The Assassins of Altis Read online

  “I know nothing of the area at all.”

  Mari winced as she moved, pulling her pack around to dig out the map she had brought with her all the way from the Bakre Confederation. She studied it for a little while, then shook her head. “I can’t tell how far we’ve gotten or where we need to go next. But we need to get moving.”

  “Yes. Which way?”

  She frowned again, then looked up at the sun. “South. It’s not directly away from Marandur, but it should take us to some secondary roads running to Palandur. There’ll be plenty of traffic on those roads, even in the winter, and we’ll just be two more travelers.”

  Alain thought about the pristine stretches of snow outside the small patch of woods they occupied. “How do we avoid leaving a clear trail for the Imperials to follow?”

  Mari didn’t say anything for a while. “I have no idea,” she finally said. “There are no other tracks out there? Nothing we could use to cover our own?”

  “There are the tracks made by the lumber wagon and its horses.”

  She made a helpless gesture. “We’ll have to use those. Which means we have to wait here at least until the wagon leaves.” Mari’s expression brightened. “That might actually work out. I’ve seen how the Imperials handle trying to catch someone. They set up checkpoints and send out patrols, gradually expanding the search.”

  “This helps us how?” Alain asked.

  Mari drew a circle in the snow before her, then another larger one around it, then an even bigger one around that. “It helps us because the Imperials assume their prey is running at the best pace it can manage. Therefore as they expand their perimeter their checkpoints have to cover wider areas. While we wait here, the checkpoints and patrols will think we’re doing the sensible thing and running like crazy, so they’ll keep searching areas we haven’t gone to. By the time we start out tonight, the Imperials will have searched this whole area and already declared it clear.”

  Alain considered the diagrams, nodded, then asked a question. “But what if they find us while they are searching this area?”

  “That is the one weak point in the plan. We’ll have to keep an eye out for search parties and react as best we can.” Mari glanced around. “We should have a much better chance of evading searchers in these woods than out in the open, so it’s the option we’ve got. Can you still sense that Mage?”

  “Yes, but he is not close.”

  “Let’s hope he stays distant.” Mari settled back against the twin trees again, wincing. “I am so cold, and so tired, and so hungry, and so thirsty. Can Mages make food or wine?”

  “How could Mages do that?” Alain asked, startled by the question.

  “They make dragons.”

  “That is different.”

  Mari gave him one of her narrow-eyed looks, then pulled the blanket up over her head. “Don’t bother me until nightfall unless you see Imperials or find food.”

  “I have food in my pack. The university sent some extra with us. Your pack was already loaded with your tools, so they—” Alain stopped speaking as Mari yanked the blanket down and glared at him. “Had I not mentioned that before?”

  “No,” she replied in her dangerous voice. “You had not mentioned that. So you have more food?”

  “Yes.”

  “What about drink?”

  “Just water.”

  “When were you planning on telling me about that? Before or after I collapsed from hunger and thirst?”

  Alain paused to think, deciding not to answer that last question directly. “I was trained not to think about physical discomforts like food and drink, so I do not always feel such things as you do.”

  Her anger subsided as quickly as it had arisen. “Sorry. I know your acolyte training was very rough.”

  “Perhaps we should eat now.”

  “Perhaps we should,” Mari muttered.

  He got out the food, which while sparse still represented a generous gift from the university, whose inhabitants were always on lean diets. Mari let him back under the blankets, so that even though it was still icy cold outside they were able to share their warmth. “I’m sorry I’ve been in a bad mood,” she finally mumbled again in apology. “We’re both under a lot of pressure, and we’re both suffering from the cold and all the walking in the snow we’ve had to do. I don’t have any right to act like I’m the only one suffering. How are you doing?”

  “It could be much worse,” Alain said.

  “Yeah. And it probably will be,” Mari said. “Can I ask what is probably a silly question about Mage stuff?”

  “Of course,” Alain said. “I know many of my questions about Mechanic things sound odd to you.”

  “Fair enough,” Mari said. “Why can’t Mages make food if they can create something like a Dragon? Why can’t you imagine into existence a steak or a roast chicken?”

  “It would not be worth the effort expended,” Alain said. “The amount of strength and power required to create such a thing would exceed whatever benefit the food would give.”

  “Wow,” Mari said. “That actually makes sense to me.”

  “But it does not matter,” Alain continued, “because there would be no benefit to it. What Mages create is an imitation. Dragons, trolls, and other spell creatures do not live, they imitate living creatures. They bleed, but it is not blood. They have muscles and other flesh, but it is not actual meat.”

  “What does it taste like?” Mari asked, staring at him, her expression both fascinated and revolted.

  “I have not tasted it,” Alain said. “An elder once told my group of acolytes that it is like eating dirt or dust.”

  She made a gagging expression as if she had actually tasted some. “All of a sudden I am very grateful for any other form of food. Go ahead and try to sleep some more. I’m a little restless, so I’ll stay awake and keep an eye on things.”

  It was about noon, and the thunking of the crew cutting wood had not yet let up, when Alain awoke to Mari cautioning him to silence. It was not hard to understand why, since he could faintly hear the tramp of many feet in the snow. Mari crept out to check, then came hastening back. “About a cohort of legionaries, spread out in a search line, walking across country and heading this way.”

  Chapter Three

  No Mage could create a spell using only his or her own strength. Mages needed to draw on the power they could feel in whatever location they were—power whose source remained unknown and which varied unpredictably in magnitude from area to area. Some places held so little power that Mages would have to exhaust themselves to create even a minor spell, while others were rich in that resource—though whenever power was drawn on by a Mage it would lower the amount in that area until it slowly renewed. Alain, accustomed to having Mari unable to grasp any aspect of the Mage arts, had been surprised when she understood that. "Like a battery, whichcan be stronger or weaker and can be recharged," she had said, an example which Alain had not understood but apparently satisfied the mind of a Mechanic.

  Now Alain felt for the power in the area around him, sensing how much was available here as only Mages could. “We could run, but only across the open fields. We would be seen easily, if only by the footprints we made in the fresh snow. If we stay here, there is enough power available to me to sustain a concealment spell for some time.”

  Mari grimaced, but did not dispute his words. “You can you hide us without that other Mage spotting you doing it?”

  He concentrated on the Mage he still sensed on the edge of his awareness, far distant from here. “For a while, yes. By the time the Mage helping with the quarantine could tell these Imperials that another Mage was active here, the legionaries should have long since left.” Alain studied their surroundings. “They will look up in the trees and around the trunks.”

  Mari pointed to a jagged stump which only came up her waist. “So we go there, where we couldn’t possibly hide?”

  “Not without a Mage.”

  It still took some work to get everything
back inside their packs, muddle any trace that they had been sitting next to the trees, and then find a spot right next to the stump where they could stand with the smallest chance of having a legionary blunder into them. Mari ended up backed against the stump, her arms once again around Alain from behind, he pressing back and looking in the direction from which the cohort of legionaries was approaching. “You really are enjoying this, aren’t you?” Mari whispered. “I think you could make me invisible even if I wasn’t glued to you like this.”

  “No, I could not,” Alain said. “But it is pleasant.”

  She did not reply, because they heard commands being called. The woodcutters on the other side of the trees did not hear the approaching legionaries and kept up their racket, so Alain had to watch carefully, unable to count on knowing how close the legionaries were before they got close enough to see him and Mari. “I will start the spell. Stay very still and very quiet.”

  “No problem,” she muttered back.

  Common folk believed that Mages changed real objects. Mechanics considered Mages to be fakes who claimed to be able to do impossible things. Neither was correct. Alain's training had focused on enabling him to realize that nothing was real, that the world he saw around him was just an illusion. And if all was illusion, then with enough strength and power and concentration other illusions could be temporarily placed over the existing illusions. The illusion of a wall could have the illusion of an opening placed on it.

  The illusion of light, traveling in straight lines, could be altered so that the light curved around a Mage, concealing him or her.

  Alain bent light so that no one could see either him or Mari, only the broken truck behind them. They stood silently as the legionaries began coming into view. Alain, concentrating on maintaining the spell as the line of Imperial soldiers slogged wearily into the woods, wondered if the distant Mage had picked up the small spell yet.

  A centurion walked with the legionaries, barking out orders. “Check every tree. Check the branches, check behind it, then check the branches again.”

  Most of the legionaries carried swords, and several had crossbows. None carried any of the Mechanic weapons that Mari called rifles, but that was small comfort. The legionaries displayed little enthusiasm for their task, and from their weary expressions and tired movements Alain guessed the legionaries had been up and searching since last night. But under the eyes of their centurion they did as instructed, checking every tree carefully.

  None of them came near the stump to search, but Alain had to breathe as silently as possible when the centurion came to stand near it, glaring around at his troops. “Pick it up, boys and girls! We’ve got a lot more territory to cover today until we find them, and when we do find them we can rest. We’ll also have the Emperor’s favor for offing those who tried to leave Marandur.”

  One of the legionaries grumbled loudly enough for Alain, and the centurion, to hear. “Whoever it was flew away, and they didn’t do it on any Mage Roc.”

  “You got something to say, Juren?” the centurion demanded.

  “All I’m saying,” the Imperial soldier complained, “is that whatever got out of Marandur left footprints like a person’s, but then those footprints disappeared. It’s like they flew away. And there’s only one…person…what could have done that.”

  Another legionary nodded. “There’s been funny stuff heard in the city lately, like something was stirring. It’s been her city for a long time. Maybe she decided to leave.”

  The centurion walked over to the nearest offending legionary and shoved him backwards with a stiff-armed blow. “You think the officers would be happy to hear you saying that, Juren? What about you, Hsien? You want to go tell some of them what you just said to me?”

  “No, Centurion,” the legionaries mumbled.

  “Get it out of your heads. All of you. Anyone mentions her again, they get five lashes. If I hear her name, it’ll be ten lashes. Got that?” The legionaries called out hasty acknowledgments. “Now move on. Check the rest of these woods.”

  Alain risked taking a deep breath as the soldiers moved onward, but neither he nor Mari moved until the legionaries had vanished from sight in the direction of the woodcutters. Though they were only partially concealed by the stump at their backs from any legionary of who might come back this way, Alain took the risk of dropping his spell. But it was too late. He had already sensed a response from that far-off other Mage.

  The sound of axes halted. They could hear the voice of the centurion, barely audible as he interrogated the woodcutters.

  “Was he talking about me?” Mari breathed into Alain’s ear. “The daughter? Why would they think I can fly?”

  “I do not know.” Alain was also puzzled. “They were afraid of this ‘her’ the legionary spoke of. I have not seen that reaction among commons speaking of the daughter of Jules. But I do not know who this other woman could be that they fear.”

  “That one soldier said they shouldn’t say her name,” Mari noted. “Why wouldn’t they say my name if they knew it? Has the Emperor banned any mention of the daughter of Jules?”

  Alain made a small, uncertain gesture. “I do not think the Imperials regard the daughter legend as something to be suppressed. But they also said Marandur has been this woman’s city for a long time. How could that be you? How could that be the daughter?”

  “And why would legionaries be afraid of me?” Mari wondered.

  “Perhaps they have heard of what happens to dragons foolish enough to attack you,” Alain replied.

  “Oh, gosh, you are so funny, Mage. Can you tell how amused I am?”

  Alain tried not to wince as her grip on him tightened. “Since we are speaking of things to be concerned about, I should tell you that the presence of the other Mage vanished very quickly a few moments ago. He must have sensed the spell I used and is now working harder to conceal himself.”

  “Let’s hope those legionaries get out of here fast.”

  Alain remained prepared to hide them from sight for a little longer, then as the legionaries showed no sign of backtracking he focused on hiding his presence from the other Mage again.

  Mari looked up at the sky, where the clouds were beginning to show signs of parting. “It’s well past noon, and it sounds like these legionaries are chasing off the woodcutters. Maybe we’ll be able to leave once the legionaries have moved off, too.”

  “The sooner the better,” Alain agreed.

  Worried about the other Mage, he and Mari moved to the far side of the woods as soon as it seemed safe. The edge of the woods gave way to a long shallow slope of rolling, snow-covered grassland running all the way to the horizon. A churned path marked where the woodcutter wagon and horses had come and gone, the wagon itself already well away from the woods but still visible though distant. The legionaries, still spread out in a long search line, were trudging in the wagon’s wake.

  Mari and Alain had to wait until the sun was well down in the sky and the last legionary had vanished behind one of the rises before they bolted from cover, moving as quickly as they could through the snow already disturbed by the horse-drawn wagon so their own tracks would be lost in the muddle.

  After going a good way down the path, they came to a trail running north and south at almost right angles to their movement and already showing signs of some traffic since the snowfall. Mari grinned for the first time that day, leading Alain southward down the trail and away from the searching legionaries. But once the sun set, traveling over the uneven, snow-covered track became more difficult. By midnight, her legs rubbery with weariness, Mari slipped and almost fell before Alain caught her. “Maybe we should stop and rest,” she murmured as if even the task of talking in a normal voice required too much effort.

  Alain urged her onward. “We are out in the open, too exposed to anyone searching for us. More legionaries may come along this way. Once daylight comes again, we must be concerned about Mages searching for us.”

  “You can tell when Mages are coming
,” Mari grumbled.

  “If the Mage rides a Roc, such a warning would come too late to be of use.”

  “Do you always have to be right?” Mari complained, but settled her pack again and kept trudging alongside Alain.

  It was still a while before dawn when scattered farms began appearing on either side of what had widened to become a small road. Alain kept them going, worried that the closest farms to Marandur would be obvious places for anyone to search, and though Mari obviously wanted to stop she kept walking with the same stubborn refusal to quit that she so often revealed to Alain.

  The sky was beginning to shown traces of dawn’s light when Alain saw an abandoned barn off the road, its roof half fallen in and two walls sagging drunkenly. He turned Mari toward it and they staggered into the small shelter the structure still provided. Mari dropped to the floor, not even bothering to remove her pack. Alain hesitated, swaying on his feet, then managed to kneel and get Mari’s pack off as well as his own before lying down next to her and falling into exhausted sleep.

  By the time he awoke, most of the day was gone. Mari made numerous tiny noises of pain as she sat up, and even Alain, toughened as he was by his years of acolyte training, wanted to wince as stiff muscles protested any further use. Mari pulled out the last of the food from Marandur. “It’s appropriate we eat this inside a ruin, I guess.”

  A chill wind picked up as they left the barn late that afternoon, blowing snow over the landscape and making their journey much more miserable but also quickly concealing any signs of traffic on the road, including their own. Evening wasn’t far off when their small road intersected a larger one ambling through the plains. Mari studied the road, brushing back snow from its surface. “This road has been used a fair amount since the snowfall. Wagons, horses, mules, not many people on foot. That’s what we’d expect in farm country.”