Mistress of the Empire by Raymond Feist

Author:Raymond Feist [Feist, Raymond]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Random House Publishing Group
Published: 2017-08-22T00:00:00+00:00

18

Evasion

The door flap stirred.

Jamel, the lesser-path magician, started at the sound, his sweaty hand gripped tight to the knife he held to his breast. He had only seconds to act, he knew. His body would take a while to relinquish life after he fell upon his blade. Apprehension for the agony he would suffer made the little man hesitate. He shifted his wet fingers, biting his lower lip. He must summon courage! The Black Robes had spells to command the wal to remain enfleshed. If he was not before the Red God’s divine judgment seat by the time the magicians arrived, his torments at their hands would be worse than painful death.

For he had defied them, blatantly, in speaking with Lady Mara of the Acoma. The magicians had been direct in their orders concerning the Good Servant. She was not to be told anything of magic, even should she come with bribes in hand to inquire.

Feeling the pouch of metal centis against his skin, Jamel repressed a sour laugh. He would never have the chance to spend them! Much as he might wish for the time to give them into the hands of the street girl down the way who was his friend, fate would not allow him even the grace of generosity. He had chosen his path. Too late, now, to wish words unsaid and resolves undone.

One last time, Jamel ran his gaze around the cluttered hovel that had been his home. Here he had made many marvels to delight the children of the rich; but how much different his life might have been if his powers had not been confined to the fashioning of toys! Hungry for the knowledge he had been denied, thirsty for the testing of limits that he had never been permitted to attempt, Jamel loosed a bitter sigh.

“Gods go with you, Lady Servant,” he said fearfully. “And may the curse of Zurgauli, God of Ill Luck, permanently visit the Assembly.” So saying, he threw himself down onto the floor before the cushions where Lady Mara’s officer had sat.

The knife against his heart bit deep, and his agony, at the end, was brief.

—

Blood soaked into the dry earth of the floor; the ragged edges of torn cushions showed seeping crescents of scarlet where the warm, wet flow had been dammed, then absorbed, by the fabric. Jamal’s quivering, clenched fingers fell lax, and his opened eyes shone motionless in the glow of the brazier’s coals. The next instant, a stir of air swept the chamber, fanning the curled ash of the parchment that had contained notes to Mara before it burned. The calley-bird feathers in the urn by the clothes chest streamed in the disturbance, and the bells of an unsold child’s toy chimed their priceless song into the stillness. Outside, in the dark of the night, the mongrel dog still howled.

Then over the rush of air came a faint buzzing, and the hovel of a sudden was not empty. Next to the cooling corpse of

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