Free The Emperors Knife by Mazarkis Williams Page B

incompetence.”
    Govnan smiled. “No. It will not.”
    Tuvaini swept from the room. His hands were trembling, but he made sure Govnan couldn’t see as he rushed down the Tower steps. He passed the statue of Kobar without a glance.
    Sarmin would be of no assistance. It was time for Tuvaini to find out what his Red Hall bargain would yield. If he could not find an heir, one who was not mad or dying, all was lost. Satreth the Reclaimer had not driven the Mogyrk faith from this land only to have his own gods turn their backs four generations later. Blood had been shed for the papers he sought, the papers that held the key to the empire. He thought of Eyul holding his Knife, the blood on the floor by the fountain. It would be worth it. It must be worth it.
    He passed the young mage, Mura, without a glance and hurried into the sunlight. Soon he would know.

Chapter Eight
    E yul scanned the horizon. What had looked to be a mere line in the distance now rose high enough to measure against his thumb. The Cliffs of Sight, with their sheer walls and flat tops, looked like clay bricks from the great dune where Eyul sat on his camel. They would reach the hermit in a day, maybe two.
    Amalya stopped her camel beside his and waited. She spoke only when necessary, except during their dawn and evening meals, when they would share mundane details about the Tower and the palace, or swap some childhood anecdote. Eyul had grown accustomed to her companionship over the last weeks. At this time of night, with morning drawing near, he became impatient to make camp.
    It wasn’t unfamiliar, enjoying a woman’s company, but Amalya was an unfamiliar sort of woman. In Eyul’s world, females belonged either to the palace or the Maze. The women of the palace sashayed around in their silk and pearls, building schemes for revenge or entertainment. In the Maze, hunger drove women to please. But no matter whether noble or street-born, women were dependent on men for all their needs; they kept to their own sphere. Amalya, on the other hand, moved without censure from city to desert, spoke with boldness and honesty, and walked under the aegis of the royal family. Of all the women Eyul had known, only Beyon’s mother had similar confidence—but even Nessaket could not leave the palace.
    â€œWhy are you smiling?” asked Amalya.
    Feeling a fool, he scratched the whiskers on his chin. “Almost there,” he said.
    She looked beyond him to the cliffs. “Distance is hard to measure on the sands.” They were so high up that dunes tall as towers looked like ripples on the ocean.
    â€œI’ve been there before. Two days at the outside.”
    â€œBad luck. Don’t predict.”
    Having no rejoinder, Eyul pointed to the north-east. “If I remember rightly, there is a well not far from where we stand. We can camp there.” He led the way and they reached the top of the dune, their eyes still fixed on the narrow line of the cliffs. His camel shifted, and sand slithered down into the shadows.
    Amalya shook her head.
    â€œNo? Too far out of the way?” He surprised himself, being so solicitous of her opinion.
    â€œNo.” She shook her head again, fiercely, as if shaking something off. Her hand clutched at her throat and she hissed, “Flesh comes— There are… people—”
    â€”five of them, hidden beyond the dune’s crest—
    Eyul jumped off his camel, bow in hand, as the first man surged up the remaining yards between them. Blank of eye, his face patterned like a fine rug, he reached the crest of the dune on all fours. Eyul let his arrow fly and it travelled an arm’s length before finding a home in the Carrier’s chest. The man grunted and fell back over the side. Dead or wounded, it didn’t matter; he wouldn’t be climbing up again. That’s one.
    Eyul dropped his bow and reached for his Knife. The next Carrier found his footing and stood upright, a