The Thieves of Blood: Blade of the Flame - Book 1 by Tim Waggoner Page B

burial at sea? Maybe the big shark had a few hungry friends.
    Ghaji started toward the bodies.

I nteresting?”
    Diran looked up from the large book spread open on the table before him. Makala stood on the other side, leaning forward, hands pressed to the smooth, polished surface of the table. She was wearing a low-cut white dress, and the way she was standing afforded Diran an excellent view. He tried not to look, especially because he suspected Makala
wanted
him to look, but he couldn’t help sneaking a quick glance. Makala smiled.
    “It’s diverting enough,” Diran said, instantly regretting his choice of words. Ever since he’d passed his final test almost a year ago, Makala had taken to teasing him in ways that made him uncomfortable, and he didn’t want to make it any easier for her by providing straight lines like that.
    For once Makala let the opportunity pass.
    “What is it?”
    “A history of the Lhazaar Principalities where I spent my early childhood. I suspect much of it’s hyperbole, especially themore recent sections devoted to the exploits of the explorer Erdis Cai, but …” Diran trailed off as Makala burst out laughing. He scowled. “What’s so amusing?”
    “You,” she said, her tone half-affectionate, half-teasing. “You always were something of a bookworm, but you’ve been spending so much time in here lately that you’re starting to talk like one of these musty old tomes!”
    Diran couldn’t help smiling. “I like it here in the library. It’s quiet and peaceful, and it provides an opportunity for me to gather my thoughts. It’s somewhat like meditation for me, I guess.” He shrugged. “Besides, you know Emon encourages us to spend as much of our spare time reading as possible.”
    “I know. ‘There is no such thing as useless information, my darlings.’” She did a passable imitation of Emon’s voice, and though Diran had heard her do it before, he laughed just as he always did.
    “Sometimes I think you’re more suited for the life of a scholar than that of an assassin,” Makala said, clearly teasing now.
    Diran didn’t rise to her bait this time, for truth was, he sometimes thought the same thing himself.
    The library was the second largest room in Emon Gorsedd’s manor home, the first being the room where the warlord’s charges trained in the deadly arts of assassination. Emon was a firm believer that a well-honed mind was an assassin’s most important weapon, so he collected books and scrolls on every subject conceivable, and he expected his disciples to master the knowledge contained in the written word just as he expected them to master their blade work.
    The library’s walls were lined with bookshelves that reached all the way to the room’s high ceiling almost thirtyfeet overhead. Numerous ladders were stationed throughout the library to provide access to reading material stored on the higher shelves. Painted on the ceiling was a detailed mural of the great dragons that represented the three parts of the world: Siberys, the Dragon Above; Khyber, the Dragon Below; and Eberron, the Dragon Between. Polished mahogany tables with soft leather chairs were spread throughout the room, but while there usually were at least two or three others present reading and doing research, today Diran and Makala were the only ones. In the middle of the room was a round table with an intricate map of Khorvaire carved into its surface. Whenever an assassin’s mission took him or her far enough from the manor grounds, Emon would always brief them on their travel route using the map table. Though he’d passed his final test, Diran had never been assigned a mission that took him that far away from home, but perhaps one day soon …
    “I bet I can think of something more interesting to do than reading history.”
    Makala came around to Diran’s side of the table and sat on the arm of his chair. She crossed her legs, the motion revealing that her white skirt was slit up the side to