Invisible Assassin (21 page)

That night, Blade walked the several miles to the ancient site where the guild met, wearing the belt he would soon give up. The thought of relinquishing it brought a pang of regret and stubborn pride, knowing that he was still capable of defending it if he was prepared to accept the pain.

Common sense urged him not to try, and he resolved to heed it, even though giving up his status in the guild pained him deeply. He could not retire and remain the Master of the Dance, for any assassin capable of winning such an honour was deemed fit to practice his trade. Even though he would become an elder, he would remain a junior member of the higher circle until he had reached a more venerable age. Torn by his conflicting desires, he approached the ring of stones that marked the guild's meeting place.

Torches lighted the scene, adding to the brightness of the full Tree Moon, and the number gathered at the stones surprised him. It required only the elders to accept his resignation, yet it seemed that the entire guild was present. Aware that the silver designs on the belt set him apart from the black-clad throng, he strode into the brightly illuminated centre of the ring. Talon came forward to meet him, followed by three grey-haired elders. Blade stopped before his former mentor.

"Greetings, Elder Talon."

Talon's slanted eyes raked his former pupil. "Welcome, Dance Master Blade. I was most surprised to hear from you again. We all thought you dead."

"I'm quite surprised to be alive myself." He glanced at the wooden platform in the centre of the ring of stones. "Do you plan to put the belt up for challenge straight away?"

"Why not? We've selected a defender, but he'll accept challenges tonight, if there are any." Talon smiled. "It's also for you."

"I will not dance again. I'm retiring, it's not required."

"Only once before has an assassin retired while still holding the belt, and he retired early, at only six and twenty. You, on the other hand, are past the age of retirement, yet still retain your title. None here can deny that you've successfully defended it, nor does anyone seek to challenge you."

"Then why must I dance?"

"To prove that you cannot defend it." Talon put a hand on Blade's shoulder, leaning closer. "When Bolt retired, he was crippled by a broken ankle that did not heal straight, leaving him with a twisted leg. None denied his inability to defend the belt, and he had only to show his limp upon the stage. You show no such handicap, and it's been decided that if you can still defend it, you may keep the title after you retire, until such time as you can no longer defend it."

Blade shook his head. "I cannot complete the Dance. It would be pointless to try."

"Then don't." Talon shrugged. "No one here wishes to force you, yet all agree that none are as good as you. How much you do is entirely up to you, and if you choose to stop halfway then so be it, you lose the belt. If, however, you find that you can complete the Dance, you will retain the title of Master."

"Why do you wish to tempt me?"

"It wasn't only my decision. We decided that any who inherit the belt by default will feel that there's still an assassin, retired or not, who can beat them, and thus feel unjustly honoured. All you have to do is prove your inability, so your successor will know that he's the best, and not a second-rate replacement."

"I see." Blade nodded. "Isn't it enough that I tell you I'm incapable?"

"I'm afraid not. All who have come here tonight wish to see you dance one last time, and there are many. In fact, I think the entire guild is present. Swift, you'll be glad to know, has returned to his town, so he won't be amongst the possible recipients."

"Good." Blade glanced around at the silent crowd. "Who's the chosen defender?"

"A young man named Strike." Talon beckoned to the crowd, and a slender youth left the ranks to approach them. He was, Blade judged, in his early twenties, the prime of his career, and walked with the gliding grace of a snake.

Blade's mouth twisted with distaste. "A poisoner."

"In a way. He uses a poisoned blade."

"I remember another who did that, and ended up dead by his own poison."

Strike raised his chin. "Then he was a fool."

"Accidents happen, boy."

"Only to the foolish and unwary."

"You think so?" Blade smiled, noting the youngster's shiver. He looked at Talon. "He's the best you have?"

Talon nodded. "In our opinion."

"Well not in mine."

"You've never seen him dance."

"Since I'm now retired, I'm an elder, and I would like to choose my successor. Let all who wish to challenge for the belt dance, and I'll decide who's the best."

Talon turned to the three elders behind him, and they drew together in a muttering huddle.

Strike scowled at Blade. "You're only a junior elder. You have no power in the higher circle."

"I'm the Master of the Dance. I'm retiring because I'm sick of the trade, not because I can't do it anymore. I don't even have to accept your challenge. If I hadn't chosen to come here tonight, no one would have dared to challenge me."

Strike stepped closer, a hand on the hilt of a tiny dagger. "I would."

Blade eyed the youngster. "Have a care that your little pin does not leave its scabbard, boy. If it does, I'll slap you down so fast you won't know what's hit you."

"We should make this a proper Dance, a duel to the death. Would you accept that challenge?"

"No. I have nothing to prove, unlike you."

Strike turned his head and spat. "At least I'm not a coward."

"You're a complete moron." Blade turned away, insulting the young man further with his disdain.

Talon returned before Strike could reply, noting the tension in the air. He gave the young assassin a push, sending him back to the throng, and Blade turned to face him.

"The elders have agreed, but you still have to dance. Obviously Strike won't win it now."

Blade smiled. "I doubt it."

"No one can deny that you've earned the right to choose your successor. I think even the elders are quite daunted by your accomplishments."

"And they don't even know about the three Cotti princes I've added to my tally since I left."

Talon inclined his head. "Indeed, they don't. It's strange, I've been urging you to retire these last two years, yet now I almost wish you were not going to. As my former pupil, your glory has rubbed off on me."

"You taught me well."

"My teaching had nothing to do with it. I'm not even a dagger man. I merely showed you the various methods; you chose your own and perfected it. As for the dancing, you surpassed me in a few weeks, and that was raw talent, nothing less."

Blade smiled. "High praise indeed, from my mentor."

"I'm proud of you." Talon patted Blade's shoulder, as he had often done when Blade was young, and the gesture brought back many memories. Talon glanced around at the patient throng. "Well, we had better get started, lest we try the patience of these young assassins to its limit."

"It should be limitless."

"True, but many are apprentices. We have a handful of youngsters here who await initiation, and since we have such a fine gathering we've decided to do it tonight. They'll dance first, and you, as an elder, will judge one of them."

"You have not yet made the announcement."

"Well everybody knows..." He hesitated, catching the look in Blade's eyes, and went on, "But of course we must make it official."

Talon turned and walked to the platform, mounting the steps in the tense silence that fell. The gathering seemed to hold their breath as he stood facing them. He cleared his throat, drawing out the suspense.

"Tonight we are gathered to witness a retirement and ascension to the circle of elders, something that does not happen for all of us. He steps down at the great age of thirty years, after plying his trade with marked success for twelve of those years. He's one well known to you all, who has brought high repute to the trade of assassins, and whose talents will be sorely missed. His tally of official assassinations, not counting those who got in his way and paid the price..." He paused as a soft ripple of chuckles went through the crowd. "Stands at two hundred and eighty-seven all told, including the Cotti king and four of his sons."

A mutter of surprise ran through the assassins' ranks, and many cast disbelieving looks at Blade. Talon's announcement tightened Blade's throat and brought a pleasant glow of pride that warmed him.

Talon went on, "This exceeds the previous highest tally, set by an assassin named Claw almost a hundred years ago, by over fifty kills. You all know his name. Amongst us he is known as Blade, but he has other titles earned over the years.

"The Invisible Assassin, the Silent Slayer, and most recently, the Queen's Blade. Tonight he joins the circle of elders, and no longer accepts assassinations. So shall he be marked, presently. As the Master of the Dance, Blade has decided to relinquish this title also, and the belt will be passed on tonight."

An excited murmur came from the assassins, many of whom, Blade knew, hoped to earn this high office with all its privileges. Talon quit the stage, and Blade frowned at him.

"To what mark do you refer?"

Talon looked surprised. "You don't know?" He chuckled. "Of course not. You don't attend the meetings, and have never seen a retirement, which are rare in any case. This mark." He pulled open his collar, exposing his tattoo, and Blade leant closer to study it. Beneath the point of the dagger was a small red mark shaped like a drop of blood.

Blade straightened. "I had no idea."

"There must be some sign of our retirement. Should anyone seek to hire you, this is the proof that you no longer accept employment, just as the dagger is proof of what you were."

"I've always hated those damned needles."

"This a small mark, it won't be as painful as the first, which I remember you complained about for several tendays."

"It smarted."

Talon laughed, clapping Blade on the shoulder. "Rest easy, this won't hurt a bit."

"Easy for you to say," Blade growled as Talon beckoned to a short, hunched man Blade remembered all too well. The tattooist came over, cringing and smiling in a fawning manner. Two other assassins drew near with torches to light the scene as the tattooist dug in a box, producing his sharp tools and ink. Blade undid his collar and pulled it open. The tattooist came closer and leant on Blade's chest while he used a fine brush to paint on the red dye the needles would force into Blade's skin. Talon stood at the man's shoulder, scrutinising his work.

"Be sure to do a good job," he muttered.

Talon's words took Blade back twelve years in a rush, to an almost identical scene on a different night. He had been just eighteen years old, still confused, angry and uncertain, raw from his first kill and the battering he had taken to achieve it, hot and tired from completing the Dance of Death for the first time before his peers. He remembered the pain of his wounds, the tightness of his muscles after the Dance and the trickling of sweat down his back as the tattooist had jabbed the needles into his skin. The ordeal had seemed to go on forever, and Blade had bitten his tongue to prevent himself from grimacing as the needles dug in. Talon had spoken the same words on that night too.

The tattooist finished painting the red drop beneath the dagger and turned to pick up his tools. First he produced an instrument tipped by a teardrop-shaped cluster of needles and held it poised, glancing up at Blade for permission to proceed. Blade nodded, fixing his gaze upon a grey stone at the far edge of the circle. Pain always seemed more intense when it was expected, and after the faint prickle as the tattooist positioned his instrument, there came the searing pain as he jabbed the needles in.

Blade's face remained a mask, though inwardly he flinched. The tattooist removed the instrument and studied his work, rubbing away the drops of blood that welled from the assassin's skin. He took another needle from his box and proceeded to prick Blade's skin with it, picking out the shape of the teardrop. This seemed to go on for a long time, but at last the tattooist finished his torture and picked up the ink tin again, dipped his finger into it and rubbed the stinging dye into the holes he had made. Blade endured it stoically, even when the tattooist decided to make a few more holes for good measure.

When at last the fawning man stepped back with an apologetic smile, Blade looked down at the rather smudged and bruised blood-red drop beneath his tattoo. The sight of it seemed to release something within him. A shackle fell away with an ugly clank, leaving him free at last. Talon shooed away the tattooist and the two assassins with torches while Blade was intent upon studying his new mark, raising a hand to finger it. Talon came closer and clasped his shoulders, drawing his attention away from it.

"Don't look at it now. Wait until you're alone. The mark often brings forth emotions that you wouldn't wish to display here."

Blade knew only a vast emptiness within himself, mixed with a growing sense of release that puzzled him. Talon pulled his collar closed and buttoned it. He took Blade's arm and led him towards the edge of the circle.

"Come, we need not stand in the middle for everyone to gawk at now, it's over. You're officially retired."

Talon guided his charge to a section of the circle, and several youngsters shifted aside to make room for them. Blade sat, hardly aware of his surroundings. Within the circle, the elders gathered over a sheet of parchment, calling out names as they summoned apprentices from the crowd who would dance their initiation. Five boys walked to the platform and took up assigned positions under the direction of the elders. Archer came over to Talon and Blade, holding a sheet of paper.

"Elder Talon, you'll judge the nameless one who will call himself Slayer, and Elder Blade will judge the one who will call himself Foil."

The elder marched off, and Blade glanced at Talon. "Which one is Foil?"

"Second from the right, in the front."

Blade spotted his dancer and nodded. "What a name to choose."

Talon grinned. "There are worse, like Blade."