Read Online Lord Protector by T C Southwell - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: T C Southwell
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unchanged. He stared at Blade, clearly trying to penetrate the shadows that hid the Jashimari assassin's face.
Blade headed for the darkest corner and slid onto a vacant chair, ignoring the glares of the table's occupants. He put a handful of silvers on the table to make his intentions clear, and the men beamed and shouted for a serving wench. While they toasted his generosity and drank the round of ales his silvers purchased, Blade waited for the Cotti to relax. To an onlooker, Blade would appear to be an old friend of the men at the table, who had accepted and welcomed him, which should be sufficient to allay the Cotti's suspicions.
Clearly the inn's patrons knew Storm was an assassin. The fact that he sat alone in a crowded taproom proved it. Assassins were not obliged to make their trade known, but often did to repel unwanted companions and advertise to prospective customers. When Blade glanced at him again, some time later, he appeared relaxed, gazing across the room at a buxom serving wench. Blade's female disguise would have been effective to lure the Cotti upstairs, but he hated it, and wanted the Cotti assassin to know who was responsible for his death.
Blade listened to the bawdy talk of the men at his table and raised his tankard to clank it against theirs when the urge took them. He surreptitiously tipped much of his ale into his neighbours' tankards, appearing to drink as much as they did and buying fresh rounds whenever their flagons ran dry. His companions grew drunk and rowdy, singing lewd ditties.
Soon Blade's table became popular as more patrons joined it, availing themselves of the generosity of the hooded stranger in their midst. No one enquired as to his identity, and although they clapped him on the back from time to time by way of thanks, they did not otherwise bother him. Blade bided his time, listening with half an ear to the drunken ramblings of the man next to him.
While he waited, he considered all the factors that made assassins so hard to kill. They rarely drank too much in public, a mistake Blade had made in the past, but of which Storm was not guilty now. They were solitary and alert, not distracted by drinking companions, although occasionally by whores, and they always sat with their backs to a wall, something Blade was unable to do at the moment. He waited with the limitless patience of a master assassin, aware that an opportunity might not present itself that night.
An argument at a nearby table grew loud, and one of the men jumped up and flung back his chair. Blade tensed, sensing the start of a brawl, which would change the situation quickly. Another man tried to make peace with the drunken pugilist, but the angry patron punched him, and others leapt into the fray. As happened all too frequently in taprooms, within moments the convivial atmosphere degenerated into a mass of heaving, punching brawlers.
The men at Blade's table, no less eager to join the fray, jumped up and rushed into the growing melee. Blade slid off his chair and sidled away from the worst of the fracas, glancing in Storm's direction. The Cotti assassin had jumped up too, but not to join in. He looked around for an escape route, and there were only two, the front door or the stairs that led to the rooms above. The situation was similar to the one in which Storm had surprised Blade, and now he hoped to reverse their roles.
Storm headed towards the inn's front door, staying close to the wall and ducking the missiles that had started to fly. Blade retreated into the deep shadows in the corner, becoming invisible in his black clothes. There, he shucked the long coat that would hamper him and provide purchase for his opponent, should it become a fight. Storm, concerned only about the fighters, watched them as he sidled along the wall, jumping aside to avoid staggering men and fending off the odd punch.
As the Cotti assassin drew near to his hiding place, Blade slid two daggers from his belt and closed the gap between
Blade headed for the darkest corner and slid onto a vacant chair, ignoring the glares of the table's occupants. He put a handful of silvers on the table to make his intentions clear, and the men beamed and shouted for a serving wench. While they toasted his generosity and drank the round of ales his silvers purchased, Blade waited for the Cotti to relax. To an onlooker, Blade would appear to be an old friend of the men at the table, who had accepted and welcomed him, which should be sufficient to allay the Cotti's suspicions.
Clearly the inn's patrons knew Storm was an assassin. The fact that he sat alone in a crowded taproom proved it. Assassins were not obliged to make their trade known, but often did to repel unwanted companions and advertise to prospective customers. When Blade glanced at him again, some time later, he appeared relaxed, gazing across the room at a buxom serving wench. Blade's female disguise would have been effective to lure the Cotti upstairs, but he hated it, and wanted the Cotti assassin to know who was responsible for his death.
Blade listened to the bawdy talk of the men at his table and raised his tankard to clank it against theirs when the urge took them. He surreptitiously tipped much of his ale into his neighbours' tankards, appearing to drink as much as they did and buying fresh rounds whenever their flagons ran dry. His companions grew drunk and rowdy, singing lewd ditties.
Soon Blade's table became popular as more patrons joined it, availing themselves of the generosity of the hooded stranger in their midst. No one enquired as to his identity, and although they clapped him on the back from time to time by way of thanks, they did not otherwise bother him. Blade bided his time, listening with half an ear to the drunken ramblings of the man next to him.
While he waited, he considered all the factors that made assassins so hard to kill. They rarely drank too much in public, a mistake Blade had made in the past, but of which Storm was not guilty now. They were solitary and alert, not distracted by drinking companions, although occasionally by whores, and they always sat with their backs to a wall, something Blade was unable to do at the moment. He waited with the limitless patience of a master assassin, aware that an opportunity might not present itself that night.
An argument at a nearby table grew loud, and one of the men jumped up and flung back his chair. Blade tensed, sensing the start of a brawl, which would change the situation quickly. Another man tried to make peace with the drunken pugilist, but the angry patron punched him, and others leapt into the fray. As happened all too frequently in taprooms, within moments the convivial atmosphere degenerated into a mass of heaving, punching brawlers.
The men at Blade's table, no less eager to join the fray, jumped up and rushed into the growing melee. Blade slid off his chair and sidled away from the worst of the fracas, glancing in Storm's direction. The Cotti assassin had jumped up too, but not to join in. He looked around for an escape route, and there were only two, the front door or the stairs that led to the rooms above. The situation was similar to the one in which Storm had surprised Blade, and now he hoped to reverse their roles.
Storm headed towards the inn's front door, staying close to the wall and ducking the missiles that had started to fly. Blade retreated into the deep shadows in the corner, becoming invisible in his black clothes. There, he shucked the long coat that would hamper him and provide purchase for his opponent, should it become a fight. Storm, concerned only about the fighters, watched them as he sidled along the wall, jumping aside to avoid staggering men and fending off the odd punch.
As the Cotti assassin drew near to his hiding place, Blade slid two daggers from his belt and closed the gap between
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