Swords & Sorceries: Tales of Heroic Fantasy Volume 7 by unknow

Author:unknow
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Parellel Universe Publications
Published: 2023-11-18T00:00:00+00:00

THE BLOOD OF KHALID AL’TAHIR

Craig Comer

As Tariq eyed his mark from across the bazaar, the afternoon sun pierced the forest of clouds above. Its rays painted the boys in gold like arrows. The gods illuminated his path, he mused. Surely they agreed with his endeavour, to provide such a sign. That might bring him luck.

The day was hot, despite the clouds. The stench of sweat mingled with that of overripe fruit, the leavings of goats and sheep, and the coppery tang of burnt incense. A man in silk, his beard twisted into delicate braids, cuffed the taller of the boys across the back of the head, directing the youth to place several jars of salt and spices into the basket the other boy carried. The tall boy did as he was bade, but Tariq noted the venom in his eyes. He loathed the man in silk, who’d beat him no less than a dozen times as Tariq watched. The boy would have to do, he thought. He had no time for other options.

Glancing at the stall before him, Tariq plucked a slender dagger. Its hilt was of polished bone; its weight of good balance.

“An unbeatable blade, master,” squawked the peddler who owned the stall, “and yours for only thirty dropas.”

Tariq held his face passive, fighting the urge to sneer at such an outrageous price. He regarded the peddler, who grinned at him eagerly, then ran a finger along the blade’s edge, contemplating. Perhaps he would treat himself in a day or two. After all, he would be rich soon enough. What would thirty dropas be to him then?

“The mighty hand of Raast bless you,” he said, setting the dagger down. The boys had shuffled off, trailing the man in silk. They were joined by a sturdy looking brute who carried a thick blade at his hip. Tariq closed the ground between them, circling the large fountain that lay at the heart of the bazaar. As he moved, he scanned the flat rooftops of the nearby buildings, their sandstone walls glittering in the sun. He knew the minions of the Blessed One watched him; they were always lurking in the shadows of Kuthahaar, knowing everything, seeing everything. And yet, this time Tariq felt safe, certain it was they who’d sought out his services. He didn’t question why the cult would look beyond their own ranks. The politics of slaying one of the Kitame, one of the sultan’s own blood-kin, were not lost on him.

He slowed his pace so that the crunch of dirt beneath his sandals echoed the footfalls of the bladed man. He followed and watched, to the outskirts of the bazaar and on through the Cuppers’ Warren, until the streets narrowed and began to climb. They left the traffic of peddlers and craftsmen behind and entered a richer district. Here, intricate patterns of coloured tile graced the arches of doorways, and flowers blossomed from hanging pots.

Tariq loosened the sash about his waist and pulled a heavy dagger from the small of his back.

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