Read Online The Long War 02 - The Dark Blood by A.J. Smith - Free Book Online Page A
Authors: A.J. Smith
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chuckled. ‘You just need to get me in, Kale. After that, I’d advise you to go and jump out of a window as quickly as you can.’
Glenwood glanced behind. ‘Why didn’t you tell me that two hours ago? I’ve been thinking this whole time that we’d be running back to the Kasbah together.’
The assassin raised his eyebrows. ‘You need to stay clean, otherwise you’re of no use to me. Just make sure you don’t hang around. Once I kill the bitch, things might get a little... chaotic.’
Without really thinking about it, Glenwood said, ‘Thank you.’
The Kirin’s forehead creased up with confusion. ‘I’m not certain I deserve a thank you . I’m sure I’ll find a way to get you killed in Arnon... or Leith.’ The grin flowed back across the assassin’s face. ‘Get your noble face on, Kale.’
Glenwood plastered on his best fake smile and flicked his hair back extravagantly. He’d need confidence as well as a longsword to pull this off. Casually holding the forged invitation in his hand, Kale Glenwood stepped before one of the Purple clerics. ‘A nice evening, brother,’ he said with confidence.
The clerics said nothing, surprised that a guest should speak to them. The forger took the hint and maintained his smile as he walked confidently past. Beyond, guests were making their way up the white steps or milling around the entrance, talking loudly in cultured tones.
He breathed in deeply as he saw the well-dressed nobility on display. Men and women in immaculately tailored outfits glided around the marble floor of the entrance lobby, with fake smiles on their faces. The gathering had an air of well-practised formality that Glenwood knew would be difficult to fake. The men wore fitted jackets and tight trousers and most had ceremonial longswords sheathed at their waists. The occasional noble – from Leith or Haran, rather than Tiris – wore a rapier or other exotic weapon, clearly designed to be a conversation point. Many had body servants or bound men fawning around them.
‘Does he belong to you?’ asked a guardsman, standing at the top of the steps and pointing to Rham Jas.
‘Are you addressing me?’ responded Glenwood, raising his eyebrows and making a show of formality.
‘Indeed, my lord. Is that Kirin yours?’
Glenwood raised a hand as if to wave away the impertinent query and stepped past the guardsman. ‘He is my man, yes.’ He didn’t look at the man as he spoke and pretended to be scanning the lobby for familiar faces. ‘Tell me, sword-master, is Lady Annabel of Leith in attendance?’
The guardsman narrowed his eyes and scanned Rham Jas up and down. The Kirin had his head bowed and was playing his part well. After a moment of suspicion, the man simply shook his head. ‘I don’t believe the Lady Annabel will be here tonight, my lord. I understand that her husband is ill.’
‘Ah, that is a great shame,’ said Glenwood, still not looking at him. ‘We provincial nobles need to stick together.’ He contorted his mouth into a smug grin and chuckled. ‘I suppose I shall have to endure all manner of comments upon my character from these nobles of Tiris. Is that not right, Kirin?’ He turned his smugness on to Rham Jas and hoped that the assassin would think quickly enough to join in.
‘Absolutely, master,’ was his response. He was deliberately speaking with a pronounced accent and Glenwood was impressed at how unthreatening he appeared.
When relieved of his weapons and grimy exterior, Rham Jas Rami was a relatively short, slender man, with no sign of the bizarrely skilled assassin that lay beneath. The bound man averted his eyes both from the guardsman and from his own master, and Glenwood began to feel more confident.
Once through the enormous white arch that led into the lobby, they were confronted with a vista of ostentatious beauty. At least a hundred men and women of Ro stood in loosely clustered groups across the polished stone floor, chatting loudly, drinking wine
Glenwood glanced behind. ‘Why didn’t you tell me that two hours ago? I’ve been thinking this whole time that we’d be running back to the Kasbah together.’
The assassin raised his eyebrows. ‘You need to stay clean, otherwise you’re of no use to me. Just make sure you don’t hang around. Once I kill the bitch, things might get a little... chaotic.’
Without really thinking about it, Glenwood said, ‘Thank you.’
The Kirin’s forehead creased up with confusion. ‘I’m not certain I deserve a thank you . I’m sure I’ll find a way to get you killed in Arnon... or Leith.’ The grin flowed back across the assassin’s face. ‘Get your noble face on, Kale.’
Glenwood plastered on his best fake smile and flicked his hair back extravagantly. He’d need confidence as well as a longsword to pull this off. Casually holding the forged invitation in his hand, Kale Glenwood stepped before one of the Purple clerics. ‘A nice evening, brother,’ he said with confidence.
The clerics said nothing, surprised that a guest should speak to them. The forger took the hint and maintained his smile as he walked confidently past. Beyond, guests were making their way up the white steps or milling around the entrance, talking loudly in cultured tones.
He breathed in deeply as he saw the well-dressed nobility on display. Men and women in immaculately tailored outfits glided around the marble floor of the entrance lobby, with fake smiles on their faces. The gathering had an air of well-practised formality that Glenwood knew would be difficult to fake. The men wore fitted jackets and tight trousers and most had ceremonial longswords sheathed at their waists. The occasional noble – from Leith or Haran, rather than Tiris – wore a rapier or other exotic weapon, clearly designed to be a conversation point. Many had body servants or bound men fawning around them.
‘Does he belong to you?’ asked a guardsman, standing at the top of the steps and pointing to Rham Jas.
‘Are you addressing me?’ responded Glenwood, raising his eyebrows and making a show of formality.
‘Indeed, my lord. Is that Kirin yours?’
Glenwood raised a hand as if to wave away the impertinent query and stepped past the guardsman. ‘He is my man, yes.’ He didn’t look at the man as he spoke and pretended to be scanning the lobby for familiar faces. ‘Tell me, sword-master, is Lady Annabel of Leith in attendance?’
The guardsman narrowed his eyes and scanned Rham Jas up and down. The Kirin had his head bowed and was playing his part well. After a moment of suspicion, the man simply shook his head. ‘I don’t believe the Lady Annabel will be here tonight, my lord. I understand that her husband is ill.’
‘Ah, that is a great shame,’ said Glenwood, still not looking at him. ‘We provincial nobles need to stick together.’ He contorted his mouth into a smug grin and chuckled. ‘I suppose I shall have to endure all manner of comments upon my character from these nobles of Tiris. Is that not right, Kirin?’ He turned his smugness on to Rham Jas and hoped that the assassin would think quickly enough to join in.
‘Absolutely, master,’ was his response. He was deliberately speaking with a pronounced accent and Glenwood was impressed at how unthreatening he appeared.
When relieved of his weapons and grimy exterior, Rham Jas Rami was a relatively short, slender man, with no sign of the bizarrely skilled assassin that lay beneath. The bound man averted his eyes both from the guardsman and from his own master, and Glenwood began to feel more confident.
Once through the enormous white arch that led into the lobby, they were confronted with a vista of ostentatious beauty. At least a hundred men and women of Ro stood in loosely clustered groups across the polished stone floor, chatting loudly, drinking wine
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