“Sorcery!” exclaimed Zanderei, and then, more slowly, “Is that what I look like
to you?”
Lalo jerked his appalled gaze from the ruby rivulet that was snaking its way
from the throat of the guard across the floor. Now Zanderei stood with a
predator’s poise, and his face and the face in the picture were the same.
“Did they set you to trap me? Have my masters’ plans been betrayed?” Softly he
moved towards Lalo, who stood shaking his head and shivering. “Ah, of course-it
was Coricidius, setting traps for everyone. I doubt that he expected to catch
me!” he added more softly.
“Who are you? Why are you pretending to be a clerk?” Lalo stared at Zanderei,
seeing something flicker behind the still eyes as if the mask he had penetrated
only covered a veil that hid another truth deeper within.
“I am fate … or I am nothing … It all depends. My masters wish the Prince to
do his part in the war, but it would not be well for him to do it too
effectively. ‘Watch him, but do not let him become a hero, Zanderei…’ Until
that happens, I will serve him.” His voice ran smoothly as an undammed stream,
but Lalo knew that what he was hearing doomed him more surely than what he had
seen.
“You’re going to kill the Prince …” Lalo stepped backwards until he bumped
into the table on which his paints lay.
“Perhaps-” Zanderei shrugged.
“You’re going to kill me?”
The other man sighed, and from the other sleeve a second knife flickered into
his hand. “Do I have a choice?” he said regretfully. “I am a professional. No
one will deplore the work of the vandal who kills you and destroys the painting