My hands struck it—slipped—and clung. The pole bent nearly double, and then broke away under my hurtling weight. And again I fell, but slower now, for the momentary impediment had broken the impetus of my fall.
Then I caromed into a vast, curved panel of fabric that must have been some sort of an awning. The strong cloth boomed under the impact of my fall, then tore free from its frame. But it, too, had served to partially break my fall.
And the next instant I struck a sheet of ice-cold water and lost my senses. Seconds later I rose to the surface, stunned, half-drowned, but somehow alive and in one piece. Groggily, I struck out for the marble lip of the pool, and dragged myself over, to flop onto the thick cushion of a flower-bed. I lay there while the world spun dizzily around me, then I levered myself up on one elbow and vomited out the water I had swallowed. I must have swallowed half the pool, at least; I hope the keeping of goldfish was not an Ardhanese custom!
Then, somewhat recovered, I got unsteadily to my feet and looked around me in the gloom.
I stood amid a formal, rooftop garden on one of the tiers of a princely mansion. Unfamiliar miniature trees rose about me; flower-beds lay underfoot, and patches of grassy sward, and meandering walks strewn with chips of fragrant wood instead of gravel.
Colored paper lanterns swung overhead, suspended in long garlands hung from tree to tree. By their dim, multicolored illumination I could see the gleam of marble fountains and alabaster statuary. Ornamental gazebos rose amid trimmed hedges and grotesquely shaped topiary trees. Benches of glimmering crystal stood here and there upon the velvet lawn. It was most obvious that the zzumalak had dropped me into the roof garden of some noble’s mansion, for such an aerial pleasance denoted wealth and luxury.
And that implied the presence of guards. Any intruder caught stealing about the roof gardens by night would assuredly be thought a thief or an assassin. I had best leave at once, I thought. Thus far my precipitous descent into the garden pool had gone unnoticed. But my luck would not last forever. Keeping well to the shadows and avoiding where possible, the glowing paper lanterns that bobbed and swayed overhead, I prowled in search of a way out of here.
A flight of marble stairs caught my eye, the glimmer of light on its glossy balustrade. I headed toward it, through the scented trees. It led to a higher level, another rooftop, no doubt; perhaps from there I could jump or climb to the roof of an adjoining building. But how I was to get down to the street level without risking discovery by descending within one of these buildings I had no idea. Cursing the Ardhanese for their lack of fire escapes, I went swiftly up the stair to the higher level and found myself on a huge balcony faced with long glassed windows like French doors. Drapes were drawn before these windows, but the rooms beyond were brilliantly lit.
With my heart in my mouth and my drawn sword in my hand, I crossed the length of the balcony and found myself at the head of a second stair, identical in every respect to the one by which I had ascended. It led down to the roof garden again. I turned and looked up. The roof of this building was about twenty-five feet above me. The exterior of the building was of carved stone, worked into frowning masks and mythological figures which afforded an easy purchase for my hands and feet. Sheathing my blade again, I reached up, seized the shoulders of a stone caryatid, and began to climb.
I had come from the pool soaked and dripping, my dark cloak a soggy mass, my boots squelching underfoot. The dry air, the night wind, and my brisk exertions were rapidly drying me. So I scaled the wall with little difficulty, levered myself up over the roof-ledge, and found myself among a forest of chimneys and skylights. By now I was thoroughly lost, and further from the street level than when I had hauled myself out of that pool; but at least I was still undiscovered.
Not for long, however.
Four masked figures stepped from behind a tall chimney and pointed their daggers at me in ghostly silence.
I froze. There wasn’t much else I could do, for I stood on the edge of the roof and my footing was precarious. So, cursing inwardly, I let them take my blade.
Whatever they were, they were obviously not guards, for their features were concealed behind visors of black silk, through whose slits their eyes glittered warily. They wore close-fitting garments, also of black, supple gloves, and light, voluminous capes of black silken stuff. They ran gloved hands over me swiftly and lightly, found my purse, and detached it from my girdle.
One of the masked men loosened the drawstring and poured the contents of the purse into his cupped palm. Precious metals sparkled in the distant lamplight, as the coins we had taken from the coffers of Sarchimus, with which I had stuffed my purse, poured from the pouch.
The masked man smiled—almost, I thought, approvingly.
“Unusual to find a clever thief in one so young,” he said dryly. He poured the coins back it into my pouch which he then tucked away in a pocket on the inner lining of his cloak.
“Take him,” he said, and they were upon me.
The masked men fought in complete silence and mastered me in a trice. Their clever hands knew the location of the nerve centers of my body, and I suffered excruciating pain for an instant; in the next, my limbs were numb and paralyzed.
Thongs tightened about my wrists; they drew my ankles together and lashed them tight. Then a peculiar harness was drawn about my torso, with a long silken cord attached to it. I was too dazed at the swiftness of all this to wonder at this cord, but in the next instant it became clear to me.
For they pushed me off the roof!
And, for the second time in the same hour, I hurtled down to smash against the street below
But not quite! For the line attached to the harness drew taut. It checked my fall, crushing the air from my lungs. And I bounced and spun a few feet above the paven way, dangling at the end of the silken line.
I had fallen into a narrow, crooked, unlit alleyway. Now more masked men in black garments and cloaks melted out of the gloom to swarm about me. A knife flashed as one of them cut through the line. Strong arms caught me as the line loosened, easing me to the cobbles.
From where I lay on my back, staring up, I saw the masked men swinging lithely down the line from the roof above. In a few moments they landed lightly on the cobbles. The leader uttered a curt command. His men scooped me up and one sturdy rogue tossed me over his broad shoulders. They melted back into the shadows and moved silently and swiftly as the wind through unbroken darkness to an unknown destination.
What they wanted of me I did not know. Nor could I conjecture what my fate would be at their hands. But one thing I did know; and the knowledge was disquieting.
I had thought them thieves—as they had thought me.
But they were not thieves.
They were assassins!
Assassination is a peculiarly Laonese institution, and on the Green Star World they have raised the craft to the level of the fine arts. Clever, cunning men, trained in the disciplines of stealth and silence and secret murder, more than one of the jewel-box cities of this strange and wondrous planet has fallen beneath the dominance of the black-masked men.
In Phaolon, I knew, their guild had been broken generations before, and they had been driven forth. But here in Ardha, as I now surmised and would soon learn for certain, the Assassins’ Guild was a third power, and close in wealth and strength and influence to Temple and Throne.
My heart beat low. From the frying pan to the fire! From the clutches of one of the monstrous predators of the forest, I had fallen into the hands of the most dangerous and feared and murderous men in the world. And what they wanted of me I could not even guess…