The Queen's Blade Prequel I - Conash: Dead Son (10 page)

“I feel hungry,
so I eat.”

“When did you
die?”

“In the
desert.”

“At the
camp?”

“No. When I was
crawling.”

Talon sat back
and picked up his wine cup again. “If you're dead, why are you
still walking around, and talking? Don't dead people rot in the
ground?”

“I suppose
so.”

“And yet you
don't. Why is that?”

“I don't know.
Why do you care?”

Talon shrugged.
“I'm curious. It's an odd thing, to think you're dead. What makes
you think that?”

“I feel
it.”

“How?”

Conash tapped
his chest. “In here.”

“Ah. I see.”
Talon paused to consider this, somewhat alarmed by the depths of
the boy's insanity. “Where are you from?”

“A border
town.”

“Which
one?”

“Goat's
Rest.”

Talon coughed
and put down his wine cup, wiping his lips. “Four years ago, you
think?”

“Yes.”

The elder
assassin studied his charge with deep pity. “Then you were captured
in the Rout of Ashtolon.”

“What's
that?”

“Of course, you
don't know. It was the greatest Cotti invasion ever. It started in
a village called Goat's Rest. The city of Ashtolon was wiped out,
and our army only stopped them just before they sacked Ivernan,
too. More than seven thousand Jashimari died. Over five thousand of
them were soldiers. Jashimari almost fell.”

Conash scowled
at the floor, and Talon sipped his wine, wondering at the boy's
strange lack of reaction. Any other Jashimari would have been
horrified or angry, but Conash appeared unmoved. His frown was a
permanent fixture, and seemed to sum up his essence. Talon switched
back to the former subject.

“So, you've
killed two men. The reason I kept you here and fed you is because
I'm looking for a new apprentice. Would you be interested in
becoming an assassin?”

“No.”

“Why not?”

The boy's lip
curled. “They're scum.”

“Ah. And even
though you're a murderer, you're not.”

“No.”

“Well then, how
to you plan to earn a living? Do you have any skills?”

“No.”

Talon cocked
his head. “You plan to continue your career as a murderer until the
Watch catches you?”

“No.”

“Then
what?”

“I don't
know.”

“I see.” Talon
sighed and sipped his wine. “I'm not going to shelter and feed you
unless you become my apprentice. If you're not interested, you can
go back to your former life in the gutter.”

“What does it
matter to you, what I do?”

“It doesn't.
Like I said, I need a new apprentice, and I'm offering you the job.
If you don't want it, get out.”

The boy jumped
up and headed for the door, and Talon stared at him in surprise,
then shook himself from his shock before the youth opened it.

“Conash.”

The boy stopped
and turned.

“Think about
it. Assassins may be scorned, but we ply a legal trade. You're
already a murderer. I can teach you to kill without the risk of
being caught or injured. Many assassins earn a good living, if
they're skilled at their craft.”

“You live in a
shack.”

Talon shook his
head. “This is where my apprentice lives. I own a house in a
middle-class suburb. Granted, it's not a palace, but it's better
than most. What will you do, go back to sleeping in the gutter?
You'll have to kill again in order to eat, and the Watch will hunt
you down and send you to the chopping block.”

“I don't
care.”

“Yes, so you
said. Why is being an assassin worse than being a murderer?”

“They get paid
to kill people.”

Talon nodded.
“But you kill people to steal their money. Why is that better?”

“It's not.”

“So what's
wrong with being an assassin? At least you won't be executed for
it. Then again, if you're already dead, why do you care what you do
for a living?”

Conash
hesitated, glaring at him. “I don't.”

“Then why won't
you do it?”

“Pa... I don't
want to do it.” He yanked open the door and vanished through
it.

Talon jumped
up. “If you change your mind, you know where to find me!”

The elder
assassin sank back into his chair, torn between chagrin and relief.
The boy was dangerous; there was no doubt about that. He had the
mind-set of a killer, if he was to be believed, and Talon believed
him. He spoke with cold dispassion, as if killing a man was no more
important than swatting a fly. The only time he had shown any
emotion was the increased anger that the suggestion of becoming an
assassin had provoked.

Talon sighed
and refilled his cup. Apparently he had wasted two tendays trying
to tame the wild waif he had found in the gutter. Then again,
perhaps when the boy realised that he would have to kill to survive
in any case, unless he went back to stealing and risked the
beatings, he would change his mind. Part of Talon hoped so, and a
larger part hoped that he would never see Conash again. On the one
hand, he had the potential to become an excellent assassin; on the
other, he was insane.

Clearly he had
suffered greatly in the desert, and it had unhinged him. Talon
searched his mind for another instance of a prisoner escaping from
the Cotti, and drew a blank. If it had even happened before, he had
not heard about it. The war between Jashimari and Cotti had been
simmering since time immemorial, and there was no end in sight.
Hence, it was called the Endless War.

Conash walked
along a dingy alley, kicked the rubbish underfoot and pondered the
elder assassin's words. The idea of becoming an assassin was
repugnant. A paid killer. The lowest of the low, scorned and spat
on by common folk. His father had reviled the trade in forceful
terms, declaring that there was nothing worse than an assassin.
Even beggars rated above them, in his father's opinion. Beggars did
not kill, and were therefore blameless. Since he was not good at
picking pockets, and had no other trade, perhaps he should become a
beggar.

During the two
tendays he had spent tied to the chair, some of the wildness had
left him. He was a boy, not a cat. The memory of the pond, with its
ducks and frogs, had receded. There seemed to be a broom in his
mind, sweeping away the memories as they grew older. Crawling
across the sand remained fairly vivid, perhaps because it had been
such an ordeal. His time as a slave had become a bit blurred and
hazy, and the time before that seemed like a dream.

Rivan's memory
remained pure and unsullied, perhaps because his ghost had returned
to lead Conash out of the desert. He still lingered. Occasionally
the boy would glimpse a moving shadow out of the corner of his eye,
and knew that Rivan's spirit followed him. The cat had been with
him in the hut, watching him with worried eyes. That was what had
convinced him to eat the assassin's food. Rivan wanted him to live.
He wanted vengeance, and so did Conash. Killing Jashimari as an
assassin was not vengeance, however.

What chance did
he have of ever killing Cotti? Perhaps he would if he joined the
army. That struck him as an excellent idea. The army would feed and
clothe him, and he would get a pension when he retired. If he
retired. His mind made up, Conash set off in search of a barracks.
Now that he could talk again, thanks to the assassin, he was able
to ask for directions, and found a barracks on the outskirts of the
city at dusk. A tall grey wall surrounded a packed-earth parade
ground in front of a clutch of dull, square buildings with narrow
windows and stout doors, visible through the bars of a wrought-iron
gate.

A sentry
demanded his business, and allowed him in when he stated it,
although the man looked scornful. Following the soldier's
directions, Conash crossed the parade ground to a dingy office
manned by a harassed looking officer. The man scowled at Conash
when the boy darkened his doorway.

“What do you
want, boy?”

“To join.”

The officer
snorted. “You jest. How old are you, twelve?”

“Sixteen.”

“Rubbish. If
you're sixteen, you're a runt. We don't want runts, so bugger
off.”

Conash
hesitated, torn between a strong urge to smash the man's head for
calling him a runt, and an equally powerful wish to leave. The
officer glared at him, clearly annoyed that he had not left yet,
then pointed at the doorframe beside Conash.

“You see that
mark?”

The boy glanced
at the doorframe, finding a groove cut into it, a hand span above
his head. “Yes.”

“When you're
that tall, you can come back.”

“What does it
matter how tall I am?”

“Because
otherwise the armour won't fit you, idiot. We can't have you
tripping over your grieves, can we?”

Conash shot the
man a glare and left. He headed back into the city, seeking the
more affluent suburbs around the palace to ply his next trade.
Filching a tin cup from a vendor's stall, he settled in a doorway
and held it out to passers-by. Dusk had fallen, however, and there
were few people about. Those who did wander past either ignored him
or cast him pitying looks, and he sought a suitable gutter in which
to sleep with an empty stomach.

The following
morning, he found a filthy beggar occupying his doorway, and all
the good spots were taken. He settled on a street corner, but
within a time-glass several angry beggars armed with sticks evicted
him, shouting insults. By the end of the day, beggars had chased
him from four street corners and two doorways, and he had earned
two coppers. He found a suitable gutter, and went to sleep with an
empty stomach again.

The next day,
he tried to get a job as a labourer at a market, unloading wagons,
but the drovers chased him away with shouts of derision. He fell
back on his dubious pickpocketing skills, but two men caught and
beat him, and also called the Watch. Conash escaped before the
soldiers arrived and took refuge in a smelly alley until the furore
died down. When he returned to his sleeping box, the beggar who
occupied it chased him away. Conash curled up in a doorway to
escape the drizzle that fell at dusk, shivering.

The beating had
left him with a swollen eye and loose tooth. Dried blood blocked
his abused nose, and his bruises ached. His damp clothes stank
again, and his stomach was a tight, sour knot. He wondered how it
was possible for a corpse to be so miserable, and Rivan had
vanished. It seemed he would have to kill again in order to eat,
and the assassin's words returned to haunt him. What did it matter
what he was? His family was dead, and he did not care what other
people thought. Pickpockets were hated too, and beggars received
only scorn and pity. He did not need anyone's pity.

At least Talon
had not offered him that. The elder assassin was the only one who
had offered to help him, albeit in return for becoming his
apprentice. He wondered what was in it for the assassin. The
prospect of becoming an assassin still repulsed him, and he
contemplated it without enthusiasm. They crept into bedrooms and
murdered people in their sleep, but he was already a killer, and he
had to eat. Was it any worse than killing the fat man for food? If
he did not eat soon, he would die in the gutter.

A visit to the
alehouse the next day assured him that the cook had not resumed
feeding the stray dogs, and Conash wandered the streets in a hungry
daze. No one would help or employ him, except the assassin. Dusk
found him outside the shack, and he curled up in the doorway,
pulling his coat close to ward off the night chill.

Chapter Six

Talon regarded
the emaciated boy with a mixture of relief and dread. After three
days, he had all but given up on the youth, and had been somewhat
relieved to have seen the last of him, but also disappointed.
Despite his small stature, Conash had the makings of an excellent
assassin, and with good food, might even grow to a reasonable size.
The boy was so pale Talon feared that he was dead, but he opened
his eyes when the assassin shook him.

Talon unlocked
the door and entered the hut. “I'm glad you changed your mind.”

Conash
followed. “I'm considering it, that's all.”

“All right,
I'll feed and house you until you make up your mind, as long as it
doesn't take you more than a tenday.”

The boy nodded
and flopped down on a chair, looking exhausted. Talon lighted the
stove and set a pot of ryelen on it, then sat opposite, studying
his guest's bruises.

“What happened
to your face?”

“I tried
pickpocketing again.”

Talon nodded.
“It's an art, and unless you have a teacher, it takes years to
learn the skill.”

“I suppose
there's a Guild of Pickpockets, too.”

“Not as far as
I know, although old ones do teach youngsters.” The assassin was a
little surprised to find Conash somewhat more willing to talk. “How
long since you've eaten?”

“Three
days.”

“You didn't
kill anyone?”

“No.”

Talon nodded.
“Good. So, what will it take to persuade you?”

“Why do you
want an apprentice?”

“Ah, I see.
Well, assassins retire early, since our skills rely on speed and
agility, which tend to fade with age. We usually retire at about
thirty, and after that our livelihood depends on our apprentices.”
Talon rose to stir the porridge. “You see, once an apprentice gets
his mark, he has to share his earnings with his former mentor for
two years. It's how he pays for his training. It also ensures that
elders train lots of apprentices, and do it well. A lazy elder will
soon find himself destitute, unless he's earned enough during his
career that he doesn't need to.”

“Does that
happen often?”