In the Shadow of Swords (32 page)

Sadly, the beauty of Tivisis served only to remind him of his mistakes.

The citizens here were open and trusting. They often greeted strangers as if they had been long-lost family. Galliresse sometimes thought they were fools for failing to appreciate the delicate workings behind the city’s serenity. Now he wished, as they all did, that he knew the face of the cruel man who had awakened them from their gentle sleep and introduced them to harsh reality. He shook his head slowly and heaved a sigh. Galliresse wanted to believe his leadership was essential to this city. He needed to discover who had caused all of this to happen.

But where to look?

5

NICCOLO ARZANI was in Cievv.

Unfortunately the news did little to lessen the anger that seethed in Galliresse’s heart.

Galliresse retreated to his favorite spot overlooking the city. He ordered his agents to survey the streets and look for othersinvolved in the conspiracy. He was not certain how long this would take, or whether there was anything to be found. They had to at least try to act on this information.

Arzani had been discovered two days ago. He had approached the council halls of the Rassan Majalis, delivering more of Fajeer Dassai’s lies. Galliresse assumed he had done this in order to keep the pressure on Pavanan Munif.

Correspondence between Galliresse and Cencova proved fruitful—Arzani had been followed on the chance that he would lead them to other conspirators. And indeed, he walked right to them.

Galliresse was now convinced that Fajeer Dassai was the mastermind behind the attacks. He was manipulating Arzani and many others. It seemed that truth had eluded them all.

Dassai was infamous even here, where people whispered of his ruthlessness. He coordinated a vast web of spies, collaborators, and criminals. He had the ear of the Sultan, his son, and even the assassin Ciris Sarn.

If this information was even partially true, Galliresse still had a chance to redeem himself in the king’s eyes. He had nothing else to lose. At least failure met with death was a better prospect than failure met with dishonor and humiliation.

With his spirits slightly restored by these reflections, Galliresse began to regain a sense of hope. Would it be dashed again? He knew the answer then, as surely as he knew his age. He was sadder, but he was also wiser. Galliresse had already been stabbed in the back by an invisible blade that cut deeper than any poisoned dagger.

It would not happen again.

6

THE HOUSE was empty.

Niccolo Arzani lingered in the shadows of the trees nearby before venturing to the front door. It was a short walk from the winehouse over the bridge, but it was enough time for him to become anxious regarding his next course of action. There was no sign of Dassai or anyone else, and that only made his decision more difficult.

Steeling his nerves, he picked the lock and opened the door. The waft of cold air from within startled him as he stepped across the threshold. It told him the house had not been occupied for quite some time. His footsteps reverberated across the hardwood floor as he crossed the great room. He descended a short flight of stairs into deepening darkness.

Arzani felt his way along the walls until his eyes adjusted to the dim light. He found a small kitchen and began fumbling through drawers until he located the stub of a candle and a tinderbox. He lit the candle, and although it provided a dim light, it was better than the dark. He made his way up the stairs to either confirm or assuage his fears.

Dassai had been gone for days, if not weeks. Arzani wandered the empty rooms looking for answers. It was clear that Dassai had yet to return. Would he ever?

Arzani, with little else to do but wait, used the remainder of his candle to light a fire in the hearth. Tired, cold, and hungry, he sat down heavily on the soft bed and surveyed the room. The light from the fire, along with what was left of another candle he’d found on the writing desk, revealed a grand room full of intricately carved wooden furniture, long, elegant floor runners, and delicate tapestries. He had this in Tivisis, but now it was all in jeopardy. He was out of options; he despaired of what to do next.

He lay back on the featherbed, his head resting on the down-stuffed pillows. He wanted to feel that luxury one last time before surrendering it in both heart and mind.

Arzani fell into a deep sleep.

7

ARZANI AWOKE, confused and unsure of where he was.

It was dark. The embers were dying, and the room was quite chilly. Suddenly, there was the slightest of noises—the soft click of a door latch.

Someone was coming through the front door.

Arzani gathered his wits and slid off the side of the bed near the windows, opposite the door. He waited for a time behind the linen curtain before realizing, with some degree of chagrin, that he was silhouetted against the milky luminescence of the moonlit sky.

He mentally prepared his justification for being there.

It would have to be convincing if he was to stay alive.

8

THE DOOR was unlocked.

Munif thought it odd that the entry would be open. He’d come here after receiving word from Cencova that this was the house of Dassai and that Niccolo Arzani had been seen here. He nudged the door open with the tip of his sword and stood back as it swung inward, prepared for whatever might lunge out at him. When nothing but a cool draft greeted him, he stepped carefully inside.

Munif entered the room quietly, gliding along the wall near the hearth with his sword still drawn. Immediately he saw a man

partially hidden behind the bed. It was not Dassai.

The man stepped forward.

“Fajeer, I’d hoped to encounter you here.”

Munif recognized the voice in an instant. He turned toward the embers to hide his face, and lowered his sword.

Arzani rose from behind the bed. “I have delivered your message, but I fear the plan has failed. Now I cannot return to Tivisis. I would most certainly be arrested.”

Munif knew he could not afford to waste such an opportunity. Kneeling before the hearth, he stirred up the embers with the tip of his sword. He heard Arzani approach behind him.

“Take me back to Qatana with you. I have skills that will prove useful to you. I can assist you once Malek assumes the throne and you control the
majals.”

Arzani’s tone told Munif that he had revealed everything in this desperate bid for survival. Munif stood but kept his back to Arzani. “You have told me more than you could possibly know,” he sneered, then pulled back his hood and wheeled to face him.

“Impossible,” Arzani whispered, even as the sword ran through him.

9

IT WAS RISKY.

Munif placed a hot coal in the bowl of water and elixir he had prepared. Although he’d often coped with such situations, this time fear crept in. He must do this alone.

Munif jerked the linens from the bed and, stepping over the still warm corpse, carried them into the water closet and spread them on the floor. Then he went back into the bedroom. It was both tiring and gruesome to undress Arzani’s body. He dragged the naked corpse into the water closet and rolled it onto the bed linens.

With a practiced hand—and his exceptionally sharp knife—he cut away at the flesh of the dead man’s face, allowing for extra room along the jaw line. Munif, despite what the alchemist had promised, remained skeptical that the elixir would fasten the mold to his own face and transform him into an exact likeness of Arzani. There was no room for error. And even if the elixir did perform as promised, it would be an unpleasant experience—no matter how convincing the mask might be to others.

Arzani’s skin came off easily. Munif was grateful for that. Sometimes, the alchemist had told him, if the cutting and peeling process took too long, the blood and other fluids between the face and skull would become sticky. The skin would lose its inherent bonds—and the facial structure that makes each person unique would be compromised. Then he would look more like a leper than a double.

The bed sheets prevented the blood from spreading out in a gummy pool on the floor. Munif rinsed the ghastly mask with care and placed it on a shelf, then picked up the bowl of now transparent gel and smoothed the warm sticky substance through the interior of the shell. He mentally counted off the seconds before lifting the mask of flesh carefully and—steeling himself—leaning forward into it and closing his eyes.

As the viscous material touched him, he recoiled inwardly. His stomach churned. As he pressed harder, however, there was a flash of heat and the cold skin warmed, becoming like his own. He found a small hand mirror and checked to make sure all portions of the face were now living tissue, albeit temporarily. The mask would last for days, if not weeks.

He returned to Arzani’s corpse and looked it over carefully. There was very little muscle on the frame. That was fortuitous; the mission that had begun in Riyyal many months ago had worn Munif down. But he was slightly taller than Arzani, and he could not reproduce the narrow shoulders by mimicking the dead man’s stance. There was no way Munif would pass for Arzani by simply wearing his face.

Swearing under his breath, Munif held the stiffening arm still while he sliced the forearm open all the way down to the thumb. Pulling the skin back, he lodged the tip of his knife in the space between the wrist bones and pressed down firmly as he twisted the blade. The maneuver chipped off a single piece of glistening bone. Dropping the arm, he went into the bedroom and pulled a vial from his belt pouch.

He added a pinch of powder to what was left of the gel in the bowl and watched as it returned to its liquid form. He added the bone to the bowl and waited for it to dissolve.

Although he’d used similar elixirs in the past, he wasn’t exactly sure what to expect. He lifted the bowl to his lips and drank deeply. The vile taste made his stomach heave again, but he closed his eyes and willed himself to wait for the effects to take hold. Suddenly it seemed his nerve endings were on fire; the pain that coursed through him was more agonizing than any he had previously experienced. Terror seized him; Munif opened his mouth to scream, but no sound came from his throat. He knelt at the foot of the bed and gripped a bedpost with both hands to keep from thrashing.

Eventually the pain receded. Slowly he regained his senses, until he could stand. The transformation was complete.

Now all he had to do was clean up the room and wait.

For the next several hours, Munif practiced reproducing the timbre of Arzani’s voice until it matched as closely as possible. Fortunately, the tone and timbre weren’t unique, but it was a difficult task to perform from memory. Next he spent some time rehearsing the man’s inflection and regional dialect. “Only his mother would know the difference,” Munif murmured.

Also during this time, he disposed of Arzani’s corpse and made the bed. He practiced with his sword, adjusting to the new skin.

Finally, as dawn approached, Munif heard a door open and steps echoing through the house. Stashing his sword where he knew it would not be discovered until he returned, he replaced

the blade with Arzani’s thin saif.

Rather than meet Dassai in the bedroom, Munif chose to take himself downstairs to play an agitated and fearful Arzani; he knew that Dassai would be less likely to rid himself of the man if he begged.

Let the game begin
.

10

“WELL, NICCOLO, I must say this comes as a surprise.”

Fajeer Dassai sounded amused as he stood on the threshold. “I had no idea you had the courage to stay. Perhaps I should just bleed you where you stand.” Dassai spoke these last words in a conversational tone as he knelt before the hearth—just as Munif had hours earlier.

Munif had met Dassai while descending the staircase, wringing his hands and looking as small and worried as he could. He did not approach Dassai, preferring to remain as far from him as possible without provoking suspicion. He allowed Dassai to lead the conversation, and when he did speak, he spoke each word precisely in an effort to mimic the timid Arzani. Dassai had retrieved a bottle of wine and poured himself a glass before turning to the fireplace.

Munif had no doubts that Dassai was planning to kill the man he thought was Arzani. Munif was confident he could take Dassai off guard—laying him open for a killing blow. But that was something he no longer wanted to do. There was much more to gain now. Munif had to improvise; he chose his next words carefully. “Please. I can do nothing but ask for mercy and an opportunity to prove myself not utterly useless. Allow me to be your escort.”

“I do not need you. I need people on whom I can rely. You failed me in Tivisis. You failed yourself by letting Pavanan Munif survive. What good are you to me?”

Munif did not answer right away, stretching out the silence as an admission of Arzani’s guilt. Then he breathed in deeply and released the breath slowly, as though he had just come to a decision. “Should I fail you again in any way, I will take my own life.” He said it with conviction.

Munif waited while Dassai pondered his words. Dassai replaced the poker beside the fireplace and stood. Munif felt some of the tension leave his body as Dassai turned and smiled at him. It seemed that Dassai had thought of a use for Arzani after all.

Munif did not smile in return.

11

“JUST A little longer.”

The words echoed through Munif’s mind. He was still sealed within the flesh of the man whose life he had taken. Thus far Dassai seemed not to suspect the deception.

He paced as he waited for Dassai to rejoin him. Dassai had ordered Munif to stay in the house while he met with someone in the city. Munif would have to be patient and have faith that his revenge would come soon.

An alchemist had once told Munif that when a person assumed the identity of another—especially through these means—that identity would begin to consume him. The essence of the dead would remain behind, attempting to hold on to what it knew, unable to let go of the life that had been taken prematurely. Munif had begun to believe it was true: the longer he remained within Arzani’s skin, the more nervous he became. Always confident and in control, he had begun to question everything about himself. He worried that should he remain Arzani for much longer, he would have difficulty remaining sane.