The slight creak of the door woke Blade, and he opened his eyes. Rayan was framed in it, a lamp in one hand and a bowl of broth in the other. She approached the bed and set them down on the bedside table, glancing at her husband's corpse. Blade pushed himself up against the pillows with a groan, gritting his teeth as pain shot from the wound in his belly. When it subsided, he looked up at her.
"Where are my clothes?"
"I washed them. I'll fetch them."
Rayan disappeared down the stairs to the kitchen, and Blade picked up the bowl of fish broth, forcing himself to choke it down. It was tasty, but he had no appetite, and normally would not have consumed it, except now that plans were in motion for his departure, he needed all the strength he could get. Rayan returned with his clothes, and he instructed her to bring him several lengths of stout cloth. She looked curious, but left to find some.
When she brought two clean sheets, he told her to find the false moustache in his bag and dye it black. She returned about half a time-glass later with a wet black moustache, which she placed on the window ledge to dry. Blade sat up and swung his legs off the bed, gripping the mattress as the room spun. Rayan watched him with deep concern, but after a moment it passed, leaving him sweating.
While he waited for the strength to return to his legs, he asked, "What sort of horse did you get?"
"A farmer's cob. Strong, but slow and steady, like you wanted."
"Perfect. Now I need some farmer's clothes, preferably smelly ones."
"My husband has some he used when he tended the oxen, and the cow. But they'll be far too big."
Blade smiled, shooting her an amused glance. "I intend to put on some weight. They'll do."
Rayan went over to the wardrobe and took out a stained smock and a pair of patched trousers. "But they are clean."
"That can be remedied."
"Of course. You intend to disguise yourself as a farmer?"
He nodded. "They're looking for a slim beardless man dressed in black, so I'll become a fat hairy one dressed in a smock, returning to my farm after dark, preferably drunk." He shot her a piercing look.
"I bought some strong wine, and a bottle of port."
"Good. I want you to wrap the sheets around my waist. It will make me look fat, and help to stop the bleeding. But first I need the wine, so I can start getting drunk."
Rayan brought him the wine, which he found to be a good sweet red. She helped him to don his trousers, since he could not reach his feet. He directed her to wrap the sheets around him so tight that he could barely breathe, using a pillow to give himself a paunch. With the strapping in place, the pain of his injuries receded to a dull throbbing, aided by the wine. She helped him into the baggy farmer's trousers, which fitted well over his new paunch.
By the time she had put his boots on and helped him into the huge smock, he had almost finished the bottle of wine, and was light-headed. The beard was dry, and he glued it in place, then rubbed a generous amount of the skin dye he used for his Cotti disguise onto his face and arms, darkening his skin to a deep bronze. Rayan rummaged through her husband's wardrobe and found a moth-eaten wool hat and a wide leather belt, which added to his disguise. As a finishing touch, he used kohl to blacken two of his front teeth and rubbed the oily, foul-tasting skin dye onto them to make them yellow. When he finished, Rayan studied him and shook her head with a smile.
"Even I wouldn't recognise you now."
"Good. Do you have any lonions?"
"Lonions?"
"To give me bad breath. Farmers are not known for their cleanliness."
"Nor merchants." She glance at her husband's body and shuddered, then left to find some lonions in the kitchen.
While she was away, Blade stood up to test his strength and found himself surprisingly steady. He splashed some wine down the front of the smock to add to the medley of smells he planned to coat himself with so the Cotti's dogs would not want to sniff him too closely. He had always found strong smells to be an efficient repellent of the curious, and had rolled in manure before now.
Blade chewed the chopped lonion Rayan brought and washed it down with wine, grimacing at the taste. She packed the rest of his belongings in his bag while he strapped on the wrist sheaths and slid the daggers into them, secreting the two that normally resided in his belt within the padding around his waist. Rayan put the last two into the boot sheaths for him, and he walked around a bit to accustom himself to his increased girth. Satisfied, he descended the stairs, Rayan following with his bag.
Outside, a sturdy bay gelding stood where Rayan had tethered it, a nondescript animal that had seen many years of hard work, but was still sound. It had provided a pile of fresh manure, which he smeared over the smock and trousers, then rubbed himself against the animal to add some of its scent to the mix. Rayan disappeared for a few minutes, and returned with a pair of muddy over-boots, which she pulled on over his boots. When she straightened, she wrinkled her nose at his stench and stepped back.
"You stink."
"That's the idea."
She smiled. "I hope you escape them, Blade."
He glanced around for a mounting block. "I usually do."
"You haven't asked how I'll manage without a husband."
"I don't particularly care. You wanted him dead, and he is. What you do now is your business. I suspect that you have a prospective husband lined up, one of your own choosing."
Rayan nodded. "I do. A good man. But even if I hadn't wanted Jarron dead, you'd have killed him anyway, wouldn't you?"
"Yes, he was about to sell me to the Cotti."
"And if I hadn't agreed to help you?"
Blade walked to a chopping block, leading the horse. "Then I'd have tied you up if I'd had the strength, which I didn't, anyway."
"But the soldiers..."
"Would be dead, and I'd have left the same night."
"You wouldn't have killed me?"
He stopped at the block and turned to face her. "No."
"Then you're not as bad as most assassins, from what I've heard."
Blade sighed. "I'm worse than most assassins, Rayan. My code prevents me from killing for no reason. It's what makes me an assassin, not a murderer. Don't think it's because I have any qualms about it. If you'd tried to betray me, as your husband did, you'd be just as dead as him."
"That's understandable. I don't think you're a bad person. You don't even look like an assassin."
"Why, because I don't have a huge scar on my face or a permanent leer? Looks can be deceiving, so don't put great store in them. You don't have to be ugly to be bad. Prince Endor was considered handsome, but he wasn't when I'd finished with him."
"You disfigured him? Why?"
"He deserved it." Blade manoeuvred the horse up to the block.
"Who hired you to kill him?"
"I can't tell you that."
Blade mounted the horse with a grimace and grunt of pain, and Rayan handed him his bag, which he tied to the saddle. He swayed, and she feared that he would fall off, but then he straightened and picked up the reins. As he turned the cob and urged it into a walk, she raised a hand in a tentative wave.
"Goodbye. Good luck."
The assassin glanced back and kicked the horse into a trot, vanishing into the gloom at the end of the street. Rayan stood gazing after him for several minutes, wondering why she was so bereft at his leaving. Never before had she met such a fascinating man. The handsome young farmer, for whom she felt a certain tenderness, paled into insignificance when compared to Blade.
Her admirer's blunt, warm character seemed common and dull next to the assassin's steely personality and devastating charisma. Yet she wondered how comfortable it would be to spend a lot of time within the icy sphere of his influence and the biting lash of his tongue. Rayan turned and walked back to her house to begin the odious task of burning the blood-stained sheets before she called the Watch and reported her husband's murder.
Blade slowed the gelding to a walk at the end of the street, unable to stand much of its jolting trot. Although a stout and steady animal, its gaits left much to be desired, and it was more suited to a cart than saddle. He pulled the wine bottle from the bag and sipped from it, letting the cob wander along the street at its own pace. The city slumbered under a pall of silence that only the occasional barking of a distant dog, and once the scream of a fighting tomcat, broke.
The populace stayed indoors, either in taverns or their homes, avoiding the Cotti soldiers who roamed the streets with vengeance in their hearts. Even in his disguise, being abroad was not a good idea, and had it not been for the untimely arrival of Rayan's husband, he would have spent another day in her bed. Now that he had been forced to kill again, however, moving on was the wisest thing to do.
Half a time-glass of steady clopping through the empty streets brought him to the city gates, where four Cotti guards watched him approach. Blade swayed in the saddle and hummed a ribald ditty he had heard in Contara taprooms, waving the bottle of wine. A soldier stepped into the horse's path, and it stopped. Two others approached, holding up freshly lighted torches.
"Get down," the shorter of the two instructed.
Blade eyed the long drop to the ground and swayed, clutching the horse's mane. "Do I 'ave to? Tis a long way down, laddie, an' then I'll 'ave to climb back up again." He used a thick brogue that common Contara spoke, and lowered his voice to a gruff tone.
The soldier stepped closer. "Get down!"
"Okay, okay," Blade muttered. "Don't get yer knickers in a knot."
The assassin slid from the saddle, clung to the horse's neck and leant against it. The men thrust their torches closer to his face, and he held up his hands to ward off the heat, one still clutching the bottle of wine. The nearest Cotti peered at him and recoiled with a disgusted expression.
"He stinks!"
"Oi, that be honest work yer smelling," Blade protested. "Tis the toil of a farmer who works wi' beasts, no shame in it."
"It's shit and wine," the soldier stated.
Blade leered, revealing his yellowed, blackened teeth. "Aye, there's a bit 'o wine there too. A good red ‘un; want to try some?"
He thrust the bottle at the soldier, swaying towards him, and the man stepped back. A dog growled beside the other Cotti, then sniffed the air and retreated with a whine. Blade stumbled closer to the soldiers, swinging the bottle, and they backed away from his stench.
"He's not the one we're looking for," the shorter man said, and his companion nodded.
"Who're yer lookin' fer, then?" Blade enquired, taking a swig of the wine and allowing some to spill down the front of his smock.
"Not you, fat man. Be on your way."
Blade glanced at the horse. "Now yer want me to climb back up there? Let's 'ave a bit of a singalong first."
"Get going, before we help you along with a boot up your arse."
"Okay, okay." Blade reeled over to the horse and grabbed the stirrup. "Give us a leg up, then."
The short soldier stepped towards him, his hand on the hilt of his sword. "Be off with you, and take your stink with you, before I cut some of that lard off you."
"Okay, okay, keep yer hair on."
Blade took the horse's reins and staggered away, humming the ditty again. The guards watched him leave, then wandered back to their post. The assassin did not come across a suitable mounting block until he reached the edge of the forest and found a tree stump, by which time his gut ached and his legs shook. He sat on it while he waited for his strength to return and pondered just how much he hated being injured, and considering that, how often he was these days.
There had been a time when he had hardly ever been hurt, in more youthful days, the likes of which he would never see again. He wondered if he was becoming so much slower, or if it was just that his missions were that much harder. He hoped it was the latter, for his work was not yet done. Remounting the horse, he let it continue down the road at a walk, hoping he would not be forced to dismount again until he had regained a little more strength.
At dawn, he camped in the forest, wrapped in a thick blanket Rayan had provided, and fell into a restless doze. When he set off again at dusk, his wounds throbbed once more, and he medicated it with wine and port as he rode, dulling the pain. Distant fires glowed in the night as angry Cotti soldiers put farms to the torch, their frustration growing with each day that they did not find the assassin who had slain their prince.
Blade encountered a Cotti patrol and put on another convincing act, only this time the soldiers were more offended by his stench and pushed him into the gutter, where he lay until they left. They did not take his horse, however, and he blessed the fact that it was such a worthless animal. The rough handling renewed his wound's vicious throbbing, and he dared not remove all the padding in order to check if it was bleeding. Once again, he was forced to walk for some distance before he found a rock to use as a mounting block, which sapped his strength further. When he camped, he found hard journey bread and dried meat in the saddle bags, which the thoughtful Rayan had provided, and ate some before he slept.
The journey continued thus for several days, each one depleting his dwindling vitality. His progress was slow, especially after the port ran out. On the fourth day, he came to a village and took a room at the local inn, posing as a poor farmer on his way to visit his sick father. The tale of Endor's demise had reached them, and although the searchers had not come yet, Blade retained his disguise. He spent a day resting in a comfortable bed, and sent a serving boy to purchase a vial of strong painkiller from the local herb seller. The medicine made him sleepy, but numbed the wound.
Fourteen days later, he reached the Jashimari border, a journey that should have taken a tenday. He was a good two tendays behind the Contara assassins, and he knew his chances of reaching Jondar before they struck were growing slim. As his wounds healed and his strength returned, he set a faster pace, foregoing the cob's jolting trot and making it canter, which was more comfortable. Unfortunately, he had to let it rest often, since it was an old animal.
In the first Jashimari inn, he shed his disguise and bathed, glad to be free of the stench. He picked the scab off the wound in his belly, which had healed despite the lack of attention. It still ached deep inside when he exerted himself too much, and he took care not to overdo it. The innkeeper did not recognise him when he left, but took his money without complaint. He sold the old horse and purchased a younger, faster animal, which the vendor assured him had good stamina. He put that claim to the test, trying to make up for lost time, and found it to be true.
Each day, he rode the mare to the brink of exhaustion, and after four days he was forced to sell it and buy another, since riding it to death would leave him stranded on the road. Once again he was fortunate in his choice, and continued to set a fast pace, often covering a day and a half's journey in one. The days grew colder as autumn turned into winter, and a few light snow showers fell, adding to his urgency. He spent many bitter nights camped beside the road, for the speed of his travel meant that there was often no town to shelter in when dusk fell.
Blade arrived in Jondar as the Warrior Moon waned and the Sea Moon began to show its rippled face, two moon phases after leaving Ashmarad. A thin layer of snow covered the roofs and rimed the window ledges, hid the piles of refuse and gave the city an air of cleanliness it did not deserve. Jondar bustled with its usual activity, and he was relieved to be home. As dusk fell, he sold his horse at a livery and walked to the palace, reviewing the plan he had formulated on his journey. He waited for twilight to thicken into night before he climbed the palace wall and flitted through the gardens to the wall beneath Chiana's window.
There he waited for two patrols to pass, then moved out of the shadows and looked up, finding the window dark, which suited him. Either Chiana had not yet returned to her rooms, or she had retired for the night. Either way, he could enter undetected and wait for her to return, or wake her. He had no intention of alerting the palace to his presence by walking through the front door. It would only make the Contara assassins take more precautions once they learnt of it. He planned to stay hidden in Chiana's rooms until they made their attempt, then surprise them. She would be more than happy to have his company, of that he had no doubt.
A frisson of alarm bristled his nape hairs, then his scalp prickled and his eyes snapped to the shadows as he whipped around. A dark form froze in the act of moving towards him, and Blade's hands flashed to the daggers in his belt. A whisper of sound came from beside him, and everything went dark.
The Contara assassin turned his head and spat, glancing around at his companion, who stepped out of the shadows behind him.
"I knew one of them would try to beat us to it."
The second assassin studied the fallen man, who lay face down. "Who is it?"
"Who cares?" the first drawled. "He's out of the running now."
"Did you kill him?"
"Don't reckon. He'll have a real headache, that's all."
The second man scanned the garden. "Then let's get going, before another patrol comes along. We'd better hide him."
"Aye."
The assassins gripped their victim's ankles and dragged him into the bushes, pushing him out of sight without turning him over, then headed for a side entrance a few yards away along the palace wall. The soldiers posted there were already dead. The Contara assassins had been in the process of hiding the bodies when they had spotted the shadowy figure crossing the garden.
Assuming that it was another of the four, they had waited for the opportunity to remove the competition. Some days ago, the Contara assassins had disagreed about working together, and two had decided to make individual attempts. Working together was an alien concept for assassins, and even the two who had agreed to a shared plan were uneasy about it. They finished stashing the bodies in the storeroom further along the passage and entered the gloomy interior beyond.