fallen enemy for a moment longer, kicked the body, then walked back to his comrades.
“Two out of three,” said Tirorn softly, then shuddered. “But did you mark the third, the facestealer, who got away? Lurkers are one thing, but a facestealer! The Swarm must have invested a great deal in this alliance with the assassins.”
“I saw no facestealer,” said Tarathan grimly, “only a turncoat Ishnapuri herald.”
Tirorn shook his head. “You must have seen the way the woman’s face rippled. On the Derai Wall, we know that as the mark of a facestealer. They are part of the Darkswarm elite and can shape themselves to the face and form of others, both beasts and people—but they have to kill the victim first. The rippling indicates that a facestealer is no longer holding fast to the change, either because the form has been held too long and the spell is wearing thin, or because the facestealer plans to abandon it anyway.”
“Are you sure?” Tarathan asked slowly. “What we saw was the face and form of a herald from Ishnapur, called Ileyra.”
“And the Darkswarm warrior did say that they had turned those thought incorruptible,” Jehane Mor pointed out.
“No one is incorruptible,” Tirorn said shortly, “not once they fall into the power of the Swarm. But in the House of Swords we still learn all the signs that identify Swarm minions, even though we may never encounter them.” He paused, frowning. “It’s possible that the herald you met was still this Ileyra and that the facestealer only attacked her today. But given the strength of the tremors passing over her face—” He shrugged. “It’s more likely that the attack took place days ago, perhaps on the way here, or even in Ishnapur itself.”
“ ‘It is a long way from Ishnapur to Ij, especially for the unwary,’ ” quoted Tarathan.
Inwardly, Jehane Mor reviewed every aspect of their dealings with the Ishnapuri heralds. “We have to assume that Salan, Ileyra’s brother, has been compromised as well—which fits with something else.” In her memory, she stepped into the Guild house courtyard again, walking between slumped bodies to the front door. “I was surprised there had been little or no resistance to the assassin attack until the killers reached the house itself. I put that down to the advantage of surprise, but now—” She paused. “What if there was no surprise? What if the heralds in the yard knew their murderers and thought them friends?”
“Treachery,” Tarathan said heavily. “Or facestealers. Either explanation fits.” He stepped away from the window. “But it changes nothing for us. We still need to get out of the city. What about you?” he asked Tirorn. “Will you rejoin your friends now?”
“Not just yet.” Tirorn slipped his bow back onto his shoulder. “They seem to be managing well enough without me. Besides, I’ve never cared much for Orth when the bloodlust is on him.”
“Not a gentle enemy,” agreed Tarathan, heading back to the stairs.
Tirorn’s smile was tight. “No Derai is a gentle enemy, but Orth is in a category all to himself.”
“You don’t like him,” said Jehane Mor.
The Derai had started down the stairs, following Tarathan, but now he glanced back. “Orth excels at killing and that has its uses on the Wall. He is also both blood and sword kin to me, so liking does not come into it. We are bound together, and it is because of that and Orth’s excesses, as much as the lurkers, that we are here.”
“How so?” she asked.
Tirorn shrugged. “Orth’s hatreds are not limited to the Swarm, but extend, amongst others, to our own priestly kind.”
“I thought all the warrior Derai were of that mind,” Tarathan commented, as they descended another flight.
“Not all,” said Tirorn, “and certainly not to the same extent. We had a civil war long ago, which some see now as warrior against priest, but the House of Swords did not stand with the other warrior Houses at that time.
“Two out of three,” said Tirorn softly, then shuddered. “But did you mark the third, the facestealer, who got away? Lurkers are one thing, but a facestealer! The Swarm must have invested a great deal in this alliance with the assassins.”
“I saw no facestealer,” said Tarathan grimly, “only a turncoat Ishnapuri herald.”
Tirorn shook his head. “You must have seen the way the woman’s face rippled. On the Derai Wall, we know that as the mark of a facestealer. They are part of the Darkswarm elite and can shape themselves to the face and form of others, both beasts and people—but they have to kill the victim first. The rippling indicates that a facestealer is no longer holding fast to the change, either because the form has been held too long and the spell is wearing thin, or because the facestealer plans to abandon it anyway.”
“Are you sure?” Tarathan asked slowly. “What we saw was the face and form of a herald from Ishnapur, called Ileyra.”
“And the Darkswarm warrior did say that they had turned those thought incorruptible,” Jehane Mor pointed out.
“No one is incorruptible,” Tirorn said shortly, “not once they fall into the power of the Swarm. But in the House of Swords we still learn all the signs that identify Swarm minions, even though we may never encounter them.” He paused, frowning. “It’s possible that the herald you met was still this Ileyra and that the facestealer only attacked her today. But given the strength of the tremors passing over her face—” He shrugged. “It’s more likely that the attack took place days ago, perhaps on the way here, or even in Ishnapur itself.”
“ ‘It is a long way from Ishnapur to Ij, especially for the unwary,’ ” quoted Tarathan.
Inwardly, Jehane Mor reviewed every aspect of their dealings with the Ishnapuri heralds. “We have to assume that Salan, Ileyra’s brother, has been compromised as well—which fits with something else.” In her memory, she stepped into the Guild house courtyard again, walking between slumped bodies to the front door. “I was surprised there had been little or no resistance to the assassin attack until the killers reached the house itself. I put that down to the advantage of surprise, but now—” She paused. “What if there was no surprise? What if the heralds in the yard knew their murderers and thought them friends?”
“Treachery,” Tarathan said heavily. “Or facestealers. Either explanation fits.” He stepped away from the window. “But it changes nothing for us. We still need to get out of the city. What about you?” he asked Tirorn. “Will you rejoin your friends now?”
“Not just yet.” Tirorn slipped his bow back onto his shoulder. “They seem to be managing well enough without me. Besides, I’ve never cared much for Orth when the bloodlust is on him.”
“Not a gentle enemy,” agreed Tarathan, heading back to the stairs.
Tirorn’s smile was tight. “No Derai is a gentle enemy, but Orth is in a category all to himself.”
“You don’t like him,” said Jehane Mor.
The Derai had started down the stairs, following Tarathan, but now he glanced back. “Orth excels at killing and that has its uses on the Wall. He is also both blood and sword kin to me, so liking does not come into it. We are bound together, and it is because of that and Orth’s excesses, as much as the lurkers, that we are here.”
“How so?” she asked.
Tirorn shrugged. “Orth’s hatreds are not limited to the Swarm, but extend, amongst others, to our own priestly kind.”
“I thought all the warrior Derai were of that mind,” Tarathan commented, as they descended another flight.
“Not all,” said Tirorn, “and certainly not to the same extent. We had a civil war long ago, which some see now as warrior against priest, but the House of Swords did not stand with the other warrior Houses at that time.
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