Shadow Blade, page 26
Unlike Makari’s. The princess had yet to visit, though he’d heard her often enough in the corridors outside, flirting with Tomar, giggling at his jokes. It made Ashai want to throw up, but his chamber pot was far too disgusting to put his face anywhere near it.
“What happens when you try to pull a mule where it doesn’t want to go?” Grekkyl’s voice brought him back to the present.
“It pulls back,” Ashai answered. “Refuses to go.”
“And if you are gentle? Offer a carrot?”
Ashai didn’t answer her. He knew what she was getting at and didn’t believe it. There was no magic inside him to coax out, and he couldn’t use Nishi’s gift. So he had to count on the powder. Makari’s only chance.
Grekkyl sighed. “Ignoring it doesn’t make it false, assassin.”
Ashai’s temper was dry tinder, and her sparks threatened to ignite it.
“Insisting doesn’t make it true,” he argued. She opened her mouth to argue, but Ashai had heard enough. “No! No more of your lies! The only true magic comes from God, not from inside me, inside you, or inside anyone else. We are but vessels for God’s will, the God, Nishi. The only time those vessels possess magic is when God channels it through us. I’ve tried it your way over and over again, but it doesn’t work. You’re wrong.”
Grekkyl stepped close to the cage, pressing her raisin-like face to the bars. “Then how do you explain what I have shown you? The fire in my hand, my glamours? How?”
“Parlor tricks,” Ashai spouted, turning his back on the old woman. “Cheap illusions performed by hundreds of tricksters and charlatans every day.”
“You know that is not true.”
“Leave me.”
“You know in your heart—”
“Go! Now!”
She sucked in a harsh breath and stepped back from the bars. “You can yell at Captain Bauti next.”
As she strolled around the corner and out of the cavern, Bauti’s chain mail clinked in. Ashai didn’t even have to turn around to know she’d been right. Bauti had a sound and a presence all his own, and it intensified down here in the confined space of the tunnels. He smelled of steel and leather and sweat, and the measured sound of his breathing rarely changed pace.
“What do you want?” Ashai picked at a scab on his forearm.
“I want you to learn how to use magic. Your own. Nishi’s. Back alley garbage. Whatever it takes to fight Tan. I want you to prove to me you really are a changed man, and that you have Makari’s best interests at heart. I want you to stop pouting like a petulant child and live up to what is needed of you.”
Ashai wheeled on him, hoping the gold of his eyes would show his rage at the captain’s implication. Ashai had seen the glowing gold of his eyes once, looking in a tin of water where his reflection had stared back at him. It had startled him at first, but he should have expected it. How many shiners with eyes of gold had he killed?
Bauti, however, held his ground, and Ashai sighed.
“I already failed to do what was required of me, Bauti! I failed my order, my leader, and my God. I failed Makari, too. My betrothed. You could even say I failed Abadas. So don’t lecture me about how I’m failing now. I no longer care.”
Bauti drew a dagger from his belt and picked at the dirt behind his fingernail. “For someone who doesn’t care, you sound rather emotional.”
Ashai spit at his feet. “Take your condescension and go.”
“You know she still cares for you, right?”
Ashai’s heart skipped a beat and his throat tightened. He’d never expected to hear such a thing, especially from Bauti.
“She told you this?”
“She didn’t need to. I can see it in how she looks at you. How her eyes get distant when she says your name, and how her hands fidget when someone says your name. She’s mad at you, might even hate you a bit. But she still loves you.”
Ashai beat down the tiny glimmer of hope that tried creeping into his heart, chasing it out like a rat or a cockroach.
“She hasn’t looked at me in days, so how would you know? She’s spending all her time with Tomar, the charming thief lord. She barely even remembers me.”
Bauti shook his head and paced the tiny cave. After a moment, he turned his flinty gaze on Ashai.
“You know I don’t think much of you, assassin. I loathe sneaky, backstabbing killers like you. No honor. But for all the bad things I think you are, I never thought you were a quitter.”
Ashai spit at him again, this time with less fervor.
“Easy for you to say. You didn’t fail her. You haven’t lost everything. You still know what you believe in, what’s real and holy and righteous. I have none of that, not even my faith. I have nothing.”
“Didn’t fail her?” Bauti stopped his pacing and the gray of his eyes turned to ice. “I failed her and her father. I failed them before the wedding started, before the first dart flew or the first blade flashed. I failed her by putting my feelings ahead of her welfare, by letting my foolish old man’s emotions cloud my judgment.
“Don’t tell me I didn’t fail her, assassin. My failure led to her father’s death. And now here I am, consorting with thieves and cutthroats, keeping Makari from the throne. I’ve been declared a traitor by a man I should have known was plotting against the people I was sworn to protect. I have no job, no home, and no lands or titles. Tan stripped them all.
“What I do have is my heart, killer, and that heart tells me my purpose in life right now is keeping the rightful heir to the throne of Pushtan alive long enough to someday lead us all. I thought you’d found the same purpose in your heart. Maybe I was wrong.”
He turned and stalked to the entrance to the cavern, then stopped and glanced back at Ashai.
“She needs you. Without you, she’ll die. That’s when you will have failed her.”
As he stomped out, Ashai slid to the floor and cried.
Chapter Thirty-Five
Samaran Tan allowed the other ministers to take the seats in his sitting room. Outwardly, it was a show of courtesy and humility, but it also put him in a power position, using his already tall frame to tower over the now-seated lords. Only General Celani seemed to realize what was going on, slipping a warning glance in Tan’s direction, but sitting nonetheless.
Neffin looked like he might fall asleep on the general’s shoulder as the two took the small sofa, and Trade Minister Talbot grimaced as he sat in a stiff wooden chair.
The last to file into the room was the recently promoted Captain Gartka, leader of the Royal Guard. The man’s wounds had been stitched and administered to by the king’s own physician. Tan had seen to that. And Gartka now served Tan with a loyalty bordering on fanatical.
Tan paced the room for a moment, selecting his first target, then moved to stand directly behind the upholstered chair holding the well-rounded form of the Foreign Minister. Renard shifted uncomfortably in his seat, trying to keep Tan from standing right behind him, but subtle shifts on the spymaster’s part made him give up quickly and sit, pouting.
“My Lords, thank you all for coming on such short notice.” Tan coated his voice in as much honey as he could. “I know you’re all busy, so I will keep this short. We stand on the edge of a dangerous cliff, as most of you know. The citizens of Dar Tallus are growing restless. We must find Princess Makari. Now. And I need all of your help to bring her back.”
Of course, Renard muttered under his breath something Tan could not understand. Samaran let it slide. It wasn’t time to humiliate the Foreign Minister. Yet.
“I don’t understand how we can possibly help you, Lord Tan.” Talbot’s expression was as passive as ever. Tan hated not being able to read the man’s emotions, but respected his ability to hide them so well. He would have made an exceptional gambler. “You have an entire network of spies throughout Dar Tallus and the world. What more could I give you?”
Tan smiled at the man, the expression a mask for his own irritation at Talbot’s shortsightedness.
“A network of traders, merchants, and craftsman in the city and worldwide, of course.” He shifted his weight to remind Renard he still stood behind him. “Just as Minister Renard has access to a huge web of diplomats and royalty around the world, and General Celani commands military units throughout the nation.
“Gentlemen, those are thousands upon thousands of eyes, ears, and minds that could and should be looking for her.”
“Won’t that destroy our story that she’s in mourning for her father?” Tan was surprised Neffin had hit on that point. He’d expected someone more acute to do so.
“That cover story is no longer working anyway. The people stopped believing that the instant we sent teams looking for her throughout the city. Word will spread that she’s missing and the citizens will start to doubt our ability to keep peace and prosperity for Pushtan.”
“Don’t you mean your ability to do so?” Renard had timed his shot perfectly, waiting for just the right moment to undermine Tan’s authority. Fortunately, Tan had prepared for it.
“If they don’t trust the man at the top, they won’t trust those under him either, Minister. How did you do getting Thahr to accept our proposal on the highway tax, by the way?”
Even from above, he could see Renard’s plump face turn the color of a plum.
“I had them convinced until all of this took place.”
Tan put his hands on Renard’s shoulders, giving them the slightest squeeze, his fingers just brushing Renard’s chubby neck. The Foreign Minister swallowed hard and Tan allowed himself a satisfied grin.
“Then I will discount the information my sources sent me about how you hated the king’s order so much you ignored it. Obviously, you have only the best interest of our great nation in mind. You never would have lied about it.”
A thick, tense silence hung in the room until Neffin cleared his throat.
“So what would you have us do, Lord Tan?”
Tan steepled his fingers under his chin and let his gaze touch on each of the men in turn, showing each what he hoped was a humble-looking smile.
“I would have you help, my lords. Spread word through your own networks that Makari remains in the city, likely in control of the Sixth Guild, and listen to the replies. Ask questions, seek answers, and dig. We must find the princess as soon as possible.”
“No one will be willing to cross the Sixth Guild,” said Talbot. “At least not in my circles, where businesses depend on not being robbed, burned, vandalized, and so on.”
Tan had anticipated this possibility.
“That, my good Lord Talbot, is why I am offering a reward to anyone who brings me information that leads to the rescue of Princess Makari. Not only will we line their pockets with gold, but we will grant lands and titles—those formerly possessed by our Finance Minister—to whichever person’s tip leads to the princess.”
Silence descended on the room again, but this time without the tension as each man tried to scheme a way he could get those rewards rather than some common merchant or soldier. These were not men known for kindness or philanthropy, but for ambition and power and pride. None were likely to let pass an opportunity to gain more land, more money, or more titles. In fact, he was counting on their greed to drive them.
To his surprise, Renard was the first to rise from this chair, turning so his considerable belly stood between him and Tan.
“We will move on your wishes at once, Lord Tan. Makari must take the throne immediately.”
Celani was next, stiff and formal, but not as hostile as he had been at first.
“Agreed. I will have regular army units surround the city’s walls in concentric rings. No one will leave without our permission.”
Tan inclined his head to both men as the others rose. He bid them farewell, and ushered them from his chambers, satisfied that he’d accomplished his goal. Makari would be back soon, and dead, while Tan had ensured these men would soon be at each other’s throats over the reward. He’d divided what remained of his enemies.
He sipped from a cup of fine Neskanian liquor, a powerful clear liquid with more bite than taste, then slid aside the bookcase that hid the passages behind his room. A few minutes later he stepped out of a second hidden door into a dark corridor, lit only by candles mounted on the walls. Ahead of him stood a wide, black door of thick oak planks, banded with iron. He pounded three times on the wood, paused, then knocked once more.
The door whooshed open and the stale air from inside assaulted his senses, cold and damp and filled with the crisp scent of iron and blood. The man who stood aside to admit him was a dark creature, dressed in bloodstained leather from head to toe, an iron mask covering his face like a second skull.
They stood inside a round room with a high, domed ceiling and torches blazing on the walls. Instruments of torture hung on the stones like statues built to honor the dark cruelty of man, tools thought of and used by only the most twisted minds known to man. In the center of the room sat a wooden table, its surface angled up so that Tan could not see who lay on it, though he didn’t need to. He’d held him there while the man in the mask had strapped his wrists and ankles to the wood, spread-eagle.
On the floor at its base, a puddle of blood had formed.
“How is our guest, Jarne?”
The torturer shrugged and grunted, the only communication his tongueless mouth could muster. The sound echoed back to them from the long, narrow corridors leading away from the chamber, the halls holding the Shadow Cells, as they were called. The cells into which people went and never returned.
Tan walked calmly to the other side of the table, taking in the young man strapped there, naked and pale against the dark and bloodstained wood. He tried to look at Tan, but both eyes had long-since swollen shut, and he’d do just as well trying to see with the freckles scattered across his nose as he would through his eyes. He opened his mouth to let out a gurgling moan, his broken teeth like stalactites in a cavern.
The rest of his body was covered in tiny cuts, each one administered by either Tan or the torturer, and piercing holes, where red-hot needles had been pushed into his flesh. His left hand hung mangled at the strap.
Tan approached and pushed his finger against a spot where a red welt marked the entry point of a needle. The boy grunted in pain, grimacing until his nose bled. Then Tan stepped back, wiped his fingertip on his robe, and used his silkiest voice.
“Now, you’re going to tell me where the Sixth Guild is holding Makari and the others,” he said. “Or I’m going to instruct Jarne, here, to turn you into a girl. Slowly.”
The torturer stepped up and placed the cold steel of a sharp knife against the boy’s testicles. The lad started to sob.
“Now, now, no need for tears,” Tan said. “This can all be over with a few short words. Just tell me what I need to know, and I’ll end this. Come on, it’s time to trust me, don’t you think, Tisk?”
Chapter Thirty-Six
In the end, Makari had refused Tomar’s chambers, opting for a simpler, plainer tent in an adjoining cavern, putting her between the thief master and her lifelong protector, Bauti.
Tomar had seemed genuinely offended, but only for a moment, recovering quickly and resuming his playful flirtations while his men put up her tent. Or at least she thought they were playful. Surely the man didn’t think there could be romance between a crook and a princess, especially not a princess about to become queen.
So she played along with what she thought was a show put on for his followers, and for the two men who’d accompanied her. Tomar loved irritating Bauti and Ashai.
She kicked at the edge of a fancy rug Tomar had insisted be placed inside her tent, noticing for the first time the scene displayed in the steady yellow light of her oil lamps. It showed a knight, armor stained with blood, prone at the feet of a queen who stood over him wielding a sword as if to chop off his head.
The rest of the tent was plain, just as she’d requested. A plain, narrow cot, though Tomar had slipped in a feather pillow and warm comforters. Wood table and chairs, a flask of wine and a tin cup on the table. And a lacquered night stand holding one of the three lamps that lit her tent.
Her feet ached and she dropped into one of the wooden chairs, resting her elbows on the table and propping her chin in her hands.
What to think of the men who’d brought her here?
Tomar was a scoundrel, no doubt, but she also knew he cared deeply for his people. Everything he did—from locking up Ashai to flirting with her—were meant somehow to help his people, to keep them safe. She respected him for that, even though she knew someday she might have to lock him up.
Then there was her bodyguard, the man with whom she’d trusted her life for all of her seventeen years. Had he proven enough of himself to regain his place as her sole protector, or were his feelings still too strong? Could she trust him to do what was right, instead of what kept him near her?
The worst part, she thought, was that Bauti didn’t really love her the way he thought he did. He simply loved that she made him feel young again, that with her he could forget his graying hair, lined face, and slowing reflexes. Love was the perfect disguise for infatuation, and Bauti had worn it proudly.
She sighed and rubbed at her temples, inhaling the sweet smoke of a wood fire somewhere down the tunnels. Voices peeked in through her tent flaps, murmurs from other parts of the Sixth Guild tunnels.
How had she fallen for the assassin? How had she not sensed the danger he posed, not only to her but to her nation, her citizens?
She’d thought long and hard about that since coming to the tunnels three days earlier. That was why she hadn’t gone to see him—she needed time and space to clear her mind, to sort through the events that led her here without him being able to smile and divert her thoughts.
