Wings of Omen

They had not rehearsed this part, but she trusted her friend Feet wide apart, he braced himself; his muscles bulged, and he nodded. She took hold of the rope, stepped into space. Dayme grunted, but held the line fast. Hand over hand, she made her way to the far wall and over its edge. The line went slack; she could almost see the bums she knew would mark Dayme's hands and forearms.

Her bribes had paid off in some respects, at least. Directly below her was a rooftop, the servants' quarters. She gathered the line and let it down on the inside, then slipped along its length. She was inside.

But where were the guards? There was no sign of them. Nothing moved within the grounds that she could see. She dropped to the ground, paused in a crouch, began to move from shadow to shadow.

What now? She hadn't pla

A huge, metal-reinforced bar spa

Every dark place was suddenly more menacing. No sign of the killer; nothing moved in the darkness. She felt around the guard's body. No blood, no broken bones, no clue to how he was murdered. She shivered. Sorcery?

A low whistle. Soundlessly, Reyk took his perch on her high-gloved arm.

Two more guards lay dead near the Processional Gates. Like the first, there was no trace of a cause. She thought of calling out, of alerting the garrison and the palace residents. Then she remembered the Beysib. One of the dead men was fish-eyed. If the killer heard her shout and made a good escape, if the Beysib found only her with the murdered guardsmen, if they found the grapples by which she broke into the grounds?... Who could blame them for jumping to conclusions?

A sound, metal rasping on stone. She froze, listening, peering uselessly into the blackness. There were only two more gates, both in the eastern wall. She started across the lawn, moving swiftly, noiselessly.

The last gate was the smallest, a private entrance and exit for the governor's staff. There she saw a figure revealed in the small pool of light from an upper residential window. The sound she had heard was a bar of iron that sealed the gate at night. She could not see him well; a cloak disguised his features and his movements.

A gardened walkway led from the gate to a door into the palace itself. He hadn't spotted her yet. Wraithlike, she moved, took a position at the midway point, and waited.

The killer eased back the gate. Five figures slipped inside, indistinguishable, but bared weapons gleamed. The gate closed behind. They started up the walk.

"Still time to place your bets, gentlemen," she said, a grim smile parting her lips, "before the event begins."

In the forefront, the cloaked one who had opened the gate raised something to his mouth. A bare glint of palest ivory, and he puffed his cheeks. That was how the guards died, she realized. Her inspections of the bodies were too quick and cursory to discover the venomed darts from the assassin's blowpipe.

"Kill!" she whispered to Reyk. The falcon sprang from her arm, and she threw herself aside as something rushed by her ear. Reyk's pinions beat the air three times, then his talons found the eyes within that dark hood. A chilling scream broke from the man's throat before one of his own comrades cut him down. Reyk returned to her arm. "Up," she told him. "These are mine!"

She laughed softly and drew her sword. She had fought four men once in the arena. Now there were five. The result would be the same, but the game might be more interesting. "Try to make it a good contest," she taunted them, beckoning.

The nearest man rushed, stabbed at her belly. Chenaya sidestepped, kicked him in the groin as her sword came up to deflect the blow another man aimed at her head. She turned it aside and cut deep between that one's ribs. She caught him before he collapsed and hurled him into the way of a third.

She dodged without a hairbreadth to spare as another sword sang by her head. The one she kicked was on his feet again. Four men closed with her, wordlessly, professionally. The ringing of steel, the rasp of hard and rhythmic breathing became the night's only sounds.

Chenaya threw herself into the fight. The force of blows and blocks shivered up her arm. She filled her other fist with one of her daggers; when one of her foes ventured too close, she shoved it through his sternum. It came free with a slick, sucking noise as she kicked him away.

Sweat ran down her face; blood slicked the palm of her right glove. She whirled into the midst of the three remaining attackers, raking the edge of her sword through the eye and cheek of one, planting the smaller blade deep in his throat.

Death hurtled down at her in two glittering arcs. Grasping her hilt in both hands, she caught the blades, intercepting them with her own forceful swing, turning them aside. One lost his grip, and when he dived for his weapon her knee slammed into his face.

The last man on his feet hesitated, finding himself alone, turned and fled for the gate and the streets beyond. Chenaya cursed him savagely, drew the second dagger from its place on her thigh, and hurled. The coward's arms flew up, his sword clattered on the walk, and he fell. One hand flopped, grasping uselessly for the weapon, then was still.

The last man rose slowly, painfully to his feet; blood poured from his broken nose. His eyes were glazed, and the recovered sword was balanced loosely in his weak grip. He stumbled for her.

"You, at least, are no craven," she granted. The edge of her sword cut a swift crimson line beneath his chin, and he tumbled backward.

Chenaya filled her lungs with a deep breath and whistled for Reyk. Together, woman and falcon looked down on the six bodies. They did not wear the uniforms of the 3rd Commandos, she noted with some disappointment. It would have been easy to hang the whole lot of them with such proof, or at least to run them out of Sanctuary.

"That was well done. Lady of Ranke."

She knew the voice at once and whirled. Shupansea herself and a score of Beysib guards blocked the doorway to the palace. Apparently, they had slipped outside while the fight went on. A torch flared to life, then another.

"Don't look so surprised," Shupansea said. She pointed to the body of the cloaked man. "That one entered with the local servants this morning, but did not leave with them, having secreted himself in the stables. My men spotted him, but we wanted to wait and leam his purpose."

Chenaya made no answer, but held her sword and waited to see if the Beysa meant her harm.

"Molin explained your purpose to us. Lady," Shupansea continued. "You need not fear."

Chenaya smirked at that. "My uncle presumes a great deal."

The Beysa finally shrugged. "Perhaps it is just your nature to be rude," she sighed. "Perhaps that will change as we come to know each other. Kadakithis told me he promised you a party when you came to see him. In half a fortnight I, myself, will host an event to welcome you and Lowan Vigeles to our city."

Chenaya forced a tight smile, then kneeled to wipe her blade on the nearest assassin, rose, and sheathed it. "My father and I will of course accept the Prince's invitation." She stroked Reyk's feathers. "I love parties."