Better die quickly, Ferret admonished herself with a touch of grim humor.
Lying as still as she could, the assassin closed her eyes to mere slits and watched the battle from beneath the thick curtain of her lashes.
Ferret had to admit that her half-elven enemy was brilliant in battle. She had never seen anyone who possessed a surer knowledge of the sword. Yet much of what Arilyn did seemed to be pure instinct. She seemed to sense when and how the next strike would come, and she was quick enough to keep a step ahead of both her opponents.
In fact, the speed and force of her strike seemed all out of proportion with her size. Granted, the half-elf was tall, and her slender form had an elf s surprising resilience and strength, but those things could not account for the power of her fighting. Ferret wondered what secrets lay behind the glowing aura of the half-elf s moonblade.
Just then Arilyn's sword dove in past Samir's guard and buried itself in his throat. She pulled the moon-blade down hard, thrusting deeper as she went, sweeping through bone and sinew with terrifying ease. Ferret suppressed a wince as the elven blade cleaved the man from gizzard to groin.
Seeing an opportunity in his comrade's death, the other man grinned wolfishly and raised his scimitar high overhead for the killing strike. To add force to the blow-and perhaps in unconscious imitation of his half-elven foe-he gripped the blade with both hands and began the downward slash. ^
But his intended victim had other plans. Arilyn tore the blade free of the assassin's body and continued its downward cut. The sword gained momentum as she traced a sweeping circle back and around. As the elven sword reached the zenith of its swing, Arilyn spun to face the surviving assassin and stepped hard into the attack.
The two blades met with a shriek of metal. Arilyn ducked aside instinctively as jagged shards flew from the man's ruined scimitar.
With a hiss of rage, the assassin lunged at her with the ragged stub of blade that remained to him, apparently hoping to catch her while she was still off-balance.
The half-elf nimbly side-stepped the attack. She pivoted in a quick circle and brought the flat of her sword down hard on the man's outstretched arm, striking him just below the elbow. Immediately she dropped to one knee, using the moonblade as a lever and forcing the man's elbow to bend down. The jagged end of his blade turned upward; the momentum of his charge did the rest. The assassin stumbled forward as the broken scimitar plunged through his own throat.
Arilyn rose, sliding the bloody moonblade from the crook of the dead man's arm. The sword's magical blue fire slowly faded away, apparently quenched by the blood it had shed. The half-elf stooped and wiped the blade clean on the fallen assassin's shirt, then slid the sword firmly into its ancient scabbard.
Without a backward glance, she turned and strode to the open window. She climbed up the rope, hand over hand, and disappeared into the night sky.
For several silent moments Ferret lay where she had fallen, busily sorting through all she had seen. Very little of it made sense to her.
Arilyn was half-elven, yet she possessed a moonblade. She had taken an assassin's path, yet the sword continued to do her bidding. Was it possible the sword's magic had somehow been perverted to evil? Or was Arilyn,like Ferret herself, something very different from what she appeared to be?
And what of Danilo Thann? According to the intelligence Ferret had gathered, the nobleman was in the Purple Minotaur. Minutes before, she herself had heard his voice lifted in song. Where, then, had he gone? And what part did Arilyn play in this mystery?
Of one thing Ferret was certain: she needed the Harper, and if he was still within her reach she would find him- It grated on the proud female that the key to her success seemed to be in the hands of the half-breed fighter.
When she judged the time to be right, Ferret rose and crept silently to the window. The rope was gone, of course, and so was the half-elf.
No matter. Ferret was no stranger to climbing, and her slender, nimble fingers could find a hold in nearly any surface. She was also a hunter who could track a hare through the densest thicket or follow a squirrel's path through the forest canopy. No mere half-elf could elude her, not even in the relatively unfamiliar terrain of this crowded human city.
Setting her jaw in a determined angle, the female slipped from the window and followed Arilyn out into the night.
"A dream," muttered Prince Hasheth, trying to dismiss the faint, insistent thumping that roused him from slumber. He rolled over and buried deeper into his pillows, imperiously willing sleep to return and the annoying dream to vanish.
But no, there was that sound again, and it was coming from the secret door that led into his chamber. Hasheth listened and recognized the rhythm of an agreed-upon signal.
Grumbling and still drowsy, he batted aside the filmy curtains surrounding his bed. He stumbled over to the hearth and pressed the latch hidden among the stones. As he expected, the half-elven Harper burst into the room as the heavy door swung open. Judging from the look in her eyes and the grim set of her face, Hasheth doubted that she had come to take him up on his offer of an evening's entertainment.
"If s time," Arilyn said. "I leave Zazesspur now."
"First thing in the morning," Hasheth agreed, responding to the urgency in her voice.
"No. Now."
The prince threw both hands into the air and cast an exasperated glare skyward, but he knew better than to argue with Arilyn Moonblade. Young though he might be, he was quickly learning how to measure the men- and the women-around aim. Hasheth would no sooner try to reason with this headstrong woman than he would attempt to discuss philosophy with a camel.
And he had agreed to help her-he'd even seen to most of the preparations. Honoring his word was important. Hasheth knew that the measure of a man was not necessarily the sharpness of his blade or his wit, not the sum of the wealth he possessed or the rank he could claim. The true measure of a man was the weight his word carried. Someday, Hasheth planned to wield enough power to send men into frenzied compliance to his every command. For the present, and with this woman, he wished to be known as a man of honor, a trusted and important part of her interesting, clandestine plans. And besides, Lord Hhune had bid him to gain the trust of the Harpers.
Hasheth reached for a bellpull and gave it an imperious tug. A young servant appeared promptly at the door, rubbing sleep from his eyes. The prince handed the lad a sealed note. Explanations were not needed; the servant had been schooled at great length and knew precisely what must be done. The note would go to another contact, who would set in motion a well-planned chain of events. Hasheth had been a willing apprentice to the Harper, and he had learned much.
"The boat?" she demanded.
"All is in readiness," the prince assured her. "I will slip from the palace, get one of the horses I've boarded at the public stable, and ride for the southern gate. When it opens at dawn, we will both join a certain trade caravan and ride south to the Sulduskoon River, I as a representative of Hhune's shipping interests, you dressed as a courtesan employed to sweeten my journey. When we reach the river you will slip away. After the caravan's alleged business is completed, I will see your mare safely to the tinker's hidden lair while you travel upriver to a destination that you have not seen fit to share with your trusted ally."
Arilyn responded to this recitation only with a curt nod of approval. To Hasheth's pointed attempt to pry information from her, she responded not at all.