Death Comes To All (Book 1) (56 page)

“
If
my blade will not be used to kill him, I will let him die with it,”
he announced, sliding the long straight blade he wore across the
floor.

“
Thank
you Samson,” Loretta said sincerely. “Let it be known
that it is not this murderer you show honor to today, but to me. Let
no one here question his decision.”

“
I
also thank you,” Croakas told him. “I understand that my
thanks means nothing to you, nor should it, but I thank you just the
same. You have given me the chance to die with honor.”

“
I
do this for my master, Loretta, and to honor her father. I give
nothing to you, dog. Now she can feel free to kill you.”

“
Of
course,” Croakas agreed, picking up the long sword. “I
have little doubt she will do so. Goldstone, should I somehow defeat
her, I ask that you act as her claymore. I have shown you as much
dishonor as I have her and her family, and I would rather die by your
hand than be hacked to pieces by this crowd.”

Raiste nodded, saying nothing. If a condemned man
somehow survived honorable combat, it was the responsibility of the
claymore to grant him a swift death, he knew. However, Raiste felt
certain that he would not be needed here. Loretta was the greatest of
her father’s students.

The two combatants circled, eying each other warily.
They were both master assassins, as was everyone who stood in this
room. No quarter would be expected here, nor would any be given. One
mistake, one misstep or one movement too slow, would decide this
outcome.

Loretta struck first, her blade dancing lightly through
the air like a feather in the wind. The sloveckii assassin countered
quickly, blocking low on his sword and dropping to his knees,
swinging low at her legs. She sailed over the blade head first,
flipping through the air like an acrobat. She landed lightly on her
feet, continuing her momentum forward, dodging his second backwards
swing, to tuck into a tight roll before spinning to face her opponent
once again.

He was already moving toward her, but halted at once,
the tip of her whistling blade missing his throat by only a hair’s
breath. His own thrusting blade stopped less than an inch from her
abdomen, his attack lost in avoiding her’s. A light red streak,
barely visible, appeared on the green, reptilian skin of his throat
where her sword had passed by.

Croakas smiled. Loretta smiled back.

This was not a fight between novices. This was a battle
to the death between two masters. Anger, hatred, fear or despair;
these emotions had no place here. Only one emotion remained now for
them; the glory and thrill of single combat. Everything else was
obliterated under the volcanic heat of battle.

The two jumped and spun, twisted and dodged, too fast
for the eye to follow as they danced their dance of death. The
repeating sound of their clashing blades as they parried and struck
echoed off the walls, becoming one constant, thrumming drum, like the
staccato pounding of a hard rain on a tin roof.

Several minutes passed, and yet the battle raged on,
neither combatant gaining advantage. Blood splattered the ground from
a myriad of unseen shallow cuts that went unheeded by both opponents.
Neither could afford to pay attention to such wounds. One break in
concentration, one mistake, would mean death.

It ended as quickly as it began. With a final surge
forward Croakas thrust his blade hard, pushing it deep into Loretta’s
shoulder. She didn’t cry out in pain or anger, nor was there
any exclamation of joy from the throat of Croakas. As Loretta fell to
her knees, Croakas released his grip on his blade, letting it fall
with her from his numb fingers.

He stared down in final resignation at the bubbling
wound in his chest, where her blade had struck home simultaneously
with his. Only a foot of the blade was visible, the hilt of Martin’s
sword shivered slightly, as did the man impaled on it. He dropped to
the ground beside his former master, coughing blood from his severed
lung as he did so.

The scar she received that day she would never forget,
he thought with satisfaction. She would bear it until the end of her
days, as a grim reminder of the day she avenged her father. He hoped
that she would live a long, happy life. It was the least he could
wish for her after what he had so foolishly taken away.

“
Thank
you,” he gasped, with blood dripping from his lips as he spoke.
“You have allowed me to regain my honor. I will.... always....
be sorry.... for the death.... of your father. I only hope that....
someday....you can forgive me.”

“
I
forgive you now in death Croakas,” she replied solemnly.
“However, I will not speak for my father. Seek him out in the
underworld, and ask for his forgiveness yourself. Perhaps he might
even grant it. Go now, Croakas. You could have poisoned me with your
blade, but you chose not to. You have regained your honor.”

Croakas looked up as her with admiration. He opened his
mouth as if to speak, but whatever words he might have uttered would
have to go with him to the next life. With one last sputtering cough
his eyes glazed over. Death had come for him.

Several people surged forward at once to help their
injured master, but Loretta waved every helping hand away. Croakas
was dead, but her battle was not yet over. Assassins followed
strength, and she could not show any lack now. With an effort that
clearly pained her greatly she pulled herself back to her feet.

She reached down at the body below her, her face showing
no emotion. Taking the hilt of her father’s sword, she pulled
it from the chest of her fallen foe, silently cleaned the blade off
on an unsoiled piece of his tunic, and sheathed it smoothly.

Without a single word or a backwards glance she turned
and walked from the room. Every eye in the room watched her leave.
Not one sign of weakness did she show. Like the rest, Raiste watched
her go. He waited several minutes before following her back to her
quarters.

“
No,
I don’t need any pain killers,” Loretta said to the
elderly surgeon for the third time. “Just stitch it up quickly.
Don’t bother with the rest.”

Raiste looked on as the surgeon expertly stitched the
clean, smooth cut on her skin right below her shoulder. She had
uncovered her upper body completely, revealing several small
superficial cuts on her arms, as well as one long, thin line along
her abdomen where Croakas had nicked her, barely breaking the skin.
The thin cuts only added to the dozens of older scars that already
dotted her body. Most of her new cuts wouldn’t join those
scars, and would instead fade in a short time, but Raiste was certain
that at least a few of them would remain.

If the needle pained her, she didn’t show it in
the slightest. If anything, she seemed more annoyed by the need to
clean and repair the more serious wound going through her shoulder
than anything else.

“
Suit
yourself,” the surgeon said with finality. He had already tried
talking her into it, to no avail. He didn’t have any arguments
left to give.

“
At
the very least you’ll need to take the antibiotics I give you.
I’m going to have to insist on that. Without them this wound
could get infected. I don’t think that anything else here is
going to need stitching. With as many wounds as you received, you
should count yourself lucky on that score.”

“
You
know, I still could...,” Raiste began, but she cut him off
immediately.

“
I
already told you no,” she growled. She nodded her head, her
eyes darting across the scars that lined her otherwise smooth skin.
“Every one of these scars is a memory. Magical healing doesn’t
leave the scars behind. I won’t have you taking this memory
from me.”

“
I
understand,” he lied. In truth he really didn’t. He
didn’t need scars on his body to remember his past. All of his
scars were burned into his mind instead of his flesh.

“
I’ll
need to look at your legs Master Loretta,” the surgeon told
her, looking with dismay at the blood on her loose breeches. “You
might have wounds there that need stitching as well.”

She refrained from comment. Instead she quickly
loosening her belt, allowing her bloody breeches to fall to the floor
in a tattered heap. Modesty was not something she concerned herself
with, and it was not anything that the surgeon had not seen before.
This was not the first time he had to stitch her up, nor did either
of them think it likely to be the last.

The surgeon glanced at the three fresh cuts on her upper
legs, one of which still oozed blood freely. He wiped the blood off
of the bleeding wound with a damp, clean cloth. Loretta didn’t
so much as flinch as he worked, though surely it must have pained
her.

“
It
doesn’t look like any of these are going to need stitching,”
he said at last. “Keep an eye on this cut here though. If it
doesn’t stop bleeding soon we may need to stitch it after all.
For now, I’ll just bandage it like the rest.”

“
Do
whatever you feel you need to doctor,” Loretta answered. “I
trust your judgment.”

“
As
well you should Master Loretta,” the surgeon replied gently.
Raiste got the impression this was something that the two had talked
about on several occasions.

“
You
really should try to be more careful when you’re fighting to
the death,” he added, smiling comically. It broke the
seriousness of the moment instantly.

“
I’ll
try,” Loretta answered with a light laugh. Raiste breathed a
sigh of relief. It was the first time he had seen her smile since her
fight with Croakas. He was beginning to worry that her somber mood
would last for days before she returned to normal.

The surgeon quickly bandaged the less serious wounds,
completely ignoring her earlier order to ignore them. Raiste
suspected that he had never intended to follow it, but stayed silent
on the matter.

It would be better not to say anything,
he
believed.

“
There
we are,” he said as he finished. “I’ll be back in
another hour to check on that wound on your leg. If the bleeding gets
worse, have someone sent for me immediately. I don’t think
there will be any further complications, but I would rather be
cautious than not.”

“
You
always are,” she said with a smile.

“
As
often as I’ve been called to your chambers, I don’t see
where I have much choice. One of us has to be. As the guild leader,
you really shouldn’t be taking on so many of these duties
yourself. Your father never did. I think I only had to stitch him up
twice in all the time I worked for him.”

“
Most
of my injuries were during training,” she reminded him.

“
And
what makes you think that makes it any better?” he asked. “Your
father was also wise enough to practice with dull swords. You are the
only person I know who insists on having your opponents use sharp
ones.”

“
The
scars I receive remind me of the mistakes I’ve made,” she
answered.

“
Easy
enough to say when your not the one who has to stitch them up every
time,” he said dryly. “Anyhow, get some rest for now.
Doctors orders. I’ll be back in a little while to check on you.
Mr. Goldstone, please help her get some clothing back on. That’s
also an order from her doctor. If I don’t order it she’ll
insist on doing it herself, and she’ll likely pull her stitches
in the attempt. It wouldn’t be the first time.”

That said, the doctor turned and left the room. Raiste
watched him go with a smile.

That might be the only man alive who can talk to her
like that,
he thought. Not even he was that brave.

“
You
know, there’s no rush. I don’t have to get my clothing on
right this instant,” Loretta hinted suggestively. “We
could wait a little while.”

Unexpectedly, the surgeon’s head popped back into
the doorway, a fatherly look covering his wizened face.

“
I
wouldn’t recommend that,” he commented. “That sort
of activity is almost certain to pull your stitches. I’m
certain that you wouldn’t want to call me back sooner than
necessary. I’m sure that waiting an extra few days isn’t
going to hurt you any. Deciding not to wait almost certainly will.”

Loretta threw him an odd look, which Raiste interpreted
as being somewhere between glare and a pout. He wasn’t certain
that the aged surgeon ever saw it. As soon as he had finished his
statement he disappeared behind the door once again. Loretta sighed
in defeat.

“
Well,
I suppose we could wait a few days,” she said.

“
I
don’t think we have a few days,” Raiste replied. He
wasn’t at all looking forward to this conversation, but knew
the necessity of it.

Best
to just get it over with.

“
What
do you mean?”