The Queen's Blade VI - Lord Protector

by T C Southwell

Omall frowned and shook his head. Clearly previous encounters had brow-beaten the villagers into sullen silence. Avron laughed and quaffed his ale, banging the tankard down.

  "And my money, Omall? I hope you've brought that. Yer know what happens if yer don't."

  Omall nodded, bowing his head.

  "Good!" Avron glanced around. "And Jayda's little wench, where's she?"

  Daron leant forward and muttered, "Now would be a good time, Claw."

  The assassin shook his head, waiting for the two outside to enter the taproom. Listening with one ear to Arvon's dialogue, he realised that the bandit was enumerating the women he intended to ravish that night, and Daron's daughter might be on the list.

  "Stay here," he whispered to Daron before sliding from his chair and moving behind one of the many rough-hewn pillars that supported the inn's upper floor. A moment later, Arvon shouted Daron's name and turned to glare at the young farmer.

  "Why do yer sit all alone, Daron?" he mocked. "Will no one drink with yer anymore? Spending too much time with the pigs lately?"

  The bandits laughed, and Daron gripped his tankard until his knuckles turned white.

  "And yer little girl, Daron? I want to meet her tonight. I have a surprise for her."

  The brigands hooted, guffawed and whistled, making Daron's jaw bulge as he gritted his teeth. Blade knew that the sword dug into Daron's ribs with hard promise, and his fear melted away in the searing rage that Arvon's taunts kindled in him. It was good that Daron was primed for action, so long as he did not leap up and charge Arvon as he clearly longed to do.

  The taproom door opened again, admitting the last two bandits, who made their way to a table and joined their comrades. Blade waited until they settled down and gulped their ale, while Arvon continued to taunt Daron. A glance at the top of the stairs assured him that Melia waited in the shadows there, an arrow notched in her bow.

  The moment he had been waiting for arrived, and he stepped out from behind the pillar. His first dagger impaled Arvon through the throat, cutting off his flow of vitriol with a strangled cough. The man next to him died as his eyes widened in surprise, another black hilt protruding from his neck. Blood poured from Arvon's throat as he rose, clawing at it and making gurgling noises. The bandits sprang up with shouts of alarm as a third dagger impaled another man through the eye, and he keeled over.

  Three arrows hissed from the stairs, impaling a man in the back. Blade flung another dagger, killing his fourth target with cold steel through his heart. The room erupted into a furore as villagers tugged weapons from their clothes and charged the brigands, who drew their swords and laid about them. Chairs were flung aside and tables overturned in the sudden, furious battle that filled the room.

  Screaming women fled and old men dragged their wives from harm's way as the room rang with the clash of metal and grunts of fighting men. Blade spied his fifth target and flung another dagger as a second volley of arrows hissed into the melee, striking one bandit in the arm, another in the shoulder and a third in the thigh. Blade's weapon found its mark in the man's ribs as he raised his sword, exposing the unarmoured area beneath his arm. He fell with a yell, dropping his weapon.

  Daron jumped up, brandishing a rusty sword, his face ashen with terror. As Blade drew another dagger from his belt, two bandits spotted him and forged towards him with angry shouts. One was a huge man clad in bearskin and carrying a massive axe, the last of Blade's targets. Two more arrows hissed into the melee, one hitting a table as its target moved, the other striking a man in the gut.

  The men hacked and slashed at each other, some blocking their opponent's blows and retaliating. The crowd was now liberally smeared and splattered with blood, and broken arrows protruded from some of the bandits. The brigands were experienced fighters, but the villagers had the advantage of numbers. A bandit screamed and fell, shot through the neck, and Blade's attention was drawn back to the huge man who bore down on him. He flung the last of his daggers, hitting the giant in the eye, and the bandit staggered a few more steps before he collapsed, the axe falling with a clatter.

  Another man, almost as big, gave a roar and charged, his sword raised high. Blade stepped forward and snatched his dagger from the eye of the bear-kin giant. Daron rushed in from the side, swinging his sword. The bandit smashed Daron aside, his bloodshot eyes fixed on the assassin with feverish intensity. Blade retreated, then jumped back as the man swung his weapon in a stroke designed to cleave him in two, encountering the wall with a thud. Tables hemmed him in on either side, trapping him in the bandit's path, and the big man lunged, his sword aimed at Blade's belly.

  Daron shouted, struggling to extricate himself from the table under which he had fallen, his sword hampering him. Blade swayed aside, and the brigand's sword chopped into the wooden wall beside him. The assassin stepped forward and slit the bandit's throat as an arrow thudded into the man's back. Blood spouted from the wound, and Blade leapt onto a table to avoid it as the brigand toppled forward.

  Blade glanced at the stairs, where Melia stood ashen-faced, then he surveyed the room. Panting, blood-smeared villagers stood over the corpses of their fallen foes, their faces pale and stiff. Jumping down, Blade went over to a corpse and wiped his dagger on its clothes, rubbing a few spots of blood from his hands. Groaning wounded lay amongst the dead, and after a moment's stunned inaction, some of the men helped them. The stench of blood and fear hung heavy in the air, and Blade's stomach clenched. He longed to quit the room, but still had the onerous task of finding his daggers amongst the dead.

  Blade glimpsed Melia sink down on the stairs, her bow dangling from her fingers, looking numb with horror as she surveyed the bloody scene. Her eyes followed him as he poked amongst the bodies for his weapons. He wondered why she had not aimed to kill until she had thought he was about to be skewered against the wall, and only then had taken her first deadly shot. Small consolation that her target had already been dead when her arrow had struck, he mused. She looked like the fact that she had aimed for the heart still sickened her. He retrieved four daggers and hunted for the fifth, doing his best not to get blood on his hands.

  As Blade tugged his dagger from Arvon's throat, the villagers discovered an injured bandit and dragged him from under a table with shouts of anger and triumph. The assassin glanced at the brigand as he wiped his weapon on Arvon's cloak, noting his youth and terror. Four swords were pressed to the grubby boy's neck, and he seemed doomed to meet his end at their sharp edges. Then the villagers lowered their weapons, staring at the shivering youth. Blade snorted and tucked away his dagger, heading for the door.

  "Claw!" Omall shouted.

  The assassin turned, raising his brows.

  Omall glanced at the young bandit. "What should we do with him?"

  Blade shrugged. "It's up to you, but I would kill him."

  "If we let him go, he'll tell others of his kind about our triumph."

  "Indeed."

  The boy began to weep. "Please, sirs! Please don't kill me. I won't tell anyone, I swear!"

  The villagers shuffled, and Omall flinched at the boy's entreaty. Blade turned away with another snort.

  "Claw!"

  The assassin swung around again, frowning with irritation.

  Omall spread his hands. "We can't... Would you do it?"

  "I've already fulfilled my quota."

  The boy sobbed, tears running down his grimy cheeks. "No! I beg you! Let me live!"

  "And besides," Blade added, "I'm not an executioner."

  "But it must be done." Omall glanced at the other men. "And none of us has the stomach for it."

  The boy's legs buckled, and he fell to his knees. "Please don't kill me! I beg you!"

  Omall averted his eyes from the pleading youth. "We would pay you for it."

  "According to Daron, you've already paid me all the money you possess."

  "We could pay you later... in a few days’ time."

  "I don't work like that. Lock him up until you have the money."

/>   Omall glanced at the others, who looked unhappy. "We would rather get it over with."

  "Then do it yourselves."

  "He's just a boy."

  "Then let him go and risk your lives. He'll run straight to a bandit gang and tell them what happened here."

  "I won't! I swear!" the boy wailed.

  Omall shook him. "Be quiet! Claw, I give you my word, you will be paid."

  The assassin shook his head. "Half the payment in advance, those are my terms."

  "How much?"

  "Two silvers."

  "One in advance."

  Blade nodded, and Omall turned to his friends, who dug in their pockets for coppers. The boy wailed for mercy and clutched at the legs of the villagers who collected the fee for his death. Blade found the situation distasteful, and hated the pathetic pleading of the doomed youth, not because it affected him, but because it was so undignified. To kill such a piteous creature was demeaning, and he longed to get it over with and silence the boy's cries. The youngster grabbed Jayda's leg and clung to it, weeping into the veteran's trousers as he shook with terror. Jayda gave a grunt of annoyance and flung the youth aside, sending him sprawling at Blade's feet.

  The young bandit looked up at the assassin, his eyes white ringed, and grasped Blade's foot, crying, "Please, sir! For God's sake, don't kill me. I beg you!"

  Blade kicked the boy in the side of the head, knocking him unconscious. Omall swung around to glance down at the supine youth.

  "Is he dead?"

  "No, you haven't paid me yet. I was tired of listening to him."

  Omall raised his eyes to meet Blade's icy gaze. "By God, you're a cold man."

  "An assassin who can't kill the helpless is useless to his clients."

  Omall frowned. "I'm glad you have to live with this, and not me."

  "On the contrary, I will not, but you will. You're the ones paying for his death."

  The veteran frowned, slapped a handful of coppers down on a table and counted it. It added up to a silver, and he pushed the pile towards Blade.

  "Your fee."

  Blade inclined his head, then lowered himself to one knee beside the boy and rolled him onto his back. A sound from the direction of the stairs made him glance towards them as Melia turned and ran up them, vanishing into the gloom beyond. Blade drew a dagger, and most of the villagers looked away as he pulled open the youth's leather armour and placed the weapon's point against the boy's chest.

  A swift, expert thrust sent the blade into the young bandit's heart, and a soft sigh escaped him as he died. The assassin pulled the weapon out and wiped it clean on the boy's shirt, then rose and swept up the money. The villagers returned to their chores of tending the wounded, none glancing at the boy's body. Daron approached, holding out the pouch that contained the balance of Blade's fee, his eyes averted as the assassin took it. Blade headed for the door, eager to quit the ugly scene with its foul stench.

  Outside, the clean crisp air refreshed him, and he barely noticed the two horses that whinnied for their dead friends. Three dogs slunk away down the street, pausing to howl their grief at the uncaring moon. A smaller dog lay dead, his lifespan already exceeded and therefore sharing his friend's fate, as would other, smaller familiars hidden in the shadows. As Blade strode down the street, a black form detached itself from the shadows to follow him, and he picked up the tired cub to spare him the journey back to the cabin.

  Chapter Fifteen

  Blade sipped his cup of bitter ale as he slouched in the darkest corner of the taproom, listening to the low hum of conversation. Lamps added their warm glow to the hearth's firelight, and a cold wind rattled the storm shutters. Old men played board games on the far side of the room, their counters clacking on the wood. Two young farmers were engaged in a jovial game of throw-points, and a few of their friends laid wagers on the outcome. Wives and sweethearts mingled with the crowd, the occasional high trill of laughter breaking the deep buzz of male voices. Serving wenches sidestepped pinches and tickles from patrons as they delivered their burdens of wine and ale. The scene was that of an average night in the village taproom.

  Winter had passed slowly in this quiet town. Storms had swept through, leaving their cargo of snow on the streets and roofs, and Blade's earnings had paid for his keep. Rivan and his sister had achieved almost adult stature, and had caught their first prey a few tendays ago. Rivan now stood knee high to the assassin, far smaller than the huge sand cats that reached to mid-thigh, but considerably larger than the domestic cats and far more formidable than a dog of the same size.

  Spotted snow cats were slightly larger, mostly due to their huskier build and powerful limbs. Wood cats had a sleek build and narrow, elongated heads with slanted eyes and broad pointed ears. They were known for their speed and skill at tree-climbing, and preyed mostly on small mammals and birds, although they had been known to pull down young deer. While appearing black, a wood cat's coat showed faint dapples when examined closely in a strong light, and they were mostly nocturnal. In a few more tendays the she-cat would be independent, and Blade would be able to return to Jondar as soon as the snows had melted.

  The tall serving wench swished over to him and smiled as he glanced up at her, the heavy scent of her musky perfume tickling his nose. She had flirted with him all winter, the only one not discouraged by his obvious disinterest. With a disappointed glance at his half-full mug, she cocked her head and pouted.

  "You still not ready for another one?"

  "Evidently not."

  She winked. "Bit slow tonight, are you?"

  "No more than usual."

  As had happened many times before, his terse replies foiled her attempt to strike up a conversation, and a slight frown puckered her brow as giggles came from the girls who watched from the counter. Evidently her persistence was becoming something of a joke amongst her friends. She set down her tray and leant closer, clearly determined to win his interest by fair means or foul. Blade did not glance at the handsome cleavage she displayed, keeping his eyes fixed on hers and allowing them to cool to icy frigidity. The girl lowered her gaze to his mouth, unable to meet his eyes, but her frown vanished and an alluring smile curled her full lips.

  "Would you like to come to my room later?"

  Blade smiled at the girl's bold invitation, amused that her desperation had forced her to forgo the usual display of coyness. "No."

  Her eyes flicked up to meet his, widening with shock. "Why not?"

  "That's my business."

  "You..." The girl's frown returned, and she muttered, "The least you owe me for such a cruel refusal is an answer."

  "I don't owe you anything at all." A vague sense of disquiet stole over Blade, but the girl leant closer still, distracting him.

  "You find me repulsive?"

  "No."

  "You don't like women?"

  Blade frowned, trying to concentrate on the uneasiness that grew in him. "I like them well enough."

  The girl looked peeved. "Then why do you refuse?"

  "Because I choose to."

  Her eyes narrowed. "A man doesn't refuse an offer like mine."

  "Well, I just did."

  "It's not normal!"

  "I don't care." Blade's frown deepened as the hairs on the back of his neck rose.

  "Emella!" the innkeeper boomed from behind the counter. "Leave him alone."

  Emella shot the proprietor a withering glance before turning her attention back to the assassin. "Do you like boys then? Is that it?"

  Blade glared at her. "No."

  "That's it! It must be!"

  "Emella!" the innkeeper shouted, coming towards them. The brewing conflict had distracted many of the patrons from their conversations. Blade tried to concentrate on the uneasiness that was now almost full-blown alarm, but the serving girl's accusations became louder.

  "That's it! You like men!"

  The innkeeper grabbed her arm and yanked her away. "Stop it! My God, what are you thinking?"

  Blade stoo
d, his eyes pinning the innkeeper. "Keep her away from me."

  The proprietor dragged the serving wench away, silenced her protestations with a slap and muttered at her stupidity. The alarm thrumming through Blade had his full attention, even as other patrons looked uneasy. The warning came from Rivan, who lay outside on the roof beside the warm chimney. When Blade closed his eyes, he glimpsed dark forms on the street through the cat's eyes.

  As he opened them, the taproom doors burst open and dozens of armoured men charged in, brandishing swords. The patrons jumped up and surged back in panic, and Blade turned and ran. At first he headed for the stairs, but the retreating crowd blocked this escape route, and he veered, heading for the nearest window. Hurdling a table, he flung himself through it, raising his arms to protect his face.

  The storm shutters broke as he hit them, bruised his forearms and caused him to tumble into the snow in an ungainly sprawl, glass raining down around him. Mounted men crowded the street, and he lay on his back amid a veritably forest of equine legs. Rolling to his feet, he glanced around for a way out, finding that the only unguarded route was back to the inn.

  Before the soldiers could react, he leapt onto the ledge of the window through which he had just exited and reached up to find purchase on the wall above. The soldiers shouted and urged their horses closer, reaching him before he could find a handhold on the wall. A man grabbed his ankle and yanked just as Blade kicked him, knocking him from his horse.

  More men converged, and, as the assassin found purchase and pulled himself upwards, several soldiers took hold of his legs. Blade kicked a man in the face, and he reeled away, clutching it. The others growled and renewed their efforts to drag Blade down. His handhold broke, and he fell amongst them, struggling to free himself from their grasp. A flash of steel caught his eye, and he twisted aside as a soldier stabbed at him with a sword, narrowly avoiding it.

  With a savage wail, a black shadow leapt from the roof and landed on a soldier's back. Some of the horses shied at the sudden appearance of a wood cat in their midst, and the soldier cried out in pain and fear. Rivan leapt at another soldier, raked man and mount with his claws and made the horse plunge away in terror. Blade fought to free his arms, unable to reach his weapons while the soldiers hung onto him.