Саймон Хоук - The Broken Blade

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 assuring 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 cocked 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 hoarsely.

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 passage.

“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 basement 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 passageway, and Ankhor closed the door behind them. He took a deep breath of satisfaction. Now, it would begin.

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 passed 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 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 shimmering 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!”