As he readied himself to reach for the powers he would need for the death spell, his first, instinctive defense, he caught himself. Just in time.
I can't use magic in this land! Much less that magic!
Quickly, he groped for a knife he had hidden in an arm sheathe, partway up his forearm. With one frantic move he slashed at the hands controlling the garrote.
The pressure on his neck fell away, as Naitachal whirled, and confronted his attacker, face to face.
The man didn't seem particularly alarmed that Nai- tachal had freed himself. Through his blurred vision, which cleared quickly now that he could breathe Dark Elf stared at his attacker, who stood in the shad- ows, poised for another assault.
Why isn't he running?
Because he thinks he can still kill me. And he's prob- ably right....
They squared off, weapons raised, circling each other like cats about to fight. Naitachal realized with sickening clarity how much he relied on magic in bat- tles like this, the ones that really mattered, when his life or that of someone close to him was at stake. Bardic Magic was a combative weapo The human, garbed completely in black, wore a gauzelike wrapping wound tightly around him, giving him free movement. The Elf saw nothing in his eyes but cool calculation, no fear or panic, as if he wasn't worried that the garrote had not worked on his quarry.
And there was something about his stance, a profes- sional air Naitachal had come to associate with a certain class of hirelings. An air that said, without a word being spoken, that murder was not new to this man.
The man's a professional assassin, Naitachal thought, with a sinking feeling. Which means he prob- ably can kill me.
Reflexively, the Dark Elf briefly thought of all the spells he might be able to use on those eyes, but couldn't, given the restrictions of Suinomen.
But then, now that the garrote was gone, he was unarmed, giving the elf a definite advantage.
"Who are you?"
No response. Well, it was worth a try.
The assassin snatched up the elaborate brass candlestick from a marble shelf set into the wall, extin- guishing the candle.
"You don't really think that's going to bother me, do you?" Naitachal said, as darkness fell.
His eyes adjusted quickly, just in time to dodge as the assassin struck out with the heavy brass candle- stick.
Clumsy, Naitachal thought, countering the strike with one of his own. His knife drew blood as it sliced into the assassins hand, severing tendons.
He heard no yelp or exclamation of pain at the strike. Again, evidence of intensive training. Instead, the assassin dropped the candlestick and ran.
Naitachal ran after him. The chase took him to the end of the hallway, which branched into more halls.
After only a few turns the elf lost him, and gave up the chase.
Must have disappeared down a secret passage, Nai- tachal thought glumly as he returned to his room, wary of anything that might be lurking in the shadows.
There's no way to know. If he vanished through a hid- den door he must be familiar with the palace layout.
Which could, in turn, implicate the royal family, or possibly someone loyal to the King.
He didn't like this one hit, and was uncertain what to do next. If he alerted the palace guards to the attack, they might be able to find the intruder. How- ever, there was another option, and that was to do nothing. What the palace staff did in the next few hours could be very revealing to their true intentions, particularly if he pretended this never happened.