In the Shadow of Swords (37 page)

Fehls knelt suddenly and pretended to pick up somethingfrom the street. As Sarn watched, he looked about the fruit market until his eyes stopped at a small passageway leading east toward the network of alleys. It was across the street from where he knelt, and he appeared to be contemplating his options.

Sarn took advantage of Fehls’s indecisiveness to approach him and grip his shoulder.

“Walk with me to the end of this street. Take the corner,” Sarn said calmly. “Two buildings down, you will open the first door on the right. Be calm and do nothing to indicate that you are under duress. Do not attempt to flee. If you resist, I will bleed you where you stand.” Feeling the man’s terror, and with his arm companionably around his shoulders, Sarn urged him along. Sarn chatted to him of inconsequential matters, smiling the entire time.

As soon as Fehls stepped inside the door Sarn had indicated, Sarn struck him in the back of the head. He dragged the limp man up a narrow stairway to a small windowless room. Sarn locked the door and waited.

Eventually, Fehls tried to stand, but then slumped back onto the floor. “I sense a betrayer in my midst,” Sarn said.

“No, that is not true! I helped you gain access to the Sultan’s palace! That is all I did.”

“I gained access… but it was a trap.”

“I did not know. I swear!” Fehls pleaded.

Sarn shook him once by the shoulders, hard enough that Fehls’s head banged into the wall behind him. “I have a suspicion that there is much more going on—and that you know something about it. There are shadows cast around you that betray everything you do.”

Fehls was silent.

“You haven’t asked me how I escaped. Aren’t you just a bit curious about what happened to me? Or why I am here now? Instead of in the palace prison?”

Fehls whimpered a few syllables, but Sarn, furious beyond anything Fehls could have witnessed, raised a hand, and Fehlsstopped sputtering. “It’s too late, Rimmar. It’s too late to convince me you knew nothing about it.”

“I… I know you are to lead Prince Malek to the desert to meet Marin Altaïr.” Fehls paused, and Sarn noted that he chose his words carefully. “It is said she possesses relics of great value.”

“And how would you come to know this?”

“I’m just trying to stay alive!”

“Well, if that’s what you really want, tell me more!”

“The woman who possesses the books believes you killed her husband, as well as others… and that you sent summoners to kill the clerics in Givenh. They believe
you
are behind it all, but none of them knows why. They believe you plan to usurp the throne for yourself. I was told to maintain this facade. Nothing more.”

Sarn admired his efforts to provide a reasonable explanation. But he also knew that Fehls was lying; he knew even more than he had just revealed. Sarn could torture the confession out of the man, but the result would be the same; he’d either kill Fehls for lying or kill him to keep him from telling the truth.

Prudence dictated that Sarn assume the worst; Fehls had betrayed him. But he respected his betrayer enough to end his life swiftly.

Sarn drew back his fist and Fehls flinched, but not quickly enough. Sarn’s fist turned into an open palm. The pick concealed in his sleeve slapped into his palm and entered Fehls’s forehead just above the bridge of his nose. Sarn pulled his hand back with some difficulty; the point of the steel had gone all the way through and exited through the back of Fehls’s skull.

The dead man slumped to the floor.

Sarn wiped the blood from his hand and looked down at Fehls’s lifeless face.

He felt nothing—nothing at all.

6

MARIN ALTAÏR was sullen.

She had waited four days in Riyyal with no word from the Emir. She was at the mercy of his whims and did not know whether or not he would accept her offer.

The plan was risky, using herself as bait to lure out Ciris Sarn. The Books of Promise were part of the bargain. Malek would gain possession, and she would get the assassin.

Marin knew the value of the relics—her husband and many others had died because of them. But only she knew where to find the fifth book. This was the sole reason she still lived. Malek needed her.

Yet, every day Marin received from a courier cryptic instructions to go to a different location and look for a message.

The messages had all been the same.

Wait
.

She went alone, leaving Torre Lavvann and the others behind. From the caravanserai, she took advantage of the shadows cast by the towering whitewashed buildings as she passed through crooked passages and crossed over arched bridges of stone.

Riyyal was a city of water. It was impossible for her to imagine such a verdant place so far removed from rain. Yet there were an endless number of canals, fountains, and pools throughout the city.

Marin turned down another secluded side street and quickly found the
madrasah—the
destination given to her by today’s courier.

Marin navigated a system of stone passages and ornate galleries within the building until she reached a great chamber. In the niches on both sides of the room were sculptured reliefs of the revered ones. Above the openings were arched windows,each stretching more than twenty feet in height. On the floor, centered beneath the painted murals, was a sculpted scene of children kneeling in reverence. Each prayed with a pledge basin at his side as the first Sultan of Qatana looked down upon them all. Marin paid little attention to the scene; she had not come to pay tribute, only to find the message left for her.

Beneath the basin of the third kneeling child was a loosened stone and a notch in which she could insert the tip of a thin steel blade.

There was no writing on the envelope. Carefully she fit the block back into place. Looking around quickly, she broke the royal seal and gingerly extracted the ivory parchment.

Tomorrow at dusk Ciris Sarn Will escort you and your companions from the city. You Will find him, Waiting at the Fountains of Iimiyyah near the western the gates of the city. He Will be your guide to Waha al-Rihat from there you Will lead him to your final destination. Once the books

are in my posseeion, you may do as you Wish With the Kingslayer

Marin read the message again;
finally
. She knelt on the floor, let her shoulders slump and her head droop, and allowed the torrent of emotions to wash over her. She hoped that by letting them overwhelm her now—where she was alone and private—she could prevent them from betraying her when tomorrow came.

“Soon, Ciris Sarn… soon, I swear it.”

7

SHE WAS READY.

Marin led her group to the western gate. Beyond Riyyal the horizon was fading into a canvas of pastel shades painted by the setting of the second sun.

Marin found Sarn at the fountain. After so long, it all seemed to happen in an instant. One moment she was anticipating her encounter with the assassin, and the next, he stood before her. Beside him stood another man dressed in fine silk; the style of his head scarf identified him as a member of the royal family. Was this the Emir?

Marin looked into the eyes of the man she intended to kill. This was not the baleful, hollow-faced demon she had expected to confront. He was tall, with broad shoulders and high, chiseled cheekbones. He might be considered handsome were it not for his eyes. His cold black stare chilled her to the bone. She felt her heart leap, and her knees weakened.

Sarn led them away from the city just as the second sun set.

8

“TELL ME.”

She looked at Torre Lavvann as her former captain entered the tent. He was as direct as always.

“Tell me.”

“Sit,” Marin said, “and I will.”

“I need to know.” Lavvann studied Marin. “What did you learn from the
sha’ir
that you are keeping from me?”

“The books contain the truth about the essence of Ala’i: a truth that appears to contradict everything you or I have beentaught to believe, that proclaims it all to be a lie that may already have doomed us.”

The implications of this gradually became apparent to Lavvann. “What else?” he asked.

Marin held out her left hand, exposing the unhealed scar in her palm. “The
sha’ir
while possessed by the efreet revealed the location of the last book. I can find it. It will be revealed to me when we are near to the location.”

Lavvann leaned forward with interest. “How so?”

“A binding spell. Powerful magic that will aid us. However the four books are to be hers when the fifth is found.”

“I see.” Lavvann nodded.

“We must find it,” Marin said.

Lavvann looked troubled. “These books have been kept secret for a reason,” he said. “I am not sure if they should be found.”

Marin sighed and said no more.

9

THE SHIMMERING of the mirage hid the danger.

Marin and her companions were five days into the desert and ten days away from reaching the oasis when they were ambushed.

The attack seemed to come from all sides. The camels strode along at a steady pace, with Silím Rammas in the lead to scout their route. Adal Hussein brought up the rear, with Marin in the middle of the party. Prior to departing, she had donned a white flowing garment of light fabric that covered her body from head to toe and shielded her from the harshest rays of the suns. Her headdress provided her head and face with little relief from the stifling heat. The books were concealed in the inner pockets where they would be protected from the elements. Her sword, in its scabbard was ready for use at an instant.

The wind had intensified, pelting them with sand. They covered their faces, turning their heads away from the stinging blast. Their camels slowed, pushing on against the gale. Rammas called out from the front of the party. “This is just a short squall! It should blow over quickly.”

“We can hope!” Marin exclaimed.

Before long, the wind was screaming like a jinn unleashed. The blowing sand provided all the cover their attackers needed.

Their assailants came at them suddenly but were still far enough away that Marin and her companions had time to prepare. Swords and bows were drawn, and everybody prepared for a fight. The four men that Cencova had sent to accompany Marin encircled her. Sallah Maroud strung an arrow to his bow and took aim at an approaching rider. As they drew nearer, the wind died, the airborne sand settled, and Marin could see the Haradin.

She muttered an oath under her breath as they came closer. There were eight of them. Rammas and the others followed Maroud’s lead and pulled bows and arrows from their packs. Marin winced at the blinding flash of sword blades and scimitars as the Haradin approached.

Their arrows flew.

Marin drew her own sword and let out a piercing cry as the arrows hit their targets. Three Haradin went down. The other five continued their charge, and the battle was on.

Marin dove ferociously into the battle, meeting one of the Haradin with a flash of her blade. The assassin’s arm dropped to the sand, blood gushing from the stump of his elbow. Rage deafened her to the sound of steel against steel, to the cries of anguish. Her sole focus was survival.

Her companions matched her fury as they fought alongside her. Before long, all five of them had drawn their mounts into a rough semicircle and successfully fought off the remaining assailants. Panting from the exertion, they dismounted and snatched at their water skins.

Around them lay the slain bodies of the assassins. Their blood stained the white sand red. The Haradin horses had scattered and were lost to a predictable fate in the desert.

Lavvann sheathed his sword. “Is anybody hurt?”

“One of them sliced my arm pretty badly,” Maroud said.

Marin and Rammas tended Maroud’s wound. They bound his arm, and Marin smiled at him. “Don’t worry.”

“I won’t worry, Marin,” he said. He smiled. “It cannot go easy, it never does.”

“There will be more,” Marin said. “Either Haradin or White Palm. Word has spread of our coming.”

“That is probably true,” Malek said. “We need to leave quickly.”

He was right. The faster they moved, the sooner they could reach the oasis, and possibly avoid more hunters. But too much exertion was even deadlier. The desert itself was unmerciful—even more than a legion of assassins.

Once they had collected their belongings and bound their wounds, they resumed their journey west. Sarn was at her side in an instant, as if he were keeping a close watch on her.

She let him.
I am keeping a close watch on you, too, Ciris Sarn
, she thought.
And the first chance I see, I will spill your blood all over these desert sands
.

None of them spoke.

10

DANGER CLOSES from all sides
.

She kept her thoughts to herself as off in the distance, Marin saw two figures on horseback.

It had been two days since the Haradin attack. They had not encountered anyone else; nevertheless, they had not let down their guard. They were wary of other
badawh
and cutthroats.