The Queen's Blade Prequel I - Conash: Dead Son (20 page)

Talon sensed
that the youth was still half wild, and had learnt to treat him
with a great deal more kindness and consideration than he had shown
previous apprentices. As the wild boy had grown into a young man,
Talon had formed the opinion that not only was Conash extremely
dangerous and unstable, he was also devious. His smiles never
reached his eyes, which remained frigid and empty, even when he
laughed or joked, though that was rare. The final lesson he was
about to impart to Conash now, at the end of his training, would
make him more dangerous still, even to his mentor, and remove the
only weapon Talon had retained against him. Talon was jerked from
his reverie as Conash spoke.

“You're not
planning on getting me drunk and dressing me up as a girl again,
are you?”

“No, once was
enough.”

“Good.”

Talon spotted a
loitering beggar and hailed the man, who looked wary and shuffled
his feet.

“How would you
like to earn three coppers?” the elder asked.

“Reckon I
would. Fer doing wot?”

“Nothing
harmful or strenuous, my good man. All it requires is your
co-operation.”

The beggar
shrugged. “All right.”

Conash shot
Talon a suspicious look as the elder opened the shack and ushered
the man inside.

“What do you
need him for?”

“You'll
see.”

Conash followed
him inside, where the beggar glanced around curiously, and
appraisingly.

Talon gestured
at a chair. “Have a seat.”

“Do I get some
wine, too?” The man eyed the bottle on the table.

“Afterwards.”

The beggar sat
down, watching the elder and his apprentice. Talon turned to
Conash. “I'm going to show you how to render a man senseless with
just a touch. It's one of your final lessons. Tomorrow I'll find a
broker and set up your first kill.”

“So you do
think I'm ready?”

“Perhaps. That
depends on whether or not you succeed.” Talon wandered behind the
beggar and placed his hands on the man's neck. “Watch closely, now.
This is where you place your fingers, here, and here.”

Conash studied
Talon's hands, nodding. The elder squeezed, and the beggar slumped.
Conash straightened in surprise.

“That looks
easy.”

“It is, when
you know how to do it. But it takes practice. That's what he's here
for.”

“I'm surprised
he trusts an assassin.”

Talon smiled.
“I'm an elder, and everyone knows we don't kill. Even active
assassins need a client.”

“How long does
it last?”

“That depends
on how long you press for. He should wake up in a minute or
two.”

The man roused
after a couple of minutes, looking a little dazed, and Conash tried
to emulate his mentor. His first few attempts brought only hisses
of pain from the beggar, and Talon demonstrated again. On Conash's
fifth attempt, the man slumped.

Talon nodded.
“Good. Do it a couple more times, and you'll have it.”

By the time the
beggar left, rubbing his neck and clutching three coppers, Conash
had mastered the technique. Talon sat and poured two cups of wine,
and the youth settled opposite.

“Why didn't you
teach me that before? Do you think I'll use it on you?”

“You could. I
seem to remember you attacking me on more than one occasion.”

“You think I'm
dangerous,” Conash stated.

“You are.”

“Then you
shouldn't have taught me to kill.”

“You already
knew how to kill. I hope I've given you a reason not to do it
without payment.”

Conash leant
over the table. “You have. But I take the oath I swore seriously.
You have no need to fear me.”

Talon shook his
head. “You're still dangerous. When the fury consumes you, no one
is safe from you.”

“I've learnt to
control it.”

“Have you?”

“Yes. He's
gone.”

“Who?”

The youth leant
back, frowning. “My familiar's spirit.”

“Ah. Was it he
who made you kill?”

“He helped. He
kept me alive. He's the reason I wanted to kill, because he was
dead, and, therefore, so am I.”

Talon sighed.
“I don't understand the Bereft, so I won't pretend I do.”

“I'm glad you
realise that. When he was with me, I was insane.”

“You still
are.”

“No. I was
maddened by grief. I couldn't let him go. But then he left of his
own accord.”

Talon sipped
his wine. “Because he was hurting you.”

“No. He helped
me, but his presence wouldn't let me deal with my grief.”

“And now you
have?”

“As much as I'm
able.”

The elder
rubbed his brow. “You're not really sane. You have no conscience,
no remorse, and no pity.”

“What good are
they to a killer?”

“None. That's
why I trained you. Killing is something you'll always be good at.
All I've done is ensure that you do it well, you won't get caught,
and don't do it for no reason. I've turned a murderer into an
assassin.”

“What better
clay to work with?”

“So long as you
never slip back into your old ways.”

Conash nodded.
“I won't.”

Chapter Twelve

Conash sat in a
dim corner of a seedy taproom, Talon beside him, a mug of ale on
the table in front of him. A buxom serving girl winked at Conash
while she cleared the neighbouring table, and he scowled at her.
The girl blanched and hurried away. A hunched, brown-haired man
with a servile manner and rat-trap mouth approached their table and
sat opposite, his eyes furtive. Talon nodded at him.

“Evening,
Darnish.”

“Elder.”
Darnish eyed Conash. “Is this the lad?”

“Yes.”

“He looks
young.”

“He's old
enough.”

Darnish
continued to study the youth. “He's small, too. The target I've got
for you is a big man, a drover.”

“He'll manage.
What's the name and address?”

“Broman. He
lives in the eighth district slums, Potpear Lane, number eleven.
His familiar's a bull. It stays in a paddock up on the
commons.”

Talon nodded,
and Darnish dropped two silvers on the table, rose and left. Conash
frowned at his back before turning to his mentor.

“He's the
client?”

“No, he's a
broker. Apprentice kills are always made through a broker. That
way, if you botch it and get caught, you don't know the name of the
client. It's also cheaper. Darnish must have got four silvers from
his client, and he keeps half.”

“I won't botch
it.”

Talon said,
“Don't get cocky. You'll spend three days watching this Broman,
whether you like it or not. At the end of it, you tell me what
you've learnt, and your plan. I'll tell you if it'll work.”

“I want to know
why someone wants this man dead.”

“That's not
your business. Your only job is to kill him. Since it's your first
kill, it's always a quick one. Come, let's go.”

Conash drained
his ale, and they headed back to the shack.

Conash woke
with a snort and grabbed a branch as he slid off his perch in the
crook of a puffwood tree. Various parts of his posterior had fallen
asleep during his vigil, and he shifted to allow blood to resume
its flow to the tingling areas. Spying on a victim was boring, he
had decided. During the first day, he had learnt enough about the
man to make his kill, in his opinion, and disliked Talon's
insistence that he spy on the drover for three days. The man was
boring, and remained at home, for the most part, with his wife and
two sons.

Apart from two
forays to a nearby alehouse, Broman had risen at sun up, eaten
breakfast and lazed around, either in the house or the park nearby.
His wife cooked and cleaned, and his sons went to school. The older
one was about twelve and his brother a little younger. The drover
went to bed at dusk in the bedroom upstairs. The houses in the poor
suburb all had cracked, peeling paint, and this one's roof sagged
on one side. A window offered entry into the bedroom. All he had to
do was climb the rough stone wall, which, after Talon's intensive
wall climbing lessons, he was confident would be no problem.

Conash yawned
and climbed down the tree, heading back to the shack.

In the morning,
Talon listened to his brief assessment and shook his head at the
end of it.

“What familiar
does his wife have?”

Conash
shrugged. “A dog, I think.”

“You think?
You'd better know. If you go in there without knowing all the
familiars in that house, you could be dead.”

“I'll deal with
it.”

“Your over
confidence is astounding, and stupid. Even if it's just a small
dog, it can wake them up while you're in the room.”

Conash shrugged
again. “Then I'll kill them all.”

“No, you won't.
You'll kill the drover, no one else!”

“If they're a
threat to me -”

“You avoid
them. You ensure your target's alone. You don't slaughter the
entire household! This isn't an excuse for a killing spree.” Talon
looked pensive. “Is that what you want?”

“No.”

“You'd better
make sure it doesn't happen. You'll study that household until you
know every person in it intimately before you make your attempt.
For all you know, your client covets the drover's wife. Do you
think he'll pay you the second half of your fee if she's dead?”

“She's a frumpy
-”

Talon thumped
the table. “That's not the point! You were hired to kill one
man!”

“All right!”
Conash scowled. “I'll just kill him, then.”

“You think this
is going to be so easy, don't you? You're in for a shock. If
assassinating a man was so easy, you wouldn't need two years of
training to do it well, and most apprentices take four!” Talon
shook his head. “Many apprentices never get their marks, because
they're killed on their first attempt, or captured and handed over
to the Watch, which imprisons or executes them because they don't
have a mark.”

“Then why
aren't they given the mark before their first kill?”

“Because so
many of them fail! You have to prove that you can carry out an
assassination before you become an assassin. You think the Guild
wants to be credited with so many failures? It doesn't.”

Conash frowned.
“Then why aren't apprentices trained better, so they don't
fail?”

“It's not a
matter of training. It's what's in here.” Talon tapped his chest.
“And here.” He tapped his head. “Learning how to stick a dagger in
someone is far easier than actually doing it. That's one reason why
the dagger isn't the favourite weapon of assassins. Most prefer the
crossbow, the garrotte or cudgel, even the poisoned blade. With the
crossbow, they kill from a distance, so the risk is negligible.
With the garrotte, the man has no hope of escape. With the cudgel,
it's too quick for a man to retaliate or flee, and with a poisoned
blade, the target's death is assured, even if the assassin isn't
all that skilled. All he needs to do is draw blood.

“You must enter
that man's house undetected, and preferably kill him without
causing a ruckus. You have to get close enough to slip your dagger
between his ribs, and make sure you hit the heart. If he wakes up,
he'll fight you, and you're not a fighter. You're not there to
fight him, only to kill him, understand?”

The youth
nodded, sighing.

Talon rapped on
the table. “Listen to me. A lot of apprentices fail because they
panic. They freeze up or try to flee. Some find that they can't go
through with it; others, like you, are overconfident, and aren't
careful enough. A careless assassin is a dead one, Conash. Maybe
not on his first kill, but eventually. You must pay attention to
every detail, and plan the kill meticulously, allowing for every
eventuality you can think of.”

He raised a
finger. “That one small thing that you overlooked, be it the wife's
familiar or the man's bout of diarrhoea, can, and will, get you
killed. Assassins have died because the wind changed at an
inopportune moment, and a familiar smelt them. Others came to grief
because they didn't notice a rug or the door creaked when they
opened it. Everything is vital. I've taught you all the skills you
need to succeed, but it's now up to you to use them correctly.”

“I will.”

Talon shook his
head. “No, already you've failed by not finding out what the wife's
familiar is. I should cancel this kill and train you for another
year, I think, until you learn your lessons properly.”

“No! I'm ready
for this. I'll find out what the wife's familiar is.”

“You'd better.
If you get caught, I can't, and won't, help you. You'll be on your
own. Attempted murder carries a sentence of twenty years hard
labour. Murder will get you executed. You botch this kill, and
it'll be your last.”

“I won't botch
it.”

“Then get back
to work.”

Conash left the
shack and headed back to Broman's house, cursing his mentor for
making him spy on the man for another day. Since he was unable to
return to his perch in the puffwood tree that grew in the yard
across the road during the day, he took up vigil on the neighbour's
roof, crouched beside the chimney, out of sight. He watched the
boys go off to school and the wife leave to go to the market. A
spotted dog followed her, and the boys did not appear to have
bonded yet.

Broman emerged
at midday and wandered up the street to the nearest alehouse. He
returned at dusk, by which time his wife had come back with a
basket of fresh produce and started dinner, judging by the aroma
that made the youth's mouth water. Realising that he had not eaten
all day, he climbed down and visited the alehouse, where he ate an
oily goat stew.

By the time he
made his way back to Broman's house, dusk had fallen and the lamps
were lighted. Settling into his perch in the puffwood tree, he
watched the house, noting movement past the windows. The family
congregated downstairs for the evening meal, then the boys went to
bed, carrying lamps upstairs before snuffing them out. Another
light ascended to the main bedroom, carried either by Broman or his
wife, or both. The wife's familiar would doubtless sleep in the
bedroom with them, and was therefore unavoidable, but it was only a
small dog.