Kellanved's Reach

Kellanved had been consulting the spear-point and now he halted, appearing rather surprised. He regarded Dancer. ‘Northwest from here.’

‘Really?’ The assassin examined the point in the mage’s hand. ‘Northward? What’s there?’

‘Well, the mines for one thing. Which is odd, as I was about to suggest just such a detour.’

‘What for?’

The little mage had got that cunning self-satisfied look on his wrinkled face that so exasperated Dancer. ‘Oh, you’ll see …’

Dancer clenched his teeth as the mage set off, but followed, rubbing his chin savagely – a smooth chin, since that morning he’d taken the opportunity to shave.

Striking northwest across the plain they soon came to a road, little more than twin ruts in the grass. This they followed until it met up with a more substantial route, muddied and rutted. Already Dancer could smell in the wind the smoke and the noisomeness of trash and cesspits.

They topped one of the low smooth hills and halted, taking in the vista west, of the tall sheer stone cliff of the Escarpment itself, and the disorganized scattering of ragged tents, open pits and fenced enclosures at its base. The workings of the mines.

‘The stone?’ Dancer asked.

Kellanved jiggled it in his hand. ‘It points northwards of here. You don’t mind, though, if we have a look. Do you?’

Dancer shrugged. ‘Fine. But I don’t see why.’ Still, something about the mines did tickle Dancer’s memory. Something about them; he just couldn’t place it.

Armed men and women watched the newcomers suspiciously as they made their way between the pits – some open, others fenced. This place was notorious all across the continent for unrestrained greed, casual murder and lawlessness. The only rule here was the one of the sword and utter ruthlessness.

After a time it appeared to Dancer that his companion seemed to be looking for something. They passed numerous tall fences of planks, most overlooked by dirty and ragged men and women armed with crossbows. One, however, appeared unguarded, and this one Kellanved studied for a good while before approaching and knocking on a plank.

‘Go away!’ piped a high voice.

At that instant Dancer knew – he remembered – and he pressed a hand to his brow. Blessed Burn! Could it be that they were actually really still here?

The mage drew himself up as tall and straight as he could. ‘Not the welcome I was expecting,’ he announced.

A young girl, dirt-smeared, her hair a frightful mess, peeped over the top. Her eyes grew huge. ‘Magister!’ she squeaked, and disappeared.

Kellanved shot Dancer a smug look; Dancer looked to the sky. ‘How is it they could still be here?’ he whispered. ‘Surely these gem-hunters would’ve enslaved them.’

‘My dear Dancer,’ the mage answered, ‘more than half these orphans are talents. Remember that. Rashan, Thyr, D’riss, Denul – you name it. I’m surprised they’re not running the entire place by now.’

The groaning of heavy timbers sounded from behind the plank door, and it opened. Kellanved swaggered in, Dancer following. The door was shut behind them.

A crowd of children had gathered; unwashed, in ragged torn clothes. More and more appeared, climbing up rickety ladders from the lower works. Dancer recognized a number of the orphans he’d seen in Heng. He reflected that perhaps it was not so surprising that they’d survived, given the abuse and brutal treatment they’d endured digging for the black market boss Pung then.

The older of the lot pushed forward, girls and boys. They inclined their heads to Kellanved. ‘Magister.’ Dancer noticed a number of these were actually bowing to him, addressing him as ‘Master’.

‘You have done well?’ Kellanved asked.

All nodded. ‘Rubies, emeralds, and sapphires. Burn’s bounty,’ one girl said.

‘Very good,’ Kellanved answered, as if he’d been expecting no less all this time. ‘A new mission. Take what you have gathered and use it as a fund to establish eyes and ears in every major city. In Unta, in Tali, in Cawn, in Purge – everywhere. Yes?’

All bowed in assent. One boy asked, ‘Even Heng?’

Kellanved nodded. ‘Yes. Even Heng.’ He raised a finger. ‘And remember – you answer only to myself and my partner here, yes? To none other. You are mine and his. Our hands, our ears, our eyes. Do you so swear?’

All pressed hands to their chests. ‘We swear, Magister.’

Kellanved nodded indulgently, smiling. ‘Very good.’

Another lad straightened. ‘But how shall we communicate? I know the earth, D’riss, but Leath here knows of the night, Rashan.’

Kellanved nodded once more, reassuringly, hands raised. ‘Worry not. Tonight all you talents must gather with me. I will show you a place where we may travel. A place that shall be ours, and ours alone.’ He waved them away with a flutter of his hands. ‘Go now, prepare your leave-taking.’