Then Kevin saw his opening. He threw his weight into his assailant and rolled him onto his back. Pulling upward, Kevin dragged his arm across the man’s throat; the sword followed, slicing deep. Throat strap, gristle, and cartilage parted. The warrior thrashed and died.
Buffeted by other fighters, Kevin extricated himself from the corpse. He ducked an assassin, raced back into the main room, and tried to locate Mara. Hoppara battled an armoured man by the furniture barricade. A Hamoi assassin was besting the fatigued Lord of the Bontura. Kevin slashed the man’s black-clothed flank and stepped past. Mara was nowhere to be seen. Leaving Lord Iliando to dispatch the wounded assassin, Kevin raced into the hallway that connected the suite to the garden. Two rooms proved empty. A corpse twitched in the third; another black-armoured soldier stared with blank eyes from the bed.
Kevin all but hurled himself through the screen into the last room. There he found Mara backed against a wall, holding a dagger, her robes spattered with fresh blood. His panic found no time for outcry. Two men in black armour were closing in, leaving her no gap to flee. One man showed a nasty cut on his sword arm; already Mara had taught them to treat her with respect.
An animal cry of outrage erupted from Kevin as he surged into the room. The first warrior died before he had time to turn. The second backed a half-step, then stiffened as Mara drove her dagger into the gap between neck and helm.
Kevin spun left, then right, seeking the presence of more opponents. A warm weight crashed into his chest: Mara. She did not weep, but simply clung inside the circle of his arm, trembling with fear and exhaustion. He held her tightly, his sword still angled to fight.
But from the hallway the sounds of struggle had lessened. The crack and clang of sword strokes ended in a scraping thump, and silence descended, ringingly strange after the din of chaos and death. Kevin let out a pent-up breath. He lowered his dripping blade, stroked Mara’s hair with fingers that were hardly less sticky, and noticed the sting of cuts and grazes that had passed unnoticed in the action.
After a moment a call came from the outer rooms: ‘Mistress!’
Mara licked dry lips, swallowed, and forced herself to speak. ‘Here, Lujan.’
The Acoma Force Commander burst into the chamber, snapped to a stop, and said, ‘Mistress!’ His relief was a tangible wave. ‘Are you injured?’
Belatedly, Mara regarded her smeared and spattered clothing. Her hands, even her cheeks, were covered with blood. She still held the knife in slippery fingers. She dropped it in distaste and absently dragged her knuckles on her soiled robe. ‘I am all right. Someone fell on me. This is a dead man’s blood.’
As if aware that she still clung like a child to her slave, she released her hold and straightened, i’m all right.’
Sickened by the thick stink of death, Kevin stepped to the window. The frame was a savaged mass of splinters, and across the small garden he could see a gaping hole in the brick wall. ‘They came from the next-door apartment,’ he said dully. ‘That’s why there were so many pouring in from the rear.’
Lujan held a sword out for Mara’s inspection. ‘Some of the assassins carried steel.’
‘Gods!’ exclaimed Mara. ‘That is the blade of a dynasty!’ She examined the weapon more carefully and frowned. ‘But it bears a plain hilt. No clan or house markings.’ She gestured briskly toward the passage. ‘Have your men inspect the dead. See if any more such blades are found.’
‘What’s the significance?’ Kevin pushed away from the ruined sill and lent his arm to Mara, who still seemed to be shaking. He steered her gently around the fallen and into the corridor beyond.
A step ahead, Lujan answered, ‘Few true steel swords exist in the Empire. Each house that traces lineage back to the dawn of our history owns one, or is rumoured to. Only the master of the house, the Ruling Lord, has access to such a blade. They are priceless, second only to the natami in importance to a house’s honour.’
Mara agreed. ‘There is an Acoma family sword that was my father’s before me, and that I hold in trust for Ayaki. It is a rare weapon of steel.’
They reached the juncture of the corridor and the blood-soaked central room. Already Acoma warriors worked to clear the floor of the dead. Five more steel swords lay lined up against one wall, with Kevin’s bringing the number to six. ‘These were found among the dead assassins, Force Commander.’
Lujan looked upon the blades in awe. ‘Where can they have come from?’
‘Minwanabi?’ asked Kevin.
The Lords of the Xacatecas and the Bontura entered from the front chamber, both as blood-streaked as Mara, but little the worse for wear. Drawn by the glint of steel in the flickering lamplight, they also examined the weapons.