the wall about two thirds of the way up, the momentum driving him further, and seized the battlements and heaved himself over. The stormdancer hooked the grapnel to the stone, and Morgant scrambled up, his palms gripping the rope, his boots rasping against the wall.
It occurred to him that this would be an excellent time for Kylon to kill him, yet Morgant knew the thought would not occur to Kylon himself. Kylon Shipbreaker was not the sort of man to murder in cold blood. Unless Kylon thought that Caina was in danger from Morgant, of course. Then Morgant would never see the blow coming.
“Now,” said Morgant, pulling up the rope and coiling it anew. “The rooftop of that inn against the wall.” He took a look around. None of the villagers seemed to have noticed them, most likely because everyone was watching the armed men filter into the village square. Whatever else the Black Wolves and the Company of Shopur might have been, they made excellent distractions.
To his credit, Kylon did not hesitate, but nodded, grabbed the rope, and jumped again. He hit the inn somewhere around the third floor, and to Morgant’s mild surprise, Kylon climbed up the smooth wall with ease. The reason became clear a moment later. White mist swirled around Kylon’s hands, and when he touched the wall a patch of thick ice appeared. The cold likely would have frozen off the skin of a normal man, but Kylon’s power protected him, and he scaled the wall with ease.
A handy trick. Morgant had never seen a stormdancer do that before. A moment later the rope came down, and Morgant scaled the wall rather less gracefully. Still, he was over two hundred years old. Allowances had to be made for age.
“Will you cut through the ceiling with your dagger?” said Kylon, voice low as he retrieved the rope. A mass of black-armored Immortals marched into the village square, coming to confront the mercenaries.
“No,” said Morgant, crossing the roof. “I’ll use the trapdoor. Much less noisy.” He dropped to one knee and opened it, revealing a ladder descending to the inn’s top floor. “Feel free to cut through the roof if you want.”
A shout rang out, followed by the roar of men charging as they flung themselves into battle. Morgant saw that fighting had begun in the village square, with the Black Wolves and Tanzir’s horsemen charging into the Immortals. Shopur’s archers scrambled up to the ramparts of the village’s walls, sending volleys of arrows into the skull-masked warriors. Morgant saw Kazravid loose an arrow, sending an Immortal sprawling to the ground with the shaft jutting from the eyehole of his masked helm.
“Splendid,” said Morgant. “The timing is perfect. Follow me, and be ready to fight.”
He hurried down the ladder, drawing his red scimitar and his black dagger the minute he got to the bottom rung. Morgant found himself in a corridor with doors on either side, the walls paneled in gleaming, polished wood, crimson tapestries hanging here and there. The air was heavy with the scent of last night’s incense and perfumes, and his nose caught the aroma of baking bread as the kitchen slaves prepared breakfast for the guests. Morgant beckoned, and Kylon drew his sword and followed him.
He turned a corner and stopped. The inn’s most luxurious suite was at the end of the hallway, its door closed. Four Immortals stood guard there, starting forward as they heard the screams and the shouts coming from the village square.
They stopped as they saw Morgant and Kylon.
“Take the ones on the left,” hissed Morgant, and Kylon gave a sharp nod.
“Identify yourselves,” said the first Immortal as the others drew scimitars or chain whips. The whips would be clumsy in the confined space of the hallway, but the Immortals could swing them with sufficient force to crush bone.
“Greetings, loyal soldiers of the Padishah!” said Morgant, striding forward, his fingers tightening around the hilt of his black dagger. “I’m here to kidnap your emir and kill you all. Will that be a problem, or can we get on with it already?”
The Immortals stared at him.
Morgant sighed and glanced back at Kylon. “People are so offended by honesty. That’s the big problem, you know. People simply cannot handle honesty.”
Kylon gaped at him.
“Kill them,” said the lead Immortal, raising his chain whip.
“Ah!” said Morgant. “That’s more like it.”
Kylon raised his sword, drawing a dagger with his left hand. Morgant strolled forward, weapons hanging loose at his side, his posture relaxed and