Chapter Ten
Ashai rose from his knees, the power of Nishi rushing through every vein. From his toes to the top of his head, and from his heart to his soul, God’s gift flowed in him, making him tingle with power. He flexed his arms, reveling in the pure strength bulging there, waiting to come out. He stepped to the large trunk sitting at the foot of the bed.
Wrapped in iron bands, the heavy wooden vessel had taken four well-muscled slaves to carry up the palace stairs and into his chambers. He’d made a show of opening the box, showing off the contents of brass and gold, gifts from other merchants he’d told them. Things long ago given to the original Larish, things that lent credibility to Ashai’s cover story.
It was hard to believe that had been a month ago. A month and still no kill order. Ashai didn’t doubt his God, but he wondered if the order would come before his hair turned white.
A month of seeing Makari. A month getting to know her. Sympathizing with her. Admiring her, even. Since the day she’d kissed him, Ashai didn’t know what to think of the princess. She was spontaneous and smart, kind and strong. And of course, devastatingly beautiful.
He’d tried avoiding her by getting caught up in work, and having duties in Trinward, but she went out of her way to corner him, dine with him, or take walks in the gardens.
And Ashai found that he didn’t mind. Not even a bit.
He didn’t want to kill her. It felt … wrong.
He squatted by the trunk, took one handle in his right fist, and stood, lifting the end of the trunk almost without effort. Lifting heavy things was nothing to this kind of power. Only being out of touch with Nishi would diminish it quickly. He couldn’t let that happen.
He eased the trunk back down, careful not to jar the contents of the concealed compartment in the bottom. Without those, his mission would become very difficult.
His senses heightened, too, just like his strength, so he heard the men outside his door before they knocked. He donned a simple pair of blue cotton breeches and a black tunic, then jerked the door open. Bauti stood there, fist ready to knock again, face a thundercloud. Behind him stood King Abadas, wrapped in a simple gray robe, his family crest embroidered on the breast. He’d lost weight, his belly shrinking, and his eyes looked as if they were sinking slowly into his face. The crown sat sideways on his head, his white hair sticking out from under it in all directions, as if he’d been rushed out of his chambers.
Living in constant danger aged a man a decade for every year.
Next to the king, Interior Minister Neffin wavered, dressed in the white cape announcing his position. He grinned his doddering grin, his milky eyes seeing little.
Ashai sketched a hasty bow. “Your Majesty, Minister Neffin, I was not expecting you or I would’ve dressed better.”
He motioned to the simple, blue pants and black tunic he wore.
“Nonsense!” Abadas bellowed. He shouldered his way past Bauti into the room, Neffin close on his heels. The captain remained in the door, glowering. “We’re in our bedclothes! Seems appropriate for this news.”
“Yes, yes!” Neffin drooled a little. “Such wonderful news!”
Ashai’s stomach did a twist. Unexpected news usually worked contrary to his plans. He liked surprises even less than he liked Captain Bauti.
“It seems the captain does not share your zeal about this announcement,” Ashai said.
Abadas shot Bauti a withering glare. “He’s just sore because we didn’t listen to him. Pay him no mind.
“Minister Ashai Larish, by the power vested in me by the Five Gods and as ruling king of Pushtan, I hereby decree that you shall be granted Lordship over the Duchy of Trinward, a small territory in the east, and granted the lands and titles associated with it.”
Ashai opened his mouth to thank the King, but Abadas held up a pudgy hand and stopped him.
“Furthermore, I also decree that as a Lord worthy of such arrangement, you will be wed to my daughter, Princess Makari, forthright.”
Ashai’s heart stopped and for several seconds he forgot to breathe. Wed? To Makari? That was closer to the King and the Princess than he’d ever hoped to get, deeper in their circle of trust that he could’ve wished for.
And yet, he didn’t think that was why the announcement made him almost deliriously happy.
He’d been spending too much time with the girl since the day they kissed. She was relentless in her pursuit, he gave her that. He admired her tenacity, her refusal to take no for an answer. He tried to avoid her, but when the princess summoned, he had no choice. And in truth, he enjoyed spending time with her.
She was bright, funny, and kind. She had her father’s strong will, but lacked his cruelty. She possessed spontaneity without his unpredictability. She’d inherited his leadership skills without his desire for power.
Their meetings had been less than romantic, Makari cautious to keep things appropriate. The handmaid Kendshi always hovered nearby, and their Royal Guard protectors were never more than a few feet away. But Ashai had come to look forward to dining, walking, or just sitting and talking with the princess, and finally he stopped avoiding her.
“Minister Larish?” the king asked. “Don’t you have anything to say?”
Ashai shook himself, and snapped his jaw closed, suddenly aware it gaped.
“My apologies, Majesty, I’m quite shocked.”
“Do you not find my daughter appealing?” The King’s voice took on a hard edge.
“Of course, she’s the loveliest woman in the kingdom.”
“Is that all you see in her? Beauty?” This time, his voice had sharpened like a razor. But Ashai knew the words were not his own. The king mimicked his daughter.
“As your Majesty knows, Makari and I have spent many hours together in the last few weeks. I’ve come to know her as an intelligent, kind, and intriguing person. I cannot think of anyone I would rather marry.”
“Understand this, Minister Larish, this betrothal was my daughter’s idea, but Minister Neffin also thought it wise. My daughter has chased away every other suitor, and I need a strong king to hold the throne when this Denari Lai slits my throat. Makari will rule, not you, and if I hear of you treating my daughter with anything less than kindness while I still live …”
Ashai inclined his head. “I will cherish Princess Makari and treat her as the queen she will someday be.”
“You’d better. The wedding will be in one month. I suggest you be ready.”
He spun on his heel and marched from the room, Neffin following him out like a puppy. Bauti lingered a moment, his eyes smoldering embers, his grip on the edge of the door turning his knuckles white. Ashai thought he might break a piece of the thick oak off and chew on it.
“I was against this,” he growled. “I still am. I don’t trust you, merchant. Don’t trust you, don’t like you, don’t believe you. If you so much as lay a hand on the Princess, I’ll have your head.”
With that, he slammed the door.
Ashai stood, staring at dark wood for a span of several deep, cleansing breaths. He fought the instinct to pursue Bauti in the hallway and cut his throat. It would be easy to kill the man, he’d never see it coming. But Ashai wouldn’t complete the rest of his mission if he did.
When he was sure no one remained outside, he moved to his bed, pulled the small pouch containing the three gems from the trunk’s hidden compartment, and dumped them on the soft linen. They glittered and winked at him, blue as Makari’s eyes.
Thinking of his soon-to-be wife caused a tickle in his stomach. He tried to chase away the feeling, physically shaking himself, but it would not go away. Just like the image of her bright, blue eyes peering deep into his soul.
What was wrong with him? He was a trained Denari Lai, not some schoolboy, falling in love with every skirt that passed.
He reached out his right index finger, hesitating over the diamond-shaped stone that represented himself. Could the Chargh Lai sense his weak emotions? Could a holy man thousands of leagues away know that Ashai’s heart had strayed from the path of righteousness?
He let his skin brush feather light on the surface of the stone, jerking it back as if it might bite him.
Nothing happened. The gem remained brilliant blue.
He held his breath and reached out his first two fingers, touching the gems that represented Makari and her father the King. This time, as soon as he made contact, he felt a tingle, as if the gems themselves had nibbled his fingertips. Both gems turned blood red, pulsing crimson.
Ashai swallowed hard and pulled back his hand. Both Abadas and Makari had to die. That day.
Gathering his magic, Ashai touched the stone representing Makari and sent a thought into the heart of the jewel itself.
We are betrothed. Wedding in one month. Message stronger then. Recommend delay.
Denari Lai rarely questioned their orders, but it was not unheard of. They had operated for centuries, and recognized the need for some decisions to happen on the tactical level. Ashai hoped this would be one of those times.
Withdrawing his finger, he watched and waited as the stones continued to blink their bloody tint. After a moment, both stones turned blue again. Ashai reached out his finger and touched Makari’s jewel. A single phrase entered his mind, unbidden.
Well done.
Ashai grinned, happy to have pleased his mentor and his God. His smile lived only briefly on his lips, however. He realized in that instant that he did not want to kill Makari, did not think she should die. Abadas, yes. The man was responsible for countless Nishi’iti deaths, and was as brutal as he was opulent. He stood for everything Nishi wanted struck down in the world.
But Makari, so far at least, had proven the opposite of her father. And as far as Ashai could tell, she knew nothing of her father’s cruelty, was ignorant of the brutality inflicted on Ashai’s people.
So now, he realized, he had two missions. Kill King Abadas, and convince the Chargh Lai to let Makari take over and rule the kingdom of Pushtan.
Deep in his heart, Ashai’s faith fluttered. The Chargh Lai channeled only messages from God, yet Ashai knew Makari did not deserve to die. That meant either God was wrong, or the Chargh Lai was lying.
Both were impossible.
He scooped up the gems and dropped them back in the purse just as a knock sounded on his door. Stashing the purse up his sleeve, Ashai opened the door to find his Royal Guard standing there.
The man nodded his head. “It is time for your lesson, my lord.”
“My lesson?”
One corner of the man’s thin lips turned upward. “Your sword fighting lesson, my lord. Princess Makari ordered them every morning at this time. She thinks it only fitting that her husband knows how to handle a blade.”
Ashai raised an eyebrow. “And who is teaching these lessons?”
This time, the guard’s smile dripped with eagerness.
“Captain Bauti.”
Ashai looked ridiculous, and Bauti loved it. He’d arranged the lesson at Makari’s direction, but her guidance had been minimal. She’d only said she wanted Ashai trained—she didn’t say it had to be pleasant. And she didn’t rule out humiliation as a training technique.
So they stood in a courtyard behind the palace, the midday sun beating down on the dozen or so men gathered there. Most wore simple cotton pants and tunics, clothing normally worn for training. It was designed to be light and comfortable.
Not Ashai, however. Under the guise of not wanting to hurt the Minister of Finance, Bauti had arranged to have him dressed in an over-padded protective suit. Covering his hips to his shoulders, and running the length of his arms, the suit was thick, heavy, and stiff. The merchant couldn’t bend his arms, so they stuck out to the sides like some life-size doll. Rivers of sweat ran down his face as the autumn sun broiled him.
A Royal guard member placed a steel helmet on his head, strapping it into place. It really amounted to little more than a bucket with a slot for his eyes, but it made it virtually impossible to turn his head.
The chuckles that rippled around the other soldiers sounded like music to Bauti. Ashai Larish had caused him no end of humiliation, and he was happy to return the favor.
Bauti hefted the weighted wooden practice sword in his right hand, spinning it with practiced ease so it whistled through the air.
Ashai’s helper stepped into Ashai’s field of vision.
“The captain will start with the basics. Blocking is essential. His first strike will be a downward blow and you block it like this.”
He demonstrated, raising his arms over his head as if he held his own sword. Ashai watched his guard, and Bauti noted his eyes taking in every angle of the man’s moves, studying stance, arm position, even the angle of his wrists.
When the soldier stopped, Ashai mimicked the move with near perfection, despite the rigid suit.
“Like this?”
“Why, yes my lord, just like that.”
Ashai took the other practice sword, and as soon as his guard was out of the way, Bauti charged, swinging his sword with all his might.
Ashai moved slowly, but his sword came up just in time, wood clacking on wood as he deflected the blow. It bounced off the padding of his left arm.
Bauti grumbled. The merchant had gotten lucky. Had he not raised the block, the blow would have shattered his collarbone.
“I just shaved a pound of muscle off your arm,” he growled at the smaller man. “There’s not that much there to take, so move faster or you’ll be dead.”
He swung again, this time coming from the other side. Ashai’s block came up slowly and his feet tangled, tripping him. He fell forward and Bauti’s blade whooshed over the top of his helmet, missing by a finger’s with. The momentum carried Bauti in a half circle so he stopped with his back to Ashai.
He fought to contain his rage. The merchant’s clumsiness had caused him to leave his exposed back to an opponent. Bauti prided himself on technical perfection and tactics, on not making such amateur mistakes. To make one in this situation made him angrier.
Ashai flailed on his back in the dirt, grunting as he tried to get up. The guard took him by the armpits and hoisted him back to his feet, handing back his sword.
“You’ll have to stay upright to stay alive.”
“Thank you for the statement of the obvious,” Ashai quipped. “We’re not all made to be warriors, you know?”
“No,” Bauti said. “Only men are.”
He would’ve missed it had he blinked or look the other way for a second, but the look Ashai gave him just then chilled him to the bone. It was as if the merchant’s eyes had frosted over, firing daggers of ice at Bauti’s heart.
Then it passed and Ashai smiled a weak, passive smile.
“Some of us were made to count coin, others to kill. Some to marry princesses, others to be alone.”
This time, the chuckles of the soldiers were like spikes driven into Bauti’s flesh. He charged Ashai again, swinging his sword from right to left at the merchant’s ribs.
Again Ashai reacted a split-second slower than Bauti would have, his sword coming up and smacking against the captain’s, knocking it away, but throwing the minister off balance. Bauti delivered a boot to his back and knocked him on his face.
The guard helped Ashai to his feet again, and this time the merchant dropped his sword at Bauti’s feet.
“Let’s be honest, Captain. A Denari Lai assassin is not going to come at me with a broadsword. And the Minister of Finance will never be wearing armor. Perhaps it would be more practical for you to train me in defense against a dagger or a short sword while dressed … normally.”
Bauti straightened, and leaned on his wooden sword, stabbing the point into the dirt and wishing it was Ashai’s chest.
“The instructions from the Princess were clear. You were to be trained in the use of a sword. She said nothing about defending against assassins. Perhaps she means to have her new husband fight in a tournament.”
The soldiers’ laughs echoed off the palace walls this time, lifting his spirit. This was more like he had planned.
Ashai motioned to the guard member to take his helmet off, and then shook out his hair like a woman.
“The padding too,” he said. “If Captain Bauti hits me, so be it. He can explain to my betrothed why my arm is broken for our wedding.”
It took three men to get the padding off Ashai, but once it was gone the Minister of Finance stood in a plain cotton shirt, just like the ones the other soldiers wore. Sweat matted to his body, and Bauti realized while the man was not muscular, he was lithe and lean, catlike in his build. There was nothing soft about him, and nothing loose. He was a tightly wound spring.
Not at all like a merchant.
He picked up the wooden practice sword and did a poor imitation of Bauti’s whistling arc.
“Perhaps now I will move fast enough to not eat sand.”
“Or perhaps I’ll shatter your collarbone,” Bauti answered.
Ashai shrugged. “Maybe, but again you’ll have to explain that to the Princess. She won’t like you breaking her new husband before he’s even her husband.”
“I’m willing to take that chance.”
“Then you’re a fool.”
Rage swept through Bauti like wildfire. He charged again, blade streaking through the air so fast it would cleave through Ashai’s practice sword like a hot knife through lard.
But Ashai didn’t move. He stood transfixed, sword held before him, point down. His eyes locked with Bauti’s.
Suddenly, Bauti realized if he didn’t stop, he would kill the Minister of Finance. He had leveled his blow at the man’s foolish head, expecting him to try to block the strike or dodge it. No matter his feelings about the man, Bauti remained the captain of the Royal Guard. He could not draw blood on a member of the King’s council.
And Ashai knew it.
Bauti twisted his body, tensing his arm muscles to freeze the sword before he could strike Ashai’s temple. He lurched to his right, throwing himself off the collision path and pulling his sword back.
His actions put him off balance, perched precariously on his right foot with his left in the air.
Ashai simply stuck out his left foot and tripped him.
Bauti sprawled on the dirt, hitting face-down and feeling the wind explode from his lungs. The pommel of his sword dug into his gut, making him grunt in pain. He rolled quickly to his back, fighting to suck in a breath, but it was as if his entire body had been locked in a dragon’s grip. His muscles would not move, his breath would not come.
Ashai stood over him, straddling his body, and reached down, placing a hand under each side of his lower back. He lifted him just enough to stretch the muscles of his abdomen.
Air rushed into Bauti’s lungs, as he breathed in great gulps. Ashai nodded to him, removed his hands, and stepped aside.
Bauti lay on his back a few seconds longer, then vaulted to his feet and snatched up his sword.
“Underhanded tricks won’t save you in a real fight. Had I not avoided hurting you, I would’ve taken your head off.”
“You’re welcome, Captain.” Ashai hefted the practice sword in his right hand, then switched it to his left as if both were equally good. He grinned. “I apologize for embarrassing you. But I knew you would not actually hurt me, so I used knowledge of your weakness to my advantage. Is that not part of every battle?”
The soldiers around them chuckled again, this time at Bauti’s expense. The captain stepped forward and raised his sword.
“Let’s see how you fare this time,” he growled.
He stalked closer, dropping to a near crouch. He kept the practice sword in his rear hand, his left in front as if he held a short sword or a dagger. His arms were longer than the minister’s, and he could use that.
The two circled one another, Ashai appearing awkward and off-balance, his steps too close together to maintain a solid foundation. And yet, his movements flowed, like a silk flag blowing in the breeze, effortless and smooth. Bauti had the impression the man could drop to a balanced stance in a heartbeat.
Bauti tested Ashai’s defenses, thrusting and sweeping. Each time, Ashai danced back or threw up a hasty parry, barely knocking the sword away and losing his balance in the process. He fell twice, springing back to his feet right away.
Tired of playing cat and mouse, Bauti came at him full-on. He didn’t charge this time, he simply pressed a steady attack. He began by switching stances, moving his right hand forward. Then he leveled a combination of strikes at the merchant. Thrust, slice right, down sweep, thrust, backhand. The stances came naturally, flowing with decades of practice. His muscles remembered what to do, even if his mind had slowed in sending the commands.
Ashai countered everything with clumsy, awkward, or just plain lucky blocks and parries, and this time did not fall.
Bauti pretended to back off, then launched an overhead strike. This time, Ashai threw a near-perfect overhead block, deflecting the blow and throwing Bauti off-balance. The minister’s wooden sword swept around and spanked the captain on his buttocks.
That drew a roar of laughter from the gathered soldiers, many of whom had stopped just to watch. Bauti felt heat rush to his cheeks.
But he also smiled, for he’d discovered something about his adversary. Minister Ashai already knew how to handle a sword. He’d covered it up so far, but slipped in the heat of the moment and shown his hand.
“Well struck, Minister,” he said. He would show the grace and honor of the Royal Guardsman, despite his embarrassment. “One would think you’d handled a blade before.”
Ashai whirled the practice sword, attempting to flourish but dropping the wooden blade in the dirt. More laughter, just as raucous. At least the men were getting a good show.
“Everyone gets lucky every now and then, Captain.” Ashai’s smirk mocked him. “I surely possess no skill measurable against your own.”
Bauti took his blade in both hands, sank into a saddle stance, then launched himself at Ashai. His two-handed overhead swing, had it struck with a steel blade, would’ve beheaded the man on the spot. But the blade was made of oak, and it never found its mark anyway.
Ashai simply crumpled, as if he melted inside the cotton clothing and formed a puddle in the dirt. The blade whistled harmlessly over him, as he rolled to his feet behind the captain. Bauti whirled, but too late. The blunt tip of Ashai’s practice sword poked him in his right buttock.
“Looks like I got lucky again,” the minister mocked.
Now Bauti’s suspicions screamed at him. Ashai had received combat training somewhere, elite training. He just covered it with feigned clumsiness.
Bauti attacked again, maintaining his two-handed grip on the sword. He sliced right then left, smashed down and swept up. This time Bauti studied the minister’s feet. Ashai stayed on the balls of his feet the entire time, his heels just off the dirt, his steps quick and decisive. The rest of his body looked awkward and klutzy, but his feet betrayed him.
Bauti drove him all the way back to the stone wall of the palace’s South Wing. Sweat poured down Ashai’s face, and his arm trembled as he raised his last block to fend off an overhead strike. He moved slowly this time, and dipped his sword point too low. Bauti’s practice sword slid the length of Ashai’s blade and clipped him on the shoulder.
The merchant cried out, and dropped his wooden blade, and fell to his knees. He cradled his left arm in his right, rocking back and forth and moaning as if the arm were about to fall off.
“The blow was not that hard, Minister,” Bauti said. “I’m sure you’ll be fine.”
He offered his hand, but Ashai glared up at him and did not move.
“I assure you, Captain, Princess Makari will hear of this … assault on her betrothed.”
Bauti stepped back and planted his hands on his hips. Behind him, he felt the other soldiers of the Royal Guard closing in until they formed a rough semicircle behind him.
“My Lord Larish,” Bauti said, forcing himself to incline his head, “I assure you I meant no harm. I would never knowingly assault a member of the King’s Council. This was merely a training accident.”
Ashai struggled to his feet, still cradling his left arm, wincing with overdramatic pain.
“I’m sure the soldiers here didn’t see it that way,” Ashai said. “What about it, men? You saw it, didn’t you?”
One by one, the soldiers drifted away, most shaking their heads.
“Looks like you have your answer, Minister. Training accidents happen. You have my heartfelt apologies. Shall I call for a healer?”
Ashai shook his head and turned his back on the captain.
“I’ll consider this our last lesson, Captain. I’d appreciate someone more … professional training me next time.”
He started to walk away.
“Do you even need more training?” Bauti asked. “You looked competent to me.”
Ashai paused for an instant, then marched off toward his chambers.
Bauti smiled, satisfied with himself and his day’s work. He’d uncovered some very interesting information about the new Minister of Finance. Not that military training was unusual. Many people had been in the Army at some point, and some even retained their skills. But Ashai Larish possessed advanced skills, and the physical traits to use them. And he was hiding them from everyone.
It was a start, but not enough to take to Abadas. Yet.
On the opposite side of the courtyard, Bauti retrieved his chain mail, tunic, and weapons. He was just dropping his sword belt to his hip when an average-looking man slipped from the shadows of a small doorway and sidled toward him. He stopped a few paces away, seeming to stare at a third-floor window while scratching his ass.
“I have information for you.” His lips barely moved. “The small stables in an hour. Bring the gold.”
The man strode away and Bauti smiled after him.
The Watcher didn’t understand. At first, he thought Ashai had lost some of his abilities, or that the ridiculous armor had slowed him. He should have been able to best Bauti, even dagger-on-sword, but he’d lost. And been embarrassed.
What Bauti had said made sense, though. Ashai had probably faked injury, drawing Bauti in so he could beat him.
But he hadn’t beaten the grizzled, old captain. Ashai had lost. Had it been a ruse? If so, it was a gamble. If Bauti saw through the ruse and understood Ashai’s fighting skills, it could tip him off to Ashai’s identity.
So The Watcher had two questions. First, was Ashai injured? And second, if he wasn’t injured, why did he fake a lack of skill?
The Watcher knew exactly how to find out.