The Queen_s Blade tqb-1

by T C Southwell

  Kerrion nodded, gazing at the doorway through which the Queen had vanished, a faint frown furrowing his brow. As Chiana left, he whispered, "Farewell, Minna."

  A gimlet-eyed soldier gave the order to mount, and the Prince swung aboard his horse, gathering up the reins.

  Minna stood on her balcony, where she could watch the cavalcade of Kerrion's escort as they rode out of the palace gates into the city streets. The breeze tugged at her, loosened her hair and played with it, causing tendrils to fall about her face. Minna brushed them away as she strived to catch a glimpse of Kerrion amongst the troops, silently cursing the distraction of the hissing dream silk that flew on the temple behind her. The Prince's golden head stood out amongst his guards' polished silver helmets, and his short, dark-blue cloak billowed from his shoulders as his horse pranced, eager to be off.

  Angrily she brushed away the warm tears that ran down her cheeks. She watched until the buildings swallowed him up, wondering if he had once glanced back at the Jashimari Queen's palace. Minna looked up at the great golden bell that hung in its tower high above her, which tolled only upon a queen's death, every twenty-five years. Soon it would toll again, for her. She glanced down at a brush of fur on her leg, meeting Shista's eyes as the cat gazed up at her with deep concern. Minna knelt and slipped her arms around Shista's neck, burying her face in the feline's soft fur.

  By the time Chiana returned, the Queen had regained her composure and sat amongst her cushions, the big cat purring at her side.

  "The Prince has left, My Queen."

  Minna nodded, her face stiff. "What did he say?"

  "Why, nothing. He asked about the sudden change in plans, and I told him."

  "So, he was well pleased to be on his way?"

  The Queen's strange questions appeared to puzzle Chiana. "I suppose so, but he looked neither pleased nor sad, maybe a little pensive, is all."

  Minna gazed down at the big cat she stroked, hiding her expression. "Leave me. Return only with news of Blade."

  The chief advisor made her prostration and left, looking a little alarmed by Minna's odd behaviour.

  In the city, the Queen's men set about their duty with fervour. The orders they had received told of the Queen's anger, and their loyalty spurred them to extreme measures. They herded people from their homes and searched the dwellings from roofs to foundations. Businesses were disrupted as soldiers searched storerooms and cellars. Criers spread the news of a rich reward offered, and scores of criminals found themselves arrested and questioned. By the end of the day, the populace's interest or anger was thoroughly aroused, and the search went on into the night, unabated.

  Blade opened his eyes as the cellar door banged open and four torch-bearing men descended the steps. From their beefy faces and the bandages two of them wore, they appeared to be the same thugs who had attacked him in the alley. Two gripped his arms and dragged him to his feet, ignoring his groan as the wound in his hip tore open. A roughneck yanked the gag from Blade's mouth, and he spat out its foul taste. The man, who wore a bandage visible through the long, blood-stained tear in his shirt, thrust his face close to Blade's.

  "The Queen wants her pet assassin back, Lord Conash," he sneered. "Got herself mighty steamed up about it, too." His voice dropped to a growl. "But she'll not see you alive again unless you tell us what we want to know."

  Blade met the man's eyes. "And what's that?"

  "Her plans. Why did she keep the Prince here so long? Why didn't she execute him? Why has she now sent him back all of a sudden? Tell us, or you suffer."

  "Has she?" Blade muttered, and the cutthroats twisted his arms. "If your masters are too stupid to know that the Queen's plans are no secret, then I'll tell you. She was trying to make peace with the Cotti Prince. Perhaps she kept him because he would not agree."

  The lout glanced at one of his cohorts, who shrugged. Blade eyed them, judging, by the stupidity of their faces, that the questions came from someone else, who did not wish to reveal his identity. This gave him some hope that he may be released, and he took courage from it.

  "Why has she sent him back now?" the thug demanded again.

  "Probably because there is a group of traitors, undoubtedly your masters, who plotted to assassinate the Prince. I killed one of them, Lord Mordon, and that's no secret either. With me out of the way, she had no recourse but to release the Prince before your masters killed him. Now she has a free hand to arrest and execute whomever she chooses, without the populace accusing her of protecting an enemy Prince."

  "You talk too much," the cutthroat growled, and dug his fingers into Blade's jaw to force him to open his mouth in order to stuff the gag back in. "I hope I'm the one who gets to kill you."

  The man turned away, and his companions dumped Blade in the straw again before following him up the steps, leaving the assassin in darkness once more.

  For three days, the Queen's soldiers ransacked the city, turning it and its denizens upside down in their zeal. Minna read the reports of the chaos the search caused with some disquiet, but her anger tempered her concern, and a deep-seated need to find Blade alive. Loyal citizens turned upon their neighbours, accusing them of the deed. Dozens were arrested and questioned, dozens more clamoured for the reward, sending the soldiers of fruitless searches that found other dark-haired men. Many people took up searches of their own to claim the prize.

  Fights erupted in the streets as ostensibly righteous citizens, intent on finding the Queen's Blade, invaded homes and pilfered valuables in their search. Petitions poured into the palace, and Chiana spent most of her time dealing with them, as well as irate lords and citizens claiming damages. Minna kept to her rooms, reading the reports her officers submitted but denying audiences and ignoring her advisors' demands.

  Blade lay motionless to conserve his strength and keep his suffering to a minimum by not aggravating his wounds. His arms had stiffened in their uncomfortable confinement, and moving only brought fresh pain and availed him nothing. Rats scuttled and squeaked in the straw, at times crawling over him and waking him from the uneasy doze he fell into from time to time. In the darkness, he had no idea of how much time had passed. It seemed an eternity, and only his hunger and thirst gave him some measure of it.

  The sounds of the search came close to his prison several times, and perhaps it was this that kept his jailers away. Each time the tramping of soldiers' feet and shouted commands drew close, his heart beat a little faster, but as they moved away again, his hopes faded. When the tramping and shouting came close once more, he paid it little heed, certain that they would pass him by yet again.

  The cellar door was kicked open, and heavy feet thudded down the steps. Someone lighted a torch and thrust it close to where he lay, then a startled exclamation filled him with hope and relief.

  "Lord Conash!"

  Two soldiers fell to their knees beside him. One pulled the damp gag from his mouth, the other cut the ropes that bound his wrists. Blade hissed as fresh pain surged through him, grimacing when he tried to move. They men cut the ropes on his ankles, then tried to pull him to his feet. Blade groaned, and a voice barked orders from the top of the steps.

  "Don't manhandle him, you lunk-heads! He may be injured!"

  Blade tried to agree with that statement, but only a rusty whisper issued from his mouth. The soldiers eased him back onto the straw, and several more men descended with torches and lamps. The one who was in charge shouted for a healer, and the crowd around the doorway shifted as someone ran to fetch one. Blade recognised Captain Redgard, whom he had met at the palace several times. The captain looked tired and worried, but triumphant as he knelt at Blade's side.

  "Lord Conash, are you all right?"

  Once again, only a hiss issued from the assassin's dry throat.

  Redgard turned to the nearest soldier. "Give me your canteen."

  The captain raised Blade's head and pressed the flask to his lips. The assassin tried to take the canteen, but discovered that his right arm would not move, an
d his wounded hip prevented him from sitting up. Since every movement hurt, he relaxed and allowed Redgard to hold the flask while he drank. Redgard eased him back onto the straw.

  "The healer will be here soon, My Lord."

  "I am all right," Blade croaked. "Just help me out of here."

  "You are wounded, My Lord."

  "I know, but nothing is broken."

  Captain Redgard shook his head. "You will tear open your wounds and bleed again. It is not a good idea."

  Blade sighed, closing his eyes. "How did you find me?"

  "The housewife down the road told us that she had seen a man dragged this way four days ago, but we had to search every house and cellar on this street. It took some time."

  "Four days?"

  "No, sir, she only told us this morning."

  Blade smiled. "I meant, I have been here for four days?"

  "Yes, sir."

  "It seems longer."

  "I would imagine so, My Lord." Redgard hesitated. "As soon as you are well enough, we will arrest whoever is responsible for this. The Queen has promised them execution."

  "The bastards who brought me here are just pawns. I have no idea who hired them, though I should think that they do."

  A commotion at the door heralded the healer, who pushed through the crowd and hurried down the steps. He knelt beside the captain and examined Blade's wounds, cutting away his clothes to bandage them.

  Blade remembered little of the journey to the palace. The healer gave him a draught for the pain, which made him sleepy and pleasantly detached. Four soldiers bore him through the streets on a litter, a squad of men surrounding him. By the time he reached the palace, he had drifted off to sleep, and did not awaken even when he was put into bed.

  Minna-Satu turned at a strident knock on the door, frowning. Chiana came in, flushed and smiling, hurrying to make her prostration.

  Minna gestured for her to rise. "What is it? What news?"

  "They have found him, My Queen."

  "When? Where?"

  "A few time-glasses ago, in a cellar somewhere in the slums. They are taking him to his rooms."

  "Taking him? He is wounded?"

  "Yes, My Queen, but not too seriously."

  "How seriously?" Minna demanded, then waved impatiently. "Never mind, I shall see for myself."

  Minna made her way to Blade's rooms with Chiana pattering in her wake, and thrust open the door to enter the crowded chamber. A dozen people fell to their knees, but she ignored them as she went to the bed. Blade was asleep, his face swollen and bruised, a clean bandage around one arm, the sheet covering the rest of him. Minna swung to confront the kneeling crowd.

  "Which one of you is the healer?"

  A balding man rose to his feet. "I am, My Queen."

  "How bad are his injuries?"

  "They are grave, but he will recover in time."

  "How long?"

  The doctor shrugged. "Three tendays, maybe a little more."

  Minna turned to gaze at the assassin again, her mouth set in a grim line. "Whoever did this will pay dearly. I shall have their heads." She paused, eyeing the healer. "You have attended him? Given him a draught to make him sleep, I assume?"

  "Yes, My Queen, I have done all I can."

  "Good, then you may go." Her eyes raked the crowd. "All of you, save my chief advisor."

  The soldiers, servants and healer left, and Blade's manservant closed the door behind them. Minna studied the sleeping assassin a little longer, then turned to Chiana.

  "I suppose you are wondering why I make so much fuss over a worthless assassin."

  "He is also a lord, My Queen, and one who has done you a great service."

  The Queen gave a derisive snort. "Do not insult my intelligence, Chiana. You know full well that does not warrant such zeal on my part to find him."

  The chief advisor inclined her head. "Your reasons are your own, My Queen."

  "Still, I would not have you think that I favour Blade unduly without good reason." She turned and walked to the windows. "I shall need him in the times to come. There are those who will plot against me once they know of my plans. Sending Prince Kerrion back to the desert does not solve all of my problems. I am facing a difficult time, and I shall need Blade's particular skills to defeat those who will turn against me."

  "You need him to kill your enemies," Chiana murmured.

  "Precisely, and do not preach to me about how inadvisable that is, I have not asked for your advice. Nothing and no one must stand in the way of my plans. I have not the time to go through the courts, nor the certainty that I shall find justice there. The judges are not as impartial as they claim to be, and there are those who will stop at nothing to prevent peace with the Cotti. I must be as ruthless as they, if I am to achieve it."

  "But the Prince is gone…"

  "I do not need Kerrion here, my plans have no call for that."

  "Might I ask what your plans are, My Queen?"

  "No." Minna softened her answer with a stiff smile that did not reach her eyes. "Not yet. All in good time."

  "But Blade knows."

  Minna cast the assassin a rueful glance. "He guessed." Her expression became haughty and her tone brisk. "I want the men who did this. They must be made to confess the names of their employers, who will be rounded up and put to death."

  "My Queen," Chiana murmured, "if you use Blade to kill your enemies, you will put him in extreme danger."

  "I know that." She sighed. "He has lived all his life with danger, and I shall do my utmost to protect him. I do not need you to point out the obvious." She swung away and headed for the door. "Tell me the moment he wakes, I wish to speak to him."

  "Yes, My Queen."

  Chapter Fourteen

  Blade was not allowed to wake properly for three days. The doctor's draught kept him in a deep sleep, and when he roused, his manservant, Arken, administered more of the drug. Chiana visited him several times, concerned for his health, which seemed fragile. He looked oddly vulnerable when asleep, she thought, and did not resemble a killer by any stretch of the imagination.

  When he was allowed to become fully alert, Arken plied him with nourishing broth and mulled wine. For some time-glasses, he lay in a befuddled stupor, listlessly eating the food Arken fed him and gazing at the ceiling with dull eyes. The healer's arrival to change his dressings dragged him from his lethargy, and the pain soured his mood, which did not improve when Chiana went to visit him upon learning that he was finally fully aware.

  "What do you want?" he growled, scowling at her.

  "How are you feeling?"

  He looked away, presenting the less bruised side of his face to her. "Imagine being trampled by a herd of horses, then having your head beaten on the floor, and finally knives stuck into you. That may give you some idea."

  Chiana averted her gaze. His skin was stretched too tightly over his fine bones, and lines of suffering bracketed his mouth and furrowed his brow.

  "The Queen wishes to see you."

  He sighed. "Not now. I am in no mood to be good company, and I fear my manners will fail me."

  "They never were that good," she retorted, the words skipping off her tongue before she could bite them back.

  Blade turned to glare at her. "You have a sharp tongue for a woman of doves, but yes, you are right. It is hard to learn courtly manners in the gutter."

  "Surely assassins do not live in the gutter? I thought it quite a lucrative profession."

  "I was not always an assassin."

  "I find it hard to imagine you as anything else."

  He looked away again. "Do not bother to try."

  Chiana bit her lip, stepping closer to the bed. "A message has arrived for you."

  "From whom?"

  "I do not know. Do you wish me to read it to you?"

  Blade scowled at her. "I can read." He tried to sit up, but grimaced and sank back with a groan. "God, does that damned healer have nothing to stop the pain?"

  "The draught for
pain makes you sleep, and now you must start to eat again and regain your strength."

  Blade held out his hand, and Chiana placed a black-edged missive in it. The assassin's eyes narrowed as he studied it, and he shot her a hard glance. "When did this arrive?"

  "This morning."

  "Good. You may go."

  Chiana opened her mouth to rebuke him, then recalled his rank and shut it. Spinning away, she marched out, banging the door behind her.

  Blade contemplated the square of coarse yellow paper, its edges dipped in ink. He did not need to open it to know who it was from, only the assassin's guild used such a distinctive trademark, and he pondered its probable contents. He had received missives from the guild in the past, usually invitations to attend one of their gatherings, or to defend his title as Master of the Dance. Aside from defending his title, he had not gone, or replied. He had found no use for the guild since receiving his tattoo, and was not pleased to receive a summons now. With a flick of his fingers, he broke the wax seal and opened the letter, reading the few lines written in blood.

  The letter bore only a drawing of a dagger at its end, and he frowned. It was another invitation of sorts, but there was more to it than that. The letter held a warning, which, though not spelt out, was sufficiently obvious to cause him slight alarm. That the guild should seek to warn him was unusual, assassins were not prone to protecting their own. The date of the meeting was two days away, and the place was a sacred site of ancient stones outside the city, where the guild always met.

  A knock at the door startled him, and two liveried flunkies opened it to admit the Queen. Minna-Satu wore a floating, pale green silk morning gown over a deep blue, form-hugging dress. The colours enhanced her eyes and paled her skin, accentuating the contrast of her hair. Her eyes sparkled, and he wondered if it was with happiness or anger. Her first words solved the mystery.

  "How dare you refuse to see me?" She came to his bedside and glared down at him.

  Blade glanced past her at Chiana, who hovered by the door, looking smug. "I fear that my message was ill conveyed, My Queen. I merely said that I was not yet well enough to receive you properly, since I cannot arise from my bed to give you a proper greeting."