Master of the Dance (42 page)

When she finished dressing his arm, she helped him to sit up and gave him the bowl of broth, which he consumed without enthusiasm, then she left him to rest. She spent the rest of the day going about her usual chores, washed his clothes and darned his torn trousers when they were dry. That evening, she gave him more broth, then slept with her children.

The following morning, he was still pale, but looked a little stronger, and this time refused to submit to her ministrations. He demanded the return of his daggers, and, when she refused, he started to climb out of bed to fetch them, forcing her to comply. Rayan realised that she was in the presence of a powerful personality who manipulated others at will, and usually got his way. She won no arguments with him that day, and knew that even in his injured state he was too strong for her to try to restrain physically. He unsheathed the daggers she handed him and inspected the four that were caked with dried blood, then asked for a bowl of water and a cloth to wash them. Fearing that he would attempt to fetch that himself too if she refused, she did as he asked and left him to clean his weapons.

That afternoon, she went to the market again, where there were far fewer soldiers about. It seemed that the search for Endor's assassin had moved into the countryside around the city, and the soldiers now ransacked farms and outbuildings. Rayan trotted home with this news, eager to tell Blade that her house was now the safest place for him. To her horror, she found her husband's wagon outside the house, and ran inside to try to prevent him from stumbling upon the assassin in his bed. Even as she ran through the dining room, she knew it was too late. Her husband stood outside the bedroom door, his hand on the latch. She raced up the stairs as he pushed it open, arriving in the doorway in time to meet his furious eyes as he turned to face her.

"So this is what you do when I'm away!" he snarled, his florid face almost purple with rage.

"It's not what you think." She glanced at Blade, who had rolled onto his side, and watched her husband with narrowed eyes.

"A man in my bed!"

"No, Jarron, listen to me!"

His hand cracked across her cheek and sent her stumbling into the wall. "I'm going to kill you, and then I'm going to kill him!"

"Let me explain!"

"I don't need to listen to your lies!" He lunged at her, his hands reaching for her throat.

Rayan ducked under his arms and ran to the far side of the room, where she turned to face him, glancing at the assassin again. He watched her husband with hard eyes, his brow furrowed.

"He's not my lover!" Rayan cried. "He's the man who slew Endor. He's injured, and sought sanctuary here."

Blade sighed and shook his head. Jarron glanced at the assassin, and his eyes widened when he noticed the bandage around Blade's biceps. To her surprise, his rage drained away at this startling bit of information, and his expression became calculating.

"Indeed? He told you this?"

She nodded. "The soldiers have searched the house already, on the night Endor was killed. That's when Blade came here."

"How interesting. Blade, eh? The Queen's Blade. I've heard it mentioned. Injured, you say? How badly?"

Rayan relax a little. "He was shot with a war arrow and mauled by dogs. I've said we'll hide him until he's able to leave."

"Did you now?" Jarron's tone dropped to a dangerous croon, and a delighted smile stretched his fat, coarse features. "But I think Endor's lords would pay a handsome reward for his capture, don't you?"

"You can't betray him. He's saved all of us from Endor."

"You, my dear, are a fool. Handing him over won't change the fact that Endor's dead, but it will definitely have a financial reward."

Rayan's eyes widened, and she shot Blade a frightened, apologetic look. "You can't! We must help him."

"We must do nothing of the sort. He's nothing to us, just a dirty assassin. But worth a great deal of money, I would venture to say."

Blade said, "Your wife has sheltered me. She lied to the soldiers who came here. They'll execute her if you hand me over."

Jarron chuckled. "Excellent. I have long wished to be rid of her."

Rayan gasped, raising a hand to her mouth as she stared at her husband in horror. Blade snorted and glanced away, his brows knotted. Jarron chortled and headed for the door.

Blade raised his head. "Jarron."

The fat merchant paused in the doorway and turned to face the assassin with a smug smile. "If you're going to try to dissuade me, don't waste your breath, assassin. This will be like killing two birds with one stone."

"Not quite. If you think I'll let you betray me, you're mistaken."

Jarron sniggered. "If you're as badly wounded as she says, you can't stop me."

"Wrong again." Blade drew his hand from under the sheets, and Jarron's eyes widened at the sight of the dagger in it.

He raised his hands and bellowed, "No!"

Blade flicked the dagger, which struck Jarron in the throat with a meaty thud, severed the jugular on one side and blocked his windpipe. Blood pumped out in little fountains and flowed down his chest as he pawed at the hilt, opening and closing his mouth like a fish out of water. Blade glanced at the ashen-faced Rayan, who stared at her husband with wide, horrified eyes.

Jarron swayed, reeled into the wall with a crash and fell to his knees, still trying to pull the dagger out. Rayan whimpered and swung away, covering her face. Blade drew another dagger from under the sheets and threw it. The weapon impaled Jarron's eye and ended the ghastly noises he made in his struggle to stay alive. Blade flopped back and stared at the ceiling, listening to Rayan's soft sobbing.

"He would have let them kill you, Rayan," he murmured.

She gulped and wiped her face, then turned to face him, averting her eyes from her husband's corpse. "I know. I'm not weeping for him. It was just... terrible, that's all."

"You were going to ask me to kill him, weren't you? That was the favour you wanted."

Rayan nodded. "When you were well enough. I hated him. He... beat me."

"Then why did you wed him?"

"I had no choice. My father arranged it."

"I see. Too many Cotti traditions have been adopted in Contara, it seems."

She moved closer to him. "Are you all right?"

"Well enough."

"You kill so easily. Have you no compunction?"

"Jashimari assassins are allowed to kill for two reasons. When they are paid to do it, and in self-defence. He falls into the second category."

Rayan stopped beside the bed and sank down on it, pulling back the blankets with shaking hands to inspect the bandages around his waist. "Then you won't kill me to cover your tracks?"

A slight, wry smile twisted his lips. "No. I have no reason to. But I can't help you to get rid of the body."

She cast a quick glance at Jarron's slumped corpse. "What am I going to do?"

"Go to the market, buy a horse with tack and bring it here. I'll leave tonight, and as soon as I'm gone, call the Watch and tell them your husband has been murdered. It happened while you were at the market. You returned and found him dead, understand?"

She nodded. "But you're not well enough to ride. You'll open your wounds again, and the soldiers are searching outside the city."

"I'll be all right, now go. And try to find a good beast that's quiet, but not half dead."

Rayan headed for the door, then paused and turned to face him again. "If you leave now, you'll die. We could hide the body until you're stronger."

"And how will you explain a rotting corpse to the soldiers?"

"The undertaker is Contara. He won't betray me."

Blade shook his head. "Trust no one. Doubtless there's a hefty reward for my capture. Even your closest friends may be tempted by it. Just do as I say."

"I thought assassins were only concerned for themselves."

"I am only concerned for myself. I have to return to Jashimari as soon as possible, and if the soldiers capture you they'll torture my description from you, as well as the details of my injuries. They know I'm hurt, but not how badly, and they didn't get a good look at me. My escape relies upon your silence."

"I see." She looked away, frowning, then turned and left.

Blade closed his eyes and relaxed, forcing himself into a light doze to make the most of the few time-glasses of rest still remaining to him. He cursed himself for not telling her to buy some wine or spirits to dull the pain, and hoped that she would have the sense to do it anyway.

Chapter Twenty Eight

The slight creak of the door woke Blade, and he opened his eyes. Rayan was framed in it, a lamp in one hand and a bowl of broth in the other. She approached the bed and set them down on the bedside table, glancing at her husband's corpse. Blade pushed himself up against the pillows with a groan, gritting his teeth as pain shot from the wound in his belly. When it subsided, he looked up at her.

"Where are my clothes?"

"I washed them. I'll fetch them."

Rayan disappeared down the stairs to the kitchen, and Blade picked up the bowl of fish broth, forcing himself to choke it down. It was tasty, but he had no appetite, and normally would not have consumed it, except now that plans were in motion for his departure, he needed all the strength he could get. Rayan returned with his clothes, and he instructed her to bring him several lengths of stout cloth. She looked curious, but left to find some.

When she brought two clean sheets, he told her to find the false moustache in his bag and dye it black. She returned about half a time-glass later with a wet black moustache, which she placed on the window ledge to dry. Blade sat up and swung his legs off the bed, gripping the mattress as the room spun. Rayan watched him with deep concern, but after a moment it passed, leaving him sweating.

While he waited for the strength to return to his legs, he asked, "What sort of horse did you get?"

"A farmer's cob. Strong, but slow and steady, like you wanted."

"Perfect. Now I need some farmer's clothes, preferably smelly ones."

"My husband has some he used when he tended the oxen, and the cow. But they'll be far too big."

Blade smiled, shooting her an amused glance. "I intend to put on some weight. They'll do."

Rayan went over to the wardrobe and took out a stained smock and a pair of patched trousers. "But they are clean."

"That can be remedied."

"Of course. You intend to disguise yourself as a farmer?"

He nodded. "They're looking for a slim beardless man dressed in black, so I'll become a fat hairy one dressed in a smock, returning to my farm after dark, preferably drunk." He shot her a piercing look.

"I bought some strong wine, and a bottle of port."

"Good. I want you to wrap the sheets around my waist. It will make me look fat, and help to stop the bleeding. But first I need the wine, so I can start getting drunk."

Rayan brought him the wine, which he found to be a good sweet red. She helped him to don his trousers, since he could not reach his feet. He directed her to wrap the sheets around him so tight that he could barely breathe, using a pillow to give himself a paunch. With the strapping in place, the pain of his injuries receded to a dull throbbing, aided by the wine. She helped him into the baggy farmer's trousers, which fitted well over his new paunch.

By the time she had put his boots on and helped him into the huge smock, he had almost finished the bottle of wine, and was light-headed. The beard was dry, and he glued it in place, then rubbed a generous amount of the skin dye he used for his Cotti disguise onto his face and arms, darkening his skin to a deep bronze. Rayan rummaged through her husband's wardrobe and found a moth-eaten wool hat and a wide leather belt, which added to his disguise. As a finishing touch, he used kohl to blacken two of his front teeth and rubbed the oily, foul-tasting skin dye onto them to make them yellow. When he finished, Rayan studied him and shook her head with a smile.

"Even I wouldn't recognise you now."

"Good. Do you have any lonions?"

"Lonions?"

"To give me bad breath. Farmers are not known for their cleanliness."

"Nor merchants." She glance at her husband's body and shuddered, then left to find some lonions in the kitchen.

While she was away, Blade stood up to test his strength and found himself surprisingly steady. He splashed some wine down the front of the smock to add to the medley of smells he planned to coat himself with so the Cotti's dogs would not want to sniff him too closely. He had always found strong smells to be an efficient repellent of the curious, and had rolled in manure before now.

Blade chewed the chopped lonion Rayan brought and washed it down with wine, grimacing at the taste. She packed the rest of his belongings in his bag while he strapped on the wrist sheaths and slid the daggers into them, secreting the two that normally resided in his belt within the padding around his waist. Rayan put the last two into the boot sheaths for him, and he walked around a bit to accustom himself to his increased girth. Satisfied, he descended the stairs, Rayan following with his bag.

Outside, a sturdy bay gelding stood where Rayan had tethered it, a nondescript animal that had seen many years of hard work, but was still sound. It had provided a pile of fresh manure, which he smeared over the smock and trousers, then rubbed himself against the animal to add some of its scent to the mix. Rayan disappeared for a few minutes, and returned with a pair of muddy over-boots, which she pulled on over his boots. When she straightened, she wrinkled her nose at his stench and stepped back.

"You stink."

"That's the idea."

She smiled. "I hope you escape them, Blade."

He glanced around for a mounting block. "I usually do."

"You haven't asked how I'll manage without a husband."

"I don't particularly care. You wanted him dead, and he is. What you do now is your business. I suspect that you have a prospective husband lined up, one of your own choosing."

Rayan nodded. "I do. A good man. But even if I hadn't wanted Jarron dead, you'd have killed him anyway, wouldn't you?"