The labyrinth underlay it all, sometimes open all the way to the sky, moreoften built over and now with old doorways sealed lest doom slip up by thatroute. The maze was so deadly that even the most desperate homeless seldomstole in for shelter. That territory belonged to the boldest of the bad boys.
Azel had met people in there who made him nervous. Weird people. Crazy people.
People you had to deal with harshly to get your message across. And some whojust could not learn.
Azel had grown up in the Shu. At seven he had been orphaned and left homeless.
He did not remember much about his parents except that his mother had criedall the time and his father had yelled almost as much and had beaten them alla lot. He had a notion that it might have been he who had set the fire thatconsumed them-except that he had an equally fuzzy recollection of his brothergiving the old man fifteen or twenty good ones to the head with a hammerbefore the fire.
He hadn't seen his brother since.
There was nothing he wanted to remember from those days, no little heirloom hecarried around and treasured.
At fourteen he had gone to sea and had gotten to know most of the ports aroundthe rim of the sea. He had survived them all and most of them had survived him. At twenty-one he had returned to Qushmarrah.
It had not been long before he had fallen in with the remnants of the Gorlochcult. Its grim philosophy appealed to him, though he took from it only whatsuited him and discarded the rest. He was not weak. He had no higher god thanhimself.
Soon he caught the eye of the High Priest, Nakar. The sorcerer gave him oddjobs. He handled them swiftly, efficiently, no matter how difficult or cruel.
In a moment of humor Nakar had begun calling him Azel after the demon whocarried Gorloch's messages to the living world. Azel the Destroyer.
Never did he commit himself to the god or to the man. Not entirely. Azel couldnot give himself wholly to anyone but Azel.
He had missed Dak-es-Souetta. He hadn't been trapped in any of the towers atHarak Pass. He hadn't participated in the rout on the Plain of Chordan nor hadhe been there for the hopeless defense of Qushmarrah after the pride of heryouth and manhood had been slaughtered or scattered, chaff driven by the hotbreath of Death.
His absence did not shame him. It would not have shamed him had he done nothing for the city that had done nothing for him. He knew nothing aboutshame. But he had in fact been doing something. He had been in Agadar, westalong the coast, where the Herodian armies had landed. His few carefullystruck blows against Herodian commanders had-unfortunately, as it haddeveloped-delayed the invading armies the month necessary for Fa'tad al-Aklato gather his tribal warriors and race to Dak-es-Souetta.
Thus do the Fates conspire.
Azel paused across the street from the house that was his destination. Almostthe instant his feet stopped moving the door opened over there. Azel easedback into deeper shadow.
Could it be?
Of course not. The Fates neither loved him so well nor hated Sagdet so much.
He sank down onto his heels, tucked his hands in, turned his face down, andwatched under his brows. The man passed within ten feet without seeing him.
It was the one called Edgit. Perhaps the old man would want to know that hehad been here.
Azel moved almost before Edgit was out of sight. He had scouted the house. Thebest way in was through the front door. If he got there quickly whoever hadlet Edgit out might think the guest had returned for something.
He knocked. In seconds the door opened. An irritated voice started to say,
"His Lordship ..."
Azel shot his left hand to the man's throat, gripped. He brought his right around in a hook to the temple. A brass knuckleduster took the impact. The mansagged.
Azel lowered him to the floor, easing him out of the way of the door, which heclosed but did not latch. Quickly, but with care because he did not know theinterior layout, he passed through the house to the back, then to the eastside, to unlatch the doors there and open alternate avenues of retreat. Onlythen did he approach the one room from which sounds of life could be heard.
The door was not latched. And the sounds were what he'd suspected them to be: those of a man and woman rutting.
Gorloch be praised! Or the Fates, if it be deserved. The woman was astride, facing away, and the man had his eyes closed. Azel slipped into the room. Hepicked up a discarded sash as he crossed the room, wrapped one end around hisleft hand, let the other fall free. The woman sensed his approach in the laststep, started to turn. His blow stilled her curiosity before she caught aglimpse of him No stopping the man from seeing him and loosing a startled, squeaking, "You!
What the hell are you doing?" as he thrashed out of his entanglement with thewoman and started to flee on all fours. "Who sent you? The General? Is hetrying to scare me? I don't have to put up with this!"
Fat jiggled olive skin. Absurd broad buttocks humped and swayed. He gainedground. He reached the corner where Azel wanted him, scrabbled at the walls toget to his feet, spun with a mouth full of bluster and threats.
None of which got spoken.
"Oh, Aram! You mean it! Damn it, man... . I'll back down. Tell him! I'll doit his way. You don't have to do this! We can deal!" He raised pudgy hands, pushed at the air. "Don't! What do you want? I've got money... . Please?"
Azel was close enough. Leaving one imaginary opening to his right, he feintedwith the sash in his left hand.
Sagdet darted for the perceived opening.
Azel's fist smashed into the side of his head. He spun against the wall.
Before Sagdet could recover his wits Azel had the sash around his neck and aknee in the middle of his back.
Sagdet struggled, as any dying thing must, but his efforts only served to puthim facedown on the floor, where his assailant had a greater advantage. Oncethere he could do nothing but paw and claw and pound the stolen carpet againstwhich he was being crushed.
Azel felt the body shudder, smelled the stench as sphincters relaxed. Sagdetmust have had an abominable diet. He held on for a count of another twenty, then knotted the sash in place.
He went to the woman, touched her throat. Her pulse was strong and regular.
Good. None should be hurt who had not earned it.
He walked a reverse course through the house, leaving the side and back doorsopen wide. He checked the pulse of the man he had left inside the front door, found it a little ragged but not dangerously so. He looked outside carefullybefore he departed. Leaving the front door standing open, too.
It would not be long before thieves accepted the invitation and swept to theplunder, obliterating completely the reality of what had happened.
The General wakened to the whisper of the street door. The light of the lampmoved across the outer room. "Is that you?"
"Yes."
"Back already?"
"Yes."
"It's done?"
"It's done. The man Edgit was leaving as I arrived."
Something stirred in the old man's innards, settled in the pit of his gut liketen pounds of hot, poisonous sand. He could not become accustomed to orderingexecutions. "Good, then."
The lamp moved away, back toward the street door. "He promised that he'd mendhis ways. That he'd never do it again."
The old man listened to the door close, perhaps shutting him off from half athought. What the hell had the man meant?
That had not been a taunt, nor an accusation, nor even a bald statement offact. It had had an odor of admonition about it, a smell of the cautionaryparable.
The mass in his gut grew heavier.
He drifted off to sleep without having figured it out.
Aaron tore chunks off a sheet of unleavened bread and used them to dip bitesof whatever it was that Mish had made for breakfast. He did not notice that the bread had been burned on one side or that the rest of the meal could not be identified even by someone paying close attention. He barely noticed whatMish was doing while Laella still slept.