Shadowblade (12 page)

This woman was whore and a snitch and not to be trusted except to do as she was paid to do.
This time the voice was definitely
in
his head, and the woman had not heard. Zach understood the wisdom of those words, as good as law for those who worked for the Spiders, but he was having trouble accepting it.

“If this is too-” he began, but she interrupted him.

“Five more crowns,” she said. Zach nodded and handed her more money. It stung him to give up so much money in so short of a time. But his purpose was greater. He felt driven, in a very overwhelming way, to find the power structure of the assassins in Powyss.

“You tell me if you even think the
Nyzyr
are going to give you trouble,” he said.

“That’s a very cavalier thing to say about the
Nyzyr,
suicidal even.” She looked at him hard, measuring his character. “You know a lot about them, I can tell. And you aren’t boasting, either.”

Zach said nothing, he just looked her in the eyes and nodded.

“Well, I hope you can back that claim up. Because I have a feeling they might just make trouble for me if they think I told you where to find them, but that’s what you’re paying me for. And I’ll do it.”

“It’s what I am paying you for,” he replied.

“I don’t need to tell you-”

“I didn’t hear this from you,” he finished her sentence.

“You didn’t hear this from me,” she affirmed. “I don’t know where their guild house is, but I do know where many of the
Nyzyr
go to meet clients. It is a place called
The Sultan Khel.”

Zach nodded and squeezed Siren’s shoulder as he left the
Call.
He thought a lot about what he was doing, and why. And for once the voice-companion did not interrupt his thought process. He hoped sincerely, and that surprised him, that nothing ill would befall Siren or her workers. He was fond of her and he knew that fondness for anyone could be dangerous, a liability even. He shook his head and steeled his resolve; if the woman died, so be it.

Finding the
Nyzyr
was now his priority.

C H A P T E R

5

Qra’zim.

“What happened?” shouted the bishop, frantically. “What did you do, Cjii?”

The shade stood there, hands on his hips, his translucent face smirking at the mortal.

“You are fortunate to be one of the few mortals who are
Qra’
z
im
, Revered Bishop,” said the Cjii with a calm smirk. “Else, I would remove your tongue from your squirming mouth and burn it before your eyes.” The elderly bishop scowled at the shade of the man standing before him, knowing that what the immortal said was entirely true. He chose not to push the issue and asked another question instead.

“How will this affect our plans, O Wise One?” the old man asked with a bit more tact in his tone.

“Let me enlighten you, O enlightened holy man,” said the Cjii, his voice dripping with sarcasm as usual. “This man, whom we already knew to be one enlightened in the ways of the Harmony Monks was also an information merchant. The latter of course, being that which concerned you most. Yet, it would seem, the former should have been more important.

“You see,” continued the transparent man, prolonging the ire of his counterpart, “as a practitioner of the way of the Open Palm, he was able to displace his mind to the spirit realm to merge himself with what he believed to be his god, Zuhr. What really happened, you see, is that the fool simply willed himself to die and his soul went on to the afterlife.”

“He is dead, then. Will you be able to use him as your avatar?”

“Yes. He will still make a suitable avatar. Shameful, that his soul escaped me; I would have exponentially improved my strategy using his memories.” The transparent man’s image flickered in and out, reflecting the irritation that his voice did not. “Let us not waste time; a better line of replacements from you will I expect!” The spectre glided to the alter and blinked out of existence. The bishop quickly poured oil on Hugh’s forehead and traced the shape of the dragon. Then he stepped back, whispering a prayer to Qra’z, and grasped his dragon’s head staff.

Suddenly Hugh sat bolt upright, sending the blanket to the floor; the bishop watched with interest. The movements were quite mechanical, as they always were when Devoricus inhabited a new body, but this time they were a bit stiffer due to the beginnings of rigor mortis. The bishop smirked a bit.
Let the bastard Cjii suffer
, he thought to himself.

As the Cjii worked out the kinks and stretched out stiff muscles, he made quite a spectacle of himself. Working his jaw, kicking his feet, and flexing his arms, the supernatural being looked as comical as an Arnathian mime.

“Oh, very good, Sir. Very good! You will pass for this pathetic peasant with ease!” chuckled the bishop.

The newly animated body seemed to be getting the hang of itself and strode over to face the bishop. “The peasant took his considerable knowledge with him when he escaped you. We
must
learn what Umber is planning,” said Devoricus with emotion, his voice sounding less awkward with each syllable. “However, I can still see where his common speech patterns and physical demeanor are stored. Enough information for me to feign his personality. I will obtain the information myself.”

The bishop was slightly irritated by the Cjii’s obvious ignorance of his sarcasm. He sighed, consoling himself with the comical images of the immortal being trying to walk in a human’s body.

“Very well, Devoricus. Blessed be Qra’z.”

“My Lord?”

Cannath looked up from his great desk to see Hugh standing in the doorway, looking very pale with sweat dripping along his temples.

“What is it, Hugh? Have you taken ill?” he asked.

“No, sire,” replied Hugh with surprise. “Ah, just a bit of over exertion, you see.”

Cannath simply watched his old friend with a grimace.
How very odd,
he thought. “Where
were
you? I could have used your advice earlier.”

“How so, My Lord?”

“Since when do you call me, ‘My Lord?’” asked Cannath sharply. Devoricus shook Hugh’s head ruefully. He should have remembered that Hugh would call Cannath “Prince” and not “Lord.”

“My apologies, Prince Cannath,” said the Cjii with a humble bow.

Cannath dismissed the apology with an angry wave. “What do you have to report?”

“I believe my contact, Regari, may have been compromised. He was not present for our appointment.”

“You’ve never named your contacts before,” said Cannath warily. “Why now? I certainly don’t want to have that information should the
Qra
’z
im
come looking!”

“Ah, forgive me, sire. Perhaps I am becoming ill after all.”

“Perhaps you are, old friend. I believe we shall soon be rid of those cursed
Qra
’z
im
, anyway.”

“How so, My Prince?”

“While you were out missing your appointments,” began the prince wryly, “Gavinos brought me some very good news.”

Devoricus did not want to appear over-eager to hear Cannath’s good news, but was having a hard time dealing with the thousands of minute pieces which comprised a single expression on a human face. Instead, he struggled to maintain a stoic appearance and did not ask further, expecting the prince to explain. He was relieved when Cannath did just that.

“A powerful warlock in the employ of Shalthazar, the Prophet-General of Ilian Nah, is on his way to help us remove the Arnathians by force!”

“That is wonderful news, Sire.”

Out of the corner of his eye, Cannath thought he saw Hugh’s eye twitch. “Why don’t you return home, Hugh? You look like you could use some rest.”

“I beg your pardon, Sire,” offered the immortal, trying his best to appear ill; a difficult task as immortals are immune to physical ailments. “I would not miss the opportunity to help you destroy your enemies.”

“Indeed, I had hoped you would see it that way!” the prince smiled broadly, apparently accepting the ruse. He walked over to his old friend and put his arm around the man and wrinkled his nose in disgust. “You stink, Hugh! Go home and have a bath!”

“I will, My Prince,” replied the Cjii. “As soon as I am no longer needed.”

“What celebrations we will have when the castle is mine and I am crowned Thayne of Hybrand!” the prince went on, pretending not to notice the odor.

“It will be a joyous occasion, Sire,” the immortal paused, appearing humble. He did not fall for the obvious trap; a close confidant could not be expected to “take ill” on the eve of battle. “What do you require of me to facilitate your plan?”

“It would have been nice to know what your contact was going to report regarding the movements of Arnathian forces,” he said dryly. “But, I do not think it will matter. It seems our new allies are far more powerful than the Arnathians. We will crush them in one fell swoop!”

“I see. And how do I fit in with these plans, Sire?”

“I have sent my battle plans to Commander Coronus, who is on his way here with an army and a fleet of warships
.
I have not received word from this Coronus yet, which concerns me somewhat.”

“A fleet?” asked Hugh, appearing surprised. “That is wonderful news! How many troops do you expect?”

“Enough to crush the Arnathian forces that are here!” said the prince gleefully. He was so caught up in the excitement of the moment that he didn’t recall already explaining this to Hugh.

“How soon do you expect him?”

“Two days, perhaps sooner.”

“So soon? Are the troops ready?”

“Of course, Hugh. The Royal Guard is ready and waiting. They have been drilling in secret for weeks. But they are ready to fight now.”

“Excellent!” offered Devoricus, feeling confident enough to attempt a slight smile. “If you do not mind, I will return to my quarters and rest.”

“Yes, of course.” With a nod from Cannath, Hugh turned and left his prince’s office.

Cannath pondered what had just transpired. Something was definitely wrong with Hugh.
But what
? He wondered with ire. Hugh always called him “prince” in private. He thrummed his fingers on the edge of his desk, thinking. But thoughts of the arrival of Commander Coronus soon overtook concern for his old friend and his mind drifted back to the impending liberation.