The Exiled Blade (The Assassini) - By Jon Courtenay Grimwood Page 0,51

else the hunt brought. Alonzo loved outrage.

His part done, Tycho shook Amelia awake, slumped on to the floor of the cave and slept in turn until a shake woke him again. The night sky was snow-bright and Amelia was looking pleased with herself. “A good day?” he asked.

She grinned. “The wolves were yours?”

“Alonzo liked them?”

“They killed his squire. His hunters killed five of them. Alonzo accounting for the biggest. He also took an old stag, two bucks and a hind. That probably clears the entire valley of deer in this direction.”

“Anything else?”

“Wild pigs to provide meat for the kitchens. A farmer’s daughter to provide warmth for his bed. We go down there now?”

“Yes,” Tycho said. “And swear loyalty to Alonzo.”

“What?” Amelia looked shocked.

“It’s necessary.”

“This is pretend, right?”

“I will make the full oath . . .”

“And me? Am I expected to do the same? I know you have private orders. But I thought we were here to kill him.”

“You misunderstand. I’m offering him the Assassini.”

With the Assassini came her, and everyone else in Venice’s guild of assassins who’d survived the battle against the krieghund two years earlier. True, less than a fifth remained, but it was their reputation that convinced cities to offer tribute, and made foreign princes sign treaties they disliked. “You’re giving him Venice.”

“It’s not even your city.”

“It’s the only one I’ve got,” she said flatly. “It’s where I did most of my growing up. I pledged my loyalty to the Lion of St Mark when I took the Assassini oath.”

“You’re keeping that oath.”

She shook her head.

“We must move,” he said. “Or the Regent will end the hunt before we can reach him. Run with me, and I’ll tell you why we’re doing this.” He owed her that at least.

A dozen courtiers followed Alonzo. Three wild pigs and a one-tusked boar with balls the size of oranges hung behind four different saddles. A thin-hipped stag was lashed on a litter behind another, and half a dozen hastily skinned wolf pelts dripped blood and unnerved the horses across whose backs they’d been tossed.

Flaming torches threw shadows on the forest as the hunt broke cover, laughing and shouting now the chase was done. It was obvious to Tycho that they’d been drinking and were happy with how the day had gone. Not only good sport, but also meat for those in the cathedral. Tempers would be calmer and arguments fewer in the days to come. Alonzo in particular looked pleased with himself.

“Those wolves, Roderigo . . .”

“You were magnificent, my lord.”

He shook the praise away and nodded all the same, his hand reaching over to pat the rolled fur behind Lord Roderigo’s saddle. The space behind his own was filled with a villager’s blonde daughter. She looked thin and hungry, and scared at where she found herself. Tycho wondered how Lady Maria, the Regent’s new wife, would feel and realised that didn’t matter. Maybe she expected her husband to take other women; perhaps she was even grateful.

Tycho was tempted to step in front of the Regent’s mount simply to see it shy and watch Alonzo fight to get the beast back under control. But that would make the Regent mislay his grin and his good temper and what came next would be harder. So he fell back to the open space between the treeline and the village.

The hounds saw them first. As they howled, a huntsman raced forward hoping for one final chase to close the day and saw Tycho and Amelia blocking the way. His whip sang and Amelia’s hand flicked up to catch the lash. Stepping aside, she forced the red-faced man to ride a tight circle to avoid having the whip ripped from his hands. The hunt laughed and slowed, stopping mere paces away.

“My lord Regent,” Amelia said.

Around them, men Tycho didn’t recognise lifted their torches to see who this woman was who could recognise their master in the near dark. Light spilled on to Tycho’s face and Roderigo spurred his horse forward. “Wait,” Tycho said.

Amelia was reaching for her daggers.

“My lord,” said Tycho, “I would speak with the Regent.”

“Who is it, Roderigo?”

“Alexa’s pet, and Atilo’s black woman.”

The Regent rode so close his mount nearly trampled both as he grabbed a torch from a servant and thrust it towards their faces. “Gods,” he said. “One black as sin. The other white as a virgin.”

“You know them, my lord?” a thickset man asked.

“All too well,” Alonzo said. That he didn’t simply tell Roderigo to kill them showed how successful