Talon of the Silver Hawk (28 page)

Salmina stood up, one hand pressed hard against the wall. There was confusion in her eyes as she reached up with her right hand, trying to somehow stanch the blood flowing from the side of her neck. For a grotesque moment she seemed concerned about the river of crimson that ran down between her breasts and onto her stomach, as if it was too unseemly for a woman of her beauty. Then her eyes rolled up in her head, and she collapsed.

The man was the same one who had followed him, and he held a lethal blade, slender and sharp as a razor. From his movements and his quick reaction to Tal's move, he was an expert in its use. In addition, he had not tried to follow Tal as he rolled, but had moved in the opposite direction, placing himself between his victim and the curtain.

Tal knew that the man had less than a minute in which to kill him, for he must expect Tal to cry out and someone to come quickly to investigate. This was already a botched assassination attempt. In just an instant, the man would have to make his move.

Tal moved first. The assassin might have expected him to retreat, perhaps gaining a bit of room to make a dash for the curtain, but instead Tal reached down with both hands and overturned the table. There was no real threat, but the man stepped back instinctively in order to prevent himself being struck, and that was just as Tal had planned.

Tal leapt over the falling table, ignoring the blade. He was already cut and had many previous wounds, so another wouldn't matter, but he wouldn't let this man kill him.

The assassin aimed a slicing blow for Tal's throat, and Tal ducked underneath the blade and drove his shoulder into the man's stomach. As he had known he would, Tal received a searing slice across his back, but not at the base of the neck, which was where he was now most vulnerable.

He shoved hard and rolled, splattering his blood all over the floor. Customers entering the changing area started to shout and scream at the sight of all the blood and two men struggling on the tile floor.

Tal came up on his feet, naked and weaponless, in a crouch and bleeding from two serious wounds, but ready to defend himself as best he could. The assassin hesitated, unsure as to whether to attack one more time or make a bid for escape.

The hesitation cost him his life. Suddenly his eyes widened, and the blade fell from his fingers. Tal saw Pasko stepping up behind the man, yanking hard at the dagger he had just plunged into the assassin's back.

He glanced down to make sure the man was no longer a threat, then quickly crossed to kneel next to Tal, who had collapsed to the floor.

“You look a mess, m'lord.''

“No doubt,” Tal said as his head began to swim. “I think you'd best send regrets to the Lady Melinda,” he added, before his eyes rolled up and he fainted.

Tal awoke.

“That's the third time,” Pasko said.

Groaning a little from the pain and the effort of moving his body, Tal managed to ask, “Third time what?” His eyelashes felt as if they were matted together, and his mouth was dry. “Water, please?''

Pasko helped him to raise his head and placed a cup of water to his lips. Talon sipped as another voice said, “Third time we've had to struggle to keep you alive, Talon.''

Moving into Tal's line of vision, Robert de Lyis shook his head, as he added, “That's three lifetimes you owe us.''

Tal continued to drink until his throat was wet and he could speak without sounding like a frog. “I'm sorry to admit, I have but one to give. And please called me Tal, since my name is now Talwin.”

“You almost gave your only life yesterday,
Tal,
” said Robert.

Tal glanced at his left arm and his eyes opened wide. His body ached and was stiff, but the wound to his arm was gone, as was the one across his chest. “What—?''

“Magic,” said Robert.

Pasko said, “You have a tournament in less than two weeks' time, m'lord, and from the depth of the wounds and the loss of blood, it was clear you would never be fit to compete.''

“One of the possible reasons you were assaulted,” added Robert, “though I think it unlikely to have been the main one.''

“How . . . ?”

“There are some very gifted healing priests in Roldem,” said Robert. “A few of them are very cooperative with the Conclave.”

“Is that what brought you here?” asked Tal. He started to move his arms and found that the stiffness was easing.

“I sent for him, m'lord,” said Pasko.

“Pasko noticed something that made it imperative someone from the Conclave with magician skills come at once. He reported that there was no way the assassin could have got inside the room you were being massaged in unless he had used magic.''

Tal thought about that. The table had been large enough for someone to hide under, but he would have been seen by anyone entering. There were no cupboards or other doors. Tal said, “I should have realized that.''

“You were indisposed,” said Robert. “Pasko has already reported to the appropriate gossips that most of the blood came from the unfortunate young woman who was killed and that you suffered only bruises and a small wound that will heal quickly. You will be fit for the tournament.”

Tal sat up and found the stiffness almost gone. “I'm starving,” he announced.

“The result of the healing spell our priest friend used. You are thinner, if you bother to note such things. The body needed energy from somewhere to heal the damaged flesh, so it burned off what little fat you possessed, Tal. You look positively gaunt.''

Tal stood up and his head swam. “And I feel as weak as a day-old kitten.''

Pasko lent him a hand and helped him put on a robe, then escorted him to the table in the main room of the apartment. There was food waiting there, and Tal set to eating vigorously. As he ate, his strength began to return.

“You'll need to rest for the rest of the day, Tal,” said Robert, “but then you need to appear somewhere publicly to dispel any rumors about your injuries.”

“Why?” asked Tal. “Why the rush?''

“Because people will already be speculating as to why you were attacked and how injured you are,” said Robert. “The why we shall leave to conjecture, for as I understand it, there are any number of people who would like to see you not enter the tournament or see their daughters.”

Tal nodded without a blush.

“As to the injury, we must make it clear to whoever sent the assassin that they failed. So that they will try again soon.''

“Ah, so I'm to be bait?''

Robert shrugged. “Someone is trying to kill you. Liken it to a hunt. If you're being stalked by a predator, what do you do?''

Tal said, “You don't run. You lay a trap.''

“As we shall.''

Tal finished eating and said, “What time is it?” He glanced out of the window and could tell it was afternoon.

“Two hours past noon,” supplied Pasko.

“Then my best course is to return to the Masters' Court, make some remarks about the poor girl who was murdered—”
Suddenly he thought of Salmina, and realized that he would never see her again or experience her enthusiastic lovemaking, and for a moment he felt a terrible regret. “—and then back to Remarga's for another bath and massage.” He looked at Pasko. “Any invitations?”

“Three.”

“Decline them all. If I need to be seen publicly, then I shall dine at Dawson's.”

Robert nodded. “And after that?''

“Gaming at the Wheel of Fate.''

“Good, that will make it clear to all that you are fit.''

Tal stood up and stretched. “I feel remarkably well for someone who was carved up like a side of venison yesterday.”

Robert's expression was wry. “That spell didn't come cheaply.''

Tal smiled. “It's well I've chosen to serve a master with resources.”

Robert's expression turned from wry to clouded. “Hard-won resources, young Tal. It may appear easy to conjure up wealth if one knows nothing of the magic arts, but you've been around enough of our craft to have some sense of things. You've seen the island, and how many we clothe and feed, and you are just now gaining some sense of how many people we support in other places.” His hand described an arc, taking in the apartment, clothing, and other items. “None of this came without expense and none of this was ‘wished' into existence.”

Tal wasn't sure of the point Robert was trying to make, so he said, “I'm not unappreciative of what my masters have procured for me. But I am
painfully
aware of who is an
assassin's target right now, so I appreciate having some power behind me at the right moments.” His expression turned deadly serious. “But if you remember, you have yet to give me a hint as to why I've been trained, and exactly what my task is, beyond winning this deuced tournament.”

Robert was silent for a few moments. Then he said, “True. We haven't told you much, and we shall continue to keep you unaware for as long as it suits our needs. If you were to fall into the wrong hands now . . . there are ways a skilled magician could peel your memories from inside your skull just as you'd core an apple, Tal. Those unconcerned with your well-being could do it in less than a day and leave you drooling outside an inn, and no one would think you other than a drunk with a damaged mind. But before they were done, they'd have extracted every secret from you.''

Pasko nodded. “Very painful, too, I've been told.''

Robert agreed. “They'd take him somewhere very remote, so the screaming wouldn't disturb anyone.''

Tal continued to stretch. “Then I shall count upon my mentors to use their magical arts to keep me safe from such as you describe. But do you know who the assassin was?''

“Pasko was intent on getting you out of the bathhouse—”
Robert nodded toward the other man in approval. “He managed quite a feat, stanching your wounds with towels and getting you to the carriage before anyone could see how much blood was your own and how much was the girl's.''

Pasko shrugged. “You're generous in your praise, Robert. Most people were running the other way, or confused by the screams and shouts. The bathhouse is not well lit, and . . . well, I just knew it would not do well to have people see Tal lying like a piece of bloody meat on the floor.''

“You did well.” Robert looked at Tal. “You will know your mission when it is time, my young friend. Rest assured we are happy with your progress so far, and right now your only concern is to win that tournament.”

“Why?”

“When you win, I will tell you why.''

“And if I don't win?''

“Then you'll never need to know what would come after, will you?''

Tal's expression turned to one of dark amusement. “I suppose that is true, Master.''

“Talon calls me ‘Master.' Squire Talwin Hawkins can call me Robert.''

“Yes, Robert,” said Tal. Falling back into his role, he said, “Pasko, fetch clothing to Remarga's and have the carriage there at the appropriate time.” Turning to the other man, he asked, “Robert, would you care to join me in the baths? They are quite refreshing.”

Robert inclined his head. “I think it might be wise if I was with you. The assassin may not have been magically able, but someone got him into that room using a spell, either one of transport or one of invisibility. If something amiss occurs between now and the contest, especially involving the mystic arts, I need to be close at hand.''

“Do you have any idea as to who the assassin was?” Tal asked a second time.

“A man,” said Pasko. “No one recognized him, and the City Watch carried the body off.''

“Do we have anyone at the constabulary we know well enough who might inquire more about this malefactor?” Tal asked.

Pasko said, “You've played cards with the Day Constable, Captain Drogan, and could ask without anyone taking too much notice.''

“Then I will, tomorrow,” said Tal. Turning to Robert, he said, “Let us take a stroll back to Remarga's and try to put yesterday's unpleasantness out of mind.''

“Let's make it
appear
we've done so,” said Robert, “but I want you always to remember how close these people came to killing you.''

“Which people?''

Robert smiled slightly. “We shall find that out soon enough, I think.''

The two men left, and Pasko began to gather up clothing for the evening.

The morning was overcast, which fit Tal's mood as he made his way down the narrow streets to the Constable's office, which was located near the old market at the center of the city. The night before had been uneventful, but he had spent the entire time on edge, anticipating another attack, and found he had not much enjoyed the little things which usually pleased him. The dinner at Dawson's, a former inn now exclusively serving meals to the nobility and the wealthy who did not wish to dine at home in upstairs rooms converted into private dining salons, had provided its usual excellence, but while the meat was cooked to perfection—the glazes and sauces were equal to any Tal had ever known—and the service was flawless, he and Robert had dined in relative silence. Even the usually fine Kingdom wines imported from Ravensburgh scarcely warranted his comment.

Gambling at the Wheel of Fate club had provided little of note or interest. Tal played indifferently, his mind obviously elsewhere. Even Lady Thornhill remarked to Tal that he appeared distracted. He smiled and reassured her it
had nothing to do with the unpleasantness at Remarga's the day before, and no he was not seriously injured, only looking that way because he was covered in the poor girl's blood and had struck his head hard upon the tile floor, and, yes, he was mainly lost in contemplation of the coming contest.

He excused himself from the game early, having suffered modest losses, and he and Robert returned to his apartment, where he went to bed early, while Robert and Pasko spoke quietly in the next room for hours.

Now he was seeking answers to a number of difficult questions. He reached the office of the Constable, Dennis Drogan, nephew to a minor palace functionary who had achieved his office through political connection, but who had nevertheless proven to be competent at it.

When he was ushered into Drogan's office, which consisted of little more than a desk and chair in the corner of the muster room with a wooden screen erected to give the Chief of Constables some privacy, he was greeted with a polite but distant smile. “Tal, I was going to visit you later today.” Drogan was a heavyset man of middle years, with as round a head as Tal had ever seen, which was further emphasized by the way he kept his hair cropped close about his skull, and by shaving clean. He had a blob of a nose which had been broken repeatedly over the years, and half of one ear had been bitten off in a brawl; but his eyes were always focused, never missing much.