Роберт Асприн - Forever After

“Now, Mallo, Mr. Quiknik says you are a fine upstanding boy.”

Gar nodded. “A credit to Torfay and an inspiration to us all.”

Spido rolled his eyes.

“And, of course, you’d be keeping yourself faithful to vows you made here, excepting when you were prepared to go off to battle, as you said before.”

“That’s true, Mum, and I only was comforted once or twice.”

“That’s a good boy. Now I was wondering if, in Caltus, given that you are so upstanding, if there might not have been someone to eclipse Squashblossom in your heart.”

Gar caught the hopeful tone in Goodwife Blott’s voice, but her son missed. “Not me, Mum. My heart is still with Squashblossom.”

“You’d not be trying to protect me, would you, Mallo? As much as it might pain me to think of you two apart, dear, I would endure it for your happiness.”

“No, Mother, she’s still the one for me.”

“Are you sure, dear? You’ve not seen her for a while. She’s changed.”

“I still love her, Mum.”

‘There’s been some big changes, Mallo.“

“Same with me, Mum.”

“Not hardly, dear.”

Gar intervened. “Your son is trying to protect you, goodwife. He has many lady admirers, and has been seeing one recently.”

Goodwife Blott’s face brightened and Spido looked confused. “Have you, Mallo? Is she pretty?”

“Ah, well, she is, Mother.”

“Where did you meet her, dear?”

Spido looked at Gar.

The assassin smiled. “She is in service to a goddess, goodwife. She is a cleric and has ministered to your son’s spiritual needs. He has spent much time in consummation, er, communion with her.”

“Oh, good.” She glanced at an hourglass as the last of the sand ran out of it. “Well, then, it is time to decide this eating contest.” She stooped at the oven and pulled out a pie. “You may have matched Mallo bite for bite before, but no more. This is his favorite and he’ll eat this up right quick.”

She cut a steaming slice of the meat pie and set it down before her son, then matched it with another in front of Gar. Each of the men sat with his fork poised, then dug in. Goodwife Blott clapped as they swallowed their first mouthfuls. “Nothing my Mallo likes more than a good venison and kidney pie.”

Spido turned white and clapped his hand over his mouth. His chair rocketed back as he stood and ran for the door. Yanking it open, he ran out into the night.

His mother watched him, then shook her head. “What’s gotten into him?”

“While on the road, he’s had quite a bit of venison, goodwife.”

“That wouldn’t keep him from my pie, no, sir.” She thought for a second, then smiled. “Of course, that’s my boy.”

“Beg pardon?”

“That’s my Mallo. Always the polite one.” She smiled and took a forkful of his pie. “You being a guest means only by faking sick could he be polite and let you win the contest, eh, Mr. Quiknik?”

Gar would have replied, but, being polite, he didn’t speak with his mouth full.

Gar was awake and away from the Blott croft well before the sun came up and the morning hunting horn was blown. As Gordo had explained, Dolonicus let his sorians out in the morning and before dusk to hunt, and woe unto those who found themselves or their livestock out and about during the time between trumpet calls. After the beasts had fed and had been recalled, Dolonicus would emerge from the Prince’s Haven and inform the assembled multitude of whatever brilliant, leaderlike decisions he had made during the night.

Spido had agreed with Gar’s suggestion to wait with his mother instead of following the assassin into town to deal with the sorians. Spido had actually offered to accompany Gar, and the assassin realized Spido had been serious. The assassin gave Spido one of his carefully hoarded smiles for his bravery, but indicated he wanted Spido to remain behind so someone could deal with Dolonicus in case Gar died in his battle with the sorians.

Armed with a single-edged, slightly curved tatiq sword, the world’s only Grashanshao of Tian-shi-sheqi drifted through the sleeping hamlet of Torfay. Striding smoothly into the hunting grounds of a pair of monsters, he felt very much at home. I have slain one of you. I have eaten of your flesh. I know you, and I will give your life definition in your death ! He paused and studied the parallel sorian tracks. When hunters hunt hunters, only Death is sated .

Gar shifted his sword so he gripped the hilt in his right hand, with the pommel cap projecting out between his thumb and forefinger. The blade itself ran along the dorsal side of his right arm. The dawn sun glinted from the razored edge, its silver contrasting sharply with the loose, black clothing the assassin wore.

Unopposed, Gar moved to the center of the village square, then caught movements to his left. He turned to face it and saw one of the sorians standing twenty yards away, between two houses. It lowered its muzzle toward the ground, then brought it up in a smooth motion counterbalanced by the stiff tail. Again it sniffed the air and took a half step toward him.

The intelligence in its eyes — a feral cunning the other sorian had lacked — betrayed it. The breeze it feigned sniffing blew from left to right, carrying his scent well away from it. Which means …

Gar threw himself to the left in a shoulder roll that took him down and away from where he had been standing. The second sorian, claws rending the air with furious cuts, flew past him and cried out in frustration. Pain bled into that cry as Gar’s blade flicked out and slashed the sailing beast across its feathered belly. Coming up as the beast tried to turn and stumbled, Gar whipped the blade down in an overhand strike that beheaded it.

Frustration and disgust swallowed Gar’s momentary elation. He’d killed it as it hunted, as it leaped at him. His training and reflexes, his intelligence and his species’ toolmaking legacy had granted him victory over a creature that should have been faster and more deadly than anything he had ever faced before. His triumph was one of mankind over the sorts of beasts that had stalked men in times best forgotten.

That same intelligence forced him to reject any pride he felt in the kill. He had timed his action correctly — the evidence of that lay in two pieces at his feet. Any man could have been ecstatic with what he had done, but Gar was not any man. He had chosen to define his life through Tian-shi-sheqi and his discipline identified for him where he had failed. It pointed out how he had betrayed the beast and himself and Tian-shi-sheqi .

Shaking his head ruefully, he tossed the bloodied tatiq on the body of the beast it had slain. “I used a tool when you only used what nature has given you. I cheated.”

It was not the whisper of footfalls that prompted him to move, but the crunch of gravel and the cessation of footsteps that told him the remaining sorian had launched itself at him. He cartwheeled off to the right and felt a tug on his tunic as a razor talon sliced through it and scored the flesh over his ribs. On his feet again in an instant, he sidestepped toward where he knew the beast would turn and snapped a kick out at it.

The kick missed because the sorian had let momentum carry it a step farther than he anticipated. Though his foot flashed in and out in an eyeblink, the sorian lunged forward and jagged teeth came away with cloth shreds from his trousers. The sorian shook its head like a terrier dispatching a rat, then spat out the cloth. It looked at him, then bobbed its head and let go a bloodcurdling scream.

Gar grinned from ear to ear and set himself. The sorian feinted once, then turned and trotted off on a long, looping course that allowed it to pick up speed. Gar nodded, recognizing the intelligence of the beast. It already knew that ne was fast, but that it was faster. With enough velocity built up it could slice him or bowl him over or just nip at him as it ran by. It had him, and they both knew it.