In the Shadow of Swords (16 page)

but not cumbersome.

One traitor down, one more to go
, he thought.

Munif knew exactly where to find him.

23

ARZANI RETURNED to the house.

The house was located in the Palace Quarter between the Summer Citadel and the Palazzo Condesta. A labyrinth of alleys surrounded it, cut off from the rest of Tivisis by a high stone wall. Within were the residences of powerful merchant lords, city officials and magistrates, and a host of foreign emissaries.

Constructed over the course of centuries, every street in the Palace Quarter was framed by ancient buildings that circled each other in ever expanding rings. The streets were paved with hard brick, the sharp edges long eroded by endless streams of passing feet. The fronts of the buildings had once been whitewashed, but had darkened over the years to the dirty gray of chimney soot and neglect.

Toward the center, near Regent’s Square, the streets became much shorter than those running along the outside edge of the quarter. Though it looked random, in fact it was a defensive measure put into place long ago. The twisty, narrow streets would prevent attacking soldiers from forming into large groups, stringing them out and subjecting them to ambush from any one of the dozens of passages that cut through the circular streets.

It was hopelessly confusing to newcomers, but Arzani knew exactly where he was going.

He opened the door and entered, scanning until he found what he sought—an entry to what he presumed to be the cellar. Pushing the heavy oak panel aside, he paused a moment to let his eyes adjust to the complete darkness below. Soon enough, his eyes had focused enough for him to see dimly, but he held thehandrail and stepped gingerly down the creaking wooden steps. A curious mix of damp, musty, and sweet wine smells lingered in the air.

Reaching the bottom, Arzani strode forward, ignoring the old wooden racks holding dusty, forgotten bottles of wine. At the back of the cellar a drafty hole in the wall led to a well-built tunnel. Within minutes, he was sidling through a secret entrance on the lowest floor of the citadel.

Once in his private chambers, he scribbled a message and went to find a courier to pass it on to Fajeer Dassai, who he knew would be awake, even at this hour.

He did not have long to wait.

24

“WELL.”

Arzani eyed Dassai. “It appears we have a problem. Pavanan survived.”

He held up his hand as Dassai began to speak. “We don’t know how, but his body was not among the dead,” Arzani said, adding, “However, it is possible that he was behind the others and survived the blast, only to succumb elsewhere later.”

Dassai ran his hands through his hair and shook his head. “No. No, that bastard lives, I can feel it. Damn him! We should have had someone there to take care of that possibility.” His face flushed with anger. “You should have been better prepared!”

Arzani shifted in his seat. “It is pointless to lay blame now. It is done.”

Dassai glared at him for a moment longer before heaving a sigh. “At least the Carac were successful. Their mission is achieved. Fear and panic will reign in the streets. On the other hand, we must do what we can to deal with Pavanan’s escape. You must convince Galliresse that Munif acted of his own accord, killing hisfellow agents and betraying the people of Tivisis. Make him wary of the intentions of the Jassaj and even the motives of the Sultan. Pavanan Munif must be blamed. It is the only way. Make him a wanted man throughout Givenh and all of Miranes’.”

Arzani nodded. “It will be done.”

He stared as Fajeer Dassai began to pace frantically, plotting his next move. “Yes. This will work. But showing that the Rassan Majalis was at the heart of it may serve us even better.” Dassai pointed at Arzani, his eyes boring into the advisor. “You must make sure that Galliresse believes this comes from the Rassan Majalis and the Sultan of Qatana. Givenh will be convinced to turn against them.”

“But will this not make Galliresse look incompetent as well?” Arzani asked.

Dassai shrugged, but did not look away. “What you do to undermine him is of no concern to me. Succeed, and this may seat you as the new Suffet of Tivisis, and all can still fall into place as I have planned.”

Arzani’s eyes gleamed with anticipation.

Dassai gave him a devil’s grin. “Need I state clearly what will happen should you fail?”

The other man’s eyes dulled as he contemplated the word.

“I must leave.” Dassai said abruptly, spinning away.

“Where are you going?”

Dassai paused at the door. “I am of no more use here. My presence is a threat now. Tell Galliresse that I am returning to Cievv for a full account of the attacks. It would be best for him to believe it. You can reach me in Dorré if there is need. There is still more work to be done.”

He slipped into the corridor, leaving Arzani to puzzle out his meaning.

Arzani knew Dassai would not return.

25

MUNIF WAS READY.

He’d closed in on Dassai. It hadn’t taken long to find him. Munif perched on top of the bridge, watching as Dassai neared, oblivious. With perfect timing Munif leapt down on him.

Dassai’s legs buckled. He fell hard on his hands and knees, grunting as the breath was knocked out of him. Rolling clear, Munif didn’t give him a chance to catch a gulp of air. He punched both his fists down on Dassai’s back, then flipped him over and slammed a knee into his chest to hold him down. “Fajeer, Fajeer,” he said in a mocking tone. “That has always been your failing: you never look up.”

Ignoring Dassai’s struggle to breathe, he crossed his arms, grabbing the cloth around the man’s neck with both hands, further choking off Dassai’s windpipe. Munif took great delight in the look of surprise and pain on Dassai’s face.

Dassai closed his eyes. “It is… too late… to stop it.”

Munif suddenly went cold, relaxing his grip. “Too late to stop what?” He shook the prone man.

Dassai sucked in a breath. “The Carac went to… They summoned… just before dawn.” His eyes opened and there was such finality in them that Munif recoiled. “It is done.”

Munif looked up in horror as light from the first sun painted the sky red. Dassai took advantage of Munif’s loosened grip, slipping both arms within Munif’s, breaking the chokehold. Before Munif could react, Dassai slammed the heel of his left fist into his opponent’s chin and pushed Munif’s shoulder with his right hand. Munif crashed backward onto the pavement.

Still struggling to breathe, Dassai scrambled to his feet, giving Munif time to recover. Within seconds, they were facing each other again.

Munif struck first, shoving with his left hand and then striking Dassai in the throat with his forearm. He tried to slip his arm under Dassai’s shoulder to throw him back to the ground, but the attack had slowed him. Dassai easily avoided the move, pushing Munif off balance and scything his right leg at Munif’s ankles.

Dassai connected cleanly, sending Munif crashing once again to the street. Shards of pain stabbed through him as the blisters on his calves burst open. Munif fought to stay conscious as agony swept over him and blood flowed down his legs.

Dassai chuckled. “You also tend to distract easily. And,” he said, sneering, “it appears you did not escape the fire unscathed.”

Dassai’s voice had come from somewhere to his left. Munif fought to regain his sight, frantically blinking to clear the fog. He pushed himself upright and found Dassai looking at him, a sly grin on his face.

“It’s true,” Munif said. “I didn’t escape the fire unscathed. But you won’t escape here unharmed, either.”

Dassai’s smile dissolved as both men squared off once again. Munif, struggling through pain that turned the edges of his vision red, knew he did not have much energy left. Maybe enough for one last strike, but that was all. It would have to be a killing blow.

He balanced himself the best he could, locking the fingers of his right hand. With a tremendous scream born of pain and fury, he launched himself at Dassai, the hard edge of his hand slicing toward his foe’s windpipe.

Too slow. Mere inches from his target, Munif felt his outstretched arm pushed away as Dassai easily sidestepped the blow and locked his hand behind Munif’s head, forcing him to look toward the ground.

It seemed to take hours for Dassai’s knee to come up. The first blow crashed into the left side of his chest, cracking three ribs. Munif would have fallen down yet again but for Dassai’s grip.

The second stroke took him in the chin, and this time, Dassai let go. Munif’s head snapped back, and as he fell he could feel teeth cracking and blood flowing from his shattered mouth.

Once again on his back, he stared toward the sky, feeling the blood pooling in the back of his throat. He could hear Dassai, but he could not move, let alone breathe. Dassai stepped into his view and looked down at him, his face shadowed as the first sun’s rays lit him from behind. Dassai shook his head and waved in a mock salute. “Farewell, Pavanan Munif. Before the day is done, Tivisis will no longer welcome you. You have become the betrayer of its people—and you will be punished. Yes, you will.”

Munif wanted to scream in protest, but the words did not come. Dassai stepped over Munif and disappeared, leaving him on the gravel.

Dassai was gone. The fight had cost Munif everything but his life, and even that was in question.

Pushing unconsciousness aside, Munif pulled himself together. He sat up, wincing against the pain and spitting his mouth clean. Running his fingers over his ribcage, he easily located the injury. Holding his side with his right hand, he used his left to lever himself to his feet.

Munif was grateful that Dassai had not bothered to take his weapons or his coins. He took off his robe with great care and folded it. Before he could do anything else, he needed to find a place to heal.

Beaten and betrayed, Munif limped away from the palace gate.

He also failed to notice the shadow that separated itself from the wall and began following him.

1

CIRIS SARN was a marked man.

He was weary of his life and actions. The past plagued him, every day a living reminder of fate; cruel and twisted. His hour of judgment would come, soon perhaps. He would pay dearly for choosing this path. But for the present, Sarn had other, more immediate concerns that involved both his employers and his enemies.

Taking a moment to get his bearings, he adjusted the cloth that covered his mouth, the light fabric damp with sweat. Many travelers used facial coverings to protect themselves from the heat of the suns. It also served to keep his identity hidden from prying eyes.

Sarn neared the gates of Marjeeh, another powerful and wealthy sheikdom that stretched along the coast of the Crescent Cape. After killing one of Dassai’s men in Pashail, Sarn had fled north—ignoring both Oranin and Havar where Dassai would no doubt be expecting him to return.

The spree of assassinations he’d committed in the last six months put him at constant risk— reckless retaliations against the machinations of a dangerous mind. But Sarn had no choice in the matter. Dassai dictated his actions, and the curse prevented him from doing otherwise. He was weak and vulnerable, and could not change anything. Yet.

He left the caravan road, soon coming to the southern gates of the city. Two guards stood there, bored with inactivity, their swords lying in their scabbards. Sarn pulled the scarf even more tightly around his face as he shuffled past them. He knew he could kill them before they could draw steel, but he preferred not to.

Neither of them gave a glance as he passed by them.

Continuing on, he soon came to a narrow aqueduct bordering the road. Farther along, a flat stone lay in the shade of a palm tree. Many others used this place to obtain clean water. Sarndipped his waterskin into the aqueduct, filling it, then taking a large swallow. It was somewhat cool, and instantly revived his parched mouth.

Sarn contemplated his next move. He had thoughts of going farther north to Tanith where he owned a
riad
, but even that might not be safe; there was a good chance that a trap had been laid for him there. His safest course of action would be to seek refuge in Marjeeh, at least for the time being.

He contemplated the available contacts and safe houses that might be available there. His thoughts wandered to the vineyards. Recalling them brought back unpleasant images of its destruction and the confrontation with Dassai, followed by his killing of Hiril Altaïr. He gritted his teeth and shook his head as if to empty it of the unwanted memories. To this day, Altaïr’s murder unsettled him. The actual killing did not bother Sarn so much as the reasons why. It had set off the series of vicious slayings by his hand, all strands in the web of Fajeer Dassai’s sadistic schemes. And what part did the books play in this; what did Dassai want with them?
Should I have done what I did, leaving them there for someone else to find?