The Queen's Blade Prequel I - Conash: Dead Son (14 page)

Talon sat down
and topped up his wine cup. “Your hands are your most important
tools. You need to look after them, especially if you're going to
be a dagger man. The dagger is the most difficult weapon to master.
Sit down.”

Conash came
over and sat opposite, pouring himself a cup of wine. Since his
wounding, Talon allowed him to drink unwatered wine, hoping that it
would help to calm him. The elder studied the cuts on the boy's
hands.

“There's
something else you need to learn. Usually I wouldn't start teaching
you until after your first year, but it might help to relax you
too.”

“What is
it?”

“A dance.”

The boy's face
hardened and his eyes grew colder. “A dance.”

“Yes. It's not
any old dance, though. It's the assassins' dance, and it's a test
of speed, agility, strength, co-ordination and stamina. You're
required to master it. It will make you stronger, suppler and
faster. It also teaches you self-defence.”

“A dance.”

Talon nodded.
“It's called the Dance of Death.”

The boy jumped
up and turned away, his hands clenched, then went over to the
window and stared out at the dismal view of shacks and garbage. The
elder watched him, curious and concerned. For Conash to show any
emotion at all was unusual, and his reaction was unexpected.

“What's
wrong?”

“I've seen its
like before.”

“I doubt it.
Only assassins perform it, and only at Guild meetings. Normal folk
never see it.”

“I've seen the
real thing.”

Talon
hesitated, wondering if the boy was going to tell him something
from his past, about which he remained taciturn. “In the Cotti
camp?”

“Yes.”

“What do you
mean, 'the real thing'?”

“Children...
little girls, made to dance until they died.”

“Conash...”
Talon rose and went over to the boy, unsure of how to deal with
this revelation. “The Cotti are bastards, but whatever they did,
this isn't the same thing.”

“It wouldn't
be, would it? Pointless for assassins to dance until they drop
dead.”

“And yet, it
brings you terrible memories. You don't need to learn it yet.” The
elder placed a hand on the youth's shoulder.

Conash shrugged
it off and moved away, returning to sit at the table. “I'll learn
it now. It doesn't matter.”

“All right.”
Talon sat opposite again with a sigh. The boy never accepted
sympathy. In fact, it seemed to anger him. “I'll start you with it
tomorrow. We'll have to go to the edge of the forest to do it,
where no one will see. I have a spot there, where I train
apprentices.”

The boy stared
across the room, looking bored, something he affected to do, Talon
realised, when he struggled with some inner turmoil. The elder
sipped his wine and cleared his throat, deciding to broach a
subject that he had been unable to bring himself to speak about
before.

“I know
something of what they did to you, Conash.”

“Really?”

“Yes, and it's
barbaric, shameful. But what's done is done, and I think you can
use it to your advantage.”

Conash turned
to stare at his mentor, his face expressionless. “And what might
that be?”

Talon coughed,
embarrassed. “You're sixteen; you should be interested in girls,
but you're not.”

Conash looked
away. “I am.”

“If you were,
you'd be down at the tavern, flirting with them. But you never
leave this shack, except for your daily walk in the slums. That's
not a life.”

“I'm dead,
remember?”

“We agreed that
you'd be alive, for now.”

The boy nodded.
“All I want is to practice. That shouldn't bother you.”

“There's a
reason why you're not interested in girls, isn't there?” Talon
leant across the table and stroked the boy's cheek.

Conash jerked
away and stood up, turning to stare out of the window again. “Mind
your own damned business.”

Talon rose and
stood beside him. “You should have started to grow a beard at your
age.”

“I will. I'm
just slow to mature. It runs in my family. My brother didn't have a
beard at my age, either.”

“Really? Was he
also castrated?” Talon coughed as the point of Conash's dagger
pricked his throat.

“There's
nothing wrong with me,” he said.

“You'll never
grow a beard. You need to accept it. That's why you're not
interested in girls.”

“I'm too
young!”

“How old are
you?” Talon gripped the boy's wrist and twisted it in an expert
move that turned the point of the weapon away from his throat.

Conash glared.
“Maybe I'm not sixteen. Maybe it only felt like four years. Perhaps
it was less.”

“The Rout of
Ashtolon happened four years ago.”

Conash's frown
grew fiercer. “You want me to flirt with girls, then I will!”

“You should
want to.”

“I do! I
thought you wanted a good apprentice, not a womaniser.”

Talon shook his
head. “You need to accept what they did to you. Eventually you'll
have to.”

“No, I won't.
There's nothing wrong with me!”

“You know what
they did to you just as well as I do. Perhaps better. You were
twelve, right? A child.”

Conash wrenched
free and swung away, the dagger gripped in a white-knuckled fist.
Talon experienced a frisson of unease as the youth turned to glare
at him with eyes as frigid as a midwinter storm, and wondered if he
had made a mistake by raising the subject, but persevered.

“You can use
this, Conash. You can turn a disadvantage into a tool. First you
need to accept what's happened to you.”

“I don't know
what you're talking about.”

Talon sighed,
shaking his head, but kept a wary eye on the youth. He did not
trust the boy, even though he had sworn to uphold the code, and
while he had chosen to broach the subject early on to minimise the
risk, Conash was, and always had been, dangerous.

“You could
become a master of disguise, Conash.”

Talon used the
boy's name often, to remind him of who he was and prevent him from
slipping into his cat persona, which the elder had glimpsed when
the thugs had beaten the boy. When he had run up to the struggling
men, Conash had been so cat-like in his actions and sounds that
Talon could almost see the ebon form of the cat whose personality
he had taken on.

It was known as
familiar possession, when a person's dead familiar seemed to
overpower their personality, so strong had the bond between them
been in life. In times of extreme duress, the human part of the
person would recede, and their beast kin's traits would take over
to save them. This was, he surmised, how Conash had crawled out of
the desert, with the aid of the feline gifts his cat kinship
bestowed.

The boy did not
appear to be listening, but Talon continued, “When I found you in
that alley, I thought you were a girl, Conash. Do you know how much
easier it would be to lure your targets into a vulnerable situation
if they thought you were a girl? A little powder and paint, a
pretty dress, and -”

Conash swung
away and strode to the door, yanked it open and slammed it behind
him so hard that the shack shuddered. Talon sighed and returned to
sit at the table, picking up his goblet of wine. He had expected an
adverse reaction, but at least it had not been a violent one this
time. The boy appeared to be learning some self-control, or perhaps
his oath was truly binding. Nevertheless, his aversion to the idea
was clearly immense, and Talon could not blame him. If anyone had
suggested that he would look attractive dressed as a woman, he
would also have been offended. He stroked his short beard. Not that
that was every likely to happen. He could not imagine what it must
be like; to be a eunuch.

Conash wandered
along a garbage-choked alley, kicked the refuse at his feet and
muttered curses under his breath. The fury that ate at him combined
with hatred to form a vitriolic bitterness. He had wanted to kill
Talon for his suggestion, and even for noticing what had been done
to him. It would not work, he had told himself a thousand times. He
would grow into a man like any other, with a beard and a woman to
warm his bed and bear his sons. He rubbed his chin with fingers
that stung from the cuts the dagger had inflicted. One day hair
would sprout from it. He was just slow to mature.

Emerging into a
broader street, he strode towards the alehouse at the end of it. A
few coppers resided in his pocket, although Talon gave him no
money. He had found them in the gutter, and they would purchase a
mug of ale. Talon was wrong about him, and he would prove it by
becoming a man. Perhaps it would speed up his maturity.

When he pushed
open the alehouse's door and entered, a hush fell in the taproom,
and he realised that in his black garb, most thought him an
assassin. No matter, it would keep him safe, according to Talon.
His aversion to crowds and confined spaces grew stronger as the
redolence of unwashed bodies, stale ale and sour vomit made his
stomach squirm. Men stepped from his path as he made his way to the
back of the room and found an unoccupied table. The low hum of
conversation returned when he sat down.

A voluptuous
serving wench came over, swinging her hips and smiling. A pile of
braided brown hair topped her plump, cheerful face. When she leant
over, she displayed a deep cleavage, and he averted his eyes.

“What can I get
ye, love?” she asked.

“Ale.”

“Coming right
up.”

The girl left
with swaying hips and a toss of her head, deftly avoiding groping
hands. A minute later, she returned with a brimming mug of ale and
placed it in front of him. He dropped two of his three coppers in
her palm, then looked up at her and smiled. She hesitated, and a
coquettish grin dimpled her round cheeks.

“Will you join
me?” he asked.

She glanced
around, then slid onto the seat beside him. “I ain't s'posed to,
but just for a minute.”

Conash gulped,
toying with the mug, then offered it to her. “Have some?”

She giggled.
“You're s'posed to buy me a mug, if ye want me to stay.”

He dropped his
remaining copper on the table. “That's all I have left.”

“That's a
shame. Never mind.” She took a swig of his ale. “We can share. Yer
just a young lad, ain'tcha?”

“I'm almost
seventeen.”

“Ah, a man
already, then.”

“Not
quite.”

“Oooh, I see.”
She giggled and leant closer to stroke his hair.

Conash wanted
to jerk away from her caress, but forced himself to remain still,
gazing at her with a slight smile. The girl's fingers moved to his
cheek and lingered.

“Ye shave
pretty good, don'tcha?”

“There's not
much to shave, yet.”

“Hmmmm. Never
mind, it'll come, lad. Have you a name?”

He nodded.
“Conash. You?”

“Elly.” Her
eyes roamed over him. “Are ye an assassin, then?”

“An
apprentice.”

“Ooooh. That's
exciting.”

His brows rose.
“Is it?”

“Of course! All
girls like a strong man.”

“Even a
killer?”

“A killer most
of all. It makes us girls feel safe, knowing that no one can harm
us with a man like you to protect us.”

He cocked his
head, longing to move away from her fingers, which had moved back
to his ear and hair. “You're not scared?”

“Why would we
be? Ye've got no reason to harm us, do ye?”

“I might get
angry.”

She giggled and
leant closer, slipping her arm around his neck. “Well now, that
might be scary if ye were just a common murderer, but yer an
assassin, so yer not going to kill anyone, are ye?”

“I suppose
not.” Conash quaffed his ale, unnerved by the soft flesh that she
pressed against him in blatant invitation.

Her lips
brushed his ear as she whispered, “I've got a room in the
back.”

Conash coughed
as the mouthful of ale almost choked him, but nodded. He had not
dreamt it would be so easy. All his instincts clamoured at him to
jump up and flee, but he was determined to prove Talon wrong. Elly
drained his mug and tugged him to his feet, ducking to avoid the
eyes of the alehouse keeper as she dragged him to the back of the
taproom and through a door. Hauling him around a corner, she pushed
open another door and led him into a cramped storeroom. Sacks of
flour provided a couch of sorts, and she pushed him down on it,
pulling off her blouse with a sweep of her arms.

Conash gulped
as she guided his hands to her flesh, rubbing against him with a
moan. His alarm grew when she unbuttoned his jacket and pulled it
open, then unlaced his shirt. Her hands roamed over his chest and
down his belly, sending shivers through him. He stared at the flesh
that she had pressed into his hands, not knowing what he was
supposed to do with it. Her hands continued their exploration, and
he sensed the steel spring inside him coiling tighter. His stomach
clenched, and bile stung his throat. Elly fumbled with his trousers
and pushed a hand into them. A frown furrowed her brow, and a
vaguely bemused expression came over her face, then her eyes
glinted, and she recoiled.

“What in
Damnation? Is this a jest? Yer not a man!” She slapped him, making
his ear ring. “Get out, ye damned gelded dog!”

The red tide
rose like a flash of fire, blinding him. A roaring filled his ears,
and soft flesh yielded under his hands. He was aware of choking,
gurgling sounds, and that he was crouched over something that
writhed and kicked. Hands clawed at his arms and heels thudded
against the floor. His vision cleared as if a bucket of ice had put
out the fire of his fury, and he found that he gripped Elly's
throat. She flailed at him, gurgling, her face red and swollen.