The Queen's Blade

by T C Southwell

  Minna scratched the cat’s belly and listened to her rumbling purr. Shista was larger than any cat found in Jashimari, which boasted only the white snow cats from the mountains, wood cats and small domestic cats. Shista outweighed the largest, the snow cat, by twice its weight. In the five years that had passed since then, Shista had never shown aggression to anyone, but appeared to be fond of all, even rubbing affectionately on certain people she especially liked.

  Minna alone was accorded the honour of play, when Shista would roll about like a cub and pat her human friend with massive paws that could disembowel her with a swipe. She had a herd of goats in a pen outside, from which she would select a meal whenever she was hungry. On rare ceremonial occasions, Minna would put a jewelled golden collar on her and persuade the great cat to walk at her side, but Shista disliked this, and bore it with ill-concealed disgruntlement.

  The maid returned to announce that the Queen’s bath was ready, and Minna went to enjoy a long soak in a hot scented tub, aided by several virgin girls whose sole duty it was to tend to the Queen.

  Shamsara looked up at a raven’s harsh caw, and the snow cat beside him snarled a warning. The scrabble of slipping footsteps and gasps of an exhausted man reached him, and he put aside the bowl of herbs he had been grinding to settle back on his pile of leaves, his gaze fixed on the cave entrance. The snow cat spat and slipped away, and the two mongooses that played together on the floor sat up. The raven cawed again, and the owl that roosted outside the cave entrance hooted. A panting grey wolf trotted in and sat beside Shamsara, tongue lolling.

  A man’s silhouette appeared against the sky, stepped within and fell to his knees. Shamsara noted his livery and beckoned him closer. The messenger stopped two paces away at a snarl from the wolf. A chameleon clung to his shoulder, blending with the green and gold of the Queen’s colours.

  Shamsara smiled. “Well, man of chameleons, what does the Queen wish of Shamsara?”

  “She summons you, Idol of the Beasts.”

  “Ah.” Shamsara nodded. “What is her reason?”

  The man took several deep breaths. The trail to Shamsara’s cave was an arduous one, designed to repel any who did not have a good reason to seek him out. The Queen, however, did not have to make this journey herself, or, at least, did not think so.

  When the messenger regained his breath, he said, “She has vowed to end the Endless War, and wishes to consult you upon the matter.”

  “Ahha!” Shamsara’s smile broadened into a grin, revealing perfect white teeth that he knew were incongruous in an ageless face of lined, weather-beaten skin tanned to a deep nut brown. He nodded cheerfully, reached back and grabbed a bunch of leaves, added them to the bowl and ground them into a paste with the rest of the ingredients. The messenger waited, looking a little puzzled at Shamsara’s sudden preoccupation with his grinding. The wolf whined and retreated to curl up in the shadows; the mongooses groomed each other. Only the gritty sound of Shamsara’s pestle on the stone bowl broke the silence.

  The messenger bowed and backed away.

  Shamsara glanced up sharply. “I did not give you leave to go.”

  The man paused. “Will you come, then?”

  “Mmm. As soon as I have had my lunch.”

  Chapter Two

  The news of Shamsara’s arrival in the Queen’s city provoked great excitement, and vast crowds flocked to see him. The capital city of Jondar, far from the border and therefore spared the savagery of war, prospered in a broad vale patch-worked with farmers’ fields. The Queen’s most ardent supporters and greatest dissenters populated the bustling metropolis in a cauldron of political intrigue that sheltered within its tall grey walls. All were united in their reverence for the Idol of the Beasts, however, a living emissary of the great god Tinsharon and harbinger of the Age of Beasts. He alone could bond with any animal and resembled none. His birth seven centuries ago had signalled the end of the Age of Trees and ushered in a new aeon.

  The Idol of the Beasts rode a mighty grey stallion without rein or spur, a wolf trotting at his heels, a hawk perched upon his shoulder. His garb, made up of many skins and feathers, hid a number of smaller friends, some of which peered out at the sea of humanity. The crowd threw flowers in his path and chanted his name. Mothers held their children up for his blessing. The Idol of the Beasts rode with dignified calm, occasionally raising a hand in a vague gesture of acknowledgment.

  Arriving at the palace steps, he dismounted and walked within, a bevy of advisors, who bowed and vied for his attention, surrounding him. Shamsara followed a royal attendant, who led him through the immense audience hall and into the Queen’s private chambers. The doors closed in the advisors’ faces, and the Idol of the Beasts entered a room hung with silks and tapestries. Rich carpets woven from the wool of rare antelope and piles of embroidered cushions covered the floor. Jade and crystal ornaments graced carved tables. Huge diamond-paned doors opened into park-like gardens, and pale blue curtains billowed in the breeze with a whisper of silk. The fragrance of puffwood and smoke tree blossoms rode upon it, along with the city’s distant sounds. He met the unblinking gaze of a sand cat, which lolled on a pile of cushions. The wolf at his side sat down, and the hawk ruffled its feathers.

  Shamsara smiled at the cat and allowed his gaze to wander on, lingering on a pool filled with flowering water lilies. Here was tranquillity and happiness, a sense of serenity he found most pleasing. The sand cat stretched and purred as a slender, petite woman brushed aside a silk hanging and strolled in. Ink-black hair framed a fine-featured face with slanted, long-lashed blue eyes. Her creamy skin seemed to glow in the soft light, and her lips curved in a slight smile. Her graceful movements and air of contentment confirmed her cat kindred, and he would have known it even without the over-large familiar.

  “Shamsara.”

  He inclined his head. “Minna-Satu.”

  “Welcome. Sit, if you will.” She sank onto a pile of cushions, arranging her skirts about her in a fall of turquoise silk. Gold gleamed at her neck and wrists, surprisingly little adornment for a queen. As he sat down, a handmaiden brought a tray upon which rested an assortment of goblets. He chose water, and the Queen selected a pale wine. As soon as the maiden left, the Queen set aside her cup and folded her hands.

  “I am glad you spared me the journey to your home, Shamsara.”

  He shrugged. “It is not as fine as yours.”

  “I would like to see it one day.”

  “Curiosity killed the cat.”

  She laughed; a husky, gilded tone. “Not this one.”

  The wolf lay down with a sigh, resting his muzzle on his paws. Shamsara sipped his water, savouring it as a connoisseur might before setting it aside. A brown field mouse crept from his sleeve to sample it before retreating into its sanctuary again. The Queen started as a slender yellow viper slid from his hair and coiled around his neck. Its presence would startle most, for it was the deadliest snake in the world, and cat people disliked them, he knew. Shamsara smiled, his ageless countenance wrinkling along well-used lines, for he smiled often.

  “So, Minna-Satu; you requested my presence, and here I am. What will you ask of me?”

  Her face became solemn, belying its youthful beauty. The sand cat stopped purring, and Shamsara missed the deep rumble. He cast the cat a reproachful look and received a cool stare.

  Minna-Satu asked, “How can I stop this eternal, accursed war?”

  Shamsara’s smile faded. “Only by a great sacrifice; one that is not easily made by one so young.”

  “I will make it, if necessary.”

  “Do not pledge yourself so hastily to a sacrifice you have yet to know.”

  “Tell me.”

  Shamsara turned his gaze upon the great cat. “You must die.”

  The cat sat up in a lithe movement that required the lash of her tail to achieve it. Her eyes fixed upon the Idol of the Beasts, and she rose, her limping gait carrying her to him in a few strides. Imposing herself between him and the
Queen, she settled back on her haunches and studied him with alarm and puzzlement.

  Shamsara stroked the sand cat’s silken cheek, and her brilliant eyes sought the Queen’s.

  He followed her gaze. “She loves you very much.”

  “I know.”

  “She will kill anyone who tries to harm you.”

  “What do you mean, I must die? What will that achieve?”

  Shamsara sighed. “If you wish to end the war, your task will not be an easy one. If you do as I say, this will come to pass. But the decision must be yours alone, for yours will be the greatest sacrifice.”

  “Tell me what I must do.”

  Chiana waited outside the massive double doors of the Queen’s inner chambers for what seemed like an age. Her fingers pleated the material of her new robe, the same dove grey as she had always worn, but now trimmed and belted with gold in accordance with her newly elevated status. Her father, a merchant, had sacrificed much to pay for the many years of study needed to gain the knowledge required to become an advisor to the Queen. The Elder Queen had never noticed her, and her youth had always relegated her to the lesser ranks, for chief advisors were generally elderly. Her meteoric rise to her new post astonished her, but she was well aware that it could just as easily be lost, should she displease the Queen.

  The doors opened, jerking Chiana from her thoughts, and Shamsara emerged, followed by the Queen. The old man strode briskly, the wolf at his heels. His soft blue eyes gleamed with gentle humour, and a mane of pure white hair framed the open honesty of his countenance. Shista brought up the rear, looking unusually alert. Minna stopped before her chief advisor, her face pale but composed.

  “Show Shamsara to his rooms and see that he has every comfort, then return to me here.”

  Chiana bowed to the Idol of the Beasts and led him down a short corridor, opening the doors to a suite of rooms as opulent as the Queen’s.

  “If you require anything, ring the bell, Your Grace,” she murmured.

  Shamsara nodded, strolling towards the windows. Chiana closed the doors and hastened back to the Queen’s rooms. The patter of her slippers seemed loud in the corridors’ pillared vastness, adding to the already overwhelming sense of inadequacy that had plagued her since gaining her new position. Minna-Satu sat gazing ahead with wide eyes, Shista beside her. Chiana prostrated herself, and received the signal to rise.

  “Chiana, go at once to the captain of my guard and bid him come to me.”

  Chiana retreated, frightened by the Queen’s distracted air and Shista’s obvious agitation. She hurried to the officers’ quarters, where the captain sat at his desk, filling in reports. He looked up at her entry, a man of foxes whose shy familiar was rarely seen. Cropped red hair crowned a narrow, clever, sharp-featured face common to his kind, and his quick green eyes missed nothing in their vigilance. The broad stripe of peacock blue that denoted his rank ran down the right side of his chest from shoulder to waist, relieving the dark green of his gold-trimmed uniform.

  At the Queen’s summons, he followed Chiana back through the corridors, his light footsteps ringing on the marble floors. She showed him into the Queen’s presence, and would have retreated, but Minna said, “Stay, Chiana, this is for you to hear also.”

  Chiana stood beside the captain, and Shista paced by the windows, her pads silent on the rugs.

  “Captain,” the Queen said, “I have a strange and fearsome task for your men. You will select the best from amongst them, the strongest, bravest and cleverest. You will send them to King Shandor’s camp, where they must slay him and bring me his son, unharmed.”

  Captain Redgard gaped, the shock of this unexpected and momentous announcement momentarily making him break his rigid military stance, then he collected himself and resumed his formal pose. “My Queen. Such a thing... is impossible. If it was not, we would have won the war by such means long ago. The King is guarded night and day by the most seasoned warriors and their familiars, giant cats like your own….”

  Minna-Satu raised a hand. “Nevertheless, it must be done, and I have charged you with the task. Bring me the Prince, but first make him the King.”

  “My Queen....” The captain struggled with his words, his expression despairing. “I fear... this will fail. Almost at every opportunity, our armies have striven to reach the King and slay him, for to do so would demoralise his troops and give us victory until the next king took power. We have never succeeded.”

  “Then this time you will.” Minna’s tone brooked no argument, and the captain’s shoulders slumped. Still, his courage was admirable, for he rallied again, to Chiana’s surprise.

  “My Queen, you send good men to their deaths.”

  “Good men die almost every day, Captain. How many do we lose in a battle?”

  He shrugged. “In a good one, perhaps a few score, but on a really bad day, over a thousand have been lost. In the Rout of Ashtolon, we lost five thousand and seven hundred.”

  “So, I ask you to send only a few, a score, or half a score, enough to do the deed, not defeat Shandor’s army. Perhaps several score shall perish before they succeed, but when they do succeed, the end of the war will be nigh, and that will save a good many more lives.”

  The captain bowed before voicing his doubts, diminishing the boldness of his words. “After the first attempt, the King will know our plan and be alerted. It will be suicide.”

  Chiana thought the Queen was remarkably patient with Redgard. People never argued with her, and if they tried, not for long. The captain, she was convinced, had just set a record for the longest such argument ever attempted.

  Minna smiled. “Then let them be volunteers, Captain. Tell them that they will earn great honour, the highest awards, and my favour. The men who achieve this will become nobles of my court and own vast estates. Their riches shall exceed all others. But send no fools who long only for glory. These men must be qualified for the task.”

  The captain sighed, shaking his head. “Of course; it will be as you order, My Queen. Many will come forward without any promise of reward, merely for the honour of serving you.”

  “Send them here to me before they leave. I would wish them luck.”

  Redgard bowed. “As you command, Majesty.”

  Chiana gazed after him as he left the room, impressed by his courage and honourable demeanour. She faced the Queen as the doors closed behind him.

  Minna asked, “Have we any other business, you and I?”

  Chiana hesitated. “I must report, I have ordered Mendal and Symion to go in search of consorts, My Queen.”

  “No. I shall receive no consorts now.”

  “But -”

  Minna made an impatient gesture. “I have made the decision. Much of my future rests upon the success of the men who go to King Shandor’s camp. If I require consorts, I shall inform you. Anything else?”

  Chiana bowed. “Nothing of import, Majesty.”

  “Just palace politics, I suppose?”

  “Yes.”

  “So, are all my advisors ranked against me in this?”

  “No, indeed,” Chiana replied. “Many side with you, but they grow fearful for their lives. Karshon of the bears was slain last night, and an attempt was made upon the life of Dermon of the wolves.”

  “Who replaces Karshon?”

  “Emial.”

  The Queen rose and wandered over to the windows to stare out. “How did Karshon die?”

  “Snakebite.”

  Minna swung around. “Mendal!”

  “No, My Queen. He was not to blame, for the bite was inflicted by a brown rock adder, and Mendal’s familiar is a tree adder, as you know. The guilty party, I believe, is Asmol, a junior advisor whose familiar is a brown rock adder. The killing was sloppy, ill planned.”

  “And ill advised.” Minna frowned. “Does he think I allow my advisors to be slain without reprisal? What of the attempt on Dermon?”

  “An assassin, so we know not who hired him. Dermon was lucky that he had four wolve
s with him at the time, and escaped with only a few wounds.”

  “The assassin escaped?”

  “Yes, My Queen.”

  Minna turned back to the window. “The assassin will try again. Failure is not acceptable to them. If the killing has been paid for, he will not stop until one of them is dead. Send Dermon to the armies. Tell him to find consorts for me, but let him take his time. Send Asmol to the armies as well, but let him be stripped of his post and made a common soldier. If he wishes the war to continue, let him fight in it. That will be his punishment.”

  Chiana smiled. “That is a fitting punishment, My Queen.”

  “Yes. Tell the others that any who are found guilty of plotting to murder my loyal advisors shall suffer an identical fate. From now on, all those who wish that the war continue will fight in it themselves.” The Queen faced Chiana again. “For too long, the highborn have profited from this constant slaughter and grown fat off the death of so many innocents. If they love this war so much, they should enjoy the privilege of partaking in it.”

  “Your mother, praise her name, always let her advisors fight their battles amongst themselves,” Chiana pointed out.

  “My mother,” Minna retorted, “was a snake.”

  Chiana prostrated herself and left, still smiling.

  That night, Shamsara dined with Minna-Satu, and she experienced the unique pleasure of sharing her table with all of his companions. The wolf remained under the table, awaiting the meat that Shamsara passed him, and the hawk perched on the back of an empty chair. Two mice shared his plate of vegetables and sweetmeats, for the Idol of the Beasts ate no flesh. A ferret helped himself to meat on the table, and a small tortoise shared the salad bowl with a tiny leaf-eating monkey. Minna listened as the old man detailed the events that had brought each of his special companions to him, while Shista watched disdainfully from her cushions.

  The next day, Captain Redgard brought before Minna five volunteers, all seasoned warriors. Each had distinguished himself at the front, earning the right to become a member of the palace guard. Their leader was a man of foxes who displayed the sly intelligence of his kind in his alert glances and quick movements. Two claimed kin with bulls, great, muscled men who towered over their companions. One was a man of the deer, and possessed his kindred’s shy demeanour and swift gentle ways, while the last was of the ravens, with sharp black eyes and a vigilant nature. He had a familiar perched upon his shoulder, an airborne spy that would aid them greatly in their quest. Minna gave them her blessing and sent them on their way.