Assassin's Blade (9 page)

There was a flash of movement from the half-crumbling tower. Steel glimmered, and there was Sam, charging up the staircase that wound up the outside of the tower.

Two pirates rushed down the steps, swords raised. Sam dodged one, knocking him down with a swift strike to the spine. Before the pirate had even finished falling, Sam’s blade skewered the other man clean through the middle.

But there was still Ship-Breaker to disable, along with the two catapults, and—

And the dozen pirates who had now reached the foot of the tower.

Celaena cursed. She was still too far. There was no way she could make it in time to disable the chain—the ships would crash into it long before she got there.

She swallowed the pain in her arm, focusing on her breathing as she ran and ran, not daring to take her eyes off the tower ahead. Sam, still a tiny figure in the distance, reached the top of the tower and the expanse of open stone where the anchor to the chain lay. Even from here, she could tell it was gargantuan. And as Sam rushed around it, hacking at whatever he could, throwing himself against the enormous lever, both of them realized the horrible truth, the one thing she’d overlooked: the chain was too heavy for one man to move.

The slaves’ ships were close now. So close that stopping … stopping was impossible.

They were going to die.

But the slaves didn’t cease rowing.

The dozen pirates were climbing the stairs. Sam had been trained to engage multiple men in combat, but a dozen pirates … Damn Rolfe and his men for delaying her!

Sam glanced toward the stairs. He knew about the pirates, too.

She could see everything with such maddening clarity. Sam remained atop the tower. A level below him, perched on a platform jutting out over the sea, sat the two catapults. And in the bay, the two ships that rowed with increasing speed. Freedom or death.

Sam slung himself down to the catapult level, and Celaena staggered a step as he hurled himself against the rotating platform on which the catapult sat, pushing, pushing, pushing until the catapult began to move—not toward the sea, but toward the tower itself, toward the spot in the stone wall where the chain was anchored.

She didn’t dare take her attention from the tower as Sam heaved the catapult into position. A boulder had already been loaded, and in the glare of the rising sun, she could just make out the rope stretched taut to secure the catapult.

The pirates were almost at the catapult level. The two ships
rowed faster and faster, the chain so close that its shadow loomed over them.

Celaena sucked in a breath as pirates poured onto the catapult landing, weapons held high.

Sam raised his sword. Light from the sunrise gleamed off the blade, bright as a star.

A warning cry broke from her lips as a pirate’s dagger flipped toward Sam.

Sam brought his sword down on the catapult rope, doubling over. The catapult snapped so fast she could hardly follow the motion. The boulder slammed into the tower, shattering stone, wood, and metal. Rock exploded, dust clouding the air.

And with a boom that echoed across the bay, the chain collapsed, taking out a chunk of the tower—taking out the spot where she’d last seen Sam.

Celaena, reaching the tower at last, paused to watch as the white sails of the slaves’ ships unfurled, glowing golden in the sunrise.

The wind filled their sails and set them cruising, flying swiftly from the mouth of the bay and into the ocean beyond it. By the time the pirates fixed their ships, the slaves would be too far away to catch.

She murmured a prayer for them to find a safe harbor, her words carrying on the wings of the wind, and wished them well.

A block of stone crashed near her. Celaena’s heart gave a lurch. Sam.

He couldn’t be dead. Not from that dagger, or those dozen pirates, or from the catapult. No, Sam couldn’t be
so
stupid that he’d get himself killed. She’d … she’d … Well, she’d kill him if he was dead.

Drawing her sword despite the ache in her arm, she made to rush into the half-wrecked tower, but a dagger pressed against her neck halted her in her tracks.

“I don’t think so,” Rolfe whispered in her ear.

CHAPTER
10

“You make a move, and I’ll spill your throat on the ground,” Rolfe hissed, his free hand ripping Celaena’s dagger from its sheath and tossing it into the brush. Then he took her sword, too.

“Why not just kill me right now?”

Rolfe’s breathy laugh tickled her ear. “Because I want to take a long, long while to enjoy killing you.”

She stared at the half-ruined tower, at the dust still swirling from the catapult’s destruction. How could Sam have survived that?

“Do you know how much your attempt at playing hero cost me?” Rolfe pushed his blade into her neck, and her skin split open with a stinging burst. “Two hundred slaves, plus two ships, plus the seven ships you disabled in the harbor, plus countless lives.”

She snorted. “Don’t forget the ale from last night.”

Rolfe shifted his blade, digging in and making Celaena wince despite herself. “I’ll take that from your flesh, too, don’t worry.”

“How’d you find me?” She needed time. Needed something to work with. If she moved the wrong way, she’d find herself with a cut throat.

“I knew you’d follow Sam. If you were so set on freeing the slaves, then you certainly wouldn’t leave your companion to die alone. Though I think you arrived a bit too late for that.”

In the dense jungle, the cries of birds and beasts slowly returned. But the watchtower remained silent, interrupted only by the hiss of crumbling stone.

“You’re going to return with me,” Rolfe said. “And after I’m done with you, I’ll contact your master to come pick up the pieces.”

Rolfe took a step, pivoting them toward the town, but Celaena had been waiting.

Throwing her back into his chest, she hooked her foot behind his. Rolfe stumbled, tripping over her leg, and she wedged her hand between her neck and his dagger just as he remembered to act on his promise to slit her throat.

Blood from her palm splattered down her tunic, but she shoved the pain aside and butted her elbow into his stomach. Rolfe’s breath whooshed out of him, and he doubled over, only to meet her knee slamming into his face. A faint
crack
sounded as her kneecap connected with his nose. When she hurled Rolfe to the dirt, blood was on her pant leg—his blood.

She grabbed his fallen dagger as the Pirate Lord reached for his sword. He scrambled to his knees, lunging for her, but she stomped her foot down upon his sword, sending it crashing to the ground. Rolfe raised his head just in time for her to knock him onto his back. Crouching over him, she held his dagger to his neck.

“Well,
that
didn’t go the way you expected, did it?” she asked, listening for a moment to ensure no pirates were about to come crashing down the road. But the animals still hooted and screeched, the insects
still hummed. They were alone. Most of the pirates were probably brawling in the town.

Her hand throbbed, blood pouring out as she grasped the collar of his tunic to lift his head closer to hers.

“So,” she said, her smirk widening at the blood dripping from his nose. “This is what’s going to happen.” She dropped his collar and fished out the two papers from inside her tunic. Compared to the pain in her hand, the injury on her arm had faded to a dull pulsing. “You are going to sign these and stamp each with your seal.”

“I refuse,” Rolfe seethed.

“You don’t even know what they say.” She pushed the tip of the dagger into his heaving throat. “So allow me to clarify: one of these is a letter to my master. It says that the deal is over, that you won’t be sending him slaves, and if you catch him entering into another slave-trade agreement with anyone else, you’ll bring your whole armada to punish him.”

Rolfe choked. “You’re insane.”

“Maybe,” she said. “But I’m not done yet.” She picked up the second letter. “This one … I wrote this one for you. I did my best to try to write it in
your
voice, but you’ll forgive me if it’s a tad more elegant than you’re used to being.” Rolfe struggled, but she pushed the blade a little harder, and he stopped. “Basically,” she said, sighing dramatically, “this one says that you, Captain Rolfe, bearer of the magical map inked on your hands, will never,
ever
sell a slave again. And if you catch any pirates selling or transporting or trading slaves, you’ll hang, burn, or drown them yourself. And that Skull’s Bay is forevermore a safe haven for any slaves fleeing Adarlan’s clutches.”

Rolfe practically had steam blowing out his ears. “I won’t sign either of them, you stupid girl. Don’t you know who I am?”

̴Fine,” she said, angling the blade to sink into his flesh more easily. “I memorized your signature when I was in your office that first day. It won’t be hard to forge. And as for your seal ring …” She removed something else from her pocket. “I also took that the first day in your office, just in case I needed it. Turns out I was right.” Rolfe croaked as she held it up in her free hand, the garnet flashing in the light. “I figure I can return to town and tell your cronies that you decided to set sail after those slaves, and to expect you back in … I don’t know—six months? A year? Long enough that they won’t notice the grave I’ll dig for you right off the road here. Frankly, you’ve seen who I am, and I
should
end your life for it. But consider it a favor—and a promise that if you
don’t
follow my orders, I’ll change my decision to spare you.”

Rolfe’s eyes narrowed to slits. “Why?”

“You’ll have to clarify that.”

He took a breath. “Why go to so much trouble for slaves?”

“Because if we don’t fight for them, who will?” She pulled a fountain pen from her pocket. “Sign the papers.”

Rolfe raised an eyebrow. “And how will you know that I’m holding true to my word?”

She removed the dagger from his throat, using the blade to brush back a strand of his dark hair. “I have my sources. And if I hear that you’re trading slaves, no matter where you go, no matter how far you run, I
will
hunt you down. That’s twice now I’ve disabled you. The third time, you won’t be so lucky. I swear that on my name. I’m almost seventeen, and I can already wallop you; imagine how good I’ll be in a few years.” She shook her head. “I don’t think you’ll want to try me now—and certainly not then.”

Rolfe stared at her for a few heartbeats. “If you ever set foot in my territory again, your life is forfeit.” He paused, then muttered, “May the gods help Arobynn.” He took the pen. “Any other requests?”

She eased off him, but kept the dagger in her hand. “Why, yes,” she said. “A ship would be nice.”

Rolfe only glared at her before he grabbed the documents.

When Rolfe had signed, stamped, and handed the documents to Celaena, she took the liberty of knocking him out again. Swift blows to two points in his neck did the trick, and he’d be out long enough for her to accomplish what she needed: to find Sam.

She raced up the half-crumbling stairs of the tower, leaping over pirate corpses and chunks of stone, not stopping until she found the crushed bodies of the dozen pirates who were closest to Sam and the ruins of the catapults. Blood, bone, squished bits of flesh that she didn’t particularly care to look at for too long …

“Sam!” she shouted, slipping over a bit of debris. She heaved a slab of wood off the side, scanning the landing for any sign of him. “Sam!”

Her hand began bleeding again, leaving smears of blood as she turned over stone and wood and metal. Where
was
he?

It had been
her
plan. If one of them had to die for it, it should have been her. Not him.

She reached the second catapult, its entire frame snapped in half from a fallen piece of tower. She’d last seen him here. A slab of stone jutted up from where it had hit the landing. It was large enough to have squashed someone beneath.

She hurled herself against it, her feet sliding against the ground as she pushed and pushed and pushed. The stone didn’t move.

Grunting, gasping, she shoved harder. Still the stone was too large.

Cursing, she beat a fist against the gray surface, her injured hand aching in protest. The pain snapped something open, and she struck
the stone again and again, clenching her jaw to keep the building scream inside of her.

“For some reason, I don’t think that’s going to make the rock move,” said a voice, and Celaena whirled.

Emerging from the other side of the landing was Sam. He was covered head to toe in gray dust, and blood leaked from a cut in his forehead, but he was …

She lifted her chin. “I’ve been shouting for you.”

Sam shrugged, sauntering over to her. “I figured you could wait a few minutes, given that I saved the day and all.” His brows rose high on his ash-covered face.

“Some hero.” She gestured to the ruin of the tower around them. “I’ve never seen such sloppy work.”

Sam smiled, his brown eyes turning golden in the dawn. It was such a
Sam
look, the twinkle of mischief, the hint of exasperation, the kindness that would always,
always
make him a better person than she was.