Liavek 6 Read online

  Copyright

  "Cenedwine Brocade" by Caroline Stevermer

  "A Hypothetical Lizard" by Alan Moore

  "Training Ground" by Nancy Kress

  "Riding the Hammer" by John M. Ford

  LIAVEK 6: Wizard's Row

  edited by Will Shetterly and Emma Bull

  Copyright

  Printing History

  Ace edition/1987

  CatYelling edition/2016

  Smashwords edition

  Copyeditors for the CatYelling Edition:

  Rebecca Stanich, Brandon Tabbert, and Will Shetterly

  All rights reserved. Copyright © 1987 by Will Shetterly and Emma Bull.

  Originally published in Wizard's Row (1987, Shetterly & Bull, ed.):

  "Cenedwine Brocade" © 1987 by Caroline Stevermer.

  "A Hypothetical Lizard" © 1987 by Alan Moore.

  ''Training Ground" © 1987 by Nancy Kress.

  Originally published in Spells of Binding (1988, Shetterly & Bull, ed.):

  "Riding the Hammer" © 1988 by John M. Ford

  "Cenedwine Brocade" by Caroline Stevermer

  JUST INSIDE THE door of Cheeky's, that Old Town bistro most famed for high prices, low entertainment, and scornful service, Dala stopped to blink. There was actually a waiter at his elbow, and a blandly polite waiter at that.

  "Your table is ready, sir," the waiter murmured. Dala followed him in startled silence to a corner table, discreetly placed to afford a view of the dance floor and the other tables from a decent amount of shadow. His drink was already there, a double Dragonsmoke. Dala looked from the glass to the waiter suspiciously.

  "Your host will join you in a moment," said the waiter, and held the chair.

  Dala knew his place and took it. The Dragonsmoke was sublime, floating softly from his palate to his brain without the need to swallow. He swallowed anyway and drew in a reverent breath.

  "You are prompt," said a deep voice at his elbow. "That's good."

  He glanced up. A man in an ill-fitting mask of black velvet leaned over him, hooded cloak pulled close. "I came because Cheeky asked me to," Dala replied.

  The man in the mask took the chair beside Dala, folded his hands on the table. "Much depends upon your cooperation."

  Dala regarded the man's hands with displeasure. He disliked plump hands. "You want an appraisal."

  "I do. A party of young people have reserved that large table. I will depart before they arrive. This mask is merely a precaution. I am interested in a red-haired woman, rather sickly looking, wearing a brocade robe. I wish your appraisal of that robe. I will meet you later this evening at the Two-Copper Bazaar, where I will give you your fee in return for your professional opinion of the robe."

  Dala put his glass down. "An appraisal of a robe? While someone is wearing it? In a bar? Sorry." He pushed back his chair. Before he rose, the man's pudgy hand was palm down on the table. When it moved, Dala saw a five-levar piece beside his glass. Dala picked his glass up.

  "I want your opinion," said the man.

  "Everyone has opinions," said Dala. "If that's what you pay for them, how can you afford to buy me a drink?"

  "Just your opinion," replied the man, "nothing more. No curiosity, no interference, no rivalry."

  Dala eyed the coin. It seemed to him the dim lamplight glinted along the coin's five-sided edge with particular beauty. "An opinion," he said. He put his palm down on the coin. "I'll meet you tomorrow and tell you what it is."

  "At the Two-Copper Bazaar," said the man.

  "By the snail booth," said Dala.

  The masked man nodded and rose.

  "It's still a lot of money for an opinion," said Dala.

  The man paused to adjust his mask. "I think of it as an investment."

  •

  Ambrej Nallaneen swallowed and stared into her winecup with mingled astonishment and dismay. She'd expected the wine to be bad. It lay on her tongue with a metallic flavor at once singed and sour. What surprised her was the texture of the dregs. Evidently the management at Cheeky's topped off every cup of their best wine with a spoonful of sand. Aul Nin and his cousins did not seem to notice. They were drinking fast enough, she reflected, the sand probably didn't have the chance to settle. With a stifled sigh she put her cup down and turned her attention to the cat-dancer.

  "Years of practice," Aul Nin said, leaning close to be heard over the din their party was making.

  Ambrej nodded. "Looks dangerous," she offered, after a thoughtful pause.

  Aul leaned back in his seat looking pleased. He took a large sip of his wine. Ambrej averted her eyes.

  It was well past midnight and the crowd at Cheeky's was a piquant mix of the sinister and the drunk. Everyone seemed to be having a wonderful time eyeing one another and glowering. Someone at her table had sent an order of drinks across the room to a pair of ruffians in red leather. The ruffians were conferring, evidently deciding whether or not to be insulted. The cat-dancer began his final series of swings, making a grand circuit of the tables closest to the dance floor. The merrymakers at Ambrej's table began to throw coppers.

  "There's a heart ready to be broken," said Aul Nin.

  Ambrej followed the direction of his gaze. At a table in the corner sat a sallow young man in black, his eyes fixed on Ambrej. The moment her eyes met his, he looked away. Ambrej frowned.

  She had noticed him on their arrival. He had been the only man in the place staring at an empty table—the table reserved for her hosts. If he had a particular interest in her, she reflected, it might be that her trip to trade Dragonsmoke for wine was finally beginning to develop into something more promising. It had not been easy to find a reason to leave Cenedwine. To prolong her absence, she had accepted the wine merchant's invitation to attend his daughter's wedding this morning. The evening's amusement was one of the last she would be invited to share with Evor Nin's son Aul and his cousins. Her time was limited. If the sallow man's interest was in her, she must make the most of her chance. That his motives were mercenary, Ambrej could not doubt. Even in Cenedwine her looks, red-haired and rangy, were barely passable. Here in Liavek she seemed positively whey-faced. More than once since her arrival she had heard the hiss "ghost!" as she was mistaken for a Farlander.

  "A skinny fellow," said Ambrej.

  Aul Nin simpered. Aul was by no means a skinny fellow. Nor were his cousins, who comprised the rest of the party. Though well dressed, his cousins were not well behaved, a fact that seemed finally to decide the ruffians in red leather. They rose and crossed the dance floor while the cat-dancer's boy was still scrambling after coppers.

  "You with the feet," said the taller of the ruffians, "up."

  Aul looked surprised, but not surprised enough to obey. The ruffian reached down for him. A cousin intervened. With no apparent effort, the ruffian picked up the cousin and put him down in the center of the table.

  Ambrej got to her feet and took a step away from the fracas.

  "Let's leave." The voice at her elbow made her jump. She looked down at a small man with a scarred face and a very bored expression.

  "Nagual, I gave you the night off," said Ambrej.

  Nagual shrugged. "Nothing else to do. Anyway, I know Cheeky."

  "I don't believe that for a second," Ambrej replied. "Where have you been lurking?"

  "Back there," said Nagual, with a vague gesture in the direction of the kitchens: "Let's get out of here."

  "I don't want to leave until my hosts do," replied Ambrej. She glanced in the direction of the fracas. It had spread. She took a cautious step away, putting her back to the wall. "Come to think of it, there is something you can do."

  Nagual looked a little less bored.

  "The sallow man in black," said Ambrej, still watching the fracas carefully,
"the one looking at me."

  "The one looking at the robe," corrected Nagual. "I see him."

  "When he leaves, follow him for me. I want to know what he does."

  Nagual made no reply and when she glanced back at him, he was gone.

  A cousin hurtled out of the melee, tossed by a ruffian. Ambrej glanced up in time to see him coming directly at her. She stood still. The cousin hit the wall an arm's length to her left. At the precise instant he did, six winecups at the nearest table shattered in unison. As he slid to the floor, Ambrej crossed her arms.

  At the back of the room a door slammed.

  Throughout the room heads lifted, customers strained to see. Late-night scuffles were part of the ambience at Cheeky's. An appearance by the owner herself was an unexpected honor.

  "You inflict quite enough damage with the customary methods," said Cheeky, a slender young woman with a sleek mane of black hair, "no need to resort to magic."

  Aul Nin propped himself on his elbows and found the breath to say, "Madam, this is an honor—my father will be delighted to hear you received my cousins and me personally."

  Cheeky made a careless gesture with her left hand. Her attendants began to move methodically through the tangle of bodies now motionless on the dance floor. "Your joy at your sister's marriage is understandable. To bestow her disagreeable nature on some other family excuses much merriment. But I cannot abide disorder—and what I cannot abide, not even Evor Nin can afford."

  Ambrej took a quick step away from her wall and busied herself brushing at Aul's shoulders.

  Cheeky shook her head. "Comical," she said, her eyes on Ambrej's bland expression. "Get out before anything else breaks."

  Aul and his cousins moved uncertainly toward the door. In the shadowed corners of the room, onlookers went back to their pursuits. The cat-dancer's rebeck player took up his instrument again and a tentative buzz of melody rose like a questing curl of smoke. As Ambrej walked, her hand under Aul's pudgy elbow, the lamplight picked out the untarnished silver in the brocade robe she wore. Quick and bright, she accompanied their halting progress out into the night. As they departed, the sallow man rose and followed.

  Cheeky pushed a lock of black hair behind her ear and spoke to one of her attendants. "Have Rel total the damages and take the bill to Evor Nin's house before breakfast. With a house full of guests, he may neglect his son's affairs."

  •

  But Evor Nin was not at home at breakfast time the next morning. He was standing, heavily cloaked and masked, beside the snail stall in the Two-Copper Bazaar.

  Dala bought a handful of snails and leaned against the stall while he worked at the first with a pin.

  "Care for one?" he inquired politely. "No, I suppose not with gloves on."

  Nin shook his head impatiently. "Well?"

  "Ah, yes," Dala nodded, "my opinion." He pulled the snail from its shell, fragrant with garlic butter. He popped the snail in his mouth and went to work on the next.

  Nin snorted his impatience and dropped a gleaming five-sided coin into the dust. Swift as a sand-wasp, Dala's booted foot shot out and came down firmly on the coin.

  "Very well," said Dala. "In my opinion, the robe is a magical artifact."

  Nin nodded. "Go on."

  "You've heard of Cenedwine, perhaps?" Dala continued, handling the long pin with careless skill. "Ask anyone who's traveled the Silverspine. Worthless sort of place, good for oats and flax and a little barley. They distill Dragonsmoke and brew the worst beer ever tasted. They weave, sometimes brocade picked out with silver that they scrape from their mountains, and they conduct family fights. That robe is made in a Cenedwine pattern. The silver in the brocade is untarnished. A good guess is someone bound magic in it before it was old enough for the threads to tarnish. It was made for someone other than that woman—someone about five inches taller and far wider across the shoulders. The clans of Cenedwine are prone to heirlooms. Perhaps it is a relic of her house."

  Nin nodded again. "Go on."

  Dala lifted his dark brows. "I followed the party from Cheeky's—"

  "I am not concerned with the woman or her companions," said Nin. "The robe, if you please."

  Dala shrugged. "I've heard stories—those family fights they conduct with such enthusiasm. But they're old stories. One of the family chiefs, Gavren Col, became a sort of sage. He wouldn't fight anymore but his clan listened to him anyway. He put a stop to the worst of the troubles. The tale is he invested his magic in his robe so he would be invulnerable to attack. That was why he was held to be a wise man, for no one could kill him. He lived a hundred years, the stories say. Only a tale. Probably." He extracted the last snail from its shell and licked his fingers.

  "Gavren Col's robe"—Nin broke off to glance distractedly around the marketplace—"was silver brocade?"

  "I have no idea," said Dala, "but since you pay so well for my opinion, I'll admit I think so. I saw something odd last night. And so did Cheeky."

  Nin nodded until his jowls shook in the shadow of his hood. "Excellent. Just as I wished. You are worth your fee." He drew the cloak closer and set out through the market.

  Dala bent down to retrieve his five-levar piece. "Anytime," he said as he straightened. "Tell your friends."

  •

  In the house of Nin the wine merchant, Ambrej Nallaneen pushed the last date across her plate with the tip of her finger. "Yes, Nagual," she said patiently, "very well done. But why did you follow Nin back here from the market? Dala might sell his opinions elsewhere."

  "Do you care if he does?" asked Nagual. "I came back because I'm tired."

  "I suppose not," said Ambrej, "as long as Nin has his guess confirmed."

  "He skipped through the marketplace like a man with a good idea," said Nagual.

  "Good," said Ambrej. She took a bite of the date. "I hope it is the same idea I have."

  •

  That night, midway through the meal, Evor Nin planted his elbows on the table and rested his chin in his hands. "Tell me," he asked his guest, plump hands on plump cheeks, "how is it that you travel with a bodyguard?"

  Ambrej Nallaneen raked a glance at the faces ranged around the table, all relatives of Nin's. No one looked interested. She did not turn to look at Nagual, who stood behind her chair, as was his custom.

  "He has been with me many years," she replied.

  "Yet you wear a robe which spares you all such concerns," Nin said. "What need have you for such as he?"

  "We all form habits," she replied. "The robe was a legacy. Nagual, I earned. And I've had him far longer than I've had the robe."

  "You carry no weapon, even so far from Cenedwine," said Nin. "The robe makes such things unnecessary, I expect."

  "Nagual makes it unnecessary," said Ambrej. "Your hospitality makes it unnecessary."

  "May I abuse the honor of a host sufficiently to make an offer of a purely commercial nature? I would like to purchase that robe. You may suggest whatever price seems good to you." Nin leaned back in his chair and tented his fingertips.

  "I regret I must refuse," Ambrej replied. "I may not sell this robe."

  Nin dismissed her words with a brush of his hand. "We will reach terms satisfactory to both of us."

  At Nin's gesture, a man in livery bearing a loaded crossbow entered the room and took his place beside Nin's chair.

  "Nagual," said Ambrej, "I left a box in my room. I need it. You know the one, I think. The lid is lacquered red."

  "I know the one," said Nagual, irritably.

  "Fetch it."

  Nagual uttered an aggrieved sigh and left the room.

  "I understand your desire to authenticate the robe before you propose your terms," said Ambrej, "but must your entire family be present?"

  "I think so," Nin replied. "After all, I want them to understand what the robe can mean. Any investment so substantial ought to be completely understood by all parties involved. And now, Madam Nallaneen, you will not take it amiss, I trust, if I tell my man to fire?" />
  "Would it stop you if I did?" asked Ambrej.

  "No," said Nin. "Fire."

  The crossbow bolt buried itself in the center of the table. The fruit bowl at Ambrej's elbow shattered, scattering grapes and figs across the table and onto the floor.

  Aul Nin overset his chair as he sprang to his feet. "Father—he fired at your guest!"

  "Be quiet," said Evor Nin. "She was never in the slightest danger."

  From her place at the table Ambrej could reach the bolt. She gripped it and pulled with vigor. It did not budge.

  Nagual returned, put a red lacquered box down in front of Ambrej, and took up his station again.

  "I think the demonstration is over, Nagual." said Ambrej. "Thank you." She opened the box and shook out its contents, five massy bits of metal, irregularly shaped, each as big as the last joint of a man's thumb. "Have you ever played knucklebones, Evor Nin? It is a very pleasant game. Universally popular. Even in Cenedwine." As she spoke she scooped up the pieces of metal, rattled them in her palm. With a deft snap of her wrist, she tossed the pieces, caught them on the back of her hand, tossed them again and allowed them to fall back into her palm.

  Aul put his face in his hands. His father regarded him with impatience. "Our guest is not disturbed, why are you? She understands business. Now, pay attention. You might learn something."

  "You understand the purpose of the robe," said Ambrej, shaking the knucklebones gently as she watched Evor Nin, "but perhaps you have some questions regarding its use. It is magic, as you guessed."

  "Gavren Col invested his magic in it," replied Evor Nin. "He lived a hundred years, protected by it."

  "Yet he died, in the end," said Ambrej. "Even the robe's owner must. It wouldn't grant you life eternal."

  "It would grant me peace of mind," Nin replied, "physical protection from all possible threats."

  "Well, all physical threats," said Ambrej. She lifted her free hand and let the silver brocade move and gleam in the light from the sconces ranged about the room. "It makes physical injury impossible. But there are laws even magic must obey. If a crossbow is fired at me, though physical injury is impossible, still the crossbow fires. And if it is impossible for the bolt to strike me, it is certain it must strike something. The robe is not very predictable. It can be inconvenient to people standing near."