Stephen Deas: The King's assassin

Berren shook his head. ‘Nah.’ That sounded like a thing the sword-monks would have done.

‘Spring Festival isn’t far away. Another month and you get your ship home. There are things I need to do before then. The sort of things that would leave you so bored you’d probably drown yourself in the river to get away. There’s a sword-master up near the cliffs who makes a happy living teaching the rich young men of Kalda how to kill each other. Tarn will be spending his days there now. I thought you might join him. Scrape some of the barnacles off your own edges before you leave. Seems more to your temperament than sitting around the house watching me bite my own arm off trying to get everything ready for us to move.’ He put his hands on his hips. ‘Or does reading great lists of goods and numbers strike more of a chord? What do you say?’

‘That I’m grateful for everything,’ said Berren carefully. Talon could say what he liked about a ship back to Deephaven. He’d already made his own decision about that.

‘Really?’ Talon arched an eyebrow. ‘Thing is, Berren, I said you’d start first thing this morning, and then I forgot, and now we’re down here and we’re drunk and we’ve had no sleep.’ He pointed up the slope of the city. ‘And we need to be up there. For sunrise. And that’s not far off now.’

He set off jogging down the jetty and across the open space of the docks out in front of the Bitch Queen. When he was halfway, he turned and waved at Berren.

‘Well, are you coming?’

Berren slowly caught up with Talon as they ran through the city, laughing. Talon led him up to a fine house, high on one of the steeper side slopes with a crossed-swords sign drawn by the doors. When they reached it, the Prince staggered to a stop and leaned against a wall, bent over, hands holding his knees and gasping for breath. Berren stood beside him, breathing heavily.

‘You’re not. . as out of breath. . as I am,’ panted Talon. ‘Not fair!’

Beside the house was a narrow alley, wide enough for one person but not for two. When Talon had his breath back, that’s where he went. It led around the back and up some steps to a low building with no walls and a roof held up by two rows of ornate wooden pillars. Inside, men with swords were sparring — one of them was Tarn — but when Berren stopped to stare, Talon pulled him onwards. They walked past the edge of the fighting square towards the back of the house, and a man with silvery hair came out the other way clutching a handful of wasters. Wooden practice swords. Despite everything else, Berren felt a tiny surge of anticipation at the sight of them.

As soon as the silver-haired man saw Talon, he dropped the wasters and embraced him. ‘The Prince of War!’ he said. ‘How’s your brother?’

‘I haven’t seen him for weeks. He was well when I did. I’m surprised he didn’t drop by.’

‘Well, he didn’t. Give him my good wishes when you see him.’

‘I will.’ Talon laughed. ‘Any last lessons?’

The man with the silver hair laughed back. ‘I should imagine he’d be teaching me by now!’

The prince pushed Berren forward. ‘This is my. . This is Berren. Let’s just say I’m keeping an eye on him. I’d like him instructed along with Tarn.’

The man with the silver hair peered at Berren and frowned. ‘Berren, is it?’ He snorted. ‘Whatever you say. Doesn’t look like a Berren to me. Sure he’s not a relative?’

Talon’s foot twitched. ‘There’s a passing resemblance, if you happen to overlook the colour of his skin. Berren is from Aria.’

‘If you say so.’ The man with the silver hair shrugged. ‘So what do you want?’

‘All day, every day. He’s had training. He was squired to Syannis for a while and he worked with some sword-monks.’

The silver-haired man blinked. ‘Now that’s not something I get to hear very often. Aria, eh? Why isn’t he still there, then?’ He shook his head. ‘Not my business. Never mind. How long?’

‘A month, same as Tarn. Do the best you can for him in that time.’

‘And then he’ll be joining you in the companies?’

‘And then he’ll be going back where he came from, but the world’s a funny place. Who can say for sure what their future will be, eh?’

‘I see. So. .’

‘So you’ll be teaching him how to fight in a battle, with real swords and armour and chaos and blood and chopped-off bits of people everywhere, as you so picturesquely put it. Where being alive at the end is what matters and never mind the rest.’

There was more, but Berren was too busy battling yawns and wrestling with the cloud of a hangover and exhaustion and digesting the bit about battles and swords. Companies? That wasn’t the first time he’d heard that word around Talon, and hadn’t Master Sy once said something about mercenaries? Talon had carefully not let on anything at all about what he was doing in Kalda, but that would explain why he had so many snuffers around him!

‘Berren.’ Talon was looking at him again. Berren brought himself to attention. ‘This is Sword-Master Silvestre. He taught me how to fight. He was taught by the great Mistress Shalari herself, who also taught Syannis, and I know you’ve seen Syannis fight. Shalari was the best tutor in the Far Realms, and now Silvestre is the best tutor in Kalda.’

The sword-master snorted. ‘You know that’s not true.’

‘The best for my purposes, then.’

Silvestre looked Berren up and down. ‘So, have you ever used a sword properly before? And I don’t mean farting about with a waster, I mean a proper sword. Steel on steel. Sparks flying. Losing the odd finger. That sort of thing.’

Berren shook his head. ‘No. Always wasters.’

‘In a month?’ Silvestre turned back to Talon. Talon nodded but Silvestre shook his head. ‘Take him somewhere else. I’m not going to teach him to get himself killed. If he ends up in a battle then put him in some proper armour and keep him away from cavalry and crossbows. I don’t care who he’s trained with or how; if it was all practice drills then I can’t do anything in that time except make him a liability.’

Talon leaned forward. He whispered something in the sword-master’s ear. Berren didn’t hear what it was but from the way the man’s face changed it must have been something startling — too startling to be a threat or a bribe. The sword-master was looking at him again with a new expression, more penetrating than the last.

‘All right, all right, we’ll take a look and see what he can do. No promises, mind. If he fights like a donkey then he’s still going to be a donkey when you take him away.’ He looked back to Talon. ‘When?’

‘Today. Now.’

‘Now? He’s drunk! And so are you!’

‘Man needs to be able to defend himself even when he’s a few sheets to the wind.’

Silvestre laughed. ‘And don’t I know it! Man needs to be able to defend himself when he’s passed out in the street, but that’s not to say I can teach him how to do it. Still, does he even have his own sword?’ The sword-master didn’t wait for an answer. ‘Come on then, so-called-Berren. Go out to the practice yard. Someone will attend to you shortly.’

Berren jumped up. Real swords? It almost made him laugh to think how long he’d yearned for something like this, back when he’d been the thief-taker’s apprentice in Deephaven. Now it was here, what did he feel? Nothing. He leaned against one of the wooden columns around the fighting square, watching two men he didn’t know spar while Tarn shouted at them. The swords were wooden wasters like the ones he remembered, only here they were carved to look more like real swords. The fighters had helmets and heavy padding on their arms and down their front. ‘Feet! Use your feet!’ Tarn yelled. Berren sighed. He had clothes and boots of his own, shelter, good food, even a little money, and now it seemed he would be learning swords again. Two years it had taken, but the sun was starting to shine again at last, and yet he barely even felt it. What he felt, when he looked, was numb. What he felt was the hole where Tasahre used to be. A month from now, one way or another, he’d go chasing after Master Sy, not even sure any more why he was doing it, just sure beyond anything that he had to. Maybe by the time he left, he’d know what was driving him. A month to find an answer to that, then, and to gather his strength and some money and whatever else he might need. He wondered briefly what Talon had said to the sword-master to change his mind.