Ghost in the Razor (15 page)

There was only one thing to do. 

“Shut up!” Kylon roared at the top of his lungs, employing the voice he had used when commanding the seventh fleet of New Kyre in battle against the Empire. 

Silence fell over the room as the men stared at him. Caina looked at him with wide blue eyes. He could not sense her emotions while she wore the shadow-cloak, but the surprise was plain upon her face.

“I do not know what your grievance is with each other,” said Kylon. “But you will speak civilly until,” he remembered to use Caina’s fake name at the last minute, “until Ciaran has finished with you. Otherwise you shall answer to me.”

“And just who are you, Kyracian?” said Kazravid. “You think you can take us all?”

Kylon snatched the cup of steaming coffee Kazravid had left upon the table and called his power, focusing the sorcery of water upon it. The coffee froze to a solid black lump, and Kylon tossed it at Kazravid. The Anshani archer jerked his head to the side, and the lump of frozen coffee bounced off the floorboards.

“Gods,” grunted Laertes. “A stormdancer.”

“Just what are you, then?” said Kazravid. “Ciaran’s pet?”

“He’s a friend,” said Caina. “And he’s right. This is not the time to fight amongst ourselves.”

“That man should be dead,” said Nasser, his gloved hand pointing at Morgant. 

“Well, to be fair, so should you,” said Morgant. He smirked at Caina. “He’s almost as old as I am, you know. Has he told you who he really is yet? No? Ah. Well, Nasser, what do you say? Shall I tell your friend Ciaran of your great failures?” 

“I don’t know who he is,” said Caina, “and he doesn’t know who I am, not yet. I would prefer to keep it that way until necessary.”

“And just why is that?” said Morgant. 

“Because,” said Caina, her voice quiet. “What I don’t know can’t be tortured out of me if Callatas or his hunters take me alive.”

“To my surprise, that is sound reasoning,” said Morgant. 

“Then,” said Nasser with a frown, “you are not working with Callatas?”

“Are you even stupider than I thought?” said Morgant. “No. Callatas thinks that I’m dead. He sent me to kill Annarah, yes.” He waved a thin hand at Caina’s left arm. “You’ve seen that she has Annarah’s pyrikon? How the hell do you think she got it? I gave it to Callatas. I brought the pyrikon to him and told him that Annarah was dead, and then I took the money and disappeared. As far as Callatas is concerned, I died decades ago. Even when I painted that mural…”

“Wait,” said Nasser. “You are Markaine of Caer Marist?”

“Aye,” said Morgant. 

Caina frowned. “How did Callatas keep from recognizing you when you painted his mural?”

Morgant grinned. “You’re not the only one who is good at disguise, Balarigar.” He looked around. “You have realized that Ciaran here is the Balarigar, right? I haven’t just revealed some big damned secret?”

“Of course we have,” said Kazravid. “We’re not stupid.” 

“Truly, noble anjar?” said Morgant. “You do a fine impersonation of it.” 

Kazravid scowled, but Nasser raised a hand, and the anjar stilled. Kylon glanced at Laertes, but the Legion veteran was still waiting. It seemed both Laertes and Kazravid followed Nasser’s lead. 

“We have an opportunity here,” said Caina. She pointed at herself and then at Nasser. “Callatas wants us both dead more than anyone else in the world.”

“Especially him,” said Morgant. “How are you still alive, Nasser? I don’t just mean the longevity. Callatas should have found and killed you decades ago.” 

A white, mirthless smile flashed across Nasser’s face. “You are not the only man who knows how to disappear, assassin.”

“If Callatas knew that Morgant was alive,” said Caina, “he would want him dead as well. So the three people Callatas wants dead most are in the same room. Surely there is an opportunity for us.”

“What about you, Kyracian?” said Kazravid. “Are you some figure of history as well? Perhaps Rykon, the founder of New Kyre? Or the last Archon of Old Kyrace?”

“Actually,” murmured Nasser, “that man is Kylon of House Kardamnos, more commonly known as the Shipbreaker.” 

Kylon blinked. Nasser was quite well informed. 

Kazravid laughed. “Indeed? Then I am Lord Corbould Maraeus and the Emissary of the Living Flame.”

“I’ve met her,” said Caina. “You’re not her. This man is Lord Kylon.” Kylon met Kazravid’s gaze, and the anjar looked away first, a bit of alarm coloring his emotions. “Since both a Master Alchemists and Lord Cassander want him dead, you should keep that information to yourself.”

“By the Living Flame,” muttered Kazravid. He sat back down, reached for his coffee, remembered that Kylon had froze it, and sighed. “I should have stayed in Anshan.”

“There is greater opportunity for profit here,” said Nasser. “Now. Ciaran. You have come here for a reason, I trust?” 

“I did,” said Caina. “I didn’t know about your…history with Morgant.” She pointed at the assassin. “He knows what happened to Annarah. He won’t tell you…but he might tell me.” 

“Why?” said Nasser. 

“If the Balarigar proves worthy of the knowledge,” said Morgant. “You see, my lord of glass, my knowledge is dangerous. Whoever learns it is probably going to get killed, most likely at the hands of Callatas. If I am to keep my word to Annarah, then I must ensure that whoever I tell the secret is strong enough to survive.”

“Your word,” said Nasser. “What good is the word of an assassin?” 

Morgant grinned, though the smile did not touch his emotional sense. “Tell me this, Glasshand. You know who I am. You know the things I have done. When has Morgant the Razor ever broken his word?” 

Nasser stared at the assassin. The anger remained in his sense, but not quite as hot as it had been a moment earlier. His intellect was reasserting itself against his rage. Kylon had often felt something similar from Caina, usually when they were in the middle of a crisis. 

This was a very dangerous man. Little wonder Caina had come to him for help.

“What,” said Nasser at last, “do you have in mind?”

“I have a creature after me,” said Caina. “A kind of fire elemental, an ifrit.”

“Callatas does not often conjure elementals to do his bidding,” said Nasser.

“He didn’t,” said Caina. “The creature called itself the Sifter, and it attacked in the company of Adamant Guards.” She let out a long breath. “I think Cassander Nilas conjured the spirit and set it after me.” 

Kazravid grunted. “You annoyed the Umbarians, too?”

“I have a gift for winning friends,” said Caina. 

“Plainly.”

“Morgant said that if I defeat the Sifter,” said Caina, “he will tell me what happened to Annarah.”

“Is this true?” said Nasser. “Or is this another one of your games?”

“Of course it is a game,” said Morgant. “It has to be a game. I’m the only one who knows Annarah’s fate.” He smirked at Nasser. “Blame my secrecy all you wish, my lord of dust, but because of it, Callatas has failed for one hundred and fifty years. He has failed to find the rest of the regalia of Iramis, all because I know how to keep my mouth shut. It is more than you have accomplished, I suspect. How else shall I prove that the Balarigar is worthy of the knowledge?” He glanced at Caina. “Though by coming to a man like Nasser, you make me doubt your worthiness.”

“Unless you can defeat a fire elemental by yourself,” said Caina without missing a beat, “you have no cause to doubt me. You’ve protected the knowledge from Callatas for a hundred and fifty years, aye…but that’s all you’ve done. Callatas has killed a lot of people in that time, many of them within the last five or six years to produce wraithblood. How many of them could have been saved if we had stopped him sooner?” She shook her head. “No. I cannot stop the Sifter on my own, and you cannot keep your word to Annarah on your own. If Callatas is to be defeated, if you are to keep your word to Annarah – whatever it was – then we require help. I cannot do it alone any more than you can.”

Morgant said nothing, but a flicker of something that might have been approval went through the ice of his emotions. 

“And you, Lord Kylon,” said Nasser. “What is your interest in this matter? Does the Assembly wish to take a hand in the affairs of Istarinmul once more?”

Kazravid let out a nasty little laugh. “Ask Rezir Shahan how well that went.” 

Kylon shook his head. “I doubt the Assembly knows or even cares what I am doing now. I have been banished from New Kyre.”

“Slept with the wrong Archon’s wife, did you?” said Kazravid.

“Kazravid,” said Caina, a note of warning in her voice.  

“My wife was murdered,” said Kylon. “Along with several Archons and High Seats. We were considering aiding the Empire in its war against the Umbarian Order. In response, Cassander Nilas and Malik Rolukhan arranged for the Red Huntress to attack us. The Archons and High Seats were under my protection, in my house, and I was exiled for my failure to defend them.”

“I see,” said Nasser. “My sympathies for your loss, Lord Kylon.” 

“I am not a lord,” said Kylon. “Not any longer. And my interest in this matter is to see Cassander Nilas and Malik Rolukhan dead for their crimes. That is all I care about. Nothing else.” “Understandable,” said Nasser. Laertes moved away from the wall and crossed to the door. Something had caught his attention. “Though I am curious why you seem to follow the lead of our mutual friend the Balarigar.”

“We’ve seen some things together,” said Kylon. “The Balarigar is better at this kind of thing than I am. My best chance of killing Lord Cassander and Rolukhan is by joining your little war against Callatas.” 

“Very well,” said Nasser. “Then it seems we have a new enterprise before us. We shall lure and banish an ifrit.”

“No,” said Kazravid. “I am not part of this. I returned to make money.” Laertes slipped through the door and into the hall. “Not to fight devils and sorcerers and gods know what else.”

“You’ve gone to the netherworld with us,” said Caina. 

“If I had known we would be forced to do that,” said Kazravid, “I would have left Istarinmul and not stopped running until I reached the jungles beyond Anshan.” 

“I shall pay you five thousand bezants now,” said Nasser, “and if we are successful, I shall pay you ten thousand more.” 

“You paid me more for the raid on the Maze,” said Kazravid.

“Because we had stolen a far more valuable object,” said Nasser with reasonable calm. “It is not my fault that you happen to lie with the wrong whore and were robbed by her associates.” Anger darkened Kazravid’s face, but Kylon sensed embarrassment behind it. “Fifteen thousand total, if we are successful, is a reasonable sum.”

Kazravid sighed. “Very well. I am certain I shall regret this, but very well.”

“Who knows?” said Nasser. “There may be opportunities for additional profit along the way.” 

“How much are you going to pay me?” said Morgant.

“Nothing.” Nasser smiled showed a lot of white teeth. “I assume the satisfaction of your game is its own reward.” 

Morgant snorted but said nothing.

“It seems to me,” said Nasser, stepping around the table, “that our best plan of attack is to prepare a battlefield, lure the Sifter into it, and dispatch or banish the creature.” 

“I concur,” said Caina. 

Nasser glanced at Caina’s turban. “You are wearing your shadow-cloak, I presume?” Caina nodded. “Capital. A creature such as you described would be a powerful ifrit, one of their lords or lesser princes. It would have no difficulty finding you by arcane means, though the shadow-cloak will baffle that. An ifrit will be cunning enough to track you by other methods, or it may recruit followers with promises of reward.”

“I don’t want to ask Claudia for help,” said Caina. “Not unless there is any other way. I don’t want to put her unborn child at risk.” More accurately, Kylon knew, she did not want to put Corvalis’s unborn nephew or niece in danger. 

“That may not be necessary,” said Nasser. “I see you have entrusted the stormdancer with the valikon…”

“A valikon?” said Morgant, a ripple of surprise flashing through his aura. “You actually have an Iramisian valikon?” Caina nodded. “Where the hell did you find one?”

“The Emissary of the Living Flame at Silent Ash Temple,” said Caina.

“How did you convince her to give up the sword?” said Morgant.

Caina shrugged. “I asked.” 

“Good,” said Nasser. “We have all the pieces we need. I suggest we move and prepare a location to meet the Sifter. A place outside the city, perhaps, in the Desert of Candles or in the plantations of Akasar.”

“An empty place where fewer people can get caught in the battle?” said Caina.

“You grasp my intent splendidly,” said Nasser. “We…”

“Where did Laertes go?” said Kylon.

They all looked at him. Kylon had spent a great deal of time learning to control his arcane senses, not to let the emotions of others overwhelm his mind. He had gotten so good at it that he could block out a crowd without much effort, though he was perfectly aware of the intense emotions in the room with him. Yet he felt a growing surge of emotion from the patrons of the Shahenshah’s Seat and the crowds in the Bazaar, so strong that he felt it battering against his mental discipline.

Fear. 

Something was terrifying them.

“You need not worry, Lord Kylon,” said Nasser. “There is no treachery afoot here. Laertes is my associate, and among his duties is to secure the…”

“Something’s wrong,” said Kylon. He looked at Caina. “We have to go, now.”

“What is it?” said Caina. 

“I don’t know,” said Kylon. “But…”

The door swung open, and Laertes appeared, his broadsword in hand. 

Suddenly everyone in the room was holding a weapon.

“Immortals,” said Laertes. “A hundred Immortals, coming for the Shahenshah’s Seat.” He looked around the room. “I think they’re coming for one of you.” 

Chapter 13: Embers

“We need to go,” said Nasser.

Caina nodded, returning her ghostsilver dagger to its sheath and slipping a throwing knife between her fingers. She had drawn the weapons on reflex, and sprinting through the Shahenshah’s Seat with a naked blade would cause a panic. Or the bouncers would turn on her.

Yet it sounded as if a panic was already underway. Screams and shouts rose from the common room below, and Caina heard the thump of running feet and the bellow of hoarse voices. 

“We can’t just run out into the crowd,” said Caina. 

“I agree,” said Nasser. “Laertes, take the documents.” The Legion veteran nodded and hurried into the inner room, retrieving a satchel and slinging it over his broad chest. “Kazravid, with me. Ciaran. There is a balcony at the end of that corridor, overlooking the Bazaar. Since you are the stealthiest among us…”

“I’ll go,” said Caina. 

“Not alone,” said Kylon.

She hesitated, almost telling him to remain behind. He could not move as quietly as she could. Yet with the Shahenshah’s Seat and possibly the Bazaar itself erupting into chaos, stealth might become useless. Caina could not cut her way through a large number of Istarish Immortals, but Kylon could. 

Caina nodded and headed to the door, and both Kylon and Morgant followed her. She did not bother to tell Morgant to remain behind. He wouldn’t have listened, and he and Nasser might have wound up killing each other. She wondered why they hated each other so much.

A problem for later. 

She slipped into the hall and hurried down its length. She saw a group of men sprinting down the stairs, vanishing into the common room. Caina headed for the stairs herself. 

“The balcony’s at the end of the hall,” said Morgant.

“Higher,” said Caina. “Harder to shoot up. I’d prefer not to catch a crossbow bolt in the throat.”

“Or anywhere, really,” said Morgant. He seemed calm and relaxed, but his hand never strayed far from the hilt of the crimson scimitar at his belt…or the pocket where she suspected he had concealed that strange black dagger. 

Caina scrambled up the stairs to the top floor and ran down the corridor to the balcony where she and Nasser had discussed breaking into the laboratory of Grand Master Callatas. She slowed and dropped to a crouch, edging her way to the wooden railing, and gestured for Morgant and Kylon to stay back.

Then she peered over the railing.

Chaos reigned in the Bazaar, with merchants and shoppers alike fleeing in all directions, some vanishing into the alleys of the Anshani Quarter. Others fled through the gate, some trying to force carts of merchandise through the press, and a few of the more enterprising souls had begun looting the merchant stands. Yet in the chaos stood a black line of order, encircling the Shahenshah’s Seat.

Specifically, a line of black-armored Immortals. 

Caina whispered a silent curse. There were at least a hundred, maybe a hundred and fifty Immortals, and she saw more of the black-armored warriors moving into the alleys around the tavern. A steady stream of panicked men ran from the Seat’s doors, only to stop in terror when they saw the Immortals. Yet the Immortals did not attack. Some of them barked commands, and the Seat’s patrons moved forward in small, frightened groups, shuffling through an aisle of Immortals. At the end waited a towering main in chain mail, and Caina recognized Ikhardin. Next to him stood a silent figure draped in a ragged brown robe, the cowl pulled up to conceal the face. Ikhardin and the robed figure looked at the men, waving them through, and the merchants and porters and mercenaries who escaped ran as fast as they could.

Ikhardin was looking for Kylon. 

And the robed figure…

Caina eased back, her heart hammering her ears.

“Kylon,” she rasped. “The man in the robe, standing by Ikhardin. Is that the Sifter?”

“I think so,” said Kylon, his voice grim. “It’s hard to tell from this distance…but I think that is the Sifter.” 

“We must have been followed here,” said Caina.

“Or,” said Morgant, “your little locksmith friend betrayed us.”

“No,” said Caina.

“Or she was taken,” said Morgant, “and made to talk.”

That, unfortunately, was rather more likely. Caina started to speak…and then a grim idea occurred to her. 

“We have to get back to Nasser,” said Caina. “I don’t think we were betrayed, and I don't think Nerina was taken. I shielded myself from arcane observation…but I didn’t think to shield either of you. The Sifter was sent after me, but it saw both of you with me. It must have followed one of you here.”

“That…makes sense,” said Kylon. 

“Perhaps we’ll have the opportunity to kill the Sifter here,” said Morgant. 

“No,” said Caina. “It will do us no good to kill the Sifter only for two hundred Immortals to overwhelm us.” She shook her head. “And there are innocent people here.”

Morgant snorted. “Here? Hardly. You will find very few innocent people in the world…”

“Doesn’t matter,” said Caina. “Stop talking and let’s get back to Nasser.” 

“You could kill the Sifter and then escape,” said Morgant.

“I could also get killed trying to do it,” said Caina. “When you were a legendary assassin, did you often try to kill you enemies on ground favorable to them?”

Morgant inclined his head in acquiescence, and Caina ran back down the stairs, the men following. Nasser stood near the door to the sitting room, a scimitar in his right hand. Laertes had somehow found the time to don mail, while Kazravid stood ready with his bow strung.

“What have you learned?” said Nasser.

“Immortals, led by both the Sifter and Ikhardin, an assassin of the Kindred,” said Caina. “It seems our enemies have made an alliance against us, and they know that I am here or that Kylon is here.”

“Or both,” Morgant added.

“They’re letting people out of the Seat, seeking for us,” said Caina. “Once we don’t come out, I suspect the Sifter will send the Immortals to storm the building.” 

“Did you lead them here, Razor?” said Nasser. “Part of your game?”

“He wouldn’t have had time,” said Caina, but she wondered at that. Morgant might have had time to slip away from Nerina or Azaces, but they would have warned her if Morgant had done anything suspicious. “He’s been with me or one of my people since yesterday.” 

“Also,” said Morgant, “this may have slipped your notice, my lord of glass, but the Kindred have quite a large bounty on my head.”

“You have been dead for a century,” said Nasser. “I suspect they have forgotten you.”

Morgant grinned his humorless, wolfish smile. “Some of the Kindred live a very long time. They haven’t forgotten me. It’s entirely possible the Kindred Elder I betrayed is still nursing a grudge.”

“I cannot imagine,” said Nasser, “why anyone would hold a grudge against…”

“Shut up, both of you,” said Caina. “You can bicker once we’re clear of here. Fighting our way out is inadvisable. Nasser. Do you have a bolt hole?”

“Of course,” said Nasser. “There is a tunnel leading from the cellar to the sewers.”

“Then let’s go,” said Caina.

“However,” said Nasser, “the tunnel does not belong to me, but to the landlord of the Shahenshah’s Seat. He regularly sold access to the tunnel to smugglers, thieves, and anyone wishing to evade the watchmen.”

“Meaning,” said Kylon, “that Ikhardin and the Kindred likely know of it.”

“I fear so,” said Nasser. “We shall have to fight our way out in any event.”

“That is our best chance,” said Caina, her mind calculating the possibilities. “If they come at us in the tunnel, we can form a bottleneck and hold them off until we push our way clear. If we stay in here, sooner or later they’ll storm the Seat or burn the building down around us.”

“I concur,” said Nasser. “Lord Kylon, Laertes, take the front, if you please. Among us you are likely the best fighters.” Morgant raised an eyebrow at that, but offered no other protest. “I shall reinforce you if you are pressed hard. Ciaran, Kazravid, take the back. You have arrows and throwing knives. Use them as you see fit.” 

“And when shall I go, my noble lord of dust?” said Morgant.

“You shall stay with me,” said Nasser. “I have no wish to lose the knowledge in your head.”

Again Morgant did not argue, and Caina found herself impressed. It was one thing to give orders. It was another to have men obey. Nasser took command with the ease of a veteran commander. Who had he been before he had become the master thief Nasser Glasshand? She had known there was something strange about him. Few men could take an arrow to the chest and live, let alone regain their feet moments afterward. But if Morgant was telling the truth, then Nasser was far older than Caina had thought, perhaps even as old as Morgant himself. 

It was another mystery to consider once the immediate danger had passed. Assuming that Caina survived the immediate danger. 

“Go,” said Nasser, and they left the sitting room and hastened down the stairs.

The common room was in disarray. Tables and benches had been overturned in haste, food and drink spilled across the floor. A heel of bread squished beneath Laertes’s boot, soaked in a puddle of beer. There was no one else in the common room. The windows still stood open, and through them Caina saw the chaos in the Bazaar and the dark forms of the waiting Immortals. If Caina could see them, they could see her, and if they realized that the Shahenshah’s Seat had emptied…

A howling roar rang over the Bazaar, and Caina recognized the Sifter’s inhuman voice. 

The Immortals bellowed and surged forward, scimitars leaping into their hands. Some of the Immortals carried chain whips, and Caina had seen firsthand the deadly power of those cumbersome weapons. 

“Damnation!” said Nasser. “Go!” 

The Immortals burst through the door and charged. 

###

Kylon drew upon the sorcery of water and air, letting its power fill his muscles. 

“The kitchen, quickly!” said Nasser. “The stairs to the cellar are there. We…”

It was too late. The Immortals charged with inhuman speed. If Kylon and the others tried to flee to the kitchen and the cellar, the Immortals would run them down and kill them. They needed someone to hold off the Immortals. 

Perhaps if Kylon fell here, Caina would escape and would kill Cassander Nilas and Malik Rolukhan. 

“Kylon!” said Caina. “Come…”

Kylon took two running steps forward and jumped.

He shot over the fallen tables, the rafters blurring a few inches above his head, and landed in the midst of the charging Immortals. His boot struck the nearest Immortal in the side of the knee, and metal crunched and bone snapped. The Immortal stumbled with a furious cry, and Kylon’s broadsword darted out, plunging into a gap in the black armor. Blood covered his blade as he ripped it free, and the Immortal collapsed. Another swung a chain whip at Kylon, and he caught the blow on his left arm. It should have broken his arm, but the sorcery of water strengthened him, permitting his bones to withstand the blow, even though it still hurt. Kylon yanked with all his sorcery-enhanced strength, and the Immortal went clattering to the ground. He drove his sword down, killing the Immortal.

The other Immortals closed around him. Kylon jumped back, dodging their blows, the sorcery of air giving him the ability to avoid their blows. 

But only just.

Normal men could not keep up with him, not when he was using the sorcery of air, but the Immortals were not normal men. The alchemical elixirs burning in their blood made them inhumanly fast. Kylon found himself forced back upon his heels, retreating before the slashes of scimitars and chain whips. He could not strike back, his whole attention focused upon his defense, and realized that he had made a grave error.

His final error, as it happened. 

He hoped it had at bought enough time for the others to escape. One of the Immortals stepped too far forward, and Kylon seized the opening, his sword cutting through a gap in the armor and drawing a line of blood across the Immortal’s leg. The Immortal stumbled, and Kylon drove a killing blow into the warrior’s armpit.

The other Immortals closed around him, and Kylon tore his blade free, knowing it would be too late. 

A spinning blur of steel clanged off the helmet of an Immortal lining up a fatal blow. The throwing knife did not penetrate the black, skull-faced helmet, but it did stagger the Immortal. Kylon recovered his footing and risked a glance back, and saw Caina striding towards him, another knife glittering in her hand. 

He shouted for her to run, and then a dark shape shot past her. Nasser charged into the fray, his scimitar flashing. An Immortal turned towards him, and Nasser punched with his gloved left hand. It was the most foolish thing Kylon had seen in some time. The Immortals’ helms were reinforced steel, and even with his sorcery-enhanced strength, Kylon could not drive his blade through the armor. He expected to hear the sound of shattering bone as Nasser’s hand broke against the skull-mask.

Instead Nasser’s fist plunged through the steel helmet as if it had been wrought of paper, and the Immortal’s skull exploded in a spray of gore. Kylon did not recognize the sorcerous aura around Nasser’s left hand, but he certainly had not expected something like that. Nasser wheeled, catching another Immortal’s scimitar in his fist, and twisted. The motion should have torn his hand to bloody shreds, but instead he crushed the Immortal’s scimitar, jerking the warrior forward and burying his own blade in a gap between the armor plates. The Immortal fell, and Nasser spun to face another foe. 

An arrow buzzed past Kylon’s shoulder and sank into the eye of an Immortal’s helmet. Kylon saw Kazravid standing with his bow extended, his expression cool as he reached for another arrow. The anjars and khadjars of Anshan took pride in their skill as hunters, and few could match an Anshani noble’s skill with a bow. 

Yet more Immortals poured through the door.

###

Morgant took his scimitar in his right hand and his black dagger in his left. 

He had lost the scimitar decades ago. The weapon had once been carried by the notorious assassin Red Carzim, and Carzim had paid a fortune to a sorcerer to forge and enspell the weapon, making it stronger and lighter than regular steel. Carzim had decided to collect the bounty on Morgant’s head. After Carzim’s regrettable and untimely death, Morgant had kept the scimitar for himself, and then lost it few decades later while avoiding a necromancer who had taken an undue interest in Markaine of Caer Marist.