Assassin's Rise

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Assassin's Rise Page 11

by CJ Whrite


  Roland dug a shallow hole in the rocky soil, and they all stripped, burying their tattered clothes. Only Roland and Jeklor had boots left, but they also buried those.

  There was a moment of sharply inhaled breath, and Andros swore loudly as they lowered themselves into the water, old wounds and sores stinging. Water bubbled up as a natural spring fed the pool, the water icy.

  Roland broke the wax seal on the jug and sniffed the beak. It was filled with a perfumed type of oil and he poured some on his head, handing the jug around. Roland scrubbed his hair and beard, his face strangely set, as if trying to wash away more than grime.

  Naked and barefoot, skin ghostly pale, damp hair swinging on their backs, beards untangled, the four men returned to the cabin. Li Ho sat on a stump waiting for them, four grey outfits similar to the black one he wore resting at his feet.

  “You fresh like newborn,” Li Ho said, handing each of them an outfit. “Today you born again.”

  They weren’t exactly sure what Li Ho meant, but for some reason, accepting the clothes felt like it had a deeper meaning, and they solemnly dressed – even Dragon seemed deep in thought.

  “I take off sleeves because will be to short,” said Li Ho as they wrapped the sleeveless shirts around them. The trousers were too short also, riding high on their calves, but it fitted comfortably and sat loose.

  “Use sash to keep shirt close,” Li Ho told Dragon, who stood with his shirt hanging open, looking confused, “and make knot like this.” He helped Dragon to tie the sash together.

  “Thank you,” stammered Jeklor, running his hands over the material. It was very thick, and weaved so tightly, he thought it would last a lifetime. He had never owned such high quality cloth.

  “Not gift,” said Li Ho waving a finger. “Roland pay with gold, but you will work.”

  He stepped up to the entrance of his cabin, beckoning them inside. “You can make own sandals later, but we eat first – wipe feet when come in.”

  Chapter 13

  “I have promised two thousand gold pieces for one year of training – and this is not training!” said Roland angrily the following day.

  Li Ho fixed his eyes on Roland, his face impassive, but Roland took a sudden step backwards, his heart thumping in his chest. For a moment, it had seemed as if Li Ho had grown in size, towering over him.

  “Not so stupid after all. You can feel when I will kill you,” said Li Ho, and Roland for no moment doubted his words.

  “You promised to follow teachings without talk,” continued Li Ho. “Learn to listen and understand. From today, you do nothing but eat and rest. That also training.”

  “For how long?” risked Roland.

  Li Ho sighed and turned his back on Roland. “Your body is almost gone. First need to heal. I will see when you are strong enough to learn death.”

  He walked from the room, and then paused in the doorway. “Come, follow,” he said. “I will give something to keep mind happy while resting.”

  Li Ho led Roland through the cabin.

  The cabin was a long, one-room building, but Li Ho had placed tall wooden dividers throughout the interior, resulting in many small rooms that resembled a maze. Li Ho halted at the back wall of the cabin and unsheathed his sword. He slid the blade through an invisible gap between the planks, and there was a silent click. He pushed against the wall and it swung inwards, revealing a room dug inside the rocky hill.

  The room was panelled, and mounted against the walls were an assortment of weapons: swords, axes, daggers, throwing knives and strangely star-shaped pieces of metal, metal-tipped wooden staves, spears, bows ... Roland had never seen so many different weapons in one place.

  “Just who are you, Li Ho?” Roland whispered, his eyes slipping over the polished weapons.

  “Not tell you yet. Not trust you yet,” Li Ho said matter-of-factly. He went to stand in the centre of the room, his hands clasped behind him, his back to Roland.

  “Everything you see here can deal death,” he said. “Many of weapons are made for warriors, meeting and testing skill.

  “Never forget that I am not teaching to be warrior. You will move quick and silent – kill without seen. If enemy finds you, you will run. Your strength will be in small blades, and throwing blades. Heavy weapons will not work well with you.”

  Roland soaked in every word Li Ho said, grim faced. He had thought himself prepared to kill from behind, to moving in the shadows, but as Li Ho voiced the words, he felt that it sounded cowardly.

  Li Ho slowly turned around, facing Roland. “In my land, assassin is honourable profession,” he said, as if Roland had spoken his thoughts aloud. “It takes great courage to be one, and only one in thousand is good.”

  “Are you – were you ... an assassin?” asked Roland, unable to help himself.

  Li Ho watched him silently, unblinking, and finally he said, “No. Have knowledge but not courage.”

  Li Ho ignored the look of disbelieve on Roland’s face and walked to the corner of the room where he lifted a strangely shaped dagger from a mount on the wall. He held the weapon up, showing it to Roland. It was not edged, but had instead a round shaft about the length of Roland’s forearm, tapered and ending in a sharp point. Two long prongs curved from the handle toward the shaft, the tips curling outwards again. The weapon had a brilliant, silver shine to it.

  “This is called the Zhutou,” said Li Ho. “Is not for cutting, but for sticking.”

  He twirled the weapon around his hand in a blur of silver and stabbed the air with it, three, four times – quicker than Roland’s eye could follow.

  “Stabbing quickest way to kill silently. Cutting gives target chance to shout or run away.”

  He ran his hand along the prongs of the weapon and said, “Zhutou also for disarming. You catch enemy weapon here –” he demonstrated by pushing his hand between the prongs, “– and twist. If skilled, can break any sword.”

  Li Ho handed the weapon to Roland hilt first.

  It was surprisingly hefty, but the weight felt comfortable in Roland’s hand. Almost reverently, he ran his hand along the unblemished metal. He had never seen a weapon of this sort, but from the shape alone, he could tell how it should be used.

  “I am glad you like – but not that easy to use,” said Li Ho, and once again, Roland had the feeling of his thoughts being read.

  Li Ho chuckled. It was the first time Roland saw him without his usual, impassive expression. “Easy to see what man think when face shows everything,” said Li Ho. “You must learn to hide face, otherwise not good assassin.”

  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 to
ld 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.

 

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