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

by T C Southwell

  "You bastard. I have nothing to tell you! When are you going to get it through your thick head?"

  He shrugged. "That's for the Prince to decide."

  Chiana let her head sag, coughing. It was just as well that she knew nothing, she reflected bitterly, for she would not be able to withstand Inka's pain. She summoned Blade's image into her mind to give herself courage, glad that he was free and praying that he remained so.

  Jadar swung around when the door to the King's study burst open, his eyes widening as Kerrion strode in. His visage was lined and haggard, his eyes burnt with a fanatical light, and dust filmed his wrinkled clothes. Two servants followed the King, one of whom picked up Kerrion's cloak as he shed it, the other poured a cup of wine and offered it to Kerrion. Jadar put down the papers he had been tidying and bowed as Kerrion took the cup and dismissed the servants with a wave of his hand. He downed the wine in a couple of gulps and wiped his chin, his hand rasping over several days' growth of beard.

  Never had the chief advisor seen his king in such a state of disarray and despair. Kerrion refilled the goblet and walked around his desk to sink into the chair, unbuckling his sword with a curse when it impeded him. It fell with a clatter, shedding sand. Jadar wondered if he should summon another manservant to tend to the monarch, who looked in dire need of food and a bath. Kerrion's brooding look boded ill for anyone who attempted to tend to his comforts, however, so the advisor stood before the desk, waiting to be addressed or dismissed. After a few minutes of contemplation, Kerrion looked up at him.

  "We failed. He escaped during the night. A pox on him and all my brothers!"

  "Chaymin?"

  Kerrion nodded. "He must have known we were watching him. His familiar never left the estate. Five days ago, one of the sentries I posted around the estate was found dead, and the spy I sent to make enquiries was told that Chaymin left during the night, with a small force of armed men. By the time we found the sentry, the desert had swallowed his tracks."

  "That is ill news indeed, Sire."

  Kerrion banged the goblet down. "It is catastrophic, Jadar! He was our only hope of finding Minna. I have wasted a tenday watching Rothgan's estate, for nothing."

  "What will you do now?"

  The King rubbed his face. "Continue the search, what else? I am certainly not giving up."

  "But you have already searched every conceivable place around Jadaya."

  "Then I will search them again, and go further afield. I shall search until I find her, dead or alive. And if she is dead, god help those who killed her." Kerrion took a gulp of wine, his hand shaking. "What news from Jashimari?"

  "Your daughter remains at large, Sire. The troops you dispatched are searching for her, but without success."

  A faint smile curled the king's lips. "I told you they would not find her. Endor is a fool if he thinks he will."

  "Endor thinks that Regent Chiana knows something. He is torturing her. The population of Jondar is outraged, and beat at the palace gates, demanding the Prince's death."

  Kerrion rubbed his brow. "That is worse than I thought. The idiot will start an uprising if he is not careful."

  "Or a Jashimari lord will send an assassin to kill the Prince."

  Kerrion frowned. "I wish someone would, if I knew it would not put my wife in danger. But it will not win her freedom. Then Trelath would probably demand that Kerra become his captive instead. Anyway, I doubt an assassin would succeed; the palace is a fortress in many respects. When I was held prisoner there, an assassin was sent to kill me, and he used a secret tunnel to gain entry to my room. But that tunnel has since been blocked up."

  He paused, looking pensive. "The only man who could succeed is the Regent's husband, but he is retired and with Kerra. If Endor is torturing Chiana, he is looking for trouble with Blade. Have a letter drawn up, warning Endor that harming the Jashimari Regent will do him no good, and possibly endanger his life."

  Kerrion's hand tightened on the cup. "I wish I could order his arrest and have him flogged, not send him a bloody warning. Damn him! And Trelath! Damn the whole stinking lot of them!" The King's visage flushed with rage, and he stared at the goblet hard enough to melt the gold.

  Jadar hesitated. "Your sons have been asking to see you."

  Kerrion ran a hand through his dusty hair. "I must see them. Send a servant to prepare a bath and fresh clothes, then have a meal sent to my rooms."

  Jadar bowed. "Yes, Sire."

  After the advisor left, Kerrion drained the cup and rose to refill it. His limbs were leaden with fatigue, his bones ached and his eyes stung from lack of sleep. Tendays in the sun had deepened his golden tan to bronze, and lightened his tawny hair. All the exercise, plus his lack of appetite and the worry that would not let him sleep, had melted away the excess flesh he had put on around his middle over the years.

  Long forgotten muscles had re-emerged from beneath the layer of fat to ridge his belly and bulge his arms like a youth. He turned to study himself in the mirror, barely recognising the gaunt, bearded face that stared back at him with burning eyes. He wondered if his sons would recognise him, and dreaded their questions, trying to formulate answers while he had time.

  The four days he and his men had spent living in the desert near Rothgan's estate had been a nightmare of blistering heat and freezing cold, snakes and scorpions. Two horses had died of some unknown disease, a man had been bitten by a burrowing sand snake, and a dog soldier's familiar had become sick, forcing him to send a small group of men home to tend it. When he had learnt of Chaymin's escape, he had wanted to burn Rothgan's estate to the ground, then execute the lord and his entire family for treason. His generals had persuaded him that the lord was more useful alive, however, since they now knew he was in league with the princes, and could be watched.

  Kerrion tried not to imagine the deprivations Minna suffered. The thought of her ill treatment sent him into a rage. Already he had wrecked his tent twice in fits of fury brought on by dreams of her bound and hurt, hungry and thirsty, begging him to find her before it was too late. The nightmares filled his sleep with horror, and he tried to stay awake until he was too exhausted to dream. Since he had received the lock of hair and instructions from Chaymin, he had heard nothing of her well-being. He did not even know if she was still alive.

  Kerrion turned as a manservant entered and announced that his bath was ready, dismissing the man with a nod. He longed to be back out there, searching for Minna, and only extreme fatigue forced him to eat and rest first.

  Minna sighed and snuggled closer to the warm, furry body that provided her with a soft cushion, running her hands over sleek muscles under a glossy pelt. Shista's rumbling purr brought the warmth to her heart that was a familiar's gift, without which she would not have survived. The shackles had callused her wrists, and the hard floor bruised her hips and shoulders. She had piled up the sand that covered the floor to try to make a softer bed, with only slight success, and the flies that the latrine bucket attracted plagued her.

  At night, squadrons of blood-sucking insects droned around the room, waking her from her uneasy doze. Her stench sickened her, and her misery sometimes found outlet in weeping, whereupon Shista would lick the tears from her cheeks. She dreamt of the day when Kerrion would find her, and the joy it would bring. The food the boy brought did not agree with her, making her queasy when she forced herself to eat it, and her flesh had melted from her bones. The boy still had not spoken, and she was convinced that he had no tongue.

  Shista stayed close, and provided what comfort she could, holding the night time cold at bay with her warmth. Often, the wet rasp of the cat's tongue on her cheek woke Minna in the morning. The sand cat lived on whatever little animals dwelt in the dying oasis, and occasionally brought a freshly killed rabbit or bird to try to tempt her friend's appetite. If Minna had been able to cook it, she would have accepted the offerings.

  At least Trelath had not returned to torment her, and that could only mean that the King was doing as he was
told. She wondered what had been demanded of him, and prayed that he would find her, for she doubted Trelath would ever release her. The deep rumble of Shista's purr lulled her drowsy mind, and she drifted off to sleep again, leaning against the sand cat's lithe, tawny length.

  Blade stared at the stained ceiling, wondering how much longer he could tolerate this enforced lethargy. For four days, he had studied the various stains on the walls, or listened to the Queen's idle chatter. The girl had proven to be a lively conversationalist, and well educated, but many of the subjects she chose to discuss did not interest him. When this happened, he ignored her, which did not please the young queen.

  Blade tried to alleviate the boredom with training, and told her to watch the house across the street and learn all she could about the occupants, as if it was the home of her target. When she had done this, he had told her to pick one as her potential victim and come up with a plan to assassinate him without being discovered. This had kept Kerra quiet for several time-glasses, to the assassin's relief, until she had regaled him with her plan. Although reasonably intelligent, he had picked it apart in a few minutes. When she challenged him to better it, he had put forward one with which she could find no fault, much to her frustration.

  The shadows outside lengthened as dusk fell, and Blade, although trained to be infinitely patient, was eager to leave. The danger of the healer's father discovering them was past, and the proprietor assured him that no one had come looking for him. His ribs were considerably improved, the bruising almost gone, and he only had an occasional twinge if he twisted or breathed in deeply. The time spent in idleness now worked against him, denied him vital exercise and decreased his fitness. Blade sat up and stretched, turning to Kerra, who sat next to the window, leaning on the ledge and watching the people walk by below.

  "Come, we are leaving."

  She looked up, her face brightening. "To Cotti?"

  "Yes."

  "At last."

  Within a few minutes of making his decision, Blade strode from the inn, his bag of possessions slung over his shoulder. After collecting the horses from the livery, he headed down the street that led to the southern gate, detouring to the dress shop, where he purchased the two dresses, a wig and some cosmetics. As dusk sent long fingers of shadow questing across the land, he led the Queen into the wooded region to the south of the city. They travelled by moonlight, and stopped at around midnight to camp amongst the trees, eating cold rations before rolling up in their blankets.

  The forest was made up of wir trees, which gave off a pungent, acerbic scent and dropped fluffy golden flowers in a feathery rain. Kerra seemed to find the marrin birds that lived there in flocks fascinating. They filled the air with weird fluting calls and hopped from branch to branch, using the claws that tipped their useless wings to cling like apes. Blade was glad the strange forest distracted the girl, giving him a rest from her girlish banter.

  Chapter Fourteen

  Blade glanced up, squinting against the sun. The bird that hovered high above had been following them since they had left the city five days ago. They travelled along the steep, narrow trail that led through the mountains, and would reach the desert on the far side by the following day. The Queen remained oblivious to the bird, her face set in a perpetual scowl, her complaints about the rigours and the food only silenced by Blade's terse command.

  As he had expected, the novelty of the adventure had worn off, and the discomforts had become too much for the young queen to bear in silence. He had borne her carping for only a few time-glasses, and she had sulked ever since he had told her to be quiet in a manner that brooked no argument. Having spent most of his life in cities, either on the streets or in taverns, he did not enjoy the hardships any more than she did. He had no idea how to cook a meal, and the fare had consisted of journey bread and dried meat purchased at the towns through which they had passed. They had spent two of the four nights at inns, but when they had been forced to camp beside the road they had endured cold, miserable nights. It reminded him of his youth, and he disliked the memories it evoked, which put him into a foul mood.

  The trail ahead levelled off, and they rounded a rocky outcrop to find a sheltered grotto extending into the mountainside. A copse of large-leafed, grey-barked nahin trees filled it, and a stream gurgled from the rocks to drain away across the road. Blade guided his horse off the trail and stopped beside a well-used campsite amongst the trees, whose dense canopy of dark foliage formed a private shelter carpeted with soft leaves. This was the only place for miles around that offered a little shelter and space to get off the narrow trail. So dense was their foliage that nahin trees could even provide shelter from light rain for a few time-glasses.

  Several parties could camp here, and there was grazing for the horses. Blade sighed as he slid from the saddle, stretched his legs and rubbed his posterior with a grimace. Unsaddling his mount, he removed its bridle and put a halter on it, then led it to the stream to drink. He tethered it so it could graze and walked back to his saddle to unpack some food.

  Kerra tended to her steed with ill-disguised resentment, clearly missing the servants she was used to having around to do all the onerous tasks. The assassin had made it abundantly clear from the outset that he had no intention of helping her with her chores, other than to tell her how to do them. The Queen dumped her saddle on the ground and led her horse over to the stream, leaving Blade beside the ring of stones used for campfires.

  The assassin glanced around for the bird, finding the sky empty. When he had first seen it, he had thought it might be a spy, but it had stayed with them ever since, and had not left to report to a human. Now he was certain of what it was, and was curious about its species. He found it perched high in a puffwood tree beside the road, but it was silhouetted against the afternoon sun, and he could make out no details. Putting away the piece of dried meat he had been chewing, he rose and headed into the woods, passing Kerra as she tethered her horse.

  "I am going to find firewood," he informed her. "You find some too."

  Kerra pulled a face as he turned away, but he did not bother to show that he had seen it. Her childishness amused and annoyed him in turns, but right now he was not in the mood for either. He walked deeper into the copse, gathering a bundle of dry wood. The pickings were slim, forcing him to search further afield. He did not like letting the girl out of his sight, but they had passed no other travellers on the road that day, and if he was right about the bird, she needed to be alone for a while.

  When he had collected enough wood, he set the pile down and took the opportunity to do some much needed exercise. If he was forced to protect the Queen, he needed to be fitter than he had ever been, yet he had been unable to do much exercise at all. The prospect of protecting the girl irritated him. He was not a bodyguard, and his skills were not intended for anything other than self-defence. Setting aside his disgruntlement, he bent to press his forehead to his knees and stretch his tendons, easing their stiffness after the day's ride.

  After loosening his joints, he performed a series of slow, precise movements that used every muscle. Soon he warmed, and stripped off his jacket, hanging it on a tree. The exercises demanded perfect balance and focus, training his muscles for the rigours of swift movements with slow ones. Many of the graceful motions were used in the Dance of Death, only in this version he never left the ground. When the sweat coursed down him, he stopped, surprised to find that he was still quite fit. He stripped off his shirt and went to the stream to wash in the icy water, emerging refreshed, his skin tingling and muscles jumping. Collecting the fire wood, he headed back to the campsite.

  Blade stopped at the edge of the clearing and glanced around for the girl. He found her on the far side, gazing up into the lower branches of a spreading tree. The bird sat there, studying the young Queen in the gathering dusk with fierce, pale blue eyes. Its species surprised him, for he had been expecting a hawk or kestrel. This raptor was easily identifiable from its distinctive plumage. He leant against a
tree and smiled at the young queen's tentative attempts to coax the bird down.

  The beautiful, deadly direfalcon lived almost entirely on snakes. Its pure white breast contrasted with the silver-grey feathers of its back and wings, the tips of which looked as if they had been dipped in black ink. A black stripe offset its blue eyes much like a robber's mask, blending into the cruelly curved beak. Razor sharp talons tipped its long black toes, and its forked tail was tipped with black as well. The raptor's wingspan exceeded even that of the desert eagle, but it was more lightly built. In spite of this, tales of them carrying off yearling lambs abounded amongst shepherds. The direfalcon suited Kerra, Blade mused, matching her quick temper and superior ways, and he guessed that her compassion would not extend to snake kin.

  Blade sauntered to the campsite and dumped the firewood into the ring of stones, making her spin around with a gasp. She raised a finger to her lips.

  "Hush, you will frighten him away. Is not he beautiful?"

  Blade glanced up at the bird, finding that she was right about its sex. It had the narrow red stripe across its throat that indicated that it was a male. This marking had also led to its being called the cutthroat falcon. The bird stared back at him without fear, as he had expected.

  "Do not worry, he is not going to leave now." Blade squatted down to arrange the wood, noticing that Kerra had not gathered any.

  "What do you mean?" she demanded.

  "Are you a moron, girl? He has been following us since we left Dramali. He is your familiar."

  Kerra turned to stare at the bird again, raising a hand to her mouth. "A direfalcon?"

  "Indeed."

  "What do I do?"

  "Nothing. When he is ready he will come to you. Until then, just try to think good thoughts."