They threw the bound soldier into a garbage bin and walked on through the streets again. The matter of Queen Tahmineh did nothing to lift their spirits. Death was final, but life brought so many difficulties.
“To think that she could captivate the rulers of Badakhshan, Pars, and Lusitania,” Narses said. “The queen’s beauty is a dangerous thing.”
“If she really marries the Lusitanian king, I fear for Shah Andragoras’s life,” Dariun said. “No nation allows polygamy. Even if he’s still alive, he could be killed just because he stands in the way of the marriage.”
“Or perhaps the Lusitanian king is forcing her to marry him in exchange for the shah’s life.”
They could talk all they wanted, but it would yield no definite conclusion. Not knowing how effective it would be, they decided to use the same plan as before. If it didn’t work, they would deal with it then. They also wanted something to support the soldier’s confession, and even Narses felt too weary at that moment to devise a different plan.
If nothing came up, they agreed to meet later at the tavern they had originally planned to visit, and set off in different directions.
Whether it was chance or fate seeking balance, no one knew. When Dariun turned the next corner, danger came snarling at him.
A sinister silver mask loomed directly in front of him.
If Dariun had been able to understand the language of the unseen, like Farangis seemed to, he might have heard his uncle Vahriz speaking to him from the realm of the dead, warning him.
But even without such a gift, it was easy enough for him to sense danger in a stranger. Naked hostility and malice blew toward him like a hot wind crossing the desert.
Sensing the thirst for blood, Dariun drew his longsword on pure instinct.
“Nice little trick, fool,” came a deep laugh from behind the mask. It carried the same darkness as its owner’s appearance.
No more words followed. Each already knew the other was an enemy.
Steel clashed fiercely. After springing aside and deflecting the first strike, Dariun followed up with a relentless assault, but he could not so much as graze his opponent.
A chill ran through him. His opponent’s skill was so immense that even he, a man universally acknowledged for his valor, could not help but shudder. He changed tactics. He stopped attacking and shifted half a step back into defense.
The man in the silver mask darted in sharply and unleashed a whirlwind of slashes. But like Dariun before him, he met only flawless defense.
Blade clashed against blade in all directions, light scattering. In that exchange, each saw in the other a foe unlike any before.
Steel locked against steel and froze for a moment. Their faces came so close that each could hear the other’s breathing.
Meeting the gaze coming through the narrow slits of the mask, Dariun replied curtly, “Dariun.”
“Dariun?”
The name probed the man’s memory. A moment later, he burst into vicious laughter. The reaction caught Dariun off guard.
“How comical. Vahriz’s nephew. No wonder…”
He seemed about to say you’re strong, but swallowed the words instead. Malice poured from his eyes, and laughter that would have made most men shudder shook the mask itself. When it faded, a proud confession came from his lips.
“I’ll tell you something. It was I who cut off your uncle’s head from his body.”
“What?!”
“Andragoras’s lapdog got what he deserved. Do you wish to die the same way as your uncle?”
The blades broke apart for an instant, and Dariun’s sword hummed. His sword moved faster and harder than the masked man had expected. His attempt to block missed completely, and Dariun’s strike landed across his face.
With a sharp crack, the silver mask split in two, revealing the face carefully hidden beneath it. A ragged gasp of fury burst from the man’s throat.
Dariun saw it: two faces in one. Beneath the shattered silver mask was a young man about his own age. The left side was fair and handsome, while the right side was blackened and horribly burned.
Less than a second passed, but the face burned itself into Dariun’s vision. The man raised his left arm to cover it, but his eyes—still blazing with bloodlust—locked onto Dariun. A counterattack flashed out like lightning.
Dariun leaped back, but the blade, now driven by fury and hatred, was far sharper than it had been moments before. Like a striking snake, the white arc of steel lunged forward and pressed him hard. Dariun lost his balance and stumbled.
The man moved in for a killing strike, but abruptly changed direction. He barely deflected a blade that came in from the side. At the end of his furious glare stood Narses.
“Hey now,” Narses said. “Aren’t you going to ask my name? It feels a bit awkward if I have to introduce myself unprompted.”
A murderous stare shot out from behind the arm and cloak that hid the stranger’s face. Narses paid it no mind, at least on the surface.
“Who are you, clown?”
“I don’t like your choice of words,” Narses replied, “but since you asked, I suppose I have no choice. My name is Narses. I serve as court painter to the next shah of Pars.” Read this novel at novelping . com for the best experience.
“A court painter?”
“You may not know this, given your lack of taste in art, but some call me the second coming of the great Mani.”
“No one calls you that!” Dariun snapped as he steadied himself.
His breathing and heartbeat were already under control. Seeing that, the man understood that his chance had slipped away. One against two, and one of them was a formidable swordsman, while he had to fight with one arm raised to hide his face. He might even have recalled the prophecy spoken by the dark-robed elder in the underground chamber.
“We’ll settle this another time,” the man said. “Let’s call it a draw for today.”
“You sure talk like someone who reads from a script,” Narses said. “There’s no need to put off until tomorrow what can be done today.”
The man did not take the bait. Still covering his face with one arm, he stepped back, deftly avoiding being trapped between the two of them.
“Farewell, lousy painter. Improve your skills before we meet again.”
It was a baseless insult, but it was enough to prick Narses’ pride. Without a word, the future court painter stepped forward and delivered a swift, wind-cutting strike.
The man deflected it and turned away in one smooth motion. It was more elegant than skillful. Neither Narses nor Dariun could find an opening.
He slipped into a narrow alley, kicking over buckets and barrels along the wall to block pursuit. When his cloak disappeared around the corner, both knights gave up the chase.
Dariun placed a hand on his friend’s shoulder. “I don’t know who that man was, but he was incredibly skilled. If you hadn’t shown up, he would have split my skull open.”
“I don’t care about that,” Narses said. “But I don’t like him. Calling me a lousy painter. Ignorant people with no understanding of art and culture always act so superior. The world has gone to ruin.”
Dariun said nothing.
“By the way,” Narses added, “that man seemed to know your uncle. Were they acquainted?”
“I was wondering the same thing,” Dariun said. “But I can’t place him. I thought the mask was just for show, but it doesn’t seem that way. With burns like that, I suppose he had no choice but to hide his face.”
Narses nodded, but he looked a little unconvinced.
It felt like there was more to it than that. A mask was usually worn to hide one’s face, but in a completely unfamiliar land, among strangers, he had no reason to do so. If not for those burns, Narses himself might have recognized him quite easily.