The King's Assassin (Thief Takers Apprentice 3) by Stephen Deas Page B
Authors: Stephen Deas
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violence and twice Berren thought he saw Lucama’s blade cut Talon; but since the prince never seemed to notice and since there wasn’t any blood, he supposed he must have been wrong.
Tarn’s fists were clenched, Berren saw. ‘Are you sure we shouldn’t—’
‘No,’ Tarn snapped. Then he spoke more quietly. ‘He does this every year, picks on someone from another company and tests him. I wish he wouldn’t. Don’t worry – he’s got metal under that shirt.’
The fight stopped as abruptly as it had started. Silvestre was standing at the edge of the practice yard. He didn’t say anything but he didn’t need to – his presence alone was enough. Talon saluted, first Lucama and then Silvestre, and walked away. Lucama glowered after him. For the rest of that day he was sullen and bad-tempered.
The next morning was Berren’s last with the sword-master. It rained solidly and by the end he and Tarn were soaked to the skin. Talon came to meet them when they were done, promising a night to remember before they all sailed their separate ways. The sword-master gave them a lecture on the virtues of running away as soon as a fight started to go bad and then shooed them out of his house as if he was glad to be rid of them.
‘Silvestre doesn’t like farewells to linger,’ Talon said as they walked through the drizzle down towards the docks. Berren turned and looked back at the city around him for what might be the last time. ‘He likes you. He likes Tarn as well. Actually, Silvestre is one of those people who likes almost everybody, which I suppose is both his blessing and his curse. Every winter he teaches men and women to fight. Soldiers like us. By the end of the season half of them are dead. He told me it was always half, for some reason. If you last through the first year then there’s some hope you’ll survive to grow old. Chances are that you won’t, though.’
‘I will,’ said Berren, with a force that surprised him. Talon gave him a puzzled look and then laughed.
‘They all say that. But you’re going to Deephaven. It’s me and Tarn who should worry.’
‘I don’t . . .’ Now was the time to speak, now or never, before Talon drank himself stupid and they were both too muddled to think and he was suddenly on the run again, on his own, heading off to find Master Sy – wherever he was. It would be easier , wheedled a voice inside him, to find the thief-taker if he stayed with Talon. Then it would only be a matter of time, surely? But then maybe the right time to say something was when Talon was deep into his cups, when maybe he wouldn’t be thinking things through and they were all friends together in the way that only too much wine could forge.
‘You don’t what?’ Talon was smiling but there was a hardness and a sadness there, as though he knew what Berren had been about to say and was ready to tell him no, that they would part tomorrow with the dawn and there was no other way for things to be.
‘I don’t know what I’m going to do in Deephaven,’ said Berren quickly. ‘I did a favour for a royal prince once. I doubt he’ll remember and I lost the token he gave me when they took me onto the ship, but I reckon I’m not much use for anything except fighting now. Last I heard the empire was heading for another war. They’ll be wanting soldiers if they haven’t gone and had it without me.’ He wiped the rain away from his eyes. The water here was cold, not like Deephaven rain which mostly came as a blessed relief from the baking summer sun. He shivered. All he was wearing was a wool shirt. Tarn and Talon had thick leather coats.
‘I’d give that a lot of thinking,’ said Talon softly. ‘A soldier’s life can eat you from the inside. You’ve seen Syannis. I’d find something else if I were you. Something good . A reason, a cause, an aspiration. Build something, Berren. Something for others to admire. Something that will make you proud.’
Yeh, but what? What else could he do?
Tarn’s fists were clenched, Berren saw. ‘Are you sure we shouldn’t—’
‘No,’ Tarn snapped. Then he spoke more quietly. ‘He does this every year, picks on someone from another company and tests him. I wish he wouldn’t. Don’t worry – he’s got metal under that shirt.’
The fight stopped as abruptly as it had started. Silvestre was standing at the edge of the practice yard. He didn’t say anything but he didn’t need to – his presence alone was enough. Talon saluted, first Lucama and then Silvestre, and walked away. Lucama glowered after him. For the rest of that day he was sullen and bad-tempered.
The next morning was Berren’s last with the sword-master. It rained solidly and by the end he and Tarn were soaked to the skin. Talon came to meet them when they were done, promising a night to remember before they all sailed their separate ways. The sword-master gave them a lecture on the virtues of running away as soon as a fight started to go bad and then shooed them out of his house as if he was glad to be rid of them.
‘Silvestre doesn’t like farewells to linger,’ Talon said as they walked through the drizzle down towards the docks. Berren turned and looked back at the city around him for what might be the last time. ‘He likes you. He likes Tarn as well. Actually, Silvestre is one of those people who likes almost everybody, which I suppose is both his blessing and his curse. Every winter he teaches men and women to fight. Soldiers like us. By the end of the season half of them are dead. He told me it was always half, for some reason. If you last through the first year then there’s some hope you’ll survive to grow old. Chances are that you won’t, though.’
‘I will,’ said Berren, with a force that surprised him. Talon gave him a puzzled look and then laughed.
‘They all say that. But you’re going to Deephaven. It’s me and Tarn who should worry.’
‘I don’t . . .’ Now was the time to speak, now or never, before Talon drank himself stupid and they were both too muddled to think and he was suddenly on the run again, on his own, heading off to find Master Sy – wherever he was. It would be easier , wheedled a voice inside him, to find the thief-taker if he stayed with Talon. Then it would only be a matter of time, surely? But then maybe the right time to say something was when Talon was deep into his cups, when maybe he wouldn’t be thinking things through and they were all friends together in the way that only too much wine could forge.
‘You don’t what?’ Talon was smiling but there was a hardness and a sadness there, as though he knew what Berren had been about to say and was ready to tell him no, that they would part tomorrow with the dawn and there was no other way for things to be.
‘I don’t know what I’m going to do in Deephaven,’ said Berren quickly. ‘I did a favour for a royal prince once. I doubt he’ll remember and I lost the token he gave me when they took me onto the ship, but I reckon I’m not much use for anything except fighting now. Last I heard the empire was heading for another war. They’ll be wanting soldiers if they haven’t gone and had it without me.’ He wiped the rain away from his eyes. The water here was cold, not like Deephaven rain which mostly came as a blessed relief from the baking summer sun. He shivered. All he was wearing was a wool shirt. Tarn and Talon had thick leather coats.
‘I’d give that a lot of thinking,’ said Talon softly. ‘A soldier’s life can eat you from the inside. You’ve seen Syannis. I’d find something else if I were you. Something good . A reason, a cause, an aspiration. Build something, Berren. Something for others to admire. Something that will make you proud.’
Yeh, but what? What else could he do?
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