Sacred Knight of the Veil (44 page)

Moving towards his target, he sidestepped the groping hand of a drunken patron and brushed away the detaining fingers of another. Arriving at Zendril's couch, he stepped into the merchant's view and struck a dancer's pose, one foot in front of the other, a knee bent to accentuate his figure. Zendril's eyes travelled up him with growing delight, and Blade smiled in his most seductive manner, one that no one had been able to resist.

Zendril pushed the girl away to get a better view, and the whore pouted and flounced off to find another customer. Blade stepped closer to his victim, who appeared entranced, his mouth open and his eyes riveted to the assassin's face. Zendril held out a hand, and Blade took it with one as slender and soft as a woman's. The merchant kissed the back of Blade's hand, and the assassin sank down on the couch beside him. A brindled hound raised its head and eyed the assassin without interest, then flopped down again.

Blade ran his fingers along Zendril's cheek, raising the tenor of his voice an octave and murmuring, "My Lord is a most handsome man, strong and virile."

"I have not seen you before. I would remember," Zendril muttered.

"I am new. My name is Harsa, noble lord."

"You are beautiful."

Blade lowered his eyes in a pretence of coyness. "My Lord is gracious, but I am only a humble woman, here to give you pleasure."

Zendril smiled. "And so you shall, my pretty."

"Come to my room, great lord. I long to please you."

"In a moment, I have not finished my wine." Zendril took a gulp from his goblet, his eyes never leaving the assassin.

Blade leant closer and stroked his cheek again. "Bring it with you, My Lord. For what I wish to do to you, we must have privacy."

Zendril chuckled. "You are a bold one. How did such a beautiful creature become a whore?"

In Cotti, beautiful women ended up in a rich man's harem, even if they were the daughters of poor men. Whores were generally rejects, girls with some flaw that made them undesirable, like bad teeth, bad skin or simply plain. Blade hunted for a suitable reason, knowing that he had mere moments to come up with one before Zendril got suspicious.

To buy more time, he bowed his head and murmured, "I am ashamed, My Lord."

"Just answer me, girl."

"I - I am unable to bear children, My Lord."

"That is no reason to sell such a lovely specimen," Zendril spluttered, draining his cup and refilling it.

"My Lord was angry, he beat me -"

"As he should."

"No healer could help, and he sold me into bondage as my punishment for making him appear impotent in the eyes of his peers."

Zendril grunted. "Yes, I suppose he had reason, after all. A woman who cannot bear children is an insult to her sex."

"But I have learnt much in the ways of pleasing men."

The merchant smiled, exposing yellow teeth. "As all women should."

"I am particularly skilled, and I long to show you, My Lord."

Zendril drained his cup again, his complexion becoming florid. His hand slid to Blade's thigh and squeezed it. "So you shall. My, but you are firm, girl."

"It is pleasing for a man to touch firm flesh, is it not, My Lord?"

"Indeed it is. Too many women are fat and flabby."

Zendril reached up to squeeze one of the water bags, and Blade leant closer, his sweet smile revealing even white teeth as he ran his tongue over crimson lips. The merchant reddened further and began to sweat. Blade took his hand and rubbed it against his cheek, fluttering his eyelashes in a provocative manner.

"Come, handsome lord, let me pleasure you beyond your wildest dreams. I promise you a night you will never forget."

The merchant gulped and licked his lips. "Have a care, girl, or you will be the death of me."

"Surely not, My Lord. You are so strong."

"What - what are you going to do?"

"I will rub scented oils over your body, and caress every part of it twice over. My hands will arouse you to new heights of pleasure, your blood will run hot and red as it never has before, even in your youth, and -"

"Enough." Zendril sat up and grabbed the wine bottle, allowing Blade to tug him to his feet and lead him towards the stairs. The hound rose and followed, sniffing at Blade's skirts. It turned away with a huge sneeze when it got a noseful of the powerful perfume the assassin had sprinkled over the hem. Now that Blade was accompanied, the other patrons left him alone, and he cast many seductive looks back at the old man who stumbled after him.

Blade mounted the stairs with a swaying, alluring gait, every inch the beautiful, erotic woman. Pushing open the door to the room where he had hidden his robe, he found it empty, as he had expected. It was still early, and none of the girls had managed to entice a patron away from the wine downstairs. The hound would have entered the room, but Blade closed the door in its face.

Zendril turned to protest, "My familiar must stay with me."

Blade feigned horror. "My Lord, I dread big dogs. I beg you to let him stay outside. His presence would make me fearful, and I would be unable to perform at my best."

"Even so..."

The assassin stepped closer and caressed the merchant's cheeks with gentle fingers, which slid down to the unsuspecting man's throat. Blade raised his face, keeping his eyes hooded to hide their colour, and pouted, distracting Zendril. As the merchant bent his head, drawn by the assassin's invitation, Blade's fingers found the spot where the nerve bundles resided, and pressed. Zendril's eyes rolled up, and Blade caught him as he slumped, dumping him on the bed.

The hound would sense no pain, since his master was oblivious to what was about to be done to him. The dog whined and scratched at the door, but Blade ignored it, pulling a dagger from its hiding place. Bending over the unconscious man, he pinched off the blood supply to his brain for a few moments, ensuring that Zendril would remain asleep for several time-glasses.

Blade thrust the dagger into the old man's belly several times, making sure he perforated the intestines before he flipped the merchant onto his belly and stabbed him twice in the back. Turning him over again, he averted his eyes from the blood that oozed from the wounds and covered him with a sheet to hide the crimson stain. He put a cushion under Zendril's head and arranged him so that he appeared to be asleep, then sprinkled the bed with perfume to disguise the scent of blood.

Putting on the priest's robe, he opened the door and let the big dog in. He did not wait to see if the hound suspected foul play, but closed the door and locked it with his pick, then strode down the stairs that led to the back door. Locking it behind him, he loped up the dark alley that led towards the inn. The locked doors would delay Zendril's discovery, and throw any investigators off the scent, buying more time for his escape.

Blade made no effort to be furtive upon his return to the inn. Few people would connect a priest with an assassination in a brothel, or the woman who was seen with the victim. Slipping in through the inn's back door, he went to his room and removed the disguise, packing it away in his bag. The icy calm that always descended on him when he performed an assassination gradually wore off, and the euphoria of success took hold.

It filled him with giddy elation, and he wondered how he had managed without it all these years. Killing did not thrill him, in fact, he found the sight of blood sickening, but the excitement of stalking, deceiving and killing without being discovered was heady. He flopped down on the bed and grinned, proud of the skill that had earned him such a vaunted reputation over the years.

"You are good," he congratulated himself. "The Invisible Assassin strikes again. The Silent Slayer, indeed."

His work would go undiscovered until morning, and then it would be blamed on an unknown whore who had vanished without a trace. Zendril's description of his assailant would do the investigators no good, they would not find a woman who looked like her, for she did not exist. Tomorrow he would ride out as a Cotti man, unsuspected. Even Zendril's hound would not be able to sniff him out, for the perfume had hidden his scent. He stretched out and relaxed, slipping into a deep, dreamless sleep.

Chapter Twenty Four

Blade slid from his horse in the midst of the bandit camp, turning to face Asrah as she marched up to him. The men gathered around, many eyeing the dagger hilts that protruded from his belt with deep distrust. He thought Asrah would demand that he hand them over, but she raised her chin and shot a quelling look at her men, then smiled at him.

"Welcome back. All went well, I trust?"

He inclined his head. "As usual."

"My father?"

"He's suffering the most excruciating pain imaginable."

"And he can't be saved."

Blade smiled. "No. A reputable healer will tell him that he's going to die, and give him medicine to dull the pain. A disreputable man will feed him foul potions and false hope, but he will die."

"How?"

"He'll rot from the inside. It will take several days. Maybe less, since he's old."

"He's always been rotten inside. A fitting end. But how do I know you tell the truth?"

He shrugged. "Send a spy, if you doubt me."

"I will. I would hear more of his suffering." She turned and signalled to two men, who headed for the string of horses tethered on the edge of the camp. "You'll stay until your deed is confirmed."

"As your guest, I trust, and not your prisoner."

"If I leave you armed, you could slay all my men in their sleep."

"True, but if I give up my weapons, you could keep me a prisoner."

"I gave my word," she said, frowning.

"And I give mine, that I will wait for your men to return."

"Would you give up your weapons if I asked you?"

"No."

She nodded. "As I thought. An impasse, then. I won't have half my men slaughtered trying to take them from you, so we'll have to trust each other. But if my men tell me that you've lied, you'll certainly lose your charges."

"If your men tell you that your father's well, they would be lying."

"They wouldn't dare lie to me, their punishment would be severe." She studied him. "You appear unharmed, but it took you longer than I thought it would."

"Four days is not long. I performed one assassination that took a tenday of planning and preparation."

"So you had no problem, and there isn't a score of soldiers on your trail?"

Blade smiled and shook his head. "Your father didn't even know what had happened to him until several time-glasses after I had left. That's the reason people hire assassins, so the killing is done without raising a hue and cry."

"But he saw you, and he still lives."

"He didn't see me, and what he'll tell the investigators will do them no good."

"Good, then all we have to do is wait for my men's return."

Blade glanced past her at the queens, who stood beyond the ring of men, watching him. "I trust my charges are well?"

Asrah shrugged. "They haven't complained to me."

The assassin brushed past her and walked over to Minna and Kerra, who greeted him with regal smiles. Kerra mimicked her mother more and more, and the improvement in her manners was marked. This was something that a princess could only learn from her mother, which was the reason for Chiana's failure, since she lacked the regal gestures and mannerisms that Minna possessed in abundance. The slight, royal smile, the haughty tilt of the head and wave of a hand that took the obedience of others for granted. A queen revealed only enough to give a hint of her feelings, without allowing their strength to be known.

He stopped before Minna and accorded her a slight smile. "I trust you are well?"

"As well as can be expected. You are unharmed?"

"Of course."

"Then we will be leaving."

He glanced back at the group of bandits, who huddled together in a muttered discussion. "Not just yet. Asrah has sent spies to confirm my work. As soon as they return, we will leave."

"Good." Her eyes dropped to his daggers. "You seem to have won her trust."

"Her respect, at least."

"You must be weary. Let us retire and partake of some refreshment."

Minna led the way to the tent, and Blade smiled as he followed, thinking that her words made it sound as if they were going to her sumptuous boudoir to indulge in a feast.

Asrah's men returned the following afternoon, and Blade went over to listen to their story. They presented themselves to their leader, brushing dust from their clothes and shooting a glare at the assassin when he strolled up. Clearly they disliked the news they were about to impart, but as Asrah had promised, they told the truth.

The taller man explained, "Your father lies abed, mortally ill by all accounts. The watchmen search the town for a whore called Harsa, whom Zendril blames for his wounds. He claims that she lured him to her room and stabbed him, but the owner of the brothel says he owns no whore named Harsa."

Asrah glanced at Blade, her eyes narrowed. "So you hired a woman to lure him to his death."

He shrugged. "Something like that."

"And she is dead too?"

"Yes."

"When they find her body, they'll know they're looking for a man."

He shook his head. "They won't find her body."

"I see. I wonder if Zendril will realise the significance of the name you had her use."

"Hopefully a few minutes before he dies."

"Yes. You have my gratitude. Your horses and supplies will be returned to you in the morning."

Blade inclined his head, then wandered away as she demanded more details of her father's suffering from the men. Although he understood her wish to hear it, he had no desire to do so. He returned to the tent to tell the queens the news, which pleased them, judging by their slight, satisfied smiles. They seldom left the tent, preferring to remain within its seclusion and spend their time talking, rather than braving the bandits' leers. When calls of Nature forced them to leave it they went together, and when they desired to stretch their legs, Blade accompanied them.