The Queen's Blade Prequel I - Conash: Dead Son (9 page)

A length of
braided hair was tied over the chain with a thong, and he took it
off. It stank of mud, and he almost threw it away, then decided
that it might be a keepsake. He would have to wash it, though. She
appeared to be prepubescent, and he revised his opinion of her age,
although she was large for a twelve-year-old. Even with his
lock-picking skills, he struggled with the rusted padlock that
secured the chain for half a time-glass. The skin beneath it was
callused, as if she had worn it for many years.

Talon patted
her cheek, wondering if he had hit her too hard. She drew in a
sharp breath and opened her eyes. For an instant they met his, and
a jolt shot through him at the frigid fury in their pale grey
depths. She sat up and swung a fist at his head. Talon ducked in
the nick of time and grabbed her wrists, forcing her back on the
bed. She struggled, giving a surprisingly deep-throated growl, but
lacked the strength to fight him off.

“It's okay, I'm
not going to hurt you,” he said.

She snarled and
tried to bite his arm, but he kept it out of her reach.

“Stop fighting
me, girl, I'm trying to help you.”

The child
froze, looking startled, and he released her, then leapt away when
she attacked him again. Talon almost fell over a chair, but grabbed
her arms and pinned them, forcing her into the chair. She fought
him for several minutes, ignoring his orders and assurances. Tiring
of the struggle, he shifted his grip to her neck and squeezed with
well-practiced precision until her eyes rolled back, and she
slumped. Talon straightened and frowned at her, exceedingly
puzzled. Her voice, judging by her growls, was too deep. The man's
shirt had been pulled open during the struggle, revealing a chest
padded with sinewy muscle, and definitely male.

Talon found a
length of rope and bound the boy's arms to the chair, trying to
estimate his age again. Fourteen, maybe, although his voice was too
deep for a fourteen-year-old, but he was not big enough to be
older. When the youth was safely trussed, Talon patted his cheek
until he jerked awake. The retired assassin stepped back as the boy
fought his bonds in a frenzy, growling like a wild animal. He was
cat kin, Talon surmised, judging by his feline traits. Talon
wandered over to the table and settled on a chair. Pouring a cup of
wine, he watched the boy's frantic struggles.

The youth did
not seem to realise the futility of his endeavour, and Talon pitied
him. Once an assassin bound a person, there was no escape. It took
almost half a time-glass before the panting boy gave up, his brow
beaded with sweat. His wild, cold eyes sought Talon, and the
assassin waited for him to speak. Silence clamped down, which only
the boy's gasps broke.

Talon sipped
his wine and frowned. “Are you mute, boy?”

His eyes
flickered, and he looked away.

The assassin
snorted. “All right, I'll assume that you are. So, you tried to
knock me out, presumably to steal my purse. That makes you
something of a fool, since I'm a retired assassin. Most would know
better, and the fact that you don't makes me think you're not from
the city. Clearly you're hungry. Would you like some food?”

The boy glared
at the floor.

Talon sighed.
“Right, you're not talking. I got that.”

Going over to
the stove, he placed a pot of left-over stew on it, stoking the
fire. Soon the aroma of goat meat and vegetables filled the shack,
and the boy gulped.

Talon returned
to his chair. “Hungry, boy? You can eat; it's free. I want to help,
although God knows why. You don't deserve it, but you need it.”

The boy shot
him a brief, suspicious glance, and turned his head away. Talon
studied him, wondering where he was from, and what circumstances
had led to his sad situation. He dished up a bowl of stew and
brought it to the table, then sat and regarded the boy again.

“If you want me
to untie you, you'll have to promise not to attack me,
understand?”

The boy raised
frigid, hate-filled eyes and snarled.

Talon sighed.
“All right, then I'll have to feed you.”

The elder
assassin scooped up a spoonful of stew and held it in front of the
boy's mouth, waiting for him to open it. The youth glared at him
with such venom that Talon swore the temperature in the room
dropped several degrees. He put the spoon back in the bowl.

“If you don't
eat, you'll starve. You want to starve?”

The youth
looked away, his nostrils flaring with thwarted rage, and swallowed
again. Talon found him extremely puzzling. Most waifs would jump at
the offer of food, yet this one seemed to find it enraging, or
perhaps humiliating. He wondered why he was so hostile, even to the
point of refusing to eat when he was clearly hungry. It made no
sense. He sighed and stood up.

“All right, you
don't want to eat. I'm tired, so I'm going home. I'll be back
tomorrow. Maybe you'll eat then, hey?”

The boy jerked
at the ropes that bound his wrists to the chair arms, but Talon
shook his head.

“No, I'm not
letting you go. You'll stay tied to that chair until you agree to
behave, and if you don't eat, I'll let you starve. You think I care
if you do?”

The boy snarled
and glared at Talon, but the former assassin headed for the door.
“The only one you're hurting with your stupidity is you. I'll see
you tomorrow.”

Chapter Five

Two tendays
later, Talon spooned rabbit stew into the bound youth's mouth,
ignoring his glare. The boy had refused to eat for three days,
until he was almost too weak to raise his head, although he had
accepted water on the second day. He had made no sound except
growls and snarls, and his stench was revolting, since he had been
forced to urinate and defecate in his trousers.

Talon only
stayed long enough to feed him twice a day and give him water, then
left him to ponder his situation in his foetor. Sooner or later he
would crack, although it was taking far longer than Talon would
have thought possible. The ex-assassin scraped the bowl clean and
washed it in the basin, thinking that it was fortunate he had no
apprentice. He held a cup of water to the boy's lips while he
drained it, and then headed for the door, eager to quit the
stink.

“Wait.”

Talon turned in
surprise. “You want to say something?”

He nodded. “I
won't harm you.”

“That's an
interesting accent you have.” Talon returned to his chair and sat
down. “You sound like a Cotti.”

The boy jerked
at the ropes and snarled.

“I don't find
that reassuring, you know,” the assassin drawled. “You'll swear to
behave, or you'll stay in that chair. It doesn't matter to me. I
have a home to go to. It's up to you.”

The boy
hesitated, a muscle jumping in his jaw. “I'll behave.”

“Swear it.”

“I swear.”

Talon studied
him, wondering if he was in the least bit trustworthy, then drew a
dagger and cut the ropes. The boy rubbed his wrists, glared at
Talon, and stood up. Excrement caked the seat of his trousers and
dried urine formed dark stains down the legs. He was a good deal
shorter than Talon had imagined, barely reaching his shoulder.

He gestured to
the chair. “Now you can clean up your mess, after which you'll
bathe. I got you some new clothes.”

“I'm not your
slave.”

“No, but you'll
do as I say if you want to eat my food and live here. You do want
that, don't you? Or are you stupid enough to want to go back to
living in the gutter? Consider it a job, for now.”

The boy
glowered at him, and Talon thought he would try to run, but then he
looked down. “All right.”

“Good. There's
a communal tap down the street. Fetch water and fill that.” Talon
pointed to a brass tub in the corner. “When you've bathed, you can
clean up this mess.”

A wild glint
entered the boy's eyes, and a frisson of alarm shot through Talon.
Perhaps a gentler attitude was called for when dealing with this
boy. He was obviously deeply traumatised and, judging by his
accent, had been a Cotti prisoner. For how long? How much abuse had
he been forced to endure? He sensed that the boy was not entirely
sane, or at least, on the verge of insanity.

Talon softened
his tone. “I'm trying to help you. It would have been far easier to
have chased you away two tendays ago, and spared myself the effort
of feeding you. I think I've proven that I mean you no harm,
haven't I? All I ask is a bit of co-operation now.”

“Why do you
want to help me?”

“Ah well,
that's a good question. When you've bathed and cleaned up this
mess, we'll talk, all right?”

The boy nodded,
and Talon handed him two buckets. He half expected the youngster to
bolt the moment he left the shack, but, several minutes later, he
returned with water. Talon had added fresh wood to the stove, and
poured the water into a pot to heat. The boy looked a little
surprised, and left to fetch more water. Talon's mind thronged with
questions, and he was sure this youth had an amazing story.

When the tub
was full, the former assassin handed his guest a cake of soap and a
pile of new clothes, then left him to bathe.

Talon returned
four time-glasses later, to find the shack clean and odour free.
The boy lay on the bed, clad in the clean clothes, and the assassin
hoped he had burnt his old garments. He sat up when the elder
entered, suspicion and anger in his eyes. Talon sat in a chair and
placed a bottle of wine on the table.

The bath had
much improved the boy's appearance, and his hair was tied back with
a thong. Talon eyed him, then uncorked the wine and poured a
cup.

“How old are
you, boy?”

“Sixteen, I
think.”

“You
think?”

He nodded,
frowning.

“All right. Is
that a Contara accent you have, or Cotti?”

“Cotti.”

“I thought so,
although I haven't heard it before. What's your name?”

The boy looked
down, and seemed to struggle within himself. Talon's puzzlement
grew, along with his unease. The youth glanced up.

“Conash.”

Talon almost
nodded, then his brows rose as he realised what it meant. “A
strange name.”

“It's what I
am.”

“All right. I'm
Talon. That's my trade name, and the only one I'll give you, for
now. How long were you a Cotti prisoner?”

“Four years, I
think.”

“So that's
where you lost the time. No seasons in the desert, hey?”

Conash shook
his head. “I was in Damnation.”

“Right. Where
do you think you are now?”

“A Jashimari
city.”

“Yes, you're in
Jondar.”

Conash stared
across the room. “The capital.”

“That's right.
How did you escape the Cotti?”

“I walked.”

Talon's brows
rose again. “All the way across the desert? A hundred and fifty
leagues? I doubt it.”

“It couldn't
have been that far.”

“You weren't in
a city, were you?”

“No. An army
camp.”

“I see. You
walked ten leagues then, from the main encampment.”

Conash stared
at the floor. “Crawled.”

“How did you
get to Jondar?”

“On a
horse.”

“Where did you
get a horse?”

Conash raised
his eyes, and Talon shivered at the look in them. “I killed its
owner.”

“How?”

“With a
rock.”

Talon leant
forward. “You were trying to kill me too, weren't you?”

“Yes.”

“How many have
you killed?”

“Two.”

Talon sipped
his wine and pondered the boy, a little disturbed to learn that he
was a murderer. “Did you enjoy it?”

“No.”

“You did it to
survive.”

“Yes.”

“But you'd be
prepared to do it again?”

Conash
shrugged. “I suppose so.”

“Do you feel
remorse for the men you killed?”

“No.”

Talon studied
his new charge again, a little surprised and even more disturbed.
It was one thing to kill out of desperation, in order to survive,
but another to have no remorse about it. “Why not?”

“Why should
I?”

“It's a normal
human emotion, I would say. Most people would feel it if they
killed someone.”

“I don't.”

Talon inclined
his head. “Yes, I realise that. But why?”

“They deserved
it.”

“What had they
done?”

“The first one,
nothing. The second one pissed on me.”

The former
assassin struggled not to cough as he almost choked on his wine,
and cleared his throat to cover it. The more answers he got, the
more disturbed he became, and this last reply had almost floored
him. Perhaps the first man had died to provide food, but to think
that it was acceptable to kill a man for such a minor infraction
was not normal.

“Did he do it
on purpose?”

“No. He was
drunk.”

“But that made
it all right to kill him?”

Conash stared
across the room again, frowning. “I was angry.”

“Naturally. So
you did it in a fit of rage, then?”

“Yes.”

“And were you
angry when you attacked me?”

“No. I needed
money.”

Talon sipped
his wine. “Why not steal it?”

“I tried, but I
got caught, and they beat me.”

“And dead men
don't fight back, eh?”

“No.”

Talon put down
his cup and leant forward. “So you found killing a lesser crime,
because there was no punishment?”

“Yes.”

“But eventually
the Watch would have caught you, and they'd have taken you to the
axe man.”

Conash shot him
a quick glance. “I don't care.”

“You're not
afraid of dying?”

“I'm already
dead.”

Talon cocked
his head. “If you're dead, why do you need to eat?”