The Dawn of Magic

The Dawn of Magic:

Tales of Wizards and Adventure volume 2

Edwin C. Mason

© 2013 Edwin C. Mason

all rights reserved

GND Publishing

Toronto ON, Canada

Smashwords Edition

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Contents

Assassin

Ozan the Hero

The Enemy of My Enemy

The Ruins of Ospara

Also Available by the Author

About the Author

The Dawn of Magic:

Tales of Wizards and Adventure volume 2

Edwin C. Mason

Assassin

Edwin C. Mason

Basima waited outside the compound. A cool breeze puffed down the alley, relief from the heat of the day at last. A night bird cawed; a cat scurried under a fence in the distance. The smell of roasting goat wafted over her, and she smiled.

Zaina squatted beside her, whispering encouragement as she had since they started out. Three hours now of being told that she would do well, and finally she began to doubt it. Zaina kept her hand on Basima’s shoulder. Was she here as insurance? What could be more embarrassing to the Order of the Scorpion than a woman with child? A woman on the run. They would not let her flee, and she could not run to her son’s grave.

You will be fine. Remember all your training. This will ensure your reinstatement, and leave no marks on your record. Zaina’s face, round and very pretty, hovered near, smiling, showing teeth. She always passed for an entertainer or even a guest. Basima, with her plain face and simple, forthright manner, always concealed herself as a maid. Tonight, those inside partied. Why? She didn’t know. No one shared information with her any more, and often she was glad of that. She no longer knew why this person or that must die, why tonight and not tomorrow, why this wife could be spared but not that one. Enough that she had to do the deed, she no longer wanted more.

More? Well, she wanted one thing more, but she could never have it. Gone, never to return, her failing and her crime. Her violation of the Order’s Laws of Governance — the only laws that could ever matter to her — had nearly cost everything. For months her life had hung over a chasm, her honour hadn’t existed at all if you asked her accusers. She shrugged. She could take any reprimand.

Mouth parched, she didn’t dare touch the water bottle at her side. Full, it hung silently, but half full, it would slosh with every step. She could afford that soon, but not yet.

Are you ready? Zaina asked.

Yes. Was she? As ready as she could be tonight, and someone had decreed that Aquil must die tonight along with his wife. They hadn’t told her why, but they rarely did. Those who hired the Order of the Scorpion had secrets overlying secrets. Basima shuddered and touched her flat belly beneath her dark fighting garb. Someone had paid more than a fortune to see it done, and Basima would do it. Death called her to be one of its envoys upon this land, and she would carry out Death’s wishes.

A shadow formed before her, split slowly into two and took form as Sakhr and Diya.

A night much like this one had seen her shame not much more than a year ago, when two shadows had blended into one at the wrong time and all had collapsed.

Sakhr’s powerful form with its too-handsome face and easy manner loomed over her. Diya’s cold eyes challenged hers.

Sakhr looked her up and down and up again, as if unsure who or what she might be. Basima tried to ignore him. He’d seen her before, and they’d worked well together until the Masters of the Scorpion decided she could no longer be trusted on missions. Soon she gave up her effort to ignore him, and returned his gaze frankly.

Zaina, come with me. He hooked a hand under her shoulder and started her on her way. Then he addressed Basima directly for the first time in many months. Diya will keep track of you. If you wish any respect, you will do as she directs. He held up a hand with stones interspersed between his fingers. Three stones held between knuckles, two amethysts and a cat’s eye. These are yours, he said, placing them in Diya’s hand. You have no access to them until you need them."

Basima nodded. I remember the Masters’ decision, and I accepted it then. No magic until I need it for my work.

You should not have abused magic before.

He wanted the last word, so she held her silence. It was little enough price to pay for peace. She hadn’t abused anything, just used magic to hide the wrong thing, and wrong only from their viewpoint, not anyone else’s.

He turned and followed Zaina down the alley.

Before he turned and faded into the shadows, Diya leaned close to Basima. You are a liar and a cheat. She smelled of mint and onions. You broke the Laws of Governance, and I do not trust you. Remember that. Remember that my knife is sharp.

Basima shrugged, knowing that her knife was just as sharp. I have made my decision to come to the fold and the way of Death. My honour rests on the edge of a blade, where it will justify me or slay me. It matters not at all to me. There, let her stew on the ancient formula that made up so much of their way of life.

Follow, unless you will be known as a traitor. Diya flowed into the night, slipped to the base of the wall and held out her hands, fingers interlaced. Basima put her sandal in the stirrup formed and leapt for the top of the wall while Diya pushed her high.

Atop the wall, she stopped, holding her position long enough to look to both sides. No one stirred, no one watched. She reached a hand down, letting Diya climb up and over her. They stood on the slate-shingled roof. Three steps took them to the family garden with its cooling fountain. No one sat on the benches or lolled beside the water. All sounds came from below. Basima moved toward the edge of the roof to look down into the courtyard, but Diya grabbed her by the collar and looked herself. After a moment she beckoned and Basima approached.

Shadows on the left, do you see?

Yes, Basima said. In the courtyard, a small triangle stood unlit in the angle of a wall.

Go there.

Basima knew enough not to hesitate. She stepped over the balustrade and dropped down, tucked and rolled, then darted into the shadowy patch. Her back pressed against the cool of a marble wall. She thought it must be a lovely home to stay in during a hot summer’s day.

Two guards passed, their armour polished bright, gleaming bills on their shoulders. Were they hired for show, or could they fight? Basima didn’t want to find out. They turned a corner and started pulling at door handles. Satisfied that the doors were locked, they moved on. They slipped out of sight between two structures and Diya landed on the brick of the courtyard as Basima had. Her sandals barely scuffed as she ran into the shadows and crouched.

Do you hear the racket?

Yes, Basima said. The outer wall had muffled the sound while they waited in the alley. Here, they caught music clearly, skilled hands on the oud and a slave singing, her voice delicate and lilting. They heard the sound of chatter beneath the music as well.

How many people do you suppose are here?

Dozens. Whatever the celebration tonight, it’s a large one, much larger than we expected. Perhaps it’s large enough to interfere with out plans.

Diya nodded. Then she looked closely at Basima and sneered. Do not think this will enable you to escape your duty. You are here to kill and you will do your duty. Still, with all the commotion, we had best wait for Sakhr. We may have to delay after all.

Basima nodded. She welcomed the delay. Somehow she no longer felt eager about her function. As much as it twisted her stomach to admit it, they were right. The whole process had changed her; the problem was that she liked the changes too well.

We should have killed you.

I know.

I mean it, Diya said. Her feet shuffled in the dust. I could have slipped in while you were in bed before it happened and cut you into pieces. Even afterward, I should have walked through the door of your cell and opened your throat. Deny that.

Before it happened. She couldn’t even say that Basima had given birth. Her gullet and her honour wouldn’t let her admit that the Order of the Scorpion had been so defiled with a normal human activity. Basima said, I would have killed you if had returned with a child in your belly and refused the Wizard. She shrugged. But when it happened to me, everything seemed different for a time. I felt my son kick within me and was helpless.

Quiet! I do not wish to know about your sickness. Look.

A figure emerged from a doorway, tall and imposing, dressed like a man in the fullness of wealth. Silk hung below his knees and rings glittered on his fingers. His dark hair hung down onto his back, and Basima fancied that she could smell the perfume on it from where she crouched. Sakhr.

Are you certain?

Basima nodded. Sakhr. I’ve seen him wear that mask before.

He came directly to where they hid and leaned against a different wall so he didn’t appear to be paying attention to the shadows. When he spoke, the mask of his mouth didn’t move. You are concerned that too many guests are here tonight and the operation should be put off. Not so. The master of this house dies tonight. This is a message to all guests. He pushed away from the wall and started back.

Diya handed her an amethyst.

Basima popped it into her mouth, rolled it on her tongue, pressed it against the roof of her mouth and spat it out into her hand. She placed it in her pouch for recharging later. Looking down at her clothes, she started to recast them. She’d worn dull grey to get in, a simple tunic and short breeks for mobility. Once inside, it would not do. Her breeks parted, widened and lengthened, reformed into a narrow skirt. Her tunic she made loose and bright yellow, and shortened into a simple blouse. She showed enough that most men would glance at her body, giving her enough time to attack with surprise if need be. Her face likely required no modification at all, since she doubted any of the guests might know her from a previous murder, but she changed the shape of her nose and the length of her chin anyway. Caution the law said always caution until the battle, and then furious attack.

Glancing into a rain barrel on the way, Basima started sharply, seeing the face she’d used once before, the night that she’d killed her first man.

She hurried after Diya. Their masks were much alike, Diya’s a little duller and more modest. They stopped in a doorway and Diya turned and said, Search that way. If you desert, I will hunt you down and skin you, then I will find his father and feed him the skin.

Basima doubted she’d be able to keep that thread no matter how hard she tried, but didn’t say a word, and started in the direction indicated.

As soon as she started down the corridor, she understood that she had gone the wrong direction. The sounds of the gathering retreated behind her. Still, she would not disobey an order tonight, even an order from Diya.

She slipped along the corridor, opening one door after another, stopping first to press her ear to the panel and listen to ensure that no one waited within.

In the last door in the corridor, she found a woman sitting by a cradle, watching a child within.

Shh, the woman said. He’s just asleep now.

Basima put on her character in an instant. She smiled and whispered, May I see?

The woman scowled slightly. She shifted her round form on the chair and said, I suppose. Don’t wake him.

Basima tiptoed closer and peered into the crib. There he lay, sleeping with an expression of innocence no one could ever feign, one thumb in his mouth. The dark blanket covered him to the chin, so she couldn’t see much but the face. She noticed that her smile was no longer an act. Who is he? she asked the woman.

Don’t you know?

No. I was just hired for the night, and no one told me.

She shook her head. This is Latif. He’s to be adopted tonight, and this is his party. At the fourth hour of the night, this little thing becomes the heir to this house and the greatest fortune in the city.

Basima looked again. This tiny thing, heir to all the house and many thousands besides? He looked so tiny, so innocent. He gurgled, and Basima longed to reach for him. The woman peered in again and studied him for a moment.

I’d better be going, Basima whispered.

The woman just nodded, more concerned with her charge.

Basima closed the door after her. Her task done, she slipped back outside. Halfway across the courtyard, the thought occurred to her that tonight the orphan upstairs would become an orphan once more. It didn’t seem something she wanted to do. He had been sweet and helpless, protected only by the position of the adopted father who would die at her hands tonight. If not at her hands, then with her support and assistance

She shuddered.

Are you cold?

Basima turned to the post supporting an awning beside her. Faruq, is that you?

It is. The pillar didn’t move as he spoke, and she wondered where he’d hidden his mouth. Basima knew herself skilled with simple illusion, but Faruq ran where she crawled. She couldn’t imagine hiding as something other than a person.

Where is Jibril?

Here. A section of wall detached itself. That illusion was simpler, a trick with colour and shape, not the construction of a false body that didn’t even resemble flesh.

I didn’t know you were here.

Jibril squatted and leaned back, blending in with the wall again. No reason you should. Our assignment is the wife. Yours?

The husband.

Someone’s coming, Jibril said and vanished back into his wall. Basima ducked down beside a basket and lengthened shadows around her, blending her lines until they became indistinguishable from the shadow.

Squandering resources, Diya said. "I gave you that stone for work, not to