The Broken Blade Part 11

"You seem fond of it, too."

"Yes," said Ankhor, "we heirs both have taken over the management of our respective houses. But while the elder Jhamri was a shrewd and calculating trader, young Jhamri is merely arrogant and smug, confident in his superior wealth and position. He has never regarded the House of Ankhor as a serious threat.

"In part, that is because I have publicly played the part of the dissipated sensualist," Ankhor said, turning back to face his guest. "I am seen in gaming and pleasure houses, drinking excessively and spending lots of money. I sport with women of low cla.s.s while young Jhamri has married well, taking to wife the daughter of Viscount Tomblador, cementing a firm alliance with that house. And while Jhamri immediately set about getting his young wife pregnant, to insure an heir, I have remained single and childless, apparently more interested in spending my father's wealth than building on it.

"So young Lord Jhamri regards me with condescension and contempt, thinking me weak and indolent. The alliance we have signed, with the House of Jhamri as the senior trading partner, has only furthered Jhamri's opinion. And that is exactly what I want him to think."

"To lull him into a false sense of security," the robed figure said, nodding.

"Precisely," said Ankhor, leaning back against the parapet. "I am still young, and there will be plenty of time to think about finding a suitable wife and starting a family... after I've destroyed my rival. And I shall settle for nothing less than that, total destruction. First, I'll topple his house and humiliate him, make him crawl to me on hands and knees."

"And then?"

"Then I will kill him." Ankhor said it plainly, simply, as if he were merely making an observation about the weather. Then he smiled, disarmingly. "When we were children, my loving sisters used to say our father was raising me as a serpent, feeding me on hatred and spite. They said it to tease me, but I always had a fondness for that metaphor. Serpents are sly and deadly. Serpents strike quickly and without warning. Serpents are survivors. I shall add the figure of a serpent to our standard after Jhamri is destroyed, to commemorate the event.

"So... are you satisfied as to my sincerity?"

The dark-robed figure stepped forward into the moonlight. The hood of the robe was thrown back, revealing a gaunt, fine-featured face, deeply lined with age, and the clean-shaven skull of a templar. Around her head was a thin, hammered gold chap-let bearing the royal crest of Nibenay, the Shadow King.

"His Majesty was concerned you might not follow through," she said. "That at the last moment, you might lack the necessary resolve."

Ankhor smiled. "Oh, please, Livanna," he said, "spare me the fiction that the Shadow King has the slightest interest in anything we do here."

He went past her, heading back inside through the open veranda doors. With a frown, she followed. He went over to a carved sideboard and poured them both some wine.

"I know perfectly well that Nibenay has ceased caring about anything but his metamorphosis," Ankhor continued. "We may be far removed from the centers of power here in the provinces, but I am not without my sources." He handed her an exquisitely crafted silver goblet. "The Shadow King's senior templars have taken over the ruling of his realm. Nibenay has outgrown his cares about the city that bears his name. I will not venture to say just what he has grown into, but all things considered, I would much rather conduct business with his templars, whose concerns are more, shall we say... material?" He smiled and raised his goblet to her.

"You are impertinent," Livanna said.

"And ambitious," Ankhor added. "And given the scope of my ambition, along with the benefits that you can reap from it, I am sure my impertinence is something you can tolerate."

"To a point," Livanna said.

Ankhor raised his eyebrows and gave her a slight bow. "Well, I shall try to keep that in mind."

"Do," said Livanna curtly. "Our interests happen to coincide, but that does not make you indispensable."

"Altaruk shall one day be a defiler city, with me or without me, I know," said Ankhor. "I have seen the writing on the wall. However, that day will come much sooner with my help than without it. And you know that very well, or else you would not be here to insure that it is Nibenay who will rule in Altaruk rather than Hamanu of Urik or the Oba of Gulg." He smiled. "We both want an edge on the compet.i.tion."

Ankhor took a sip of wine and settled comfortably into his chair, an action that would have been an insufferable affront to the senior templar in her home city. Her nostrils flared slightly, but otherwise, she showed no reaction.

"Let us understand each other, Livanna," Ankhor said. "I am not one of your subjects. At least, not yet. You need me now, and when Altaruk falls under the Shadow King's domain, you are going to need me even more. With Jhamri out of the way, I will control Altaruk's economy. The revenue Nibenay will receive from the House of Ankhor in taxes alone, to say nothing of the profits from investments, gratuities and outright bribes, will not be insignificant. No government can survive without the merchant houses. We both know that. At the same time, we both know that you could easily destroy me. I have no knowledge of magic, whereas you bear the awesome power of the Shadow King. But if anything were to happen to me, the House of Ankhor would collapse.

"Not even my minister of accounts knows all the intricacies of our dealings. My father is much too old to run the business now, and my sisters lack the necessary skills. Five of them have been profitably married off, and the remaining two are merely awaiting their turn. They have been raised to be fine ladies of distinction, not merchant traders.

So you see, Livanna, I am indispensable. I am the House of Ankhor. Stop trying to intimidate me with your powers and your lofty status as a templar and accept that we are equal partners in this venture, or else stop wasting my time. I could manage this without you. It would be inconvenient and would involve delays, but it could be done."

Livanna gave him a hard stare. "I am sure Lord Jhamri would be happy to make time for me."

"No doubt," said Ankhor. "If you like, I will have Lya.n.u.s arrange an appointment for you first thing in the morning."

For a moment, the templar said nothing, then she smiled. "No, I do not think that will be necessary," she said. "Are you like this in all your trade negotiations?"

"No," said Ankhor. "Sometimes, I find it necessary to be firm and uncompromising."

Livanna chuckled. "A serpent would, indeed, be an appropriate device for your standard. I will be pleased to report to our elder council that we have the right man in Altaruk."

"You had decided that before you arrived," Ankhor said. "So, shall we get down to business?"

"You have arranged for suitable quarters for our recent acquisition?"

"My recent acquisition," Ankhor corrected her. "The full amount of the purchase price came out of my pocket, as you will recall, and it was not inconsiderable." recent acquisition," Ankhor corrected her. "The full amount of the purchase price came out of my pocket, as you will recall, and it was not inconsiderable."

"But are we not partners in this enterprise, as you just said? After all, I am providing the transportation, free of charge," Livanna responded, "and at a considerable cost in energy to myself."

Ankhor shrugged it off. "Which you will immediately recover by defoliating a garden or two or else killing some hapless drunk wandering through the streets."

"Nevertheless, I am saving you the time and trouble it would take to arrange for transport all the way from Balic, and in secret, too. And then there is the matter of the time and effort I shall invest in the enterprise from this point on."

"Which will be offset by the intelligence I will provide, through contacts I have gone to great trouble and expense to develop and skilled agents I have placed in key positions." Ankhor frowned. "What is the point of all this d.i.c.kering?"

Livanna smiled. "I merely wanted to see if I could out-bargain you. Apparently not."

Ankhor chuckled. "Not a bad effort, though. For a templar. But right now, I am more interested in seeing what you do best."

"Well, then... prepare yourself," Livanna said. She threw back her robe and raised her arms, shutting her eyes in concentration as she mustered her energies for the casting of the spell.

Ankhor felt a subtle change in the atmosphere of the room. It was nothing he could put his finger on, but he felt it, growing, raising gooseb.u.mps on his flesh and making the hairs on the back of his neck stand on end. He was no stranger to magic; he had seen it used before, but never on this level. The sorcerer kings imbued their templars with power, and even at this distance, the Shadow King's power was mighty.

Livanna had been trained since childhood, and she was now a very old woman. It was impossible to guess her age. She looked about seventy, but she was a senior templar, which meant she had to be at least twice that age or even older. She had not yet even cast her spell, and already the room was thrumming with energy.

Ankhor nervously moistened his lips and gripped the arms of his chair to keep his hands from trembling. As a trader, he had learned never to reveal uncertainty and always act as if he was in the superior position, but it was not until that moment that he truly understood just what kind of power Livanna had at her command. He swallowed hard. He could not afford to reveal weakness, but he felt afraid.

With her back to him, Livanna softly spoke the words of the spell, mumbling them under her breath. Ankhor could not make them out, and doubted he could have understood them even if fully audible. The old spell scrolls so jealously guarded by adepts were written in old languages, more guttural and sibilant, harsher to the modern ear. And the more complex the spell, the more complex the incantation.

As Livanna spoke the spell, the room became tenebrous and the air crackled with thaumaturgic discharges, jagged little bolts of energy that surrounded her, fine as spider webs. Ankhor had seen adepts cast spells before, both preservers and defilers, but Livanna was no ordinary adept. She was a senior templar of the Shadow King, with several human lifetimes worth of training and experience, and the power that flowed through her came from Nibenay himself. An ordinary adept would never have survived it.

A wind rose within the room, billowing her robes and snuffing out the candles. Ankhor tightly gripped the arms of the chair, gritting his teeth as he felt all the nerve endings of his body start to tingle. Then bright blue bolts of thaumaturgic energy lanced out from Livanna's palms, converging on a spot about ten feet in front of her, in the center of the room.

Where the twin beams met, an aura formed, growing brighter and expanding slowly as Anfchor watched, shading his eyes against the glare. It was as if a hole had opened in the air, a brightly glowing tunnel through s.p.a.ce and time, and through that tunnel came a figure, a dark silhouette surrounded by the pulsating blue aura that illuminated every corner of the room.

Ankhor felt his breath quicken as the figure stepped into the room. A large, powerful shape, it was outlined by the glare-a figure at least six and a half feet tall. And as the glow diminished and contracted, until it was no more than a fading, faintly sparkling aura surrounding the ma.s.sive form, Ankhor's eyes slowly readjusted, focusing on the rippling, corded muscles of the naked figure.

"Kah," he said softly. he said softly.

It was a little over a year ago that he had first seen her fight in the arena of Balic. It had not been the first time he had witnessed gladiatorial combat, nor even the first time he had ever seen a mul fight in the arena, but it had been the first time he had ever seen a female of the breed. Female muls were rare. It was far easier to breed males, and both genders had to be specially bred, for all muls were born sterile.

An artificial crossbreed of dwarves and humans, muls did not occur in nature. Dwarves and humans could not breed together, and the secret of producing them had been discovered many years ago by a demented apothecary named Mulak. Working in his laboratory with vials and magnifiers and beakers, he had somehow found a way to stimulate the fertilization of a female dwarven egg by human sperm, producing a viable egg that he had then implanted in a human female slave, theorizing that a dwarven female would have been too small to bear the offspring. He was more than correct in his conclusion. The resulting birth was so traumatic that it killed the human mother, and ever since, no human female had ever survived the process that gave birth to the creatures that bore the name of their creator-muls.

The conception occurred in an apothecary's laboratory, and female human slaves then bore the child-if such it could be called-to term. Ankhor wondered what it must be like for the hapless women consigned to such a fate. Was it even possible that they could feel any spark of a maternal instinct toward the unnatural creatures quickening within them, knowing that their birth would bring about an agonizing death? He shuddered at the thought as he stared at the large figure looming before him in the darkness.

Livanna made a pa.s.s with her right hand, and the candles all reignited in the lamps, bringing light back into the room.

Ankhor swallowed hard as he stared at the coppery-golden skin of the mul standing before him. Her head was completely bald, accentuating the pointy, swept-back ears that lay close against her skull. Her eyes were yellow-gold, deeply sunken and hooded by a prominent ridge of brow. Her mouth was wide and thin-lipped, her chin slightly pointed, and her cheekbones high and unusually p.r.o.nounced. Her nose was not as wide as that of most male muls, and it was blade straight. Though Ankhor had seen her fight before, he had never seen Kah up close, and he was surprised to find that she was beautiful-in a terrifying way.

Her shoulders were almost twice as broad as his, and her chest thick with muscle, making her b.r.e.a.s.t.s look small. She had almost no fat on her at all. Her powerful back muscles fanned out from her sides like wings, accentuating a narrow and extremely muscular waist. Her abdominal muscles stood out in sharp relief, and her long arms were corded with thick muscle. Her thighs and calves looked as if someone had taken a chisel to them. She lowered her head and went down to one knee before him. She did not speak, for she could not. She had been born mute.

It felt strange to see her kneel like that before him. It was perfectly right and proper, of course. He was an aristocrat, after all, and a high-ranking member of the merchant cla.s.s, and she was but a lowly slave. He had bought her, and she was now his property. But she was a magnificent creature with a powerful presence, and he had seen her kill a dozen men in the arena.

The first time he had seen her, he had wanted to possess her. Not s.e.xually, for she did not appeal to him that way, but the way one wanted to possess a fine crodlu mount or an exquisitely crafted weapon. To own a thing like that would confer not only status, but power. She was a legend in the arena of Balic, and when he saw her fight, he immediately understood why.

Kah fought with a savagery unlike anything he had ever seen. It was not the savagery of a berserker, but that of a predatory beast. Her opponents were not merely antagonists, they were prey, and when she stalked them in the arena, it was like watching an animal on the hunt.

By the time he saw her, she had already firmly established her reputation, and she no longer fought in matched pairs. She always faced several opponents, sometimes half a dozen or more, and despite being outnumbered, she struck fear into them all. And she exulted in the kill. She enjoyed killing the way most men enjoyed s.e.x. It was both a pleasure and a release for her, and a feeling of conquest.

Ankhor had immediately sent his agents to enter into negotiations for her purchase. At the time, he had not yet formulated the plan he had in mind for her; he only knew he wanted to own her, like a dangerous pet. The arenamasters of Balic had not wanted to sell. She represented a huge investment for them, not only in terms of the original purchase from the breeder who produced her, but in all the years of training they had given her. And she was their most popular attraction. The citizens of Balic packed the arena to see Kah fight, and they had cheered themselves hoa.r.s.e with her every victory. The arenamasters already had a plan for her. If she survived, and there was little question that she would, she would probably earn her freedom, and she could then become a trainer, producing skilled fighters for their games.

But Ankhor wanted her, and whenever Ankhor wanted something, he would stop at nothing to possess it. Even given the most liberal of estimates, he had paid easily ten times her worth, finally submitting an offer the arenamasters were unable to refuse. He had paid for her both in cash and stock in the House of Ankhor, thereby a.s.suring a comfortable retirement for her masters.

Now, she was his, and it seemed incongruous to see this powerful, savage creature kneeling before him, her gaze lowered shyly, awaiting his command. It made Ankhor feel powerful.

Livanna stood leaning on a table, stooped over slightly and breathing hard. The effort of the spell had taken a lot out of her. An ordinary wizard would never have been able to accomplish it. She had magically teleported Kah all the way from Balic. It had taken extensive preparation, and she had needed to obtain samples of Kah's skin and hair in order to direct the spell. Ankhor had his agents obtain fingernail parings and loin hair from Kah, since muls were hairless everywhere else. All had been accomplished in great secrecy. No one save Ankhor and Livanna knew of Kah's arrival, or of Ankhor's purchase. The arenamasters of Balic had been paid handsomely for their silence.

"Rise, Kah," Ankhor said.

She stood, towering over him.

"Your days of fighting in the arena are finished," Ankhor said, and was gratified by the flicker of disappointment in the mul gladiator's eyes. "But never fear, I have more entertaining sport in mind for you."

She c.o.c.ked her head at him inquisitively.

"Templar Livanna will explain all to you," said Ankhor. "You are to do her bidding. Understand?"

Kah nodded once.

"Ankhor, I must recuperate," Livanna said hoa.r.s.ely.

Ankhor got up from his chair and walked over to the fireplace. He pressed a concealed stud behind the mantlepiece, and a section of the wall beside the fireplace swung away, revealing a secret pa.s.sage.

"Take the concealed staircase and turn right at the bottom," he said. "Follow the tunnel until it branches. Take the right branch. It will lead you outside the compound and into a hidden bas.e.m.e.nt of one of my warehouses. I have had chambers prepared there for you. They are not luxurious, but I think you will find them comfortable. Thereafter, whenever you leave, go back to that point where the tunnel branches. Turning left will take you back here. Continuing straight ahead will lead you to the surface, to a hidden door inside an alleyway. Can you remember that?"

Livanna nodded.

"Good. From now on, I leave things in your entirely capable hands. You know what must be done. Do not return here except after the midnight hour. On the opposite side of this hidden door, you will find a large lever and a small one. The large lever controls the door. The small one controls this obsidian statue here on the mantelpiece. You will find a tiny peephole in the door. Always check it first. If I am not alone, or if I am not present, pull down on the small lever, and the statue will turn to the right. That way, I will know you wish to see me, and I will return here at midnight the next day. Any questions?"

"No," Livanna said. "It seems you have taken adequate precautions."

"Make certain you do likewise," Ankhor said. He went over to the sideboard and picked up a small scroll. "Here is your first set of instructions. You may start tonight."

Livanna took the scroll from him and beckoned to the mul. They went through the secret pa.s.sageway, and Ankhor closed the door behind them. He took a deep breath of satisfaction. Now, it would begin.

CHAPTER EIGHT.

Sorak awoke with a start. He sat up and glanced around quickly, not knowing what had awakened him. It was several hours before dawn. The camp was perfectly still as he opened the tent flap, stepped outside, and looked around. The fires had burned down to embers, save for the watchfires tended by the guards around the cargo area, directly in front of him. Except for the quiet sounds of their conversation, nothing seemed amiss. So what had awakened him so suddenly?

He was aware of a strange vertiginous sensation, and he felt a little lightheaded. Whatever it was, it had snapped him awake with a jolt, and he was apparently feeling its aftereffects. It hadn't been a nightmare. He had been sleeping soundly for a change, after a long day on the trail. He rubbed his forehead, moist with sweat.

"Sorak?" Ryana poked her head out of their tent. "What is it? Is something wrong?"

He frowned, shaking his head. "I don't know," he said in a puzzled tone. "Something woke me up, but I have no idea what it was. It was as if-" Suddenly, the jolt came once again, even stronger this time, and he staggered, as though struck from behind. For a moment, his vision swam, and he shook his head and blinked to clear it. When his gaze focused again, the campsite was gone.

He stood motionless, feeling confused and disoriented. One moment, he was looking at the caravan tents and the watchfires by the cargo, and the next, he was standing in the middle of a street in an unfamiliar town.

Neat rows of one and two-story adobe buildings lined both sides of the dirt street, which curved away from him around a bend. The time of day had not changed, but everything else had. He stood frozen to the spot, startled and unable to comprehend what had happened. It was as if he had suddenly been transported to another place.

He spun around, looking for Ryana, but though she had stood just behind him a moment earlier, she wasn't there. The tent was gone, as well. What he saw instead was the dark mouth of a narrow alleyway between two buildings... and just inside the alleyway, he saw a large figure standing in the shadows, partially concealed from view.

From behind him came the sounds of footsteps. He turned around again and saw another figure, wrapped in a dark cloak and walking down the hard-packed dirt street, heading directly toward him. The stranger's path would take him right past Sorak, the mouth of the alleyway, and the shadowy figure waiting in ambush.

Sorak opened his mouth to speak, to warn the approaching man, but no sound came forth. The man kept on walking steadily, right toward him. He gave no sign of being aware of Sorak's presence, just as he was completely unaware of the ambusher. He was only several feet away now and coming straight at him. Again, Sorak tried to speak, but no sound came out. The man in the cloak pa.s.sed right by him, mere inches away, but apparently without seeing him. And as he drew even with the alley, it happened.

A powerful arm snaked out and grabbed the man's cloak, jerking him back into the shadows of the alley. Sorak heard a startled gasp of surprise, followed by a brief cry, and then the sickening crunch of the man's spine being snapped.

The body collapsed to the ground, lifeless. No, it hadn't simply collapsed, the killer had thrown thrown it, tossing it into the street at the entrance to the alleyway. The murderer stood over the hapless victim, but Sorak could not see the killer clearly. He was dressed in a long, ankle-length black cloak with a voluminous hood that completely concealed his features. The killer reached inside his cloak, and Sorak saw something white flutter down on the body. A veil. it, tossing it into the street at the entrance to the alleyway. The murderer stood over the hapless victim, but Sorak could not see the killer clearly. He was dressed in a long, ankle-length black cloak with a voluminous hood that completely concealed his features. The killer reached inside his cloak, and Sorak saw something white flutter down on the body. A veil.

Abruptly, the killer turned, and Sorak thought he was about to see his face, but his vision blurred again, as if he were looking through s.h.i.+mmering heat waves, and the peculiar falling sensation came over him once more.

Sorak shook his head and blinked, and when his vision came back into focus, he saw several guards sitting around the watchfire, talking quietly among themselves. He was back at the caravan campsite, and someone was shaking him.

"Sorak! Sorak!" Sorak!"

It was Ryana. He turned toward her, a confused expression on his face.

"Sorak, what's wrong?"

"I... I don't know," he said slowly. He shook his head to clear it. "What just happened?"

"You seemed to go into a trance," Ryana replied, looking at him with concern. "You stumbled and grabbed your head, as if you had been struck. You looked as if you were about to fall, only you didn't. You simply stood there, motionless, staring off into the distance. I spoke to you, but you acted as if you couldn't hear me. Your eyes were open, but it was as if you couldn't see me, either."

"I was standing right here all this time? I didn't... go anywhere?"

She stared at him, puzzled. "What are you talking about?"