Shadow Blade, page 24
Muffled voices came through the floorboards, and a moment later, the door at the top of the stairs opened, flooding the basement with bright light.
Ulwood tromped down the stairs, each one groaning under his weight. Behind him came the lighter, more nimble Tisk, a grin stretching his freckled cheeks as he looked over the group.
The third visitor swept down the stairs with the grace of a dancer, tall leather boots brushing the steps as if stepping on them was only a suggestion. Dressed in black silk, the man stood almost as tall as Bauti, taller counting the wide-brimmed hat complete with crimson plume. He was thin and wiry, without as much as an ounce of fat that Ashai could see. Black leather gloves covered both hands, the pinky finger on the left missing.
He scanned the room with eyes as dark as Ashai’s above a nose that would have made a hawk proud. Thin lips curved up into a smile under a long, brown mustache. At his hip he carried a curved sword, silk streamers dangling from the pommel.
He didn’t wait for introductions, but strode up to Makari, chest puffed out, smile dazzling white. Bauti stepped between them, hand on his own sword. The newcomer stopped and turned the same charming smile on the captain.
“My apologies, Captain Bauti.” His voice sounded as smooth as the silk he wore. “I mean the princess no harm. In fact, I would help her escape this city and live long enough to rule.”
Bauti didn’t budge. “And you are?”
“Ah, forgive my poor manners.” He palmed his forehead as if he’d committed some great sin of etiquette. “I am Tomar, Head of the Sixth Guild.”
He bowed, sweeping the ornate hat off his head with a flourish, then stood and planted it back on with a twirl.
Bauti straightened, fixing the man with a glare. “We’ve been looking for you for—”
“A decade, yes I know. The late King Abadas—my condolences, Princess, though you’ll find no tears shed by the Sixth Guild—had been trying to kill me for ten years.” He rubbed at the stump where his left pinky should have been. “Obviously he failed, but his chief questioner made sure I’d never forget my brief stay in the king’s dungeon.
“We hope to form a more … cooperative relationship with Her Majesty.”
Makari shouldered past her long-time protector and looked up at Tomar, eyes flashing. The thief lord actually stepped back, then dropped to a knee, something that made even Bauti gasp.
“Princess, the Sixth Guild is at your service. We have men ready to smuggle you and Captain Bauti out of the city and get you to a safe location until you can assume the throne.”
Makari glanced at Ashai. “And what of him?”
Tomar shook his head. “We cannot take him. He is Denari Lai, and tied magically to his order. He endangers all of us, you most of all. We should … be rid of him as soon as possible.”
Ashai’s first instinct was to kill the man on the spot, assuming he was able to do so in his weakened state. And if he did, it would use up the power he’d saved for fighting Tan. Besides, despite the man’s preposterous proposal, Ashai found himself liking Tomar, even trusting him. For some reason, he didn’t doubt the man’s motives toward Makari.
To Ashai’s surprise, the princess defended him.
“Ashai has protected me well. Dangerous as he might be, I am alive now because of him. I would not look kindly on any harm coming to him.”
The tone of her voice left no room for argument, but apparently Tomar didn’t listen well.
“Be that as it may, Highness, I cannot allow him to come with us. Should he use his magic, or even say a prayer, the second assassin will know.”
Ashai stiffened. “How do you know that?”
Tomar shrugged and brushed off the question as if it was silly. “You don’t live long in my business without superior intelligence. My sources, though, are my business.”
He scratched the tuft of brown hair on his chin.
“You’re forgetting one thing,” Ashai said. “Without me, none of you will have a chance against a trained Denari Lai. I’m the only one who can fight him, and you know it.”
Tomar considered a moment, then raised his hands at his sides. “Perhaps, but in order for that to matter, the second assassin would have to find her. Where we’re going, he won’t.”
This time, Bauti stepped in.
“I wouldn’t gamble on that. You know who the second assassin is, right?”
Tomar looked at the floor. “No, to this point, my people have not determined that.”
“Tan,” Bauti spat, like the name tasted bad. “The Lord of Mice and Birds, King Abadas’s spymaster. If anyone can find her, it’s him.”
Tomar’s handsome brown hair scrunched downward toward the elegant bridge of his nose.
“Now that is problematic, isn’t it? It seems, then, that we are at an impasse. I cannot allow Ashai to endanger my people, and the princess cannot survive without him.”
For a moment, the group stood, facing one another in silence. Then Tisk broke the ice.
“Why not knock him out?”
All five adults looked at the boy like he was crazy.
“He’ll hardly be any good to us unconscious,” Tomar scolded. “Put your head back on, Tisk.”
“My head is on perfectly straight,” the boy argued. Ashai liked the fire with which he made his point, but didn’t relish the thought of being knocked out. “If you use Semuli Root on him, he’ll be out cold, sleeping like a grandfather, and unable to use his power, pray, fight, or cause other trouble. When you need him, you use a little Slevonian red pepper and he’ll be wide awake in no time.”
“What are you talking about?” Bauti asked.
“It’s quite ingenious, actually,” said the spice merchant. “In large amounts, Semuli Root is a powerful sleep potion, especially when mixed with wine or ale. Our Nishi’iti friend would sleep quite soundly for several hours. Slevonian red pepper, in addition to being delicious on chicken, is strong enough to jar a sleeping bear. One puff in his face and Minister Ashai will be on his feet, ready to fight.”
Ashai had to admit, the plan had merit if the merchant was right. Sleeping deeply might even help him handle the lack of magic better.
As one, everyone looked at Makari, and in true form, she didn’t flinch.
“Do it. And lock him up when we get there, just to be safe.”
“Very well,” said Tomar, looking to Ulwood for the spices. “Our next stop will be Sixth Guild’s stronghold. Princess, I hope we can count on your discretion about its location?”
For the first time in hours, Makari smiled. “Master Tomar, if you get me safely out of the city, I’m likely to forget a great many things, the location included.”
Chapter Thirty-Two
It turned out the Sixth Guild had been hiding all those years right under their noses. Or under their feet, more accurately, Makari thought.
The Semuli Root worked just as Tisk had promised, and with Ashai suitably limp and drooling, Bauti and the thief-lord lugged him to the back wall, the one lined with shelf after shelf of fine wines. Ulwood moved three wine bottles in quick succession, causing the shelves to slide a few feet left, revealing a tunnel opening. The rotund merchant ushered his guests inside, bid Tomar farewell, and watched as the shelves slid closed between them.
The short, dark tunnel led the group into the city sewers, a dingy, underground labyrinth of tunnels, most foul-smelling and damp. Fortunately, the guild had built wooden catwalks over the canals, allowing them to keep their feet out of the slop that gurgled and flowed through the tunnel’s floor. Tisk led them through with the ease of someone who’d made the trip many times. The stink so permeated everything that Makari had to breathe through her mouth to avoid throwing up.
After a confusing series of twists and turns, they’d come to a brick wall that rose two-thirds of the way to the tunnel’s ceiling. The wall looked out of place from the gray stones and rough, rocky ceiling of the tunnels, and had obviously been built many years later.
It took the three men some time to lift Ashai’s motionless form over the wall, but once they did, Makari saw how the guild managed to live down here.
On the other side of the wall, sewage no longer flowed, the trench filled in with newer cobblestones, forming a kind of street or walkway. The unmistakable flickering orange of torch light guided them around a bend to find a passage completely lined with sconces, bright and clean.
Tisk then led them through more twists and around more corners until the stench fell behind and Makari could breathe through her nose again. Gradually, as they pressed on through the tunnels, people appeared. At first they were shifty men, tucked back into the shadows, watching them pass with beady eyes. One man dressed in rags actually stepped forward to block their path until he saw Tomar. Then he whistled ahead down the corridor, nodding respectfully to his leader.
Tomar, of course, recruited the man to carry Ashai with Captain Bauti, but he never asked anyone to take the captain’s load. It was a subtle shot, but Makari saw it for what it was: a status play. Tomar’s way of showing Bauti who was in charge down here. The captain didn’t complain, though, lugging Ashai’s left side in silence through the echoing passage.
To further secure his dominant position, Tomar walked beside Makari, offering her his elbow in an exaggerated show of courtesy designed to get under Bauti’s skin. Makari had seen this kind of primping and preening her whole life, as lord after lord vied for her affection, each one looking to outdo the other.
If Tomar thought she was some silly girl to fall for his charms, well, let him believe it. It would give her an advantage when she needed it.
As they moved, population picked up, and soon she started seeing crude shelters built against the walls, or cave-like dwellings carved into them, blocked off by curtains. Occasionally, a child’s dirty face would poke out long enough to survey the group, then duck back inside.
Before long, they found themselves walking down the main street of an underground city, surrounded by thieves, beggars, pickpockets, and con artists. Makari saw a few men she thought might be assassins, though not Denari Lai, and even some prostitutes who winked and flirted with Tomar as he passed.
“At first, just active guild members lived here,” the thief-lord explained, speaking only to Makari, as if the two shared some great secret. “For years only the city’s criminal element resided in these tunnels, keeping everyone else out through fear and violence.
“Then we realized that chasing away those who needed help only increased the chances someone would run to the Capitol Watch or to Captain Bauti here, and we’d all be dead by sunup. So we started welcoming the city’s street dwellers, or some of them at least. Not all found us, and not all who did were welcomed.”
He made a slicing motion at his throat.
“But before long, we had quite the city going down here. It’s a rather nice arrangement. They get shelter, the guild gets use of their abilities as bakers, tailors, smiths, and so on.”
As if to prove his point, they passed a shack built against the wall with the smell of fresh-baked bread pouring out. Makari’s mouth watered and her stomach rumbled. She realized it had been a day since she’d eaten.
As if sensing her hunger, Tomar motioned to the baker, who brought them all chunks of a warm, dark bread.
“How do your people not get robbed every night?” Bauti asked. “They live behind cloth doors, surrounded by criminals day and night.”
Tomar didn’t even look at the captain, as if the question barely deserved an answer.
“Believe it or not, captain, we have our own honor code down here in Sixth City. No stealing from tunnel dwellers. Ever. It’s a crime punishable by exile or death.”
That silenced her protector, who didn’t seem to know what to think about a society of criminals policing themselves.
At one point, Tisk broke off from their group without so much as a word, just disappearing into a crowd as if he’d never been with them at all. Tomar took over leading the group, but only for a few minutes before they came to a tunnel branching off to the right, guarded by two sly-looking men with staffs in their hands and long knives in their belts. Neither even acknowledged Tomar as the tall man strode past them, the rest of the group in tow.
Just inside this branch of the sewers stood a wall with a heavy ironbound door. This too was guarded by armed men, but these two smiled and nodded as Tomar approached. One even opened the door for him, eyeing Ashai’s motionless form suspiciously. He was a small man, wiry and rugged-looking, with hard, gray eyes and a wicked scar across his forehead.
“Ritter, see to it that Captain Bauti is given quarters suitable to one of his stature. Or as close as we can come.”
The guard nodded, again locking his gaze on Ashai. “What about that one?”
His voice gurgled as if someone had cut his throat, the sound of blood running.
Tomar gave Ashai a once over, waving his hand dismissively. “Lock him up in our strongest cell.”
“What about me?” Makari asked as two more guards showed up, taking Ashai’s weight off the other two men.
Tomar made another overdone show of courtesy, bowing to her with a flourish of his feather-topped hat.
“Why you, princess, will be sleeping here, in my chambers.”
He opened the door and motioned for her to enter. Light spilled out, and she caught site of dark wood and crimson rugs.
Makari raised an eyebrow, but didn’t budge. He seemed to catch himself, straightening and clearing his throat.
“I will be taking up temporary quarters, of course. Something nearby, should you need me for anything. And I will station my own personal guards outside your door, in case any unwanted visitors show up.”
Bauti, of course, was the first to protest, stepping forward, chest puffed, chin defiant.
“I should be close to the princess. I am charged with her protection, not your cutthroats and thieves.”
Makari winced at the vitriol in his words, but Tomar wheeled and strode up to Bauti, jamming his finger at the man’s chest.
“You might get away with demanding things in the palace or even on the streets, Captain, but down here you’d do well to remember who’s in charge. And don’t forget, you’re travelling with the worst cutthroat of all, so take care in tossing out insults to the rest of us.”
Bauti’s hand fell to his sword hilt and instantly four more of Tomar’s men materialized out of the shadows, clubs and long daggers ready. Tomar made no move for his weapon, but Makari had no doubt he could draw it quickly. Perhaps faster than Bauti.
She tried to step between them, but neither man would move. To her surprise, it was Ashai who broke the tension.
“Gentlemen, please, don’t kill one another in your attempts to keep the princess alive. Neither of you would serve her well dead or wounded.”
The assassin stood, though shakily, on his own, the guard beside him backing away with fear in his eyes. He knew what kind of danger he was dealing with.
All eyes turned on Ashai, several men stepping back cautiously, weapons trained on the new threat.
Makari’s heart stopped when she saw her former betrothed, and her hand flew to her mouth.
Ashai had turned pale, his skin white as pearl, eyes sunken. His hands shook so hard it reverberated up his arms and into his shoulders, where she could see the cording of the muscles as he fought for control of his body. When he spoke, a thin stream of spit ran from the corner of his mouth.
“Fear not, friends. I have no magic, and my strength, as you can see, is gone. This is the effect of the drug I took to repress my magic. It will be several more hours before that drug wears off, and even then I am no threat to you. We both seek the same thing—to keep Makari safe so she can rule Pushtan.”
As he finished, his strength fled him and he stumbled. Bauti was the first to his side, propping the assassin up under one arm.
“If you have no magic,” Tomar asked, “how are you awake? The Semuli root should have kept you unconscious for hours.”
“Sometimes things interact poorly,” Ashai answered, easing away from Bauti to stand on his own. “In this case, the Semuli root must have interacted with the drug I took and wore off faster. Either way, I give you my word I’ll harm no one so long as we’re both fighting for Makari’s life.”
“The word of a Denari Lai means nothing here! As long as you live, you’re a threat to all of us!” He motioned to his guards. “Kill him.”
“He has fought valiantly to keep me alive,” Makari found herself saying, almost against her own will. “And his order swears no harm to innocent life. Please don’t harm him, at least. That little I ask.”
Tomar paced, turning his back on both men, twirling one end of his moustache between thumb and forefinger. He paused and looked at Makari.
“Because the Sixth Guild, myself included, have profound respect for you, princess, we will let him live. But he will be locked up, and we will restrict access to his magic our own way.”
Ashai’s eyes narrowed at that comment, but he made no move to protest. Tomar turned to one of the guards.
“Fetch Grekkyl,” he ordered. “Have her meet us at the holding cell.”
The guard took off at a jog.
Tomar led them all to the outskirts of the underground settlement, past all the dwellings and structures, and into an otherwise empty passage lit only by a single torch. Here the sewer stench permeated, making Makari cover her nose and mouth with a handkerchief, though it didn’t help as much as she’d hoped.
The passage ended in a cell, a small cave carved from the rock and closed off with iron bars as thick around as her wrists. Beside it stood a bent, gnarled old woman in rags, her eyes bright blue, hair little more than wispy strands of cloud falling from her head. With one hand, she leaned on a cane that looked as gnarled as she did.
She stepped aside as the guards tossed Ashai inside the cell none-too-nicely and slammed the door. The Denari Lai fell to the dirt floor, unable to stand on his own. He sat up, spitting sand from his mouth, wiping at his face with trembling hands.
