In the Shadow of Swords (25 page)

Munif confirmed this as he felt the bloat around the agent’s midriff. The feet and hands were also swollen.

Munif propped the man exactly as he’d found him and carefully replaced the head. As quietly as he’d come, he exited the hiding place, stealing closer to the house. He kept to the garden paths, mindful of places where he could disappear into the flowers if necessary.

Near the rear entrance he saw lights shining through the second-story windows. He pressed as closely as he could to the side of the house, kept at bay by the hedge. He followed the perimeter around two corners until he came to the front entrance. There he found what he was looking for: a second-floor veranda jutted out above the main entrance. An identical structure hung directly above it on the third floor.

He nodded in satisfaction. Experience had shown him that few people—or their servants—ever thought to lock upper-story doors, especially in the front of a house; they believed that no thief would be so conspicuous. Since this was the main entrance, it was also the most elaborate, with tall, stately evergreens on each side, and pillars covered with frescoes. He reached into his satchel and extracted simple shoes, which he slipped on. The soles were very rough, created by pinching with clever barbs, forming ripples along the entire length. He also wore thin gloves made especially for this purpose, with a small lip on the end of each fingertip to catch and hold ledges. He climbed quietly, using a tree as cover, and rolled over the railing onto the terrace.

He checked the door and, as he’d hoped, it was unlatched. He had entered an unused bedroom; a dressing gown was laid out carefully on the bedspread. He moved quickly to the other door and cracked it open to peer into the hallway. There were no lightssave one shining under a door diagonal to him. Directly across was another, darkened door.

He stepped quietly into the hall and padded over to the door where the light shone, and knelt and pressed his ear to the door. He was able to understand only some of the murmurs that came from behind it. An unfamiliar voice was difficult to make out, but Dassai’s clear tenor carried easily to Munif’s ear.

“You and the other will wait here for the return of Pavanan. Those who choose not to side with us will aid in your ambush. They must be led to believe that I remain here and that the meeting set for tomorrow will take place as planned.”

There was a sound like glass being set on wood, then Dassai’s voice continued. “This will not be an easy fight. The man is a master—and if you underestimate him, you do so at your own peril.”

The other man’s voice rose and fell, and Dassai responded. “Don’t worry about that. If he survives, any message he sends from the
misal’ayn
will be received very differently in Cievv.”

“The rest will turn or fall,” a third voice said. “Make no mistake about that, Fajeer. Everything is still well in hand.”

There was a rustling of cloth, and then Munif heard Dassai’s voice again. “Good. My work here is done. I will leave for Ruinart and prepare to address our friends.”

Munif knew he had to take Dassai now or never.

15

“MEOWRRR… “

The sound came from directly behind where Munif was kneeling. It startled him so much that he nearly lost his balance and fell against the door.

He glanced behind him and saw a rather large, striped gray cat staring at him inquisitively. He turned away, and the cat came closer, meowing more insistently and with a significant increasein volume. He waved a threatening hand at it, but the cat was oblivious, and apparently hungry. It let out a caterwauling that could have been heard throughout Aley.

Footsteps approached behind the closed door, and Munif knew he was out of time. He stood quickly and stepped toward the door. As soon as it cracked open, he kicked viciously, snapping it back into the face of the person behind it. He kicked again, this time following through with his full weight, shouldering the door aside. The man behind it looked up in surprise, cupping his face with both hands as blood gushed from his nose. Munif reached out and grabbed him by his hair before he could collect his wits, and slammed him into the edge of the door, knocking him unconscious.

No one else was in the room.

Munif ran through the nearest door; it led to a sitting area. Dassai was there near the windows, with his back toward Munif. He was searching frantically for something in a large pouch.

Munif crossed the room at a dead run and slammed into Dassai’s back. Dassai fell headlong over a table and crashed into the window frame. The bag fell away, but he had something in his hand. Munif got his feet under him and backed away. Dassai was still stunned, so Munif changed direction and raced toward yet another door. The force of his charge broke the handle, and the door fell away to reveal a darkened bedroom.

Munif sprinted across the room, slammed the door open, and reentered the hallway. The third man he’d heard just moments earlier was nowhere to be seen. Neither was the cat.

Munif ran down the hall. Reaching the other end, he checked the first door and found it latched. He turned to try the opposite door when a long sharp metal blade appeared with a resounding thwack in the frame near his head.

He spared a glance at the fast-approaching figures just as one of them pulled his hand back for another throw. Munif didn’t wait for another knife; he reversed direction again, hoping the

first door’s lock was weaker than his shoulder.

He found himself in a massive, unlit room. A platform bed took up most of the room, and the heavy curtains around it were moving. Sounds of confusion and fear confirmed that the bed was occupied.

Time slowed as he weighed his options and then acted on them. He closed the splintered door and moved past the bed to the windows, where he saw a terrace. A money pouch lay on a dresser, and he took it, slipping it into one of his pockets. He opened the door that led to the veranda and stepped out. He glanced down and saw dark water nearly thirty feet beneath him.

The
masyaf
had been built so that one wing abutted a deep stream. Over time, the stream’s banks had eroded, and subsequent owners had been forced to add supports and stones as the water’s edge encroached upon the house. Now the stream flowed directly below.

His pursuers came barreling through the door. Munif had only a moment to judge where the deepest pool was below him. He swung his legs over the railing, sucked in his breath, and jumped, keeping his body vertical but his legs loose beneath him.

He hit the water with force enough to pull his feet out from beneath him. He felt his back brush against a sharp rock, and he let his breath out slowly as he fought the current.

The instant his head broke the surface, he started swimming, trying to get to the opposite shore. He heard something splash into the water near him, and then his feet touched bottom and he half-swam, half-slogged to the opposite bank.

Heart racing with a mixture of fear and relief, he found a path and made his way to the outskirts of Aley. A stable was situated conveniently on the road that led out of town. Slipping into the empty shedrow, he inspected the curious heads peaking out over the half-stall doors until he found what he was looking for—the intelligent face of a blood-bay gelding. Quickly he opened the door, seizing the horse’s halter and vaulting onto the bare back.

Within seconds he was out the door and moving away from the stable, pausing just long enough to throw the sleepy-eyed stable-boy a sopping wet but heavy bag of coins. He had to find Nasir before it was too late.

1

THERE WAS still time to kill her.

The summit of the hill was a tapestry of color, carpeted with wildflowers and fragrant herbs. Two dark figures looked down at the twisting path that emerged from a dense expanse of maritime pine and chestnut trees and stood unmoving as a red cloaked traveler passed below. This strange climate might have its charms in afternoon sunlight, but after a day of careful travel through the blowing drizzle, these desert dwellers had no affection for the place. They were silent and withdrawn, their faces grim. Each wore a long, hooded
bishlah
that billowed in the stormy air. Beneath the cloaks were layers of ink-black linen.

They had tracked the woman for most of the day, shadowing her path, keeping her in sight as she set a course through the hills above Cievv, keeping their distance to avoid giving themselves away.

They had studied the maps upon their arrival in Ruinart. They knew the paths she would likely take. Only when the time was right would they seize what she possessed: the Books of Promise.

Both figures remained on the hill after she’d passed from sight, winding steadily upward, following the path toward them. Afternoon was slipping into evening, and the clouds were breaking at last. The western sky glowed orange as the second sun dipped behind the purple masses of the Soller Mountains. In the twilight, the sky had become a stunning canvas, a mosaic of pastel colors and subdued contrasts. The desert dwellers were unmoved by the beauty, keeping their eyes on the bend in the path just below them. Night would fall soon. Even if the clouds blew away, a waning moon and a scattering of stars would be all the light they would need.

They found comfort in the darkness. Darkness made it easierto strike. If this wasn’t the spot, they’d find another. Perhaps they would close in on her from two sides. The best strategies were fluid, not set in stone.

The veil between worlds was as thin as gossamer. The two figures saw no change in the land around them, but their hearts knew. Soon—very soon—the barrier between Jnoun and men would be gone. Then there would be a reckoning—retribution against all who did not believe.

They would burn.

All of them.

2

MARIN BIT her lip.

The scene had played out continuously on the voyage from Messinor until the ship docked in Cievv. Sometimes it took the form of a charade; other times, it seemed that nothing less than complete honesty would succeed. Again she wrestled with the words in her head. How would she say what needed to be said? Which words were right, and which would doom her efforts? Even the serene views from above the unwalled city failed to comfort her, and she delayed her meeting with Ilss Cencova yet another day.

From the crest of the hill Marin slowly descended a series of loops and switchbacks, coming at last to a little bridge over a swift-running stream. Still below her, she caught glimpses of where the path entered a belt of green trees and eventually rejoined the web of footpaths leading back to the city.

Would she return there tonight? She still didn’t know what she would say to Cencova. Perhaps she needed another day after all.

The incline was steep, its gravel slick but posing no real danger for an experienced hunter. The day’s rain hadn’t been heavy enough for water to pool between the stones. She was more thanhalfway down when the path skirted a wide scarp and bent away from the hill, nearly doubling back on itself. As she moved, she felt the subtle approach of an ominous presence—a hint of malevolence. Instinct drove her toward cover, but there was nothing here above waist height. She was exposed.

Quick, light footsteps approached from above and below. Someone without her training might not have noticed them yet. Marin dropped into a crouch, drawing her sword. She backed silently into a low wall of heather and gorse, peering between the stems to see a figure emerging from the shadows below. It was tall and menacing, its face hidden in a hooded cowl. Another figure appeared from above, hugging the scarp as it edged out into the open. This one wore the same dark
bishlah
.

There was only one reason for them to be here. They were hunting her, just as Khoury had warned.

“She is near, I know it.” A man’s voice, speaking in Rumes’. “Have a care.”

“We should have killed her and taken them days ago,” said another man’s voice. “We could do it now.”

The quiet words hung like shards of ice in the evening air. Marin crouched motionless, thorns poking into her back. She gripped her sword tighter, the other hand resting on a pile of loose stone. The two men stopped before her, scanning the hillside.

“And yet we cannot.”

“Why? Why must we wait for an order?”

“Because our duty tells us so.”

Marin knew by their dialect they were from the south.

Qatana
.

“All things in time, my friend. Matters such as this require flexibility.” This one had to be from Riyyal, Marin realized. His presence was commanding. “Both plans and risk will be rewarded in the end. Set aside your fears and doubts.”

“Have they called on Ciris Sarn to come? He cannot be trusted, but their minds are clouded.”

“Do not speak his name,” said the man from Riyyal.

The other snorted. “Haradin fear no one. Why should we curb our tongues?”