“He displayed the head—?” prodded the baron.

“On the city walls. Over the south gate, for all to see.”

“And you wonder why they’re angry,” Baron Erdogun growled, disgusted.

Qasam shook his head and looked at the duke. “You will help? Please, I am not

My brothers, my uncles, my father, all have spilled blood to defend our house. I am only a bookkeeper, they do not even listen to me. Please say we are under your protection.”

“Everyone in Emelan is under my protection,” the duke said evenly. “Be sure you inform my lady provost that I suggested you explain these further details to her.”

Qasam bowed, touching his forehead and chest. Sandry looked at her uncle reproachfully. Did he really mean to send this poor man back to the city without guards? Qasam would have his own guards, under the circumstances, but the presence of the Duke’s Guard would show he was under her uncle’s eye. The duke glanced at her. His mouth twitched.

“Erdo, go with Master Rokat. Detail a pair of guards to accompany him to my lady provost.”

“I must stop at home.” Qasam’s face was suddenly brighter. “For papers

“

“Yes, very well,” said the duke. “My guards will stay with you.”

Erdoguns bow conveyed respect mingled with re proach that the duke would bother to give this man extra protection. “By your command, your grace,” he said coolly, and ushered their guest out the door.

Alzena waited across the street from Qasam Rokat’s home, her curved sword balanced on her knees. She was clad in the essence of nothingness, like her husband Nurhar, and the mage, who was tucked in a niche in a nearby wall. The nothingness was the mage’s special power, the unmagic that got them past the cleverest guards and the most powerful spells. It cloaked her and Nurhar and even himself in sheer emptiness. Guards and magical protections felt nothing because nothing was there. She could not even see Nurhar or the mage as she peered through the tiny slit in the spells that enabled her to look at the real world. Late at night she sometimes wondered how it would feel, if that slit were to close. Would the nothingness eat her, as it seemed to have eaten the mage?

What ate him is dragonsalt, her practical self scolded. Keep your mind on the task!

Here came Rokat. She stirred. She had expected his own, guards, two in front and two behind. The surprise: was that somehow he’d talked Duke Vedris out of a.

pair of soldiers. They will do him as much good as his own bodyguards, she thought, getting to her feet.

She couldn’t see Nurhar, but she knew he had gone to work when the confusion balls burst. They had two for the bodyguards ahead of Rokat, and two for those body guards behind him. The guards reeled; their horses stag gered as the enclosed drug went into sensitive noses. The balls were good for three minutes, and they hadn’t brought extras to cover the duke’s men. She would just have to be quick, quicker than the soldiers—but that was why the family had honored her with the task.

As silent as a shark streaking toward prey, Alzena Dihanur ran across the cobblestones, between the lurching horses. The two Duke’s Guards closed in around the sweating Rokat, their weapons drawn. Down went the Guardsman’s horse on Rokat’s left, blood pouring from two hacked legs. That would be Nurhar. He knew if he crippled the mount the rider would be too busy to inter fere. Alzena dodged to that side as horse and man top pled away from her target. Sweeping her curved blade up, she sliced through Rokat’s saddle girth, not caring that the razor edge bit deep into his animal’s side. Grabbing Rokat’s clothes, she yanked.

Down he tumbled, screaming, as the other Guardsman tried to shove past the flailing bodyguards to reach him. Alzena hacked Rokat across the belly and thighs, then got into position for her third cut, and made it. Gripping the head by the beard, she thrust it into a bag, spelled like the rest of her with unmagic, and raced down the street with it. She was invincible as long as she bumped into no one; they would never see her, because she was nothing. On she ran, giddy with blood. Nurhar would collect the mage, and return with him to the inn. It was her job to display the head, and she knew just where she would leave it.

CHAPTER 7

The duke’s fist struck the mahogany table, making plates and silver jump.

“Shurri curse them!” he whispered. “Atop the Market Square fountain, for the world to see!”

Sandry glared at the Provost’s Guard who had brought the news. She had just gotten her uncle to sit down to supper when the messenger came with word of Qasam Rokat’s murder. Couldn’t the servants have kept the woman back until the duke had eaten?

She bowed her head, ashamed of her anger, but a fact was a fact. Qasam Rokat was dead. She’d like to keep her uncle from following him out of life.

“What of the Guardsmen with Rokat?” the duke wanted to know.

“Guryil broke his leg when his mare dropped on him,” replied the Provosts Guard.

“He’s in your infir mary now. His partner, Lebua, is with him. Our people are taking their story.”

The duke stood. Sandry got to her feet, fighting to push her heavy chair back “My dear,” Vedris began, “there is really no need for you to—,” He met her eyes and smiled ruefully. “Forgive me. I forgot who I was talking to. I become like poor Rokat, trying to shelter you when you do not want such care.” To the messenger he said, “My servants will give you food and a mount for your return.

Tell my lady provost I appreciate the prompt notification.”