The Exiled Blade (The Assassini) - By Jon Courtenay Grimwood Page 0,25

killed them when possible. The Skaelingar tried to wipe the Viking settlements from the face of Vineland. With the fall of Bjornvin they managed it.

“S-sounds blissful,” Marco said.

In the corridor, on their way to the Molo gate, the duke’s face suddenly twisted, his shoulders hunched and a nervous tic began to drag one corner of his mouth. He clung to his fishing net like a man drowning. For a second, Tycho thought Marco was having a fit and then he heard footsteps behind them.

“Your highness . . .”

“Ah, C-Captain W-Weimer. Out h-hunting b-baby bats? So s-sweet when d-dipped in h-honey. Did you f-find me any?

The crop-haired young officer hesitated. Bowing low, he glanced at Tycho, and then quickly looked away. “Your mother, highness . . .”

“D-drop in on m-me, d-did s-she?”

“I imagine so, your highness.”

“Y-y-y-y- . . .” Duke Marco stamped furiously at his inability to get out his words. “Y-you m-may tell her I’m h-hunting b-baby b-bats, lost l-lovers, and m-my f-father’s g-ghost.” He swept his pole through the air and looked mournfully at the empty net.

“His ghost, highness?”

“Y-you h-haven’t s-seen it anywhere?”

Captain Weimer crossed himself. Admitting that he had not, he bowed low and withdrew at a wave of Marco’s hand. Weimer was Alexa’s new appointment as captain of the palace guard. Alonzo’s man was gone.

“This is the p-plan,” the duke said.

The other Marco was back.

“Y-you defect to Alonzo . . . T-that’s the only way you’ll get close enough to get Leo back. My uncle will be expecting y-you. W-who else would my m-mother send? You know they were l-lovers?”

“Highness?”

“Alonzo p-poisoned me as a child, had my father m-murdered and b-bedded my m-mother. I’ve spent m-most of my life wanting him d-dead.” The duke smiled sourly. “But I want Giulietta happy more. If the c-choice is killing my uncle or saving Leo you s-save the child. Understand?”

Tycho nodded. “My page . . .”

“Pietro?”

Tycho was surprised Marco remembered the boy’s name. “Yes, highness, Pietro. Can I leave him in your care?”

“Of course.” Marco smiled. “I’ll give him to Giulietta to remind her of you. You can have him back when you return.”

He might have been talking about a pet.

PART 2

“This thing of darkness I acknowledge mine . . .”

The Tempest, William Shakespeare

14

Montenegro

The big cat looked down the white slope from between two twisted fir trees and growled softly in the back of her throat at the sight of soldiers struggling through knee-deep snow. She was sand-coloured, with darker spots and ears that twitched to catch every sound. Her true home was far to the south, where the nights could be this cold but the days far hotter.

The man hunting her belonged to this pack.

She knew that with the certainty she knew many things. That she could outrun their hunter was the least of them. His feet broke the snow, where her paws barely troubled its crust and carried her across gravel streams without breaking thin ice. His arrows had been spent worthlessly and when he reached this spot she would be somewhere else.

For a second she considered attacking the men below. The thought put the smell of blood in her nostrils. Her hackles rose and she bared her teeth to show yellow canines. She could kill half, bowling through them in a flash of claws and ripping teeth, but those left would probably kill her. It was time to return to her lair.

Her path led up through twisted trees into snow-speckled scree above. Here brutal winds stopped the snow from settling. The ice patches were cold beneath her paws and the frozen scree colder, its sharpness lacerating the pads of her feet. They might be too numb to hurt now but they would bleed later.

Below her twisted a road the soldiers would use. Her own route had been more direct and led from a high pass where the air had been clear and so thin her ribs had hurt with every breath. Beyond the pass was a stone fort, larger than those she’d seen in the last few days. Built in the style of the early men – thick walls, heavy crenels, narrow windows – it protected the head of a valley that looked too bleak for anyone to bother protecting. Its walls still stood, for all half the roof had fallen in.

Her job had been to find it if she could.

It was hunger that drove her through the trees and down towards the valley floor on her return journey, until an arrow past her shoulder snapped her