The Queen's Blade Prequel I - Conash: Dead Son (16 page)

“You're weak,
boy! Weak! That's pathetic! Are you a girl?” Talon frowned as fury
glinted in the boy's eyes, then continued, “You want to be a man?
Do you want to be strong? How about muscles? You want those?”

Conash
nodded.

“Then you need
to work at it. Work hard! You want to look like a man instead of a
runt, you have to work! You get nothing for nothing! No effort, no
results! Go and bring me two rocks, as heavy as you can easily
carry.”

The youth quit
the stage and hunted amongst the trees for several minutes,
returning with two rocks that were rather larger than Talon had
intended. The elder eyed them, shaking his head.

“Those might be
a bit much for you to manage.”

“Just tell me
what you want me to do with them,” Conash said.

“Well it's not
bash in my skull, as you'd dearly like to do.” Talon stepped off
the platform. “Dance!”

“You jest.”

“No, I don't!
Do it!”

Conash hefted
the rocks, then took the first slow steps, but his attempt at a
spinning leap ended in a fall as the weight of the rocks dragged
him down.

“Pathetic!”
Talon cried. “You're weak! Again!”

The boy picked
himself up and tried again, but fell once more with a growl of
rage. “I can barely do it, and now you make it harder!”

“Because you're
weak! It's going to get harder still, mark my words! You want to be
Master of the Dance?”

Conash
nodded.

“Then get it
right! Put some effort into it. This isn't a dance for pansies or
weaklings! Again!”

Talon walked
away as the boy tapped out the first steps again, a thud and grunt
telling him of another failure. Returning to the shack, he read a
book for two time-glasses, then put it aside, wondering what had
become of his apprentice. A little worried, he went back to the
clearing.

Conash was
sprawled on the platform, the rocks beside his outstretched hands.
Talon hurried to him and knelt, cursing as he felt for a pulse in
the boy's neck.

“Bloody fool,”
he muttered. “I said practice, not kill yourself.”

Hoisting Conash
over his shoulder, the elder carried him back to the shack and
dumped him on the bed, glad that he was not heavy. After a few pats
on the cheek roused him, Talon retreated to sit at the table and
pour a cup of wine.

“You're a fool,
boy. You could kill yourself like that. Next time take a water skin
with you. Here, drink this.”

Conash rose and
stumbled to the table, sank onto a chair and picked up the cup of
water Talon indicated. Draining it in a few gulps, he refilled it
from the jug.

“Tomorrow, you
rest,” Talon instructed.

Conash shook
his head. “No.”

“You'll do as I
say! Tomorrow you'll barely be able to walk. You will rest!”

“I'm going to
be the Master of the Dance.”

Talon nodded.
“Then you've got a lot of hard work ahead of you, but you're not
going to achieve it in a few days. You have four years of training
to do, and not all of it will be dancing. Tomorrow we'll do other
exercises, to enhance your senses and teach you how to defend
yourself. That's important for an assassin. We're often set upon by
louts, braggarts and warriors with a yen to prove themselves better
than a paid killer, so you need to be good at it.”

“Were you ever
Master of the Dance?”

“Yes. For a
moon-phase. It was the proudest time of my life. The stigma
lingers, too. Most assassins never achieve it, and few keep the
belt for more than a year or two. Next tenday there's a meeting,
and you'll go with me. You might see the Master dance, if you're
lucky and there's a challenger. His name's Shaft, and he's cat kin,
like you.”

“How long has
he been the Master?”

Talon
considered. “Almost two years, I think. He's good. So, do you still
think it's for pansies?”

“No.”

“Good. If
you're going to become the Master, you've got to learn to love it,
and right now, you don't.”

“It's no fun
with rocks in your hands.”

“No,” Talon
agreed. “And it's going to become less fun, but in the end you'll
be a better dancer for it. Then you'll learn to enjoy it.”

The night air
nipped Conash's skin as he paused to study the crowd of black-clad
men gathered amongst the ancient standing stones. They marked the
ruins of a temple that had last been used for religious rites aeons
ago, during the Age of Elements. It would probably be rebuilt and
used again in the next Age of Elements, still more than two hundred
years away. Crowds made Conash uneasy, and a crowd of killers made
his alarms jangle uncomfortably. Talon continued towards the
torch-lighted gathering, his wolf beside him, and Conash trotted
after him. A platform stood at the centre of the stones, and
several youths, a little older than him, waited beside it. A group
of four elders greeted Talon, and he introduced Conash with a
gesture.

“My new
apprentice.”

The men
measured Conash with hard eyes, then turned to speak to Talon.
Assuming that he was dismissed, Conash wandered over to inspect the
platform, which was easily four times the size of the one on which
he had been practicing. Stout uprights supported the expanse of
boards, and stones and mud strengthened its foundations. A tall,
slender man leant against one of the supports, talking to a
shorter, stocky assassin. The tall man's silver-studded belt
riveted Conash's attention. It could only mean that the slender
assassin was Shaft, the Master of the Dance.

“What are you
staring at, boy?”

Conash raised
his gaze to meet Shaft's eyes, and shrugged. “Your belt.”

“You like it,
eh? Maybe you think you can win it one day?”

“I will.”

“Really?” The
Dance Master stepped closer. “You'll address me as 'master' when
you speak to me, boy.”

“You're not my
master.”

“I'm the Master
of the Dance.”

Conash thrust
out his chin. “You spoke to me. I only replied out of
politeness.”

Shaft looked
surprised, then slapped Conash, making him stagger. “Don't be
insolent, apprentice!”

Conash resisted
the urge to clasp his smarting cheek and glared at the Dance
Master. “Don't touch me.”

“Or what?
You'll hit me back? You're a runt!”

Conash kicked
Shaft in the crotch, and he folded over with a groan. Several
assassins approached, one of whom gripped Conash's ear and twisted
it. The boy grunted and tried to punch and kick him, but the man
held him away and turned sideways to protect his groin.

“Whose
apprentice is this?” he bellowed.

Talon strode
up, scowling. “Let him go. He's mine.”

“You should
control him better, elder.” The assassin released Conash, who
rubbed his ear. Talon gripped his shoulder and pulled him to his
side, eyeing the groaning Dance Master.

“What did he
do?”

“I believe he
kicked Shaft in the crotch.”

Talon's lips
twitched as he hid a smile, and he frowned at Conash. “You'll get a
beating for this.”

“From you?”

“Yes.”

The boy
shrugged. “All right.”

“You think it
was worth it?”

“That depends
on the beating.”

Talon nodded.
“Indeed it does.”

“He hit me
first.”

“Did he?” Talon
swung to frown at Shaft, who had straightened, and did his best not
to clutch his offended nether regions. “Why did you strike my
apprentice, Dance Master Shaft?”

“He was
insolent, and refused to use my title.”

“I hardly think
that rates a violent reaction.”

“I'll punish
impudent apprentices as I see fit.”

Talon shook his
head. “Not when he's mine. You'll ask my permission first, or pay a
penalty.”

“You're not
even a senior elder.”

Talon stepped
forward and thrust his face closer to Shaft's. “You'd better start
using my title and showing some respect, or you'll be the next one
to get a slap, Master Shaft.”

Shaft's scowl
deepened, and he glanced past Talon at the stony-faced elders who
stood behind him. “An unintentional slight, Elder.”

“It had better
be. And if you ever lay a hand on my apprentice again, you'll
answer to me.”

“He's
impertinent! He doesn't even call you 'master'.”

“What goes on
between an elder and his apprentice is no one else's business,
Master Shaft.”

Shaft snorted
and swung away, and Talon gripped Conash's arm and led him out of
the crowd before turning to him. “I may allow you to be
disrespectful when we're alone, but here you'll use my title or I
will punish you.”

The boy
shrugged and rubbed his cheek. “All right.”

“Don't make it
sound like you're doing me any favours. Shaft's right, you have no
respect.” A smile tugged at his mouth. “Who taught you to kick a
man in the crotch?”

“The
Cotti.”

Talons' smile
vanished. “Right. Well, don't make a habit of it. It's not
acceptable.”

“It works.”

“That doesn't
mean you should do it.”

Conash smiled,
and Talon muttered a curse as he marched back to the group of
elders. The boy did not speak for the remainder of the night,
during which seven apprentices performed the Dance of Death, and
three attained their marks. He discovered that it was a small black
dagger tattoo at the base of the neck, just beneath the hollow
formed by the collar bones. Soon after the newly fledged assassins'
celebrations were over, Talon took Conash back to the shack.

Chapter Ten

Conash stumbled
off the platform for what seemed like the thousandth time and
cursed. The rocks weighed him down, effectively crippling him. He
could not achieve enough height in his jumps to land them properly
while carrying the extra weight. Many times, he had wanted to throw
them away, but if there was one thing he had learnt from his
hardships, it was that adversity made him stronger. His breath came
in rapid gasps, and sweat ran down his face. The rocks made the
already arduous ordeal virtually impossible. Since he had started
carrying them, he had not managed to complete even the first jump
successfully. His determination to prove to Talon that he was not a
weakling drove him on, and he refused to give up no matter how
futile his struggles appeared to be.

Talon had
forbidden him to dance for three days after his first bout, which
had almost killed him, according to the elder. Instead, he had
taught Conash the art of sensing enemies that he could not see, by
blindfolding him. The lack of sight had been traumatic at first,
and his heart had hammered with dread, although he was not sure
exactly what he was afraid of. Certainly it was not the darkness,
since he preferred it to sunlight. Something about being unable to
see panicked him, however. Perhaps due to this, it had taken him a
single time-glass to find the ability, and four more to perfect it.
After that, Talon had allowed him to practice his dagger throwing,
at which he was also becoming proficient. He only sliced a finger
rarely now, and hit the target nine times out of ten.

A soft giggle
made him turn. A young girl with bright blue eyes and fiery hair
watched him, her eyes twinkling. A blue silk gown clothed her, the
bodice ornamented with patterns of gold embroidery and tiny pearls.
He stood up, brushed grass from his trousers and frowned. She could
not have been watching him for long, or he would have sensed her.
The girl walked closer, smiling.

“How strange,
to dance with rocks in your hands. Why do you do this odd
thing?”

Conash was
struck by the clarity of her speech and its perfect enunciation. It
could only mean that she was gently born, and his resentment
flared.

“Because I want
to,” he snapped.

Her smile faded
a little. “Why would you want to? And why do you dance alone?”

“That's none of
your business.”

Her eyes swept
over him. “You are an assassin?”

“An
apprentice.”

“Do you like
being an apprentice?”

He lowered his
eyes. “It's all right. You shouldn't be here. Do you spy on people
often?”

“I walk in
these woods sometimes, but this is the first time I have seen you
here. I live over there.” She gestured towards the trees.

“Well, you
should go home, and don't come back.”

“Why are you so
angry?”

“That's none of
your business, either.”

She inclined
her head. “True, except that it is directed at me, and I have done
nothing to earn it.”

“You spied on
me.”

“I did not know
this was a secret dance.”

“Well, it
is.”

She smiled. “I
am Eshrin. Do you have a name?”

“Everyone has a
name.”

“What is
yours?”

He frowned.
“Conash.”

“I am pleased
to meet you, Conash. May I stay and watch you dance?”

“No.”

“Then may I
stay and talk to you?”

“I'm busy.”

Eshrin sighed
and sat down on the fallen leaves. “You are very tired. You should
rest.”

“I'm well
enough.”

Eshrin patted
the ground beside her. “Please, sit with me for a little while, and
rest.”

Conash glanced
around, half of him wishing that Talon would appear and rescue him,
the other half tempted by the girl's offer. She was pretty, and
friendly. Dropping the rocks, he walked over and sat a short
distance from her, close enough to talk, but not touch. She smiled
and shifted closer, to his intense discomfort. He drew up his knees
and clasped them, and she studied him.

“How did you
hurt your hands?”

He glanced at
the scabbed cuts on his fingers. “Dagger throwing practice.”

“May I
see?”

“Are you a
healer?”