and nodded, losing some of his calm. “I killed her.”
“Yes,” Doronit mused. “A shame you had to use two strikes. That one to the shoulder left blood on the wall where she fell back against it. In this situation it doesn’t matter, but if you wished to dispose of the body without anyone knowing whether death had occurred, you would have found that awkward.”
Her words were a cold wind and steadied him faster than anything else could.
She sipped her cha and stroked his hand. “But I’m sure you won’t do it again.”
Silently, he shook his head. He hadn’t expected this — that she would analyze this exercise as she had every other lesson she had taught him. Surely killing was different from weapons practice or scribing?
“Good.” She held his hand lightly for a moment. He could feel the softness of her skin.
Trying to seem oblivious to her, he looked around at the activity in the square.
It was as busy as it always was in midevening. The swirl and chatter of people made no impression on Ash — but he was sharply aware of the safeguarders standing at the open doors of moneylenders, singlestaves in one hand and the other not far from their daggers. Ash looked at them with envy. Soon he’d be fully trained and one of them. Then he wondered if
they
had had to kill someone as part of their training. From where he stood he could see a good twenty safeguarders outside private offices and the Moot Hall. That was a lot of dead people.
Doronit tapped his arm to regain his attention. “Tonight you acted in self-defense. So. Killing is easy that way. Perhaps the time will come when you will have to kill someone who is not trying to kill you. What will you do then?”
He sipped his cha, playing for time. “If they were trying to kill — hurt someone else . . . I’d protect them . . .”
She smiled, for once, truly pleased. “Well, and that is what a safeguarder does, after all,” she said reassuringly. “They protect.”
The first step was killing to protect oneself. The second would be killing to protect someone else, an innocent. The third, to protect someone who’d paid for protection precisely because they weren’t innocent. In a year he’d be slitting the throat of anyone she told him to, and sleeping twice as well as normal afterward.
She woke him before dawn, when he was in the middle of a dream about her. He blushed, thinking she might have realized (what had he said or done while she was watching?). But she merely nodded to the door.
“Sometimes,” Doronit said, “you will have to go without sleep for days. This is a talent that can be developed. So. Run.”
Ash ran. He would have done anything for her. He knew how much he owed her. He had known from the first day, when his parents had brought him to Doronit, not really believing that she would take him on as an apprentice, not when the baker and the butcher and even the slaughterhouse had refused, because he was a Traveler and therefore not to be trusted. Why would a safeguarder house take on someone who was traitorous by blood, he had wondered, when its very business was being trustworthy?
But they had tried Doronit because she had the dark hair of the old blood, and, Ash realized now, because his parents had probably known that she placed little importance on the opinions of others, being so sure of her own. He found that surety comforting, particularly because she seemed certain he could be valuable to her. Once he was trained. At the moment, he knew that all he was doing was eating her food and using up her time with no return for her. And at nineteen, he was old for an apprentice, although Doronit had said that she had no use for the usual fourteen- and fifteen-year-olds.
“Not strong enough,” she had said, moving her hand admiringly down his arm. “Not mature enough to deal with the work we do.”
So he ran through the thickening heat of the morning, trying as hard as he could. The skills he did have amounted to nothing
“Yes,” Doronit mused. “A shame you had to use two strikes. That one to the shoulder left blood on the wall where she fell back against it. In this situation it doesn’t matter, but if you wished to dispose of the body without anyone knowing whether death had occurred, you would have found that awkward.”
Her words were a cold wind and steadied him faster than anything else could.
She sipped her cha and stroked his hand. “But I’m sure you won’t do it again.”
Silently, he shook his head. He hadn’t expected this — that she would analyze this exercise as she had every other lesson she had taught him. Surely killing was different from weapons practice or scribing?
“Good.” She held his hand lightly for a moment. He could feel the softness of her skin.
Trying to seem oblivious to her, he looked around at the activity in the square.
It was as busy as it always was in midevening. The swirl and chatter of people made no impression on Ash — but he was sharply aware of the safeguarders standing at the open doors of moneylenders, singlestaves in one hand and the other not far from their daggers. Ash looked at them with envy. Soon he’d be fully trained and one of them. Then he wondered if
they
had had to kill someone as part of their training. From where he stood he could see a good twenty safeguarders outside private offices and the Moot Hall. That was a lot of dead people.
Doronit tapped his arm to regain his attention. “Tonight you acted in self-defense. So. Killing is easy that way. Perhaps the time will come when you will have to kill someone who is not trying to kill you. What will you do then?”
He sipped his cha, playing for time. “If they were trying to kill — hurt someone else . . . I’d protect them . . .”
She smiled, for once, truly pleased. “Well, and that is what a safeguarder does, after all,” she said reassuringly. “They protect.”
The first step was killing to protect oneself. The second would be killing to protect someone else, an innocent. The third, to protect someone who’d paid for protection precisely because they weren’t innocent. In a year he’d be slitting the throat of anyone she told him to, and sleeping twice as well as normal afterward.
She woke him before dawn, when he was in the middle of a dream about her. He blushed, thinking she might have realized (what had he said or done while she was watching?). But she merely nodded to the door.
“Sometimes,” Doronit said, “you will have to go without sleep for days. This is a talent that can be developed. So. Run.”
Ash ran. He would have done anything for her. He knew how much he owed her. He had known from the first day, when his parents had brought him to Doronit, not really believing that she would take him on as an apprentice, not when the baker and the butcher and even the slaughterhouse had refused, because he was a Traveler and therefore not to be trusted. Why would a safeguarder house take on someone who was traitorous by blood, he had wondered, when its very business was being trustworthy?
But they had tried Doronit because she had the dark hair of the old blood, and, Ash realized now, because his parents had probably known that she placed little importance on the opinions of others, being so sure of her own. He found that surety comforting, particularly because she seemed certain he could be valuable to her. Once he was trained. At the moment, he knew that all he was doing was eating her food and using up her time with no return for her. And at nineteen, he was old for an apprentice, although Doronit had said that she had no use for the usual fourteen- and fifteen-year-olds.
“Not strong enough,” she had said, moving her hand admiringly down his arm. “Not mature enough to deal with the work we do.”
So he ran through the thickening heat of the morning, trying as hard as he could. The skills he did have amounted to nothing
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