Lord Protector (20 page)

Daron nodded and fondled the weapon hidden under his jacket, then snatched his hand away. The tension in the taproom grew as the men waited, hot words occasionally breaking the soft hum of conversation as tempers frayed under the strain. On the stairs, Melia chatted to one of the serving wenches. Blade sent a probing thought to Rivan, who was ensconced on the edge of the roof outside, and received a bored assurance in reply. As yet, his bond with the cat was not complete. It would take several moons before he was constantly aware of the Rivan's location and mood.

Daron drained his tankard and raised it to summon a serving girl, glancing at Blade's half-full cup. As the girl came over with a fresh mug of ale for the farmer, a frisson went through Blade, and he closed his eyes. He became aware of Rivan's alertness, and the subtle, wordless warning the cat imparted. When he opened his eyes, he found that Daron now wore an anxious, distracted look, which meant that he too had just received a warning from a familiar outside. The hum of conversation lapsed as many of the men received similar warnings, and Blade fought the urge to look at the door. Melia rose and slipped into the shadows at the top of the stairs, where two slender, bearded men dressed in green and brown joined her.

A distant clatter of hooves grew louder outside, slowed and stopped by the tavern door. Harness jingled and horses snorted, then the doors were thrust open with a blast of cold air. Daron's expression stiffened as his eyes became riveted to the door and whoever had just entered through it. Blade glanced around at the dozen hirsute, disreputable-looking men who had just swaggered in.

Most of them wore leather armour reinforced with ring mail, some had ragged wolf skins draped about their shoulders, and a couple sported expensive-looking cloaks. The leader was easy to spot, being the only one who was clean shaven, and he grinned nastily as he stomped across the room. He yanked a chair from under a patron, dumping the man on the floor, then kicked him aside and sat down. The other villagers scrambled aside, clearing the way for the bandits to take possession of three tables. The ousted men moved off to stand next to the walls, tankards in hand.

The bandits seemed unaware of the tension Blade sensed so palpably. Serving wenches rushed to hand out tankards of ale while trying to avoid the dirty hands that groped various parts of their anatomy. The bandits laughed and jeered, indulging in the vulgar camaraderie Blade had often seen amongst groups of fighting men. He glanced at the door, wondering what kept the last two bandits, for he did not want them outside when the trouble started.

Blade sent an enquiry to Rivan, and found that the two bandits tended to the horses, loosened their girths and threw blankets over the sweating beasts. For men such as these, the health of their mounts was too important neglect. Blade glanced at Daron, who looked tense, his lips white ringed and his hands clenched on the table. The young farmer's eyes glittered with the dread that always preceded deadly action, when a man knew his existence might be snuffed out in the next few minutes.

"Omall!"

Arvon's shout diverted Blade's attention, and he looked around as the grey-haired veteran made his way to the bandits' table with obvious reluctance.

"How's yer lovely wife?" Arvon sneered, and his cronies sniggered. "I bet she's been looking forward to my return, eh? Can't wait to have a real man in her bed again. A young one, instead of an old fart. And yer daughter? Did yer bring her tonight?"

Omall frowned and shook his head. Clearly previous encounters had brow-beaten the villagers into sullen silence. Avron laughed and quaffed his ale, banging the tankard down.

"And my money, Omall? I hope you've brought that. Yer know what happens if yer don't."

Omall nodded, bowing his head.

"Good!" Avron glanced around. "And Jayda's little wench, where's she?"

Daron leant forward and muttered, "Now would be a good time, Claw."

The assassin shook his head, waiting for the two outside to enter the taproom. Listening with one ear to Arvon's dialogue, he realised that the bandit was enumerating the women he intended to ravish that night, and Daron's daughter might be on the list.

"Stay here," he whispered to Daron before sliding from his chair and moving behind one of the many rough-hewn pillars that supported the inn's upper floor. A moment later, Arvon shouted Daron's name and turned to glare at the young farmer.

"Why do yer sit all alone, Daron?" he mocked. "Will no one drink with yer anymore? Spending too much time with the pigs lately?"

The bandits laughed, and Daron gripped his tankard until his knuckles turned white.

"And yer little girl, Daron? I want to meet her tonight. I have a surprise for her."

The brigands hooted, guffawed and whistled, making Daron's jaw bulge as he gritted his teeth. Blade knew that the sword dug into Daron's ribs with hard promise, and his fear melted away in the searing rage that Arvon's taunts kindled in him. It was good that Daron was primed for action, so long as he did not leap up and charge Arvon as he clearly longed to do.

The taproom door opened again, admitting the last two bandits, who made their way to a table and joined their comrades. Blade waited until they settled down and gulped their ale, while Arvon continued to taunt Daron. A glance at the top of the stairs assured him that Melia waited in the shadows there, an arrow notched in her bow.

The moment he had been waiting for arrived, and he stepped out from behind the pillar. His first dagger impaled Arvon through the throat, cutting off his flow of vitriol with a strangled cough. The man next to him died as his eyes widened in surprise, another black hilt protruding from his neck. Blood poured from Arvon's throat as he rose, clawing at it and making gurgling noises. The bandits sprang up with shouts of alarm as a third dagger impaled another man through the eye, and he keeled over.

Three arrows hissed from the stairs, impaling a man in the back. Blade flung another dagger, killing his fourth target with cold steel through his heart. The room erupted into a furore as villagers tugged weapons from their clothes and charged the brigands, who drew their swords and laid about them. Chairs were flung aside and tables overturned in the sudden, furious battle that filled the room.

Screaming women fled and old men dragged their wives from harm's way as the room rang with the clash of metal and grunts of fighting men. Blade spied his fifth target and flung another dagger as a second volley of arrows hissed into the melee, striking one bandit in the arm, another in the shoulder and a third in the thigh. Blade's weapon found its mark in the man's ribs as he raised his sword, exposing the unarmoured area beneath his arm. He fell with a yell, dropping his weapon.

Daron jumped up, brandishing a rusty sword, his face ashen with terror. As Blade drew another dagger from his belt, two bandits spotted him and forged towards him with angry shouts. One was a huge man clad in bearskin and carrying a massive axe, the last of Blade's targets. Two more arrows hissed into the melee, one hitting a table as its target moved, the other striking a man in the gut.

The men hacked and slashed at each other, some blocking their opponent's blows and retaliating. The crowd was now liberally smeared and splattered with blood, and broken arrows protruded from some of the bandits. The brigands were experienced fighters, but the villagers had the advantage of numbers. A bandit screamed and fell, shot through the neck, and Blade's attention was drawn back to the huge man who bore down on him. He flung the last of his daggers, hitting the giant in the eye, and the bandit staggered a few more steps before he collapsed, the axe falling with a clatter.

Another man, almost as big, gave a roar and charged, his sword raised high. Blade stepped forward and snatched his dagger from the eye of the bear-kin giant. Daron rushed in from the side, swinging his sword. The bandit smashed Daron aside, his bloodshot eyes fixed on the assassin with feverish intensity. Blade retreated, then jumped back as the man swung his weapon in a stroke designed to cleave him in two, encountering the wall with a thud. Tables hemmed him in on either side, trapping him in the bandit's path, and the big man lunged, his sword aimed at Blade's belly.

Daron shouted, struggling to extricate himself from the table under which he had fallen, his sword hampering him. Blade swayed aside, and the brigand's sword chopped into the wooden wall beside him. The assassin stepped forward and slit the bandit's throat as an arrow thudded into the man's back. Blood spouted from the wound, and Blade leapt onto a table to avoid it as the brigand toppled forward.

Blade glanced at the stairs, where Melia stood ashen-faced, then he surveyed the room. Panting, blood-smeared villagers stood over the corpses of their fallen foes, their faces pale and stiff. Jumping down, Blade went over to a corpse and wiped his dagger on its clothes, rubbing a few spots of blood from his hands. Groaning wounded lay amongst the dead, and after a moment's stunned inaction, some of the men helped them. The stench of blood and fear hung heavy in the air, and Blade's stomach clenched. He longed to quit the room, but still had the onerous task of finding his daggers amongst the dead.

Blade glimpsed Melia sink down on the stairs, her bow dangling from her fingers, looking numb with horror as she surveyed the bloody scene. Her eyes followed him as he poked amongst the bodies for his weapons. He wondered why she had not aimed to kill until she had thought he was about to be skewered against the wall, and only then had taken her first deadly shot. Small consolation that her target had already been dead when her arrow had struck, he mused. She looked like the fact that she had aimed for the heart still sickened her. He retrieved four daggers and hunted for the fifth, doing his best not to get blood on his hands.

As Blade tugged his dagger from Arvon's throat, the villagers discovered an injured bandit and dragged him from under a table with shouts of anger and triumph. The assassin glanced at the brigand as he wiped his weapon on Arvon's cloak, noting his youth and terror. Four swords were pressed to the grubby boy's neck, and he seemed doomed to meet his end at their sharp edges. Then the villagers lowered their weapons, staring at the shivering youth. Blade snorted and tucked away his dagger, heading for the door.

"Claw!" Omall shouted.

The assassin turned, raising his brows.

Omall glanced at the young bandit. "What should we do with him?"

Blade shrugged. "It's up to you, but I would kill him."

"If we let him go, he'll tell others of his kind about our triumph."

"Indeed."

The boy began to weep. "Please, sirs! Please don't kill me. I won't tell anyone, I swear!"

The villagers shuffled, and Omall flinched at the boy's entreaty. Blade turned away with another snort.

"Claw!"

The assassin swung around again, frowning with irritation.

Omall spread his hands. "We can't... Would you do it?"

"I've already fulfilled my quota."

The boy sobbed, tears running down his grimy cheeks. "No! I beg you! Let me live!"

"And besides," Blade added, "I'm not an executioner."

"But it must be done." Omall glanced at the other men. "And none of us has the stomach for it."

The boy's legs buckled, and he fell to his knees. "Please don't kill me! I beg you!"

Omall averted his eyes from the pleading youth. "We would pay you for it."

"According to Daron, you've already paid me all the money you possess."

"We could pay you later... in a few days’ time."

"I don't work like that. Lock him up until you have the money."

Omall glanced at the others, who looked unhappy. "We would rather get it over with."

"Then do it yourselves."

"He's just a boy."

"Then let him go and risk your lives. He'll run straight to a bandit gang and tell them what happened here."

"I won't! I swear!" the boy wailed.

Omall shook him. "Be quiet! Claw, I give you my word, you will be paid."

The assassin shook his head. "Half the payment in advance, those are my terms."

"How much?"

"Two silvers."

"One in advance."

Blade nodded, and Omall turned to his friends, who dug in their pockets for coppers. The boy wailed for mercy and clutched at the legs of the villagers who collected the fee for his death. Blade found the situation distasteful, and hated the pathetic pleading of the doomed youth, not because it affected him, but because it was so undignified. To kill such a piteous creature was demeaning, and he longed to get it over with and silence the boy's cries. The youngster grabbed Jayda's leg and clung to it, weeping into the veteran's trousers as he shook with terror. Jayda gave a grunt of annoyance and flung the youth aside, sending him sprawling at Blade's feet.

The young bandit looked up at the assassin, his eyes white ringed, and grasped Blade's foot, crying, "Please, sir! For God's sake, don't kill me. I beg you!"

Blade kicked the boy in the side of the head, knocking him unconscious. Omall swung around to glance down at the supine youth.

"Is he dead?"

"No, you haven't paid me yet. I was tired of listening to him."

Omall raised his eyes to meet Blade's icy gaze. "By God, you're a cold man."

"An assassin who can't kill the helpless is useless to his clients."

Omall frowned. "I'm glad you have to live with this, and not me."

"On the contrary, I will not, but you will. You're the ones paying for his death."

The veteran frowned, slapped a handful of coppers down on a table and counted it. It added up to a silver, and he pushed the pile towards Blade.

"Your fee."

Blade inclined his head, then lowered himself to one knee beside the boy and rolled him onto his back. A sound from the direction of the stairs made him glance towards them as Melia turned and ran up them, vanishing into the gloom beyond. Blade drew a dagger, and most of the villagers looked away as he pulled open the youth's leather armour and placed the weapon's point against the boy's chest.

A swift, expert thrust sent the blade into the young bandit's heart, and a soft sigh escaped him as he died. The assassin pulled the weapon out and wiped it clean on the boy's shirt, then rose and swept up the money. The villagers returned to their chores of tending the wounded, none glancing at the boy's body. Daron approached, holding out the pouch that contained the balance of Blade's fee, his eyes averted as the assassin took it. Blade headed for the door, eager to quit the ugly scene with its foul stench.