The Queen's Blade III - Invisible Assassin

by T C Southwell

  Blade put some distance between himself and his pursuers before he turned to face them. He lashed out with razor-tipped feet and hands in a desperate bid to cut down as many as he could before they overwhelmed him. Many fell with grunts or recoiled with yells, wounded by his slashing feet and daggers. He spun away once more, cutting the hands that strived to grab him. A soldier caught Blade's arm, and he almost fell when his feet slipped, but kept his balance and stabbed his assailant through the throat.

  The Cotti slowed their advance, the room so full of them now that there was nowhere left to run. Blade glanced around, as unwilling to be caught and trussed as a wild wood cat to which he claimed kindred. The soldiers advanced warily, none brave enough to tackle him alone, each waiting for another to take the initiative. Blade raised his head and looked at the smiling Prince who stood by the door.

  "You are the one, Armin! I name you as my client! You are a traitor, you Cotti bastard!"

  With a powerful overhand throw, he flung a dagger at the Prince. The distance was more than any man could throw a dagger accurately, yet the weapon bounced off Armin's breastplate with a clang, making him curse and recoil.

  Blade spun, his heart hammering with desperation and resolve, his metal-shod feet scraping for purchase on the floor, making him almost lose his footing. Regaining his balance, he raced towards the wall at the back of the hall, where several windows let in beams of slanted light. Reaching it at a dead run, he hurled himself through the nearest.

  The glass shattered in a spray of glittering shards, slicing his skin in an explosion of pain. Blade cried out as the cold air hit him in a frigid wall, throwing out his arms. He seemed to hang in the sky, then he fell. A glance down assured him that the drop was too far to survive, a full three storeys above the ground. He plummeted through the cold air, his legs instinctively bent to absorb the coming impact.

  The ground rose in a blur and hit him like a giant bludgeon. One leg snapped like a rotten twig as it crumpled under him. He hit the earth so hard that he bounced, but by then he was senseless, and knew no pain.

  Chapter Fifteen

  Jayon turned at the crash of shattering glass, still on his feet, mostly due to the fact that the Cotti were toying with him, but badly wounded. As good a swordsman as he was, he stood no chance against so many. Blade's cry reached him as he swung around, and he caught a fleeting glimpse of the assassin as he leapt to his death.

  "Blade!" Jayon shouted, despair clutching his heart. He gasped as something struck him from behind, and looked down at the length of steel protruding from his chest. His face twisted with sorrow, and he coughed blood as his legs buckled. He fell to his knees, his eyes rolled back, and he crumpled.

  By the door, Armin looked up from his perusal of the scratch on his armour at the crash of shattering glass. His mouth fell open as he witnessed Blade's leap, stunned by the assassin's suicide. The soldiers froze, and Armin glanced at the second Jashimari man when he shouted. A soldier ran him through, and he collapsed, dead before he hit the ground. The Prince started to turn away, then his eyes widened as a shimmer appeared in the air above the slain bodyguard.

  A faint pop heralded a flash of colour and a buzz of wings. A tiny, sparkling creature appeared, hovering above Jayon. The advisors behind Armin drew in harsh breaths as the radiant dragon flew down to land on the bodyguard’s chest. Waves of glorious colour ran over the animal's skin, and its delicate wings became transparent as they ceased to beat. It lowered a narrow head and gazed at its friend with liquid eyes, its tiny white claws gripping the dead man's tunic. Armin stared at the magical beast in stunned horror. Wirryne were legendary, so rarely seen that they were more myth than fact.

  The radiant dragon lay down on Jayon's chest and stretched out its head to lick his chin with a blue tongue. It keened in soft, musical notes, its scintillating form luminous. Gold and silver glowed on its muzzle and tail; fiery red edged its delicate wings and legs. Its sorrowful dirge rose and fell in a series of sweet, fluting notes that hung in the air in multiplying echoes, each one sweeter than the last. The song was sadness, and its magic filled the dusty room and its occupants with desolation so intense that battle-hardened warriors blinked tears from their eyes.

  Jayon's skin glowed with soft golden light as the radiant's song rose to a melodic climax of intense purity, gilding its former friend with its last, magical gift. Grace. The lament lasted only for the two minutes that it took the tiny dragon to die. Some said that wild wirryne lived for only a few days, others maintained that they were immortal. Judging by how swiftly this one perished, Armin decided that the former was the truth.

  The radiant's eyes closed, and its head sagged onto Jayon's chest. It shivered, and its wings spread as it went limp. A stunned silence followed, then the soldiers muttered and moved away from the corpse, shaking their heads. The wirryne's death atop its friend ensured that no one would touch the corpse, for as the radiance of its colours faded to grey, it became lethal to touch. Armin gazed at the beast as the glowing embers of its brilliant hues went out and its skin flaked away. Within a time-glass the creature would be dust.

  Slaying wirryne kin was forbidden in Cotti, Contara and Jashimari, and, had he revealed the magical nature of his beast kin, Jayon would have been spared. Some said that wirryne kin did not know they were bonded to the radiant dragons, which only made their presence felt in strange dreams. Others claimed that such men and women saw their familiars only when they were alone, and that wirryne familiars were the only ones that lived long enough to procreate. No one knew for certain, however, save dragon kin themselves, and they never spoke of it.

  In a distant cave on a lonely mountainside, an old man looked up from his pot of herbs and sighed. The trees nearby whispered, and a series of pops preceded a multitude of bright flashes as dozens of radiant dragons appeared and vanished in an instant, leaving behind soft fluting notes of sorrow. Shamsara bowed his head and folded his hands, joining their sorrow as they mourned and rejoiced at the passing of one of their kin.

  The Idol of the Beasts closed his eyes, and recoiled as a vision of carnage filled his mind. A great war raged across all the Kingdoms of Chasym, from Jashimari and Cotti to the distant burning lands of Mentath and Endralon, far to the east. Something had changed. He cast about for the reason for it, and a vision sprang clear in his mind's eye. A black-clad man leapt through a sparkle of shattered glass.

  Shamsara grimaced, shook his head and rose to his feet, abandoning the pot of herbs. He did not have much time. A hawk sailed down to alight upon his shoulder as he raised a hand and gestured. The trees before him parted, revealing the path he must take, and a mighty grey stallion galloped up, snorted and reared. The Idol approached the wild beast, which calmed at his touch and bowed its head. Shamsara sprang onto its back with litheness at odds with his aged appearance, and the stallion reared, then leapt into a gallop through the avenue of parted forest.

  Shaking himself from his stupor, Armin swung to find the judges staring at him with cold eyes.

  He turned to his men. "Quickly, find the assassin! See if he still lives!"

  Several soldiers ran out, and the elder judge stated, "No one could survive that fall. He has leapt to his death, and he named you again with his last words."

  "He was a coward! He was afraid of torture."

  "But not afraid to die. That does not slander his courage so very much. Torture is humiliating, no warrior wishes to endure it."

  "He was not a warrior! He was a spineless assassin." Armin pushed the judge aside. "Out of my way, I want to see what happened to him."

  "It will not be a pretty sight, My Prince," the judge called after him as he marched away.

  Outside, Armin found a knot of soldiers standing around a sprawled form and hurried up to them, pushing his way through.

  "Is he dead?"

  A man who knelt beside the assassin straightened. "He still lives, My Prince. See, the deep grass here cushioned his fall a little, so his head was not shattered, but he i
s senseless."

  "Fetch the healer at once!"

  A soldier raced away. Armin gazed down at the assassin, who lay on his back, one leg twisted at an unnatural angle, his skin streaked with blood where the glass had sliced it. His survival was nothing short of miraculous. Rocks poked out of the grass all around him, yet he lay on a bed of thick spongy growth.

  A trickle of blood crept down his cheek from the corner of his mouth. In one hand he still held a dagger, its blade buried in the soil. Armin glanced around as the young healer hastened up and knelt beside his patient, running his hands over Blade. He felt the back of the assassin's skull before looking up at the Prince.

  "He is gravely injured, My Prince. His leg is broken, and some of his ribs, but he might live, unless he is injured inside, which is likely after a fall like that. His head is not broken, at least."

  Armin smiled. "Good, then his plan did not work. He has not escaped me after all. Wake him up. We will start the torture now."

  The healer looked shocked. "Prince Armin, I cannot be party to torture, even of a Jashimari."

  Armin growled and pushed the healer aside. "Get out of my way then. I have no qualms about it."

  Straddling the assassin, he gripped Blade's collar and shook him, causing his head to snap back and forth. "Wake up, you bastard! You will not escape me so easily. You will tell the truth before you die, damn you."

  The judges arrived, and Armin turned to glare at the gawking soldiers. "Don't just stand there, fetch some water!" Armin glanced at the stern-faced judges. "He will tell the truth, I swear it."

  "Have a care that you do not kill him in your zeal, My Prince. A dead man can tell no truths, and his last words will stand."

  "He will not die yet," Armin snarled. "God is on my side, otherwise he would be dead already."

  The judge turned to the healer. "What say you on the matter?"

  He shrugged. "By rights the fall should have killed him, so if he can survive that, a little shaking will not hurt him."

  The soldier returned with a bucket of water, and, at Armin's nod, poured it over the assassin's face. Blade coughed and grimaced, raising his free hand in a warding gesture. The soldier stepped back, and Armin leant forward to drag the assassin up by his collar.

  "Who ordered my brothers' deaths? Tell me now, or I will have your eyes put out and stakes driven through your limbs. Speak the truth and you will receive a swift and painless end. Lie, and I will ensure that your suffering continues for days."

  Blade's eyes opened, and he gazed at the Prince. His lips moved, fresh blood trickling from his mouth. "Go to Damnation, you Cotti bastard."

  "You are the one who is going to Damnation, but you are going to speak the truth before you do. Your cowardly attempt to avoid torture has failed, and now you are at my mercy."

  The assassin smiled and whispered, "Not quite."

  His right arm whipped up, driving the dagger into Armin's side between the pieces of armour that sheathed his torso. The Prince recoiled with a yell, plucking the dagger out as he retreated.

  Armin clutched the spreading stain that oozed from beneath his armour, his eyes bulging with shock and horror. The healer rushed to his side, and an officer helped to unbuckle the breastplate and pull it off, exposing the wound in Armin's flank. The healer examined it, then cast Armin a reassuring look.

  "It's not mortal, My Prince."

  Armin managed a rictus of a grin, glaring at Blade. "You failed again, assassin. It is just not your day, is it?"

  Blade coughed, and more blood oozed from the side of his mouth. "Do not be so certain of that."

  Armin glanced at the healer, who shook his head. "It will heal."

  "It had better."

  "You must not exert yourself," the healer warned. "You must be calm and rest immediately. You cannot ride, and you must keep the wound bound."

  Blade groaned and grimaced. Armin smiled, enjoying the assassin's suffering while the healer smeared his wound with salve and bound it. When he finished, two officers helped the Prince to his feet, and although he growled at the indignity of it, he accepted their aid. He scowled at the supine assassin.

  "Take him to the castle and begin his torture."

  An advisor stepped forward. "My Prince, if the assassin spoke the truth earlier, Jashimari troops may be on their way to rescue him. We should not linger here."

  "Bring him then. We will torture him on the way. If he lives, we will take him to Jadaya to be executed for his crimes. His attack on me ensures his death." He glared at the judges. "And he will tell the truth before he dies."

  Two soldiers gripped Blade's arms and dragged him to the castle's courtyard, where the Cotti's horses and supply wagons waited. An officer ran ahead, shouting orders that sent men scuttling into the castle in search of supplies. They emerged with bags of grain, which they stacked in the front of the wagons, piling haunches of smoked meat on top of them. Others brought blankets and cushions to place at the back of one wagon for the Prince to lie on. The work took less than a time-glass, during which time Blade was left to lie on the cobbles while Armin sat on a barrel.

  When the wagons were loaded, an officer helped the Prince aboard his, with the healer ensuring his comfort. Blade was bound and thrown into the back of the other wagon, and the soldiers delivered a few kicks before they jumped down and ran to their steeds. As the company set off, the Cotti healer joined the assassin and sat beside him, cutting away his jacket and shirt to treat his wounds.

  The assassin watched him with dull eyes, and the healer, noting his gaze, leant closer to mutter, "Don't think I'm doing this for your sake, assassin. You must survive for your torture and execution in Jadaya, as the law dictates."

  Blade closed his eyes and turned his head away, unwanted visions of the mutilated bodies of the Jashimari soldiers he had seen in King Shandor's camp flashing through his mind. As a prisoner of the Cotti, whose cruelty was well known to him, all he could hope for was death. Silently he cursed the finely tuned survival instincts that had saved his life. Had he hit the ground head first, or even face down, he would certainly have died, but his legs had cushioned the impact sufficiently to save him, at the expense of one. Now he was destined to end his days at the hands of Cotti torturers, the very fate he had sought to avoid.

  The Cotti tugged at his legs, straightened the broken one and bound it to a length of wood. The assassin gritted his teeth and struggled not to cry out. The healer removed the boot-blades and examined them before setting them aside. His tasks accomplished, the young Cotti sat at the end of the wagon and regarded Blade, glancing at the passing scenery. Blade stared at the branches above, trying not to think of the horror that lay ahead.

  At the end of the first day, the healer returned to the Prince's wagon to tend him, leaving Blade alone and, for the most part, unattended. He slept little that night, kept awake by the dull throbbing of his injuries. The next day he endured the wagon's rattling and jolting, which provoked an endless tide of pain from his broken leg and ribs.

  The rough wooden floor chafed the bare skin of his back, adding to his misery by causing sores that oozed blood and grew larger each day. His bonds cut into his wrists, making his hands swell until the healer, on one of his daily visits, noticed and loosened them before the assassin lost all sensation in his extremities.

  Blade opened his eyes when the wagon halted, and shouting came from the front of the column. Moments later, the wagon rumbled forward again, veering off the road onto the forest's rough ground. He groaned as it bounced over rocks and crashed through streams, the cruel jolting redoubling his suffering. The wagon stopped once more, and Blade sighed as the pain abated. More shouting came from the front of the column, and he wondered what was happening.

  Armin scowled as the commander made his report, his disbelief mixed with chagrin that his plan to avoid a confrontation with the Jashimari on the road had failed. According to the officer, another company, maybe more, blocked the way ahead.

  "Get me into my armour,"
he snarled at the healer, levering himself from his bedding.

  "This's not a good idea, Highness. Your wound -"

  "Just do as I say, damn you! I will not lie around like an invalid for the enemy to see."

  The healer enlisted the help of an officer to strap the Prince's breastplate on over the bandages. Armin groaned as he eased himself from the wagon and the officer helped him onto his horse. He kicked the beast forward, brushing aside attempts to lead it. Arriving at the front of the column, he glared at the rows of heavily armed Jashimari troops who blocked the way, seated on sweating steeds. Plumes of steam rolled up the horses' flanks, and their muddy legs and hanging heads betrayed days of hard riding behind them. Armin turned his attention to the man who rode forward to confront him, a burly officer with a sharp lupine face. He halted before the Prince, his hard green eyes unwavering.

  "Prince Armin. I am Captain Redgard of the Queen's Guard."

  Armin scowled. "By what right do you impede my troops?"

  "By order of Regent Chiana. She believes you have captured or killed her husband, Lord Conash."

  "Does she?" Armin sneered. "Then she is wrong. I have never heard of this man, why would I want to kill him?"

  "Then you will not object to a search of your wagons."

  "I will! I have said that I do not know this man, and that should be enough. How dare you harass a Cotti prince?"

  Redgard leant forward. "If you have nothing to hide, then why object?"

  "Because it is an affront. Now get out of my way!"

  Redgard's eyes narrowed. "I am afraid I must insist, Prince Armin. You are on Jashimari soil and therefore subject to our laws. I have an entire battalion deployed in the forest around you, and I will use them if necessary."

  Armin's eyes darted, and an advisor near him hissed, but he waved away the advice with a jerk of his hand. "I have a Jashimari prisoner, but he is certainly not a lord. I am taking him to Jadaya for torture and execution, not least of all for an attack upon myself."