Chapter Thirty-Six—Hidden Cobra

Debaku’s first reaction to the swarm of Scorpions climbing up the eaves to a window on the third level of the Sultan’s Palace was one of both alarm and reaction, but as he thrust his body forward, jumping through the air to get over the large fountain in his way, he took pause.

In his newly claimed garments, he held the sack of swords on his back, blending in as a guest for the most part, other than that his skin was the black of Mar’a Thulia, of which there weren’t many esteemed guests from this region of the empire.

Narrowing his eyes, Debaku glanced about quickly for any signs of the sultan’s men who might have spied him from somewhere else in the gardens.

But there were none, other than the wide-eyed and gaping mouths of the onlookers who were witnessing the guards enter the apartment. Because of the distraction, none of the people about had even seen Debaku clear the fountain.

He needed to do something quickly.

Screams erupted from the window.

There is fighting?

Most likely the inner corridors of the palace were also full of Scorpion Guards with their shining scimitars and shimmering silk pantaloons.

Cutting right, he went down a garden path where he was flanked on both sides by tall hedges. A man and a woman, unaware of what was happening only fifty paces away, strode hand in hand and were almost bowled over as Debaku thrust himself between them and the hedge.

“Aye!” the woman cried.

“Hey, man!” the Abassir complained. “What do you think you are doing—you black-skinned…”

But the Black Cobra ignored him. The man was forced to break off his tirade as Debaku cut left down another path toward the palace apartments. As he left the gardens, he strode into the palace grounds, slowing his pace so the guards would not see him and recognize his urgency.

Striding through a rounded archway filled with embossed entablature, Debaku passed the guards and glanced about surreptitiously for any sign of pursuers. He was within a corridor of vines climbing over wooden trellises.

Instead of continuing straight, he took his first left toward the narrow alleyway between the apartments. The lighting here was dim, but soft and inviting. As he walked the cobbled street, he glanced about for any sign of guests or guards who might see him.

There were some laughing as they came up the steps from an underground area. Two women and a man. Debaku tried to seem unassuming as they passed him, which appeared to be successful, he thought, when he noticed one of the women regarding his fine clothes.

The apartments were both completely empty, and packed full, depending on the guests. Many were no doubt out in other areas of the palace banqueting on the fine foods and wines, watching the dancing girls while becoming incensed from the heady aroma of the shashu leaf dispensed from the many hookahs about.

This is good, he thought.

But some of the apartments were active, lit and alive with motion as shadows from the guests occasionally moved about on the walls opposite the open windows where music and dancing took place.

Glancing about one more time, Debaku saw no one who might see him as he jumped to the aesthetically stitched blue awnings. One nearly collapsed under him as the fabric tore with a loud renting sound.

To avoid the open window above on the left side, Debaku jumped to a vacant veranda filled with white marble and bright green plants. He then used that surface to lurch to the dome above.

From here the view of the palace was better, but despite being three levels off the ground, he was still quite low, as other spires and apartments climbed high into the air, all surrounding and supporting the grandness of the palace citadel and its massive arched dome painted in glittering gold.

In the moonlight the color shone as more of a yellow with bright shimmering areas from the pale moonlight. All over, there were lamps and glow stones and lit windows.

Had this not been a den of mongooses, the palace would have been a lively and inviting place—a place worthy of grandeur.

Atop one spire verandas trundled all the way around its base where the dome was completely open on the sides, giving Debaku a view of the palace guests within. Few of those guests would glance down where he was at.

Not when they were inebriated or addled on smoke, or their eyes simply too busy with the dancing girls. And surely there were dancing firls.

All about the palace strummers, flutists and drummers plied their crafts with a staccato rhythm that even made Debaku want to move to the music. He was surprised at the placement of the little troupes of musicians and bards, hidden in alcoves. At times, all would be quiet, save for the breeze and the distant excitement, when suddenly strings would be softly plucked from an alcove, followed by singing and dancing, as if these musicians simply lived in the palace, occasionally come out to enjoy the sight of the moon while they gave thanks to the gods in their own way.

The Black Cobra was sober—stoic even as he moved across the rooftops until he came to the roofs of Shai’na’s apartment. He slunk low to the tiled roof so the Scorpion Guards on the veranda below could not see him.

“…be fed to the sultan’s lions, no doubt,” one guard was saying.

Another chuckled.

“Stop laughing, you fool and find someone to clean up this mess. There’s blood everywhere.”

“Yes, Captain!”

Blood?

The Black Cobra found that he was concerned for the wellbeing of Shiro and his other companions. But surely that was Scorpion blood?

After a few more moments of silence, another guard spoke. “How did the sultan know these assassins were in the palace?”

“I don’t know, but they’re being taken to the throne room right now.”

“What?”

“I don’t understand it either, but the captain ordered it. I don’t think it was his call.”

“This is strange, yes?”

The other guard grunted.

Debaku had heard enough. He pushed himself back from the edge of the tiles and climbed up the roof.

The throne room…

Feeling the weight of the sack of blades on his back, Debaku moved swiftly, keeping an ear for anyone else who might be watching or listening. The air tasted foul now.