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Chapter 21
Blade and Giraz sat down with the Baran for a private conference the next
morning. The Baran was blunt. His orders had been to watch the Thieves, not
fight them-at least not now.
"However, I must admit that order always depended on the Thieves cooperating,"
he said. "Since they did not cooperate-" he shrugged. "We've had to start
lopping off heads, so we may as well go on doing it. I will be a good deal
happier when there is not a single Thief alive in Dahaura." Both Giraz and
Blade nodded in agreement.
"Now," the Baran continued, "we still would do well to try striking down the
Council of Twelve as our first move. Giraz, do you think there is still any
chance of that?"
The eunuch nodded. "We have ways of knowing where and when they meet. I do not
think last night's events have made any difference. As far as I have learned,
the thieves took no prisoners who could tell them how much we know about them.
It is obvious they thought Esseta was such a person, but they had no time to
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ask her anything before Blade came upon them."
"Good," said the Baran. "How is Esseta, by the way?"
"The doctor believes she will live;" replied Blade. "He also fears she will be
scarred for life."
"She need not worry about that," said the Baran. "She will have no need to
continue in her profession. I
could reward Kubin Ben Sarif as generously, but I doubt if the treasury could
afford it. He's not exactly a poor man."
Blade laughed. "No, my lord, he certainly is not. Besides, I don't think he'd
take the money. I spoke to him this morning. He says he can keep a brothel
just as well with the one hand he has left-after he gets through using it to
strangle as many Thieves as he can reach. The doctor threatens to tie him to
the bed if he keeps talking like that."
The Baran smiled. "The doctor will have my orders to do so, if Kubin doesn't
calm himself. He has done his duty several times over, and a good man like
that should rest and be healed. He won't be happy about missing our blow
against the Thieves, but I am not going to risk the lives of my subjects
merely to keep Kubin Ben Sarif happy. Will his men fight without him leading
them, do you think?" Blade nodded.
"Good. I will put you in command of them, on the night. Now, Giraz, bring out
the map of Dahaura, and we shall see what is to be done."
The moon was now past full, and tonight clouds covered two thirds of the sky.
In the back alleys of
Dahaura it was dark enough to hide black cats, Thieves, or men of the Baran
and Kubin Ben Sarif setting out to catch Thieves.
Richard Blade slipped into the shelter of a recessed doorway and held his
bronze lantern out at arm's length. Five small holes were punched in each
side, making four different patterns. Blade held out the lantern until he saw
a faint orange glow at the far end of the alley.
He stared at it, until he could recognize the pattern he'd been expecting. The
leader of the other group of
Kubin's men was at the far end of the alley. Blade raised and lowered his
lantern three times, saw the
other man do the same, then whispered sharply, "Come on."
Behind him fifteen men slipped one by one around the corner of the building.
Each man wore a red glove on his left hand, tonight's recognition signal for
the attackers. Blade had chosen it as a symbol of Kubin's lost hand that his
men were seeking to avenge.
Something dropped with a click on the slippery stones of the alley. Blade
looked up to see a dim silhouette on the roof of the building across the
alley, and beside it another pattern of orange pinpricks.
The ring around the meeting place of the Thieves' Council of Twelve was
complete. The Eyes of the
Baran were in position on the roof and on the other side of the building. All
routes of escape for the
Council and its guards were closed. If they were still in the oil warehouse,
they would not be getting out.
They should be there. Carefully planted rumors had brought them, rumors of the
complete reliability of the warehouse's owner-who was actually in the Baran's
pay. The Eyes of the Baran had struck swiftly against the Thieves' sentries in
the nearby streets. Some of them had been Hashomi but all were now dead or
prisoners. None had escaped to give warning.
Blade found himself listening tensely for the sound of axes from the roof. The
Eyes up there would be going in first, because the roof offered the fastest
way in. The faster the attack, the more prisoners. Then the Eyes and Kubin's
men from the streets and alleys would join in. That should be enough, but if
more men were needed, the Baran himself was waiting half a mile away. A signal
from the top of the warehouse would bring him and a hundred picked men within
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a few minutes.
Blade hoped they wouldn't be needed. He didn't mind the hundred more men, but
he did mind the idea of the Baran himself joining the battle. The ruler of
Dahaura could not be refused if he insisted-but neither could he be replaced
if some fanatic, Thief, Hashom, or Fighter of Junah got to him with a poisoned
dagger or a bolt from a crossbow. Dahaura might survive the Baran's death and
the struggle for succession among his three eldest sons. It also might not. It
certainly would be put at a desperate disadvantage, against an enemy too
shrewd and skilled not to exploit that disadvantage.
But that was speculation about a future that might never come. Tonight all
that mattered was the looming bulk of the warehouse. Blade stared at the roof
as if the sheer intensity of his stare could prod the men up there into
action.
Suddenly Blade heard a muffled cry, and the lantern on top of the warehouse
seemed to float out into space, then plummet toward the street. The clang as
it struck the stones raised echoes up and down the alley. Instead of the axes
smashing a hole in the roof, Blade heard the clatter of weapons, running feet,
and a cry of agony.
The men on the roof had been detected, and the Thieves were counterattacking.
No time now to wait and let the attack develop neatly according to plan. The
only thing for the men on the ground to do was to pile in and hope for the
best.
Blade turned to one of his men. "Run to the Baran, and have him bring up the
reserves." That risked bringing the Baran into the fight, but not calling up
the mounted men risked letting some of the Thieves escape. If the Baran
learned some of the Thieves had escaped because Blade was trying to protect
him, he'd trim Blade with a dull knife.
From the other end of the alley, a solid mass of men was rushing forward.
They'd heard the uproar and reached the same decision as Blade. Most of them
were in a long double line, carrying something
between them.
The door of the warehouse was iron-bound wood six inches thick, strong enough
to stand against anything but a battering ram. So Kubin's men had brought
one-a length of tree trunk weighing five hundred pounds, with an iron-weighted
head and handles for a dozen men.
The approaching men shuffled up, turned, and hanged forward with sudden fury.
The head of the ram crashed into the door, and Blade half-expected the echoes
to knock tiles and cornices off nearby buildings onto his head. Crash, crash,
crash, then a splintering of wood and the screech of twisted metal as the door
gave.
It gave so suddenly that the men on the ram tumbled forward in wild confusion,
arms and legs flailing.
Most of them went down, which turned out to be just as well. There were
crossbowmen waiting inside, and several bolts whistled over the heads of the
fallen men. One of the men standing in the street went down. Blade drew his
sword and leaped forward, running along the fallen ram, passing the men slowly
getting to their feet.
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