Tadhg felt cold. It could not be.
Madness.
Some men lifted Conrad’s bloody body and carried it inside, and Tadhg, higher on the hill, was able to follow Sherwood’s path. He turned away, matching the baron’s steps, tracking him.
He intercepted the baron just inside the cool, wide corridors of the crusader fortress. Sherwood had just vaulted up a short stairway and turned down yet another, narrower hallway, when Tadhg came up behind him.
“Sherwood,” he said quietly.
The baron jumped, then turned with a nervous laugh. “Ah, the Irishman appears. Best be quick and go attend the king; danger abounds. Assassins have just murdered Conrad in the gardens.”
“Where is it?”
“Where is what?”
“The dagger.”
“What dagger?” he said slowly.
“The one you took out of Conrad’s belly.”
In a flash, Sherwood’s hand clamped down on his shoulder with reptilian fierceness, digging in. Then, almost immediately, he relaxed his grip and took a step back. “You are above your station when you question me, boy. This is between the king and I.”
“Where is it?” he said again.
The cold repetition seemed to unnerve Sherwood. “It is not your concern. I am taking it to…the king.”
Tadhg’s eye dropped to his tunic, stained red with Conrad’s blood. “Richard knows you have that?”
Sherwood hesitated only a moment. “Yes. Yes, he does. I am taking it…to him now.” He took a step back.
Tadhg took it with him. “Are you? That is most odd, for the king’s chambers do not lie along this corridor.”
Sherwood stared, then, glancing swiftly up and down the corridor, crowded Tadhg back into an alcove in the wall and spoke urgently.
“Be wise, Irish, and still your tongue, and this can work to both our advantages. Your skill lies in a sword, but swords only reach so far; the real weapon is knowledge. Knowledge is power. You wanted to know why we were visiting Sinan, eh? Well, now you do. That is knowledge. How do you like it? It stinks, does it not? But if you are wise, O’Malley, it can be turned to power.” His hand reached beneath his cloak and came out with the dagger. It was still coated in Conrad’s blood. “This, this is power.”
“What are you talking about?” Tadhg said. His words sounded far away and flat to his own ears.
Sherwood looked half-mad, grinning at him. “Look,” he said in a whisper, and tipped the blade on its side, and pointed with a finger also crusted in blood.
Distaste flowed like a bitter honey through Tadhg’s mouth, but coldness ran through his veins as he looked at the dagger, for Richard’s blood-red ruby glowed in the hilt. The one Tadhg had delivered in a payment chest, now embedded in the blade of an Assassin dagger.
No doubt about it now.
Sherwood gave a low laugh. “There are words on this blade too, O’Malley. They tell the world that Richard hired the Assassins to murder Conrad.” His hand closed around the dagger as he thrust his face near Tadhg’s, breathing fast. “Do you know who would want such a thing? Everyone. Do you know what they will pay? Anything we demand.” Tadhg could feel him shaking with excitement. “King Philippe of France, the Holy Roman Emperor, even Richard himself. Whoever wants England’s throne, can have it. No armies, no war, just this. We can be rich, Irish, rich beyond your wildest dreams.”
“My wild dreams are not of money,” Tadhg said tonelessly. And they were not. He dreamed of home, green and wild. Thirty years old and over half dead, he dreamed of something other than death and battle. He dreamed of being something different than what he was.
He dreamed of being something better than he was.
The breath slowed in his body. He loosed Sherwood’s hand, and the baron took a relieved step back. “Wise of you, Irish. Now, if you’ll just—”
Tadhg unsheathed his sword and raised it to one of the king’s closest companions and most noble councilors. “Give it to me,” he ordered in a low voice.
Sherwood’s jaw dropped, dumbfounded.
Tadhg didn’t know what he meant to do with it, all he knew was Sherwood could not be allowed to have this thing of death and treachery, that made him almost giddy.