Of this new alignment of power in Ardha, Gurjan Tor was wary. The Goddess has bought his allegiance, but not, it would seem, for long. I think the cunning leader of the Assassins feared, and not without good reason, that once Arjala and Akhmim had united their factions, they would turn upon the Guild and destroy it, thus eliminating the only potential disruptive factor in their midst.
In other words, the old double-cross was coming.
But Gurjan Tor planned to get there first.
The days crept by slowly, and I chafed to see valuable time elude me. For all I knew, every hour brought Prince Janchan nearer to his goal of rescuing the Princess of Phaolon. And he was free to act at will, to come and go as he pleased, with no restraints on his movements (insofar as I knew), while I was a prisoner of the Assassins.
It was infuriating. But, frankly, Klygon kept me so busy from dawn to dark, that I really had little opportunity to consider these matters. All day I trained in the wearisome arts of stealth; at night I crept into my bed bone-weary from sheer exhaustion, and my slumbers were deep and without dreams.
As yet I neither knew nor suspected anything of the nature of the mysterious Project Three for which I had been selected. When I inquired of Klygon concerning it, the bowlegged little man looked uncomfortable and muttered something or other to the effect that I would know in due time.
“But I want to know now,” I complained.
“Be a good lad,” he advised, “and it’d be wise if you troubled yourself naught about it.”
“But why is it being kept a secret from me?” I demanded.
He shrugged, and lowered his voice to a conspiratorial whisper.
” ‘Tis the will of Gurjan Tor that the scheme be kept secret, lad. And you’d be better to learn now that no one goes against the will of Gurjan Tor! Not if he wants to keep on breathing, he don’t…”
So I held my peace and applied myself to my training, but kept my eyes and ears open all the same. The days passed slowly and I prospered in my studies. Klygon, who regarded his craft with the affection and enthusiasm and dedication a connoisseur feels for his favorite art, shook his head admiringly at my progress as I displayed my newly-acquired skills before him.
“Aye, lad, you do me proud; and I doubt not that even Gurjan Tor would think you a real credit to your teacher!”
But he still wouldn’t tell me what it was all about.
The Flower Boat Festival neared. This annual day and night of carnival was celebrated with great festivities by the folk of Ardha. And it occurred to me more than once, as the deadline for the termination of my training grew nearer and it could be seen that it was obviously planned to coincide with the great national festival, that on such a night a deed of stealth would have the greatest possible chance of success. With the boulevards and avenues thronged with celebrants, every wineshop and pleasure garden filled with citizens, the guardsmen would have their hands full and their work cut out for them.
This had also occurred to Gurjan Tor.
Festival day dawned. I saw nothing of the day-long processions, the flower-barges drawn by matched teams of zaiphs or dhua; locked away in the secret citadel of the Guild, I did not even know of Arjala’s magnificent coup as she sprung the existence of her bewinged and celestial captive, Zarqa the Kalood, on an astounded populace and a completely confounded Akhmim. But word of this reached the central room where Gurjan Tor squatted like some bloated and obscene toad in his silken nest. And Klygon and I were again summoned into the Presence.
On this occasion the half-naked fat man was gorging on slivers of pickled fishmeat as we entered the bare and gloomy chamber and rendered him our obeisance.
With a silver skewer he indicated a wall-chart.
“The boy must be ready tonight,” he squeaked in his high-pitched, feminine voice. “And an hour earlier than planned. Matters have changed, perhaps for the better. Yonder chart shows the inner structure of the Temple; the red crossmark indicates the position of a room on one of the upper tiers. In that room is a certain prisoner, whom you will slay. The red dotted line indicates the route you will follow to and from the target chamber. Memorize the plan well.”
I did so, having been trained in the arts of memory as well as murder. Not that I intended murdering anyone for Gurjan Tor, of course. Once free of this building, I would go about my own business, and the lords of The World Above have pity on the souls of any Assassins who tried to get in my way!
“The second red cross on the higher level indicates the chamber wherein a second prisoner is immured. This prisoner, too, you will slay. The weapon of choice for both deeds is the needle-stiletto in whose use Klygon informs me you have been trained to excellence. On this occasion, a mere scratch will suffice, for the blade has been steeped in phuol-venom.”
“And who are these two prisoners I am to murder, if I may ask?” I inquired, greatly daring.
Gurjan Tor studied me thoughtfully for a few moments, then shrugged fat quivering shoulders.
“No reason why you should not know,” he said. “The second prisoner is a strange winged golden-skinned male creature with violet eyes whom the archpriestess is passing off on a deluded and superstitious populace as a blessed amphashand.”
I reeled. Then Gurjan Tor dropped a second bombshell.
“The first prisoner is Niamh the Fair, regnant Princess of Phaolon, whom Arjala holds as a means of controlling Akhmim.”
And then he dropped the third.
“Klygon will accompany you on this mission to see that you do not stray from the appointed task. If you do, he will kill you… “
Chapter 25
PROJECT THREE
My mind in a whirl, I followed Klygon from the room and went with him to the floor where the novices were housed and trained.
Now the full scheme had been made known to me, I understood the thinking of Gurjan Tor in all its insidious complexity. Arjala’s hold over the Tyrant of Ardha lay in her possession of Niamh. With Niamh slain in the Temple itself, a new breech would widen between the two factions. Moreover, Gurjan Tor’s agents would doubtless spread it about that Arjala had ordered the Princess of Phaolon murdered, which would further enrage Akhmim and might cause considerable resentment among the citizenry to boot, since Niamh was a valuable captive worth an enormous ransom.
As for Zarqa, I had at this time no idea how he had come to fall into Arjala ‘s toils, but the chief of the Assassins had said something about her passing him off as one of the mythical winged messengers from the Laonese heaven, so his murder would probably be considered the ultimate limit in sacrilege.
So it turned out that Project Three actually fitted in with my own most earnest wishes to a remarkable degree! The Assassins would somehow get me into the Temple, thus affording me the perfect opportunity to free the woman I loved and my sad-eyed Kalood friend, as well. It could not have been more ideal for my purposes if I had designed the scheme myself.
That my ugly little mentor and friend Klygon would accompany me on this mission was the only element in the plan I regretted. I had become enormously fond of the homely, humorous little man in the days just past, and I had no desire to injure his standing with his chief—and certainly no wish to kill him. But I could hardly permit this sentiment to stand in the way of the safety of the woman I loved. No, Klygon would be gotten out of the way, somehow.
We napped, rose, bathed, feasted lightly, and armed ourselves for the fulfillment of Project Three. For the first and, I hoped, the last time, I donned the skintight black raiment of the Assassins. I slung the coil of Live Rope around my shoulders, hid the vial of Liquid Flame in the purse at my girdle, and clipped the scabbards which held the poisoned stiletto and a slender, well-balanced long sword to the warriors’ harness of black leather straps I had donned over my Assassins’ raiment. As I settled the customary black silk visor over my face, I reflected on the events to come. It was going to be quite a night!