In the Shadow of Swords (6 page)

He did not look back again.

10

AT LAST
.

Dassai’s mind raced as he watched the horse and rider grow smaller, fading into the landscape like a wisp of smoke in the wind.

His plan was set into motion, and Ciris Sarn would serve as the centerpiece in this game of deception. The attention surrounding the assassin would afford him all the time he needed.

He reveled in the thought. Sarn would deliver him the seeds of power, while orchestrating his own destruction.

It was perfect.

A cruel smile lit Dassai’s face.

1

MARIN ALTYÏR scanned the horizon.

The wind picked up and whitecaps began to form as the ship cleared the Ruinart headlands and sailed into the open water of a powerfully running sea. She had no reason to look back at the shadows of the Soller Mountains or the towers of Cievv, a city that could never be her home. This was a moment for savoring freedom. She wanted to feel free. But instead, she felt empty—a traveler merely passing through her own life.

Rising gusts tugged strands of hair from her scarlet hood, blowing them across her eyes like the fine gold bars of a cage. She brushed them aside with a warrior’s grace. She sniffled at the ocean air. Her eyes were wide and bright with emotion. The sailors, squinting against the wind and bright water, cast her sidelong glances as they went about their business, but otherwise left her alone.

Marin’s destination was no secret. She had secured passage to Messinor in the kingdom of Hayl. Those of the Illam faith would have recognized the silver cinerary urn that lay beneath the bunk in her cabin below. They would understand this young woman’s pilgrimage beyond Messinor and into the foothills of the Tayar Mountains. They would know, from the expression on her bold, angular face, that her year of mourning was nearing its end—and that she planned to be at
Sey’r an-Shal
, the Falls to Heaven, on the anniversary of someone’s death.

She had no idea where life would take her after she discharged this sad duty. Right now she had far too much time to reflect upon how life had brought her to the deck of this ship, sailing westward with her husband’s ashes.

Marin Altaïr knew it would be a long voyage.

2

A CANOPY of gray mist hung low in the afternoon sky
.

The suns had waned, lost in the shadow of approaching nightfall and rain. Winds wailed beyond an outcropping in the distance, and thunder rolled over a far away part of the island, but all else was silent. Marin, draped in a green cloak, glided silently over the uneven stones of a disused road, an ancient thoroughfare bordered by walls of eucalyptus
.

A damp breeze blew steadily; strips of bark hanging from the tree trunks waved and fluttered, and strands of Marin‘s hair escaped the cloak‘s hood. The careful movements and slow sweep of her gaze marked her as a hunter. Who else would be out here? She couldn‘t guess how far she was from her prey, but she knew she was closing in
.

As
she passed the line of trees, a light rain moved in, hissing among the leaves. It wouldn‘t make travel any easier. The light under the trees grew darker at the edges of the road, and soon enough she would be creeping through shadows. Marin shivered and looked over her shoulder again at the horizon. The late-season storm showed a solid front, with no sky peeking through
.

But Marin was the last person to give up a chase, especially when she sensed that she‘d almost run her prey to ground. The rain pelted her. She pulled her wet cloak tighter and continued, firm, cautious, sweeping the landscape with her gaze
.

At one time, the road to Sannós had been well traveled. Now it lay abandoned, unpatrolled and dangerous. Few of the people who inhabited the untamed island of Aeíx dared to come this way anymore. Instead, they were leaving their homes and sailing for Inníl or Rades, letting ruffians and crueler things menace the island at will. In the woods—and even along the coast now—half-human ravagers sacked and plundered the once peaceful towns. These days, the crumbling road to Sannós
saw
only a few hunting parties, men and women clustered together in fear of being attacked by the things they sought to kill
.

Marin left the road soon after it had passed through the belt of eucalyptus, but kept it within sight as it led her over knolls of dense scrub down into weed-choked fields. The thing she pursued had left the road here for some reason, and she followed its faint track through the mud and tangled ground cover
.

Ruined stone walls lined this stretch of road, even more crumbling and overgrown than the cobblestones, mottled with countless years of lichen and moss. The straight lines and level roadbed reminded her of a canal cut through the fields by ancient engineers. But no one farmed here now. No one followed this road. Times were different, and the land looked tired and unwelcoming
.

The rain fell in hard, steady sheets
.

Marin pulled her cloak tighter. The green fabric was frayed with wear and splotched with dark stains, but it gave her some protection from the dismal weather. She‘d been through worse. The cloak was a familiar reminder, one that kept her pushing westward toward the vanishing suns
.

In her right hand she held a small bow of ash. A quiver of arrows was slung over her shoulder within easy reach. From her belt hung a light sword that could be in her left hand at a moment‘s notice
.

The thunder grew louder as the heart of the storm drew nearer. Marin listened to the fading echo as it bounced off the dark forest wall just ahead of her. Another sound caught her ear, slowly rising. She paused and looked back, wondering why it had taken them so long to catch up with her. Just like the storm‘s low, ominous rumble, her pursuers also drew steadily nearer
.

She crept back through the brambles toward the road, dropping into a crouch behind some downed trees and the wall‘s tumbled stones. She drew her sword, gathered her cloak around her, and steadied her breathing. The hard splattering of rain against stone and decaying wood gradually transformed into the thudding of horses’ hooves. They were coming
.

3

MARIN WAITED
.

As
the horses approached her hiding place, she could make out riders in green cloaks. Wind tugged at those cloaks, revealing the glint of worn chain mail. Their mounts were fine and tall, each standing over seventeen hands, and still running strong after miles of rough road. The group‘s leader cantered easily just ahead of the others. In the fading daylight, Marin saw an emblem on his horse‘s caparison: a staggered cross, the sign of the Four Banners
.

Marin rose and swept back her hood, calling out, “Tread softly into unknown lands, Torre Lavvann.” Her voice was low, but it carried over the clatter of the horses’ hooves
.

The lead rider pulled hard on the reins. His coal-black steed shied and almost reared. Strands of silvery hair poked from beneath Lavvann‘s helmet of tarnished steel as he regained control of his horse and stopped just across the barrier from her. Marin noticed his sword half drawn, and then sliding back into its scabbard as he recognized her. The corner of his mouth twisted upward in mild amusement as their eyes met
.

“Wise words that you rarely heed.” Lavvann‘s tone balanced respect and mockery. His sword hand rested on the hilt and his other hand gripped the reins as his horse circled in the center of the road. “You left your horse at Darós. It‘s well to tread softly, Marin Hanani, but that was foolish.”

“There was little time,” she said. “Had I waited to alert the company, the kayal would have been lost in the woods.” A smile played across her lips. “But I see you found my message.”

“Reckless.
TO
go out alone and give chase to a kayal is a fool‘s errand.” Lavvann said. “You can be far too careless. One day it will cost you, Marin. That in itself would be a grave loss. And what if it cost the lives of others? Perhaps others in this company?”

The rebuke from her captain was sharp, but it came with an undertone of affection and respect. He knew her skills, and he was genuinely

concerned. Marin bowed her head at his words, but she would not submit completely. This was her chase, and she would not fail
.

Her company had been on a routine patrol of Aeíx when it received a message from Prince Laman Piríst, whose son Maeros had been missing for eight days. Panic had gripped the royal house
.

For years the people of this island had suffered at the hands of the kayal, and now the dark things were no longer just a farmer‘s problem. The powerful and fortunate had felt the kayal‘s evil touch. Maeros had been taken
.

Finding him alive was a mission of the Four Banners, especially in a place where the laws were weak, and Lavvann‘s company had a solemn duty to see it through
.

But there would be no happy ending
.

Five days later, the prince‘s son had been found dead—butchered in a stable outside the village of Darós. He had been nailed to the rafters by his wrists and ankles, and sliced open from throat to groin, entrails splayed on the floor below him in a macabre web. His fingers had been hacked off just above the knuckles, his feet removed at the arch. Signs of a struggle indicated that Maeros had been mutilated while still alive. The stable too had been defiled, with evil runes and cursed images scrawled on the walls and dirt floor. Whatever the killer‘s reasons for this insane carnage, the murder was a message: no one was safe
.

The kayal were horrible creatures, demonic fiends that escaped through the veil of the unseen world to prey on the living in the mortal realm of Mir‘aj. Were they spawn of the Jnoun? Or demons from another dark abyss? Marin did not know. But she knew the kayal were capable of unspeakably wicked deeds
.

Piríst‘s heralds called upon Marin‘s company for help because the very name of the Four Banners evoked dread in the hearts of most enemies—most natural enemies, that is. The kayal had no regard for flags or nations, although their killing of Maeros suggested an understanding of political motives. And while the Prince must have known there was little chance of catching any kayal before they fled back into the darkness, all he could do was appeal to an alliance known for solving the unsolvable
.

Beyond the stable where the Prince‘s son had been slain, there was only a scattering of clues. And Marin, sometimes frustrated by Lavvann‘s caution and the routine of managing a company of riders, impulsively took up the chase alone. Convinced she would succeed on her own—or force her company to follow her strategy—she set out just after dawn the next day. She left her horse in another stable at Darós, one that had not seen any butchery, and continued westward on foot. She knew her comrades would come after her
.

It had been a long trek. The suns were invisible in the gray sky, and the passing hours seemed endless. Damp wind and spits of drizzle soaked and chilled Marin as she made her way across rough, wild country. But, as she told herself again and again, she had seen worse
.

She would never stop hunting
.

4

“WE ARE wasting time,”Marin said
.

She measured Lavvann‘s reaction to her words and saw he was no longer amused
.

Still, despite his silence, she stood strong, her tone quiet but firm. “Yes, I was wrong. But let me make it right by finding our ghost, if our voices have not already spooked the thing.”

She glanced toward the dark openings in the wall of trees just ahead. “This kayal is alone and very near. We should make haste or we‘ll lose it in the dark,” she said, looking up at Lavvann‘s face
.

Behind her captain she noticed six of her fellow riders scanning the landscape. She knew what they were thinking. Weathered hills, wild woods, and cold streams at nightfall added up to a place of extreme danger. Here the conditions favored the kayal
.

“We will follow your lead, Marin,” Lavvann said at last. “We have little choice in the matter.”

Marin moved onto the road. At a signal from their captain, the riders closed in and flanked her. She knelt to study the crumbling stones

and sprouting weeds beneath her feet—all that remained of the ancient road. Hunched over on her knees, studying the ground while her companions peered into the shadows, she smiled discreetly at having forced Lavvann‘s hand
.