Lord Protector (39 page)

"I think you should order Prethos to send his troops to search for this Faradin as well. The sooner he is apprehended, the better. Will you execute him?"

"Yes." He sighed. "At least Blade has retired again, and his killing days are done."

"So long as there are men foolish enough to try to slay him, his killing days will never be done."

"Eventually someone will succeed."

"Perhaps. Chiana will guard him like the crown itself now, though."

"Crowns do not go wandering off into the countryside."

"I hope she will persuade him to stay."

Blade paused just beyond the lighted area around the ring of ancient stones and studied the black-clad men gathered amongst them. All the elders were in attendance, for it was one of only two gatherings that always happened on a fixed date, to decide which of the apprentices would get his tattoo before the year ended. Since everyone still thought that Blade was dead, he had chosen to attend in order to announce his retirement. The timing was excellent, only three days after his return to Jondar, and a day before Chiana's next audience, when his continued good health would be revealed to the court, and by proxy, the populace.

Blade walked towards the dolmens, noting that this was once more a large gathering. This time he was not going to dance, he had decided, although giving up his title as Dance Master brought a familiar pang of regret. He remembered how dejected he had been the last time he had retired. Talon stood with two other elders, engrossed in a muttered discussion. His hair and beard were almost pure white now, and his face bore more lines than Blade remembered. He stepped into the light and waited for someone to notice him. Talon turned, and his jaw dropped in the comical reaction that Blade was becoming used to from just about everyone he met these days. The other two elders, Pierce and a man whom Blade recognised as Razor, swung around with equally startled expressions.

Talon walked closer, studying his former apprentice with a frown. "Blade?"

"Talon."

"You're supposed to be dead."

"So I've heard. And yet, here I am."

A slow smile tugged at his lips. "I should have known. How do you manage it?"

Blade shrugged. "Neither Tinsharon nor Damnation seems to want me."

"Your name was added to the Death Roll three years ago. Now you will be not only the only one of us to come out of retirement, but also the only assassin ever to come back from the dead."

"I'm only here to tell you that I'm retired again."

Talon nodded. "High time, too. What are you now, nine and forty?"

"Something like that."

"Poison is now the Master of the Dance, but, since the belt was lost, we had to make another."

Blade glanced down at the silver-studded belt that clasped his waist. "I'll give it to Poison."

Talon looked disappointed. "That's a pity. But you will dance for us, one last time?"

"No."

"Why not?"

Blade sighed a cloud of steam. "I broke my ankle a moon ago."

"Ah. What a shame. Can you not even manage a few steps?"

"Just announce my retirement, Talon, so I can go to my bed. I'm an old man, remember?"

Talon chuckled. "You still don't look a day over thirty."

"That's not how old I feel, though."

"All the old war wounds catching up with you, hmmmm?"

"And a few new ones."

Talon inclined his head. "All right. Show us your mark, and I'll make the announcement."

Blade tugged open his collar so the elders could see the teardrop tattoo, and Talon nodded again.

"How many should we add to your previous tally?"

Blade shrugged. "Five more Cotti princes. Five bandits and four assassins, two Cotti, Ice and Storm, two Contara."

"Good god, Blade. How many Cotti princes does that make now?"

"Nine."

"That would be Lerton, Targan, Rigal, Ronan, Armin, Endor, Trelath, Chaymin and Dravis, correct?"

"Yes."

Talon shook his head. "And you killed Storm. I knew you would."

"It was him or me, and I chose me."

"And the other Cotti assassin?"

"A fool in Jadaya named Ice, who challenged me to an armed Dance of Death."

Talon smiled. "Ah, I'd have given a lot to have seen that."

"It was messy."

"And the Contara assassins?"

"Endor sent them to kill the Regent, and I happened to arrive when two of them were making their attempt."

Talon's brows shot up. "You took on two at the same time?"

"I was wearing boot-blades, they weren't."

"I see. I didn't know you had become a protector now, too."

"She's my wife."

"Of course. Those two don't count as assassinations, though. Neither do Ice or Storm," Talon said.

"I was paid to kill Storm."

"By whom?"

"My housekeeper."

Talon snorted and chuckled, then turned to the other elders, who added up Blade's kill tally. They muttered together for several minutes, then the elders nodded, and Talon turned to mount the stage. A hush fell over the throng as he raised his hands, and he cleared his throat, drawing out the tension. Blade smiled. Talon liked to be the centre of attention.

Talon turned to look at Blade. "Tonight, we have an unusual announcement. Three years ago, we added one of our most celebrated members to the Roster of the Dead, but in fact, he is still alive, so his name will be stricken from the Roll of the Dead, and instead we announce his retirement... for the second time. He is known as the Silent Slayer and the Invisible Assassin, but more commonly these days, as the Queen's Blade."

A hiss of whispering went through the throng, and Talon raised a hand. "He retired nineteen years ago, at the age of thirty, then returned to his trade five years ago. Tonight he ascends once more to the circle of elders, and no longer accepts assassinations. He is our Master of the Dance, and he won our belt back when no one else could. He has been the Master of the Dance for his entire career, which now spans fourteen years, making it the longest ever. Blade will hand the belt back to our previous Master of the Dance, Poison. Even now, at the age of nine and forty, there is none amongst you who could win the title from him."

Talon paused, as if waiting for a challenge, then continued, "His official tally now stands at three hundred and five all told, including the Cotti King and nine princes. The elders have decided to also allow the deaths of four assassins to be added to his tally. Two Cotti Masters of the Dance, one of whom Blade slew in an armed Dance of Death, and two Contara assassins whom he fought together. Let Poison come forth to accept the belt now."

A slight commotion marked Poison's progress to the platform, and Blade realised that he was expected to hand over the belt in front of the Guild. Annoyed, he mounted the steps behind Poison and walked over to Talon, who looked smug. Unbuckling the belt, Blade handed it to Poison, who grinned and held it up as if he had won it, which irritated Blade further. The gathered assassins remained silent, and Talon cocked a brow at Blade and stepped closer.

"You don't have to do this. You can keep it if you wish."

"Bugger you. You did this to annoy me."

"I knew it would. He's a brash bastard. Keep it."

"It's no use to an elder."

"It will make the earnings amongst the members fairer. Pickings are slim these days. Many young assassins can barely earn enough to live on." Talon gripped Blade's arm. "If he dares to challenge you, prove to him how inferior he really is, or else he'll brag that he's better than you. I know he will. Look at him. Your ankle is healed after a moon."

Blade shook him off. Poison made a victory lap around the stage, holding the belt aloft. The lack of accolades did not dampen his triumphant smirk. Blade's eyes narrowed, and he shot Talon a frown.

"All right. Tell him he'll have to challenge for the belt."

Talon smiled and summoned Poison with a gesture, informing him of the change. The young assassin shook his head and marched over to Blade.

"You're retired, Elder Blade, you can no longer hold the belt."

Blade shrugged. "The elders seem to think differently. Argue with them about it."

"Why are you doing this?"

"You know that little victory lap you were making? That's bloody annoying when done by someone who's just been given something they didn't earn. If you want to act like you've won it, then you'll have to actually do it."

"Then I'll beat you. You're too old to win it now."

"I seem to remember defeating Storm just three winters ago, when you couldn't."

"That was three winters ago. I'm better now, and doubtless you're worse. You're certainly older and slower." Poison raked Blade with a scathing glance.

"You think so? Now you'll have your chance to prove it, won't you? If you defeat me, you'll be famous."

"I'm surprised you'd risk your unbeaten status."

Blade shrugged. "I don't consider it a risk. The day a second-rate assassin like you can best me, I'll know it's high time I retired."

"It's past time you retired, old man."

Talon thrust his face into their conversation. "No insults. You'll address Blade as Elder, Poison, or pay a penalty."

Poison spat and stalked off, and Talon turned to Blade. "What is it about you that irritates some people?"

"It must be my winning personality."

"Or perhaps the fact that everyone knows he can't beat you, including him."

"Let's get on with this. I'll accept his challenge without him completing the Dance. I intend to make this brief."

Talon grinned and reclaimed the belt from Poison, holding it up. "Elder Blade will accept Poison's challenge of a Duel, for the title of Master of the Dance!"

A muted cheer greeted this, dying down to an excited muttering as Talon handed the belt to his former pupil. Blade donned it and sat on the steps to strap the metal pieces to his boots. As the challenger, Poison had to start the Duel, and Blade bent and stretched while he waited for the young man to limber up. A burly assassin stood beside the drum that would start the Duel, awaiting the signal.

Poison raised his arm, and the drummer pounded out a slow rhythm. The young assassin leapt high and landed lightly, his feet blurring in a buzzing rattle as he seemed to float over the stage, his arms rising in a graceful sweep. Blade could find no flaw in Poison's speed or technique, but then, he had not really expected to. Anyone who had won the belt in a big city like Jondar had to be good. The young assassin used a number of flamboyant gestures and high kicks, clearly intent on showing off all his talents. His sideways leg flicks crossed above the knee and his heel-clicking jumps carried him high into the air. His swift steps and fluid movements bespoke moons of rigorous training, and he rounded out his performance with a series of spinning kicks, ending with a double stamp.

Blade stripped off his jacket and tossed it over one of the posts, turning to face his opponent. The drummer began the beat, and Blade tapped one foot, raising his arms in a slow, graceful gesture. Over the years, he reflected, he had gained even more speed with his experience. Nothing honed one's reflexes quite like dodging swords and crossbow quarrels, and, with Rivan's return, his cat traits had increased his suppleness further.

Taking three running steps, he leapt high, hung in the air and landed in a faster version of Poison's buzzing rattle. He spun around the stage while he did so, then leapt high again, his stiff legs scissoring and his metal-shod boots clashing in a shower of sparks. He landed on one leg as the other rose above his shoulder, then brought it down in a stamp and spun, leaping as he did so.

Raising his arms, Blade performed the same series of high kicks as Poison, forgoing the flamboyant gestures. He had to better Poison's performance before adding his own, and already he had added in the scissor kick, which he suspected Poison would be unable to emulate. Blade performed the spinning kicks faster and higher than Poison had, then began his challenge.

Stopping in the centre of the stage, he placed his hands on his hips. His right foot beat out a buzz on the boards, while his left foot tapped a slower tempo. Gradually he increased the speed of his fast tapping, pushing the limit of his ability, until the buzz became almost a drone. Reaching his limit, his leg muscles burning, he spun and leapt, tucking up his legs as he achieved the extraordinary height that others had never been able to match. He clicked his boots together at the pinnacle of his jump and landed in a series of spinning kicks, lashing out with one foot, then the other as he moved around the stage.

Blade leapt again, performing the stiff-legged, scissoring move that brought a bright flash of sparks as his metal-shod boots clashed. Landing lightly, he allowed his wrist daggers to slide into his hands and spun again, lashing out with them. Raising them above his head, he executed a complicated series of steps that beat out a simple tune, seeming to float across the platform. Lowering his arms, he spun again and ended with a single stamp, his chest heaving. He turned to Poison with a mocking smile.

The young assassin glared at him, hesitated, then quit the stage. Blade grinned and tucked away his daggers as Talon came over, and a ragged cheer rose from the spectators.

"Well, you certainly showed him, didn't you?" Talon remarked.

Blade shrugged. "He's an arrogant bastard."

"So are you, my friend. The only difference is, you have the skills to back up your arrogance. No one could match that performance. At least he had the good sense not to try."

"It's easy to be the best when there's nothing else in your life."

"I suppose so." Talon cocked his head. "How is your lovely wife?"

"Probably wishing she had not married me."

"Oh, I think not. You didn't see the look on her face when I told the Queen that the Guild had agreed to allow the marriage."

Blade chuckled. "I always knew she had a hand in it."

"At least you're no longer bitter about it. Come, it's time to judge the next batch of apprentices."

Blade groaned and plucked his jacket from the post, donning it as he quit the stage. Talon led the way to the throng's front row, and several elders shuffled aside to make room.