The Queen's Blade

by T C Southwell

  Even on horseback, the journey to the desert would take at least three tendays, and Minna settled down to the task of sorting out the wrangles amongst her advisors. Asmol was taken away in chains to serve his sentence at the front, and Dermon went with him, on the pretext of finding consorts for the Queen. After the example of Asmol, the intrigues became subtler, and assassination attempts were disguised as accidents. Ishtan of the wolves was run down by a cart and severely injured, and the horses were later found to have been burnt. Dalreesh of the eagles discovered a scorpion in his bed, and a tenday later was found dead in a palace corridor with a knife in his back.

  Shamsara returned to his mountain cave, and Minna missed his lively conversations and the tales of his long and fascinating life. For a tenday after his departure, the palace was quiet, then a gang of street thugs attacked Symion in the city and almost killed him, but for Moret’s timely rescue. One of the thugs, wounded by Moret’s dogs, admitted the name of his employer under torture, and Yassin of the bats was sent to fight at the front. Minna employed seven new spies to find those disloyal to her, adding two more advisors to her army.

  After two tendays of relative peace, a message arrived from the front, informing the Queen of the five soldiers’ failure. Minna dispatched another five men with a heavy heart, this time a wolf, a cat, a horse and two bears. A further four tendays elapsed, with only a botched assassination attempt on Mendal, which made the Queen laugh. The news that the second quintet had failed plunged her into a deep depression that not even her best jesters could alleviate, and she despatched a third group of six. The inclusion in this group of a man of snakes gave her fresh hope, but four tendays later the news was bad once more. Four more veterans volunteered, a deadly quartet of snake, scorpion, dog and shark, the first three with familiars.

  Three tendays after they left, when Minna was growing impatient for news of them, Chiana gave her some other, startling news during their daily discussion of events.

  “My Queen, a man arrived at the palace yesterday, requesting an audience.”

  “Indeed? What sort of man? One of my lords?”

  “No.” Chiana looked a little puzzled. “He would tell me nothing of himself, saying that he would speak only to you. He seemed proud, and would not bend his knee to me, your chief advisor.”

  Minna smiled at Chiana’s indignant air. “How very uncivil of him; but do not let your little ego bloat too much, or I shall have to deflate it somewhat.”

  “He would not even give his name,” Chiana hurried on, “and he was strange looking.”

  “How so?”

  She shrugged, pondering the question with a slight frown. “I could not describe it; just strange.”

  “Well, did he have a big nose, or one eye? What?”

  “No, nothing like that, in fact, I thought him handsome, but... he was not ordinary.”

  The Queen cocked her head. “Then he must be extraordinary. My curiosity is aroused. Show me this stranger.”

  “But, My Queen, is it safe? He seemed... dangerous, I thought.”

  Minna-Satu glanced at Shista, stretched out asleep in a patch of sunlight. “Have him searched and stripped to the waist. Bring me any weapons you find.”

  Chiana looked doubtful, but made her prostration and left. Minna picked at a bowl of plump, bite-sized dil fruit while she waited, and was growing impatient by the time the two guards who stood outside pushed open the doors. Chiana entered and abased herself before rising to approach the Queen. Minna studied the man who walked behind her, a glance telling her more than Chiana had. He was a man of cats, and moved with the lithe grace of his kind, but more, he was an assassin, his trade clearly evident from the black dagger tattoo at the base of his throat.

  When Chiana stopped, the assassin dropped to one knee and bowed his head, a gesture of respect that was by no means a prostration. Minna cast another glance at Shista, who snored in the sun. She turned her attention to Chiana as the advisor held out two slender daggers.

  “He carried only these.”

  Minna looked at the man again. “Get up.”

  The assassin stood and raised his head, his gaze meeting hers for a moment. The odd colour of his eyes struck her: a pale grey ringed with darkness, like a winter sky lighted by a silver sun in eclipse. Never had she encountered a gaze so frigid. Its brief touch made her shiver. A leather thong caught his long black hair at his nape, and a few strands straggled across one pale cheek. A red mark marred his lean jaw, and a speck of blood leaked from one side of his narrow nose. The grim set of his well-formed mouth spoilt its sensuality, and his fine brows were knotted. Taken as a whole, his face had a fineness of feature not usually associated with the burly, hirsute inclination of his sex. His torso also bore the marks of fresh abuse, and his hands were clenched.

  Minna was struck by the strangeness Chiana had seen, but unable to pin it down. Beneath his handsome appearance dwelt something deeper and far more sinister, which puzzled her. His expression betrayed his anger, but his eyes contained a deeper rage, an inner turmoil that burnt from his gaze, even though it was directed at her feet. He also lacked something, she realised as she struggled to identify his peculiarity. Although he was definitely a man of cats, betrayed by his lean build and graceful gait, his feline traits were slight, hardly noticeable to one who was unobservant.

  Breaking with tradition, the Queen rose and approached him, rewarded by his brief, startled glance. He stood a mere half a head taller than her, not a big man by any measure, and he did not seem to mind being taller than the Queen, something others dreaded. On closer scrutiny, she noticed an oddity that had not immediately struck her. His cheeks were as smooth as a young boy’s, yet he appeared to be several years older than her.

  Minna-Satu cast Chiana a probing look. “Why does he bear the marks of ill treatment?”

  “I was told that he resisted the search, My Queen.”

  “And what had he to hide?”

  Chiana shrugged. “Nothing.”

  “Well, Chiana, you are most unobservant.” Minna’s tone held a hint of censure. “Even now, I see more in him than you could tell me. He is a man of cats, and, I would say, one driven by a great hatred. Moreover, he is an assassin.”

  Chiana gasped, and her eyes flew to the man, who shot the Queen a startled look. “An assassin?”

  “Yes, do you not see the tattoo at his throat?”

  “Now I do, but before it was hidden.”

  Minna appraised the man once more. He kept his eyes lowered, but a muscle in his jaw jumped, betraying his wish to speak. He awaited her permission, however, as he must.

  She smiled. “I know one other thing, but that I will not tell you. All that remains a mystery is why he is here.”

  “If he is an assassin -”

  “He would not have requested an audience, and besides, no one would wish me dead except the Cotti, and he is clearly Jashimari.” Minna glanced at her slumbering familiar again. “His presence does not bother Shista, so he bears me no ill will. You may return his weapons and leave us. I have decided to grant him an audience.”

  Chiana opened her mouth, then shut it again and held out the daggers, which the assassin took with a nod. The chief advisor strode to the doors and yanked them open with unnecessary vigour. Under Minna’s hard eyes, she closed them softly behind her. The Queen returned to her cushions and sat down with a sigh, gazing up at the slender man.

  “What is your name?”

  “I am called Blade... My Queen.” His soft, husky voice was deep enough to be unmistakeably male, but pitched pleasantly above the rich baritone of most men, which Minna often found irritating. He would make a pleasing conversationalist, if he had the intelligence to hold a good discussion. He spoke decisively, and lacked the mumbling subservience of most commoners in her presence.

  Minna motioned to the floor. “Sit. Tell me what you will.”

  Blade settled on a cushion and tucked his daggers away. He licked his lips, and his mouth relaxed and frown faded. Wi
thout it, he looked much better, Minna thought. He glanced at her, then away again, and she got the impression that the speech he had readied for this occasion had deserted him. She plucked a fruit and popped it into her mouth, casting yet another irritated glance at Shista, who continued to snore, oblivious to the stranger.

  The assassin said, “I have heard that you offer a mighty reward for the death of King Shandor.”

  Minna nodded. “To my soldiers. If I wished to hire an assassin, I would have done so.”

  “But an assassin is what you need.”

  Minna plucked another fruit. “Is that why you have come? To offer your services?”

  “Yes.”

  “This is not a task for an assassin. I also require that his son be brought to me, alive.”

  “I can do that,” Blade said.

  “How did you hear of the reward?”

  “In a brothel. Your soldiers visited it before they went to their deaths.”

  “And what were you doing there?”

  He shrugged. “Drinking.”

  “Of course.” Minna ate another fruit. “I have no need of your services. I have despatched another group of men, and expect to hear from them soon.”

  “They will fail.”

  She frowned, and the assassin looked away. “I dislike your tone, Blade. You are insolent.”

  “I am not accustomed to the company of queens, nor is my nature well suited to grovelling.” He raised his eyes to meet hers, his gaze as bleak as a midwinter’s day. “I did not resist the search. Your men took delight in hurting me. Had I chosen to resist, they would be dead now.”

  “You have a high opinion of your abilities.”

  “From experience.”

  Minna considered him, irked by her curiosity. She had never been so interested in a commoner before. This assassin, she sensed, harboured many dark secrets, and she longed to know them. At the same time, she was aware of his secretive nature, and the mystery that surrounded assassins and their strange, barbaric laws.

  “Tell me about your life.” The demand tripped off her tongue before she could bite it back.

  “You mean how I came to be as I am?” His lips twisted. “I did not come here to entertain you with the tale of my misfortune. I have made my offer. What is your reply?”

  Annoyed, Minna retorted, “I have no need of an assassin.”

  He rose to his feet, startling her. “Then I shall waste no more of your time.” He swung away.

  “Wait!”

  Blade pivoted to face her, balanced like a dancer on the balls of his feet.

  The Queen said, “I have given you no leave to go. Offer me any more insult, and I shall see you punished.” She flung a cushion at the slumbering sand cat. “Shista!”

  The cat snorted, opened a bleary eye, and yawned. Noting the Queen’s ire, she rose and stretched, padding over to her friend. Minna glared at the assassin, knowing that Shista would sense her mood and treat the subject of her anger accordingly. Perhaps the sand cat could intimidate him when the Queen could not. Shista wandered over to the assassin, sniffed him, and purred, rubbing her silken length against his legs. Blade, unperturbed, scratched the cat’s ears, and she flopped down, her purr growing to a great rumble. He smiled and crouched to stroke the recumbent cat.

  “Why would you have me stay, when we have no more to discuss?”

  Minna stared at him, at a loss for words. The smile lighted his countenance, and she was unable to look away. As if aware of it, his smile faded, and he bowed his head.

  The Queen gave herself a mental shake. “I will consider your offer, if you tell me why you want the task so much.”

  He scratched the sand cat’s throat. “What difference does it make to you?”

  “How can the reward tempt a man like you?”

  “Does it surprise you that I want riches and land when I will never have sons to pass them on to?”

  “Yes.”

  “Perhaps I tire of living in brothels and inns, killing men for a fee and earning nothing but scorn and hatred from all those I meet.” He looked up. “I am still young enough to enjoy the reward myself, but, in truth, it does not interest me as much as the prospect of killing King Shandor. If ever there was a man who deserved to die, it is he, and perhaps, by killing him, I shall make my existence worthwhile.”

  “I see. I shall consider this. You will remain in the palace until I have decided.”

  His frown betrayed his dislike for her order, but he fell on one knee and bowed his head. “My Queen.”

  “You may go,” she said, as he rose and swung away.

  Blade stalked to the doors and let himself out. Moments later, Chiana returned, her eyes full of curiosity. Minna made her wait for several minutes before she spoke.

  “He will stay in the palace for a while. See to it that he has whatever he needs.”

  “My Queen... he is an assassin.”

  Minna nodded. Assassins were held in the lowest regard, deemed no better than paid murderers. Most were men of the snake or scorpion, cold, unfeeling people without remorse or love. Blade, however, was of the cat, warm, generous individuals whose affections ran deep and strong, who treasured relationships and were prone to love deeply. Despite his lack of a familiar, Blade must share some of these traits, although his trade did not go against his kind, since cats were predatory.

  “He is my assassin now. Ensure he is comfortable.”

  The chief advisor performed a prostration and retreated, her expression puzzled and doubtful.

  Chiana found the assassin waiting in the corridor, the two guards who stood outside the Queen’s doors watching him. He had donned the black leather tunic of which he had been stripped earlier, and was employed in lacing it up. She averted her eyes from his sculpted torso, visible through the jacket’s open front, and led the way down the corridor.

  Twice she glanced back to ensure he was following, for he walked as silently as his feline kindred. Arriving outside the door to a servant’s room, she pushed it open and stood aside, allowing him to enter. He surveyed the chamber with obvious dislike, his lip curling as he turned to her. Chiana raised her chin and met his chilly gaze. As before, his grey eyes sent a jolt through her.

  “If you wish for anything, there is a bell pull by the bed, which will summon a maid. Your meals will be brought to you here.”

  His lips twisted further. “Am I a prisoner then?”

  “Certainly not. The Queen has ordered that you have every comfort; it is merely a matter of convenience. You present a slight problem of protocol, since you are not a servant, or a noble, and so may dine with neither.”

  “I did not ask to be kept here, Chief Advisor.”

  Her cheeks warmed, and she cursed her traitorous reactions. “You have not given me your name.”

  “You may call me Blade.”

  Unable to hold his gaze, Chiana lowered her eyes to the slender hands at his sides. Beautiful hands, unsuited to a man, especially a killer. She suppressed a shiver. “I must return to the Queen.”

  The assassin inclined his head, and she closed the door and headed down the corridor, recalling her first, unnerving encounter with him in the audience room.

  Rarely did commoners request an audience with the Queen. Usually their grievances were aired through the lords who governed them, and nobles always applied for an audience in writing. Captain Redgard had informed her of this unusual application, and she had entered the audience chamber to find Blade standing amid a quartet of guards. She would never forget the way he had turned slowly to face her, and the shock of meeting his icy gaze. Her heart had jumped at the sight of him, her breath catching. Even after he had left, his effect on her had lingered. When she had seen him again, battered by his encounter with the guards, she had experienced the same strange reaction in his presence.

  Chiana returned to her duties, striving to push his image from her mind.

  Chapter Three

  A tenday later, the message Minna-Satu awaited arrived from the
front. The soldiers had failed yet again. Captain Redgard brought the news himself, delivering it with a tinge of reproof in his tone. Minna kicked a cushion across the room, causing Shista to raise her head and look around.

  “Shall I select the next group of volunteers, My Queen?” the captain enquired without enthusiasm.

  “No. I shall send no more soldiers to perform this task.”

  Redgard slumped. “As you wish.”

  “It is not a mission suited to soldiers, Redgard. Do you not agree?”

  “As we have seen -”

  “Yes, yes. It is a task better suited to an assassin, is it not?”

  “Well....” The captain hesitated. “Perhaps, My Queen, but I doubt that an assassin would succeed either. The job is simply impossible.”

  “No. Not impossible. There is little that is truly impossible.” Minna paced the floor. “For a man to flap his arms and fly is impossible. For a man to live beneath the sea is impossible. But to kill King Shandor... is possible, for an assassin.”

  “Certainly they would be no great loss, and, being men of greed, they will flock to claim the reward….” He trailed off under Minna’s glare.

  She gestured. “You may go.”

  The captain prostrated himself and retreated. Minna went to the window to gaze out at the sun-drenched garden. Over the last tenday, she had glimpsed Blade twice in it, wandering amongst the flowers and shrubs, his black leather garb soaking up the light. His solitude told of sorrow and pain, and she sensed that death walked in his shadow, a hated ally at his side.

  She turned as Chiana entered. “Send for the assassin.”

  The chief advisor retreated almost as quickly as the captain had done. Minna stared out of the window while she waited, her eyes following the winding silken banners that flew above the temple. The dream silk snapped and slithered in the breeze, its soft hiss underscoring the birdsong. Minna had never liked the dream silk. The invasion of her dreams by its sliding coils of bright cloth sometimes woke her in shivering distress, but she could rarely remember the unpleasant dreams it evoked.