The Queen's Blade IV - Sacred Knight of the Veil

by T C Southwell

  "There's only one way to find out," Insash stated. "We must find him."

  "Finding him may be easy compared to persuading him to help us," Chiana observed. "We must come up with a solution to that problem too."

  "Actually, it may not be so hard." Redgard rubbed his chin. "I think Lord Conash would do just about anything to prevent the ascension of a Cotti prince to the Jashimari throne."

  "That's it!" Insash snapped his fingers. "The very message we must send him. I will see to it at once."

  Chiana shook her head. "The chances of finding him in time are slim. We have only a moon phase, at most, before Endor arrives. Blade could be anywhere. He might not even be in Jashimari."

  Redgard stood up. "We will succeed, Regent. If Shamsara predicted it, it is fated."

  "Blade once told me that he would not be used by fate again."

  "Your husband is a great man, but he is not a god."

  Chapter Three

  Darian looked up at the dirty sign hanging by one rusted chain above the door of a tavern. The Muddy Hole. Once more he wondered at the strange mission on which he, and many others, had been sent. Find the Queen's Blade, who had disappeared fifteen years ago, a master of disguise and a retired assassin to boot. This was a man so famous that tales about him were told to children to make them behave. He had killed the Cotti King in the middle of his army's camp and lived to tell the tale.

  Tall stories alleged that his eyes were daggers, and he could strike you down with a glance, while wilder ones claimed that Shamsara had made him immortal. To top it all, he was a lord the late Queen Minn-Satu had much favoured. Why would such a man be found in a stinking tavern such as this, with floors awash with vomit and stale ale? Yet he had been instructed to search the lowliest taprooms and brothels first.

  Taking a deep breath, he thrust open the creaking door and stepped into a dim interior, waiting for his eyes to adjust. Dusk had fallen outside, but the darkness inside rivalled the deepest pit of Damnation. Smutty lamps and torches did little to alleviate the gloom, and a pall of smoke hid the blackened ceiling. The stench was beyond identification. Possibly a mixture of musty sweat, sour wine, foul breath, rotten food, smoke and general decay.

  The patrons sat at rickety, rough-hewn tables, or stood in dark corners, filling the air with the deep rumble of male voices. Darian glanced around at the bevy of faces, mostly hirsute and dirty, sharp-eyed and beaky nosed. Judging by the veritable flock of crows that roosted on the gables outside, birds of a feather really did flock together here. A few hounds slumbered under chairs, and two monkeys slept in the rafters. It did not seem a likely place in which to find a legendary assassin, but he pushed deeper into the throng. Two tendays of searching had taught him to be thorough, and the reward offered for finding his quarry sustained him.

  A black-clad, grey-haired man slouched over a table caught his eye, and he move closer to study the man's face, then turned away when he glimpsed the small dog under the patron's chair. The description he had been given was detailed, leaving little room for error. Moving deeper into the gloom, he spied another likely looking man slumped over a table, his face buried in his arms. There was no sign of a familiar, and Darian moved closer.

  The man wore black leather, and his long jet hair was caught in a thong at his nape. The bench opposite was empty, which was strange considering the fullness of the tavern, unless he was an assassin. Darian bent to peer at the man's face, but his arms hid it. As he reached out to touch the man's shoulder, a dagger appeared next to his throat, touching it coldly. Darian froze.

  "My master does not wish to be disturbed," a voice rasped in his ear.

  "And I don't wish to disturb him. Are you an assassin?"

  "A good guess."

  Darian turned to face his assailant. "There's no need to threaten me. I mean your master no harm."

  The apprentice was no more than eighteen years old, with a thin, bony face, a thatch of dark hair and intense black eyes that glared from under lowered brows. His nose had been broken and healed crooked, and one ear had a nick missing from it. His dark garb covered his throat and clung to a bony frame.

  Darian tried to ignore the dagger. "What's your master's name?"

  "None of your business."

  "Would it be Blade, by any chance?"

  The apprentice sniggered. "Naw, it wouldn't."

  Darian glanced at the sleeping man. "I'm looking for a retired assassin named Blade. Perhaps you could help me?"

  "The Queen's Blade? What would he be doing in a place like this?"

  "Do you know where he is?"

  "No one does, fool."

  "But you're an assassin..."

  "I ain't his keeper."

  Darian nodded, and the dagger pricked him under the chin. "Could you put that away? I'm not armed, and I won't bother your master."

  The youth's eyes darted, then he lowered the weapon and pushed it into a sheath on his belt. "Beat it then."

  Darian glanced at the comatose man again, wishing he would wake up and lift his head so he could see his face. This was the most likely prospect he had encountered, for the man was the boy's master and therefore an elder. If anything, he seemed a trifle young, but without seeing his face, Darian could not accurately judge his age. He turned to the boy.

  "May I buy you and your master a drink?"

  The apprentice looked suspicious. "Why?"

  "I have business to discuss with you, and him, if he wakes up."

  "You want a killing, you talk to me."

  Darian's brows rose. "You have your mark?"

  The boy tugged open his collar to reveal a black dagger tattoo at the base of his throat. He seemed too young to be a full-fledged assassin, and Darian had assumed that he was an apprentice. Darian lifted a hand to summon a serving girl, and moved towards the empty bench opposite the slumped man. The boy nodded, allowing him to sit, then slid onto the bench beside his former master. Darian ordered two ales and leant forward, placing his arms on the table.

  "I'll pay you to help me find the Queen's Blade."

  The boy frowned. "I ain't no messenger nor hound."

  "It's easy work, and well paid." Darian placed a heavy pouch on the table, and the boy's eyes narrowed. Darian went on, "What's more, you can do it in your spare time, and continue your other work as well. I reckon, since you're an assassin, that you'll have a better chance of finding him than me, don't you?"

  "Probably, but what do you want with him?"

  "I have a message for him from the Regent, that's all. It's very important that I give it to him. A matter of life and death. The Queen is in danger, and the Regent needs his help. Perhaps when he wakes up, you could ask your elder? He must be a wise man, maybe he knows where the Queen's Blade is?"

  "P'raps." The boy looked doubtful. "What's the pay?"

  Darian hefted the money pouch. "Handsome, I assure you. The quicker we find him, the more it will be. Wouldn't you like to ask your elder now?"

  The boy glanced at the sleeping man. "No."

  "All right, when he wakes up then." Darian supressed a spurt of impatience and schooled his features into a bland expression. The more the boy evaded him, the more certain he became that the older assassin must be the Queen's Blade. He was tempted to kick the man under the table, but controlled himself and sat back as the ales arrived. Since the conversation had dried up, he finished his beverage in a few gulps, then went to seek some fresh air outside. He was gone only a few minutes, but when he returned the assassins had vanished. Cursing, he scanned the shadows for them, but found only burly farmers and traders. He pushed his way to the back of the taproom, but if there was a door there, it was well hidden.

  Darian left the alehouse, cursing himself for leaving the assassins alone, even for a moment. Without doubt, the older man had been faking his stupor, for why would the boy rouse him and hurry him from the inn as soon as Darian had left? If the older man had been faking, then he must have something to hide. His face perhaps. It seemed to confirm all of Da
rian's suspicions, yet he could not be certain, even now.

  The older man might have been on the verge of waking when Darian left, and had departed without knowing about the messenger. If he was the Queen's Blade, surely he would want to hear the message from his wife? Did the fact that the Queen was in danger mean nothing to him? Darian had not been told any details of the danger, other than the strange message he had been ordered to give to the Lord Protector if he found him.

  Darian headed back towards the inn where he was boarding, passing a gloomy alley. An arm shot out of the shadows and grabbed his collar, hauled him into the darkness and sent him crashing into a wall. He yelped as his assailant spun him around to face a shadowy form. A dagger pressed against his windpipe, silencing his cry for help. The man was lost in shadows, but spoke in a soft, chilling tone that sent shivers down the messenger's spine.

  "Why do you seek the Queen's Blade?"

  "I - I have a message for him."

  "Give it to me."

  "Do you know where he is?"

  "Maybe." The man leant closer, and the dagger dug into Darian's throat. "I'm no callow youth to be awed by the clink of coin. Give me the message, or I cut out your tongue."

  Darian licked his lips, as certain now as he was ever going to be of the man's identity. "I'm glad to have found you, Lord Conash."

  Blade stepped back and sheathed the dagger. "The message, before I lose interest."

  "The Queen is in danger -"

  "Yes, I heard all that. What else?"

  "Only that if you don't want a Cotti prince to rule Jashimari, you must go to the palace and speak to the Regent."

  Blade snorted. "What makes her think I care?"

  "She needs your help -"

  "So?"

  "You're the Lord Protector -"

  "She should appoint another one," the elder assassin growled.

  "If you don't care, why did you want to know what the message was?"

  He shrugged. "Curiosity killed the cat. Now that you've told me, go back and tell her that I'm not interested in her problems."

  Darian pushed himself away from the wall and tugged his tunic straight. "Where's the boy?"

  "I sent him away. This doesn't concern him."

  "Will you come to the palace?" Darian asked.

  "No."

  "Don't you want to know why she sent you this message? How could a Cotti prince ever rule Jashimari?"

  "Only by imprisoning our half-Cotti Queen."

  "If that happened... Jashimari would rise up. The streets would run with blood!"

  Blade turned away. "That means nothing to a Cotti prince."

  "Or to you."

  The assassin swung back. "It's not my problem."

  "It is if you're the only one who can help, and the Regent would not have sent hundreds of messengers out searching for you unless she was desperate. Perhaps you're the only one who can stop this. If you don't, it makes you as bad as the Cotti."

  Blade stepped closer, his demeanour threatening. "You should watch your tongue, boy, lest it get you killed. Strange things happen in dark alleys."

  A chill ran down Darian's spine at the soft-spoken threat, but he shook his head. "You won't kill me; it's against your code."

  "I'm retired. I no longer have a code. What in Damnation does she think I can do that another cannot?"

  "Assassinate the Prince, perhaps?"

  "I'm not an assassin any more, boy."

  "Then come to Jondar and speak to her," Darian begged. "It can do no harm to listen, can it?"

  "She must have offered a big reward for bringing me in."

  "I'll share it with you."

  The assassin chuckled. "I have enough money."

  "She'll send others to find you, soldiers perhaps."

  "They will fail."

  "I found you."

  Blade shook his head. "No, I found you. You only suspected who I was in the tavern. Besides, dragging me to the palace in chains will not make me do as she wants. Quite the opposite, in fact, and she's not stupid enough to try."

  "Unless she thinks that what she has to tell you will change your mind." Sensing that he was failing to persuade the assassin, Darian hurried on, "Surely it would be better to tell her yourself that you won't help, then she'll not waste more time seeking to drag you back in chains. That would be quite humiliating, wouldn't it?"

  "She would not dare," Blade muttered, then sighed. "Actually, she probably would."

  "Then you'll go?"

  "I'll think about it."

  "I'll purchase another horse. We can leave at first light."

  "If I decide to go, it will be alone, boy, and when I choose, not before." Blade turned away.

  "It seemed urgent..."

  The assassin walked into the shadows, which swallowed him, then his soft voice drifted back to Darian. "Not to me."

  Chiana stared at the mountain of dresses spread across the bed and on the floor, fighting the urge to tear her hair. Kerra stood before the pile, arms folded, her lips set in a stubborn line.

  "If I am to be sent away, which I object to most strongly," the Queen stated, "I will take as much of my wardrobe as I deem necessary."

  "Kerra, you must travel light. It would take four wagons to haul all of this, plus what you have already packed." Chiana gestured to the pile of trunks stacked against the wall.

  "Then I shall have four wagons and five coaches for my handmaidens. I am the Queen; I cannot be expected to travel like a beggar."

  Chiana was tempted to point out that Kerra had never even seen a beggar, and so could have no idea how one travelled, but it certainly was not by coach. "Your father -"

  "Should let them kill his stupid wife! How can he care more for her than he does for me?"

  Chiana stepped back in shock. "You do not mean that. He does not care more for her, that is why he is sending you to safety."

  Kerra snorted. "From my uncle! Why would my uncle harm me?"

  "Your half-uncle, and he wants to rule your kingdom, that is why." Chiana had decided not to tell Kerra of Endor's ruse of wishing to visit her, fearing that the prospect of a handsome Cotti prince's interest might appeal to the naive, romantic girl. Instead she had told Kerra of Endor's plot to capture her, but the girl refused to believe Kerrion's suspicions. The prospect that anyone would wish her harm was too hard to bear, Chiana suspected.

  "Then you should send the army to defeat him. They will protect me." Kerra picked up a pink taffeta gown and threw it across the room.

  "We cannot, he has your stepmother."

  "Then he will threaten to kill her unless I am given to him."

  "But we cannot give you to him if we do not know where you are."

  "He will torture it from you."

  "I cannot tell him what I do not know."

  Kerra frowned. "He would really torture you?"

  "Perhaps."

  "Then you must come with me."

  Chiana smiled, glimpsing the sweet, kind-hearted girl she had once known. "I cannot. I must rule Jashimari."

  "You will not be able to do that from a dungeon."

  "He may torture me, but he cannot imprison me indefinitely without risking an uprising. The people will demand that I am freed, and he will not have sufficient reason to keep me locked up."

  Kerra sank down on the bed. "Would there not be an uprising if he imprisoned me?"

  "Certainly, but once he has you as his hostage he will control the army. Many will defect, which is why he is bringing the bulk of his army here to defend himself. Endor could declare himself Regent, or appoint another, but Jashimari has only one queen."

  Kerra glanced back at the mound of clothes. "I will have these packed into two more trunks."

  Chiana sighed. "Pack them then, but you may not be able to take them."

  At least supervising the packing kept Kerra busy, and Chiana would weather the tantrum on the day the Queen left rather than every day until then. The thought of Kerra's leaving frightened her. She dreaded that somet
hing may happen to the girl, and there was still no word of Blade. She had been unable to come up with an alternative plan, since placing Kerra in anyone else's care would invite disaster. Three tendays had passed, and Endor's arrival drew near. His entourage had been seen five days journey from Jondar. Endor, it did not surprise her to learn, was snake kin, and had a deadly sand viper as his familiar.

  Insash had suggested that, if all else failed, the Queen should be drugged and smuggled out unconscious, then kept in a somnolent state in the hope that Kerrion's wife would be found soon. Certain herbs could keep her tractable for a time, so she could not order her guards to do anything that might jeopardise her hiding place. Such herbs were not good for the Queen's health, however, and would only be used as a last resort. Every night since she had received Kerrion's letter, she had prayed that Blade would come to her aid. She longed for his reassuring presence and the deadly aura he exuded. Chiana made her way along the corridor that led to her rooms, lost in thought.

  Chapter Four

  Kerrion reined his black stallion to a cavorting halt and gestured to the soldiers behind him, pointing at the pale stone keep. The men dismounted and ran to invade the buildings, kicking open doors and chasing screaming servants from their path. Within moments, an enraged lord emerged, shouting obscenities as he demanded to know the reason for his property's invasion.

  Kerrion waited for the man to notice him. His golden armour glittered in the sun and his white satin cape and feathered crest fluttered in the breeze. He was aware that he made an awe inspiring sight, dressed in full royal regalia, a jewelled sword at his side. His stallion's jewel-encrusted caparison alone was worth more than the wealthiest estate. Lord Ortane did a comical double take when he spied the King, and fell to his knees. Kerrion rode closer, and the man raised his head to gaze up at him with flinching eyes.

  "I beg pardon, Majesty. I did not know it was you. If you had sent a messenger..." He glanced back at the ruckus behind him, looking confused. "You seek something?"