Master Of The Hashomi

The Baran seemed to read Blade's thoughts, and smiled sadly. «Yes, I know. I should not be so tender toward the Fighters of Junah. They have made themselves enemies not only to me but to many of my loyal and peaceful subjects. Still, I prefer that war and slaughter be the last weapon I take up, rather than the first. You would not quarrel with that wish, I trust?»

«Not at all.»

«Good. I may as well tell you that your knowledge of the Hashomi will make you an important man in any plans we make against them and their allies. It is good to know that you will not be thinking entirely of killing.»

«You believe I'm telling the truth?»

«Yes. No matter how many problems your tales of the Hashomi may cause, I must believe them. We have learned something about the Hashomi ourselves, over the years. All that we have learned matches what you saw in the Valley of the Hashomi. So I believe you, and I will make new plans from what you have said.»

Blade could no longer keep from gri

The Baran noticed Blade's pleased expression. «You'll stop gri

«Is that safe?»

«You'll do it yourself, and what you write will never be out of my own hands. But it must be written down. We can't risk losing all your knowledge if you don't come back from some journey as one of the Eyes.

«Then we'll be taking you out to the place where the Eyes of the Baran learn their work. Perhaps it won't impress you, considering that you've seen the Hashomi at work in their own country. But we have a few tricks of our own that you'd do well to learn.

«Then-«The Baran spread his hands and shrugged. «Then you'll go out, and it will be as Junah wills it.» He rose and slapped Blade on the shoulder. «It may be some time before we meet again, so I will say-may Junah bless you.»

«With a long life?» said Blade, laughing. «In this work, I doubt it.»

The complete story of Blade's adventures among the Hashomi was nearly as long as a novel. He had to write out every word of it with a quill pen and ink, on sheet after sheet of parchment. Then they sent him off to learn how to be one of the Eyes of the Baran.

The training camp was in an ancient castle, centuries older than the Baranate, perched on top of a mountain several days travel to the north of Dahaura. From the top of the castle a man could see nearly a hundred miles in every direction on a clear day.

Unfortunately there were few clear days up in the mountains. Even so, Blade was kept much too busy to admire the scenery.

The training was rigorous and intelligent but taught Blade practically nothing he didn't already know. The only novelty was the skilled work done in giving him a disguise.

As the eunuch in charge of the training put it, «We know that you have done certain things to make you a marked man for the Thieves Guild. You will not live long enough to do any work for the Baran without a disguise.

«We ca

Blade's head was shaved again, and his scalp rubbed with something that made it turn blue. He was ordered to grow his beard, and when it had grown long enough it was tinted gray and divided into two plaits braided with gold thread. A patch went over one eye, and several impressive scars were tattooed on his face, neck, and arms.

The final touch was a heavy leather boot with complicated bindings and fastenings. When the boot was on and everything was tightened, it looked as though Blade had one foot so deformed he didn't dare show it. Yet he could move just as fast with the boot in place as he could barefoot.

Blade's mother certainly wouldn't have recognized him. In fact, he barely recognized himself the first time he looked in the mirror in his room.

The eunuch smiled at Blade's surprise. «We respect the Hashomi here, but we do not believe they are the only people in all the world with secret arts and skills in death. Perhaps they believe they are, but if so, then that is their problem-not ours.»

That was quite true. The arrogant confidence of the Hashomi in their own skill might lead them to a foolish contempt for their enemies. Or at least it might have done so, without the Master. As unbalanced as he was, the Master of the Hashomi was too shrewd to make such a blunder.

Besides, the Hashomi were only part of the menace facing Dahaura, and not even the most dangerous part. Without the Fighters of Junah, the Hashomi could hardly be more than a large nuisance.

Suppose the alliance of the Hashomi and the Fighters of Junah broke apart? What then. Either would be much less dangerous separately.

That was an idea worth pursuing, Blade realized. But not now-he didn't know enough about the plans of the Fighters of Junah, and neither did anyone else. In time-yes, he'd file away the notion in his mind. There might be something in it, for the future.

Chapter 19

At last they let Blade out of the castle and sent him back to Dahaura. His «cover identity» was that of an officer of the Baran's army; wounded in battle against some of the wild tribes beyond the frontier, now on a pension that gave him just enough to live. His wounds and his poverty were expected to arouse a good deal of sympathy and get men and women alike to talk freely.

«There are risks, of course,» said the chief of the Eyes of the Baran. «If you meet a soldier who actually fought in the battle where you say you were wounded, you must of course get away from him as quickly as possible. To let him catch you in a lie would not be wise.»

«No, it would not,» said Blade, more politely than he felt. The chief of the Eyes of the Baran was another of those grayhaired eunuchs who seemed to be everywhere and do nearly everything in the Baran's service. This one's name was Giraz, and he kept himself as lean as a shoelace by vigorous exercise and light eating. He also had an a

Blade moved about Dahaura as freely as a fish in the ocean, saying little and listening a great deal. Being a pensioned-off veteran was good for a drink, a meal, or even a night's lodging in many places. Most people seemed to be loyal to the Baran, or at least concerned about looking that way.

In those few places frequented largely by the Fighters of Junah, Blade was not so lucky. Several times he was asked to leave, twice he had things thrown at him, and once three men came at him with knives. They wore the clothes of common laborers, but they moved and held their weapons like professional fighting men. Blade had a good deal of trouble fighting them off without revealing too much of his own, skill, and the tavern's furniture got badly smashed in the process.

After that Blade started carrying a walking stick. It was the sort of thing a man with a partly crippled leg would carry, and looked perfectly harmless. In fact it was weighted and balanced so that Blade could wield it with deadly effectiveness on a second's notice. With a little more warning, he could unscrew one end and expose five inches of razor-sharp steel. Sword-canes were not everyday wear in Dahaura, but enough people carried them so that no one would suspect anything sinister about Blade if he used one to defend himself.