jael put the blades on the table beside her bed and crawled under the covers, however, she could not feel wholly unhappy. She’d come back from the Heartwood still incomplete, but reaching out to touch the hilt of the sword, she felt that perhaps, just perhaps, today she had found a piece of what was missing.

In the morning Jael presented herself promptly and confidently to Rabin and Larissa. If she had hoped some vestige of the
rightness
and ease she had felt with the Kresh sword might have carried over to her lessons with a wooden practice sword, however, Jael was disappointed. Rabin and Larissa both encouraged her, Larissa complimenting Jael’s improvement in unarmed combat. The practice sword, however, felt dead and clumsy in her hands, and the moves Rabin taught her felt awkward and foreign. Jael longed to bring out the Kresh sword, but while Mother might trust Rabin, the same might not be true of Larissa. Jael made a mental note to ask Mother if she could bring the sword to the afternoon lessons when she worked with Rabin alone.

At dinner, however, Mother and Father were distant and preoccupied, and Jael decided not to broach the subject of the sword. An elven merchant had disappeared somewhere between the Golden Grape tavern and his home above his shop in the Mercantile District, vanished as if by magic. No one knew whether the disappearance in the Mercantile District could be related to the two elves found dead in Rivertown, but Jael knew what Donya and Argent feared—that another round of elven murders was beginning as it had during the Crimson Plague. No wonder Mother was encouraging her to improve her combat skills, even at the expense of her other studies.

After dinner Rabin presented Jael with the sword he had commissioned. It was a beautiful little sword, shorter than the Kresh blade but not quite as light. The hilt fitted her hand exquisitely, but the sword felt inert and dead in her hand, balanced wrongly, clumsily heavy and straight. As she worked with the sword, she felt Rabin’s disappointment—despite the sword he had commissioned and the allowances he tried to make for her size and build, she still moved too slowly and awkwardly. He was also disappointed that she was canceling her lessons for the next day.

“There isn’t much I can do until you build more strength in your arms and master the moves I taught you,” Rabin said, shaking his head. “Why don’t you spend your afternoons practicing on your own until then? And you’re never going to improve, Jaellyn, until you commit yourself to regular lessons and regular practice. A day here and a day there won’t be enough.”

Jael sighed and agreed. She knew Rabin was right— certainly she needed all the practice she could get—but it was much pleasanter to spend her time running through the market with Tanis or riding with Urien than being battered by Rabin and Larissa. A soak in the bathing pools could work some of the knots out of her muscles, but all it did for her bruises was to turn them brilliant shades of yellow and green.

In her room, however, Jael found that Mother or Father had thought ahead of her. A clay pot of ointment awaited her on her bedside table. The stuff had a disagreeable, pungent odor, and it caused a strange tingling, burning sensation on her skin, but it coaxed the last soreness from her muscles and healed her bruises. This was peasant magic at its simplest, so simple that even Jael could not affect it—not even a spell, just the proper combination of herbs and other ingredients.

The next morning, Jael was doubly grateful for the salve’s efficacy, although she dared not put any on in the morning because of its strong odor. It had been some time since Jael had gone riding; Argent did not ride, Donya rarely rode for pleasure unless she was hunting, and riding alone had never appealed to Jael.

Today, however, Jael and Urien were favored with a sunny day and a warm breeze, and they ferried across the Brightwater to ride south. The fields of grain were golden and ripe, and farmers were busy in most of them, bringing in the harvest. Wagons were laden with fruits and vegetables bound either back to the farms or directly to the market in Allanmere.

Jael and Urien found a comfortable spot on the banks of one of the many small streams that divided the fanners’ lands. The guards spread a blanket and laid out the dinner, then retired to a distance out of sight, but within calling range. Jael noticed how accustomed Urien’s guards were to this process, and she wondered uncomfortably how many young ladies of noble birth Urien had invited on similar expeditions.

The dinner Urien had brought was no elaborate meal as their previous supper had been; this was meat pies and roast fowl and fresh bread, a few sausages and some fresh fruit. Jael lounged comfortably on the blanket, enjoying the simple food and the fact that here it didn’t matter if her second-best tunic looked rumpled.

“Did you receive my gift?” Urien asked at last, when Jael groaned and shook her head at his offer of another pie.

“Gift?” Jael searched her mind. Surely none of the servants would have misplaced anything he sent, or Mother intercepted—

“The salve,” Urien told her. “You mentioned sword practice when we parted two days ago. I remembered my own days of sword training. That ointment used to spare me a good deal of pain after a vigorous lesson.”

“The salve!” Jael was instantly relieved. “Oh, you sent that. I thought maybe Father had made it up, being an herbalist. Yes, thank you. It worked wonderfully. It was kind of you to think of it, especially with your eyes watering from tanning fumes.”

“Actually, the odors of tanning were what reminded me of the salve,” Urien laughed. “It has a rather burning odor of its own.”

That made Jael laugh, too, and she was grateful to feel so comfortable with Urien after the rather awkward incident of two nights before.

“And how do your sword lessons progress?” Urien asked interestedly.

“Not very well,” Jael admitted. “I’m clumsy as a newborn calf. All I can seem to do is fall over my own feet.”

Urien shook his head sympathetically.

“Then you must apply yourself even more faithfully,” he said. “A lovely young lady and a High Lord’s daughter must be able to protect herself.”

“Especially now,” Jael sighed.

“Oh?” Urien frowned. “Have you been threatened? Is there any danger? Jaellyn, remember that my guards and my sword are always at your—”

“Nothing like that,” Jael said hurriedly. “But didn’t you hear what’s happened? Two elves were murdered in River-town, and now another elven merchant has disappeared.”

Urien raised both eyebrows.

“Baaros bless us, I hadn’t heard,” he said worriedly. “What a terrible thing. All elves, did you say? I hope none of Ankaras’s teachings at the temple might have inspired whatever rogues committed such a deed.”

“I’m sure it’s nothing to do with the Temple of Baaros,” Jael assured him. “Likely the two aren’t even related. The two elves in Rivertown were probably done by some new assassin wanting to make a reputation, and as far as we can say, the elven merchant sneaked out of town ahead of some angry creditors or got his throat slit in some alleyway for his gold.”

Urien sighed, shaking his head.

“Nonetheless, this worries me,” he said. “You must be very careful in town, Jaellyn. I would have thought again about this trip if I’d known.”

“Oh, wait, now,” Jael protested hurriedly. “There’s four guards close enough to spit on in a good wind. The city should be safe enough, at least during the day in the good areas.”

“Well, it’s as well that I didn’t buy the house near Rivertown, then,” Urien chuckled. “Else they’d likely find
me
lying in some alley. I can hardly thank you enough for your assistance and advice.”

“What about Merchant Numan’s house?” Jael asked. “Have you bought it already?”

“Tomorrow the scribes will record the transaction,” Urien told her. “My servants have already moved my belongings there. In a day or two, when the household is settled and I’ve hired additional servants, I hope you will do me the honor of supping with me to celebrate.”

“I’d enjoy that,” Jael said, although her stomach fluttered a little. Supping with a young lord in his home was very different from dining in a public inn with guards just outside the door, or picnicking in an open clearing with her guards only a call away.

They chatted comfortably about nothing of consequence after the dinner. Urien found a tree that grew out over the creek, roots stretching into the bank, and Jael pulled off her boots and dangled her feet into the cold water, throwing scraps of bread into the creek for the ducks and laughing when tiny fish swam up to nibble at her toes. Urien picked blue and purple rush flowers and braided them into a circlet for Jael’s hair.

“Your eyes are just the color of new bronze,” Urien said, laying the circlet gently on her head. “The way they turn gives you an exotic beauty, like some shy forest creature.”

Jael smiled shyly. Apparently Urien did not know enough about the local elves to realize what “forest creatures” they truly were. She had never thought of herself as having any kind of beauty, exotic or otherwise; the only description she had ever heard applied to her appearance was “strange.” It was Urien who looked wonderfully exotic with his delicately angular features, his feathery black hair and pale skin. He looked, Jael realized, like some magical person out of a poem or a legend.

“Are you a mage?” Jael asked suddenly, boldly.

Urien raised his eyebrows at the sudden change of subject.

“I have some magical ability,” he said. “But in the Temple of Baaros it’s customary that we place our magic in service to the temple, using it only for rituals and within the confines of the temple itself. I’ve never learned much secular magic, if that’s what you mean.”

Jael stifled a sigh of relief. At least he wouldn’t be casting any spells for her to ruin.

They rode back to the castle at midafternoon, Urien apologizing that he had business at the temple. Jael ran back to her room, changed into her old clothes, and grabbed the sword her mother had given her; she had the rest of the afternoon free and the practice field to herself, an ideal opportunity to put a few more nicks in the practice poles.

A straw-stuffed dummy had been set up for the twins’ practice; Jael drew her dagger and practiced some of the simpler turns, kicks, and lunges Larissa had shown her. In
this,
at least, Jael felt she was improving; perhaps she was not quite so clumsy and slow as before.

Then again, how badly could she fare against a straw dummy?

When she was moving easily, her muscles loosened, Jael put away the dagger and drew her sword. Since she had already “decapitated” one of the practice poles, she supposed there was no harm in damaging it further.

Once again, however, Jael found that the style Rabin had taught her felt foreign and wrong, her limbs seeming to rebel against them, her feet becoming clumsy and her hands slow. The lightness of her sword made her overbalance every time she turned or struck, although she managed to “behead” the practice pole twice more. Experimenting, Jael found her own rhythm, her own form, that seemed easier and more natural to her—neither Donya’s strength and blunt ferocity, Rabin’s calculated and deliberate precision, nor Mist’s birdlike grace. At first she was doubtful—she knew nothing about swordplay, no doubt of that, and who was she to scorn the advice of everyone who’d taught her? But as she moved, she could feel a pattern growing in her movements, a smooth liquidity that flowed from sword tip to feet and back again. As her confidence grew, Jael found that it took only a small adjustment to wield the sword in one hand, although the long hilt left ample room for two; Jael believed that when her wrists and forearms were stronger, she could be equally effective either way.

At last, almost regretfully, Jael paused to take a swallow of water from one of the jugs left on the practice field. To her surprise, her mother was sitting on the wall, a sort of puzzled pride in her expression.

“That was good, but Rabin didn’t teach you that, nor did I,” Donya said, handing Jael the jug. “Is that Mist’s style?”

“No,” Jael said abashedly. “The things Mist showed me don’t seem to work very well. I keep tripping.”

“Mmmm.” Donya slid off the wall and took the sword from Jael’s hand, eyeing it thoughtfully. “No, I see your problem. This blade’s too light for Rabin’s style and mine, and too long for Mist’s, not to mention the curve of the blade and its sharpness. I had some difficulty with this sword myself. It asked me to unlearn everything I’d been taught and had used for years; that’s why I soon went back to my own sword.”

“It asked—” Jael hesitated. “It’s not a magical sword, is it, Mother?”

“No, no,” Donya said, laughing. “Warriors and their swords. Sometimes on the road or in battle I’d talk to mine. I’ve caught other warriors doing the same. Some sing to their blades. Shadow used to tease me that at night, when I’d taken out my sword to oil and polish it, I held it like a lover. That’s not as far afield as she thought. When you come to know a blade, all the secrets it tells you, all the special, personal techniques it shows you in time, it becomes something of a friend. When it’s saved your life a couple of dozen times, it’s hard to think of your sword as just a piece of metal. You make it part of you. That’s what you were doing just now—listening to your sword, letting it teach you, getting to know it. That’s the only real way to learn.”

“But how can I really learn if I can’t use it against a person in practice?” Jael asked, frustrated. “The practice swords are made differently, and they’re heavier, and they feel wrong.”

“Hmmm.” Donya squinted critically at the sword again. “I’d offer to don my mail and have a go with you, but an unlucky hit by either of us wouldn’t do the other much good, would it? Well, we’ll just have to have a good metal guard made to cover the edge, but light enough that it won’t hurt the balance. The guard’s a good idea in any wise, so we don’t have to continually replace the practice pole.”