In the Shadow of Swords (34 page)

Cencova and Nasir followed the riders at a distance for some time, counting the numbers of men ahead and watching for newarrivals. They agreed that if they could gradually move up behind the
majals
, they would not likely be recognized. They were dressed plainly enough that they could assume the identity of servants and ride along unnoticed. Dassai would not know they were there until it was too late.

There was much left to do.

The council hall rested in the hills above Cievv. The look and design was more fortress than a place of commerce. The sessions were adjourned for another two weeks so Munif knew traffic to and from the hall would be sparse. As both men rode and closed in on their destination, each knew that Dassai was wise in his timing.

As the main procession passed under the archway leading into the immense labyrinthine of buildings, Dassai veered away from the group and the main entrance.

“There is someone who I must consult with before the meeting starts,” Dassai said after leading Munif to an elaborate structure which was windowless and had only a single door leading inward. “I will come for you in two hours. Stay near, is that understood?”

“As you wish,” Munif said.

The door opened and Dassai entered, leaving Munif alone with the horses. He knew this was the perfect opportunity to meet with Cencova and Nasir. They could prepare the
siris
for impending confrontation. A few minutes later Munif and the others were reunited.

“I think it is time to bring in the alchemist,” Cencova said, “I have an idea that may just work in our favor.”

“Tell us what you have in mind,” Munif responded.

16

THE CIRCULAR chamber was massive.

It had four entrances, each accessed by a long flight of polished stone steps that descended into the dimly lit room. Immense marble columns of various colors and grains supported a stunning silver dome. A single sconce on each pillar held an oil lamp, providing illumination for the chamber.

Carved high on the walls were words in the ancient language of Náhk:
Tueil Acaran Mehl Sirion
. The phrase, which meant
Hope Is the Wellspring That Flows Within
, had long been adopted by the Rassan Majalis.

Above, on the interior of the dome, a mural depicted the heavens and the earth: the suns, moons, and stars, and the lands and seas of Mir’aj. Intricate patterns were etched in the stone floor. At consistent intervals, laid out in a great ring, were dozens of chairs. At the westernmost point of the chamber, like the setting in the ring, was the High Seat reserved for the
majal
who had been appointed to oversee the Rassan Majalis.

Munif was tense with anticipation.

He had never been in this place before. According to tradition, only members of the council were permitted in the chamber. There were no tours for the curious, and those who occasionally tried to approach the High Seat were gently but firmly ushered to a small area just outside.

Dassai walked just ahead of Munif, his confidence evident in his gait. Munif so longed to run a blade through him that he was visibly shaking. For the past week or more, his every thought had been consumed by the moment when he would slay Dassai and the manner in which it would be done. He paused for a moment, placing his hand on the wall to steady himself. He wondered if everyone in the room could hear his beating heart; it was pounding in his own ears. Sweat dampened his upper lip and forehead.

Dassai glared over his shoulder, making it plain he would not tolerate Arzani’s weakness. Munif lowered his hand and concentrated on keeping his gait steady. Though he was trained to feign sobriety even while extremely intoxicated, there was little he could do to counteract the dizziness that always hit him when he was anxious or stressed. As he fought to restrain the shaking in his hands, he was mildly heartened to reflect that this show of emotion would help him impersonate Arzani more accurately.

Munif casually inserted his hands into the folds of his robe and felt around until he had confirmed—for the third time in as many minutes—the presence of a small vial. Cencova had obtained it from the alchemist and had instructed Munif and Nasir in its use. Munif rolled the small cylindrical container between his fingertips, carefully avoiding contact with the sharp metal tip of the lid. Once it pierced his skin there would be no going back. The spell would last only five minutes, and he was still not certain when to use it. Should he release it too soon, the alchemy would wear off before their plan had sufficient time to succeed. After five minutes, it would cease to protect him from the thing that Cencova was going to unleash on Dassai and the others; he would be just as blind as the rest.

He decided he would wait to use it until Dassai spoke his first words.

He walked slowly down the steps, taking in every detail of the hall. Of the chairs, only eight were occupied. The High Seat was empty. He did not recognize the faces but knew each person there represented a threat. These were the men whose vast wealth held sway over the various kingdoms of Mir’aj. Munif was certain that even though they weren’t directly responsible for the slaughter of the
rahibs
, dozens of innocent victims, along his own agents—these
majals
had approved of the outcome. It was all done to increase the consumption of
Azza
. Therefore, their own wealth could only increase.

Munif contemplated the nature of greed. What kind of a man bullied his way into riches so vast that he’d never be able to spend them in his lifetime? It was far better to be a man of humanity than one of avarice.

It seemed a sacrilege to allow this group of tyrants to use the sacred chamber for their rapacious schemes. Munif’s hatred for men like these ran deep. The only thing that kept him from springing into a mad frenzy of action was his awareness that the results would be far better if he waited for the right moment.

Dassai walked to the center of the hall and waved his hand, indicating that Arzani should stand behind him.

“Say nothing if you want to live,” Dassai whispered.

17

MUNIF WATCHED.

Dassai was across from him preparing to negotiate with the eight figures seated in the chamber.

Munif’s fingers squeezed the vial as he fought the urge to fidget. He wished it contained
affyram
instead.

“It gives me great pleasure to have been granted audience in this splendid hall,” Dassai began. “I come bearing news of a grave plot, one that originates with the highest authority of all: the Sultan of Qatana.” Dassai looked around him, visibly pleased with himself.

Munif pressed his thumb hard against the needle-like tip of the vial. He turned it upside down in his palm and felt the cold sting as the fluid entered his bloodstream. His vision began to dim as Dassai continued his speech.

“There is a tremendous and nefarious force at work. This force seeks to undermine our livelihoods. Do you agree?” Dassai paused as the attendees murmured their support.

Munif was nearly blind now and could make out only thefaintest of light and shapes. He could no longer see the seated men, nor could he see Dassai, who was directly in front of him. He began to panic, realizing that without his sight he could not confront the man who was his last hope for retribution.

Dassai continued, “The Sultan plots against the council, to weaken its foundations.” He paused. “My proposal is simple. The time has come for Sultan be removed and his son Emir Malek placed in his stead, under my control.”

Munif couldn’t believe what he was hearing. Dassai was advocating the assassination of the Sultan.

One of the council members rose and gestured the others to silence. “With all due respect, Fajeer Dassai, while I believe you have our best interests at heart, I have to admit that I am grave doubts.” The
majal
paused; his colleagues all nodded in agreement.

“Your skepticism is understandable,” Dassai said. “But I bring proof.”

The
majal
who had spoken murmured to his colleagues. Munif grew tense with anticipation.

The
majal
broke off his conversation. “Very well, Fajeer Dassai. Give us the proof and we will bring this matter to the full council.”

The words drove a dagger through Munif’s heart.

18

ILSS CENCOVA knew it was time.

He looked across the chamber. Behind every column stood a
siri
at the ready. Cencova and Nasir had brought their men in through the building’s four entrances; each man had silently taken his position after Dassai and Munif entered.

Nasir stepped from the shadows. Each of the men held a slender rod of platinum three feet in length. Cencova made eye contact with each one. The agents advanced from behind the pillars, readying themselves for the fray. Cencova had great confidence

in the agent’s capabilities.

Cencova turned to face the column and looked up at the casing that surrounded the lamp. His target was a small round opening. Reaching up, he inserted the rod into the opening and let go.

He had released their most powerful defensive weapon. A swirling energy swallowed the platinum and consumed the fire. A pulse of blinding white light bounced off one pillar, only to hit the next and the next.

The light continued to intensify, expanding to the summit of the dome. Shards of brilliant white rained down upon the chamber. There were screams of shock and terror, then of agony.

Cencova raced down the steps. Like Pavanan Munif and the rest, he had taken the alchemist’s antidote. He could see perfectly well in the dazzling light. Bodies were scattered on the floor, writhing and whimpering in pain.

Cencova performed a quick head count. There were six… seven… eight. Where was Dassai?
Damn it all, has he escaped again? impossible!

He looked again, scouring the chamber. His heart beat wildly.

There was no sign of Munif, either; both had vanished.

19

FALLING STARS showered upon them.

The effect that was both magnificent and devastating; Munif was grateful the potion had performed as promised, allowing him to see normally amid the luminescent maelstrom. After his initial surprise and wonder, he turned his attention to Dassai.

Dassai drew his cloak over his head and crouched down. He scuttled behind the nearest council chair, and then ran swiftly toward the steps leading up to the southern exit.

Munif hastened in pursuit. It was the first time, he realized, that he’d ever seen Dassai try to escape anything. The light was

growing stronger as the effects began to wane.

Dassai paused, waiting as a
siri
rushed down the steps toward him. Dassai leaped. The agent, caught off guard, tumbled headlong to the chamber floor. With all the speed he could muster, Dassai ran up the steps and out of the building.

Munif clambered over the fallen agent and went after Dassai. His normal vision had almost completely returned, and he could see his prey as he ran across the wide field of winter grass adjacent to the chambers. He sensed Prince Nasir following, still wrapped in his scarves.

Dassai jumped over rows of manicured shrubbery and trampled beds of flowers as he flew past the edge of a garden, following a stone path that led down toward a river. A low bridge with three arches spanned a brook that fed into the rushing current.

Dassai slid down an embankment and ran under one of the arches. Munif was right behind him now and, when Dassai paused and turned, Munif thrust his sword into Dassai’s midsection.

Shock and surprise replaced Dassai’s perpetual sneer as he looked down at the blade lodged in his abdomen. Munif grimaced and twisted the sword, and Dassai screamed. He slid down against the wall of the archway and looked up at his enemy.

“There is more to you than I would ever have thought possible, Niccolo Arzani,” Dassai said. He coughed, a deep, racking sound. Bloody spittle spattered his chest and thighs.

“It ends right here, Fajeer. You are a dead man.”

Dassai’s voice rasped with strain. “Why? Without me, you are no more than waste, discarded like a whore’s birthing sac.”

Munif twisted his sword again. Dassai screamed anew. “Indeed there is much more to me than you imagined. I’m going to purge your body of its spirit, so that it can slither down into the abyss where it belongs. But first, there’s something I want you to see.”

Munif pulled a small razor from his pocket. With the precision of a butcher, he sliced the skin of his forehead. Blood and clear fluid trickled down his face as he watched the horror dawn

in Dassai’s eyes.

Dassai tried to pull himself up but fell back. “What are you doing? You’re mad!”

Munif jerked the loose fold of skin downward, peeling back the layer of Arzani’s living flesh. Ripping it from his face, Munif flung it at Dassai. He smirked as Dassai vomited blood, and wiped away the lingering bits of membrane with the hem of his robe. “So now you see, Fajeer Dassai. This is the vision you will take to the grave, to remember for all eternity.”

Munif stepped back as Prince Nasir approached. Nasir’s face was concealed by a scarf that covered all but his eyes. Dassai craned his neck to see him.

“And one more thing,” Munif said, stepping aside and nodding at Nasir.

The Prince removed his scarf and stepped closer to the dying man.

Dassai looked up at Nasir, his eyes boring into the Prince’s. “No, it can’t be!” he cried.

“It is a pleasure to watch you die,” Nasir said.

Dassai began to shake uncontrollably. At last Munif withdrew his blade.

Seconds passed as Munif savored the death throes of his most hated enemy. He was determined to stay until Dassai drew his last breath. The moment he was dead, Munif would speak of him no more; retribution had been served.

Nasir clapped his hand on Munif’s shoulder, looking pleased.

“It is done, Pavanan.”

20