Imperial Assassin (2 page)

‘In other words, a holiday then,’ grunted Nelek from the back of the tent. ‘You’d better not have gained any bad habits or sloppy ways, youngster. If the File Leader
picks us up for anything on your account, there’ll be hell to pay.’

‘Welcome back, Reynik,’ Tymm muttered quietly with raised eyebrows, making sure that the comment was quiet enough for Nelek not to catch it. The rest remained silent and appeared to
lose interest in his return.

‘I’ll do my best not to let anyone down,’ Reynik said, emptying his travel pack and constructing his narrow canvas bed. It would take some time to be fully accepted again. In
the meantime, he knew he had to concentrate on the basics of soldiering and blend back into the background.

All Legionnaires were trained to look after themselves in every sphere of life. There were standard ways of making up a bed, of storing one’s clothes, of cutting one’s hair and of
cleaning one’s personal kit. There was even a ‘Legion Standard’ way of making one’s cup of klah in the morning. To become a Legionnaire was to become more than just a
soldier; it involved taking on a whole way of life. For Reynik, the Legion standards were something he felt born to. He had learned many of them at his father’s knee since he had first begun
to walk and talk.

Reynik’s was a distinguished military family that boasted generations of fine soldiers. Most recently, both his father and uncle had been Legion Commanders, the highest military rank
barring General that a soldier could aspire to. His father was still a serving Commander, but an assassin had killed his uncle some years ago.

Reynik had witnessed his uncle’s murder and had seen the man who killed him. He had never expected to see the killer again, but recent events had caused their paths to cross. He now knew
the man’s name was Shalidar. Having recognised the assassin, he had hoped to avenge his uncle, but the chance had not materialised. His consolation was that he and Ambassador Femke had foiled
Shalidar’s attempt to dissolve the peace talks.

The assassin was still on the run. No one was sure how, but he had eluded all pursuit and escaped the Royal Palace in Mantor. Reynik was quietly pleased at this, for whilst foiling
Shalidar’s plans had held a certain satisfaction, it had not sated Reynik’s desire for revenge. He wanted to face the assassin blade to blade. He wanted Shalidar to understand why his
hatred for the man burned so deep. Then, and only then, he would kill him – if he could.

It was unlikely that Shalidar would be foolish enough to return to the Shandese capital. The Emperor had put a bounty on the assassin’s head large enough to keep any sane man away.
Shalidar was not mad. On the contrary, he was one of the most calculating men that Reynik had ever met. As Reynik was not at liberty to pursue him, thoughts of vengeance appeared futile.

‘Atten . . . shun!’

The File Leader’s voice boomed into the tent, causing an instant response. Everyone sprang to attention at the end of his bed space, upright and taut.

‘Form up outside. One minute. Move! Move!’

The men spun again and began gathering relevant kit. Fortunately for Reynik, he was already dressed in all his gear. All he needed to do was to strap on his sword and he was ready. He used the
few extra spare seconds to re-secure the straps on his pack. Then he stowed it neatly next to his bed space.

Once outside, the Legionnaires formed three ranks swiftly and silently. The File Seconds checked the spacing before taking up position ready for the File Leader’s briefing. Reynik assumed
his old position in the back rank, and the others rearranged themselves accordingly.

Tent city for the Legions was located outside the South West Quarter of Shandrim. It was beginning to feel like a permanent extension of the city. Rows upon rows of canvas constructs were set
out with exacting precision. The plan had been to camp briefly, draft in conscripts and then to mount an invasion of Thrandor. Instead, the men were being used to supplement the city militia and
maintain public order in the aftermath of a dramatic change of Emperor. The capital was still reeling from the strange sequence of events that had led to a General taking the Imperial Mantle.

The new Emperor was General Surabar, founder of the elite Legion to which Reynik belonged. The soldiers revered him as a leader, so they had good reason to aid him in securing his rule. There
had been no coup. However, now that a distinguished soldier with a reputation for being honourable and fair had taken over leadership of the Empire, they were keen to see him keep it.

Those members of the Legion participating in today’s exercise marched out in ten groups of sixty to the huge training grounds at the edge of the tented area. The rest of the men were all
on duty around the city. A File Leader led each group of sixty, and there was a drummer at the front of every second group beating out the cadence of the marching pace.

It felt strange for Reynik to be marching to the training grounds again. After the extended period away from the Legion it felt good to be back. When they reached the training grounds, the File
Leaders each briefed their group on the schedule of training for the morning. Reynik’s group was ordered to start with individual weapons practice, then move to the drill area for manoeuvre
training.

Reynik gritted his teeth when he was paired with Nelek. The veteran was an excellent swordsman, but he had never been friendly towards Reynik. The man appeared to enjoy inflicting pain on the
younger members of the Legion.

Reynik knew the next half hour would be hard work. He was under no illusions as to who was the superior swordsman. Nelek moved with incredible speed and grace. He also had the instincts of a
killer. The veteran had survived several battles during his career, despite having been in the thick of the fighting for hours. When Reynik had first joined the Legion, one of the more friendly
veterans had recounted a tale of Nelek in the grip of battle fury. The man had claimed to have witnessed Nelek carve his way through a mass of fighters as if they were so many dead trees to be
chopped down. Whether the story was true, or exaggerated, made little difference. The fact remained that he was a truly talented fighter. What Reynik needed to know right now was his weaknesses,
not his strengths.

‘You and me then, Nelek,’ Reynik said brightly, hoping to spark some sort of response.

Nelek grunted, grabbing two training swords from the pile and tossing one to Reynik. They moved into a suitable space and faced one another.

‘How would you like to warm up?’ Reynik asked, rolling his shoulders to limber them in preparation for the punishment he anticipated ahead.

Nelek gave no answer. Instead he attacked. He gave no warning. He just launched straight into a barrage of hard, fast strikes with his wooden blade. Instinct and lightning fast reactions were
all that saved Reynik from a mass of bruises in the first few seconds. The veteran was hitting with full force.

Leaping away from Nelek in an effort to regain some poise and balance, Reynik found he was instantly pursued. Nelek was not giving him space to think. The barrage of strokes continued and
started to get past Reynik’s guard. He took a sharp rap to the ribs and a second on the arm, but there was no let up. Nelek showed no external signs of spite or anger. If he had, then Reynik
would have yelled the yield call that would have forced the man to stop his attack. But Reynik was not ready to yield.

It occurred to Reynik that Nelek was trying to prove something. But what? It did not matter. If this had been a real fight with proper blades, Reynik would already have been severely wounded,
perhaps mortally. But it was a training bout. There were rules. Nelek had already broken one by neglecting to salute. Would he break more? Reynik decided to find out.

Leaping backwards again in apparent retreat, Reynik anticipated that Nelek would continue his relentless pursuit. This time, though, rather than looking for breathing space, Reynik used the
momentary disengagement to change his stance and deliberately leave his head vulnerable to attack. Nelek took the bait and swung at the side of Reynik’s head. Reynik blocked the stroke and
then executed his premeditated plan. He had deliberately landed such that his weight was forward. As the wooden swords met, he spun under and inside Nelek’s guard to drive the elbow of his
left arm up into the man’s solar plexus.

It was a trick that one of the Thrandorian Guards had played on him during a practice bout at the Royal Palace in Mantor. It proved as successful for Reynik as it had for the Thrandorian. Nelek
doubled over, only to have his face meet the back of Reynik’s fist, which rapped the bridge of his nose firmly enough to bring more pain. Nelek staggered back. Before he had a chance to
recover, Reynik had disarmed him and placed his practice blade against the veteran’s throat.

‘That’s quite enough of that,’ a stern voice interjected.

Reynik backed away from Nelek and saluted before turning to face the File Leader. Sidis was looking on with a face like thunder. ‘Nothing new there,’ Reynik thought grimly.

‘What exactly do you think you’re playing at, Reynik?’ Sidis asked, his voice filled with outrage and fury. ‘This is a training ground. We do not deliberately attempt to
inflict injuries on our training partners here. You are a Legionnaire, not a back street brawler. You deliberately struck Nelek in the face. Blows to the head are strictly forbidden for good
reason, Reynik. If you think you are above the rules because of your recent mission, then think again. You are hereby placed on restrictions for seven days. Additionally, you are designated to
jacks duty for the same period. Maybe a week of digging toilet trenches will grind some sense of reality into you. If I see you do anything like that again, I’ll not hesitate to have you
transferred out of the Legion. We harbour no snakes here.’

Reynik said nothing. He looked the File Leader in the eye and saluted him, but he did so in the most perfunctory manner. Sidis turned and stalked off.

Inside, Reynik was seething, but there was nothing he could do. He knew Sidis well enough to know that the man already disliked him. Protesting would only make matters worse. The fact that Nelek
had struck at his head with a training sword mere seconds before was irrelevant. All he could do was to accept the punishment and try to avoid further altercations.

‘Amazing!’ he thought, sick to the stomach. ‘I’ve been back little more than an hour and already I’m in a whole mess of trouble!’

‘Ready for another bout,
boy
?’ Nelek sneered.

For a moment, anger erupted inside Reynik as if someone had lit a heavily oiled torch in his belly. He clamped down on the feeling with an iron discipline, replacing the heat of anger with a
cold, calculating fury. He turned to face Nelek with an icy stare that looked strange on the face of one so young. For a moment the veteran’s snide grin froze on his face, but he was quick to
cover up the discomfort. The trickle of blood from his nose was Reynik’s one consolation. ‘It was a shame I didn’t hit Nelek a fraction higher,’ he thought. ‘A
finger’s width higher and he would probably have sported double black eyes.’

With a mocking salute, Nelek initiated a new fight and Reynik knew that there was to be no mercy from his opponent now.

The trumpet call to signal the change of discipline could not come fast enough. By the end of the session, Reynik had taken so many blows to his arms and body that he fully expected to be black
and blue by the evening. The following drill session was agony. Trying to maintain a stiff, smart stance after having been battered with a wooden training sword for half an hour was no small
challenge. He could feel the File Leader’s eyes following him during the session. The sour old soldier was watching for him to put a foot wrong, ready to pounce on him like a cat on a rodent
that had been a trifle too brave.

Reynik did not oblige him. Somehow he survived to the end of the session without fault, though it took every ounce of concentration he possessed. Even during the march back to tent city, he knew
he could not relax. The sensation of being watched was relentless. It had never been this bad before. Neither during training, nor when he had first joined the unit, had he been forced to endure
such scrutiny.

If he had been able to focus on anything other than keeping in step and swinging his arms to the regulation height, whilst maintaining the perfect distance from the man in front of him, Reynik
might have noticed the first signs of spring around him as they marched back to the tents. The air was crisp, but had lost much of the bite of winter. The hedgerows were beginning to show the first
buds of green whilst the sun rode a shade higher in the sky. But the only elements of the change in season that made any impact were the negative ones. The sticky mud, churned by thousands of boots
on their daily march to and from the training grounds, was no longer stiffened by the frost. Instead, it sucked and squelched underfoot like a live thing, clutching and dragging at him, draining
his energy still further with every step.

Far from the fresh-looking, positive young man who had returned from his travels to join his colleagues a mere two hours beforehand, it was a battered, weary and mud-stained one who stumbled
back into his tent after the morning’s training. He was sure it had not been this hard before he left, but maybe something of what Nelek had been intimating was right. He was out of shape. He
knew it. Despite trying to maintain his fitness levels whilst he had been away, he had not done so with the same iron discipline inflicted by the Legion’s training staff.

‘Well, if I ever need a reason to keep in shape in future, today will give me one,’ he mumbled as he collapsed into his bed space in the tent.

There was not much time. He knew he would have to clean his boots and make his uniform more presentable before lunch. He allowed his body a moment or two of respite before getting cleaned up. It
was a mistake. His muscles, stiff from the discipline of the intense drill and the long march to and from the training area, protested by flooding his limbs and torso with cramping pains. The
bruising from his battering at the hands of Nelek served to intensify the discomfort.