The Tower of Bashan (18 page)

Andrasta climbed up and forward. She came beside him and drew her sword. “Stop the blasted carriage!”

Harshad looked over his shoulder, ready to argue, but his smile vanished quickly with her sword inches from his throat.

The carriage came to lurching stop. The mounts stomped the ground in place, swaying their heads back and forth. Andrasta grabbed Harshad by the shirt with her free hand and lifted him out of his seat. “What’s going on?”

“Nothing is going on. I don’t know what you’re talking about. I told you there is a festival.”

Rondel leaned out of his door. The rasp of his normal voice added the right amount of intimidation to his narrowed eyes. “It’s early autumn. Festivals to fertility gods always occur in the spring.”

Harshad swallowed hard, the knot of his throat bobbing. His eyes flitted to either side of the alley. Andrasta followed the movement. “Five ahead,” she said.

Five men had entered the alley from the intersection ahead. The three in front carried long spears, and the two in back carried khandas—heavy, double edged swords that broadened from hilt to tip.

“Two more approaching from the rear,” said Rondel.

The mounts fidgeted in the tight confines of the alley.

Andrasta craned her neck and saw the two in the rear were not as heavily armed. One carried a cudgel of sorts while the other held short push-daggers called kataras. Obviously the carriage’s abrupt halt had disrupted the original plan for an ambush.

Though the attackers outnumbered them, they approached cautiously.

They’re not stupid. They know we can just run them down with the horses. Though with the spears, the horses might die. If that happens, the ones behind us would then try to attack.

“Who hired you?” Rondel asked Harshad.

“I . . . I can’t say.”

“Can’t or won’t? Nevermind. It doesn’t matter right this second. Probably was someone in one of the crime syndicates. I guess we made too big of a show trying to draw attention. How much more did they pay you?”

Harshad said nothing.

Andrasta placed the point of her sword at his throat. “He asked you a question.”

“They paid me nothing,” he whispered.

“Then why?”

“They threatened my family.”

“Liar,” said Rondel. “I picked you because you didn’t have any family.”

The boy’s eyes widened.

“I’ll deal with you in a moment. Good thing I had us leave with plenty of time to spare.”

Rondel disappeared back inside and reappeared a moment later brandishing two small crossbows. He opened the door, leaned out, and loosed each quickly, catching the men coming up from behind by surprise. One fell dead instantly. The other writhed on the ground, choking.

Andrasta raised an eyebrow as Rondel climbed toward the driver’s seat.

He winked when he noticed her looking at him. “Been practicing while you go off on your own and train.” He nodded down the other side of the alley where the men with spears and khandas rushed forward. “You may want to take care of the others before they kill our mounts. I’ll watch the boy. After all, it wouldn’t do if I had to help my bodyguard take down a few common street thugs.”

“Like I need your help.” She threw Harshad down, leaped over the horses and landed on the alley floor. She drew her dagger of Relian steel with her free hand, thinking the shorter weapon would come in handy given the tight space.

To call the men common thugs was a disservice. Though Andrasta would not go so far as to name them worthy opponents, they at least approached with some semblance of strategy. Dressed in boiled leather, the three spearmen led the charge while the two khanda wielding swordsmen followed close behind.

She sprinted toward them.

Given the choice, she would have preferred to let the five come to her, but she’d risk the already jumpy horses growing wilder in the alley.

The spearmen reacted by closing their formation with three long heads pointed at her torso. Just before the clash, she darted left, threw her left boot against the wall and pushed off. She slammed her sword into the three shafts, breaking two using her weight and momentum. Her other hand came around, dagger slicing across the neck of the closest spearman as they tried to untangle themselves from her.

She ducked a thrust from the second spearman and stabbed the third in the groin. A wide khanda blade sailed at her head. She dodged and it clanged off brick. Red dust took to the air. She spun away from another attack and flung her dagger down the alley toward the other swordsmen as he charged toward Rondel. It struck the man between his shoulder blades. He fell.

She cast aside a spear thrust, then deflected the high cut from the swordsman. Having sensed that they had missed an opportunity to gain the upper hand, they backed away to regroup.

“A poor decision,” she muttered in what she knew was a heavily accented version of the native tongue.

Where did that come from? Rondel is the talker.
The truth was that the attack had lifted her spirits.

“What are you waiting for? We have an appointment to keep, remember?” called Rondel from behind.

The attackers gave her an odd look. She feinted at the swordsmen so he retreated another step, then taunted the spearman. He stabbed low as expected. She grabbed the shaft and yanked just as he stepped forward. He stumbled off balance and she slid her sword into his side under the armpit. He fell dead.

The swordsman edged backward as if to run. She came at him fast. The man overcompensated his block and lost his head for it.

Over too quickly.

Why can’t I just hack my way into the tower? It would be so much simpler. But I suppose if all it took was a sword, someone would have stolen the jewel years ago.

Andrasta walked back to the carriage, pausing to retrieve her dagger and wipe it clean.

“Please, take your time,” said Rondel, sarcastically. “This is only one of the most important nights of our lives.”

Andrasta glared. “I know exactly what this night means.” She gestured to Harshad. He sat with head down, sullen. “Send him down, and I’ll kill him quick.”

The young man looked up. Tears ran down his cheeks. He started to open his mouth.

Rondel cut him off. “I have a better idea. While you had your fun, I got him to talk. These idiots work for Beladeva.”

“Good. Then I don’t have to bother torturing him to get information. Now, let me kill him. He’s a loose end.”

Rondel held up a hand stopping the young man from speaking. “I agree, he is a loose end. However—”

Andrasta whipped her arm forward. A moment later the hilt of a dagger protruded from Harshad’s neck.

“What was that for!” shouted Rondel.

She said climbed into the wagon and grabbed the dagger. “I could see that look on your face.” She kicked Harshad’s lifeless form out the wagon. “You were ready to do something soft, something stupid. He had his chance. I’m not going to let his survival screw up our opportunity with the jewel. Go to the back so we can get moving again.”

Rondel shook his head like a disappointed father.

“Stop doing that. You don’t know how much the jewel means to me.”

“You feel like telling me?”

She opened her mouth, then closed it quickly. “Just get ready to move.”

She clicked the reins, and the carriage’s wheels bounced over the first of the bodies.

* * *

During the remainder of the ride to the Rose Palace, Rondel had trouble thinking of anything but Andrasta’s killing of Harshad. She had always been quicker with a dagger than that of understanding. However, the way she ended the young man’s life gave him pause. Her obsession with the jewel had grown greatly since coming to Bashan, reaching a level he had not been aware of until now.

The signs were there, but I was too engrossed with thoughts of Erba to notice them.

He wondered how far she would be willing to go to achieve her goal. Granted neither of them was an angel.

Yet, I never thought we were devils either.

The carriage lurched to a stop at the palace’s entrance.

Later Rondel. We’ve got too much riding on this dinner. Focus.

The door opened. His grim-faced partner awaited him.

“I would congratulate you on staying so in character, but this is your normal demeanor,” said Rondel, hoping a joke might lighten the mood.

“Quit with the jokes and stay focused,” she snapped.

He stepped out with her hand guiding him, solidifying their roles for those watching.

She squeezed until a knuckle popped. Rondel flashed her a look.

She’d spoken in Juntarkan so Rondel replied in kind. “I am focused. Relaxed even.”

“Well, keep the jokes to yourself.”

He frowned, studying her. A sheen of sweet had formed on her dark forehead, more than what the fight had caused. Her eyes flitted about nervously, to the doorman, the guards, Rondel. She repeated the cycle twice.
She’s expecting something to go wrong at any moment.

“All right. I’ll do my best.”

She stepped aside for him to pass.

“Lord Rickar of Dunspire, Chancellor for the Commonwealth of Keddington, and royal emissary to the great Queen Ingrith II of Bratanic has arrived,” a voice boomed as Rondel exited the carriage.

A bright smile, ten miles wide stretched across Rondel’s face as he took everything in.

I never got this warm a reception even in my prime as a minstrel.

The doorman, a white-haired, middle-aged man dressed head-to-toe in clothes the same color pink as the palace’s marble walls stood proudly at the top of wide stairs. The late evening sun reflecting off both the palace and the man’s clothes made Rondel squint.

Lining the stairs behind the doorman, stood a dozen royal guards dressed in blue and red. Each bore a long spear twice their height. As Rondel approached, they pounded the butts of their spears against the ground as one.

The doorman took a deep breath. “Prince Minander I, son of Prince Pandhuka, Lord Governor of Bashan and its surrounding lands, and rightful protector of Kindi.”

The long spears clacked the ground once more before extending outward and upward to touch points with the guard opposite them. The prince appeared in the open doorway moments later. Adorned in tan churidars and a silver sherwani, his bronze skin seemed on fire in the setting sun.

Nice. I wonder how much of that was timed.

Minander held his head high and his chin out as though he could not look down on the world enough. Rondel snorted to himself while taking a knee. Andrasta followed his lead and dropped down beside him.

Who am I kidding? This was all planned.

Rondel stayed on his knees even as the soft clicking footsteps of the prince’s stopped before him. In most countries, no foreign dignitary would be asked to show submission to their host for so long. However, he had heard enough stories around the city and had already seen enough from the prince to get a feel of the man.
Young and arrogant. A bad combination for a ruler.

“Rise, Lord Rickar. I’m pleased you decided to take me up on my dinner offer.”

Rondel stood slowly, in part out of respect, and in part because he was getting older than he cared to admit.
Hide the stiffness, fool. If Andrasta sees me wince, she’ll have me doing crazy stretching exercises the moment we get back to the inn.

He bowed slightly again. “Prince Minander, the honor is of course mine. I’m pleased that you noticed my arrival since I’m a stranger to your beautiful city.”

The prince smirked. “A man would have to be blind not to notice your arrival. Several vendors have already made their money for the season thanks to your generous purchases.” He paused, studying Andrasta. “And we don’t get many visitors from Juntark. I must say your choice in a bodyguard is quite interesting.”

Rondel laughed. “Yes, well Queen Ingrith likes to do what she can to help the economy of those she wishes to extend trade. As for Yumna, she is actually very boring. Loyal, but boring.”

“That’s good to hear. About her royal highness that is,” he said, throwing Andrasta an odd look. “I hope your queen is interested in doing much more than extending trade.”

“Oh?”

The prince placed a hand on his shoulder while wearing a knowing grin. “Later. First we’ll eat.”

Yes, please lull me into a false sense of security.
“Sounds wonderful.”

* * *

Princess Mira enjoyed both the annoyance and surprise that flashed simultaneously across her brother’s face as he entered the east wing’s dining hall. The gaudy attire he wore only added to the ridiculous appearance of his eyes widening. His lips tightened into a thin line as he walked Lord Rickar and his bodyguard to the table.

Mira did her best to hide her own shock at the large woman trailing the emissary. She knew the rumors about Juntark—inhabitants practicing immoral rites and abominations in order to please the demons they worshipped. Even still, she didn’t expect the woman to enter her home dressed like death itself.