Seizing the initiative, Satine put a worried look on her face as she continued to limp down the hall. "You're holding me up!" she fairly shouted at them. "People are bleeding to death! Now, is the linen closet down this way or not?"
The tall warrior nodded. "It's near the next corner. The door should be unlocked. But be quick about it, woman."
With a wave, Satine turned her back to them and hurried down the hall. Only when the sound of the warriors' boot heels became distant enough did she finally turn around and look. The patrolling warriors were rounding the next corner, moving out of sight.
Stopping for a moment, Satine leaned up against the cool marble wall. She closed her eyes and did her best to calm her heartbeat. Nearly there, she thought. Hiding the torn map again, she walked on.
The corner she was looking for was just ahead. She slowed her pace, rounded the corner, and crept silently to the third door on the right. She placed her ear to the door. Silence.
She dropped to the floor, turned her head, and peered through the narrow gap under the door. Only moonlight illuminated the room.
She stood, reached into a pocket, and produced a pair of narrow iron tools, each about as long as her hand. One had a flat end, the other a hook. Slipping them both into the keyhole, she worked them carefully back and forth until she heard the lock quietly turn over. She placed the tools back into her pocket.
After checking to make sure she was still alone, she grasped the gold, cantilevered handle and gave it a turn. She gently pushed open the door. To her great relief, the hinges did not creak. She silently stepped into the room and closed the door behind her.
Moonlight drifted in through the open stained glass windows. The figure in the four-poster bed lay unmoving. Satine quietly crept to stand by the side of the bed. Identifying the face in the moonlight, she smiled.
From her pockets, she produced one of the vials she had purchased from Reznik and a short line of string with a small, lead plumb bob in the shape of a teardrop tied to one end.
She held the vial to the moonlight and gave it a gentle shake. The violet fluid and the magenta swirls blended quickly.
She carefully opened the vial. Her nose picked up the scent of the Eutracian bees' honey she had ordered the fluid laced with. Unrolling the line, she let the plumb bob drop to a point directly over the victim's lips. She placed the open end of the vial near the other end of the string, and very carefully poured a small amount of the fluid onto it. As the violet liquid silently crept its way down the string, she watched and waited.
Soon the fluid gathered on the bob and started to form a perfect droplet. Holding the line steady, she watched the droplet grow in size until it finally became too large to sustain itself. It fell directly onto the victim's lips, not an iota of it wasted.
The sleeping person scowled then unconsciously licked the sweet poison. Another drop soon followed. Again it was automatically licked into the waiting mouth.
Satine closed the vial and silently returned both it and the plumb line to her pockets. She made her way to the door, then turned around to take a final look at the sleeping figure in the bed. Her victim stirred, then lay still.
Satine opened the door and peered out. No one was about. She slipped out and headed back the way she had come.
Her limping walk back to the courtyard was uneventful. She did not see the warriors who had stopped her in the hallway, nor did she pause to speak to anyone else. Soon she was outside again threading her way between the tents of the wounded.
She looked at the sky. Dawn would arrive soon. There was still one more task to complete, and she would need to hurry.
As she casually limped back over to the remote section of wall by which she had arrived, she removed her dagger. Quickly she buried the plumb bob, the lock picks, and the deadly vial. After scraping the dirt back over the hole, she wiped her hands down the length of her trousers and limped back into the camp.
The drawbridge was still up, but she was not concerned. She knew that it was lowered each day at dawn to allow the wounded to pass in and out of the courtyard. The warriors would take little notice of someone who was mostly healed and wanting to be on her way.
As she wandered through the camp, she again came upon the old man who had spoken to her. He smiled, the creases in his face showing in the glow of the firelight.
Sitting down on the stump beside him, Satine smiled and told him that she was finally ready for that mug of warm ale.
CHAPTER XLVII
His name was Dax. at thirty-two seasons of new life he was relatively young to be a Minion officer. His bravery and skill in the aerial campaign against Nicholas' hatchlings and the recent sea battles with Wulfgar's demonslavers had quickly brought him to the attention of his superiors. With that had come a well-deserved promotion.
Now a captain, he had been honored when Ox selected him to command the warriors left behind at the base of the Tolenka Mountains. It was his task to observe the rampaging Orb of the Vigors and to send regular reports to the Conclave. Eager to make his mark, Dax took his first command seriously.
After the departure of Geldon and Ox, his first order had been to move the camp farther away from the newly created canyon. The intense heat lingering there had vastly accelerated the deterioration of the animal carcasses that lay within. His greatest concern had been disease, but the rising stench alone was enough incentive to move. As it was, even from the relative security of their new campsite, he could sometimes detect the telltale odor of rotting flesh.
Near dawn, Dax stood up from his camp stool and slowly stretched his wings. He did not look like a typical Minion. Clean-shaven like commander Traax, he was fairer than most. His eyes were a rare light blue and he had light brown hair and wings. Although still unmarried, he hoped to one day take a mate and have children.
Rufio, his aide-de-camp, lay asleep at the edge of the campfire, an empty akulee jug by his feet. Twenty years Dax's senior and possessing the battle scars to prove it, Rufio was a great bull of a warrior. He was nearly as large as Ox, and his loyalty was just as unshakable.
As the sun scratched its way up over the eastern horizon, the camp bugler sounded his horn and the troops woke up and exited their tents. Shortly, the usual sounds of grumbling and the smell of warm food began to greet Dax's senses.
He suddenly noticed shadows passing over the grass. Looking up, he saw the night patrol returning. Dax picked up his dreggan and he secured the weapon's baldric over one shoulder. After checking the blade to make sure it wouldn't stick in its scabbard, he attached his returning wheel to his belt. Smiling, he gave Rufio's meaty shoulder a short kick.
"Wake up! The patrol has returned."
With a groan, Rufio rose up onto his elbows. Grimacing, he narrowed his dark eyes against the rising sun. Then he looked at the akulee jug and he shook his head regretfully.
Eager to speak with the leader of the patrol, Dax walked over to where the warriors would land. Rufio slowly stood to find his head still swimming. Stretching his muscles, he stiffly followed along.
The six exhausted warriors landed. Their wings drooped, and their bodies and faces were blackened with soot. It was all their leader could do to snap his heels together in the customary salute. They carried extinguished torches, which they unceremoniously dropped to the ground. Concern showed on the leader's face.
"What of the orb?" Dax demanded.
"The situation has changed," the lead warrior answered. "The orb is still carving into the mountainside, its pace unchanged, but it has now traveled far enough so that the entrance to the pass may be seen. In my opinion you should view it for yourself, sir. No words of mine could do it justice."
Dax nodded his approval. "Very well. Take your warriors to the camp. Eat, drink, and rest. I will return shortly."