Lord Protector (3 page)

Talon bent to fondle his wolf's ears. "You know the rules. While you were the Master of the Dance, you only had to attend when you were challenged, and few did. But now you must take part in the competitions, otherwise the choice of the best assassin is flawed, and that's not allowed. The man who now holds the title is no match for you."

"I don't care. Let him have it."

"We can't do that, I'm afraid."

"I'm too old to dance."

"Then retire."

Blade flung up his hands. "Fine, tell them I'm retired."

"I can't do that. You have to go through the ceremony again."

"No."

"It's not a choice. There's a meeting tonight, and the elders insist that you attend, either to compete or retire. That choice is yours, but attendance is not."

Blade rubbed his shoulder, which ached. "They insist?"

"I'm afraid so."

"And they sent you to make me obey them?"

Talon smiled. "There are others waiting outside."

"I see."

Talon stepped closer and laid a hand on Blade's shoulder, his smile widening. "Come, your journey can wait until tomorrow."

Blade shrugged off Talon's hand and bent to pick up his bag. "That doesn't make this any less annoying."

The number of assassins who waited at the standing stones surprised Blade, who wondered how there could be enough trade to support so many. Most of them were apprentices or elders, however, only a third were active assassins.

As he walked through the woods towards the ring of stones, aware of the flitting shadows that followed, he recalled how Bolt had struggled to find work, and knew that most of these assassins shared that problem. Only the Master of the Dance was busy and well paid, lesser assassins killed for a couple of silvers and counted themselves lucky to find any work at all.

Blade paused at the edge of the woods to take in the scene. The wooden platform, which four torches lighted, would be used for the competition. A sturdy frame with strong uprights supported the polished boards, ensuring that they did not wobble or bend. Over the years, beams and stones had been added to produce a solid dais upon which the dancers performed.

A fire roared in front of the platform, illuminating the figures that ringed it. Groups of muttering men passed wine skins around, which struck Blade as odd. A tense, brooding atmosphere hung over the assassins, and anger simmered amongst them. This was not normal at a guild meeting, and he glanced at Talon.

"What's going on?"

Talon smiled and patted his shoulder. "Come and find out."

Blade glanced back at the five figures that detached themselves from the shadows and followed at a discrete distance. Talon shot him an appraising look.

"How fit are you?"

"Fit enough to tell them I'm retiring."

"What about dancing?"

"Definitely not."

Blade's suspicions grew when they reached the firelight and a hush fell over the throng. The number of eyes that watched him made him uncomfortable. He had always disliked being the centre of attention, especially at guild meetings. As they neared the middle of the ring, a group of elders approached. Its leader spread his arms as the party halted before Blade and Talon, smiling.

"Welcome."

Blade nodded, wondering when Archer, the former Guild leader, had died, since he was not in attendance. The new elder was a man named Pierce, who had become robust in his retirement, and lacked a good deal of hair. Talon moved aside with the elders and engaged in a muttered conversation that involved a great deal of head shaking. Blade watched them with growing unease, wishing he was somewhere else. The huddle of elders broke up after a few minutes, and Talon returned with the senior elder. Blade tugged open his collar to reveal his tattoo and the patch that covered the mark of his retirement, intending to rip it off and put an end to the speculation about his status.

"Wait!" Talon raised a hand.

Blade frowned, fingering the leather patch. "What for?"

Talon glanced at Pierce, who hesitated, then licked his lips and said, "The honour of the Guild is at stake. We need you to -"

"No."

"Accept the challenge of a Match."

"No."

"He's defeated all our best dancers. There's no one else -"

Blade shook his head. "No."

"He'll take away our belt. The Guild will be without a Master of the Dance."

Blade frowned. "How is that possible?"

"It's rare, but a foreign assassin can challenge for the belt, and if he wins, he keeps it. To reclaim it, we would have to send a challenger to his guild."

"I see. I'll wager that he's Cotti, and his name's Storm."

Pierce glanced at Talon, who nodded. "How did you know that?"

"Because he was sent to kill me."

A short silence fell, then Pierce cleared his throat. "He can't do anything here, be assured of that."

"I'm not worried. So this is why you've sent for me so late at night, and intended to drag me here by force if necessary." Blade glanced back at the five assassins who stood behind him. "I'm your last hope, and that's sad, elder, because I have no intention of doing it."

"You must! You're our only hope. If you were still the Master of the Dance, you would have faced him first -"

"But I'm not," Blade interrupted, "and therefore I'm not obliged to defend the belt."

"No. But if you don't, it goes to Cotti with him, and we may never be able to reclaim it."

"Then make yourselves another one. It's only a bit of leather and silver."

The elder shook his head. "That's forbidden."

"You and your damned rules. If you had trained decent dancers, you wouldn't have to rely on me."

"I doubt that Lance would have beaten him, so don't accuse us of failing."

Blade snorted. "Then he deserves it. You'll get it back when I kill him."

"Then it will be sent to his guild. We can't claim it."

Blade shrugged. "So send a challenger with it. They can't all be better than your best."

"You could put an end to this now."

"But I won't." Blade raised a hand to the patch again.

Talon stepped forward and gripped Blade's arm. "Wait. Think about this. Will you let a Cotti take your belt?"

"It's not my belt."

"It is! This is your guild. Its honour is in your hands."

Blade jerked free of Talon's grip. "Your dancers failed. They're the ones who have let the Guild down."

"You're one of us, and we can call upon you to defend the belt, just as we did them." Talon gestured to four despondent-looking men who sat with their heads bowed on the far side of the fire.

"Not if I'm retired, and you can't prevent me from doing that."

"Actually, we can refuse to accept your retirement," Pierce said, "but we don't want this to get ugly."

"It's already ugly. You can't force me to do this, even if you drag me onto that stage."

One of the other elders pushed past Talon. "It's your damned fault this man is here. He's doing this for your benefit, to humiliate your guild. If not for you, we wouldn't be in this predicament."

Blade's hand dropped to the hilt of a dagger in his belt. "Yes, he is, because he knew you'd drag me here to face him. He had lost me in the city, now he's found me again, thanks to you."

"Are you afraid to face him?"

"Do pot-pigs fly?"

Talon made a curt gesture, and the truculent elder stepped back. "Let's not get heated over it. Blade, the Guild has never asked for your help -"

"You shouldn't need it. You have at least three hundred assassins here, and you're telling me that not one of them can beat this man?"

"No, we do have one whose prowess is legendary, and of whom we're all rightfully proud."

Blade smiled. "Good, bring him out then."

"He refuses to do it."

Blade snorted and swung away, eyed the men behind him, then spun back to face Talon. "No."

The bellicose elder surged forward again, raising a finger to shake at Blade. "You're a damned coward!"

"And you're a damned fool. That man is twenty years younger than me, and doubtless has practised for days to get into shape. What makes you think I can beat him?"

"All we ask is that you try." Talon pushed the belligerent elder back with a stern frown. "No one will blame you if you fail."

"Of course they will." Blade gestured to the assassins who watched them. "Look at them. They all expect me to win. They're counting on it."

Talon shook his head. "They're hoping for it, nothing more. They all know you retired fifteen years ago. They're hoping you can do the impossible, and I know you can. You can beat this man with one arm tied behind your back. There's never been a dancer, living or dead, who could match you. That's why I demanded a Match, so your stamina wouldn't be the deciding factor. It's your speed that will win it, and I know you still have that."

"A Match? You think that's easier?"

"Than a Duel? Definitely."

Blade turned away to glare at the fire. "You're mad, all of you."

"And you're afraid of failure," the pugnacious elder snarled. "You don't want to be humiliated in front of the Guild, but you don't care if we're robbed of our belt."

"And what will you do the next time a foreign challenger beats all your dancers? Call me out of retirement?"

"You're not retired, and that was no doing of ours. We could accuse you of murder, since the Guild didn't sanction your return to active status."

Blade glanced at Talon, who looked away. "So that's it, is it? You're going to threaten me with that?"

Pierce murmured, "We don't want to, and we wouldn't, if not for this. You leave us no choice."

"You wouldn't dare. The punishment for murder is slow death, and I covered my mark of retirement. My actions were legal."

The elder shook his head. "You should have at least informed us of your new status, and as for the punishment, it's open to debate in this case. Since you had a client, and didn't go on a murdering spree, the elders would settle for a burning."

"This is blackmail," Blade said. "Have you been taking lessons from the accursed Cotti?"

Talon stepped forward and gripped Blade's shoulders, refusing to be shaken off. "It's not such a great favour we ask."

Blade knocked Talon's hands away. "It is if I lose. I've never been beaten."

Talon gripped the front of Blade's coat and dragged him closer, using his superior height and weight to overpower the slender assassin. He thrust his grey-bearded face close to Blade's.

"Don't go throwing one of your tantrums here. It won't go down well, and your foe is watching. I, who was once your master, have faith in you. I claim little credit for what you've achieved. You did that through your talents, and I bask in your reflected glory.

"You have no idea how much you're revered amongst your kind, do you? Many resent you for it. If there's one thing an assassin hates more than an elusive target, it's a superior assassin, yet no man here will set himself above you. And that, quite frankly, is bloody amazing."

Blade leant even closer, so that their steaming breaths mingled. "You know what's even more amazing, Talon? Is that you're willing to risk destroying that legend for a stupid damned belt."

"No, it won't be destroyed even if you lose, and you won't lose. You're too proud."

Blade pulled away, and Talon released him. Tugging the wrinkles out of his coat, Blade glanced around at the tense faces that watched him, then brushed past Talon and walked towards the platform. A muted cheer arose from the assassins, fading to a soft muttering.

Blade glanced around for Storm, who leant against one of the standing stones, a faint smile curling his lips. Blade sat on the edge of the platform and dug the metal boot-pieces out of his bag, strapping them on. He rose and approached Talon.

"When this is over, you'll make certain he doesn't follow me."

Talon inclined his head, glancing at the five assassins who still stood behind him. "Consider it done."

Blade returned to the platform and shucked his coat, handing it to an apprentice before he stepped onto the wooden boards. The chill air nipped him through his jacket, and the snow had numbed his feet while he had been arguing with the elders. He unlaced the jacket, then bent and pressed his brow to his knees, grimacing as the tendons in the back of his legs protested. His suppleness had diminished after moons without practising.

Blade had thought he would not have to dance again, but, as with his female disguise, the need for it kept arising. His shoulder's stiffness would hamper him, and his encounter with Storm had worsened the handicap. He stretched for several minutes, until the tightness in his legs eased. While the silent assembly watched, he went through his training regimen until every tendon ached. When at last he was satisfied that at least some of his waning suppleness was restored, he performed a few slow, clumsy steps to warm up.

Storm mounted the platform and watched him, wearing a superior smile. His intention was clearly to find his prey with the help of the Guild, and to humiliate the older assassin, even try to strip him of some of his glory. Two of the assassins who had accompanied Talon followed Storm and divested him of his weapons, which wiped the smile off his face for a time.

Blade continued to tap around the stage, using simple steps, until warmth coursed through him. He stripped off his jacket and the woollen shirt he wore under it and tossed them to an apprentice. Beneath the shirt, he wore a tight leather vest that left his arms bare and exposed his wrist sheaths, still loaded with daggers. Storm's gaze lingered upon them, but he removed his coat and jacket, which he dropped on the snow when no one volunteered to hold them.

The assembly drew closer in an intent ring, the four defeated youths at the forefront, their eyes following Blade. He made a few experimental leaps to test his muscles and the perfection of his balance, then stood ready. For a Match, there were no drums, only a complicated pattern of required steps, performed simultaneously, until one dancer outstripped the other. It was a test of speed alone, although faltering was deemed a defeat.

Blade took up his position facing his opponent, one foot slightly in front of the other and his arms held out from his sides, and waited for Storm to make the first move, as the challenger must. Storm assumed the same stance, his smile restored. Silence fell as the assemblage held their breath and Blade stood tense, ready to react the instant Storm moved.