Age of Assassins

by Rj Barker

  “Yes, Squiremaster,” we mumbled. Tomas did not speak.

  “Louder,” he said. He did not break eye contact with Tomas.

  “Yes, Squiremaster,” we shouted.

  Still Tomas did not speak. Nywulf gave him a grim smile.

  “Good,” he said. He walked away and then turned back to us when he was ten paces away from the line. “Today we will spar. However—” he gave us the cold smile of a venomous lizard about to strike “—it has come to my attention that some of us believe they deserve better than the squireyard. Is that true, Tomas?”

  Tomas looked up into the sky but did not answer. As we waited for Tomas to reply, the silence in the squireyard felt like a weight on my shoulders.

  “I asked, Tomas,” continued Nywulf, and he sounded friendly though I cannot imagine anyone was fooled, “if you believe yourself past my training? If you think you are more skilled than anyone else?” Tomas continued to stare at the sky where the pale disc of the moon was still visible. “Or, Tomas ap Dhyrrin, are you afraid to answer my question?”

  “I am better than any other here.” The words escaped from his mouth like angry dogs breaking their leash. A ripple of offence went up and down the line of squires.

  “Better,” said Nywulf with a smile and shake of his head. “It is my job, blessed boys, to train you. And an important lesson for any warrior to learn is that there is always someone better than you are. That is why you need men you trust around you.”

  “No one here can best me with a blade,” said Tomas quietly.

  Nywulf stared at him.

  “Care to prove that, Tomas?” he said. “Care to prove you are better than everyone here, even me?”

  “Real blades,” said Tomas, a smile growing on his handsome face at the shocked reaction his words drew from the squires. “And after I beat you, Squiremaster, if you survive, then you will stand down and we will find another squiremaster.” He glanced at Rufra when he spoke. “A real one.”

  “Very well,” said Nywulf. “And if I win?” He met the eye of every boy there, looking from one end of the line of squires to the other, pausing at Aydor before he let his gaze run back. “If I win, no more cliques and no one is punished outside the yard for what happens within it. And you will all give me your oaths on that, do you understand?”

  “Yes, Squiremaster,” we said.

  “Again,” shouted the trainer.

  “Yes, Squiremaster!” we shouted, though I noticed Aydor did not join in.

  Tomas went to the gear he left by the gate and drew his longsword and stabsword then made his way to the sparring circle. Nywulf followed him but he wore no armour and still carried only the wooden practice swords he had taken from Rufra. We followed him and stood around the edges of the circle. My blood fizzed with a mixture of excitement and worry and I felt like I needed to run or piss.

  “I will enjoy this,” whispered Rufra to me. There was a bruise on his cheek.

  “Did Nywulf hit you?”

  “Only once. Tomas is about to suffer much worse.”

  Tomas and Nywulf stood opposite one another in the circle, a ring drawn in white on the sparsely grassed ground.

  “I said real blades,” said Tomas.

  “And you have them,” replied Nywulf.

  “Very well,” said Tomas with a grin. He did not fall into the familiar “At Ready” position which traditionally started a fight; he attacked without warning by bringing his longsword over followed by his stabsword in a movement called the Wheel, a showy move of little value in a real fight. Nywulf simply moved out of the way, and as the weight of Tomas’s swords carried him past, the squiremaster swatted him on the backside with his stabsword. Tomas spun on the spot, his eyes bright with anger, and brought his blades up into a defensive cross, but Nywulf did not attack; instead he walked around Tomas.

  “Come at me then, boy,” he said.

  Tomas did, three thrusting attacks with the stabsword he held in his left hand followed by a slash of his longsword at head height then one at hip height. Nywulf simply backed away, occasionally swaying left and right to avoid the blades. There was no hurry in the squiremaster’s movements; they were all very deliberate. He knew exactly how far Tomas’s swords would reach and where he needed to be to avoid them. When Tomas paused, Nywulf stepped forward and delivered a blow to Tomas’s leg that landed with an audible smacking sound and made the squire fall to one knee.

  Tomas got back up. Anger in his eyes

  Most of the squires cheered for Tomas. I thought them fools. It should have been clear to anyone with the slightest knowledge of swordplay that Nywulf was a master. Rather than cheering on Tomas they should be watching Nywulf work and learning from him.

  Tomas lunged again. This time he tried to dummy Nywulf into coming in close. It seemed to work. When the squiremaster was within range, Tomas thrust forward with his stabsword, a rage-filled grimace of triumph on his face. But Nywulf simply dropped his stabsword and used stiffened fingers to hit Tomas’s wrist, making the boy’s hand convulse and the short blade fall to the ground. Then, as Tomas was bringing his longsword back to strike, Nywulf hit him in the chest with the palm of his hand, sending the squire sprawling into the dirt with a crash of armour.

  If I give the impression Tomas was without skill, then that is only a mark of how good Nywulf was: he made Tomas look like a child with his first blade

  “Get up,” said Nywulf. He kicked the stabsword across to Tomas but did not bother picking up his own wooden blade. “We are not finished yet.”

  I do not know how long they fought for. It seemed like hours though it was probably only minutes, and by the end there was not a handspan of armour on Tomas without a dent or bit of missing enamel, or a place on his flesh that did not show a bruise. Tomas could barely walk back to his place in the line when Nywulf finally let him go. Once he was there, Nywulf brought forward the twins and gave them the option of real blades, which they turned down, and then made them fight him. He did not punish them the way he had Tomas. He told them both to fight him at once and then casually knocked them on their behinds.

  Celot stepped forward with an aimless smile on his face but Nywulf shook his head.

  “Not you, Celot,” he said gently, leaving the boy looking disappointed. “We are done for today.” Despite his exertions Nywulf was not even breathing heavily. “The petty squabbles of this place—” he hit the ground with his wooden blade bringing up little puffs of dust “—are nothing, you understand? You do not need to like each other. I do not ask that. But you must know each other’s strengths and be able to trust one another in battle.” He paced up and down the line. “That is how a Rider works. We are heavy cavalry. We charge together. You are all the cavalry this castle has at the moment, and if any organised force attacked and you were called on to defend us they would cut you apart. Ask yourselves if boyish pride is worth death at the hands of the living and the thankful you deride. If it is, then carry on as you are, but know this: if there is another beating then whoever—” he stopped at Aydor, and glanced either side of him at Borniya and Hallin “—whoever arranges it will duel me and then I will use real blades.” He walked away and sat on a bench by the wall, removing his gloves and throwing them at the ground. “Now go,” he said without looking at us. “Go before you make me sick.”

  Chapter 16

  I waited outside the squireyard for Rufra, but when he appeared he was with Nywulf. My greeting died in my mouth.

  “Rufra has his studies to attend to, Girton,” said Nywulf. “You will have to find another playmate for today.” Nywulf placed his hand on the back of Rufra’s neck and walked him away from me, not letting him look back. There was clearly more going on there than the relationship between master and student. Could Rufra be involved in the plot to kill Aydor? He hated him but did not strike me as the type to skulk about, neither did Nywulf.

  This suspicion of my friend felt wrong, like a betrayal, and I put it aside. My master’s note was in my pocket so I decided
to attend to her list of items sooner rather than later. Rope should be easy to find at Festival but the drovers were bringing herds of goats into the circles, and their hooves filled the air with choking dust and cloying stink. There must have been every goat for twenty miles around streaming through the townyard gate and into Festival. I found they made a surprisingly effective wall.

  “You won’t get in to Festival today, boy. Better come back at night.” I turned to find a drover swathed in rags with only her eyes showing. “Be worse tomorrow when the cows come in. The guards’ll be jumpy too, lot of money in a cow. Someone always tries to steal a few.”

  I nodded, watching the animals. “I didn’t know there were this many beasts in the Tired Lands.”

  The drover nodded as she chewed on a stick of miyl.

  “Goats, sheep, pigs—plenty of ’em as they’ll eat anything. Cows, less of ’em so they cost more money. Still, you boys will be looking forward to a jaunt tomorrow, I imagine.”

  “Sorry?”

  “You’re a squire ain’tn’t you?” She spat.

  “Yes.”

  “Well tomorrow’s cow day. Usually the Riders’d be out protecting the cows, but as there’s few Riders here, I reckon you boys’ll be out.”

  “Yes,” I said, “of course. I should check over my mount then.”

  “Be wise.” The drover nodded then spotted something among her herds and walked away shouting, “Vinor! Vinor! Yon goats are running all away!”

  I made my way to the stables, my stomach fizzing at the thought of meeting Drusl. If I was to ride Xus tomorrow he would need to be exercised, after being cooped up he was always skittish and slow to obey the rein. In the stables the comfortable warm smell of mounts filled my nostrils and I found Drusl cleaning out the stalls, throwing the muck and hay into a barrow to be taken to the presses or the orchards.

  “Girton!” Her smile was as warm as the air in the building. “I am so glad you are here.” She ran over to me and took my hand. “Leiss has gone to fetch another barrow. Come with me,” she whispered, pulling me into Xus’s stall. The huge animal whuffled gently when he sensed me and I scratched his velvety nose. He snorted loudly and lowered his head so I could scratch between his antlers.

  “You care a lot for him, don’t you?” It was part statement, part question.

  “Yes, that is one reason why I came, Tomorrow we—”

  “Ride out. I know.” Xus moved and forced her against me. She looked up into my eyes, smiling. “Xus will be exercised, do not worry, but I need to talk to you about something else.”

  “What?” My voice sounded heavy and I was overly aware of my body and the warmth of Drusl against me. She stood on her tiptoes so she could whisper to me.

  “I need you to get a message to Rufra.”

  I stepped back and the stables suddenly seemed a chill place full of unwelcome stink.

  “Rufra?”

  “Yes, it’s about Leiss.”

  “Leiss?”

  “Aye.” She moved to the entrance to the stall and looked out into the stables.

  “Leiss considers this a job not a calling. He does not love the animals the way I do and he is not as slow with a whip as I think a mountmaster should be.” I started checking over Xus, running my hands down his legs and checking his flesh for whip marks. “Xus is fine, Girton,” said Drusl. “Leiss is too scared of him to come in here.”

  “Rufra’s mounts?”

  “There is nothing you can see.” She stood closer to me again and held up a rounded wooden implement. “This is a paddle. It’s meant to hold the mounts’ feet when we put the razor spurs on, but if you hit a mount right with it then it won’t leave a mark on the skin the way a whip will. It still hurts them though, and Leiss often beats the animals.” She stared into my eyes. Seeing the condemnation of the man she worked with there she put a hand on my arm. “Leiss isn’t a bad person, Girton; he’s cruel sometimes because he’s scared of the mounts. If I told the other squires what he did they would kill him.”

  “You don’t think Rufra will?”

  “He’s your friend, Girton. I thought if you could persuade him to scare Leiss a little then it may stop Leiss hurting the mounts. I dislike the way Leiss treats the animals, but I don’t want him dead because of me.” She closed her eyes as if suddenly overwhelmed by emotion. “I don’t want anyone dead because of me.”

  “I’ll do my best, Drusl, but you must do something for me.”

  “Yes?” She looked up into my face. The moisture in her eyes gave them an unreal shine and her voice was husky.

  “I need rope.”

  “Rope?” She stepped back.

  “Yes, a lot of it. As strong and thin as possible, but I don’t want anyone to know I have it.” She furrowed her brow. “And nails, if you have them?” I added.

  “What for?”

  “I can’t say.”

  “Oh.” She seemed disappointed. I ran my fingers through Xus’s thick fur and felt a sudden need to fill the silence.

  “Last night, a few squires jumped me at First of Festival.”

  “I thought you had new bruises but didn’t want to say anything.” She reached up and gently touched my cheek. “They hurt you?”

  “Bruises only.” A point of sparkling metal descending toward my eye. My fists clenched and I swallowed, coughing to clear my throat. “More my pride that was wounded. I would like to teach them a lesson.”

  She laughed. “Boys! There is rope in the back of the stables with the presses. And nails. Leiss takes poor care of the stores so it will not be missed.” There was a crash of wood on stone as the main door was thrown open. “He is back. Go. I will distract him while you sneak in the back. And remember to tell Rufra about the paddles.”

  “I will.”

  “And Girton?”

  “Yes?”

  “Thank you.” She pulled herself up using the collar of my armour and kissed me on the lips, her tongue darted, quicksilver-quick, into my mouth. Then she was gone. I was so surprised that although my heart leaped I did not have time to enjoy the sensation of the kiss.

  “What were you doing in there?” I heard Leiss grumble at her.

  “Readying Xus for exercise. Unless you would rather do it?”

  “Have you cleaned them all out?”

  “Yes, Leiss.”

  “Good. Then help me take Tomas’s mounts to the pasture. You can take Gliyo—dead gods but that beast’s vicious.”

  I waited until they had taken Tomas’s mounts from the stable and then, before I slipped into the back room, quickly checked the empty stalls for anything that could be linked to Kyril’s death, but found nothing. I considered checking the other stalls but decided against it. Most mounts were gentle enough but these would be war trained, like Xus, and there was no telling how they may react to a stranger.

  I heard Drusl and Leiss return and slipped into the back to find a room almost as big that was dominated by the astringent smell of mount urine and the earthier smell of dung. Two huge wooden presses filled the far end, giant devices used to crush dirty bedding and dung to remove urine for use by the tanners—the compressed dry dung and hay was used for fires and fertilising gardens. One press was open at the top and a movable ramp led up to it, a barrow half full of hay and dung perched precariously at the end. The second press was screwed about halfway down and a steady dribble of brown liquid ran from the spout at the bottom into a wooden cask.

  This part of the stables was new, and it could be seen in the poor quality of the stonework around the open window holes above the presses. Patches of dead grass marred the floor and for a moment I felt the paralysing hand of fear—sourings from sorcery?—before realising my own foolishness. Mount urine was acidic and killed grass, that was all.

  An untidy stack of badly wound bundles of rope lay in a corner, and by them was a bucket full of rusting nails that looked strong enough. I found a feed bag to carry the rope and nails in and added a small hammer to my haul for good measure. Drusl and Leis
s were bickering about something, and when I heard a stall door open and Xus snort I touched my lips where she had kissed me. With a smile I climbed the ramp and clambered out through a window hole, making my way down some convenient steps of hay bales on the other side

  At the keepyard gate the guards waved me and my heavy bag through. They were meant to be on high alert, but either I have a trustworthy face or they were still out of sorts about being on duty during First of Festival. The rope and nails I hid under my bed and, as it was still daylight and my master was out protecting unworthy royals, I made my way up to the battlements.

  The only use for ropes and nails I could think of was for climbing. My master must have decided that listening to conversations, subtle questioning and hoping something may happen was not working quickly enough. As breaking into Heamus’s room seemed to have reaped rewards, a more direct method was to be used on the others—burglary. With that in mind it was a good idea for me to inspect the lie of the land, and the walls.

  The castle keep was a rough oblong—the keep a square joined by walls and towers to its gatehouse. Between the gatehouse and the keep was a killing ground; arrow loops looked down from the two round towers of the gatehouse and the two towers and angled front of the keep. Around the edges of the killing ground were stalls, and in the middle stood the water clock, an ornate mechanism powered by water brought up by a clever system of wells and pipes from the river the keep backed on to. The stairs I used brought me out above the gatehouse, from where I watched people below move backwards and forwards, some purposefully and some aimlessly. I could have sat all day learning their habits; I enjoyed watching people and seeing into their secret lives.

  A well dressed woman in felt trousers sewn with silver thread wandered across the inner courtyard looking at the few stalls Queen Adran had allowed to be set up as a sop to the Festival Lords. She feigned an interest in the goods of a silversmith, who I knew was weighting his scales with clay. Occasionally the woman would look over her shoulder at the keep gate. A woman appeared there and gave her a subtle nod, and both vanished through different doors to some prearranged liaison.