Now his Drenai wife and his eight-year-old son lay below, their sleep deepening towards death as he savoured his last dawn.
It had been hard watching them sip their poisoned drinks, listening to his wife’s amiable chatter about her plans for tomorrow. When his son had asked him if he could go riding with Brentar’s boy, he had said that he could.
He should have followed his first instincts and poisoned the old warrior, but Dun Mendar had convinced him otherwise. Suspicion would then have fallen instantly on the master of ceremonies. This way was surer, Mendar had promised: drug him and kill him in a dark alleyway. So simple!
How could one so old move so swiftly?
Musar had felt he could bluff it out. He knew Druss would never recognise him as the fifth assassin, for his face had been half-covered by a dark scarf. But the risks were too great, maintained his Nadir lord, Surip. The last message had congratulated him on his work over these last twelve years, and concluded: Peace on you, brother, and your family.
Musar filled a deep bucket with warm water from a large copper kettle.
Then he took a dagger from a shelf at the rear of the loft and sharpened it on a small whetstone. The risks were too great? Indeed they were. Musar knew the Nadir had another man at Delnoch, more highly placed than he. On no account would he be compromised.
He plunged his left arm into the bucket, then holding the dagger firmly with his right he severed the arteries of the wrist. The water changed colour.
He had been a fool to marry, he thought, tears shining in his eyes.
But she had been so lovely . . .
*
Hogun and Elicas watched as men from the Legion cleared away the bodies of the assassins. Spectators looked on from nearby windows, calling down questions, but the Legion ignored them.
Elicas tugged at his small gold earring as Lebus the Tracker outlined the skirmish. Elicas had never lost his fascination for the Tracker’s skill. On a trail Lebus could tell you the sex of the horses, the age of the riders and damned near the conversations around the camp-fires. It was a science beyond his understanding.
‘The old man entered the alley over there. The first man was hidden in the shadows. He struck him, and Druss fell. He rose fast. See the blood there? An axe cut across the thigh. Then he charged the other three, but he must have thrown his axe because he backed away to the wall there.’
‘How did he manage to kill Mendar?’ asked Hogun, who already knew from Druss. But he too appreciated Lebus’s skill.
‘That had me puzzled, sir,’ said the tracker. ‘But I think I have it. There was a fifth attacker who stayed back during the struggle. There is some indication that Druss and Mendar had ceased to fight and were standing close. The fifth man must have moved in then. See the heel-mark there, that belongs to Druss. See the deep round imprint? I would say he swung Mendar round to block the fifth man.’
‘Good work, Lebus,’ said Hogun. ‘The men say you could track a bird in flight and I believe them.’
Lebus bowed and moved away.
‘I begin to believe Druss is everything they say he is,’ said Elicas. ‘Astonishing!’
‘True,’ said Hogun, ‘but worrying. To have an army the size of Ulric’s opposing us is one thing; traitors at the Dros is quite another. And as for Mendar . . . it is almost beyond belief.’
‘From a good family, I understand. I have put it around that Mendar aided Druss against Nadir infiltrators. It may work. Not everyone has Lebus’s talent, and anyway the ground will be well trodden over by full daylight.’
‘The Mendar story is a good one,’ said Hogun. ‘But word will get out.’
‘How is the old man?’ asked Elicas.
Ten stitches in his side and four in his head. He was asleep when I left. Calvar Syn says it’s a miracle the skull didn’t crack.’
‘Will he still judge the Open Swords?’ asked the younger man. Hogun merely raised an eyebrow. ‘Yes, I thought he would. That’s a shame.’