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

by T C Southwell

  "My wife, Lord Ortane. Trelath holds her hostage, and I intend to reclaim her unharmed."

  "You think she is here?"

  "She could be here as easily as anywhere else. You are a friend of Trelath."

  Ortane ducked his head. "The Prince has many friends. Who would dare to be his enemy?"

  "If you have a gripe against Trelath, now is the time to air it. He has found immense disfavour in my eyes. Any cause for censure or punishment would be welcome."

  "Alas, Majesty, I have nothing against Trelath."

  "More fool you, My Lord. Anyone seeking high favour with me would do well to air a multitude of complaints against Trelath right now, real or imagined."

  Ortane looked pained. "Trelath has many friends, as I have said, and a long reach."

  "Longer than mine?"

  "Perhaps crueller than yours, Majesty. You are renowned for your kindness and charity. Trelath is known for his vindictiveness."

  Kerrion shifted in his saddle. "So, my kindness works against me now, does it? Beware, My Lord, for if any harm should come to my wife, I shall become known as the cruellest king to ever rule Cotti. Any who do not aid me in my time of need will rue the day they turned their back on their King. I may not be able to harm my half-brothers without legal cause, but my lords may find themselves as desert nomads or worse."

  Ortane cringed. "If I could be of help I would, Majesty. I swear it. I am no traitor to you. My conscience is clear."

  "Then you will take your men and search for my wife. Every village, holding, keep and town. Any whisper your spies hear, every rumour or tale of my wife that reaches your ears had better reach mine within the day. The man who finds her I shall cover in gold. The man who brings her to me alive and well, I shall elevate to any rank or title he wishes and bestow a fortune of land and riches upon him. The man who aids Trelath in his despicable venture will know the full force of my wrath, and suffer the cruellest execution ever devised."

  Ortane rose to his feet and bowed. "I shall do my utmost, Majesty. I give you my oath."

  "See that you do, for if you speak empty platitudes to my face and do nothing behind my back, you will also feel the full force of my ire. And do not allow the tales that my half-brothers spread, that I have no stomach for killing, to fool you. If my wife dies, the streets of Jadaya will run with blood, and some of it will be noble."

  Ortane's dark gold skin paled, and he opened his mouth to reply, but Kerrion's eyes were drawn to his men returning empty handed from the keep, their faces downcast. The King gestured, and they ran to their mounts. Kerrion tightened his reins, making the stallion cavort and prance away.

  "Pray, Lord Ortane," Kerrion called over his shoulder. "Pray that I find her. Pray that she is returned to me, or pray for your misbegotten soul. I am my father's son, make no mistake on that, and the only person who can stem my rage is my wife. If you are in league with Trelath, better to take your life now than face me later."

  Ortane watched the King ride away, frowning. The choice was a cruel one, for although he was not Trelath's cohort, he knew well of the Prince's penchant for confiscating valuables from lesser lords. The harshness of the King's voice had sent a spasm of unease through him, however. His monarch's gaunt, strained visage was set in grim lines that boded ill for any who did not obey him now. The royal figure dwindled, a desert eagle drifting down to perch upon Kerrion's shoulder. Ortane noted that the troops who accompanied the King were his best, usually kept at the palace to guard royal persons.

  Ten rode with great sand cats loping beside their mounts, an unusual number and all doubtless officers, for those with powerful or dangerous familiars rose quickly through the ranks. Behind them were twenty who seemed to have no beast kin, but that was because they each rode a stallion that would kill to protect them. A further thirty had eagles or hawks perched on their shoulders or wrists, and behind them, perhaps most forbidding of all, were at least a hundred dog soldiers. The huge war dogs stood thigh-high, and, once unleashed, were apt to go into a blood frenzy and tear their enemies apart.

  During the war with Jashimari, Ortane had witnessed their fury loosed upon an unsuspecting Jashimari village. The result had been revolting, and he had reprimanded the troops' commander afterwards, who had assured him that the dogs needed sport. Ortane had been glad when the war ended. He had not enjoyed his stint in the army, and preferred a peaceful existence on his estate. He sighed and glanced at the sky, where somewhere his falcon flew to hunt. If the King found the culprit who had kidnapped his wife, Ortane did not doubt that the dogs of war would find sport once more.

  Kerrion gazed across the hot golden sands with narrowed eyes. The sun burnt down upon his armour, turning it into an oven, and his sweat-soaked clothes chafed him. For three tendays he had scoured the holds around Jadaya. His troops had searched every oasis and village, every keep, harem and watering hole without finding so much as a clue. Trelath had planned the kidnap well, and Minna-Satu had vanished like water into the sand. So had Trelath and Chaymin, one of his brothers. Shista had vanished with the Queen, before anyone had noticed her absence and could saddle a horse and follow her. The trackers had lost her trail in the stones of a dry creek bed.

  Shista would find Minna, and perhaps keep her from harm, but if Trelath chose, he could easily kill the sand cat too. Kerrion had been forced to lie to his sons, unwilling to burden them with the truth. He had told them that Minna had been taken ill and sent to a place of healing, but that she would recover. For the first time in many years, he found himself wishing that the Jashimari assassin was here. Although he could not forget Blade, and had been saddened to learn that the assassin had vanished after slaying Armin and saving Kerra, he had not wished for his return until now.

  Kerra's disappearance would put Minna in great danger, but Trelath knew that if he killed her, he would lose all hope of forcing Kerrion to do anything. Torture was well within his abilities, however, and Kerrion dreaded the thought of Minna suffering. He could strike back with cruelties of his own, if he could bear the burden of guilt that would come of it. Trelath had a mother, several wives, sisters and daughters, all of whom could be executed without raising a judge's eyebrow, for they were only women.

  Trelath would not care, however, so Kerrion must strike at his sons. Killing a prince's son was a grave crime indeed, but Kerrion could weather the storm if he must. The thought of putting innocents to the sword, even a traitor's spawn, brought a bad taste to his mouth, however. There were other ways, there must be. He had been searching for three tendays now. Perhaps it was time to return to Jadaya and find out if there had been any word from the many other search parties he had sent out. Perhaps a messenger bird had not found him.

  Minna tried to wriggle into a more comfortable position, the hard sandy floor digging into her hip. Her hands were shackled in front of her and chained to a ring in the floor, preventing her from standing up. Shista lay panting nearby, her eyes gleaming as she kept watch. As far as Minna could tell, the sand cat had not eaten or slept since she had arrived. She glanced at the hunk of dry bread and pitcher of stale water that were her only source of sustenance. After a few days, even the stale bread had tasted good, for there was never enough to satisfy her hunger.

  The only person she had seen since she woke here was a skinny Jashimari slave boy who brought her food and water. He had not spoken to her, despite her efforts to engage him, and she wondered if he possessed a tongue. From the crumbling buildings visible through the single window, she deduced that she was being kept in an abandoned keep. A few spindly palm trees shaded broken walls and sagging roofs. Beyond them, the desert stretched away to the horizon.

  The room in which she was imprisoned must have once been a slave pen, judging by the rings and chains on the floors and walls. At night, she shivered in her thin gown, even though Shista lay close to share her warmth. The sand cat had done everything in her power to comfort her friend, but when Minna had tried to send her for help, Shista would not leave. This was a com
mon trait of familiars, who hated to be separated from their friends, especially in times of danger. A winged familiar would have been far more willing to go for help, due to the speed with which it could accomplish the journey, but it would take Shista many days to reach Jadaya. Instead of finding help, the cat would try to protect her, and, although a formidable guardian, she was no match for men with swords.

  Shista looked up and growled deep in her chest. Minna turned to follow her gaze as heavy footsteps came from the passage outside. A man filled the doorway, and for an instant Minna's heart leapt, despite Shista's warning. His resemblance to Kerrion was remarkable. Another of the King's half-brothers, but Minna did not recognise him. She met his eyes with a steady gaze and waited for him to speak.

  The Prince glanced around with a mocking smile. "I trust your quarters are comfortable?" He chuckled. "Kerrion is tearing the desert apart searching for you, but he will not find you."

  Minna bit back a cutting retort. Sometimes silence was the best weapon.

  He smirked. "Allow me to introduce myself. I am Prince Trelath." He tugged at his pale blue tunic, frowning. "Do you not want to know why you are here? Are you not going to beg for mercy?"

  "No."

  "How very courageous of you. It would not do you any good, of course. You will never see your husband again, I promise. As soon as he has done as we wish, you will die."

  Shista growled, and Trelath smirked again. "Your familiar too, of course. Perhaps I shall kill her first, very slowly, and you can watch. That should be most amusing."

  "Kerrion will kill you."

  "No he will not. That would be high treason."

  "If I die, he will not care. He will take you and a few of your traitorous brothers with him. He told me so, long ago."

  "And you believed him?" Trelath laughed. "Only a woman could be so stupid. Anyway, he will not know you are dead. The vultures will pick the flesh from your bones, and he will never find them."

  "Then why do you not kill me now?"

  "I might need you for a while, to provide titbits to spur him into action, such as fingers or ears. They will have to be fairly fresh, do you not think?" He sniggered. "For now, a lock of hair will suffice, I think."

  A soldier stepped around the Prince and approached her, drawing a knife from his belt. Shista leapt to her feet and charged in a crouch, her battle wail filling the room. The soldier jumped back, and Shista barred the way, her fur bristling.

  Trelath said, "If you do not control her, I will kill her now."

  Minna called the cat to her and held her at bay with a mental command while the soldier hacked off a lock of her hair. When he was finished, Trelath departed with a mocking wave, leaving her to slump against the sand cat as bitter tears ran down her cheeks. The thought of Kerrion's anguish tore her heart. The prospect of watching Shista die filled her with cold dread, and she prayed that Kerrion would find her before it was too late.

  Chiana walked along the echoing passage that led to her rooms, numb with fatigue and worry. It was late; she had spent half the night poring over reports of unrest and riots that the rumours of Endor's intent had sparked. She had had to despatch orders to outlying officials, directing them to pacify the crowds and try to dispel the rumours, many of which were far worse than the truth. Still there was no word from her messengers, and she despaired of any of them ever finding Blade.

  The guards outside her rooms snapped to attention at her approach, opening the doors to admit her into the dark sanctity of her private apartment. Here at last, she could find a little respite from the clamouring of lords and advisors, and the endless stream of petitions pouring in from minor officials, mayors and judges. All of them demanded solutions to their various problems, which the current situation had sparked. Although she had delegated a lot of the work to her senior advisor, she still had to do the bulk of it, or at least approved it, which meant reading all the replies and signing them. Often she did not agree with the replies her advisors supplied, which sometimes led to disputes, but usually she just did it herself. She sighed and picked up the candle beside the door to light her way to her bedroom, where a hot bath awaited her in the curtained alcove. Two maids would be there to help her disrobe and bathe, but at least they would be silent if she wished.

  A time-glass of peace and quiet would help her to relax before she went to bed, then perhaps she could sleep, something that was becoming an increasingly rare luxury. Considering how her head ached from the stress of the day, she might resort to the herbal drink that Verdan, the palace healer, had made to help her sleep. A single lamp on the far wall cast a golden glow over some of the sitting room's vast area, but most of it was dark.

  Out of the corner of her eye, she glimpsed something beside the curtains that covered a window. Her heart seemed to leap into her mouth, and she stopped, her blood chilling. A motionless black-clad figure stood there. The candle holder slipped from her fingers and hit the floor with a crash. The room was plunged into almost total darkness, then the doors burst open, letting in a flood of light from the corridor. Her guards rushed in, their spears ready and their eyes darting about for a foe.

  "Are you all right, Regent?"

  Chiana peered at the curtains, but there was nothing there, or had she imagined the figure in the first place? Were her tired eyes playing tricks on her? She waved a hand at the guards.

  "I am all right. I just dropped the candle, that is all."

  One of the soldiers picked up her candle and relighted it from the sconce outside, then returned it to her with a bow. She thanked him, and the men went back to their post. Once more the room was plunged into semi-darkness, and she stared at the curtains, waiting for her eyes to adjust. The shadowy figure became visible once more, standing there as if he had not moved at all, which, if he was who she thought he was, was quite likely.

  A huge lump of joy threatened to suffocate her, and she gulped, stepping forward on shaking legs to confirm her suspicion. As she approached, the candlelight revealed the cold, pale visage of the man who had haunted her dreams for the past fifteen years. Her eyes roamed over the sculpted features so dear to her. The narrow, high-bridged nose, fine dark brows, sensuous lips and jet hair tied at his nape with a thong, stark against his pale skin.

  When she met his icy, silver-grey eyes, she received a familiar jolt that sent thrills down her spine. Strange, beautiful eyes, as frigid and pale as a midwinter sky, the irises ringed with dark grey. He remained immobile, watching her as a cat might observe a fat mouse straying into his reach, his face expressionless, his arms folded. Becoming aware that her mouth was open, she closed it, but could not tear her eyes from his face. He broke his motionless stance and glanced away into the darkness.

  "Blade..." Her voice shook as disbelief, shock and intense joy warred within her.

  "Hello, Chiana."

  His soft voice seemed to caress her name in the seductive way that was so unaffected, and totally at odds with his menacing demeanour. She crossed the space that separated them in three light strides and flung her arms around his neck. He stiffened in surprise, then his hands flashed up to grip her wrists and try to tug her arms free. She clung to him with all her strength, the candle almost singeing her eyebrows. With her face pressed to the warm skin of his neck, she could smell the faint scent of wood smoke that clung to his hair, a legacy of taprooms.

  A wave of intense sadness and joy engulfed her together, making her smile while her eyes burnt with tears. The bittersweet joy of his presence was almost too much to bear. A great weight lifted off her, and warm strength rushed into her, as if he was the font from which her life force sprang. He gave up trying to free himself, although he could easily have done so had he chosen to bruise her. She clung to him for as long as she dared, until his impatient sigh forced her to release him and step back.

  "My Lord."

  Chiana lowered her eyes and sank down in a far deeper curtsy than she had ever accorded Kerrion. As she rose on trembling legs, she noted the stiff bow he gran
ted her, then put the candle on a table when her hand shook. The rush of adrenalin and emotions his presence brought made her weak and giddy. She had almost forgotten the affect he had on her. Dozens of questions clamoured to be asked, and she fought the need to burble.

  "How did you get in here? How long have you been here?"

  He shrugged. "Does it matter?"

  "No, I suppose not."

  Chiana turned to light another lamp, longing to study him. The extra light made him squint and frown, but revealed more familiar particulars. He seemed to be wearing the same tight black leather outfit she had first seen him in, with its fine chain mail that protected his torso and the high collar that guarded his neck. He did not look like a forty-five-year-old man, but one of no more than thirty. Nothing about him had changed. He might have stepped straight out of her memories. She moved closer, hardly able to believe her eyes. He still possessed a boy's smooth pale skin, unblemished by adolescent pimples or the sprouting of a beard.

  The Cotti had denied him that when they had stripped him of his manhood at twelve. Yet he was still a man, even though he lacked most of the masculine traits that coarsened the average male visage. In fact, it only heightened his strange allure, and had made him the deadliest assassin to ever walk the streets of Jashimari. Only she, Queen Minna-Satu, Kerrion and his former mentor, Talon, knew that the secret of Blade's success was that he had lured many of his victims to their death disguised as a woman. She had often tried to imagine what he would look like in his disguise, and found the image disconcerting.

  Blade sighed and walked over to a table to pour himself a cup of wine from the bottle placed there for her nightcap. Realising that she had been staring at him for some time, lost in thought, she pulled herself together.

  "You have not changed."

  "Shamsara's curse."

  The speech she had prepared for their first meeting had deserted her, leaving her floundering for something intelligent to say. She longed to embrace him again, if only to reassure herself that he was real, but dared not. His cool remoteness, so prevalent throughout their relationship, was more marked than ever. He sipped the wine and gave her a measuring look that brought a hot flush to her cheeks and made her want to straighten her hair. Blade sighed and glanced away.