Minna gave a little laugh. "Of course, Blade would never run out of daggers."
Kerra squirmed towards the assassin's boots, but before she could reach them, a bandit approached, ending their contortions. He eyed them, then bent to run his hands over Blade's boots, finding the weapon after a fairly long search. Straightening, he tucked the dagger into his belt and glared down at the assassin, then kicked him in the gut. Blade curled up with a groan as the man marched back to his companions.
Minna asked, "Are you all right, My Lord?"
"I have been better."
"I said they were watching us."
Blade grimaced, his gut aching from the blow, and let his head sag onto the soft sand. The freezing air chilled his skin, making him shiver, and the prospect of a painful death in the morning chilled his blood even more. He had seen the results of Cotti torture more than once, and found the mere sight of the victims nauseating. The prospect of being a victim filled him with dread, and he twisted his hands again, unable to accept such a terrible fate.
Shamsara had said that he may fail, and now it seemed certain. Perhaps the Idol had seen this eventuality, and knew he would not have to keep his promise even before he made it. Although he had failed to return Minna to Kerrion, he had freed her. Now the King would be able to find her, provided Trelath did not find her first. His only consolation was that if Kerrion did find them, Endor's plan would fail and Chiana would send his apprentice to kill the princes.
Once more fate had ill-used him, tempted him into this insane quest that may save the kingdoms from war, but would result in his death. Yet death had rejected him many times already, and there was a slim chance that it might again. He did not seek to avoid death itself, he had often courted a swift end to his pointless existence, but the pain involved in such a demise turned his blood cold. He only regretted that he would not find out if Shamsara would keep his promise. His exertions warmed him, and the cord cut into his skin, making it slippery with blood. Ignoring the pain, he persevered, straining and tugging at the leather thong until Minna-Satu frowned at him.
"Stop it, Blade. You are only hurting yourself."
Blade relaxed, biting his lip. "Like a cat in a trap, I would chew off my own hand to escape."
"I would hope that you are not as stupid as a wild animal. You cannot get free, and you do not know for certain that they intend to torture you to death. You are merely guessing."
He twisted his head to look at her. "I do not have to guess, My Queen. I know what they intend."
"Then pray that you are wrong, My Lord."
Blade gave up his futile struggle, privately agreeing with the Elder Queen, and shivered in the chill air as he waited for the dawn of his last day.
Chapter Twenty One
The sun rose with its usual suddenness, gilding the tops of the dunes and turning the blowing sand into a golden haze. As the light increased, their captors broke up their little party, and the green-eyed woman led them over. Her gaze flicked over the women, dismissing them as unimportant, and came to rest on the assassin.
"I'm Asrah, leader of this group. You've killed six of my men, and the rest want you dead, but I have yet to decide. Before I do, I want some questions answered. If you refuse, you'll die." She paused, studying Blade. "You claim to be Jashimari, but your skin is the wrong colour. Are you brown from the sun?"
"No, it is a skin dye. It washes off with soap."
She turned to the man beside her. "Untie him, and bring me soap and water."
The bandit cut Blade's bonds, and he sat up, inspecting his bloody wrists. The woman tossed him a water skin, a cloth and a bar of hard soap. "Prove it."
Blade washed his face, taking the opportunity to scrub the golden dye off his arms and chest as well. If he was going to die, he did not wish to look like a Cotti. Asrah squatted down to inspect him. In the daylight she looked older, in her thirties, her skin roughened by the sun.
"So, a full blooded Jashimari. We do not see many of your kind, except for slaves and our mothers. You killed six skilled warriors and wounded two more. What are you?"
Blade peeled off the leather patch that hid his mark, and Asrah's eyes widened.
"An assassin. I did not know assassins were fighters."
"We are not."
"You could have fooled me."
"We know how to kill, not fight."
Asrah glanced at the queens. "And these? Half breeds?"
"Only Kestra. Milla is pure blooded. Kestra is her daughter."
"How did you three come to be out here?"
"I was sent to free Milla by her brother in Jashimari, and Kestra came too."
Asrah's eyes flicked over him. "A strange mission for an assassin."
He shrugged. "I also killed the Cotti lord who enslaved and abused her."
"Why did her brother wait so long?"
"He thought she was dead, then he heard that she still lived."
Asrah glanced at Kerra. "Only one child?"
"Only one daughter. Her sons had been sold."
"And the familiars?"
Blade glanced at Shista, the only flaw in his story. "She kept the cat hidden."
Asrah pondered his words, then ordered the men to free Minna and give her the soap and water, watching her wash off the dye and remove the blond wig. When the queen had finished her transformation, Asrah looked thoughtful, and pulled one of Blade's daggers from her belt to examine it.
"From your prowess last night, I assume that you are a good assassin."
His lips curled in a slight, mocking smile. "I am."
"Then I will make a bargain with you. Normally I would sell the women and kill you, but I have a use for you."
"You want someone dead."
"Yes. If you succeed, I will free all of you. Unfortunately, one of my men claims blood fee, because you killed his brother. You will have to fight him."
Blade glanced at the men who stood around them. "I am not a warrior. I would rather not fight anyone."
The men chuckled, and Asrah growled, "You are not being given a choice. Fight him, or die."
"I am not a fighter," Blade repeated.
"Well, he wants you dead, and I am going to let him try. How you stay alive is your affair."
A huge, dark-haired, brown-eyed man stepped forward, glaring at the assassin. "I am going to kill you, you murdering bastard."
Blade turned to Asrah. "His brother would have killed me, given the chance, so how am I a murderer?"
She shrugged. "If you had been killed, your brother could have demanded blood fee. It is our way. Vengeance is our creed. We make the Cotti pay for what they did to us and our mothers."
"Yet you sell the women you capture into slavery. Why do you not free them?"
"And do what with them? We're nomads, few women would wish to stay with us, and besides, we only attack Cotti."
Blade nodded. "I see. If I accept your offer, and should I be killed while assassinating your father, will you take Milla and Kestra to Jadaya?"
"You're astute. But why Jadaya?"
"They have friends there, who will take them home."
"I'll take them to within a day's walk of the city."
He inclined his head, glancing at Minna. "Fair enough."
"But first, you must survive Imbar's blood fee."
"You say you're going to let him try to kill me, but what happens if I kill him?"
She shrugged. "Nothing, unless he asks you not to."
"He may not get the chance."
"You're confident, assassin."
"Death is my trade."
Imbar stepped closer, his eyes murderous. "I'm going to rip your head off, you little runt."
Blade's brows rose. "How nice." He turned back to Asrah. "What assurance do I have that you'll keep to your bargain?"
She smiled. "Only my word. But you can refuse and die now, if you prefer."
"Doubtless staked out in the sand with my entrails wrapped around my neck."
"Something like that."
She used the dagger to cut the thong that bound his ankles and rose to her feet, stepping back.
Blade fingered the bloody wounds around his wrists and winced. The possibility of taking her hostage while she was close to him had occurred to him, but the bandits would only threaten the queens to free their leader. The bandits formed a ring, and Imbar walked into the middle of it, where he waited for the assassin. Blade rose to his feet, brushing sand from his trousers, and approached Asrah, who stood in the circle.
"I'll need one of my daggers."
She smiled again, shaking her head. "It's Imbar's choice, and he's opted for unarmed combat."
He glanced at the brawny giant, grimacing. "He would."
Imbar growled, "Not so brave without your little daggers, assassin?"
"Bravado has never been one of my strong points."
Imbar beckoned. "Come and get the stuffing kicked out of you, little runt."
Blade looked at the queens, who sat outside the circle, watching him. Kerra chewed her lip, but Minna gazed at him with calm, confident eyes. Her faith in him was amazing, he mused, considering the size of the man he faced, and she had seen him almost defeated once before in his fight with Prince Rigal. He did not have so much confidence in his abilities, for he was not trained as a fighter, and unarmed, he was even more likely to lose. A broken neck was a quicker death than disembowelment, however. He turned and walked closer to the big bandit, stopping a few paces away.
Imbar grinned and cracked his knuckles in a ritual that Blade had seen performed many times in taprooms and brothels. The bandit oozed confidence, obviously certain that an unarmed assassin was no match for his strength, especially a man as slender as Blade. The assassin banished his worries, ensuring that his mind was clear and sharp, ready for the challenge of combat and the swift decisions he would have to make in order to win. The sand would hamper him, and, combined with the growing heat, sap his strength. He waited for Imbar to attack, since he had no intention of initiating the combat.
The big man did not disappoint him. He charged with a roar, like the great bear with whom he was kindred. Blade waited until the last instant, then skipped aside and kicked him in the gut. The bandit grunted and stumbled past, swinging around with a furious growl. Blade leapt and kicked Imbar in the ribs, then in the side of the head as he folded over. The bandit staggered sideways, shaking his head, and Blade kicked him in the back of the knee. The big man fell to his knees with a grunt, and the watching bandits groaned, calling encouragement and taunts.
Imbar leapt up and spun around with surprising speed, his eyes glittering. He lunged at the assassin, who threw himself backwards to avoid the meaty hands that reached for his throat as Imbar loomed over him. He narrowly evaded the bandit's grasp and rolled sideways when he hit the sand, springing to his feet just out of Imbar's reach. The giant lunged for him again, forcing him to retreat, then dive sideways, allowing Imbar to plough into the men in the circle. They caught him and pushed him back into the ring, shouting encouragement.
Blade retreated around the ring, wishing that he was anywhere else at this moment than facing a furious giant who lusted for his death. Imbar grinned and followed, his arms outstretched as if daring the assassin to brave their embrace. Blade had no intention of doing anything so stupid, but he would not win the match by staying out of reach. His instinctive wish to avoid physical contact would do him no good in this situation, and the temperature increased with each minute as the sun climbed into the blue heavens. Already sweat beaded his brow and coursed down his cheeks and chest, dripping off his chin and dampening his hair. The sun burnt his fair skin and reddened his shoulders.
Minna watched Blade with her heart in her mouth, praying that he would win, or at least survive. The bandit looked huge next to the assassin, and her outward calm hid a churning emotional turmoil. It was not only her dread of what may happen to them if he lost that filled her with anguish. The thought of him being killed brought a sharp pang to her heart, reminding her of the strong feelings she had for him.
Although she loved Kerrion passionately and thought him handsome and noble, Blade had long ago entranced her with his beauty and grace. His aloofness and unattainability only added to his strange allure, and to see him threatened with a brutal death made her ill with concern. As she watched him, she was reminded of the dance she had seen him perform many times when he had practiced the Dance of Death in Kerrion's palace sixteen years ago. Now, as then, he displayed the grace and strength he had honed through years of practice, leaping and spinning, using his feet as weapons instead of his hands.
When armed with his daggers, he had seemed invincible, and without them, he displayed a curious vulnerability that was utterly at odds with the vicious blows he dealt the shambling giant. She glanced at Kerra, who sat transfixed, chewing her lip as she watched Blade with concern shining in her eyes. The assassin had made another conquest of the young Queen, and it saddened Minna to know that she would also suffer his rejection, should she ever make her feelings known to him. The fact that Kerra was his queen did not seem to impress him. Minna had been amazed by how he ordered Kerra around, and how she obeyed him.
Minna turned to watch the fight again, wondering if Blade would deal as harshly with Kerra as he had with Chiana. Glancing past the combatants, she caught sight of Asrah on the far side of the circle, and was surprised to find the woman frowning, looking uneasy and worried. Was she afraid that Blade would lose, foiling her wish to have her father assassinated? Or was she concerned that he may kill the big warrior? Both possibilities seemed plausible, yet the way the bandit woman's eyes followed Blade seemed to indicate another reason, and she turned her gaze upon the combatants once more, wondering.
The assassin stopped retreating and stood his ground, allowing Imbar to approach. The big man's eyes narrowed, and he slowed his approach. A look of delight came over his features as he came within reach. Evidently he thought that the assassin planned to engage in a wrestling match, which he could not win, but Blade had no such intention.
As Imbar lunged for his throat, Blade kicked him in the crotch. The bandit grunted and fell to his knees, clutching the offended region while his comrades winced and groaned in sympathy. Blade kicked him in the chin, sending him sprawling on his back, then walked around him to finish the job. The bandit saw his defeat looming and made a grab for the assassin's legs. Blade leapt out of reach, stumbling in the sand, and Imbar rolled to his feet with a grunt. He straightened, eyeing the assassin with newfound disgust and fury, then roared and charged.
Blade leapt aside, the sand slowing him, and Imbar hooked his fingers into the assassin's vest. The garment ripped, but the yank threw Blade off balance. He staggered, struggling to stay on his feet. Imbar lashed out with a meaty fist, landing a glancing blow on Blade's cheek as he ducked and twisted aside. The blow sent him reeling, lights flashing in his eyes. Imbar followed and punched him in the gut. The air left Blade's lungs in a whoosh, and he threw himself backwards, rolling away as the big man came after him again.
Imbar aimed a kick at him that would have broken his ribs, but Blade twisted aside, struggling to draw air into his tortured lungs. The bandit followed, determined to get hold of his elusive quarry, and grabbed Blade's vest as he rolled to his feet. The tug spun Blade around, and he dropped as Imbar's fist skimmed over his head. He buried his fist in the bandit's rock-hard belly, making Imbar grunt and stagger back. The vest tore, and Blade stumbled out of reach, nursing his hand.
Blade's cheek throbbed, and pain knotted his gut. The vest hung in tatters around his thighs, exposing more of his skin to the sun. The bandits cheered, sensing Imbar's impending victory, and the big man grinned as he came after the assassin once more. Blade retreated, panting and cursing the sand that sapped his strength and denied him the ability to jump high enough to kick Imbar in the head. When he had recovered a little, he allowed the bandit to approach again. This time Imbar was wary, and circled out of reach of Blade's feet. The assassin waited for him to attack,
since his skills were defensive, and therefore more effective against an assault.
Imbar threw himself at the assassin with such unexpected speed that Blade only just jumped aside in time, but Imbar was expecting it now and veered, diving after him and grabbing Blade's legs. The assassin fell with a grunt, then jerked one leg free and kicked Imbar in the face. Blood spurted from the bandit's nose, and he roared with pain. Blade kicked him again, and Imbar released him, rolling away. Blade rolled to his feet as Imbar leapt up and charged. The assassin scooped up a handful of sand and flung it in Imbar's eyes.
The bandit yelled and swung away, his eyes screwed shut, shaking his head and pawing at his face. Blade leapt, using all his strength to achieve sufficient height to kick the big man in the side of the head. The force of the blow spun Imbar around, and he fell to his knees, then onto his hands, blood dripping from his nose. Blade walked up to him and kicked him again, sending him sprawling on his side. The circle of bandits fell silent, staring at their defeated comrade and the man who stood over him. Blade glanced at Asrah as he straddled the prone man and bent to grip his hair in one hand and his chin in the other.
"Is it death?" he enquired.
She shook her head. "Spare him."
Blade released Imbar and stepped away, raising a hand to rub his throbbing cheek with a grimace. The bandits muttered, some glaring at him, others scowling at Asrah, who lifted her chin, daring them to challenge her authority. A few spat on the sand as they turned away. The circle of men broke up, some helping Imbar, while others set off in the direction in which Blade knew their horses lay. Many shot him dark looks and muttered insults under their breath, proving that his victory had only deepened their dislike for him, instead of earning their respect.
Blade walked over to the tent and picked up his jelabah under the watchful gaze of several bandits. Since he had won the fight, he supposed that he was now in Asrah's employ. He scooped up a water skin, went over to the queens and untied Kerra, letting them drink before he took the skin and slaked his thirst. He tore off the tattered remains of his vest and wet it, using it to wipe the sweat off before it became rank.
The Queen's Blade IV - Sacred Knight of the Veil Page 31