But the patrons who had stopped to watch shrugged and turned away, some with a smirk or a curious glance, but nothing more. No one questioned Armida, no one gasped at her powers. They probably assumed she was a sorceress; it was likely not the first time they had seen a small woman with unguessed strength. Nor did anyone seem outraged. Apparently the man had no friends here. The body remained undisturbed until a bouncer came silently to collect it. The bouncer tossed the corpse out a side door into an alley, for the jacks to find in the morning.
Gorgo breathed more easily, but the close call still had his blood buzzing. He leaned close to reprimand the golem. “This is the only bar in town where you could get away with that, you know. The jacks frown on casual killing. This isn’t the ice islands. Here we have laws.”
Armida stared back at him, her eyes uncomprehending. If she had really been his aunt, she would have been telling Gorgo how Wyverna worked. The murder gnawed at Gorgo. He had guessed earlier that she could not kill without explicit orders, and he had just been proven wrong. She could kill when she needed to, which meant she could kill him too. At any rate, the murder might still attract notice; he should get her out of here before they got more company.
Too late, Gorgo saw. The Kharvay who owned the bar was headed their way. Water trailed her; Gorgo wondered if the sorceress was drawn by curiousity, or if she had simply not yet finished speaking with her. The Kharvay’s hair was pulled back from her face in a single long braid. The shivering chandelier light illuminated sharply-chiseled, elegant features, with striking cheekbones and a strong nose. That face was set now, her eyes narrowed on them. Behind the Kharvay, Water seemed delicate and meek, her long ash-colored hair like a cloud in the gloom of the bar. Water’s eyes on Gorgo were speculative, but the sorceress gave no other sign that she knew him, and Gorgo followed her cue and did not greet her.
“I am Caarino,” the Kharvay said. “I own this establishment. And you would be—?”
Gorgo spoke before the golem could. “I am Gorgo Pton, and this is my aunt Armida.”
“Indeed.” Caarino addressed herself to Armida, her eyes hard on the older woman. “I do not permit brawling within my establishment. If you have a quarrel with another patron, you must take it outside. Otherwise you will no longer be welcome here.” The Kharvay’s fingers drummed on the hilt of her rapier. Gorgo had no doubt she would back up her dictate with force if need be.
Armida stared back at Caarino blankly. Just as blankly as she had regarded the underworlder, in fact. Gorgo’s gut tightened, and his heart thudded faster. Killing a friendless underworlder was one thing; killing the Carousel’s owner would be quite another. Perhaps he could divert the conversation before the golem grew impatient with the Kharvay.
“It won’t happen again,” Gorgo said, and Caarino turned to him. “My aunt is seeking word of a man named Angel Eyes. Do you know him?”
Caarino’s brows rose. “He is an occasional customer here. Odd you should ask about him. His name has come up quite often today. Even Water here was just inquiring after him.”
The golem’s attention was caught at last. Here was a conversation she understood. “Do you know where Angel Eyes is?”
Caarino laughed. “No one ever knows where he is until he appears there—but you may leave a message for him if you like.”
Gorgo glanced at Water, and discovered her eyes on him. Her expression was quizzical, as though she found him an intriguing puzzle. The intensity of her gaze disturbed him. He pushed aside his discomfort, the better to stay focused on distracting the golem. “What's the gossip on Angel Eyes today?”
Water answered, her voice low, cultured, and as pleasant as he remembered it. “They say that last night he killed a small-time Nameless racketeer in the Sealord’s District. Today all his lieutenants who witnessed the killing turned up dead.”
“Could Angel Eyes have done it himself?” Gorgo asked, deciding misdirection was prudent here.
“That’s the talk,” Caarino said. “They say the small-time operator stumbled onto something big, and Angel Eyes killed his own men to keep the knowledge of it to himself.”
Armida broke into the conversation, her eyes fixed on Water. “How did you learn these things?”
“Gossip gathers fast in the Carousel,” the sorceress said with a shrug.
“Who carries it in?” Armida purred.
Water’s gaze was all for Armida now. “The underworld congregates here. Nothing that affects it stays secret long.”
“But which particular member of the underworld brought this in?”
Armida was not giving up, and disquiet grew in Gorgo. He looked from Armida to Water. It was as though they had started speaking a language he didn’t know. True, the fact that Water had been asking after Angel Eyes might mean she had dealings with the smuggler. Perhaps Water knew something about the man. But Cockatrice had turned relentless, as though Water’s knowledge were certain. What clue had the golem seen that he had missed? Gorgo turned to Caarino, seeking to break the tableau with further distraction. “What do people think the ‘something big’ might be?”
“Bets are on. If you’ve one to place, there’s a table in the back where they’ll take it.”
“Strange no one knows, isn’t it? Something so big is unlikely to remain hidden.” Gorgo found himself talking around Water and Armida, who were still watching each other like two wary cats. Gorgo tried a more direct diversion. “Armida, did you want to leave a message for Angel Eyes?”
“No.” The golem did not take her eyes off Water. They continued to hold each other motionless, two small women, one dark, one fair, in a well of silence in the noisy bar.
Caarino’s voice broke the silence. “Make sure you’re outside when you draw weapons, children.”
Gorgo’s skin prickled. He did not want to believe Caarino’s assessment, but his uneasiness thickened. “Neither of them carries a weapon.”
Caarino measured him with a glance. “If you believe that, you’re more innocent than you look.” Her voice had been brisk; now it turned steely with authority. “Take it outside, children. Now.”
Water glanced at her in mute appeal, and found Caarino stone-faced. Gorgo saw fear in the sorceress’ eyes. She whirled and darted for the exit. Armida stalked after, her gait more like Cockatrice’s than his aunt’s, the movement of a hunting beast. She had not bothered to see if Gorgo would follow, and Gorgo hesitated, his mind spinning in confusion.
Caarino’s voice startled him, low-pitched though it was. “If you can’t smell magic right under your nose, you’ll never last in the underworld.”
Images tumbled through Gorgo’s mind: the golem hewing off Janna’s head in a spray of blood, the snap of the underworlder’s neck as he collapsed to the floor, the fear in Water’s eyes. He ran after the assassin.
Water had slipped out the back door. It let into the plaza at the heart of Blue Light, where the colorless booths of the Hunger Market stood. The place was deserted except for the lone seller, half-drowsing behind the center stall. A light fog had risen, and it drifted blue over the seller and the empty booths, hazing the scene like some arctic dreamworld. Dew gleamed cold on the cobblestones. Across the plaza the back face of the Tricked Eel peeked through the fog, half-hidden and unreal, a ghostly ship afloat in an insubstantial blue sea. Nothing seemed to have weight or solidity. Only Water, breathing quickly and smelling of fear and sweat, seemed present and real. She had turned just before the first stalls of the Hunger Market, perhaps realizing she could not outrun her pursuer. She stood crouched as though ready to fight, though her hands were empty. Armida stalked toward her. Watching the assassin’s prowl from the doorway, Gorgo knew Cockatrice intended to kill her.
Gorgo drew his knife. Even as he did so, he was not sure why he was risking himself for her. Was it to preserve his magical cloak? Was it because Water’s protection had saved his life from Wakár, and he owed her? Or was it only because she was human, and Cockatrice was not? The reason hardly mattered; he knew o
nly that he wanted to save her. He threw the knife.
It thunked into Armida’s back, burying itself up to the hilt, and for a sickening instant Gorgo had a vision of his aunt dead. Her body shivered; between one stride and the next the monstrous Cockatrice swelled out of her slight form, and the dark tatters of Armida blew away. Gorgo’s knife clattered to the cobblestones, leaving Cockatrice unmarked. The golem’s armor gleamed darkly in the bluish light, and the cockatrice emblem on her shield seemed to writhe. Cockatrice never looked back; she shifted her axe from left hand to right, readying her swing. Water stood tense and ready as a drawn bow. Her eyes narrowed, intent on her stalker, and her breath hissed from her mouth, adding its own bluish fog to the cobalt gloom around her. Gorgo saw no flicker of surprise from her at the emergence of the beast.
Cockatrice lunged with the axe, blade whistling. Water sprang away, leaping sideways past the nearest stall of the Hunger Market, avoiding the weapon’s arc by a hair’s breadth. She seemed to melt into the fog, her pale hair and skin mingling with the blue-white shadows.
Gorgo ran forward, snatching up his knife as he passed it, calling out, “Cockatrice!” It was time to use the incantation he had gotten from Wakár. But the golem paid him no mind, already striking at Water again, and he grappled Cockatrice’s sword arm, throwing his whole weight against it.
Water darted away barely ahead of the blunted blow. Cockatrice paused to shake Gorgo off as he might have done a puppy, flinging him across the cobbled yard with such force that he flew twenty feet and slammed into the back wall of the Carousel. The impact took his breath away; for a moment he could only lay stunned. The assassin swung back to finish off Water. But the slight woman was gone. There was nothing in the plaza but silence and cold, and the lone seller at the Hunger Market drowsing behind his stall, apparently oblivious to them.
The assassin stood quietly, head up. Her nostrils flared, and Gorgo realized she was sniffing the air. It brought back Caarino’s words, “If you can’t smell magic right under your nose...” Water must have used her sorcery, and the seconds Gorgo had bought her, to vanish away beyond recall.
Cockatrice seemed to reach the same conclusion. She turned and in four long strides crossed the stretch of cobblestones that separated her from Gorgo. Belatedly he realized he should be fleeing too, and tried to scramble to his feet. She reached him before he could rise, her dark silhouette looming over him. He could not see her expression, but he knew it would have told him nothing if he had. She reached down, grasped his wrist and hauled him to his feet. He caught his balance and she released him.
“Why did you come between me and my prey?” Her voice was still mild and courteous.
“Why did you try to kill her? Your target is Angel Eyes. What was this woman to you?”
She was silent. He wondered what that strange mind was thinking. “Why did you interfere? What was the purpose?”
“I didn’t wish to see her killed.”
“Why?”
“She’d done nothing. There was no need to kill her.”
“I thought there was. What did it matter to you? Do you seek to direct my mission for me?”
Gorgo had to remind himself again that she was a golem and could not understand feelings. As he’d read only yesterday in the Library of the Past, she was pitiless, the perfect assassin. “It was wrong to try to kill her.”
“Wrong,” Cockatrice mused.
He’d used the word on purpose to see if it meant anything to her. Had the Kahlrites given her this concept? Apparently not. He waited while she turned the word over in her mind.
After a moment she spoke. “I should kill you for helping my prey to escape. However, you are still useful to me. I have been commanded to enter this ‘Fence’ tonight to dispatch the Warlord by dawn. I have no more time to pursue the woman. We must go at once.”
He would make one last try to talk her down before he committed himself to trusting Wakár. “Cockatrice—the Sender lied to you. Angel Eyes is not the Warlord. Angel Eyes is not to be found in the Fence.” He could see her face now in the cobalt night. She looked even less human than before, a sculpted statue of bluish stone.
“I know the Sender lied. But it is not my business to question commands, whether they are lies or truth. I was made to obey my sender. Why do you press the point? What is your interest?”
Gorgo stared back at her. He was framing a lie that would have said he had her safety at heart, when she began to speak, slowly and with difficulty, as though piecing together foreign equations.
“The amphisbaena said you felt pleasure when I refused the Sender’s orders to kill the Warlord. Pleasure means you were satisfied with my answer. That must mean you do not wish to see the Warlord killed. You interfered when I struck at Water because you did not wish to see her killed; therefore you will interfere with me again when I strike at the Warlord.” She paused. “I cannot afford it. I will have to kill you after all.”
There was no flaw in her reasoning, unfamiliar to her as such ways of thinking were. She raised her axe, and Gorgo cast back in his mind for the word Wakár had given him. Now it was his life at stake, with no choice but to gamble everything on the witch; thank Yahsta he’d gotten the incantation. For a moment, he could hear the word in his mind. Then it was buried in an avalanche of darkness, a darkness with claws. He could find no trace of it, no memory; as he groped toward it he found only the greedy darkness that was Wakár’s mark, curled like a fanged animal in his mind, guarding the word in its belly. Devourer take her soul! Hot wrath rose in him, uselessly. The witch had tricked him after all. She’d given him the word along with a spell of forgetting, and Water’s protection had not been proof against that. Behind the wrath came the cold knowledge that it would cost him his life.
Something showed on his face, for Cockatrice held her swing for a moment, studying him curiously. Only for an instant, and then her blade whirred. In the second’s respite, Gorgo leaped away, the reflexes of his occasional sword practice coming to his aid. His thoughts jumbled, roiling in his mind. What tumbled uppermost, echoing oddly, were the words from the monk’s journal. “Pitiless and loyal—a perfect being.” Why had the monk called her loyal? Because she killed no Kahlrites.
She killed no Kahlrites. The words struck him like a thunderbolt. If he knew a word or two of the Kahlrite tongue, anything, to make her believe him one of them... His thoughts flew, reaching for the Kahlrite words he had read a hundred times in the Library of the Past.
He attempted to parry Cockatrice’s second blow, and her axe sheared his knife blade clean away from the hilt. It went ringing over the cobblestones. Gorgo spat out the words even as he dove away from her third blow, rolling over the cold stones. “Vreel gyzhalla vax gail!” What they might mean, he had no idea.
He heard her axe sing through the air where he had been standing. She had not stopped attacking. He hadn’t really expected it to work. If only he could vanish away as Water had. Frantically he rolled to his knees, expecting to hear the golem’s tread and feel the bite of her blade. Half-crouched, he looked up.
The giant was not looking at him. She held her axe before her eyes, brushing gauntleted fingers over its coldly gleaming blade. She brought the fingers up to her nose, then lowered the weapon. Head still high, she turned her head slowly in all directions. Gorgo saw her nostrils flaring, taking in the smells of the biting night air. Then her gaze swept around the yard, passing over him where he crouched on the ground without a flicker.
It was as though she could not see him. Gorgo hardly dared blink, let alone breathe. The blue fog turned the golem into a dream image, something out of his nightmares. She was like a deadly hunting hound given human form, soundless and motionless in the shrouding fog, nose wide to catch even the smell of the cold sweat that trickled down his ribs, even the stale scent of the magic Wakár had left coiled in his mind. He dared not move, and she would not. As in dreams, time had disappeared.
Then she was gone, between one heartbeat and the next, a bl
ue shadow moving without trace in the azure fog, without sound of footfalls or jingle of metal, vanishing into the mist.
Gorgo became aware of the cold seeping from the cobblestones through his hands and knees, the sweat plastering his shirt to him. The arm that Wakár had wounded that morning was throbbing again. His own breathing sounded loud. He stood up stiffly, beginning to feel the bruises he’d taken when Cockatrice had thrown him into the back wall of the Carousel. His knife blade lay nearby, broken off where the golem’s axe had cleaved it. The hilt lay at his feet. He picked it up mechanically, then dropped it again, his thoughts eddying in confusion.
The Kahlrites might have been fanatics, but they had not been fools, was his first clear thought. They had left themselves a defense against the monster they created. And what better defense could they find than the Kahlrite holy words, which no member of a rival caste would deign to utter, even had they known it was their only salvation? Gorgo rubbed his forehead, and then grinned weakly. All those hours poring over dusty tomes in the Library of the Past had served him well in the end, while the brief, harrowing encounter with Strace/Wakár had been useless. It was not his cunning that had saved him this time, but his carefulness.
Or perhaps it was his foolishness that had nearly killed him in the first place. The golem would never have attacked him if he had not struck at her to save Water. Yahsta, why had the golem gone after her? It made no sense. Then an answer dawned on him, and he wondered how he had been so blind. Water was providing Gorgo with a magical shield; what if she was supplying one to Angel Eyes as well? Perhaps the smuggler was not a sorcerer at all. Perhaps Angel Eyes merely bought his protection from sorceresses like Water who dealt with the underworld. If the golem had somehow divined this, then she had tried to kill Water in order to remove the smuggler’s shield. Once it was gone, the golem could track Angel Eyes by magic, as she had tracked his henchmen. Gorgo shook his head, marveling at the simplicity of it.
The Copper Assassin Page 11
