spell.
Then, from the Hall of Justice below, the gong for the fourth watch began to
toll. Zanderei got to his feet, grey robes shifting like shadow around him.
Lalo, fighting his way back to awareness like a man awakening from sleep, saw
that dusk was beginning to gather in the corners of the room.
“I am sorry. I must go now.” Zanderei took a few steps forward, more smoothly
than Lalo would have expected, considering how long the man had been sitting
still.
“Oh, of course-forgive me for keeping you so long.”
“Are you finished? Will you want me to come to you again?”
Lalo looked at the picture, wondering if he had captured the reality of this
man. For a moment he did not understand what he saw. He glanced quickly at the
other portraits, but they had not changed, and paint still glistened wetly where
he had given a last touch to Zanderei’s hair. But he had never been unable to
recognize the model in one of his portraits before…
He saw a face like stone, like steel, a face with no life but in the eyes, and
there only an ancient pain. And in the hands of this image, a bloodied knife was
gripped fast.
Coricidius wanted to see these men’s weaknesses-but I see death here!
And like the canvas, Lalo’s face must have revealed the tumult in his soul, for
now Zanderei was blurring towards him in a swordsman’s swift rush that brought
him past Lalo to comprehend the picture in one searching stare and still in the
same motion to whirl and flick into the throat of the oncoming guardsman a knife
that had been hidden in his sleeve.