He started to unlace his tunic, his eyes crossing with fatigue. "Then you should speak to her about it, not me."
"I have tried, it does no good."
"I am in her employ, I have no choice." He took off the tunic and flung it at the rack, missing.
"Are you a lapdog who obeys her every whim?"
He glared at her. "No, but I have lived too long in the gutter to risk losing my hard won rank and privileges."
"I see."
"I doubt it. Now, if you do not mind, Advisor Chiana, I would like to get some sleep."
Chiana opened her mouth to protest his casual dismissal, then remembered his rank and bowed. "My Lord."
Three days later, deep in the bowels of the palace, the remaining conspirators met in a heated argument, angry and afraid. Mendal had to raise his hands and shout to bring order before someone got hurt. When the three lords had subsided to angry muttering, he glared at them.
"Mordon made a mistake. We do not know what, but he gave himself away. That the rest of us are still alive proves that the Queen does not know about us."
"Or she has not given the order yet," Lord Durlan muttered. Lord Javare and Bellcamp nodded, glaring at Mendal.
"Why would she wait?" Mendal snorted. "No, she does not know about us, I am certain. Mordon was sloppy, and paid the price."
"And now you want us to risk our necks too," Javare said.
"Would you rather face ruin?" Mendal stroked the serpent that coiled around his wrist. "The fact that Prince Kerrion is so well defended only confirms our suspicions. The Queen seeks to make peace with the Cotti. We cannot allow that."
"Then advise her, Mendal, that is your job." Durlan mopped his face.
Javare moved away from the fat man. "Let us get this over with, the stench of pigs is sickening me."
Durlan glowered at his antagonist, and Mendal distracted their attention. "Yes, we must strike again. The Prince must die. The Queen will not heed my advice, she listens only to that doltish girl Chiana and a few others."
"How can we kill the Prince?" Bellcamp enquired. "The secret passage is blocked and guarded, a soldier sits in his room with him at all times. It is impossible."
"Blade could do it," Javare muttered.
Mendal nodded. "Doubtless he could, but he is not in our employ."
"His services have always been for hire, and I am sure he would like to kill the Prince. All he needs is a client who pays him for it," Lord Javare asserted, glaring at Mendal.
"He is a lord now, so he is no longer for hire.
"What does he know about being a lord?" Bellcamp demanded. "He is an upstart commoner elevated to the rank. He has no notion of what it entails."
"I would say that he has been educated, Bellcamp. The Queen would not allow him to embarrass her with ill-considered acts, I am sure." Mendal shook his head, pondering the problem while the three lords shifted in the tomb's dusty confines. "No, approaching Lord Conash would put all of our heads on the block, for he would go straight to the Queen." He raised a knobbly finger. "But we could get rid of him, then find a way to kill Kerrion."
"What is the point?" Bellcamp asked. "Blade is not the one we truly wish to kill. Why bother?"
"Because with Blade out of the way, the Queen will not be able to kill any of us, should she find out. She will then have to go through the courts, which will be damaging. She will be forced to reveal her intentions towards Prince Kerrion, and you know how unpopular that will be. Also, we will have our revenge and remove a powerful supporter of the Queen."
Durlan looked unhappy. "That smacks of treason."
"It happens all the time," the advisor said. "Blade is not protected as Kerrion is. In the palace he is relatively safe, but he goes into the city alone and usually on foot. To ambush him would be easy, and we could hire ordinary men to do the job, not expensive assassins. Once he is out of the way, we can concentrate on Kerrion."
"We kill Lord Conash?" Javare asked.
"Not necessarily. He might be of more use to us alive. I am convinced that he knows the Queen's plans. If he could be persuaded to talk, we would find out much from him, I think."
Javare nodded, mollified. "Yes, indeed, a good plan."
"When we are finished with him, he dies," Mendal added, and Lord Javare frowned.
"I dislike the notion of killing a fellow lord, upstart or not. He was elevated for slaying King Shandor and delivering the Prince, honourable deeds. Let us not forget that our forefathers earned their titles in this fashion, and our ancestors were as common as his. In fact, his earning the rank puts him above us, in my opinion, for we merely inherited ours."
"That is only your opinion, Javare," Durlan sneered.
"I doubt you could do any great deed to earn your title, Durlan. You cannot even sit a horse without breaking the beast's back."
"Lords have always plotted against each other, Javare." Bellcamp interjected. "One less will not be remarked upon."
"Speak for yourself," Javare retorted.
Mendal raised his hands. "Let us not squabble, My Lords." He turned to Javare. "We cannot allow him to live, if he knows who we are."
"There is no reason for him to know our identities."
"True." Mendal shrugged. "Very well, we shall make it our intention to spare him, but we may have to kill him."
Javare inclined his head. "I can abide that."
Mendal rose from his hard seat atop a tomb. "Then we are agreed."
Blade went into the city two days later, just to get out and stretch his legs. The day before, Lord Mordon had been buried, and he, as a fellow lord, had been obliged to attend. It was the first time that he had been to the funeral of one of his victims, and he had found the experience discomfiting. Not only the sight of the weeping widow and four bereft children, all older than fifteen, but the angry, hate-filled glances of the mourners had unsettled him. Queen Minna-Satu stood beside the grave in regal splendour, daring anyone to accuse her of wrong doing. Although she had not accused Lord Mordon of treason, her lack of mourning spoke volumes for all to see.
At the funeral feast, Lady Mordon had tried to approach Minna, but the Queen had turned her back on the unfortunate woman. The guests had noticed her rejection, and many remarked upon it as the widow turned away. Lord Mordon's eldest son, a pimply youth of eighteen, had looked cowed and uncertain, his dog familiar following him with tail tucked. His eldest daughter, however, held her head high and dared any to speak ill of her father, her eyes bright with challenge. She was a handsome girl of twenty, and Blade admired her courage. Strangely, despite the matriarchal nature of the monarchy, the title passed to Lord Mordon's son. His eldest daughter would inherit the title of marchioness, but when she married her husband would remain untitled, and she would retain hers.
Lost in his thoughts, Blade took little notice of the dark figure that followed him into the city, keeping well behind and ducking out of sight whenever the assassin glanced around. Discounting it as one of Minna's spies, sent to watch over him or spy on him, he paid it no heed. The Queen's warning made him a little more alert than usual, and he kept a wary eye on side streets and alleys. Making his way through the more affluent parts of the city, he headed for a middle class area, where honest merchants lived and plied their trade. It was not as grand as the suburbs where the nobility lived, nor as squalid as the slums on the outskirts of the city.
At his favourite inn, he chose a table in a corner and imbibed several tankards of good ale, relaxing and enjoying the atmosphere. The taproom had a welcoming air to it, with clean rushes on the floor and well-worn, but comfortable furniture. The innkeeper was an honest fellow with a merry disposition, who owned a well-stocked cellar and had a plump wife who cooked a wonderful rabbit stew. Horse brasses adorned the walls, and polished pots hung over a massive fireplace on the far side of the room, where often a sheep carcass turned to provide meat for the hungry patrons.
Just before dusk, Blade started back towards the palace, filled with the warm glow of beer. H
is time at the inn had calmed him and relaxed his vigilance, for nothing untoward seemed imminent. When a figure strode out of an alley beside him and collided with him, he recoiled with a startled oath. Alarm penetrated his ale-soaked brain when the man gripped his arm and gave it a powerful tug that yanked him off balance and sent him stumbling into the side street. Before he could regain his balance, someone grabbed his arm again and swung him into the wall, knocked the wind out of him and made bright stars dance in his eyes. His knees buckled, and he slid down the wall, too stunned to offer any resistance as boots thudded into him from all sides.
The alcohol in his blood slowed him further, and all he could do was throw up his arms to protect his face as the men kicked him, punching the air from his lungs and bruising his ribs with savage blows. After several minutes, they dragged him upright, twisting his arms behind his back. He shook his head, trying to clear it as he was pushed back against a wall. Blood spattered his chest, running from his nose in a crimson stream, and he wondered dimly if it was broken.
Four brutish men stood around him, their faces wreathed in sneers and gleeful grins. Two held his arms, and a third drew back his fist to punch the assassin in the face. Blade ducked, and the thug's fist slammed into the wall. The man howled, clutching his broken hand as he hopped and cursed foully. Blade struggled to free his arms, but the men held him. The fourth roughneck stepped up and drove his fist into Blade's stomach. The assassin doubled over with a groan, coughing. The man gripped Blade's hair and pulled him upright, punching him in the jaw. The assassin spat blood, jerking his hair from the thug's grip. Before the man could renew his hold, Blade kicked his attacker in the crotch. The thug screamed and collapsed in a tangle of arms and legs, curling into a foetal ball on the cobbles.
The sight of his whimpering comrade apparently angered another of Blade's captors, who swung a fist. The assassin jerked free and ducked, butting the man in the stomach. The thug went down with a grunt, and Blade almost fell on top of him as his legs wobbled. He struggled to free himself from the thug who held his other arm, but the man punched Blade in the side of the face as the assassin lashed out with his free hand. The winded man, seeing the assassin on the brink of escaping, drew a knife and charged. The weapon skittered off Blade's chain mail and impaled his biceps.
Blade grunted and swung on his assailant as he released a dagger from its wrist sheath and let it slide into his hand. With a swift slash, he opened a wound across the man's chest from shoulder to hip. The thug howled and dropped his knife to clutch the wound. The last man whipped an arm around the assassin's neck, and a dagger sank into his hip just below the chain mail. Blade grunted and tried to twist free, but the man's arm tightened, crushing his windpipe. Before his vision darkened, Blade flipped his dagger over, gripped it point down and thrust it into the thug's belly. The man released him with a coughing grunt, doubling over to clutch the wound.
Blade staggered away, one leg dragging from the wound in his hip, shock and alcohol slowing him further. The dark alley swam in and out of focus as he tried to get his bearings. The two thugs who were not bleeding hobbled after him. He tried to increase his pace, his breath hissing through his bruised throat. Before he reached the main street where people might see the struggle and call the Watch, one of his pursuers tackled him, bringing him down hard enough to punch the wind from his lungs, and the dagger clattered away.
The second man pinned his arms and twisted them behind his back, and between them, they dragged him back into the alley. Blade struggled, shouting for help, but they held him fast and bound his hands with coarse rope. A dirty rag was stuffed into his mouth and tied around his head. They dragged him further down the alley, along two dim side streets and down a flight of stone steps into a musty cellar. There he was flung onto a bed of damp straw, and the thugs slammed the door and barred it as they left, enveloping him in darkness.
For a while he twisted and tugged to try to loosen the ropes on his wrists, but to no avail. When his skin grew raw from the chafing, he slumped back on the straw, his wounds throbbing and his head aching. The ropes bound his remaining dagger to his wrist, and he could not free it. The stench of damp and mildew, mixed with something fouler, made him fight the urge to vomit. Inwardly he cursed whoever was responsible for this, and wondered what horrors lay ahead.
Chapter Thirteen
Queen Minna-Satu frowned, picking at her midday meal without appetite. Her sense of foreboding increased by the time-glass, and she had been unable to relax since learning that Blade had not returned after going into the city the previous day. A squad of soldiers had been dispatched to search every inn and brothel, and would return at any moment.
She looked up as Chiana entered and prostrated herself. "What news?"
"None, My Queen. The soldiers are back, but they did not find him."
Minna jumped up, almost upsetting the tray, and strode over to the windows. "He is in trouble, I know it. Those who tried to kill Kerrion have taken him, which means they will attempt the Prince's life again, this time secure in the knowledge that I cannot retaliate. But I could easily hire another assassin, though he may not be as good as Blade. He may fail… yet I am sure they have a better reason than that…" She frowned as a far worse thought struck her. "They plan to torture him, and find out what he knows."
Chiana paled at the suggestion. "What does he know?"
"Too much," Minna retorted. "If he talks, it could ruin everything."
"How?"
The Queen waved a dismissive hand. "I cannot tell you, but if my plans become public now, it would be a disaster."
"I doubt that Blade would reveal them, My Queen."
"So do I. But I will not have him suffer at the hands of traitors and thugs, it is not right." She paused, staring out at the sunny garden. "I have orders for Captain Redgard. The Prince must be returned to the desert at once. He must be escorted by a squad of my best men, those who can be trusted. He must be taken to the pass and released on a horse, unharmed. Is that clear?"
Chiana nodded. "Yes, My Queen."
"See to it, then return to me."
Minna waited by the window while Chiana left to pass on the orders. The winding streamers of dream silk seemed to mock her, and she glared at the sombre cloths that rippled in the breeze above the temple. Today, in keeping with the Death moon, the priestesses had hoisted grey, scarlet and black, to bring death and blood into the dreams of the unfaithful. The faint hissing and snapping made her shiver. When Chiana returned, Minna tore her eyes from the ominous cloth and turned to face her.
"Despatch as many squads of soldiers as can be spared into the city, tell Redgard to lead them himself. I want every house searched, every business, cellar and loft. Round up all known criminals, every thief, pickpocket and beggar, and offer a reward of gold to the man or woman who can lead us to Lord Conash.
"Put out the word that whoever is found holding Lord Conash will face a sentence of death. Inform the advisors, in particular Mendal, Motice and Pelin, that if the assassin is not found alive, I shall find out who killed him and have them executed, slowly. Contact all my spies, have them listen out for any clue. I want him back, Chiana, alive."
The chief advisor nodded, clearly astonished by the Queen's bright eyes and flushed cheeks, and the way she swirled her gown as she paced the room. Chiana stepped back, preparing to leave. "At once, My Queen."
"I did not give you leave to go."
Chiana froze, her eyes wide at Minna's tone. The Queen strode up to her, appearing taller in her rage. "Has Prince Kerrion left yet?"
"I believe he is even now in the courtyard, preparing to ride out."
Minna-Satu paused, then stepped past the astounded advisor and into the golden hall, startling the guards outside her door. They leapt to attention as she marched past, then fell in behind her, spears ready. Chiana hastened after her as the Queen headed for the courtyard, surprising sentries, who sprang to open portals in her path, some joining the growing retinue in her wake.
&nb
sp; In the courtyard, Prince Kerrion looked around from adjusting his horse's girth at a commotion behind him. Queen Minna-Satu walked into the sunlight, her hair gleaming like polished ebony. Two dozen soldiers fell to their knees and prostrated themselves at the sight of their sovereign, so rarely seen outside the palace or its enclosed gardens. She stopped several feet away, where she would not have to look up at him too much, and he accorded her an awkward bow.
"Prince Kerrion, I hold a hope that our talks have brought us some understanding of our troubles, so in time we may resolve our differences and work towards a lasting peace. I return you unharmed to your kingdom, and wish you well. Always remember that you were my prisoner, and I set you free. Let it be something to lessen the rancour between our kingdoms. We shall not meet again. I bid you farewell."
Minna swung away and re-entered the palace, leaving Kerrion with his mouth open to reply, but no one to address. The soldiers followed her, leaving Kerrion, his escort, and Chiana gaping after them in amazement. The Prince recovered first, turning to Chiana.
"What was that all about? Why the sudden change of plans?"
Chiana faced him, looking bemused, and he surmised that events had moved with bewildering rapidity, leaving her placid nature floundering in their wake. She gathered her wits with what appeared to be a conscious effort.
"Lord Conash has disappeared," she explained. "The Queen blames it on the same traitors who tried to have you assassinated. Without the threat of the Queen's Blade, she must send you to the safety of your land while she endeavours to find those responsible."
Kerrion's eyes narrowed. "So, I have Blade to thank for this. He is probably drunk in some gutter, I should not wonder."
"The Queen will tear the city apart to find him, and without you here, she can bring the traitors to trial."
"I pity any who fall foul of her in her present mood."
Chiana bowed. "If you will excuse me, Prince Kerrion, I have matters to attend to."
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