Assassins of Kantara

by James Boschert

  “I also brought reinforcements,” Naudar stated. “Five men from Isfahan.”

  “Good. Did you see the Master?”

  “Oh, yes. He put me in charge of the mission,” Naudar lied.

  Saquib went with him back to the bazaar to meet the others, and there he described what he knew of the activities of their intended victims.

  “There is no point in attacking them in the street unless they are alone and at night,” he stated. “But they never go anywhere alone, and I have never seen them wander about at night.”

  “Can we scale the walls of the villa?” Naudar asked.

  “Perhaps, but any untoward noise will alert them. They post guards, and those guards stay wide awake.”

  Naudar gave some thought to this. “Then we must gain entry some other way,” he stated. “But first you,” he pointed to the men, “must see our quarry, so there is no mistaking them. We can watch them for a while; there is time to do this properly. Remember, we have to capture them. That won’t be possible outside of the villa.”

  The two men who were seated among the patrons of the teahouse when Reza and Yosef entered had been observing Reza and the men he went about with for days now. The teahouse seemed to be a favorite place. But now he was doing something odd.

  Reza took from the folds of his robe two small sticks, about two-and-a-half hands long, and held them between the fingers of his right hand. It seemed to the two men that he was looking around for something.

  Reza glanced at Yosef, made a face, then there was a blur of movement and Reza held a fly trapped between the two sticks. “Ah, finally,” he said with a sigh. “There are too many of these in Muscat anyway,” he remarked.

  Yosef coughed his grunting laugh. “That seems a very impractical way to reduce their numbers, but it is certain I could certainly never do that,” he said.

  “It takes practice.”

  The two Fid’ai rose and departed. They did not notice the glance Reza gave them from under his brows while he pretended to focus on Yosef.

  “Do you see those two men who are leaving?” he asked casually of his companion, who started to look up and around.

  “Don’t look up, Yosef. How am I ever going to turn you into a Companion with all the necessary skills of a Fid’ai if you behave like an idiot?” Reza demanded.

  Yosef looked chastened. “What made you notice them?” he asked.

  “First, I think I know one of them; second, they were paying far too much attention to us,” Reza responded. “Come, we shall follow them. They are from Persia, I am sure of it.”

  He threw a coin onto the carpet and casually got to his feet; then with Yosef close behind, he followed the two men at a discreet distance as they hurried down the crowded streets of the bazaar. Their quarry left the bazaar and walked down several narrow alleys to finally come to a doorway set deep into a wall. One glanced back as they entered the doorway. He failed to see Reza and Yosef huddled in another doorway at the far end of the busy street.

  When they had disappeared, Reza cautiously eased himself out of the recess and pulled Yosef after him.

  “We have trouble,” he said, and lead the way, hastening, with many a backward look, towards their own home and family.

  “You look as though you have seen a ghost,” one of Naudar’s men remarked when the two assassins rejoined them.

  “Perhaps we did. It was Reza,” Shakil said, and went on to describe what he had seen.

  “It was like a cobra striking! I have never seen anything so fast,” he exclaimed, looking to his companion for corroboration. “I always knew, we have all heard how fast he is with a knife, but this?”

  “I saw a fly captured between two sticks. I cannot even catch one every time with my hand!” Rashid added, his eyes wide.

  “Was it something they put in your tea?” sneered one of the others. “Or maybe you brought the Hashish with you? Anyway, you should be able to catch more than one fly with your hand. You have a dozen of them flying around your head most of the time.” The others laughed.

  The two witnesses to Reza’s feat glowered and said no more, but they looked at one another and shared the same thought. If that man could do this with a pair of sticks, how would he be with a sword?

  Naudar looked at his men. He realized that if he delayed much longer they would fear their enemies, and that he could not have.

  “We will move against them in a couple of days. I have found a way whereby we can surprise them no matter how fast they are.”

  Talon stood at the edge of the polo field, watching his son Rostam guide a pony around in circles while he tapped at a ball with his mallet.

  The boy and the animal looked comfortable together. It was an experienced beast, one who listened to a good rider. Its ears flicked back and forth as Rostam asked it to canter in ever smaller circles. With almost no guidance from Rostam, who was leaning forward over its shoulder, the pony followed the ball closely, allowing the boy to continue tapping the ball every ten or so paces towards where his father and Reza were watching with critical eyes.

  He brought the pony to a stop with barely any aid and grinned at them. “How did I do, Papa?” he demanded with an expectant smile.

  Both boy and animal were sweating slightly in the late afternoon sun, but despite the dust Rostam looked happy and pleased with himself.

  “There is work to be done, but it’s coming along. You were riding one of the more docile ponies. Wait until you have a difficult one,” Talon told him, but there was a small smile of approval on his stern, bearded face. His son had taken to Chogan with enthusiasm, and he desperately wanted to play in one of their games. He was certainly old enough now, but Talon hesitated to introduce his son to the rough and tumble of the sport. Rostam’s face dropped. He had clearly hoped for more praise, but he was getting used to the meagre compliments he received from his father.

  “You could use your legs more and your hands less,” Reza admonished him, “but you are coming along. You will be playing with us before long. Your father is getting old and the team needs a replacement.” Reza danced out of the way of a swinging slap from Talon, who scowled, pretending to be deeply offended.

  Rostam and Reza laughed at him. Reza put his arm around Talon’s shoulders and together they walked the short distance to their own horses. They mounted up, and Talon led the way towards their house within the city walls.

  Muscat was a large port town with a number of rich merchants—Talon now being one of them. They lived in a walled villa in a quiet neighborhood tucked away from the bustle of the town and the port, but still within easy walking distance of the bazaar and the quayside. Talon had chosen the house for its high walls and privacy, which above all he prized for his family. As they rode up the guards saluted and swung the gate open. The men were Baluchi—dark, thin and dedicated warrior mercenaries from the area of southern Persia, the dry country just across the straits from Oman. Riding through the stone archway, the three dismounted in the small yard, handed off their ponies, then strode into the building.

  They found the women seated comfortably on cushions upstairs. Rav’an and Jannat greeted them with smiles, and kisses for their men. Talon always found that his breath caught in his throat at how beautiful Rav’an was. These days she glowed even more because of her pregnancy. His normally stern features softened into a smile of pure pleasure at seeing her.

  “How is our boy doing at Chogan these days?” she asked him, leaning back in his arms to smile at her son.

  “He will be a good player... one of these days,” Talon admitted grudgingly, but he smiled at his son and she caught the expression. There was no little pride in his look.

  Rostam grinned. “I love that game, Mama. It is like battle, or so Uncle Reza tells me.”

  “It is, young Pup. A little more work and we’ll bring you onto our team,” Reza responded as he released Jannat from an embrace. Jannat waved them to be seated as she gracefully settled to her cushion and began to serve tea. With a smile, she han
ded the first cup to Rav’an. The two women had become closest friends.

  Rostam dropped to a cushion, reached for a tiny baklava cake and popped it into his mouth, savoring with relish the honeyed taste of the delicate morsel.

  “Rostam! Where are your manners?” Rav’an admonished him, as she shifted the exquisite porcelain plate just out of reach. It was one they had brought back from Guan Zhou, the port in China. The cargo of porcelain had been snapped up by avid merchants within a couple of days. Some of it had gone to the palace of the Caliph of Oman, but much had gone north to Baghdad and beyond. Porcelain of this quality was rare, much in demand, and very expensive.

  “I apologize, Mama,” he said, without sounding in the least bit contrite, as he licked his fingers. “May I please have another one of those delicious cakes?” he asked in a mock humble tone.

  “Hush, my Sister,” admonished Jannat. “He is a growing boy and needs his food!” Jannat smiled at Rostam with affection.

  “He is growing!” Reza said, observing the boy as though for the first time. “We need to start in earnest on his training, Brother. He is almost as old as we were when we began at thirteen.”

  “I am thirteen this year, Uncle,” Rostam said, as he chewed on another cake.

  “At thirteen we were in a castle called Samiran, two frightened boys who didn’t know what they were going to do with us,” Talon told him.

  “Speak for yourself, you Frans. They brought you to that place to train or kill you, they didn’t much care which,” Reza laughed. “I came because, well, I was bored.”

  They rarely discussed this part of their lives, but slowly it was coming out in response to some persistent questions from Jannat, who had known nothing of their lives before they had rescued her, along with Rav’an, from the Sultan’s harem in Shiraz.

  “What did they teach you first, Papa?” Rostam asked, his eyes wide with interest. He tried to sneak another cake, but received a light slap on his hand from his mother.

  “You could at least ask if your father and uncle want one before stuffing yourself, my son,” she said, pretending to sound stern.

  Talon took a cake from the proffered plate and popped it into his mouth, then chewed with obvious enjoyment. Finally, after a sip of tea he said, “They were only interested in teaching us how to use knives then. It was painful, as I recall, but Reza and I did well.”

  “We became the best of the class!” Reza stated with pride. “Our instructor used to match us up to demonstrate to the others how it should be done, and it almost always ended in a draw.”

  “Later we became very good at archery, and now we know much more that we can pass along to you and Dar’an and Yosef,” Talon said.

  “I think we should include him with those two,” Reza said. “Dar’an has become proficient with the exploding devices, and Yosef can come close to matching me with his sword on occasion.”

  “Never!” Talon pretended to be shocked.

  “How is that possible, my Reza?” Jannat teased him.

  “I don’t believe you, Uncle,” Rostam laughed. Rav’an merely smiled.

  “Well, I did say sometimes. But he is still not able to catch a fly with his chopsticks!”

  “So there is still life in those old bones of yours, eh?” Talon said.

  Rav’an regarded the two men with a smile. She doubted very much if any of their students could win in any match these two set their minds to.

  “We have a new assistant cook,” she stated to change the subject.

  “What happened to Ali?” Talon asked, puzzled.

  “He has taken sick and sent this man in his place while he recovers,” she told him.

  “Do you know anything about him?” Reza asked, suddenly cautious.

  “Ali sent him along with one of his boys to introduce him. The cook says he is a distant relative,” she responded. “Should I have asked more questions?” she said, looking concerned.

  “We’ll check up on him later,” Reza told her.

  A band of fierce barbarians from the hills

  Rush’d like a torrent down upon the vale

  Sweeping our flocks and herds. The shepherds fled.

  —John Ross

  Chapter 2

  Assassins

  Talon struggled against tight bonds, trying to find any slack which would allow him to move his hands. He heard a low groan from Reza, who was lying trussed up within a few feet of him. Talon shook his head, trying to clear the hideous ache that pounded inside. He lifted his head to look around the darkened room and noticed another body in one corner. It was quite still. He couldn’t make out who it might be, but hoped that he wasn’t dead.

  He nudged Reza, who stirred and lifted his bruised and bloodied face to look at him. “How did this happen?” he asked groggily.

  “No time to talk, Brother. They took my boots, so they found my knife. We need to get free at once!” Talon whispered.

  “I have a small one on me,” Reza croaked.

  “Where?” Talon demanded eagerly.

  “Inside... inside my pants.”

  “You mean... inside your... ?”

  “Yes Brother, inside there.”

  Talon shook his head. “You are full of surprises. Very well, turn over and I’ll try to get it out. What does Jannat think of that?”

  “None of your business. Now will you get hold of it?”

  Reza shuffled over until he was very close to Talon’s back, and then even closer to where Talon’s bound hands made contact.

  “In there?” Talon’s tone was incredulous.

  “Yes, and be careful... Oooo. Not there!” Reza jerked back. “In the front, above my you know whats.”

  “All right! All right!” Talon grumbled. “Get closer.”

  Reza shuffled forward again. Talon’s fingers groped and Reza flinched. “Ouch! Do you mind? Not there! Higher up... higher there, inside the belt.”

  “Sorry, Ah!” Talon’s fingers felt the hard handle of a small knife tucked into Reza’s under belt.

  After much hurried fumbling they managed to loosen the small weapon, and it dropped onto the dirt floor with a soft thud. Reza rolled over and Talon pushed the blade into his fingers, then pushed himself back towards the knife, which Reza now gripped.

  Within seconds the razor sharp blade had cut his bonds, then it took only a moment to free his brother.

  They both scrambled to their feet, rubbing their sore wrists and ankles to get the circulation going again. The bonds had been tight.

  “How did we get into this situation?” Reza whispered.

  “Drugged, and I think I know by whom,” Talon ground out, shaking his head. He still had a monster of a headache. He hurried over to the body lying in the corner, dreading what he was going to find. He gave a hiss when he saw that it was one of the Baluchi gate guards, quite dead. Evidently their captors had tossed him in here after they had killed him.

  “Wish I had my sword,” Reza commented, still rubbing his wrists, looking around him for some way out of the room. It was one of their own storerooms, one that had gone unused for a long time. Dust was everywhere, even sand, nothing in the way of equipment other than a broken harness lying on the floor in a corner.

  “We have to get out of here as fast as possible and find out what is going on out there.”

  “I fear the worst!” Reza said, his tone dark.

  Just then they heard the murmur of voices outside and the grate of a key in the lock. Metal bars were slid away with a scrape of iron on wood. Both men rushed over to stand either side of the door, flattening themselves against the mud brick walls.

  The door was thrown open and men, still talking, strode into the darkened room. They stopped to peer into the gloom, looking for their prisoners, and it was then Talon and Reza struck. Talon’s forehead collided with the nearest man’s cheekbone, stunning him; a steel-hard hand seized the guard’s sleeve and pulled as Talon whirled inside the man’s sword arm and then heaved his victim off his feet to toss him, now minus
his sword, into the arms of the man just behind him.

  Reza had slammed his small knife backwards into the throat of the man nearest to him. As the guard fell to his knees, Reza relieved him of his sword and in one fluid motion thrust it into the chest of the man directly behind his first victim. Both Talon and Reza used their new-found weapons with savage intensity, bringing all their training in China to bear. The four guards barely had time to gasp, let alone cry out, before they were lying dead in a heap at the entrance of the storeroom.

  Breathing hard, the two men paused to look down at their victims. “Just as I thought,” said Reza. “I recognize these two. They are from the Master.” He looked up at Talon with alarm in his eyes. “He has sent his dogs after us, Talon.”

  Talon nodded, his teeth bared. “Then we must find Rav’an and our family immediately. No one is safe!” He felt a hard knot form in his stomach.

  They retrieved the swords of their dead opponents and then, shoeless, crept out out of the cellar and up the stairs towards the main rooms of the villa. Making no sound at all, they were able to arrive at the back entrance of the house undetected and slip inside the building. They heard a tiny scraping sound and their eyes flicked to the left towards the corridor. They saw Yosef, creeping towards the main hall where the stair went up to the second floor.

  “Psst,” Reza whispered. Yosef almost jumped out of his skin with surprise. His eyes wide and fearful yet determined, he froze.

  Reza beckoned to him.

  Relief flooded across Yosef’s tense face as he slipped into the kitchen to join them.

  “I came back from the ship to find the gate guards dead, so I was trying to find out what happened, Master,” he whispered.

  “You did well, Yosef. But where is Rostam?”

  “He was just about to become a dead hero and charge up the stairs when I found him. I sent him back into the store room while I went looking for you.”