Su’mokr had been keeping an eye on the old stone townhouse for two hours. He had a short sword sheathed on his belt beneath his cloak. He was standing in a narrow alley and thumping his feet on the pavement to keep himself warm. It had been light when he had started his vigil, but the grey afternoon had long since turned dark.
Su’mokr was afraid. He was being blamed for Muldal’s death and Tilyh’s disappearance. Radon had told him that he should have known Tilyh would disappear if Muldal’s body turned up. Su’mokr had tried to object at first, but Radon had been relentless. Finally he had realized that talking back was not going to help him. Radon had to have someone to blame when things went awry. Everything had to be settled for good, and Su’mokr was part of the final solution.
He would kill the Corsair steward in the house, but it would be just the beginning. The old woman would see the body, and then he would make her tell him where Delioron was. That would be valuable information for Radon.
He had been careful. He remembered the man from The Withered Tree who had never come back from the house.
It was just an old woman. Protected by a former Corsair she had saved from the gallows once. And some cutthroat from Pelargir.
Su’mokr had killed the cutthroat first. He had attacked from behind when the ruffian had come out of the house to check the back alley. Su’mokr had chopped the ruffian’s head clean off. He had hidden the body in an alley and thrown the head in a wooden waste barrel.
Su’mokr had waited to see if there were any others. But nobody else had come out, the house was dimly lit and silent. It was time.
Su’mokr stepped out of the alleyway and walked across the street toward the house. He circled around the house to the back entrance and climbed the stairs to the servants’ door. He fumbled with about a dozen keys in a keyring, found what he was looking for, shoved it into the lock and turned it. The back door would not budge. He shoved it and felt it give in a little. He pushed again and broke the other lock. Splinters flew. He was inside the scullery.
Su’mokr unsheathed his sword and stepped inside the room. It was dark. He could see some light coming from a doorway. He took another step.
”Stay where you are”, said an old woman’s voice. Su’mokr could see her standing in the doorway against the light. She was holding a crossbow.
Su’mokr turned toward her, hesitating. He had not come to kill the old woman. Not right away, at least.
”Where is the Corsair?”
”Who are you?”
”Put down the crossbow! It’s dangerous.”
”Who are you?”
Su’mokr took another step toward the old woman. Her hands were shaking. Su’mokr raised his sword.
The woman loosed a bolt from the crossbow.
Su’mokr could not believe it at first. He stood still, staring at her. It was ridiculous to think that he, Su’mokr, would be afraid of some crossbow-toting old lady.
”Give it to me”, he said. And then he felt a stabbing pain in his midriff. His sword felt so heavy all of a sudden. He dropped it, suddenly nauseous. Was he going to be sick?
When Su’mokr fell, he hit his head against the edge of a table, but he felt nothing anymore.
