The Emissary slowly caressed the woman's smooth arm, then began to explore more of her soft body. She smiled dreamily and tried to pull him closer, but he gently extricated himself and stood up. He knew that despite her enticing smiles, she did not care for him. Ordinarily that would not bother him, for he had access to many attractive courtesans. One more or less did not mean much to him. But this one was different. This time it did matter that she cared naught for him. In the three days they had been thrown together, he had come to respect the Lady Isma, for her intelligence, her dedication, and, yes, for her sultry beauty.

The problem, he admitted to himself, is that we both are playing a game. It was a game with no clearly defined rules. He was beginning to fear that Isma might be an unwitting casualty of the game. Yet as much as he wanted to, he could not stop now, not when he was so close to accomplishing his objective.

"Isma, you are like the cuma plant, so attractive, but also dangerously addictive. Shall I ask your Emperor to send you back with me to Mazidar?"

Isma blushed. "Oh, my lord, why do you tease me so?" she asked. "What would my family do without me? I couldn't just leave them, my lord."

When she played a part, thought Dak Akkra, she really played it well. He looked at her in mock astonishment. "Your family? You mean those people you must go to see every day? Oh, come, Isma, surely they must have other daughters whose amorous talents can provide for them as well as you do."

Isma pulled her silken robes about her body, harrumphed indignantly, and jumped off the couch towards the door. "What they say about you, Mazidaran, is true! You are vulgar and rude!" She made an obscene gesture and headed for the exit.

Dak bounded after her and caught her arm, none too gently. "Isma, you are suddenly very bold to speak to me in such a tone." He stared into her defiant and angry eyes. He savored her defiance. It was a rare experience for him. But he had to make her angry if his plan was going to work.

"Who would ever know, or care, if you, a common court courtesan, were to meet with an unpleasant accident? Would Mith Cor mourn for you, my pretty one? Would your family come to seek vengeance for your demise?"

Isma's eyes narrowed, but not with the fear. He was secretly thankful for that. She didn't disappoint him. In fact, she was a true credit to the person she served. He was right about Isma in this respect. Whoever had assigned her to spy on him had chosen wisely. She was no common strumpet, no matter how free with her charms she pretended to be.

"People a lot more powerful than you, Dak Akkra, have tried to order me around, and no one has succeeded." She pulled her arm out of his grasp. She rubbed it subconsciously where his fingers had left reddened impressions. "You may have the power to harm me, and even get away with it with your diplomatic immunity. But you'll not mock me or taunt me. I've already received too much of that to accept any more."

Akkra eyed her suspiciously, then burst into laughter. "Right you are, Isma. You certainly are not a lady to mock. Nor am I willing to do anything to harm such an attractive woman as you. Please forgive my exuberance. After all, how often do I, a lowly clerk in the service of the King of Mazidar, find myself in the arms of a woman who rivals the very goddesses with her beauty and her talents?" Akkra bowed graciously, motioning her towards the chamber he had allocated to her use while he was in Mazidar.

Isma stared at him, her head shaking in resignation. She pulled her robes more tightly around her that none of the servants might see her nakedness and headed towards her room.

She had no sooner departed than Akkra rang a bell, summoning his main myrmidon. The man came in and bowed respectfully. Akkra pointed towards one of his trunks. "Tran, bring a decanter of my special wine to the lady Isma," he said. "Inform her that I apologize for my boorish behavior and that I am offering this exquisite wine as a token of reconciliation." He held out his hand for the decanter that the servant had procured. He held it up so that he could see the sparkle of its iridescent golden fluid in the late afternoon light. "Be sure, Tran, that she drinks heavily of this drought. When it has worked its wonders, come to me."

Tran bowed low and backed out of the room, holding the decanter in his hands. Akkra watched him, assured that the man would accomplish his mission. Knowing Tran, Akkra was sure that the emissary's boorishness would be embellished to an outrageous degree. Akkra dreaded to think what infamies Tran would concoct about him. He only wished that he were capable of a fraction of the exploits that were being attributed to him.

His plan was progressing, however, and that was the only issue that really mattered. He kept reminding himself of that fact, as though sheer repetition would ensure success.

Akkra went over to a desk and stared at the two documents that lay carelessly on it. He suddenly felt very tired as he stared at the two letters. A lot of responsibility had been thrust upon his shoulders. What had happened to his idyllic earlier life? Wasn't it only last summer when all he had to do was chase slave raiders around the Mazidaran countryside? How had he allowed himself to be coerced into this caper?

He scowled at the letters, as if they were responsible for his current plight. But he knew that was foolish. They were merely letters, seemingly the normal correspondence an Emissary from the King of Mazidar would have.

Akkra picked up the topmost letter. It was a letter of introduction to the Emperor Mith Cor II, conveying the feelings of friendship, respect, and peace that the King of Mazidar bore towards the powerful sovereign to the north. Akkra dropped it with a snort of disgust. Hypocrisy! That's all politics is, he thought. Sure, the King of Mazidar wanted peace with Lodar. But Akkra knew that he bore no respect for Mith Cor, Everyone in Mazidar regarded the Lodaran emperor as a spineless tyrant who cared naught for his people.

The first letter bore the seal of the King of Mazidar and appeared very official and serious. The second letter, which he now picked up with a grimace, was dated only four days earlier and smelled of an outlandish perfume. It appeared as frivolous as the first letter appeared serious.

It was this letter, arriving only this morning, that had ruined his day. Akkra read once more the contents of the second letter. The writer begged him to restrain his impulsive nature, finish up his tasks, and return to where he was desperately needed. The writer went on to describe a terrible family row that threatened to erupt if Akkra did not return to the waiting arms of those who loved him most.

Akkra shook his head. Both letters, in fact, came from the pen of the same man, a little-known warrior named Tandran Dro. Like most aspects of Mazidar's government, the identify of the Minister of War was known to a select few. The fact that Dak Akkra was one of the select few was little consolation to the emissary.

Akkra stared at the second letter for a few minutes more. He knew that Mith Cor's spies had already copied the contents of the letter, hoping to find within its words some cryptic message. There was surely a message there, but it was hardly written in code. Instead, Tandran Dro had adapted a much simpler ploy, using thinly veiled allegories. The letter simply told Akkra to finish up his tasks and return to his assigned post before problems developed. Akkra didn't know what the problems were, but considering the individuals involved, he had fair suspicions.

He also suspected that Tandran Dro knew about Akkra's other little adventure -- the one he had been forbidden to undertake. He could still hear Tandran Dro and King Taj of Mazidar protesting when he had suggested his side visit to the palace of Shanti Raj. You have only two missions, they insisted. The first was to meet with Balder Khan. The second was to get to the Zepores Mountains as quickly as possible.

But now that Akkra was in Lodar City, with Tandran Dro and King Taj hundreds of miles distant, the necessity of his other mission had seemed much greater. How could he pass up an opportunity like this? For three years, they had been searching for one woman. Now he had a chance to verify if the rumors he had received were true. It would be wrong of him to pass up this chance, no matter how risky it seemed.

Once Dak had made up his mind, he had only one obstacle to overcome: Tran, the "servant" assigned to the Emissary. Tran was more than a servant. He was also a teacher and a bodyguard (a mixed blessing of being part of the royal family that Akkra could just as easily have dispensed with). And while Tran was loyal to Akkra, he was even more loyal to the King of Mazidar.

"It's out of the question," Tran said when Akkra first broached the subject. "We have too much at stake, too many lives. Do you realize how many thousands of people are up in those mountains, waiting for your signal to them to come down onto the plains? Every single hour we delay is going to cost us, Dak. They are running short of food, supplies. Most of those people spend much of their lives fighting with each other as it is, and we have them all assembled within spitting distance of each other on that plateau."

"But it wouldn't take long. I could be in and out in one night," protested Akkra.

"Suppose you are caught? Do you think Mith Cor would look lightly on a Mazidaran prowling around his Magar's palace? Even if the Emperor were to look the other way, the probability of a delay is enormous. If you were hurt or killed, our entire project is ended. Dak, you know you are the only one who can control the tribal leaders. Without you, it is finished."

Akkra thrust out his jaw angrily. "You always find everything wrong with something, Tran. Can't you ever think that something might work out as it should? Besides, you're just worried about what the King would do to you if I got caught or hurt."

Tran spat. "If you believe that, boy, you are very foolish, and you don't know your king or me very well. I would be beheaded, that's for sure, but not because you got hurt. Those mountain tribes are Taj's people. You've been in the plains so long that you don't know about the tribes any more. It is a shame, Dak."

But over time, Akkra has worn the old warrior down, and reluctantly Tran had become an accessory to the breach of orders. Akkra had assured him that his plan would work if Tran was able to provide specific help. Tran had tried his usual best to identify every obstacle or problem that could arise. Akkra countered every objection. When it became obvious to Tran that the only way he could stop Akkra was to bind him up at night, Tran decided that he would be better off helping the young man. Now, after six days of laying the groundwork, Akkra was ready to try to get into Shanti Raj's palace.

Tran entered the room quietly. "My lord, the lady Isma has drunk the wine. I believe she is ready for you."

Akkra smiled. "Excellent, Tran. Perhaps now we can learn who sent our darling to us."

The first thing Dak did was to replace the stopper on the decanter. Although the fumes posed little risk, he wanted to take no chances, so potent was the drug he had given Isma. Carefully he put the bottle in a safe place, then went over to Isma.

She lay on the cot, drowsily unaware of what went on around her. She was not unconscious, however, and would respond to stimuli. Her robes had fallen open, revealing the firm curves of her breasts, the depression of her stomach, the fullness of her hips. Akkra rearranged her robe to reveal less of her body. He found Isma too distracting as it was.

"Isma, darling, are you awake? Can you hear me?" On impulse, he tried to copy the voice and intonations of a man he had met many years earlier -- Balder Khan. Akkra couldn't explain what had motivated his decision, but he could tell immediately by Isma's reaction that she recognized the voice. Of course, it was several years earlier, but Akkra had a talent for mimicry. He watched her face for subtle signs that he was using the right intonations. Fortunately, Isma was a naturally undeceiving person. Akkra could read her more easily than most people could read a road sign.

"Yes, I can hear you," she responded slowly, her words slurred and hesitant.

"You are safe now, Isma. Do you understand? You are safe. I am here to protect you. You have nothing to worry about." Akkra's voice was a quiet whisper, a caressing murmur on the still air.

"Yes, I am safe. I am safe with you, Bal."

Akkra almost laughed out loud, so pleased was he with his guess. But he couldn't afford to gloat yet. He still had to learn more about Isma's mission. In addition, he had to make her an unwitting tool for his own plans. He appreciated the irony of that twist: using Balder Khan's spy against him. "Yes, you are safe, my love. Tell me, what have you learned of the Mazidaran? Tell me about Akkra."

Isma closed her eyes in concentration. "Akkra? The Mazidaran?"

"Yes, Isma, tell me what he does."

"All he want's is to bed me. He drives me crazy, Bal. Too much, he wants it all the time."

That should drive Balder Khan up the wall, thought Akkra ruefully. But he wasn't any nearer the answers he needed. "What else, Isma? Who is he, Isma? Is he part of the royal family? Is he a spy? What does he do besides make love to you?"

"What else? He --" She started to nod off, then blinked back into wakefulness. "He is just a commoner, Bal, no royalty, no spy. Just a commoner. All he wants is women." She laughed. "He goes to plays and theaters. He drinks in taverns. But always, he is putting his hands under my skirts. You must stop him, Bal. I want to give myself only to you." She tried to put her arms around Akkra's neck, but he pushed her gently back onto the bed.

"Later, my love, later. Tell me, does he know about the others?"

Isma was puzzled. "The others? What others?"

"The other men who watch him, as you do. Does he know of them?"

Isma seemed confused. "I don't think so. He hasn't spoken of them."

Akkra frowned. Was she unaware of Balder Khan's other spies? "Have you seen them, Isma?"

"I didn't know anyone else was watching Dak, Bal. I thought you said I was the only one who could do this for you."

"Never mind, my love." She was not aware of the other spies that were watching the Emissary day and night. Assuming they were also planted by Balder Khan, the man who commanded all of Lodar's armies was taking no chances. On the other hand, could the other figures that followed after the Emissary's party each day be working for someone else? If so, who?

It made more sense that Balder Khan simply kept Isma in the dark about his other spies. That would be consistent with the high degree of professionalism that Balder Khan exhibited. Akkra decided not to pursue the issue any further. Now, he had to accomplish his other objective. He had to apply the Power of the Will to the courtesan.

The Power of the Will was a rare gift that Akkra possessed. With it, he could almost hear the internal thoughts and words of another person, and hearing such, could change it. Often it took some time to develop the rapport necessary to enter someone else's mind, though Akkra had gotten adept enough in the use of the Will to be able to do it fairly rapidly. He found Isma's mind relatively simple to enter, and the pathway to her thoughts was quite clear. He found the memory of their conversation almost immediately.

"Isma, when you wake up, you will remember none of this conversation. But you will remember this. You will go directly to the palace of Balder Khan and you will repeat these words: Meet the Mazidaran at midnight on the road to Jadpat on the third Moon Day of the month of the Ram. Can you repeat that, Isma?"

He had her repeat the message several times before he allowed her to drift off to sleep. He knew that she would remember very little of the conversation. He was confident that she would carry out her assignment. His hypnotic suggestion had been quite strong.

He returned to his main chambers and called Tran to him. The servant arrived almost instantly.

"Are we still being watched?" asked Akkra.

"Yes, Akkra," replied Tran. Gone was the charade of lord and master. Now, both men functioned as part of a well-organized team. "There are three watching the front of the building, two in the back. Earlier there were two more, but I cannot locate them."

Akkra nodded thoughtfully. "And the roof. It is still unguarded?"

Tran shook his head. "They hardly expect the Emissary to spend much time on the roof, my lord."

"Very well, then, at dusk we will make our move. We will have to be cautious on this one, however. As you keep reminding me, we have the whole mission at stake if either of us gets caught. Timing will be critical. I am afraid that if I can't get in tonight, I won't ever be able to do it. I have given Isma the message. She should give it to Balder Khan tomorrow. By the day after tomorrow, we had better be on our way." Akkra stopped and sat down. "What do we do if she is here, Tran? We've spent so much time searching for her, I never stopped to think about what we would do if we found her."

Tran shrugged. "Let us see if she is here first, Dak. If she is, we'll find a way to rescue her." He turned to leave, then stopped. He faced the Emissary. "By the way, were you correct? Is she Balder Khan's mistress?"

Akkra nodded. "Yes, and it is a shame. I was growing very fond of that lady. I just do not feel good about taking another man's woman -- even if he is the Conqueror of Lodar!"

Once they had seen Isma safely off in a pedicab to her rendezvous, they were able to proceed with the next step in Akkra's plan. Dak Akkra and Tran had to wait until dusk to carry out the next step of their plan.

The success or failure of this step hinged entirely on how many spies Balder Khan -- and possibly others -- maintained on the Mazidaran Emissary. As the shadows deepened, Tran took Akkra on a circuit of the guest house. As they peered surreptitiously from the windows, Tran pointed out the hiding places of the spies.

"That one over there, selling the roasted corn, that is one. Another is the stone mason, working on that gate. Notice that he has made no progress in carving that relief on the gate in the past two days?" Tran took Akkra to another side of the guest house. "The gate guard is a fake. You won't be able to tell unless someone comes to the gate, but he has to whisper each time to someone hidden inside. Probably the actual gate guard."

"Can they really be that inept, Tran?" asked Akkra. "Have we missed any?"

"Two things you must learn, Dak," replied the older man. "The first is that a man as successful as Balder Khan does not become so by being incompetent. If his spies appear inept, it is probably because he wants them to appear so -- to divert our attention from the real spies."

"Such as Isma."

"Perhaps," smiled the servant. "And perhaps from others who are not so inept. The second thing you must learn is that no matter how well you think you have done, always remember that you could do better. Have I missed any of the spies? It would be foolish to think otherwise. Our task will be to see if we can find him before he finds us."

Akkra nodded. "I must tell you, Tran, this playing at diplomat and spy may sound exciting to some people, but it is really exasperating. You can't trust anyone! I much prefer the honest logic of the battlefield. At least there, if someone comes after you with a raised sword, you can rest assured that he is after your blood. Making decisions on the battlefield is a lot easier than here."

Tran shrugged. "It only appears that way because by the time you are on the battlefield, all of the critical decisions have been made. Now we must get dressed for our respective outings, Dak." Tran began to unpack one of the Emissary's fancy outfits: a light green tunic, yellow leggings, a dark green cape, and a dark yellow wide-brimmed hat. The ceremonial sword and dagger were attached to the broad jewel-encrusted belt. Low leather boots and leather gloves completed the outfit. Tran lay everything out for Dak Akkra's inspection.

Akkra walked over to examine the clothes. "I hate this outfit," he said. "It makes me look like a bird."

"At least you won't have to wear it," said Tran sullenly. "But your plan calls for an Emissary who is garish and easily trailed. In that--" he pointed with disgust at the clothes "--even Balder Khan's most incompetent spies could follow me."

"Yes, and be sure to lead them on a merry chase," said Akkra. "You have the list of taverns memorized?"

Tran nodded. "If the King ever found out the kinds of places you frequent, boy, you'd never represent Mazidar again." Tran started to put on the clothes. Both men were similar in height and shape, though Tran was developing a pot-belly -- "the curse of an inactive warrior" he called it. "Dak, you have gotten me into some tight spots before," Tran said as he pushed his belly into the leggings, "but for this one, you owe me. If this scheme works, I will be amazed."

"It has worked for the past two nights," answered Akkra curtly. He softened. "You are right, Tran, I do owe you one for this. And if anything goes wrong, I'll assume full responsibility."

"Damn right, you will!" Tran finished putting on the clothes. When he stood up, he looked like an older version of the Emissary. On the dark streets and in the poorly lit taverns that Akkra had selected, no one would notice the difference. "I am only taking three members of our party -- Harish Kar, Mazzan Tor, and Elzar Akkra. They have been advised about what to do."

Akkra nodded in agreement. He had finished donning his own garments, but where Tran's outfit was extravagant, Akkra's was sparse. He wore only a rough-sewn black tunic and breeches, a black turban, black boots. He looked like one of the nomads from the northern Nasilam Steppes who were occasionally seen in Lodar. He strapped on a sword. Where Tran's was ornate and ceremonial, Akkra's was plain and intended for only one purpose.

Akkra watched as the false Emissary and the three attendants left the front of the building. A slight commotion regarding the horses ensured that all of the spies watching the building had time to follow the small entourage. Akkra smiled when he saw several of the people Tran had pointed out to him discard their covers and scurry after the departing Mazidarans.

He waited a short while, watching the street as the lamp lighter crisscrossed the narrow avenue, lighting the gas lamps that lined the street. Akkra had never seen gas street lights before. In some respects, Lodar was a better place to live than most of Tandaria. But still not as nice as Mazidar, he added hastily.

The guest house provided by the Emperor to the Mazidaran Emissary had three floors. The bottom floor consisted of storage rooms, sleeping quarters for servants and slaves, a small stable for horses, a washing area, a latrine, and a well room. These all enclosed an inner courtyard.

A stairway led from the first level to the second level. This level was reserved for the kitchens, dining areas, meeting rooms, a suite of three rooms reserved for Akkra. Two other rooms were reserved for Tran and Isma.

The third level contained bedrooms, storage rooms and open sleeping areas for use during the hot months of spring and summer. From this level, Akkra could gain access to the roof of the building. Since the guest house was bordered on two sides by other buildings, it was no difficult task to traverse in either direction up and down the street. Only two difficulties presented themselves. The first was the chance that Akkra might encounter someone who would raise the alarm. The second was getting across the myriad streets and avenues that separated the guest house from the palaces along The Highway of Kings, where the palaces were located.

The first part of the journey proceeded without any problems, though Akkra was exposed on occasion as he walked along walls or across rooftops. To get to Shanti Raj's palace, which was adjacent to the Imperial Palace, Akkra had to cross the Highway of the Kings, a very broad avenue. The best way to do that was to cross the highway on the city walls, then work his way south east to Main Bazaar road. Once on the southeast side of Main Bazaar, he could resume his rooftop travel. In addition, the Lodarans had built their houses up against the walls of Shanti Raj's palace, a despicable breach of security. Once inside the walls of Shanti's palace, Akkra would be able to find the Zenana where Tathi was sequestered.

Akkra arrived at City Wall. It rose another twenty feet above him. Fortunately, it was built of rough stones. He was able to get sufficient toe and hand holds to enable him to climb up the wall until he was on the parapet. He listened carefully for any sounds of a guard, but his sources were correct. This part of the wall was no longer patrolled.

He hurried across the broad Highway of the Kings. At this time of night, he expected the avenue to be deserted, but much traffic still abounded. Horse-drawn carts, pedicabs, chariots, and pedestrians yet intermingled on the broad street, all awash in the eerie yellow light of the gas lamps. Unlike most of the peasants of Tandaria, the sophisticated Lodarans remained awake for much of the night, socializing, carrying on business left over from the day, or fretting about what tomorrow would bring. Akkra had always thought that Mazidar City was urbane, but compared to Lodar, Mazidar was still the backwaters of civilization.

About two hundred paces past the Highway of the Kings the wall had crumbled, allowing Akkra an easy descent back to the rooftops. He was now in the heart of the Main Bazaar section of Pan Adin. The Main Bazaar was famous throughout Tandaria. It consisted principally of the Main Bazaar road, but the two or three streets that paralleled Main Bazaar Road on both sides were also crowded with shops, taverns, and restaurants. Here, in Main Bazaar, one could purchase any of the goods of Tandaria: woolen goods from the Nasilam Steppes, carved cherry wood from southern Mazidar, silver utensils from Sind, rugs from , silk from , gold necklaces from , fine leather shoes of , the incredible tempered steel swords of . All this and more could be found within the Main Bazaar.

The chance of discovery was considerably higher in this part of Pan Adin, since the density of people was so much greater. Akkra found his progress on the roofs frequently impeded by other people, preparing for sleep, relaxing after the evening meal with a pinch of chung plant rolled into paper. In these cases, Akkra had to exercise greater stealth. On some occasions, he had to resort to using the Power of the Will to lull people into disinterest in his passing.

Akkra had gotten approximately halfway to his objective when he discovered that further progress on the rooftops was impossible. He had been able to cross most of the streets because they were quite narrow, and the upper stories of the buildings jutted out over the narrow lanes below. In these instances, it had been simple enough to leap across the intervening gap. Now Akkra found himself staring across a gulf that exceeded his most optimistic athletic prowess. He had only one recourse -- to enter one of the buildings, proceed to the lower levels, and either continue aground to Shanti Raj's palace or find another opportunity to access the rooftops.

Akkra quickly gained access into the building. He was in a middle-class apartment, a bed chamber, to judge by the furnishings, probably that of a well-to-do merchant. He could see the outlines of finely carved furniture, numerous chests and cabinets. A thick-piled rug softened his progress across the room.

Suddenly Akkra stopped. He had distinctly heard the heavy breathing and moans of a couple engrossed in intercourse. It was just his luck that the room would be occupied! He stood poised, not moving, waiting for his eyes to adjust to the gloom of the bed chamber. In a few moments, he could make out a carved wooden partition. The passionate sounds emanated from its other side. As long as they remained preoccupied with their mutual lust, he had little concern for them. His eyes adjusted, he resumed his cat-like progress through the room.

"Ah, ah! It comes! It comes!" cried a young man. "Oh, my darling, it comes!" Simultaneously, the woman emitted a series of cries as she joined her companion in ecstasy. Akkra smiled to himself, but hurried, lest the cessation of their passion lead to their noticing his presence.

It was the wrong tactic. Akkra banged into a trunk, and as the pain raced up his leg, he muttered a low curse. There was an immediate silence from the other side of the screen, then a woman cried out in alarm. Akkra was about to race for the door when the screen crashed to the floor. Akkra jumped aside to avoid being hit by the heavy screen. A candle was lit, throwing the scene into stark relief.

Akkra stopped in surprise, then burst into laughter. The man was standing, stark naked, his manhood still thrusting out from its interrupted conquests, while in his hands he held a short sword. As Akkra laughed, the man rushed headlong towards him, the short sword pushed as far in front of him as he could get it. Akkra waited until the man's momentum was greatest, then stepped deftly aside. The man raced past him, surprise on his face. Akkra brought the edge of his hand sharply down on the back of the man's neck. The young lover crashed into the far wall, then lay still.

Akkra moved cautiously over to the man, knelt down and felt for a pulse. The man was stunned, but still conscious. Akkra pried the sword out of his hands. Suddenly, he found the girl, dressed much as her companion, clutching at his arm and flailing a small dagger.

"Don't hurt him! Don't hurt him!" she cried.

The Mazidaran grabbed the dagger from her and threw it towards the far side of the room. "Quiet, hussy! Why should I want to hurt him?"

"Didn't my husband send you to kill us?" she asked fearfully.

Akkra smiled. "And who might your husband be, my pretty one?" he queried.

"He is Addue, the cloth merchant. He is a very jealous man and he suspects me of being unfaithful to him."

Akkra raised his eyebrows, glancing at the young man lying on the floor. "I suspect the evidence favors your husband's suspicions, young one."

The woman was immediately self-conscious. She clutched at a robe and wrapped it around her. Her eyes were full of tears. "Yes, I suppose I am, but I cannot help it. Addue, he is old, and he hurts me when he beds me. He claims I do not arouse him and he makes me do many things a maiden should not be compelled to do, my lord. If I beg him to be gentle, he beats me for not being a good wife. Oh, my lord, I did not want to marry him, but my father saw only the gifts that Addue gave and did not see his cruel heart." She wiped away her tears. "Only Bala Chand saw my sorrow."

Akkra gestured at the young man. "Bala?"

She nodded. "We know that what we do is wrong, but I swear, my lord, this is the only time we have violated the marriage bed! Bala wanted to take me away from all of this, but I told him no, that it could not be. We were so miserable, one thing led to another, until you found us so."

"Well, young one, perhaps you should heed your lover's advice. In the meantime, I intended only to pass through your chamber to the street. How do I get out of here? Through there?" He pointed towards the door.

"No, that leads to Addue's cloth shop. He may be there, if he is not at the taverns getting drunk again." She pulled him by the hand and led him to a tapestry-covered wall. She pulled it back to reveal a hidden door. "Take this door. It leads to the side of the building."

He started through the door, when the girl tugged at his sleeve. He turned back to face her.

"Thank you, my lord, for not turning us over to the Guard."

Akkra smiled. "Thank you and your friend for not lancing me with those pig stickers, little one. May the gods favor you."

The tapestry dropped behind him, cutting off the light. But Akkra had seen enough to know that he was in a narrow hallway, cluttered with debris and discarded furniture. He had proceeded to the end of the hallway and was about to open the outer door when he heard a loud commotion in the chambers he had just quit. Muffled shouts, the sounds of crashing furniture, and the hysterical screams of the girl echoed down the corridor. Akkra bounded back towards the bed room. He pushed against the door, but something was blocking it. The girl screamed again. Akkra threw his body against the door. Under the force of the impact, the door snapped off its hinges and fell inwards. The Mazidaran tumbled into the room.

Akkra was pulling his sword out of its scabbard as he rolled to his feet. A quick glance showed the bizarre scene. In one corner of the room, Bala was crouched on the floor, his hands over his head, trying to protect himself from an assailant. The other man turned as Akkra rolled into the room. He was a huge man, well-past middle age, with a heavy belly, thick arms, and a round face. He was trying to beat Bala with a heavy club. He turned in fury to face the Mazidaran.

"So, the bitch was whoring two dogs!" he roared. Quickly he raced towards the Mazidaran, who barely had time to roll aside before the immense club crashed into the spot he had been. The very building shook from the force of the impact. But the Emissary had needed only a fraction of a second to leap to his feet. He dodged to another part of the room, avoiding the club as the man swung it around in a wide arc.

The husband was furious now, and began to stalk Akkra with a vengeance. Addue's face was twisted with hatred and every other word was a curse, a curse on his unfaithful wife, a curse on her lover, a curse on Akkra. The Mazidaran was actually thankful that the man had become so emotional, since that increased the chances that he would make a mistake. As the Emissary struggled over broken or fallen furniture, he worked at opening his pouch. Without taking his eye off the enraged husband, he felt around until he found what he was looking for -- a leather pouch containing a fine grain irritant. It was actually the rouge of a lens-maker, but Akkra had found other uses for it.

He almost had the pouch out and opened when he tripped over the prostrate body of Bala, who was struggling to regain consciousness. In his efforts to awaken, he grabbed at Akkra's leg, nearly pulling him down. Addue saw his chance. With a loud bellow of victory, he jumped across the intervening space and raised his club for a killing blow. Akkra desperately tossed a large amount of the fine powder in Addue's face. At the same time, he thrust his sword up into Addue's belly. With his sword firmly engaged in the fat man's body, he jumped up and aside, pulling on the sword and twisting the body around in a circle. Addue, unable to see, and screaming from the pain of his wound, spiralled in the direction Akkra pulled. At the same time, he continued to bring his club down in a vicious swing. But Akkra was already gone again, and the weapon merely destroyed a wooden chest. Akkra pulled his sword out, ready to strike again. But by this time, Addue had lost too much blood. With a crash, he collapsed on the demolished trunk, quivered briefly, then lay quiet.

Akkra cautiously checked him and decided that the merchant was indeed dead.

He turned to face Bala and Addue's widow.

"Little one, you will be in a lot of trouble unless you do as I say. If the officials find your friend here, they will conclude that Addue had just cause for his rage, and that his death was equally unjust. I suspect they will behead both of you."

The widow tried to fight back her tears. "What are we to do? I did not want to marry Addue, and he was a terrible man. Oh, what am I thinking? They must not find Bala here. You must take him with you!"

"No," said Akkra. "I cannot do that. I have other things that I must do tonight, and protecting your lover is not one of them. But I will try to help you. Here, take this." He handed her a small purse that jingled with heavy gold coins. "I had hoped to keep that in reserve, but you will need it more than I. I want you to do exactly as I tell you. Very quickly there will be Guards here, wanting to know what the disturbance was. You must tell them that Addue surprised a thief, come to rob him of his wealth. Meanwhile, send Bala up onto the roof. He will be safe there."

She shook her head. "Surely they will check the roof to see if the thief has gone there," she protested.

"No, they won't, since they will be pursuing me. I will lead them away. As soon as the Guard starts to come after me, you must go to Bala and try to get out of the city. Head south to Abothar or Mazidar. Both of those cities are very anxious to help fleeing Lodarans, particularly if you are able to pay." He gestured at the purse. "That should help a lot. If you go to Mazidar, go to the royal palace and tell them that the Emissary to Lodar asked them to help you. You will be well taken care of. Can you remember all of that?"

"Yes, my lord." She helped Bala to his feet, who staggered uncertainly. "How can we thank you, my lord?"

There was a loud pounding on the front door as the Guard tried to gain entrance. "Repay me, my pretty, by not getting caught. Now, do as I tell you.!"

As Bala headed up to the roof, Akkra retraced his steps down the narrow corridor. He listened until he heard the hysterical wife telling the Guard what had happened. When he heard the first sounds of pursuit entering the hallway, he pushed open the outer door. He found himself in an alleyway behind the row of shops. It was still deserted, but he knew it would not long remain so. He had to lead any pursuit away from his final destination -- the palace of Shanti Raj --but he was no longer sure which way that was. Well, he had only two choices, the left or the right. He turned left.

That choice took him right out onto the main street where a large crowd has assembled to determine what the commotion at Addue's cloth shop was. Instantly, Akkra was spotted.

"There he is! He is the killer!" The crowd turned as one to stare at him. Like an enormous beast, it took a while to react, but when it did, the reaction was overwhelming. Dozens of emboldened shopkeepers tried to grasp Akkra. The Mazidaran waved his sword threateningly, keeping all but the most foolish away. Those who came too close soon pulled back to nurse their cut hands and arms.

"Make way for the Guard," came a cry, and the crowd began to part. Instead of trying to retreat, Akkra chose to charge, and just as the last of the mob separated to permit the Imperial Guard to pass, Akkra was there, his sword blazing a zone of space around him. The first of the Guards was so surprised at Akkra's charge that he joined the crowd in trying to flee. His companions were more steadfast, but the momentum of Akkra's foray was too much for them. They stumbled back, trying to ward off Akkra's blows. A gap appeared, and Akkra leapt for it. Within a heartbeat, he was through the mob and racing down the street.

The crowd tried to stop him, but all they did was impede the Guardsmen. When finally they did get loose, Akkra had gained a considerable lead.

Akkra had gotten many streets away before he began to double back. He had to be cautious, since he knew that his chances of encountering the Guards would be high. All seemed well at first, and he was about to congratulate himself on escaping when he felt a presence behind him. He peered cautiously down the street he had vacated. Two Guards were stalking him. When they realized that they had been spotted, they threw aside stealth and began to run after him. Akkra raced down one street, then another, but still they closed the gap. On a gamble, he turned down an alley, thinking he might overpower them in the confined space.

The first Guardsman fell into the ambush. He tripped over the obstacle Akkra had placed in the way and went sprawling onto Akkra's blade. Deftly, the Mazidaran pulled the blade out, ready to defend himself against the second Guard. This one was not as rash as his friend. Slowly he circled the Emissary, his sword gently reaching out to Akkra's, testing it, challenging it to combat. Akkra could tell by the way the man moved that he had met a master swordsman here. He tried in vain to reach into his pouch, but each time he did so, the Guard threatened him with the point of his sword. The Guard became more confident.

"Why don't you drop your sword, lad? Make it easy on yourself. There will be other Guards along here very shortly. Then it will be too late for you, boy. Now why don't you do the smart thing, and put that sword down?"

The Mazidaran began to worry. He could ill afford to get caught at this time! Why hadn't he listened to Tandran Dro in the first place? Now he was about to jeopardize everything, the mission, the trust the King of Mazidar had place in him, the thousands of lives that depended on him.

Akkra abruptly realized that he could not give in to despair. He wasn't conquered yet, and he had always managed to get out of tighter spots than this. He just couldn't succumb to self-doubt. No matter how good the Guard may be, Akkra had a few tricks of his own.

He ceased his retreat and began a furious attack on the Guard, who parried every thrust and cut with ease. The Guard smiled confidently and began to press the attack back. Akkra began to retreat once more, still trying to gain the advantage, but it was useless. The swordsman was clearly superior to Akkra, and the outcome was evident to both men. The Guard became emboldened by his certain success and began to score nicks and cuts on Akkra's sword arm. None of the cuts was serious, but it was evident that Akkra was not able to keep the other man's blade away from his body very effectively. Akkra's only hope was to give the man an opportunity that he could not pass up.

He had to make the mistake look natural, perhaps induced by panic, else the master swordsman would know it for a ruse. Akkra had to sustain two more cuts, one on the sword hand which almost caused him to drop his weapon, and one on the cheek. Then his chance came. He made a partial lunge, exposing his weak side. The Guard saw his opportunity and went for it, bringing his weapon in for a quick thrust that would pierce Akkra's midriff. But Akkra was ready for that move, and with a deft sidestep, he was out of line of the thrust. He was about to bring his sword down in a sideways chop that would disarm the warrior when he felt himself sprawling over. With a feeling of panic, he realized that he had slipped in the slimy garbage that littered the alley. He rolled heavily onto his left side, the fall knocking the wind out of him. His sword clattered on the stones of the alley.

Akkra looked up to see the triumphant Guardsman raise his sword for the final killing thrust.