Night Angel Complete Trilogy Part 7

"My little shadow thing?"

"Now, Durzo."

The door opened and a bleeding, wretched boy was shown in. But even beat up as he was, Gwinvere would have picked him out from a thousand guild rats. This guild rat had fire in his eyes. He stood straight even though his face was abraded, his mouth and nose dribbling blood. He looked at her unabashedly, but was either young enough or smart enough that he looked at her eyes rather than at her cleavage. beat up as he was, Gwinvere would have picked him out from a thousand guild rats. This guild rat had fire in his eyes. He stood straight even though his face was abraded, his mouth and nose dribbling blood. He looked at her unabashedly, but was either young enough or smart enough that he looked at her eyes rather than at her cleavage.

"You see more than most, don't you," Momma K said. It wasn't a question.

He didn't even nod. He was too young to be mocking her tendency to state questions, so there was something else in that flat stare he was giving her.

Of course. "And you've seen something terrible, haven't you?" "And you've seen something terrible, haven't you?"

Azoth just looked at her with big eyes, trembling. He was a picture of the naked innocence that died every day in the Warrens. It stirred something in her that she'd thought long dead. Without so much as a word, she knew she could offer the boy a mother's arms, a mother's embrace, a safe place. She could give a refuge, even to this child of the Warrens, who'd probably never been held in his life. A soft look, a touch on his cheek, and a word, and he would collapse into her arms and cry.

And what will Durzo do? Vonda had barely been dead three months. He'd lost more than lover when she'd died, and Gwinvere didn't know if he'd ever recover. Vonda had barely been dead three months. He'd lost more than lover when she'd died, and Gwinvere didn't know if he'd ever recover. Will he understand that Azoth's tears don't make him weak? Will he understand that Azoth's tears don't make him weak?

To be honest with herself, Gwinvere knew that holding Azoth wouldn't be just for Azoth. She couldn't remember the last time she'd held someone who hadn't paid for the privilege.

And what will Durzo do if he sees real love now? Will it make him be human, or will he tell himself Azoth is too weak and kill him rather than admit that he needs him?

It all took her just a second to read the boy and weigh her options. There was too much at stake. She couldn't do it.

"So, Azoth," she asked, folding her arms under her b.r.e.a.s.t.s, "who'd you kill?"

The blood drained from Azoth's face. He blinked as fear suddenly cleared his eyes of the tears that were threatening.

"First kill, too," Momma K said. "Good."

"I don't know what you're talking about," Azoth said, too quickly.

"I know what a killer looks like." Her voice was sharp. "So who did you kill?"

"I need to talk to Durzo Blint. Please. Where is he?"

"Right here," Blint said, behind Azoth. Azoth flinched. "And since you've found me," Blint continued, "someone better be dead."

"He..." Azoth looked at Momma K, obviously wondering if he could speak in front of her. "He is."

"Where's the body?" Blint demanded.

"It's, it's in the river."

"So there's no proof. How convenient."

"Here's your proof," Azoth shouted, suddenly furious. He threw what he was holding at Durzo. Durzo s.n.a.t.c.hed it out of the air.

"You call this proof?" Durzo asked. He opened his hand and Momma K saw he held a b.l.o.o.d.y ear. "I call it an ear. Ever known a man to die from losing an ear, Gwin?"

Momma K said, "Don't you put me in the middle of this, Durzo Blint."

"I can show you the body," Azoth said.

"You said it's in the river."

"It is."

Durzo hesitated.

"d.a.m.n you, Durzo. Go," Momma K said. "You owe him that much."

The sun sat fully above the horizon when they arrived at the boat repair shop. Durzo went inside alone and came out ten minutes later, rolling down a wet sleeve. He didn't look down at Azoth as he asked, "Son, he was naked. Did he..."

"I got the noose around his foot before, before he could... I killed him before." In cold and distant tones, Azoth told him everything. The night was fading like a bad dream, and what he remembered doing, he couldn't believe he had done. It must have been someone else. As he told his story, Blint looked at him in a way no one ever had before. It might have been pity. Azoth didn't know. He'd never seen pity before.

"Did Doll Girl make it?" Azoth asked.

Durzo put his hands on Azoth's shoulders and looked into his eyes. "I don't know. She looked bad. I got the best person I could find to try to save her. Kid," Blint looked away, blinking. "I'm going to give you one more chance."

"Another test?" Azoth's shoulders slumped. His voice was flat, deflated. He couldn't even spare the energy for outrage. "You can't. I did everything you said."

"No more tests. I'm giving you one more chance to reconsider. You've done everything I asked. But this isn't the life you want. You want off the street? I'll give you a bag of silver and apprentice you to a fletcher or an herbalist on the east side. But if you come with me, you trade everything for it. Once you do this work, you'll never be the same. You will be alone. You will be different. Always.

"And that's not the worst of it. I'm not trying to scare you. Well, maybe I am. But I'm not exaggerating. I'm not lying to you. The worst of it, kid, is this: Relationships are ropes. Love is a noose. If you come with me, you must forswear love. Do you know what that means?" am. But I'm not exaggerating. I'm not lying to you. The worst of it, kid, is this: Relationships are ropes. Love is a noose. If you come with me, you must forswear love. Do you know what that means?"

Azoth shook his head.

"It means you can bang as many women as you want, but you can never love one. I won't allow you to ruin yourself over a girl, over a girl," Durzo's voice filled with violence. His hands were claws on Azoth's shoulders, his eyes predator's eyes. "Do you understand?"

"What about Doll Girl?" Azoth asked. He must have been tired. He knew mentioning her was a mistake before he finished the question.

"You're ten, eleven years old? You think you love her?"

"No." Too late. Too late.

"I'll let you know if she lives, but if you come with me, Azoth, you will never talk to her again. You understand? You apprentice to my fletcher or the herbalist, you can see her as much as you want. Please, kid. Take it. This might be your last chance for happiness."

Happiness? I just don't want to be afraid anymore. Blint wasn't afraid. People were afraid of him. They whispered his name in awe. Blint wasn't afraid. People were afraid of him. They whispered his name in awe.

"You follow me now," Blint said, "and by the Night Angels, you belong belong to me. Once we start, you become a wetboy or you die. The Sa'kage can't afford to do it any other way. Or you stay, and I'll find you in a few days and take you to your new master." to me. Once we start, you become a wetboy or you die. The Sa'kage can't afford to do it any other way. Or you stay, and I'll find you in a few days and take you to your new master."

Blint stood and brushed his still-damp hands as if washing them of the matter. He turned abruptly and strode into the shadows of an alley.

Stepping out from the niche he'd been standing in, Azoth looked down the street toward the guild home, a hundred paces away. Maybe he didn't need to go with Blint now. He'd killed Rat. Maybe he could go back and everything would be all right.

Go back to what? I'm still too little to be the guild head. Ja'laliel's still dying. Jarl and Doll Girl were still both maimed. There would be no hero's welcome for Azoth. Roth or some other big would take over the guild, and Azoth would be afraid again, as if nothing had ever happened. Jarl and Doll Girl were still both maimed. There would be no hero's welcome for Azoth. Roth or some other big would take over the guild, and Azoth would be afraid again, as if nothing had ever happened.

But he promised me an apprenticeship! Yes, he'd promised, but everyone knew you didn't trust adults. Yes, he'd promised, but everyone knew you didn't trust adults.

Blint was still confusing. It didn't sound right how he talked about Doll Girl, but just now Azoth had seen something in the wetboy. There was something in him that cared. There was something in the legendary killer that wanted the best for Azoth.

Azoth didn't believe that Doll Girl was worthless just because she wasn't pretty anymore. He didn't know if he could kill again. He didn't know what Blint would do to him or why. But whatever that something was that he had seen in the wetboy, it was far more precious to Azoth than all his doubts. Blint would do to him or why. But whatever that something was that he had seen in the wetboy, it was far more precious to Azoth than all his doubts.

Down the street, Jarl stepped out of the guild home. He saw Azoth, and even from that distance, Azoth saw him smile, white teeth brilliant against his Ladeshian skin. From the blood on the back porch and Rat's absence, they must have guessed that he was dead. Jarl waved and started hurrying toward Azoth in the dazzling sunlight.

Azoth turned his back on his best friend and stepped into the shadows' embrace.

12

Welcome home," Master Blint's voice was tinged with sarcasm, but Azoth didn't hear it. The word home home held magic. He'd never had a home. held magic. He'd never had a home.

Durzo Blint's house crouched deep in the Warrens underneath the ruins of an old temple. Azoth stared in open wonder. From the outside, it looked like there was nothing here, but Blint had several rooms-none of them small.

"You'll learn to fight here," Blint said, locking, unlocking, and relocking each of three bolts on the door. The room was wide and deep, and crammed with equipment: various targets, pads filled with straw, and every kind of practice weapon, beams suspended above the ground, strange tripods with wood appendages, cables, ropes, hooks, and ladders.

"And you'll learn to use those." Blint pointed to the weapons lining the walls, each neatly outlined in white paint. There were weapons of every size and shape from single-edged daggers to enormous cleavers. Blades straight or curving, one- or two-edged, one-or two-handed, with different colors and patterns of steel. Swords with hooks, notches, and barbs. Then there were maces, flails, axes, war hammers, clubs, staves, pole arms, sickles, spears, slings, darts, garrotes, short bows, longbows, crossbows.

The next room was just as amazing. Disguises and equipment lined the walls, each painstakingly outlined. But here there were also tables covered with books and vials. The books bristled with bookmarks. The jars covered a huge table and were filled with seeds, flowers, leaves, mushrooms, liquids, and powders.

"These are the base ingredients for most of the poisons in the world. As soon as Momma K teaches you how to read, you'll read and memorize most of what's in these books. The poisoner's art is is an art. You will master it. an art. You will master it.

"Yes, sir."

"In a couple of years, when your Talent quickens, I'll teach you to use magic."

"Magic?" Azoth was feeling more exhausted by the second.

"You think I accepted you because of your looks? Magic is essential to what we do. No Talent, no wetboy."

Azoth started to totter, but before he could collapse, Master Blint grabbed him by the back of his ragged tunic and guided him to the next room. There was only one pallet and Blint didn't set him on it, but guided him instead to a spot by a small fireplace.

"First kills are hard," Blint said. He seemed to be speaking from far away. "Some time this week, you'll probably cry. Do it when I'm gone."

"I won't cry," Azoth vowed.

"Sure. Now sleep."

"Life is empty. When we take a life, we aren't taking anything of value. Wetboys are killers. That's all we do. That's all we are. There are no poets in the bitter business," Blint said.

He must have left while Azoth slept, because Azoth now held a sword small enough for an eleven-year-old in his fist, feeling awkward.

"Now attack me," Blint said.

"What?"

The side of Blint's sword smashed into Azoth's head.

"I order. You obey. No hesitations. Got it?"

"Yes, sir." Azoth climbed to his feet and picked up the sword. He rubbed his head.

"Attack," Blint said.

Azoth did, wildly. Blint deflected his blows or stepped to one side so that Azoth fell over from the force of his own swings. All the while, Blint spoke.

"You aren't making art, you're making corpses. Dead is dead." He parried quickly and Azoth's blade went skittering across the floor. "Grab that." Blint walked after Azoth and engaged him again. "Don't play with your kills. Don't go for the one-thrust beautiful finish. Cut someone twenty times and let them collapse from blood loss-then finish them. Don't make it beautiful. You aren't making art, you're making corpses."

And so the lessons continued, physical action with a continuously running monologue, each lesson summarized, demonstrated, and summarized again. monologue, each lesson summarized, demonstrated, and summarized again.

In the study: "Never taste death. Every vial, every jar in here is death. If you're working with death, you'll get powders, pastes, and salves on your hands. Never lick the death on your fingers. Never touch death to your eyes. You'll wash your hands with this liquor and then this water, always into this basin which is used for nothing else and will only be emptied where I show you. Never taste death."

On the street: "Embrace the shadows.... Breathe the silence.... Be ordinary, be invisible.... Mark the man.... Know every out...."

When he made mistakes, Blint didn't yell. If Azoth didn't block correctly, he was merely drawing his wage when the wood practice sword crashed into his shin. If he couldn't recite the lessons of the day and expand on any that Blint asked about, he got cuffed for every one he forgot.

It was all even-handed. It was all fair, but Azoth never relaxed. If he failed too much, just as dispa.s.sionately as Master Blint cuffed Azoth, he might kill him. All it would take would be for Blint to not pull one blow short. Azoth wouldn't even know he'd failed until he found himself dying.

More than once he wanted to quit. But there was no quitting. More than once, he wanted to kill Blint. But trying would mean death. More than once, he wanted to cry. But he'd vowed he wouldn't-and he didn't.

"Momma K, who's Vonda?" Azoth asked. After his reading lessons, she took a cup of ootai before they started on politics, history, and court etiquette. After he trained with Blint all morning, he studied with her through the afternoon. He was exhausted and sore all the time, but he slept through the whole of every night and woke warm, not shivering. The gnawing voice and debilitating weakness of hunger was only a memory.

He never complained. If he did, they might make him go back.

Momma K didn't answer immediately. "That is a very delicate question."

"Does that mean you won't tell me?"

"It means I don't want to. But I will because you may need to know, and the man who should tell you won't." She closed her eyes for a moment, and when she continued, her voice was flat. "Vonda was Durzo's lover. Durzo had a treasure and Khalidor's G.o.dking wanted it. You remember what I taught you about Khalidor?"

Azoth nodded.

Momma K opened her eyes and lifted her eyebrows.

He grimaced, then recited. "Khalidor is our northern neighbor. They've always said Cenaria and most of Midcyru is theirs, but they can't take it because Logan's dad is at Screaming Winds." always said Cenaria and most of Midcyru is theirs, but they can't take it because Logan's dad is at Screaming Winds."

"The pa.s.s at Screaming Winds is highly defensible," Momma K suggested. "And the prize?" When Azoth looked at her blankly, she said, "Khalidor could go around the mountains the long way, but they don't because..."

"Because we're not really worth it, and the Sa'kage runs everything."

"Cenaria is corrupt, the treasury is empty, the Ceurans raid us from the south-and the Lae'knaught holds our eastern lands, and they hate Khalidorans even more than they hate most mages. So yes, we're not worth taking."

"Isn't that what I said?"