Assassin's Rise (15 page)

Then Li Ho’s expression
became blank once more and he said in a firm voice, “From today,
zhutou stays with you. Eat, sleep, wash, learn ... everything with
zhutou.”

Li Ho then asked, “You
hold spoon with right hand, yes?”

Roland had to think for
a moment, and then he nodded.

“Then zhutou stays on
left.”

Roland slipped the
weapon between the sash and his waist, hooking one of the prongs
around the sash.

“Keep hands at side,
then pull zhutou with right,” Li Ho told him.

Roland reached over
with his right hand and pulled the weapon clear.

“Put zhutou little to
front, then pull again –”

For what felt like the
fiftieth time, Roland sheathed, and unsheathed the weapon, but he
did not complain, nor did he ask any questions. Li Ho took what
seemed like a simple motion very seriously, and Roland was
convinced that if the bandy-legged man thought it was important, it
should be double important to him.

Finally, Li Ho looked
satisfied and he said, “Good. Keep that position always, and pull
and put back as you walk around.”

A table filled with an
assortment of crossbows and leather harnesses stood against one
wall. Li Ho went to the table and lifted a harness, inspected if
for a moment and then picked up another. He repeated the routine a
few times before selecting a harness that was dyed midnight black,
the leather thick and broad.

Li Ho slipped the
harness over Roland’s head so it rested on his shoulders. It was a
strange contraption: two thin leather bands hooked over his
shoulders; a thick leather band with pockets and slits ran
diagonally over his chest, and another thick leather band with a
type of sheath on it fitted snugly across his lower back. Over his
stomach was a buckle, and Li Ho used it to pull the harness
taut.

“Now pick up crossbows
with left hand, aim and put finger on trigger,” Li Ho told him.

Li Ho watched as Roland
picked up crossbows, curling his finger around triggers. There were
many different designs: some crossbows were large with long double
wings and thick heavy stocks; others small and short, the trigger a
small round button, and others still had no triggers but instead
wooden leavers.

“That one,” said Li Ho
as Roland picked up a particularly small crossbow. The bow was no
longer than Roland’s forearm, the stock and wing as black as his
harness. A round grip curved down from the stock and it fitted his
hand perfectly, his fingers resting naturally inside the grooves
carved into the wooden butt. The wing was composite, made of
ashwood and horn, and Roland saw that there was a smaller wing,
made of some kind of metal, hidden behind the wooden one. Roland
turned the bow around and studied it from the front.

From the front, the
metal wing was not visible. There was a track underneath the wooden
wing used to lay a bolt, but he had to look closely before he found
a small hole towards the bottom of the stock.

Roland smiled. The
design was ingenious.

Facing the crossbow,
you would never guess that it was capable of firing two bolts. The
small hole was intended to hide the bolt of the metal wing, and it
worked well. Unless one studied the crossbow, you would never find
the hidden bolt-channel or second wing, and Roland hoped that he
would never be in the situation were an enemy could do so.

Roland curled his
finger around the trigger – there was only one? Then he found the
second trigger high on the grip of the crossbow. It was a small
wooden nub, intended for his thumb.

On the right side of
the stock were two claws, one large and one smaller. Roland pulled
the smaller one back and the metal wing pulled taut. There was a
soft click and the wing locked in place. The remaining claw was
much stiffer and cocking the wooden wing had the claw slipping from
his fingers. Only by the third try did he successfully cock it.

“Good, you discover
secrets by self,” said Li Ho, looking satisfied. “But bow not so
simple, listen now.

“To take strain from
wing, keep claw tight and push trigger, then let forward
softly.”

Roland did so, the
wooden wing almost ripping the claw from his fingers as he pushed
the trigger.

“Must never keep cocked
unless want to use. Strain will weaken wings and bow is useless,”
continued Li Ho. “Big wing kill at thirty paces, hidden wing kill
at fifteen.

“Bow must be one with
you like zhutou. Always left hand for bow, right hand for zhutou.
From today, learn how to use spoon with left hand also. Left and
right must work together, equal.”

Roland nodded, turning
the bow in his hands.

“Bow goes behind back,”
said Li Ho, demonstrating by hooking his left hand around his
back.

It took Roland a few
tries, but he finally managed to hook the crossbow onto the leather
band running across his lower back. He did it a couple of times
more, sheathing and unsheathing the bow.

Li Ho hooked a narrow,
flat quiver (also midnight black), filled with bolts onto the
leather strap running over Roland’s left shoulders so it hung over
his left breast.

“Twelve bolts, use with
right hand to strung bow. And this,” said Li Ho, running his finger
along the broad leather strap running diagonally over Roland’s
chest, “is for throwing knifes. Will give when start training.”

Roland rolled his
shoulders; the leather harness and the crossbow on his back
suddenly felt terrible heavy. Even the strange dagger hanging from
his sash suddenly gained weight, so much so that he felt like
kneeling on the floor. The elated feeling he had when Li Ho had
handed him his weapons disappeared like morning mist and he
suddenly felt claustrophobic. His gaze flicked rapidly over the
many weapons in the room, his throat turning dry.

Li Ho watched Roland
closely, and when he spoke, there was a gentle edge to his voice.
“You clever man – not listen because young, but clever. You see
what weapon can do. You feel zhutou on side calling for blood, you
feel crossbow on back want to shoot bolt in flesh ...

“Dealing death not game
– never forget feeling.”

*

When Roland stepped
from the cabin, small beads of sweat covered his brow. A sudden
fear had gripped him, the muscles in his stomach pulling taut, and
he breathed deeply, as if he tried expelling the fear with each
exhaled breath.

“Looking a bit pale
there, old horse,” called Jeklor.

A wooden deck extended
around the front of the cabin, and Jeklor, Andros and Dragon sat
cross-legged on the deck, a heap of straw between them.

Jeklor’s broad grin
calmed Roland’s nerves, and he walked over to them, the butt of the
crossbow digging into his back as he turned, but he barely felt
it.

All of them were
clean-shaven now, apart from Andros, who kept his beard short.

“Unusual weapon,” said
Andros, eyeing the zhutou as Roland sat down.

“It’s called a Zhutou,”
said Roland.

“Never seen the sort –
where’s it from?”

“From the east – same
as Li Ho,” said Roland. “What are you doing?”

“Weaving straw
sandals,” said Jeklor gruffly. He clearly did not think much of
making shoes from grass.

He handed Roland a pair
of sandals and said, “Li Ho said we had to copy this design and
make it ourselves.”

Roland tried pulling
the sandals on his feet but they were far too small.

“Strange that a man who
can lob off heads so easily have such small feet,” said Jeklor,
watching Roland’s struggle. Dragon heehawed in laughter, his eyes
bright. “At least Dragon here seems to enjoy it,” said Jeklor
dryly, and then his eyes widened.

“How’d you do it?” he
asked amazed.

Dragon’s sandals were
completed, looking identical to the pair Li Ho had left for them.
Dragon grinned broadly as he showed off his work.

“Good work, Dragon,”
said Roland. “But it’s the same size also. Your feet are much
bigger than that.” Dragon measured one sandal against the sole of
his foot, shrugged, and then started anew.

Andros chuckled, and
then swore as a piece of straw snapped in his hands.

“So what training has
Li Ho in store for you?” said Jeklor, flicking his half-finished
sandal out of the way.

“Eating and resting
’til he thinks I’m strong enough,” said Roland and grabbed a
handful of straw, starting on his own sandals.

“If only I’d promised
him some gold ... See the deck you are sitting on – see the shine,
the gleam? While you were inside, we were polishing it for all we
are worth ... (‘Wipe feet – wash hands – clean floor ... if not I
kill,’ he imitated Li Ho) he’s worse than my mother,” finished
Jeklor glumly.

Roland smiled to
himself. He had a feeling that Li Ho enjoyed their company. “So
what are your plans?” Roland asked.

“For now me and Dragon
will stay,” said Andros and shrugged. “Got no where else to go
anyway.”

“You haven’t got
family?”

“Wife. But she won’t be
there after I been in the mine for ten years ... an’ before that
I’ve had two years in prison.”

“Just what did you do?”
Jeklor asked Andros.

“Petty thief. An’ one
night while drunk I killed a man, and then tried to stab the guards
when they arrested me – got one of them in the leg, though.”

“Even Dragon has more
sense than you,” said Jeklor and Dragon nodded sagely.

Neither Andros nor
Dragon was offended in the least and they all chuckled. It was a
testament that the men had been through tough times together.

“I’ll stay here, too
... at least until I’ve seen how the wind blows,” Jeklor told
Roland.

“So what’s your story?”
Andros asked Roland. Dragon looked up, too, watching Roland
intently.

Roland shifted
uncomfortably. The pain of Carla’s murder was still fresh on his
mind and he didn’t feel like sharing it. “Got framed for murder to
protect a noble’s name,” he said simply.

Jeklor knew the whole
story but said nothing. He still remembered the look on Roland’s
face as he had told the story to the old noble in Darma prison, and
he did not want to see that look of rage and pain again.

“Bastard nobles,”
sniffed Andros. “So that’s why you want the old man to train you –
for revenge.”

“My good man, you
haven’t got the right to call anyone else old,” commented
Jeklor.

Andros aimed a cuff at
Jeklor’s head and he leaned out of the way, snorting.

Dragon heehawed.

*

The days passed by
quickly. Roland spent most of his time walking the woods and
gathering herbs (as he did now), and every night since his arrival,
he bathed in the waterhole. He had gotten used to the weight of his
weapons and barely felt their presence anymore. He had promised Li
Ho not to use the weapons, and he kept his word. As he walked, he
pulled the crossbow clear, loaded and unloaded it, then hooking it
back onto the sheath on his lower back. The same went for the
zhutou. After a few days, this had become second nature, and he did
the motions without thinking. He also began relying on his left
hand to lead the right, and Roland felt confidant that the left was
nearly as adept as the right.

The food and rest did
him well, too, and he was quickly gaining weight. His hollowed
cheeks had filled out, and his skin had lost its deathly pallor.
Twice now, he had to adjust the leather harness as it grew too
taut. So did Jeklor, Andros and Dragon, too. Dragon, especially,
turned out to be enormous with a little more meat on his bones, and
his face seemed younger by the day. Andros had commented that
Dragon was growing into his name, oddly proud of it.

When Roland reached the
cabin, he found Li Ho busy directing Andros, Jeklor and Dragon
around. They had made what appeared to be straw dummies dressed in
old clothes, tied to wooden boards, and Li Ho was having them
position the dummies in the clearing.

As Roland stepped up to
Li Ho, Li Ho pointed at the dummies and simply said, “Kill.”

There were two dummies,
one roughly twenty paces from Roland, the other about forty.

Roland’s left hand
curled behind him and pulled the crossbow clear. With his right, he
pulled the claws back down the stock. The wings now strung, the two
bowstrings was rock-hard with tension. He slipped a bolt into the
track below the wooden wing, and another into the hidden
bolt-channel.

Roland lifted the
crossbow and pulled the trigger. The wooden wing punched forward
and a bolt struck the furthest dummy high in the shoulder with a
thump – it sounded as if the cloth was padded with something. He
swung the crossbow over and pressed the wooden nub high on the grip
with his thumb. The small metal wing sang as it released, and a
bolt disappeared into the closest dummy’s throat, sinking into the
wooden board behind it.

“Throat shot good,”
said Li Ho. “When enemy close, aim for head or throat – both will
kill quickly.

“When enemy far, aim
for chest or stomach. Stomach wound not kill outright, but great
pain and enemy not fight back. Chest only when have clear shot and
aim for heart. If not hit heart, enemy can still fight back if
strong. Or put poison on bolt, anyplace kill then.”

“No,” said Roland. He
was prepared to kill, but using poison would sully everything that
Pelron had taught him. “I won’t use poison.”

“Then practise more,”
said Li Ho, unfazed. “Again.”

For the next hour,
Roland repeatedly shot bolts into the dummies, and by the end, his
left arm shook with exhaustion.

“Very good,” said Li
Ho, as the last bolts slammed into the dummies. “Have good eye, and
learn quick. Make this last one. Load once more and stand
ready.”

As Roland stood ready,
Li Ho took a small wooden plank from the fold of his shirt and
threw it into the air. Roland followed the plank’s flight and at
its apex, he pulled the trigger. The first bolt slammed into the
plank and it split in two, the two pieces whirling apart. In a
split-second, he decided on the larger piece and pushed the nub.
The metal-wing sang, but the second bolt ricocheted from the
spinning piece.