In the Shadow of Swords (5 page)

And no one followed.

H
IS
path took him through deep valleys down to the sea, then up a steep, rocky path nearly washed out by recent storms, forcing him to dismount until the trail leveled out and became more stable. The track soon turned back eastward, wending through the foothills. Sarn stopped near a flowering acacia tree at the edge of a small stream. He pulled the saddle off his horse and let her roam in search of grass and water.

Sarn retrieved dried meat and hard bread from his pack and, leaning back against the tree, he let his thoughts wander on another path—the dark, dangerous road of his past that had brought him to this place. He thought of his father and his father’s gift to him. Barrani was dead by now, but he’d given Sarn a glimmer of hope before the end. Skirting the edge of real emotion, Sarn allowed himself this moment of quiet reflection.

In time, Sarn lifted his pack, re-saddled his horse, and resumed his journey home.

He was ready.

7

SARN WAITED.

he’d stopped for a brief respite. Surrounding him were ancient vineyards, which were among the most highly regarded and most sought after in all of Qatana. Trellised vines of grapes draped the cloud-dappled hills. The wines produced here were excellent—dark and full-bodied reds as well as fruity whites with hints of citrus.

Am I doomed to forever relive the past?
Sarn reflected, gazing out over the land. The scene reminded him of his childhood summers, when he’d toiled in his uncle’s vineyards in Annafi: a distant memory faded almost beyond recall. Until now.

Where have the years gone?
Sarn felt the impossible desire to reverse time to a point when he could have altered the course of his life. But he knew it could never be. There was no going back.

Sarn stood and listened. There was only the quiet breeze and a falcon’s distant call. His horse had wandered farther than usual, the temptation of incense grass luring her astray. He was alone.

Sarn tired of waiting he called to his horse, who answered the signal with a ringing neigh. The horse cantered up, and he leapt into the saddle and galloped away. Sarn felt the rush of anticipation course through him, his pessimism sloughing off, replaced by a renewed vigor.

His fate still lay ahead.

Racing along well-worn paths that marked the final miles of his journey, Sarn could see the purple-blue silhouettes of the Haffal Mountains in the distance as dusk approached. The twilight failed to dampen his mood. Sarn knew that he would make it to the
riad
before noon tomorrow, where Dassai no doubt waited.

Neither killing nor his epithet
—Kingslayer
—bothered him. Having to kill at Dassai’s orders—that was entirely different.

The talisman his father had given him was the key to his freedom. But to unlock it, he needed to confront the Sultan, and this would require the aid, willing or not, of the man who held his chains. Sarn relished the thought of breaking them, and afterward looking into Dassai’s eyes as he slit the man’s throat.

Sarn’s thoughts focused on the coming confrontation. The yearlong affair with Jannat was an effective—and bloodless—weapon he’d relished using against Dassai. What better way to stab a man in the back than to bed his wife?

But it had not been enough. Dassai had been oblivious. So Sarn had arranged for him to find out; therefore he knew Dassai would be waiting for him at the
riad
.

Sorting it out in his mind, Sarn realized that some puzzles still remained. Shortly before he received the cryptic message to visit

Barrani in Havar, Jannat had disappeared. She simply left. Those she employed had not seen her depart, nor could they give him any information concerning her whereabouts.

Why? What was the cause? If she knew he’d betrayed her to Dassai, that would be reason enough to leave, to escape a certain and painful death. But he doubted her ability to recognize his true intentions.

He had no feeling one way or the other for Jannat’s life or death. Yet her disappearance had been inexplicable.

Now he wasn’t so sure.

8

SARN STARED in disbelief at the scene below him.

The flourishing landscape that he remembered was blackened, scorched, as if efreeti of the Rim al-Saraya had flown over the mountains with a demon-wind and burned the land in their wake.

Everything was gone
.

Dry winds carried black streamers of smoke, streaking the horizon with long fingers of darkness.

His mount reared up as he pulled the reins tight and stared at what had once been his refuge—now razed to the ground.

This had not been part of the plan.

Sarn cursed, spurring his horse forward, hooves pounding the sun-baked earth.

As he descended the hill, he was met by the powerful, acrid odor of burning grapevines. Some grapes still clung to the vines, their once plump bodies now withered and bled dry.

Sarn slowed the horse to a trot, his eyes scanning what was left of the
riad
. The house showed no signs of life.

His nose detected a different scent on the wind. He knew it all too well.

The sweet, sickly stench of death.

Sarn slowly led his mount through the ruined gates of the estate, toward the burned-out
riad
. A grisly horror lay before him.

The reek of charred human flesh hung in the air. Vineyard workers had been cut down in the fields and left for the fire to consume. Most were scattered amid trellises and stone debris. Some had been hacked, some speared; arrows protruded from others’ bodies. Others had been beheaded, or disemboweled.

Sarn jumped from his horse and approached the
qoos
, which still stood in the aftermath of the fire that had engulfed the house.

Some of the stone and brick from the
riad
had held firm against the flames. Most of it, however, lay in a pile of blackened rubble, still smoldering. The panes of lead-crystal windows were gone. Two lower walls and a tall chimney remained intact. But otherwise, everything was gone.

In the gloom of dust and ash that dimmed the light of the second sun, Sarn perceived movement within the ruins, a long shadow creeping across the smoldering wall.

It was Dassai.

9

“IT IS a shame that it had to come to this.”

Fajeer Dassai stepped forward, facing Sarn. It was the same man Sarn had known for years; yet it wasn’t. The fierce brown eyes still gleamed above the sharp nose. But his hair had retreated to the farthest reaches of his scalp, cut short and graying around small-lobed ears. Lines grooved his cheeks, intersecting the caverns that extended from the tip of his nose. Time had not been kind.

“Really, it is a shame,” Dassai said calmly. “It pained me deeply to learn that my wife would consort with someone like you.”

“I imagine it did.”

Dassai smiled. “But I take some satisfaction in the discovery,despite your both taking such great pains to conceal the affair from me.”

“You learned of it only because I wanted you to,” Sarn said.

For the briefest fraction, Dassai’s eyes widened in surprise before relaxing again. Few would have caught it, but Sarn was one of those who could.

He grinned.

When Sarn had entered the burned out building, he’d instinctively put his back against the
qoos
. It served him well now. Dassai pulled a slender, silvery-white rod from his robes and began tapping it against his left palm as he paced in front of Sarn.

Maneuver all you want
, Sarn thought.
You can‘t get behind me
.

He made no move to counter Dassai. Sarn was better at the game than his opponent, and Dassai knew it. There would be no attack. Dassai would not take the gamble.

The source of the
riad’s
destruction was now apparent. The firestorm that had swept through the place had sprung from the mystical artifact in Dassai’s hand.

Dassai stopped. “Interesting,” he said. “You haven’t asked about Jannat.”

Sarn shrugged.

His opponent cocked his head to one side. “Have you no interest in her fate?”

“Not particularly.”

“The whore got her wish. I sold her as a harem slave. Now she’ll pleasure hordes of beggars until she’s dead.”

“I wouldn’t underestimate her.”

“How so? She’ll never escape.”

Don‘t be too sure
.

“Probably not, but she will survive. The woman has talent.” Sarn smiled wickedly. “But perhaps you never experienced that.”

Dassai visibly struggled to contain his emotions. Sarn pressed the attack.

“So all this,” Sarn asked, waving his hand. “This is your

revenge on her? Or me?”

“I did it because I could, Ciris,” Dassai replied, lips curling in a twisted smile.

“Even if it costs you dearly,” Sarn said, shaking his head. “That’s not like you, Fajeer.”

“What’s hers is mine!” Dassai said. “You think you can come in here and help yourself to my possessions?”

“I did it because I could.”

Dassai paused. “Predictable,” he said contemptuously. “I am disappointed in you, Ciris.”

“Why?”

“Did you honestly think you could just walk away? Surely you knew better. You cannot break this curse.”

“I guess we will have to wait and see,” Sarn said, glowering at Dassai.

“With all I have done, you should thank me for cleaning up after you.”

“Give you thanks?”

“A man such as you must have gone mad, hiding in this place for a year, cowering like a rat.”

“Well,” Sarn said, drawing out the word slowly. “Your wife did make the time pass much more sweetly.”

Dassai laughed. “Always quick with the tongue, just as you were as a child.

“But I’m not the only one looking for you. You’re being hunted again. Had it not been I, others would have come to do the same.”

“Perhaps. And the message to visit Barrani came from you?”

Dassai smiled.

“I thought as much,” Sarn said, nodding. “His fate was sealed long ago, and not by you.”

“No matter. Your father is dead. Did you like my other gifts?”

“The quality of your assassins is lacking,” Sarn said. “You should have spent more.”

“Don’t mistake my actions,” Dassai said, waving off Sarn’s reply. “They accomplished what I wanted them to do: like dogs driving prey toward the hunters. It was all meant to lead you here.”

“I would have come anyway.”

“And if I had wanted you dead, you would be.”

“Many others have said that, and yet I still stand.”

“Don’t mistake me,” Dassai said. “You are skilled in your craft. You’ve been a useful tool.”

“Fuck you,” Sarn said, stung.

Dassai smiled. “Easy, my friend. You usually have more restraint. I’m afraid you may have forgotten that it was my instruction which has served you so well.”

Yes, it has
, Sarn thought.
And soon my skills will be used against you
. Sooner or later, he would get vengeance.

Sarn spied Dassai’s minions creeping out of the lingering smoke, winding through the blackened debris, ready to intervene.

But he was unconcerned. Dassai wanted him here for a reason, and Sarn did not think it was to cut him down. No, Dassai had something else in mind.

“Your men need work,” he said, nodding toward the minions.

“I see your confidence does not waver,” Dassai said.

“I see no reason that it should.”

Dassai’s servants stepped from the shadows. There were twelve in all, well-armed, with crossbows at the ready. Taking Dassai now would mean sacrificing himself.

Is it worth it?

No
. That time would come.

“You know I can have you killed,” Dassai said.

“You said that before. Same answer—perhaps. But if that is your choice today, it will be the last one you ever make.”

“But where you were once just a thorn in my side, you have given me the justification to dispose of you.”

It was true. The crime of dishonoring a man’s name was grave. Jannat would soon pay the price, if she had not already. Those around her had as well, because they had been aware of the disgrace. The crime for adultery extended to all involved in the act. Sarn felt a rush of adrenaline.

“If that is your desire, so be it,” he said. “Honor is hard; death comes easy.”

“Calm yourself. I still have need of you,” Dassai said.

“Do you?” Sarn said warily.

“As I said before, I allow you to live because I still have some use for your… ah… particular set of skills.”

“Oh? Sarn asked, intrigued in spite of himself.

“You will return to Havar and find a man named Hiril Altaïr. And there you will murder him.”

Sarn knew the man’s name—a very capable
siri. But why would Dassai want this man dead?

Dassai continued, “Mark him when you are finished. I need to know it was you who made the kill. Then leave for Riyyal. The Sultan has called for you.”

“What use does the Sultan have for me?”

“That is not for you to know,” Dassai answered.

It was clear to Sarn that Dassai didn’t know, either.

Sarn looked at Dassai, then at his men who had come to surround him. “Not much of a choice then?”

“You never had one,” Dassai said. “Every time you run, you are lying to yourself. There are only two things that you do, that give you any worth: you kill to survive, and you survive to kill. Never forget that.”

“I must try to keep that in mind,” Sarn responded. “Someday soon I will revel in spilling your blood.”

“You have your duty.”

“So be it,” Sarn said, brushing past Dassai and through his men.

They will all die
, Sarn decided. It would start with Altaïr—but it would end with Dassai.

“Pity this place had to burn.” Dassai called out as Sarn mounted his horse. “But what is it they say? ‘Nothing in life is without loss.’“

Nothing indeed
. There was little more to hold Sarn here, but then again, there never really had been. Sarn gave it one last glance before spurring his horse and galloping away.