Lord Protector (4 page)

Chapter Three

The Cotti assassin sprang into action with superb speed and skill, and Blade matched him, reacting so fast that the first tap of their feet was simultaneous. They circled, the rattle of their metal-shod boots a rhythmic buzz. They leapt, and Blade scissored his outstretched legs, his boots clashing together at the pinnacle of his jump, while Storm performed the traditional bent-legged leap.

They landed together, their tapping still matched as they floated around the platform. Storm was fast, as Blade's aching legs testified, but he could go faster. The only question was whether or not Storm could match him. The sooner he put it to the test, the better, for he did not know how long his strength would last at such a vigorous pace. Already his breath came faster and his muscles heated, despite the cold air that sucked the warmth from his skin.

There were few leaps in a Match. It was designed to test quick footwork, which was why Talon had chosen it. The steps were complex, and Blade had not performed them since his apprenticeship, for he had never been challenged to a Match. Storm speeded up the tempo, and Blade matched it, then, as they began a series of even more complex steps, which involved heel-toe combinations with both feet, Blade upped the tempo. Storm fell behind for an instant, then matched Blade's new speed, but his smile vanished and his mouth opened to gasp the frigid air.

Blade glared at his opponent, and grinned savagely as he speeded up again, his legs burning. His steel-shod boots tapped on the wood in perfect, precise rhythm, so fast that there seemed to be no space between them. Storm fell behind half a beat, and tried to catch up, his hands curled into fists, his face contorted with effort and ire. Steam rose from his skin and puffed from his mouth in great clouds, which mingled with Blade's in the centre of the stage.

The two circled, Storm still a fraction behind, and clearly unable to go any faster. Blade's legs were on fire. The agony ate at his muscles like acid in his veins, yet he had to go faster still if he was to gain enough of a lead to beat Storm. The Cotti assassin was fast, and his youth gave him an edge, but Blade was not going to give his enemy the satisfaction of victory.

Gritting his teeth, Blade forced his feet to go faster still, his strength draining into them. The required steps were a complex combination of a slower left foot cadence with a quick right foot heel-toe action that, when done at such speed, blended into a buzz. The tempo of Blade's steps increased, and Storm gave a frustrated growl as he failed to match it, his tattoo faltering into chaos when he tried.

The Cotti assassin swung away and glared into the fire. Blade put the last of his energy into a flamboyant leap, scissored his legs and clashed his boots together in his signature jump. He landed lightly and smiled at Storm's back, then grimaced and bent to clutch his thigh as a cramp knotted it. A muted cheer came from the assassins, and Blade groaned and fell to one knee as another cramp gripped his other calf, kneading the twisted muscle to try to ease it.

Storm turned and walked closer, looming over Blade, and several assassins trotted onto the stage, eyeing the Cotti.

"You're too old for this," he murmured.

Blade looked up at him, wishing he could stand. "Had I not been, you wouldn't have had the nerve to challenge me, yet still you lost."

"Indeed I did, and I'm in awe of your skill and speed. It's as legendary as the tales tell. But at least I can stand. It will be a pity to kill you, but I shall, you can count on it."

"You'll be wagering your life on it, Cotti, and you'll lose it, I promise."

Storm shook his head. "Even legends must die."

"No. Men die, legends live on. You'll be forgotten."

"Not after I've killed you."

Talon mounted the stage and imposed himself between them, his wolf at his side. He faced Storm, his expression hostile. "This Match is over, Cotti. The belt belongs to Blade."

Storm inclined his head. "I have five of my own. I have no need of another."

"By rights, they all belong to Blade now."

"Then he'll have to come to Cotti to claim them."

Blade rose to his feet as the cramp in his calf eased, and pushed Talon aside. "I don't want your trophies, Cotti. Stripping guilds of their masters isn't amongst my ambitions, else I would own every belt in Jashimari and Cotti too, if I chose."

Storm's expression hardened, but he hid his anger well and forced a stiff smile before he turned away and quit the stage. As he stepped from it, he raised a hand and called over his shoulder, "Until we meet again, Queen's Blade."

Blade's hand sought the hilt of the dagger in his wrist sheath, but Talon stepped in front of him.

"Much as I'd like to see you kill him, it's not a good idea."

Blade glared at him. "I hate being hunted. An assassin should never be a target."

"I agree, but unfortunately there's no law against a Cotti assassin killing a Jashimari. To institute that, we would have to convene a meeting of Cotti and Jashimari elders, which I don't see happening in the near future." He smiled. "Forget him for now. This belongs to you."

Talon held out the broad black leather belt ornamented with silver studs and swirling patterns, and Blade gazed at it. For twelve years it had been his most prized possession, and giving it up had been hard.

"What good is it to me? I'm retiring."

"Then don't," Talon urged. "No one will dare to challenge you for it. No one wants to. You've proven that you still have the skill to be an active assassin, why retire?"

"I remember you urging me to retire before."

"I thought you were getting too old, and risking your reputation, if not your life, but you've proven me wrong."

Blade shook his head. "I can't complete the Dance of Death."

Talon thrust the belt at him. "No one cares. Take it. That's what they're all waiting for."

Blade glanced around at the silent, expectant throng, and accepted the belt. A cheer arose, and died down to a murmur of deep voices. He turned the soft leather belt, surprised to find his throat tight with an undefined emotion. As he buckled it on, he decided that it was pride, and let it fill him. He was once more the Master of the Dance, a title that meant far more to him than High Lord or even Regent. It had been earned through hard work, sweat and pain. One that he had kept for twelve years and given up for fifteen. With the belt in place and his title restored, he was complete again.

Steam rose from him, but the chill air nipped at his wet skin, and he looked around for the apprentice who had his jacket. Talon patted his back, ignoring the glare that it earned him as he urged Blade towards the steps. Blade would have quit the platform, but for the cramp that still knotted his thigh, and he bent to rub it. Talon beckoned to the boys, who ran onto the stage with Blade's jacket and coat. When he was warmly dressed again and the cramp had dulled to an ache, he limped down the steps. At the bottom, several assassins offered to shake his hand.

Assassins did not usually observe such niceties, since their solitary nature and competitive spirit precluded shows of admiration or friendship. Blade allowed some of them to clasp his hand, glad that he had replaced his gloves. He found that being surrounded by so many killers made him uneasy, even though he was perfectly safe. Was he not the greatest killer of them all, anyway? A guild of assassins was like a nest of scorpions or vipers, deadly to outsiders but harmless to each other. All but one.

Blade glanced around for Storm, who sipped a cup of wine on the far side of the fire, watching him. The Cotti smiled and raised his goblet in mocking salute. Blade frowned and turned away just as Talon thrust a cup of mulled wine into his hands. Unlike most guild meetings, when the assassins melted away into the darkness as soon as the business was over, this gathering seemed to have turned into a social event. Blade wondered if they were merely celebrating his victory, or waiting to see if anyone would dare to challenge the new Master of the Dance.

Certainly it must be common knowledge that he was unable to complete the Dance of Death, and some young upstart could probably take the belt if he chose. Storm, having been defeated in a Match, was the only one who could not offer a challenge. Curious, Blade looked around for the four men Storm had defeated, one of whom had been the previous Master. They stood together, talking and glancing in his direction every so often. He noted the elder who stood close to the group, and wondered if he was there to veto any challenges.

"Well, how does it feel?"

Blade turned to find Talon beside him, sipping from a steaming cup."Strange."

Talon nodded. "It's a strange situation. Never before has a retired assassin become active again, and then become the Master of the Dance."

"How do the elders feel about that?"

"Glad that a Cotti won't be taking our belt."

Blade sipped his wine. "I don't want the work that comes with the belt."

"That's a good thing. It leaves more for the rest of them. Pickings have been slim since the end of the war."

"Yet the Guild has grown."

Talon smiled. "That's because one of our number has become so famous. We're turning away well-born boys who want to become assassins. They think it's the way to fame and glory."

Blade snorted. "At best, it's a living, at worst, it's the road to Damnation, awash with blood."

"You should tell them that."

Blade shook his head. "I wouldn't waste my time."

"Well, at least the elders can now pick and choose, and don't have to find their apprentices in the gutter, amongst the waifs and strays."

"Like me."

Talon raised his brows. "I always thought that was a touchy subject with you."

"It was."

"I see." Talon glanced past Blade and grimaced. "Here comes trouble."

Two of the young assassins Storm had defeated approached, followed by the elder who had been watching them.

"Poison and Claw," Talon said, frowning at the men. "Poison was the Master of the Dance."

The young men stopped in front of Blade, taller than he and slender, dark-haired and dangerous looking. Blade sipped his wine as he eyed them, wondering what they intended. They seemed uncertain of that themselves, then the taller of the two thrust out his hand so suddenly that Blade tensed.

"It's an honour to meet you, Queen's Blade," he said.

Blade shook the proffered hand, noting the man's feline traits.

Poison glanced around at the elder who hovered behind them, then at Talon, finally meeting Blade's eyes. "I'm not going to challenge you, even if the rumours are true. The belt belongs to you, and as far as I'm concerned, you can keep it until you retire again."

"How gracious of you," Blade murmured.

Poison grimaced. "That wasn't intended to be condescending. I meant that you're the undisputed Master of the Dance, even if you can no longer complete the Dance of Death. No one wants to take that from you, even if they could."

Blade cocked his head and smiled. "And that has yet to be determined, hasn't it?"

"It won't be, certainly not by me or Claw. What you may lack in stamina you more than make up for in speed and skill, and you would be judged the winner even if you could only complete half the Dance."

Talon snorted, suppressing a chuckle, and Poison shot him an angry look.

"I suppose you think me a coward, Elder Talon?"

"No, I'm merely surprised to hear such wise words coming from your mouth. Rest assured, I wouldn't challenge him either, even if I had your youth and skill."

Poison turned his attention to Blade once more. "I've heard that you killed a Cotti assassin in an armed Dance of Death."

Blade nodded. "That's true."

"I've always wanted to try that."

"I don't recommend it. Even if you win, you would probably die. I was luckier than most, but I paid dearly for it."

"Yet it must be the ultimate test of an assassin," Poison said.

"I suppose so, but it's also bloody painful. I wouldn't do it again."

"Will you dance again tonight? Most, if not all of us, would very much like to see that."

Blade smiled. "Am I to be the entertainment then? Perhaps you should tie some bells on me too."

"No. I only meant -"

"I know what you meant, boy. But assassins don't leap about on that stage just for the fun of it, or to entertain the others."

"What about a mock duel?"

"With you?" Blade's brows rose.

"Yes."

Blade chuckled. "Not tonight, boy. My legs are still aching. Some other time, perhaps."

Poison looked disappointed, but nodded. "Of course."

Talon watched the pair walk away, shaking his head. "Amazing."

"What? Why did you say they were trouble? He was perfectly polite."

"That's what's so amazing. Poison is the rudest, most belligerent assassin in the Guild. He picks fights for no reason, and has a bloated ego. I've never known him to be polite before. I didn't know he was capable of it."

Blade sipped his wine, which was growing cold. "I guess he got cut down to size tonight."

"Twice. Once by Storm, and again by you."

"That's why he won't challenge me."

"What do you mean?"

"He lost the belt, and I reclaimed it. To defeat me now would only make him unpopular, since he couldn't defend it in the first place."

Talon nodded. "That's true. But I reckon, if you practised hard enough, you could beat him at the Dance of Death."

"So long as no one will challenge me, why waste the energy?"

"You used to love to dance."

"I used to dance to stop myself from murdering annoying people like you, Talon. It was the only outlet for my anger."

"No wonder you got so good at it."

Blade smiled. "Indeed."

"And are you no longer angry?"

"I still dance."

"But not as much as you used to."

Blade shrugged. "I have been busy of late."

"So I heard. A pity about Bolt and Lance."

"Lance, certainly, but Bolt was always headed for a sticky end." Blade sipped his wine, gazing into the fire.