The Queen's Blade Prequel I - Conash: Dead Son (13 page)

Talon stared at
him, struck by the singular sweetness of the boy's expression,
which lighted his dirty, battered face. It was the first time he
had seen Conash smile, and it took his breath away. An expression
like that would be a peerless weapon, if he taught the boy how to
use it properly. He shook himself, remembering that he had decided
not to apprentice the youth.

“I'll be the
best assassin in Jondar,” Conash almost whispered.

“No...” Talon
hesitated, torn.

“I'll be the
greatest assassin who ever lived.”

“You're...”
Talon trailed off as the youth lowered his eyes and bowed his head.
He closed the door. “All right, this is your last chance. Disobey
me once, accuse me of lying again, or do anything else that angers
me, and you're gone, understand?”

“Yes.”

“Sit down, and
I'll stitch that wound. You've got a gash in your head too.”

Conash fingered
his temple, where a trickle of crimson ran down it to his cheek,
and glanced at the blood on his fingertips. He paled, looking
queasy, and returned to his chair. Talon took the bubbling pot off
the stove and left it to cool, then went over to a cupboard for his
bag of mendicants and dumped it on the table. Conash watched him
take out a bottle of salve, a curved needle and thread, and a roll
of clean bandages. Talon sat down and held out his hand.

“Give me your
hand.”

Conash obeyed,
and the elder took hold of the youth's thin appendage and pulled it
towards him, turning it to inspect the gash. A little deeper, and
it would have cut the tendons. Dipping a cloth in the boiled water,
he let it cool, then swabbed the injury, glancing at Conash when he
hissed, his hand jerking in the assassin's hold.

“Hold still.
This is going to hurt even more with I stitch it, but if I don't it
won't heal properly. You're lucky it isn't deeper, or you'd have
lost the use of your fingers. How did you do this?”

“I grabbed a
piece of glass in the rubbish.”

“Wonderful,
it'll probably get infected, then.” Talon poured some salve onto
the cloth and wiped the gash, making Conash hiss and try to snatch
his hand away again. “Have some more wine.”

Conash drained
the bottle while Talon sewed the wound and bandaged it. Then he
stood up and swabbed the cut on the boy's temple, leant close to
inspect it and found that it did not require stitches. Conash leant
away from him, clearly disliking his proximity, and Talon was
reminded of the first time he had touched the boy, and his reaction
to it. Talon noticed that the youth's cheeks were as smooth as a
child's, which was odd for a sixteen-year-old adolescent.

Becoming aware
that Conash was eyeing him suspiciously, Talon straightened and set
down the bottle of salve. “Any other wounds?”

“Maybe. They
had knives.”

“Where?”

Conash eased
off his jacket, wincing, to reveal a blood-stained shirt. Talon
helped the boy to remove the shirt, finding two stab wounds in his
back and one in his biceps.

“You bloody
idiot. When were you planning on telling me about these?”

Conash
shrugged. “They'll stop bleeding eventually.”

Talon examined
the wounds. “You're lucky nothing vital was hit. I'll need to
stitch these too.”

“Then I'll need
more wine.”

“That's all
there is. Grit your teeth.”

Conash groaned
and hissed while Talon sewed the stab wounds, and the elder
assassin was a little shaken by the time he finished. He was
surprised that there were no whip scars on the boy's back, which
was odd for someone who had been a Cotti slave.

“The Cotti
didn't whip you?” he asked.

“They used
their fists and boots.”

Talon returned
to his chair and packed away the salve and needles, casting a
mournful glance at the empty wine bottle.

“Tell me the
rest of the rules,” Conash said.

“You must swear
the oath first. Once you do, you're an apprentice, and a member of
the Guild.”

“So what's the
oath?”

Talon
considered the boy, wondering if he was doing the right thing. “Do
you swear to uphold and obey all the Guild's laws, and live your
life according to them?”

“How do I know,
when you haven't told me what they are yet?”

“That's the
point. You have to swear to it without knowing what they are.
There's no going back once you do.”

Conash snorted,
glaring at the table. “All right.”

“You must swear
it.”

“I swear
it.”

“Do you accept
that the punishment for serious transgressions against the Guild,
and disobedience, is death?”

“Yes.”

Talon nodded.
“I accept your apprenticeship, Conash. You're now a member of the
Jondar Guild of Assassins.” He paused, pondering the information he
was about to impart. “There aren't that many rules. First and
foremost, you're not allowed to kill without a client, or tell
anyone your client's name. You're not allowed to dabble in any
other trades, or commit crimes like thievery or kidnapping. You're
not allowed to use your trade to coerce, intimidate or otherwise
solicit anything whatsoever against another person's will.

“All assassins
must respect and obey the elders, and you're not allowed to kill
other Jashimari assassins. You're allowed to reveal the name of
your client only if he or she betrays you, and you're allowed to
use your skills to protect yourself. You're not allowed to work for
only one client, but must accept assignments from any who offer
them, provided that they agree to pay the fee you demand, and the
assignment is not beyond your abilities. You must always have the
name and description of your target before attempting an
assassination.

“You must obey
me in all things during your training, and share half your fees
with me for two years after you receive your mark. You're not
allowed to perform an assassination until you receive your mark,
except one, which I'll assign to you when I judge you to be ready.
From now on, you must call me 'master'.”

Conash glared
at him. “That's a lot of 'not alloweds'.”

“That's what
rules are all about.”

He sighed,
looking despondent. “So now I'm an assassin?”

“No, you're an
apprentice.” Talon stood up and went over to a chest of drawers,
taking out a black leather jacket, shirt and trousers. “Here, these
are yours.” He tossed them on the table, and Conash fingered them,
his expression inscrutable.

Talon reached
under the dresser and picked up a pair of black boots, adding them
to the pile. “Go and change.”

The boy rose
and went behind the bathing alcove's curtain. When he emerged, he
tugged at the jacket, which fitted well. Talon nodded, pleased with
his accurate estimation of the boy's size.

“When your
wounds have healed, I'll begin your training.”

Conash fingered
the jacket. “You were confident that I'd accept.”

“Only a fool
would choose to die in the gutter, and you didn't strike me as
one.”

Chapter Eight

Conash hefted
the dagger, tossed it into the air and caught it again, then turned
to Talon and nodded.

“These are
good.”

“They should
be, at a golden each.”

The merchant
whose wares they were inspecting rubbed his hands with an
ingratiating smile. “These are top quality, elder. You won't find
better in all of Jondar, nor at a better price. They're crafted by
-”

Talon raised a
hand. “Yes, yes, a master crafter, blah blah. They all say that.
I'll give you five silvers for them.”

The merchant's
eyes widened. “That's a fraction of what they're worth. My lowest
price would be nine.”

“Seven.”

“Eight.”

“Done.” Talon
scooped up the four daggers and handed them to Conash. “Don't lose
them, or you'll pay for the next set yourself.”

“With
what?”

“I'll hire you
out to sweep tavern floors.”

“You can't do
that.”

“Says who?”

Conash
shrugged, tucked the daggers into the belt sheath that came with
them and buckled it on. “Me.”

Talon snorted
and headed for the shop's door. “Don't try me, apprentice.”

When they
arrived back at the hut, Talon flopped down in a chair and poured a
cup of wine, studying his apprentice. Conash had gained weight over
the last two moon-phases, although he remained slender. The boy
took out a dagger and admired it, turning it slowly. He had chosen
daggers as his weapon within a few days of starting his
apprenticeship, and was learning all the methods of using one that
Talon had to teach.

“So, have you
chosen your favourite method? Throat, front, back, or flank?” Talon
asked.

“Flank.”

“An odd choice.
Why?”

Conash
shrugged. “Less blood.”

“You don't like
blood, do you?”

“Not
particularly.”

“Odd, for an
assassin.” Talon sipped his wine. “Now it's time to learn how to
throw a dagger. When throwing, you hold it by the blade.”

Conash tossed
the dagger into the air and caught it by the blade, then dropped it
with a grunt and sucked his finger.

Talon smiled.
“Not so easy, is it?”

“You haven't
shown me how.”

“Don't you
mean, 'please show me how, Master'?”

“No.”

Talon sighed,
shaking his head. “I don't know why I put up with your disrespect.”
He put down his cup and rose, approaching the boy. “Here, you hold
it like this.”

Taking the
dagger, Talon held it lightly by the blade, his fingers supporting
it halfway between hilt and tip. “Hold it lightly, or you'll get
cut. Then you flick it, like so.”

The assassin
flung the dagger at one of the hut's beams. It bounced off the wall
beside it and fell with a clatter. Conash snorted and smiled. Talon
shrugged and returned to his chair.

“I'm not a
dagger man, but that's the right way to do it.”

“Yes,
Master.”

“Sarcasm isn't
respectful.”

“How can you
teach something you don't know yourself?”

“I've shown you
the method. Use it. The rest is practice.”

Conash picked
up the weapon and walked across the room, then held it as Talon had
instructed and flicked his wrist. The dagger thudded into the beam,
quivering. Talon's brows rose.

“Beginner's
luck.”

Conash
retrieved the dagger and threw it again, with identical
results.

Talon frowned.
“Still beginner's luck.”

The boy's third
throw went awry, and the dagger clattered off the wall.

His mentor
smiled, nodding. “You see?”

Conash flung
the weapon again, and hit the beam for a third time.

Talon snorted.
“A fluke.”

Five throws
later, four of them accurate, Talon admitted, “You do seem to have
a knack for it.”

Conash frowned
at his bleeding fingers. “I'm doing something wrong.”

“You're
gripping it too tight. You need to hold it like you would a
woman's...” Talon coughed and sipped his wine.

“A woman's
what?”

“Never mind,
you've never held one, so there's no point in telling you.”

“But I will,
one day.”

Talon nodded.
“And when you do, you'll know what I'm talking about, but right now
it won't help you, will it? Loosen your grip.”

Conash tried to
throw the dagger again, but this time it slipped from his grasp and
fell at his feet.

“Not that
much,” Talon said.

The boy picked
it up and threw it again, and Talon watched him, amazed by how
quickly he learnt. Conash had a gift for handling daggers; it
seemed to come naturally to him. Odd, for a goat farmer's son.
Arming the boy made Talon uneasy, for he was all too aware of
Conash's dangerously unstable nature. The youth had calmed
considerably, however, and no more furious outbursts had taken
place, although Talon was careful not to provoke one.

Often, he
stopped himself from berating the boy, and he knew he was being far
too soft on him. Conash needed little reprimanding, however. He
spent all of his waking hours practicing his latest lesson until he
had perfected it. It made him the perfect apprentice, but it also
made Talon uneasy. He noticed that the boy was wiping blood from
his fingers and stood up.

“Enough now,
Conash, or you won't be able to practice tomorrow.”

“I'll practice
the next lesson tomorrow, after I've perfected this.”

Talon
approached him. “Stop now. It's enough. You can't throw with
bleeding fingers; it's making the blade slippery.”

Conash drew
back his arm, and Talon stepped in front of him and gripped his
wrist. “I said stop. Obedience, remember?”

The youth met
his gaze, and Talon quelled a shiver at the icy emptiness in his
eyes.

“There's no
need to hurt yourself,” the elder said.

“You should be
pleased to have such a dedicated apprentice.”

“I am, but your
dedication borders on fanaticism, and that worries me.”

“Why?”

Talon shrugged
and released the boy's wrist. “Because it's not normal. You have no
other interests.”

“What other
interests should an apprentice have?”

“There's
reading. Can you read?”

“Of course I
can read.”

“Good. Or
there's wood carving. My last apprentice enjoyed whittling, and he
was quite good at it.”

Conash glared
at him. “What's the point? The more I practice, the better I'll
be.”

“You need to
relax, too. You're far too tense. You're like a crossbow that's
been cranked too tight. When that happens, sometimes they snap, and
that's dangerous.”

“I'm not going
to snap. I'm not a crossbow.”

Talon sighed.
“No, you're just a boy, and you need to relax for at least a
time-glass a day. I'm going to make it part of your training. An
important skill for an assassin is patience. Sometimes we have to
spend days waiting for the right moment, or lying in wait. Right
now, you have no patience at all. I don't care what you do. You can
sit and stare into space for all I care, or I'll bring you some
books or a piece of wood. But you will relax, and right now, you'll
put away that dagger and tend to the cuts in your hands.