“I know.”
“Well, I don’t like it!”
“To be perfectly honest with you, old friend, neither do I.”
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17
“No matter how subtle the wizard, a knife between the shoulder blades will seriously cramp his style.”
Every citizen of the Dragaeran Empire has a permanent link to the Imperial Orb, which circles the head of the Empress with colors that change to reflect the sovereign’s mood at the moment.
This one link serves many functions at the same time. Perhaps the most important one, to most people, is that it allows the use of the power from the Great Sea of Chaos (as distinct from the lesser one that Adron created), which provides the energy for sorcery. To anyone skilled enough, this power can be shaped, molded, and used for just about anything—depending, of course, on the skill of the user.
One of its less important functions, to most people, is that one need only concentrate briefly in the proper way, and one knows precisely what time it is, according to the Imperial Clock.
I have, I will admit, some small skill in sorcery. I mean, I can start a fire with it, or teleport if I have to, or kill someone with it—if he isn’t very good, and I get lucky. On the other hand, I only rarely have a use for it. But the Imperial Clock has been a friend that I could count on for years.
Eight hours past noon, every other day (and today was one), Morrolan inspected his guard positions personally. He would go outside of Castle Black, and teleport from tower to tower, speaking with the guards and checking them over. There was rarely, if ever, anything to correct or to criticize, but it was very effective for troop morale. It was also one of relatively few things that Morrolan did with any regularity.
Eight hours past noon, on this day, the day after we had met in my office, Morrolan was inspecting his guard positions, and so was not in the banquet hall of Castle Black.
I was.
Daymar was there as well, standing next to me. Cawti was around somewhere, as was Kiera. Aliera was somewhere outside the hall, waiting.
I tried to be inconspicuous. I didn’t drink anything, because I didn’t want anyone to notice that my hand was trembling.
I looked around the room for a while and finally spotted Mellar. Kiera was standing about ten feet away from him, to his rear, and looking in my direction. I decided that I must, at least in part, be succeeding in being inconspicuous, since none of my acquaintances had yet seen me. Good. If we could just hold onto that kind of luck for another couple of minutes, it wouldn’t matter.
Okay. Relax, hands. Shoulder muscles, loosen up. Stomach, unknot. Neck, ease up. Knees, loose your stiffness—it’s time to go.
I nodded to Kiera. She nodded back. I was no longer nervous.
From where I stood, I had a plain view of Kiera as she walked past one of Mellar’s bodyguards, reached for a glass of wine past him, and walked away. I never saw her make the transfer. In fact, I wondered whether it had been made at ail until Kiera caught my eye and nodded. I looked at her right hand, which was at her side. She had two fingers out, the rest in a fist. Both weapons planted. Good. I let my eyes acknowledge.
Here we go, I said to myself.
I glanced around the room then. This was the one part that I didn’t have planned out—because I couldn’t know who would be here from one day to the next—or one moment to the next.
Over near a table, about twenty feet away from me, I spotted the Hawklord who had been speaking to Mellar the other day. Perfect! I owed him one. I moved over toward him, planning my part. I observed the contents of the table and fitted it in. I took enough time getting there to give Loiosh bis instructions in detail.
“Know your part, Loiosh?”
“Worry about your own lines, boss. I’m just doing what comes naturally.”
I leaned on the table, briefly raised my nobility a couple of notches, and said, “I say, hand me a glass of that Kiereth, four thirty-seven, will you?”
For a minute, I was afraid I’d overdone it when he actually started reaching for it, but then he caught himself, and turned to face me fully, his voice and eyes cold.
“I don’t fetch for Jhereg,” he announced. “Or Easterners.”
Good. He was mine, now.
I pretended amusement. “Oh, indeed?” I responded, turning on my best sardonic smile. “Nervous about serving your betters, eh? Well, that’s quite all right.”
He glared, then, and his hand went to his sword hilt. Then, remembering where he was, I suppose, he let go of it.
“I must ask Morrolan,” he said, “why he allows inferiors to share his accommodations.”
It occurred to me that I should encourage him to do so, just to see how long he lasted—but I had a part to play. “Do that,” I said. “I must admit to being curious as well. Let me know how it is that he justifies your presence here, among gentlefolk.”
There were a few people watching us now, wondering whether the Hawk would challenge me, or simply attack. I didn’t really care, as it happened.
He felt the crowd watching too. “Do you think,” he said, “to claim equality with Dragaerans?”
“At least,” I replied, smiling.
He smiled back, having mastered his temper. “What a quaint notion. A Dragaeran would not think to speak to anyone that way unless he was ready to back it up with steel.”
I laughed aloud. “Oh, always, anytime,” I said.
“Very well. My seconds will call upon you in the morning.”
I pretended surprise.
“They will?” I said. “My seconds will call upon you in the alley.”
I turned my back on him and walked away.
“What?” came the enraged cry behind me. I had taken three steps when I heard the sound of steel being drawn. I continued walking briskly.
“Now, Loiosh!”
“On my way, boss.”
I felt the jhereg leave my shoulder, as I continued walking smoothly and evenly away from the Hawklord. Now, at this point, was when I was going to need all of the skills Kiera had taught me years before.
I heard a cry behind me, and the shouts of “It bit me!” and “Help!” and “Get a healer!” and “Where’s the damn Jhereg?” and “Look, he’s dying!”
There would be no eyes on me, I knew, as I walked toward Mellar. His bodyguards, I noted, didn’t seem especially alert, although they, of all the crowd, must have recognized the distraction for what it was.
Mellar’s face was calm. I was taken with sudden admiration for him. This was what he’d been expecting. He figured to die here and now and was ready for it. His bodyguards knew, and weren’t making any effort to stop it. Could I have stood there like that, waiting for, perhaps, a Morganti dagger in my back? Not a chance.
I smiled to myself. He was about to get a surprise, however. I continued toward him, coming around the back. I was aware of the crowd around me as I blended in with it, but no one was aware of me. I had, to all intents and purposes, vanished. The art of the assassin. It would take an exceptional skill to spot me at this point—a skill that was beyond even the two bodyguards, I was sure.
Mellar stood, unmoving, awaiting the touch of a blade. He’d been flirting with a young female Tsalmoth who was playing dumb Teckla maiden, while Mellar pretended he believed it. She was looking at him curiously now, because he’d stopped speaking.
And, amazingly, he actually began to smile. His lips curled up into the barest, thinnest smile.