Lord Protector (18 page)

With it, the sorrow of his childhood was unleashed like a savage, starving dog, ravening through him. He bowed his head, torn by the conflict, and Rivan climbed into his lap and rubbed his cheek against the assassin's chin. Blade ran his hands over the cat's silken coat, soaking up the comforting balm of Rivan's unconditional love. Tears ran down Blade's cheeks and dripped off his chin, unaccompanied by sobs of anguish, for they were tears of joy and release. Deep within him, something he had thought long dead revived, filling him with the first gentle stirring of a long frozen emotion.

In the gathering dusk, Blade gazed down at his familiar and felt himself becoming whole again. He was one of two halves that death had torn apart, and were now reunited once more in life. His tragic life stretched behind him like a long lonely road, devoid of love or joy and washed with the blood of those he had killed. For this moment, at least, the ice around his heart melted and the ember of his love for Rivan, which had never truly died, was rekindled. Until now, he had not known how lonely he had been, but Rivan's warm, purring presence made him realise that he had lost a part of himself when the cat had died.

Blade stroked Rivan, who stretched out a paw to pat the assassin's cheek. Glimpsing a flash of white on Rivan's belly, Blade persuaded him to roll onto his back, and his breath caught as he studied the strange white marks in the cat's fur. The birthmark looked like a huge scar, one made by the spear that had torn his entrails from his belly long ago. Another, smaller one ran across his throat, where the Cotti soldier had slit it. Without a doubt the marks were a legacy of Rivan's previous life, carried over into his new one in the form of birthmarks. Blade stroked the white-streaked fur, his throat tight with joy and pain at the memories the marks evoked.

Rivan gripped Blade's hand with sharp claws and bit it, making the assassin hiss and wince. The cat gazed at him with innocent mischief, and Blade's throat tightened as he tickled the cat's belly, making Rivan kick and wriggle. Memories of playing with Rivan as a boy rushed back, filled his heart with fresh warmth and made him smile. Joy bubbled up inside him like a bright river, and he chuckled, his heart filled with gladness and warmth he had forgotten existed.

Rivan looked up, and Blade followed the cat's glance. Another black shape left the shelter of the trees and crept towards them, crouched low. Blade knew she was Rivan's sister, and groaned. Left alone, she would perish, and he could not allow that to happen, for Rivan's sake, but it complicated matters. He rubbed his eyes dry on his sleeves, laughing as Rivan rolled onto his back again and gave a soft purring call.

Realising that they must be hungry, Blade rose and went to his bags, digging out the little dried meat he had left. It was not really suitable, but it was all he had. He gave half to Rivan and tossed the rest to the little she-cat, who snatched it and bolted back to the forest. Rivan chewed his, growling, while Blade relighted the fire and tossed some beans into a pot to boil. He gazed at the cat while he waited for the food to cook, feeling as if his heart had become too large for his chest to hold.

The next day, Blade decided to find a village where he could purchase provisions for himself and fresh meat for the cats. Two shadowy forms followed him away from the cave where they had been born. At dusk, he found a town, and Rivan stayed with his sister in the forest while Blade rode into it. He found a taproom with a cramped room to let, and bought some fresh meat from the cook. Rivan joined him there and wolfed half of it down in the room, then took the rest to his sister in the forest.

Chapter Thirteen

Blade leant back in the worn, overstuffed chair and stretched his legs out towards the fire, soaking up its warmth. He had lived in the village now for two moons, renting a thatched cottage on the outskirts of town so he could feed Rivan's sister. The abode was a little cramped, but cosy, its narrow windows framed with dusty chintz curtains, a few threadbare rugs scattered on its floors. He had rented it from an old woman whose husband had died, and she had gone to live with her spinster daughter. Echoes of her presence remained in the dusty ornaments that cluttered the shelves and the brass pots that hung over the kitchen stove. A neglected vegetable patch at the back produced a few carriroots and patotals, but he purchased ready-cooked meals from a barrow-hag in town.

The complication of Rivan's sister had delayed his return to the palace, since he could not take the wild she-cat into a city. The end of summer drew near and the nights had become chill, although snow was still two moons away. The she-cat would be dependent on him until the spring, and he had an arrangement with a hunter to bring him a fresh-killed rabbit each day. He had frequented the taproom on several occasions, and the town’s folk, though friendly, respected his obvious wish for privacy. Each day he walked in the forest, and Rivan played with his sister or practised his hunting, although he had not caught anything yet. Blade spent the time becoming reacquainted with his familiar, enjoying the closeness and warmth of Rivan's company and the subtle communication of emotions and thoughts that came with it.

A knock at the door jerked him from his thoughts, and he glanced at Rivan, who lay before the fire, and had raised his head. Blade rose and opened the door to find a villager on his doorstep. The man snatched off his cap and retreated a step, looking nervous.

Blade raised his brows. "Yes?"

The man twisted his cloth cap. "I beg your pardon, sir, but... I - we... Are you an assassin?"

"Yes."

"Then I must speak to you."

Blade stepped aside, inviting the man to enter, which he did, glancing around. The assassin gestured to the rough-hewn table where he ate his frugal meals, and the villager settled on a chair. Blade sat opposite, turning up the wick of the lamp in order to study his visitor. The man looked to be in his mid-thirties, with a shock of unruly brown hair, brown eyes and an even-featured face. He placed his cap on the table and fiddled with it, avoiding Blade's eyes.

"I'm Daron, and I represent the villagers hereabouts."

Blade cocked his head. "And you wish to hire me?"

"Yes, I - we do." Daron raised his eyes to meet Blade's, then flinched and averted them. "They insist that I see your mark first."

Blade tugged open his collar to reveal his tattoo, and Daron nodded after a quick glance at it. "There are some men terrorising our village. A group of bandits who take money, food and... other things whenever they please. We need help to be rid of them, before they ruin us, or worse. Already they've killed two men who dared to stand up to them, cut them down like -"

Blade held up a hand. "It sounds like you need an army, not an assassin. You should apply to the nearest judge for aid."

"We tried. We sent a message, but it was ignored. The judges hereabouts are corrupt. The bandits pay them to leave them alone. With our money."

Blade shook his head. "That's unfortunate, but I can't help you. I will only accept a single target, not a group of bandits."

"Then kill their leader. We'll pay well." Daron dug in his coat pocket. "We took up a collection. There's a year's profit here, if you can stop these men."

Daron placed a purse on the table, and Blade took it, emptying out a pile of silvers, mixed with a few goldens. He spread the coins and counted them, his brows rising. It was a handsome fee for an average assassin. To him it was a pittance. Raising his eyes, he found Daron studying him, and the farmer looked away.

"If I kill their leader, the rest will want revenge."

Daron's shoulders slumped. "Perhaps not. We'll take the risk. They may choose to find some other village to plunder."

"I doubt that." Blade shook his head. "I can't help you. Send a message to Jondar, tell them about the corrupt judges."

"We did. It too was ignored. No one's interested in the problems of a small village like this one."

"Who is your lord?"

"Garamond, but he won't listen. It's not important enough for him." Daron stared at the coins. "It's not enough, is it? We can get more money, the same again, if you give us time."

"It's not the money. Even if I was inclined to take the job, you have no idea where this man is, do you? Can you describe him? Do you know his name and what his familiar is?"

"His name is Arvon. He's big and black-haired, with a missing tooth in the front of his mouth, and his familiar is a snake. Tomorrow night he'll be here in the village to demand his tithe." Daron nodded at the money. "That will be his."

"And he'll be surrounded by what, twenty men?"

"Fourteen. But he won't be with them all the time. He always demands a woman, someone's wife, to spend the night with him." Daron looked down. "They all do. Young girls too. My daughter's just fifteen, but Arvon has cast lecherous eyes upon her. He'll take her this time, I'm certain. If he likes her, he'll take her with him to beat and rape until he grows tired of the sport and kills her."

"Even if I killed him, the others would exact a terrible revenge. I can't accept the job."

"How can you refuse? I thought assassins had to accept any reasonable job, and this is not unreasonable."

"It is, because his men will want to kill me before they start on the rest of you. They'll know his death was the work of an assassin, and they'll torture my name and whereabouts from one of you."

Daron leant forward. "Rest assured, he already knows about you. He has a spy amongst us, but we don't know who it is. He'll demand payment from you too."

Blade sat back, frowning. "So you waited until it was too late for me to leave before coming to me with your proposition."

Daron twisted his cap. "We had no choice."

"You would pit me against your bandits, hoping I'll take a few of them with me, thereby reducing your suffering and ensuring that you won't have to pay me."

"We'll be happy to pay you, should you survive."

"But if I pay them, they won't kill me."

Daron raised desperate, pleading eyes. "Perhaps not... but they might torment you, since you're an assassin."

"If they have any sense, they won't, since I'm an assassin. They may also not be able to find me."

"They'll track you through the forest -"

"If I leave, yes."

Daron's brows shot up. "You would hide?"

Blade smiled. "I'm not a warrior you can goad into confronting your enemies by appealing to my pride or honour, nor a mercenary soldier you can pay to defend your village."

"If you're so good at hiding, why couldn't you do so once you've killed their leader?"

"Because then they would tear your village apart searching for me, and if they found me, they would try to kill me. In addition, killing their leader would do you little good, since they would merely elect another to replace him, possibly worse than him, and they would take revenge on the villagers too."

Daron stared at the table. "You don't have any idea what it's like for us... If you did, you'd help us out of sympathy, if nothing else."

Blade shook his head. "Assassins don't feel pity. It interferes with our work."

"You'd stand by and do nothing while innocent young girls are raped and murdered?"

"I'm paid to kill, not to die."

"What if we helped you? If the men agreed to kill as many of the bandits as they were able to?"

The assassin sighed and shook his head. "You're farmers -"

"We could fight! Some of us have swords... knives... We could attack them when they're all gathered in the taproom."

"So you could, but I don't work like that. I'm not a fighter."

"But would you help?" Daron leant forward. "If I could tell them you've agreed to help us, it would give them courage."

Blade tapped his fingers on the table, considering the money laid out there, which would certainly help to bolster his dwindling finances. Raising his eyes, he studied the young farmer, who possessed a hefty build, with broad shoulders and bulging arms beneath his homespun clothes. Although he had the build of a fighter, he lacked the air of brutality that even taproom brawlers possessed. Blade suspected that his familiar was most likely a deer.

"Are there any war veterans in this village?"

Daron nodded. "Two. One who's quite old, and a cripple. There were two more, but they're the ones who died trying to fight the bandits."

"As most would-be heroes do. How many men could you muster?"

"At least twenty, perhaps more."

"It had better be more," Blade remarked. "Any fighters amongst them?"

"Four or five."

"Archers?"

Daron frowned, considering. "Two huntsmen... And Melia."

"A woman?"

"She's the best shot in the village. She wins at the fair every year."

"But has she ever killed anything?"

"No. I don't think so."

Blade rose and wandered over to the fire, glancing down at the wood cat. Daron rose, his head brushing the soot-stained beams.

"I know what you're thinking. We're not fighters... but we'll fight to save our village from these brigands, and our young girls."

"No. I'm sure you'll fight, but will you kill?"

Daron nodded, walking closer. "I will, and some of the others."

Blade turned to glance up at the huge man. "Understand this. I will not be directly involved in this fight. I'll be on the side-lines, where I should be able to kill five or six of your bandits. You will guard my back."

Daron looked suspicious. "How do you propose to do that?"

"You want a demonstration?"

"I mean no offense..."

The assassin shrugged. "It's within your rights to request a demonstration."

"It's just that the others might suspect that you'll stand by and do nothing, and let us get killed."

"Some of you may be killed. I make no promises in that regard."

"We can accept that, so long as you do your part."

Blade nodded. "Very well. For the amount upon the table, I'll kill at least five of them. Fair enough?"

"Yes." Daron's face smoothed into an expression of intense relief. "Thank you... um... sir."