Lord Protector (28 page)

Blade waited, the tension making his skin crawl, as the dog approached. The soldier in the chair watched his familiar, unable to see the assassin in the gloom. The hound circled towards Blade's feet, lowering its nose to the floor. The assassin drew them up, luring the dog closer. It followed, growling again. The man at the window drew his sword with a hiss, glancing at his comrade, who frowned at his familiar. The second dog stalked towards Blade, its curiosity aroused, and perhaps its suspicion as well.

Blade eased another dagger from his belt as the first dog came within range, tensing. He lashed out with a blade-tipped boot, and the razor edge sliced open the hound's chest. Blade lunged at the second animal as the first recoiled with a yelp. The man by the window grunted and staggered back. The dagger impaled the second hound's heart, and it gave a piercing yowl. The soldier in the chair shouted and jumped up as the dog collapsed, then sank to his knees and keeled over.

The bed's occupants sat up, and the man by the window charged, his sword raised. Blade leapt to his feet, reached the bed in three strides and sprang onto it. Two girls shrieked and shrank back. Dravis gaped at him. Blade slit the Prince's throat with a vicious flick of his hand, recoiling from the warm splatter of blood. Dravis fell backwards with a gargle, and the girls screamed and scrambled off the bed. Blade lunged at the Prince and stabbed him twice in the chest. The soldier behind him brought his sword down, slicing into the bed beside Blade with a burst of feathers as the assassin rolled sideways.

The door crashed open as he rolled off the bed. The wounded dog sprang at him, its teeth snapping together a hair's breadth from Blade's arm as he spun away. The soldier tugged his sword from the bed and turned, swinging the weapon. Blade ducked under it and lunged, his dagger skittering off the soldier's breastplate and slicing into his neck. The two men who had charged into the room rushed towards him, swords drawn, and their dogs ran ahead, snarling.

Blade spun as the soldier he had just stabbed recoiled, and kicked the first dog to reach him in the chest. It collapsed, its heart pierced by three inches of steel, and one of the men reeled drunkenly, then went down with a thud. A hound sank its teeth into the assassin's calf, and he stabbed it, forcing it to let go with a yelp. Its friend cried out and lunged, his sword sliding past Blade's flank as he swayed aside. Shrieking girls added to the confusion as they ran for the door, one falling when she tripped over a body. The man Blade had stabbed in the neck raised his sword again, just as his comrade swung his weapon and one of the wounded dogs bit Blade's ankle.

The assassin dropped, stabbing the dog that worried his leg. It released him and scrambled away, yelping. A sword swished over his head, and another hacked into the wooden floor beside him with a bang. He lunged at the man whose sword was now embedded in the floor, who already bled from a cut in his neck. The soldier recoiled, releasing his weapon, and Blade spun to face the uninjured man as he brought his sword down in an angled sweep. The assassin flung himself sideways, his boot-blades scraping on the floor, and lashed out with a foot, stabbing the soldier in the thigh. The man shouted and staggered, his sword skittering off the floor beside Blade. The angled impact wrenched it from the mercenary's grip, and it bounced away into the gloom.

Blade turned and sprinted for the open window, thrusting the daggers into his belt. He sailed through it, tucking up his legs. The cobblestones rushed up at him, and he waved his arms to keep himself upright, then straightened his legs just before he hit the ground. The drop was too far for a safe landing, and the cobblestones too hard to avoid injury. The impact jarred him, and pain shot from his left ankle. His knees buckled to absorb the shock, and he tucked in one shoulder and rolled. He grunted as the air was punched from his lungs, and lay stunned for a moment, then scrambled up and limped into the shadow of the next house.

Shouts rang out, and several crossbow bolts ricocheted off the wall beside him. He darted around the corner and trotted along a narrow alley as warhounds bayed behind him. Ignoring the pain in his ankle, he increased his pace to a lope, searching the houses ahead for a route to the roofs. A parked wagon came into view, and he leapt onto it, then jumped up to grab the gutter and haul himself up. Clattering over the tiles, he hurdled the gap to the next rooftop, cursing his pursuers. There was only one thing more dangerous than using the assassin's highway in a poor quarter, and that was doing so at speed, with a broken ankle.

Wardogs ran along the street below, giving tongue as they spotted him. Blade turned and trotted along the roof's apex, waving his arms to keep his balance on the slippery tiles. Reaching the back of the house, he leapt across the gap to the next rooftop, landing on the slope. His injured leg gave way, and he skidded down it for several feet before he grabbed a protruding tile. The dogs arrived below him and clawed at the wall, baying. Releasing the tile, he crawled across the roof, scanning the area ahead. A web of washing lines bridged the gap to the next house, but they were no use to him.

Rising to his feet, he ran down the slope and leapt across to a lower house, landing on his good leg, then trotted over it. The next gap was too wide to jump with an injured ankle and while wearing boot-blades, and he glanced around as the baying hounds drew closer again. A narrow beam spanned the distance to a dilapidated house with a badly patched roof, presumably put there by some thoughtful person to reinforce the sagging shanty. Dropping onto it, he trotted along it and leapt up to grab the edge of the roof, hauling himself up again. Sweat tickled his skin, and his breath came in ragged gasps. The roof bowed as he ran across it, and he headed for a taller dwelling that abutted it.

A broken tile gave way under his foot, and he plunged through the rotten roof, landing in a shower of debris and dust. A startled couple jerked upright in a narrow bed, their eyes wide. Blade ignored them and picked himself up, shaking dirt from his hair. Trotting to the window, he thrust open the shutters and slipped over the sill, dropping to the street below. He was not going to brave that roof again.

Two dogs rounded the corner and charged him. Blade drew the daggers from his belt and swung to face them. One sprang at his arm while the other went for his thigh. He spun away, stabbing the leaping dog in the chest as the second dog's teeth snapped together next to his leg. The injured hound yelped and writhed in the shadows, and Blade slashed at the second dog, which jumped back, avoiding the dagger. It bayed, calling its friend, and Blade cursed, then ran at it, making it turn tail and bolt. Slipping the daggers back into his belt, he leapt onto a nearby window ledge, then jumped up to grab a protruding beam and swing himself onto the roof.

The dog returned to bark at him, and he scrambled up the roof, then halted, waving his arms to keep his balance. A mercenary had climbed onto the wall that ran between this house and the next, and rose to his feet, drawing his sword. Blade cursed. In the confusion, he had somehow become turned around. Another man stood below, shouting encouragement to his comrade. The man teetered, swinging his arms, and edged along the wall towards Blade, brandishing the sword.

The assassin watched the soldier's cautious approach, then trotted towards him. The mercenary froze, raising his weapon as Blade ran at him. He tried to swing the sword when Blade reached him, but the assassin shoved him off and ran on, jumping onto the next roof. The soldier fell into a pile of refuse with a crash, and his cohort yelled threats and curses. Clearly these men knew nothing about dealing with assassins if they were foolish enough to challenge one on a rooftop.

Changing direction, Blade limped away from the shouts and barking below, sprang onto a higher wall and ran along it to a building with ornate gables. A soft twang warned him, and he ducked as a crossbow quarrel hissed over his head. Cursing again, he crouched and sprinted up the roof to the chimney, where he paused to take stock of his surroundings. A plethora of shacks surrounded him, which told him that he had strayed deeper into the slums.

Choosing the closest, he leapt down onto it, and the roof gave way, predictably. He wrenched his foot free as he sprawled, avoiding another broken ankle, but the top of the roof caught him across the chest as his hands slipped on the mossy tiles. Pain shot from his ribs, and his breath caught. He lay still for a minute, then rolled over the edge, landing in a garbage-choked alley with a grunt. As he climbed to his feet, a wardog appeared at the end of the lane and charged him, snarling. Blade spun away as the dog leapt, its teeth ripping his sleeve. He used his momentum to punch the animal in the side of the head, sending it crashing into the wall with a yelp.

The hound leapt up, and Blade kicked it, his boot-blade impaling the dog under its jaw. The force of the kick lifted the animal off its feet, and it hit the wall and collapsed. The assassin ran to the far end of the alley and climbed over the wall, almost becoming tangled in the washing lines strung across the other side. Had he been in Jondar, he would know the lay of the land, and he had dozens of well-known escape routes that he used there. Here, however, he was running blind, and he disliked it intensely.

Freeing himself from the washing lines, some of which his boot-blades cut, he loped across the yard and hurdled the next wall. This time he landed on a pile of firewood and fell backwards as the logs rolled away. Spotting a side gate, he ran to it and wrenched it open, coming face-to-face with a surprised mercenary. The man raised his sword, and Blade jerked a dagger from his belt and stabbed him in the throat. As the man fell to his knees, the assassin brushed past him and sprinted into the next street. He almost skidded as he turned sharply to enter yet another smelly alley, his ankle protesting.

Reaching the end of it, he scaled the wall and dropped over the other side, finding himself in an overgrown garden. He pushed through the bushes and limped across it to scramble onto the next wall, then sprang onto the adjoining roof. Running along it, he leapt the gap to the house across the street, where he paused to get his bearings. Spotting the fortress in the distance, he headed towards it. Pain lanced from his ankle at every stride, and his broken ribs made it hard to breathe.

The next roof sagged as he landed on it, smashing several tiles, and he sprinted up it and down the other side, then jumped the next gap and paused to listen to the sounds of his pursuers, which had fallen behind. The hounds were useless without a scent trail to follow. Moving more cautiously, he trotted along the roof and jumped across another gap, then slid down a drainpipe and loped up a street.

By the time he reached the inn, his legs ached, his ankle was on fire and his chest throbbed. Sweat chilled his skin, and he scaled the wall to the window of his room with shaking hands. Inside, he flopped down on the bed and waited for his racing heart to slow. When it did, he rose and stuffed his few belongings into the bag, along with the sharp-edged footgear. He quit the room and left the inn by the back door, trotting away down the street.

Dawn found him outside another inn in a middle-class suburb, a long way from the slums and Dravis' soldiers and spies. He rented a room and ordered a bath, which he soaked in for a time-glass. Afterwards he strapped his swollen ankle and bound his ribs, then spent another time-glass picking splinters out of his fingers and dabbing a salve on the numerous scrapes he had gained during the wild chase across the rooftops, and the puncture wounds in his calf. Stretching out on the bed, he slept for most of the day.

When he rose in the afternoon, his ankle and calf throbbed and his ribs hurt with every breath. Ignoring the pain, he counted the few silvers in his purse. He did not have enough money to purchase a horse for the journey back to Jashimari, and stealing one would bring an unwelcome pursuit. Blade cleaned his daggers while he pondered the problem, then went down to the taproom. The evening trade had started as dusk fell, and merchants and tradesmen filled the common room. He hoped to find a client for a quick assassination, and wore his Dance Master's belt to advertise his status as well as his profession. Even injured as he was, a simple killing was not beyond his abilities, and he wanted nothing more now than to leave Contara.

The Ashmarad Guild of Assassin would take a dim view of him plying his trade in their city, but there was no law against it. Several time-glasses of sipping wine in a dark corner gleaned no potential customers, however, and he considered alternative solutions to his problem. While the Guild forbade theft or brigandry, harmless methods of earning money were allowed, although frowned upon. Most of the patrons had left by this time, and only a few hardened drinkers remained. Blade rose and limped over to a table that four beefy men occupied, who looked like gate guards or mercenaries. Certainly they were fighting men.

Drawing a dagger, he stabbed it into the table to get their attention, then slapped his three remaining silvers down beside it.

"Three silvers says I can hit anything you point at," he said.

The men stared at him, then glanced at each other, and one chuckled. "That's a mean wager, assassin."

"It's all I have. When I've won more, I'll wager it again."

"Confident, aren't you?" another man asked.

Blade shrugged. "It's my trade."

"I'll take that wager," the third man stated, slapping three silvers down beside Blade's coins.

The assassin tugged the dagger from the table and hefted it. "So what's it to be?"

The man glanced around, then pointed at one of the ceiling beams. "That knot."

Blade studied the tiny knot, which was no larger than a copper and about two man-lengths away, but only half a man-height above his head. Gripping the dagger by the blade, he drew back his hand and flung it. The weapon hit the knot dead centre, and the Contaran grunted. Blade had to climb onto a chair to retrieve the dagger, then returned to the table.

"Six silvers says I can hit anything you point at."

The fourth man slapped six coins down on the table and pointed at one of the ale casks stacked against the wall at the back of the common room. "The cork in that barrel."