Lord Protector (19 page)

"Claw."

"Claw." Daron thrust out a callused hand.

The assassin stepped around him to wander over to the table again, where he swept half the coins back into the purse and held it out to Daron, who took it uncertainly.

"I get the second half upon completion of the job. Muster your men in the taproom tonight. I'll join you later to speak to them."

Daron nodded, backed towards the door and cracked his head on a beam, then fumbled with the latch in his haste to leave his clumsiness behind. As soon as he was alone, Blade knelt beside Rivan and rubbed the cat's belly, making him to purr in a comical rattle. Blade pondered his decision, wondering why he had agreed to such an outlandish arrangement. The only time he had killed in a similar situation was when a group of merchants had hired him to slay the leader of a ring of smugglers.

His employers had hired armed men to invade the smugglers' stronghold and engage them in a brawl while Blade singled out the leader and stabbed him as he fled. The four men who had been guarding their leader had chased Blade for some distance before he had given them the slip. That had been necessary because the smugglers, like the bandits, would have exacted a terrible revenge on the merchants for the death of so many of their number, had their leader survived. Without him, the remainder had disbanded.

When enough time had passed, Blade wandered into town along the deserted, moonlit road. Warm light spilt from the taproom's windows, where many male voices were raised in noisy dispute. Leaving Rivan to wait in outside, Blade stepped into the shadows next to the door and listened to the argument that raged between the twenty-four men gathered there. Several torches in wall sconces and a few lamps on the tables lighted the spacious room that spanned the inn's ground floor, scarred pillars supporting the upper storey. Bunches of dried herbs hung from the beams, and a collection of shiny copper pots adorned the wall around a sizeable fireplace. As taprooms went, it was surprising clean, the tables polished and fresh sawdust covering the floor.

Two plump serving girls stood by the wall, smiling and shaking their heads at the clamour. A reed slim girl, no more than fifteen years old, sat on the stairs that led to the rooms above, biting her lip. Green eyes flashed in a pale-skinned, fine-featured face framed by ringlets of fiery red hair. Blade studied her while he listened to the heated debate about whether or not the local assassin could kill five men, and how.

Daron was his only defender, and glared at those who disputed Blade's abilities. "He offered me a demonstration. Would he do that if he can't do as he claims?"

"Assassins are sly bastards. He'll use trickery to fool us, then stand by and watch us slain," a grey-haired man proclaimed.

"Or he may even now be aboard his horse and galloping away at all speed," another man said.

"No he isn't," a fat man whom Blade recognised as the ostler said, "because he won't get his horse."

A rumble of laughter and muttered admiration went through the crowd at this, and several men slapped the ostler on the back.

"Never trust an assassin," a tall, one-legged man boomed, waving an ale tankard. "They'll take yer money with one hand and stab yer in the back with t'other."

"I believe he'll do as he said," Daron said, looking desperate.

"Yeah, well, yer a gullible young idiot, Daron," the one-legged man said.

"Then why did you send me to hire him?"

"So he'd kill Arvon and some of his scum before they killed him. Not to bring all of us into it."

"Well he's not as stupid as you thought."

"So where is he then?" the grey-haired man demanded. "Hiding in someone's coal cellar, I'll wager."

Blade pushed himself away from the wall and stepped into the light. A soft gasp came from the girl on the stairs as she spotted him, and the men who had their backs to him swung around. Their faces slackened with shock, then they stepped out of his way. Blade stopped at the edge of the ring of men and raked them with a hard glance.

"You would lose that wager," he murmured into the silence, pinning the grey-haired man with a glance.

Daron looked relieved and a little smug, nudging his neighbour.

"I take it your friends would like a demonstration," Blade remarked. "From what I've heard, they doubt my abilities."

"And your trustworthiness," the one-legged man muttered.

"That too."

"You're a dagger man," the older man said. "How do you propose to slay five men whilst standing on the side-lines?"

"I'll show you."

Blade glanced around at the serving wenches, who blushed and shuffled their feet. "Have you any roseapples or potpears, ladies?"

The taller girl nodded, shooting him a coy smile before crossing the room and vanishing into the back of the inn. She returned with a bowl of shiny yellow roseapples and handed it to him, and he carried it over to Daron and thrust it into his hands.

"Throw five into the air as quickly as you can."

The assassin swung away when Daron nodded and walked back to the edge of the circle, where he bent to extract a dagger from its boot sheath and slip it into his belt. The men around Daron sidled away, leaving the young man standing in the centre of the room. Blade nodded to him, and Daron glanced at the assassin's empty hands before reaching into the bowl for a roseapple. He tossed it so high that it almost hit the roof before starting its descent. Blade yanked a dagger from his belt and flung it in a smooth single motion, impaling the fruit with such force that it hit the wall behind Daron.

The young man threw another roseapple, not so high this time. A second dagger split the fruit in two and clattered off the wall as Daron threw the third and Blade used the last dagger in his belt to impale it. Daron threw the fourth and fifth roseapples, and Blade yanked the weapons from his wrist sheaths, flinging them almost simultaneously. The last two roseapples fell with daggers hilt-deep in them, and the men stared at them. After a brief, pregnant silence, a giggle from the stairs made Blade glance at the girl who sat there.

Melia covered her mouth to hide her mirth and gazed at him with sparkling eyes. A reluctant smile tugged at Blade's lips, and she lowered her hand to reveal a broad grin. The assassin's attention was drawn back to the men when Daron banged the bowl of roseapples down on a table and glared around at his cohorts.

"Well? Do you dispute his abilities now?"

The one-legged man shook his head. "Nay lad, now we only doubt his trustworthiness."

Blade frowned at the man. "I'm a guild assassin. My code dictates my actions. Having accepted part payment, I'm bound to honour my agreement."

"So you say. I say, honour amongst killers? A joke!"

Blade pulled the money pouch from his belt and held it out. "Then take back your money and consider the deal annulled."

"No!" Daron strode up to the one-legged man and loomed over him. "He meant no offence, did you, Jayda? It took a great deal to persuade Claw to help us, and now you see fit to undo my work because you're too cowardly to face those men."

"I am not!" Jayda's face mottled with fury.

"You were willing to hire him when you thought he'd be the only one to get hurt, but now that you must do your part, you want to break the deal."

"I see a great opportunity for this scum killer to let those bandit bastards slaughter us while he stands by and does nothing."

Daron shot Blade a quick glance. "I'll be standing beside him, so if he does, I'll kill him myself."

Blade's brows rose, but Jayda seemed placated, for he snorted and swung away. Daron slumped as the assassin tucked away the money pouch once more, then turned to pick up his tankard and drain it. The serving wench came forward to collect the roseapples and remove the daggers, wiping them before returning them to Blade with another coy smile. He tucked them into their various sheaths, looking up when Daron approached with the grey-haired man beside him.

"This is Omall, veteran of the great war."

"And Jayda is the younger veteran you spoke of."

"Yes."

"He's not a coward," Omall said. "He just knows how dangerous it is to be in the midst of a group of armed men intent on killing each other, and that if you don't do your part, most of us will die."

"Indeed. But since I intend to strike first, he shouldn't be so worried. I should be able to kill at least three before the rest realise what's happening, and that's when your men attack. The girl and the huntsmen should shoot from the stairs, and account for at least four. That will leave five for the rest of you to kill."

"And we will." The old man revealed his animal kin in a wolfish grin. "Just make sure one of your targets is the leader. He's supposed to be a fearsome swordsman."

Blade nodded. "His death is purchased, and I need the names of four others."

"Why?"

"I must have the names of my targets. It's part of my code."

Omall tilted his head and frowned. "I've been to a big city. I know assassins kill any who get in their way when they perform an assassination. They don't know those men's names."

"No, those men are slain in self-defence, since they're a threat to the assassin's life. But in order to slay men who have no chance of harming me, they must be targets and I must have their names."

"I see." Omall inclined his head and rattled off four names, accompanied by detailed descriptions of unsavoury men Blade knew were the best fighters in the bandit gang. As an ex-soldier, Omall would be an excellent judge of other men's fighting abilities, even if he had never seen them in battle.

Daron stopped a passing maid and lifted two tankards from her tray, pressing one into Blade's hands with a broad grin.

"So let's drink to tomorrow's victory."

Blade let them clash their tankards against his and sipped the bitter ale, aware that Melia's eyes still rested upon him with open curiosity and a great deal of admiration. As soon as he had finished his ale and the men had settled down to talk and drink, he returned to his cabin.

Chapter Fourteen

Blade spent most of the following day resting, as he usually did before an assassination. In the afternoon he went for a short walk, taking a freshly-killed rabbit for Rivan and his sister to share. Leaving Rivan to play with her, he returned to the cabin and sharpened his daggers until dusk, oiling the sheaths to ensure that they did not stick. As the first stars appeared in the darkening sky, he wandered into town and entered the taproom unnoticed.

Melia sat on the stairs, dressed in drab, inconspicuous brown, and a swift glance around the room assured Blade that all the men were there. No weapons were in evidence, but an air of nervous expectancy hung over the group. Several elderly farmers and a few buxom wives mixed with the fighters, lending the gathering authenticity. Blade chose a chair in a dark corner halfway between the door and the stairs and accepted a mug of ale from the flirtatious serving maid. He was pleased to note that the men all appeared to be sober.

Soon Daron came over and took the chair opposite, bringing a tankard of ale with him. He looked nervous, and kept touching the slight bulge under one arm that betrayed the presence of a weapon.

Blade leant forward. "They'll know you're armed."

The young farmer paled. "How?"

"Because you keep fondling the damned thing."

Daron gripped his tankard, making an effort to stop reassuring himself of his weapon's continued presence. "I'm a bit... nervous, that's all."

"A bit?" Blade smiled. "If the rest look like you, we're doomed."

"How can you be so calm?"

The assassin shrugged. "I'm used to killing."

"But the danger. Aren't you afraid?"

"I use such unwanted emotions to heighten my abilities, but since they're not even here yet, I'm not worried."

"You must think me a coward."

Blade shook his head. "Anyone who's not afraid of what's to come is a fool."

Daron frowned into his ale. "Aren't you worried that they might choose not to fight? If they don't, the bandits will kill you."

"Is that what they plan to do?"

"I'm not sure. If they're planning to do that, they didn't tell me."

"But you suspect that they might."

Daron's shoulders hunched. "Yes."

"Then they're fools."

"Why?"

"Because when the killing starts, the bandits won't know who's doing it. They'll cut down any they suspect, and that will be those closest to them. Since I intend to kill the leader first, they'll be without guidance."

"I see." Daron looked troubled. "And if they betray you?"

Blade's eyes narrowed. "That would be an even greater mistake. A betrayed assassin is entitled to speak his employer's name, and the bandits will lay greater blame on them than me. I may suffer, but your friends would die. That's why assassins have a tattoo that denotes our trade, so we can't be accused of being murderers."

Daron shifted, gazing across the room at his friends. With a sheepish glance at Blade, he rose and went over to Omall, sitting beside him to mutter in the veteran's ear. Omall's face hardened, and he shot a cold glance in Blade's direction, then leant across the table to speak to Jayda.

When Daron returned a few minutes later, he looked angry.

"So, they did plan to betray me," Blade said.

"I'm not sure, but it's possible."

"And since you weren't part of the plan, they were willing to sacrifice you."

Daron took a gulp of ale. "So it would seem. But whatever they were planning, if anything, they know better now."

"Your friends are fools."

"I could have been wrong."

Blade shrugged and sipped his ale. "I'll wager they thought I would fight to the death, killing half the bandits in the process."

"Probably. What would you have done?"

"Surrendered, of course."

Daron frowned. "They might still have killed you."

"No, they would have wanted to know who employed me."

"And then they would have killed you."

Blade smiled. "Not unless they were lack wits who didn't know the folly of taking on an armed assassin. More likely they would have vented their wrath on easier targets, such as your friends."