He straightened up. "Your Signory, do you not know that John and Philip
are dead? And it was this man's servant, Giancarlo, who shot them from
ambush with a crossbow on the battlefield. I shot this David of
Trebizond not only to save your life, but to avenge the Tartars."

"Killed?" De Gobignon turned away, beating his mailed fist against his
leg. "God, God, God! Two years I've kept them alive and Anjou _loses_
them!"

The count was silent for a long moment. His back remained turned, but
his shoulders heaved. He seemed to be sobbing. Daoud glanced at
Sordello, whose eyes glowed with triumphant hatred.

_So, Lorenzo finished the Tartars. At last. I pray only that it is not
too late._

He felt, not elation, but a quiet satisfaction. He thanked God for
letting him hear this news before he died.

"Did you get Giancarlo?" de Gobignon asked in a quiet, choked voice.

"No, Your Signory. The battle came between us."

Daoud thought, _Thank you, O God, for that_.

"Go away, Sordello," said de Gobignon in that same subdued tone. "Go
where I cannot see you. I will deal with you later."

"Your Signory, this man is capable of the most unbelievable treachery.
He will tell you monstrous lies. In the moments of life he has left to
him, God alone knows what evil he may do. I urge you, kill him at once.
It is the wisest thing. Here, here is my dagger. Cut his throat. Avenge
John and Philip--and yourself. Or, let me do it for you. Do not soil
your hands."

_He is terrified of what I might say about him._

In his dimming vision Daoud saw Sordello lunge at him, holding a long
dagger. Suddenly he vanished. A moment later Daoud heard a crash.

"I told you," de Gobignon said. "Get out of my sight."

For a short time Daoud could see no one. He heard movements and
murmurings around him. Then he felt a hand slide under his head and lift
it up. A fresh wave of pain swept through his body, shocking him with
its force. He thought he had already felt the worst. He cried aloud.

_Soma. In the hour when I need it most, I had almost forgotten it._

He pictured the mind-created drug collecting in his head and coursing in
a stream of glowing silver down his throat and branching out to all
parts of his body. Cooling, soothing. Building a wall around the place
down low on the right side of his chest where the crossbow bolt had
driven into him. A silver globe formed around the pain, and he was able
to think and speak. He felt that his head w