t the
building was continually shaking. This must be the climax of the
Filippeschi attack. Next would come a rush of all the fighting men. They
would storm the palace and either break through or be driven off.
Probably, Daoud thought, the attack would fail. But even so, it would
give him the opportunity he needed.

The two Armenian guards held their bows laxly, resting their backs
against the wall by the door. The candle in the sconce was six paces
away from the guards. Silently he lifted the bucket of water he had
brought down with him and moved it out in front of the wine barrel rack
so that later he could quickly reach it. Then he loaded the Scorpion,
drawing back its string.

He stepped out from behind the barrels, aiming for the eye of the
nearest guard, and fired. The steel dowels snapped forward, propelling
the bolt through the eyeball and into the skull. The man collapsed
without an outcry. His body, clad in leather and steel, hit the stone
floor with a crash.

The other Armenian gave a shrill shout in his native tongue. He stared
in horror at Daoud, and his heavy compound bow was up, the iron
arrowhead pointing at Daoud's chest.

Daoud had already taken the disk of Hindustan out of the flat pouch on
the left side of his belt. Dropping the Scorpion into its pocket, he
transferred the disk to his right hand. The disk was heavy; by Frankish
weight it would probably be half a pound. Its center was of strong,
flexible steel; bonded to its edges was a more brittle steel that would
take an edge sharp enough to slice a hair lengthwise.

Daoud scaled the disk at the candle that rested in the sconce at the
door to the pantry. It sliced through the candle's tip, just below the
wick. The flame went out, plunging the cellar into total darkness. The
disk rang against the stone wall, then clanged to the floor. Daoud's
trained hearing registered the place where it fell. The Armenian's bolt
whistled past him and hit the wall with a sharp crack.

Voices from inside the spice pantry shouted questions. That must be the
two Armenians who had first gone in there with the Tartars. The man
outside answered, and Daoud could hear fear in his voice. De Gobignon
would not want to open the door to help the Armenian, for fear of
endangering the Tartars.

Somehow, he had to be made to open the door.

Daoud stood still, listening to the guard's rapid, heavy breathing, the
scraping of his boot soles on the stone floor.

After a mom