They realized quickly that anything of importance had been taken from the room by the Guards. “What are the other two rooms?” asked Jazhara.
Abigail said, “Those are the journeymen’s quarters.”
“And Kendaric’s room is which one?” asked James.
“The next over,” replied the old woman.
James returned to the hallway and opened the neighboring door. Instantly he dropped to the floor, narrowly avoiding a searing blast of heat that shot through the doorway. Behind him, Jazhara did likewise, although James couldn’t tell if she had managed to evade the flames. He didn’t have time to check, as the magician who had thrown the blast of fire at him stepped aside to allow a warrior in black to charge at the spot where James lay.
The Izmali lifted his sword and sent it plunging down toward James’s head.
SEVEN - Conspiracy
James rolled to his right.
The Izmali’s sword came crashing down where James’s head had been a moment earlier, and the assassin raised it to strike again, with incredible speed.
James had no time to draw his own sword, so he kicked out with as much strength as he could muster. His action was rewarded by the sound of a kneecap breaking and a muffled cry of pain from the black-clad murderer. The Izmali stumbled, but did not fall.
James rolled again as the warrior fell, and came to his feet with his sword drawn in a single fluid motion.
Jazhara unleashed a spell, but the scintillating ball of red energy shot off to one side and struck the floor near the enemy magician. Despite being missed, the magician appeared alarmed to discover he faced another magic-user. He turned and fled, jumping through the open window to the street below.
Jazhara turned her attention to the assassin as James closed on the man. She raised her staff above her shoulder, the butt end aimed at the man, ready to attack high if James retreated. James lashed out with his blade, a move designed to force his opponent to retreat and put weight on his injured leg. The man was an experienced swordsman, and he shifted his weight to risk a dangerous near-miss by James’s blade rather than strain the injured knee. He quickly returned with a quick inside thrust that almost removed James’s head.
As James retreated, Jazhara thrust her staff forward and forced the assassin further into the room. Wisely, he took up a stance just inside the door, so that James and Jazhara would be forced to attack him one at a time. Without taking his eyes from the assassin, James said, “Jazhara! Get downstairs and see if you can find any hint of his magician friend. I’ll take care of this murderous swine.”
Jazhara didn’t debate the order, but turned and hurried down the stairs. From below came shouts of inquiry about the sounds of struggle that could be heard.
James appraised the situation. Neither he nor the assassin was going through that door willingly. Whoever advanced was certain to be attacked the instant he stood in the portal, the frame of the door jamb limiting his choices of response. The attack was almost certain to require moving sideways. They were locked in a stalemate.
Then James stepped back, lowering his sword point, as if inviting attack.
The Izmali stood ready, his blade point circling warily, refusing to take the invitation.
James said, “Help will soon be on the way. I doubt you’ll try jumping through the window with that broken kneecap.” He glanced down at the injured leg. “I admire your strength. Most men would be lying on the floor, screaming in pain.”
The assassin took a tiny step — not more than two inches - closer.
James continued to speak. “I’ve met a great many of you Nighthawks over the years. The first one I killed was trying to assassinate the Prince, many years ago. I was but a lad, then. Threw him from the rooftop.”
Another inch forward.
James let his sword point touch the floor and took a deep breath, as if relaxing. “Nothing compared to that bunch down in the desert. I doubt you’ve heard, since you were probably up here. I mean, had you been down there, you’d be dead like the rest of them, correct?”
And another inch.
“I still don’t see why your brotherhood has allowed itself to be manipulated by a bunch of religious zealots. All it’s done is get most of your clan killed. The Crawler can’t have that much control over the Nighthawks, can he?”
The assassin tensed.
James paused, and let his weight fall a little toward his sword, as if he were leaning on it. “Funny to find you here, really. I thought I’d left the last of your kind rotting in the sun, waiting for the buzzards.”