Shadow Blade, page 15
He shook his head and herded her into the shadows. “The palace is the last place you should be. That assassin will be looking for you to hide somewhere in the palace, and will search every room, every corridor, and every corner to kill you. Out here at least we can keep you on the move, keep him guessing about your location.”
She studied Ashai’s face, searching for truth in the deep, brown pools. She found only questions.
“How do you know he hasn’t given up already?”
He let out an exasperated sigh. “Did you see that dagger, Makari? It was a Denari Lai blade, a warning sent from the deadliest assassin’s guild in the world. Sent to you. Denari Lai never fail because they never stop until their target is dead. Right now, your best bet is to keep him off-guard until Bauti and the Royal Guard can figure out who it is and kill them.”
Something scurried away under a trash heap to her right, and she took a step into the dim light of the setting sun. Ashai pulled her back into the darkness of the shadows.
“My place is in the palace, by my father’s side,” she argued, brushing away his hands. “My people will need me if … if my father … until he recovers.”
She felt her voice shaking and chose to say no more for fear of breaking into tears again. Ashai stared at her, his mouth down-turned, eyes crinkled with worry. She wiped her nose on the cloak, sniffed, and looked away.
After a moment, he took her hands in his and squeezed them, as if trying to push some of his strength into her through their touch.
“You’ll be no good to your father or your people dead,” he said, voice softer. “And that’s what you’ll be back in the palace. Dead.”
She sniffed again, finally able to breathe through her nose, as her crying became a distant memory. She regretted it immediately, as the stinks of feces, urine, and rotting meat assailed her senses.
She pinched her nose closed and looked down the alley, into the orange disk of the sun.
“So where are we going?”
“My place,” he told her. “My old loft. I keep some things there that will help us, and we can take an hour or two there to rest.”
Suspicion crawled like an insect into her heart. Why did he still have a residence in the city when they’d given him quarters in the palace? Then he smiled at her, and she pushed the thought aside. An hour ago she’d been ready to wed him. Why should that change now?
Giving his hands a return squeeze, she nodded and followed him down the alley.
“Then what?” she asked. “After we rest, what will we do then?”
To her surprise, Ashai shrugged. “I haven’t figured that part out yet.”
A few twists and turns later, Ashai stopped, eyes closed as he listened in silence.
“They’re coming,” he whispered, opening his eyes. “We need to hide.”
He ducked into an even smaller alley running behind a row of shops, went to a back door, and pushed it open, urging her inside ahead of him. He eased the door closed just as the sound of boots clattered outside, steel clinking. He slid a bolt closed and pushed Makari down so they huddled together under the door. The footsteps got louder as a squad of armed men clinked and clanked past, disappearing down the alley. As soon as they were gone, Makari let out the breath she hadn’t known she was holding.
She looked around the dim room and saw stacks of cloth against the walls, and spools of thread lining shelves. The muffled sound of snoring tumbled down a set of steps to her right, pointing to the slumbering owner of this shop.
“We need to change clothes,” Ashai whispered. “I’d hoped to do it at my loft, but we need to change sooner than that.”
He moved deeper into the room, stepping around a pile of cloth on the dark floor. He ran his fingers over a bolt of cloth, letting them linger a moment, as if he missed the feeling. Makari watched him ease forward, realizing he moved with a grace she hadn’t seen before, an almost cat-like litheness she’d seen in other men, all of them seasoned soldiers.
“Who are you?” she whispered.
He didn’t hesitate, didn’t flinch as he stepped through a curtain-covered door into the next room. She followed him, finding herself in a tailor shop, with unfinished items hanging everywhere, and a storefront open to a large street, display windows shuttered for the night.
“I am the man you are going to marry. Ashai Larish, Minister of Finance, and former cloth merchant until you saved me from my boring existence.”
He shot her a grin through the darkened room, and for a moment, she saw again the man she’d fallen in love with, the one she wanted to marry. Then he turned his attention back to the task at hand and the moment was gone.
“I know the man who owns this shop,” he whispered, tapping his lips. He turned to a wardrobe against the side wall. “Ah, here we go.”
He opened the doors and produced a simple cotton dress, dyed forest green with simple silver trim and a high neckline.
“That looks about your size,” he said. He motioned to a neck-high privacy screen behind her. “Put it on. We’ll have to worry about shoes later.”
Makari looked down at the black slippers she’d worn to her wedding and nearly teared up again. She fought it, though, stuck her chin out, and went behind the screen.
Meanwhile, Ashai tossed his jacket into the wardrobe and stripped out of the black silk shirt he wore underneath before turning his back to her. She watched as the shirt came off, admiring the ripples of his back as he shrugged into a plain brown tunic. How had a merchant become that fit? Developed such muscle?
As soon as he unlaced his hose, though, Makari felt heat rise to her cheeks, and she turned away.
When they both had changed, he handed her a hooded wool cloak, again dyed green like her dress. He’d donned tan cotton breeches and a rough-hewn brown cloak, drawing the hood up to hid his face.
“Good thing Master Frollo had customers close to our size,” he whispered.
“You will steal from a friend?”
“Oh, believe me, Frollo owes me at least this much. He’s notorious for under-paying for materials.”
Makari pulled a purse from her old dress and stared counting silver coins into her hand. “We can at least pay him for his trouble,” she muttered.
“You carried a purse on our wedding day?” He looked at her with arched eyebrows.
She handed him three silvers, but he held out his hand until she gave him one more.
“Part of the ceremony was supposed to be you and me handing out coins to the poor, just like the day we met.”
He looked her in the eye then, and smiled a melancholy smile. He brushed her cheek with his fingertips.
“I’m sorry about all this. What should have been a joyous day has turned into a …”
He paused, listening again, eyes closed. A moment later, he opened them and hurried her behind the changing screen just as the sound of marching men echoed through the street in front of the shop. Holding his finger to his lips, Ashai crouched with her behind the screen.
The footsteps grew louder, mixed again with the chinks and clangs or armor and steel. Peeking through a hole in the screen, Makari saw the shadows shifting in the street outside as the soldiers passed, even caught the faint glint of moonlight on steel.
“Who are you?” The man’s voice came from behind them, and she spun to see a wizened old man with a bald head behind them, a cudgel in his hand. “Get out of my shop!”
Ashai moved to show himself to Frollo, but too late. The squad halted right outside the shop. A moment later, someone pounded on the door.
Frollo’s eyes seemed to adjust and he recognized Ashai, nodding. He motioned for them to stay put and walked to the front door just as the soldier pounded again.
“Open up in there or we’ll kick the door in!”
“I’m coming!” Frollo answered. “Bad enough you wake an old man from his sleep, but then you expect him to move like you young folks.”
He jerked open the door, and through the hole, Makari saw a Royal Guardsman she recognized from the palace. He kept his hand on his short sword, and made an imposing silhouette in the flickering light of the torches his men held. Frollo faced him in the doorway, hands on hips.
“We’re looking for the man who kidnapped Princess Makari,” the Sergeant said, his voice strung with urgency. “Former Minister of Finance Ashai Larish. He’s a dark-haired—”
“I know what he looks like,” Frollo interrupted. “He used to overcharge me for silk, the crook. And everyone knows what the lovely Makari looks like.”
He inched closer to the door, as if trying to force the soldiers to stay outside by blocking their entrance.
“We heard you tell someone to get out,” said the soldier. “Who?”
“Oh, that?” Frollo shrugged and motioned to the shop behind him. “That was just … them!”
He bolted out the door as Ashai said something under his breath that Makari couldn’t understand. The soldiers stood in shock a moment, then the sergeant bulled his way inside, drawing his sword.
Ashai moved like lightning, bounding from behind the screen, drawing a wicked-looking blade from the small of his back.
“Run!” he shouted.
Makari froze, knowing she should move, but unable to do so. She stood, staring, as Ashai attacked the men coming through the door. He moved like quicksilver, flowing from one place to another with such efficiency that she wondered for a moment if he was human. The sergeant died first, his throat sliced from ear to ear, blood splashing the walls and ceiling. Ashai shoved him back, forcing his dying body into the other men.
His blade flashed again, cleaving through a second man’s knee. The soldier screamed and fell, making a third man trip. Ashai’s eyes flicked to her before he spun and kicked another soldier in the chest.
“I said run!” he shouted.
The distraction almost killed him, as the man whose knee he’d slashed managed to thrust at him with a short sword. The blade glanced off Ashai’s shoulder, making him wince, but he skipped away and drove his dagger into the man’s eye.
Makari finally came alive, jumping to her feet and heading for the back door. She’d almost gained the back room when Frollo jumped in front of her.
Makari’s rage leapt up, a fire in her chest.
Her foot jumped out, almost of its own accord, and caught the tailor in the groin. Frollo fell to his knees and Makari jumped over him. An instant later, Ashai was there, shoving her forward while behind them, the soldiers gave chase.
She burst through the back door into the alley, surprised no soldiers waited there. Ashai slipped out right behind her, turned right, and grabbed her wrist. Before he could move down the alley, a figure appeared ahead of them. Broad shouldered and tall, the man wore a flowing gray robe, face wrapped in dark material. In his hand was a dagger much like the one she’d seen in the gift box. The one Ashai now carried. A Denari Lai blade.
Ashai pushed her behind him and went into a crouch, the dagger he’d taken from the chapel in his hand. Makari’s stomach knotted as she watched him roll the knife around in a circle, like it was a part of his hand.
Before she could think about it, the cloaked figure’s arm leapt out and something flashed silver in the air, streaking toward her. Ashai moved lightning quick, knocking the item out of the air, deflecting it with his dagger. The object clattered to the ground, skidding to a stop at her feet. It was a gleaming disc with sharpened, serrated edges. She winced at the thought of it hitting her.
Ashai backed into her, shielding her with his body as the cloaked figure stalked them. In the shop to their right, the soldiers had recovered and were smashing their way through the back room. Ashai backed her past the door just as a hulking soldier broke through, torch in hand. Makari’s heart soared, for standing in the doorway, silver hair shining in the torchlight, was Captain Bauti.
Bauti’s gaze skipped from her to Ashai to the cloaked figure, stopping on her as two more men poured from the doorway around him.
“Protect the Princess!” he shouted to his men.
He placed himself between Ashai and the man in the cloak, facing the stranger as his men fanned out around him. Ashai moved to Makari’s side, the dagger disappearing under his shirt, and took her hand.
Bauti had four men now forming a semicircle in front of them, blades drawn. The captain himself stood directly in front of her, feet shoulder-width, broadsword ready before him.
The assassin struck like a whirlwind, spinning into the Royal Guardsmen, blade slashing and slicing in a deadly arc. Blood flew from one man’s throat, then from the ribs of a second. A third soldier swung at the figure with his sword, only to have the killer melt away and reappear behind him.
The assassin moved unlike anything she’d ever seen, smooth and fluid, disappearing and reappearing as if by magic. Two men were down, and the other two wounded within seconds. A third died with a disc in his throat, leaving just one man standing in front of their Captain.
Bauti moved forward, sword sweeping low as his remaining soldier faced off with the assassin.
Bauti looked over his shoulder at Ashai, his voice a growl. “Get her out of here. She must live.”
Ashai tugged her toward the end of the alley. She snatched her arm away and glared at him.
“I won’t leave him,” she said, picking up a fallen short sword.
“Then he will die,” Ashai whispered to her. “If we run, the killer will follow us, even if it means leaving Bauti. We need to draw him away to save your captain or none of us leaves here alive.”
She considered as the killer circled the remaining soldier. The dagger flashed so quick she almost missed it, but the soldier let out a gurgling sound and fell to his knees, grasping at his throat.
“Go now!” Bauti yelled, moving to engage the assassin. “You rule Pushtan now, my queen. Run!”
Her heart stopped. She ruled Pushtan. That meant her father …
The thought spun away from her as she watched Bauti move to obstruct the assassin. Without thought he’d placed himself between her and the killer, forsaking his own safety for her own. How had she ever thought this man’s intentions impure? How she must have hurt him with her rejection. If he’d been in the chapel, her father might have lived.
This time, Ashai grabbed her too tightly for her to resist and pulled her toward the end of the alley. Tears running down her cheeks, she followed him.
Looking back over her shoulder, Makari saw the captain feign a strike at the killer, dancing back as the dagger lashed out at him.
“Kill him, Marwan!” she yelled. “Be my hero!”
And then they were out of the alley, sprinting down a street.
Chapter Twenty-One
The Watcher slipped into the palace through a drainage grate, one that he’d opened many years earlier for just such an occasion as this—needing to sneak back inside. He pulled the grate closed a bit harder and louder than intended, his irritation getting the better of him. He paused in the ankle-deep water, grimacing at the foul stench of raw sewage. His ribs ached from a blow he’d taken from Bauti’s sword, his leather armor preventing a flesh wound, but allowing what felt like a broken rib. He cursed under his breath, then kicked himself for it.
He needed to get control of his emotions. Ashai had disrupted his plan, that much was true, but he hadn’t ruined it. The first poisoned dart had found the king, just as planned, and while the ones intended for his daughter had all gone astray, the girl was still missing and would likely remain so for a long time. Ashai knew that as soon as he brought her back to the palace, or went public anywhere, The Watcher would kill her.
In the meantime, a missing princess was almost as good as a dead one. Better in some ways, by allowing him to manipulate certain people. Most people loved Makari and would do anything to get her back. That gave him control over some very important people.
Wrapping the assassin’s cloak tighter to ward off the damp chill of the sewer, The Watcher started north, sloshing through the disgusting water while his mind worked through the problems at hand.
He would still have to kill Makari, and of course Ashai, but for the time being, they were out of his way. He would put his most trusted sources to the task of finding them, and he had little doubt that within a few days, both would suffer a fate similar to the king.
Abadas had proven to be his own sort of special problem, one that needed solving too. The viper’s poison should have killed him in minutes, but when The Watcher had left the palace to pursue Ashai, the old man had still been screaming in agony in his bedchambers, frightening servants and soldiers alike. He’d always been a stubborn old man, so it shouldn’t have surprised The Watcher that he refused to die when he was supposed to. If he still lived, The Watcher would have to slip a little something extra into the poultices and potions the palace healers were no doubt forcing down his gullet. He’d finish the job himself if needed.
He turned a corner, picking up his pace, feeling his way through the dark with a hand on the slimy wall. A message would come for him soon from the Chargh Lai, asking for explanations. It would do no good to miss the chance to explain how he would fix the mess Ashai had created, so he needed to get to his chambers and get out the crystals.
Crystals. He would also need to see to it that all traces of Ashai’s affiliation with the Denari Lai were removed from his quarters and destroyed. He couldn’t allow news of a Denari Lai defector leaking, couldn’t tolerate the image of a failure to mar the order’s image.
Or could he?
He paused, tapping his lips with his index finger as he thought through the possibilities. If he allowed Ashai’s things to be found, Ashai would be blamed for the King’s death, and possibly for Makari’s, too. That would remove suspicion from The Watcher, allowing him to follow through with the later phases of God’s plan. The order could take its time sending Ashai’s replacement, allowing The Watcher to manipulate events in Dar Tallus, like he should have been doing all along.
He moved forward again, smiling in the darkness, quite pleased with the way he was putting things back together here. Nishi and the Chargh Lai would be pleased with him. They might not feel the need to send another Denari Lai this time, if they finally trusted him enough.
