CHAPTER ONE—DISGRACED VIZIER
With a decanter of green glass in his hand and a smoking pipe in the other, Faridoon al Rashik sat in his chair, brooding at his fortunes.
Or lack thereof.
Growling, he swiped a hand across the air as if he were swatting away an annoying fly. But there was nothing there. Faridoon was drunk. “He destroyed my reputation!” he screamed at his hangers-on.
He would have to stop paying them soon, otherwise he would run out of gold. Over the years as vizier to Karu al Badin, he had amassed his own fortune—much of which he had done through nefarious dealings.
But that stupid Karu never knew that.
He still had a fortune. Would it be better to keep that, to remain wealthy even if his reputation was destroyed after barrowing money from the city fund? Faridoon was lucky he hadn’t been beheaded.
That’s the skill of a good liar.
Anger assailed him. He was so ashamed. He wanted Shiro Takeda to pay for what he had done. Faridoon had sent a good headsman after him in the desert, but instead of bringing back a wealthy payment, or the man’s treacherous head, he had returned empty handed with his tail between his legs!
“My lord Faridoon,” Leshik said. “We have brought you another mercenary.”
“No!” he said. “No more. I’m running out of gold.”
“But my lord,” Leshik said, half bowing in supplication, despite Faridoon not holding any office, though his noble blood affected such behavior from his lessers. What was Faridoon on about?
My thoughts are incoherent.
Leshik wore fine white robes and sandals, his dark skin shiny with perspiration. It was so hot in here and the smoke was starting to make the chamber feel cloying.
“My lord—” he repeated, his servants—really Faridoon’s, standing behind him. “My lord, Faridoon. This mercenary is a famed adventurer.”
“Yes?” Faridoon said, his curiosity nudged. “What is his name?”
“He is called The Black Cobra of Mar’a Thul.”
Faridoon squinted, thinking hard, as he knew he had heard that title somewhere. The thought was on the edge of his mind.
“How will this adventurer be able to take Shiro Tekeda when my other headsmen have returned empty handed?” Then he slammed his fist on the gilded arm of his chair. “Huh?!”
His stupid concubines standing behind him cried out in fear and Leshik took two steps back.
“Dumber than beasts.”
Leshik swallowed. “My lord?”
Faridoon said nothing. He simply growled at his pathetic servant. The man was useless. He brought another useless adventurer to make useless promises.
Stolen novel; please report.
“May I bring him in?”
He said nothing, waited for a long time. But finally, snarling, Faridoon waved a hand as he gave his non-verbal ascent.
“Very well,” Lashek said. He turned, giving his servants a signal. They hurried out of the chamber.
Faridoon lifted the bottle to his lips again, drank a deep gulp of the wine. “This is piss.”
No one said anything.
Why didn’t he have better servants to bring him back quality wine?
Is it really so difficult?
Of course, the disgraced vizier—in his state of inebriation—had no idea that it had been him who told his servants to buy cheaper foodstuffs, including wine. Making cost cuts throughout his household amounted to a small monthly fortune in and of itself.
Perhaps he should sell his concubines?
Faridoon squinted as a press of bodies came forward, then spread out to reveal a tall man with black skin.
Faridoon opened his smoke-irritated bleary eyes. The man before him had a shaven head and he wore high-quality voluminous pantaloons of fine white silk with black accents and string of gold.
“A slave?”
His shirt of short sleeves was low in the neckline, exposing a chiseled chest like that of a statue. His arms were similarly crafted.
What was particularly striking about this man was his bright blue eyes, slits for pupils—like a snake. A cobra?
A beautiful body if ever Faridoon saw one. He wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, his smoking pipe trailing thick blue shashu leaf smoke.
“Um,” Leshik said, swallowing. “No my lord. This is the adventurer I spoke of. The Black Cobra of Mar’a Thul. He has agreed to come and hear out your needs and to make an agreement with you.”
Faridoon snarled wordlessly.
And then the black man spoke.
“Perhaps you do not wish to capture this man called Shiro. I was willing to offer my services, but I see you are too drunk to even stand.”
He had a strong voice and his accent was clearly Mar’a Thulian, but held only a slight change in his intonation and pronunciation.
Looking up into the adventurer’s eyes, Faridoon showed his teeth. “What’s your tongue,” he said, nudging the battle at him, “or I’ll have it removed and fed to my lizards.”
“And tell me,” the Black Cobra said, “who will you call to have my tongue cut out? Your women?”
Faridoon’s eyes widened.
“Agh! Get this man out of my sight!”
“Yes, my lord,” Lashik said, his air obsequious. “My apologies.” He turned to the Black Cobra and said, “There’s been a mistake and my lord will not be needing your services.”
The adventurer looked at Faridoon, his gaze traveling him up and down.
What is he looking at?
“Or any other kind of services, I think,” the Black Cobra said, his eyes flicking to Lalula behind him. The implication was plain.
“Are you making insults about the state of my manhood, you dog?!”
He got up out of his chair, his movements clumsy and heavy as the Black Cobra turned and started making his way out.
“Answer me, dog!” Faridoon screamed. He pulled out his scimitar and lunged after the adventurer. When he was close enough he swung his blade at the man’s back.
Faridoon barely saw what happened next as his sword was clanged out of his hand and something hit him in the jaw, sending him onto his backside.
“My lord!” Leshik called, and ran to Faridoon’s side. He was on his knees along with his servants, crowding him. “Are you all right? Did he injure you?”
Faridoon’s first reaction was to call for the guards, but he forgot that he had no guards now. They cost too much.
Rubbing his face because of the blossoming pain there, he realized this Black Cobra of Mar’a Thul had sword skills the like he had never seen. Even in his drunken state, the sheer speed of this adventurer baffled him into silence.
The Black Cobra turned and continued to make his exit.
“Wait!” Faridoon called.
The Black Cobra stopped, turned his head to regard Faridoon. His countenance was utterly undisturbed in the slightest.
Having called the man back, a memory came to Faridoon of when he had been in the whorehouse—of when he had done the same exact thing with that godsdamned adventurer Shiro. He wanted to snarled, to scream at someone and hurl expensive things across the room.
Or spend a lot of gold on a capable adventurer who could slice Shiro Takeda’s head off and bring him back that piece of epic loot that useless fool Heydaru had told him about.
This Black Cobra of Mar’a Thul will do…
He smiled.
“My lord?” Leshik asked, clearly confused at his reaction.
Faridoon must have looked like a mad man, he was so ecstatic. He got up, holding eye contact with the powerful man standing before him. “Lashik. Pay him whatever he wants.”