Desert Oath by Oliver Bowden

Author:Oliver Bowden [Bowden, Oliver]
Language: eng
Format: epub, mobi
ISBN: 9781405935081
Publisher: Penguin Books
Published: 2017-10-11T16:00:00+00:00

35

Before he died, the scholar Rashidi had told Bion that Hemon and Sabestet were to be found in Djerty, and so that is where he went.

In Djerty he paid for information, and from what he could gather, Hemon and his ward lived outside the community. He had also discovered that the old man was reputed to be something of a mystic, and also that Hemon had taken in Sabestet at a young age. The blind orphan had been begging, performing a cups trick in the streets for money, when Hemon had passed by, seen him at work and been even more impressed when he realized the boy was blind.

The two had struck up a relationship and Hemon had taken Sabestet off the streets to live with him out east. Sabestet was now in his early twenties, but despite the fact that his blindness seemed barely a handicap to him, he’d never shown any inclination to leave in search of adventure or the big city, the way young men are prone to do.

That was interesting, Bion had thought, the bond between them. He did not understand.

And so at market he bought a belt, small cage, a basket and a two-handled copper bowl to which he attached the belt. He baited the cage and caught a rat, which he placed into the basket. When night fell he rode out to the homestead and waited in the dark until he felt confident that the two occupants of the house were asleep, before making his move.

Taking the rat, basket and bowl, he moved to the front door, placed the items on the ground, drew his knife and listened. In the distance was the cry of a scavenger bird but otherwise all was silent. As for any noise from inside the home, there was nothing, not a sound. Silence.

Stealthily, the killer let himself in, sliding into the door like smoke and standing there, listening and letting his eyes adjust to the pitch-blackness as he took stock and gathered himself for his next move.

He felt a blade at his neck.

‘I am blind, intruder,’ came a young voice from behind. ‘My world is as dark as yours, but I have the advantage of this knife at your throat. What’s more, I know this house, and you do not.’

The killer went still, sensing that the young man with the blade at his neck would use it if necessary, but knowing also that as soon as he allowed himself to be disarmed he was a dead man, his mission a failure, his legacy of death superseded by one of defeat, and he could not let that happen.

He was, after all, Bion, killer of men. If one listened to Raia, anyway.

He sensed another figure standing before him, the old man who spoke now, a disembodied voice in the blackness. ‘Take his knife, Sabestet.’

Don’t try anything, said the prick of pain he felt as the pressure of the knife increased at his neck and a hand snaked across the front of him, reaching for the knife he held.

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