Once again, his curiosity prompted him to ask, “So what made you become an assassin?”
“I would have thought that was obvious, and it is none of your damned business. Do you never tire of yapping?”
“You must have had an interesting life.”
“Is that what you would call it?”
Kerrion shrugged. “Well, it must have been hard, but I would dearly like to hear about it.”
“Did you enjoy last night’s tales so much then?”
“No. But there must have been some good times, even for you.”
The assassin shot him a dark look, and Kerrion changed the subject. “I have had some good times, but with fifteen brothers who hated me, I have had some bad times too.”
“Did they pull your hair?”
“They did their best to humiliate and discredit me as often as they could, and their mothers helped.”
“Mothers?”
“My father had six wives and dozens of concubines. I have fourteen sisters, too.”
“That is a lot of women under one roof.”
Kerrion chuckled. “Indeed it is. A lot of children, too. Of course, as soon as they were old enough, my father married his daughters off to his lords and officers. There were plenty to go around.”
Blade put aside his empty bowl, leant back against a tree and closed his eyes. “You talk too much. Have you nothing interesting to say?”
The Prince plucked at his chains. “You could take these off now. I cannot possibly escape. I would never make it back to the mountains.”
Blade opened one eye. “You jest.”
“No, I am in earnest.”
“You expect me to trust you not to kill me in my sleep? What kind of a fool do you take me for?”
“I am a man of honour. I accept that I am your captive, and I will not attempt to harm you. You have my word.”
Blade laughed. “Your word! You are my prisoner, and you will remain in those chains until we reach the Queen.”
Kerrion scowled. “Whatever it is your queen wants from me, I will not do it.”
“You probably will not have a choice, especially if it is your head.”
“If she wants peace, as you say, she is not likely to do that.” Kerrion shook his head. “She must think that she can negotiate some sort of truce. Perhaps she will offer me part of her kingdom in return for an end to the Cotti onslaught and inevitable victory. If she does, I shall ask for you as part of the bargain.”
Blade sat up, frowning. “She would not offer you a grain of Jashimari soil, and you would never get me, but why would you do that?”
“So it is possible that she wants a truce?”
“I have no idea what she wants, but why would you ask for me?”
“We have a score to settle, regarding my father, and my treatment.”
Blade gave a derisive snort. “I would kill you first.”
“That would put my brother on the throne and ruin all your queen’s plans.”
“I do not care.”
“You should, if you want the war to end,” the Prince said.
“I do not care about that either.”
“Is there anything you care about?”
“No.”
Kerrion smiled. “Perhaps I will just ask for your head, in that case.”
“Is this your idea of a friendly conversation?”
“I doubt that we will ever be friends.”
“I know we will not.”
Kerrion’s smile broadened. His goading was starting to annoy the assassin, which was precisely what he wanted. Sensing that the time was ripe, he asked, “Does the Queen neuter all her assassins?”
“If you cannot control your tongue, I shall cut it out for you.”
“No, you will not. So why did she neuter you? Was it a punishment?”
Blade leapt up and stepped towards the Prince, then swung away and walked off to stand with his back to the camp. Kerrion grinned. He enjoyed tormenting Blade. When Kerrion had been kidnapped, he had not doubted that Blade would have killed him in a moment. Now that the assassin was so close to delivering his prize, however, Kerrion knew he was safe. A little verbal abuse was trifling revenge for his abduction and harsh treatment, but it was all he could inflict.
“So who was it?” he insisted. “A jealous husband? A jilted girlfriend? Perhaps an angry customer?”
Blade strode over to the Prince, drew a dagger and pressed it to Kerrion’s throat.
Kerrion glowered at him. “You will not kill me.”
“If you think that, you are a fool. Killing you would give me more pleasure than delivering you to the Queen.”
“You would not get your reward.”
“I do not care.”
A chill crawled down Kerrion’s spine. “Do it then. I am not afraid to die.”
“You should be.” Blade sheathed the dagger, and the Prince relaxed.
“So did the Queen do it herself?”
The assassin punched Kerrion, making his eyes water and the salty tang of blood invade his mouth. “You do not learn, do you?”
Kerrion blinked, shocked by the sudden violence. Until now, Blade had seemed too well controlled to resort to brutality, but apparently he had found the one subject that enraged the assassin beyond the point where he could control his temper. The Prince spat blood, longing to strike back. Blade’s mocking smile, ever on hand to rile his opponent, seemed to have deserted him.
Kerrion jeered, “So you do care about something.”
“I dislike nosey Cotti bastards who pry into another man’s business like a fishwife into her neighbour’s household.”
“So why did she do it? To punish you for some indiscretion? Did you forget to grovel properly?”
Blade yanked a cloth from one of the packs and stuffed it into the Prince’s mouth. “If you will not be quiet, I shall make you.”
While the assassin hunted for a rope, Kerrion pulled the gag out. “How does it feel to be a half man? Do you hate her now? Why do you still serve her?”
Blade rammed the gag back in with such force the Prince almost choked on it, then wound a strip of cloth around his head, holding it in place. He tied it tightly and shoved Kerrion aside before he reclaimed his seat on the far side of the fire, sipped his tea and regarded at his captive. Almost half a time-glass passed before he broke the silence.
“You are going to goad me with that whenever you can, are you not? You seem to enjoy making me angry. I see that now. It is a kind of revenge. The only one of which you are capable. You seem to think this is something I am ashamed of, hence my anger. But you are wrong. I will tell you what you want to know. It seems I have told you too much already, but hopefully you will die soon. Perhaps, being a Cotti, you have a right to know.”
He paused, as if considering his words. “All the Jashimari boys were... gelded in your camps. I suppose they thought we would live to be adults, and by gelding us they would make us easier to handle. Jashimari are strong-willed and stubborn, unlike Cotti, who spend all their energy talking, and are easily persuaded to do as they are told, even offering to be willing captives.” Blade cast a scornful eye over the Prince.
“I never stopped trying to escape, and several times they beat me almost to death. What they did to me only made me hate them more, and I became more determined to escape them, no matter how they punished me. Do not insult me with your pity, either. I have found my... difference to be a great asset at times, ensuring I never find myself at the mercy of some scheming woman. And it has enabled me to be a good assassin, providing, as it does, a fool-proof disguise.
“Your father fell for it, as many have done before him, and paid the price. You could say that what your soldiers did led to his death, for any normal man would not be able to pass himself off as a woman, for obvious reasons.”
Blade’s gaze rested on Kerrion’s chin, from which a three-tenday-old beard sprouted. He rubbed his smooth cheek, a slight smile curling his lips again.
“So, now you
know, and I do not really care who you tell. I do not like to talk about it, but it has never been a secret. Most people know what I am when they see me, and how I became what I am is irrelevant. You may take some pride in what your soldiers did to me, but it has not done you, or them, any good, has it? Perhaps I will suggest to the Queen that she return the favour with you, and send back to the Cotti a king who will never beget sons. I will gladly kill all your brothers, too.”
Kerrion longed to tell Blade that he had no pity in his heart for a man like him, but what the soldiers had done was so wrong it shamed him. That his father had been a part of it was even more shameful. The assassin finished his tea and put away the cup, then tied the Prince to a tree as usual before rolling himself into his blankets.
The Prince lay awake for a long time, thinking about what he had learnt. He had always thought war an honourable thing, an undertaking by brave men who fought for honour and glory, who battled and died proudly under the flags of their king and country. Sometimes there were prisoners, and these were taken to work in the mines, digging ore to forge into new weapons for the Cotti army, a fitting punishment for setting themselves against the might of his father’s kingdom.
Women and children were innocents, however, and to his knowledge never taken prisoner and certainly not abused in the way Blade described. He wondered if the assassin was lying, but somehow believed him. Much as he disliked Blade for murdering his father and his own harsh treatment, he also admired his courage, spirit and determination.
“When did this start?” Minna demanded of her chief advisor.
“Almost a three tendays ago, My Queen.”
“And why was I not informed earlier?”
“At first General Hannach thought it merely another attack. They are fighting a war, after all; the Cotti attack all the time. But they have been throwing themselves at the mountain pass relentlessly, and the general says that their fury is frightening to behold.”
Minna’s eyes sparkled. “Then he has succeeded!”
“Perhaps,” Chiana allowed. “He might have only enraged them with his attempt.”
“No. He has succeeded. What of the Prince?”
Chiana shook her head. “No one has seen either Blade or the Prince.”
“If this started three tendays ago, and Blade has been gone almost a moon phase, he must be nearly here by now.”
“My Queen, there is the more pressing matter of the general’s request for reinforcements.”
“Yes, yes.” Minna made an impatient gesture. “Send him whatever he requires.”
Chiana headed for the door, but the Queen said, “Wait. I did not give you leave to go. There is more. Send orders to the guards, to Captain Redgard, to be on the lookout for Blade. When he comes, they must let him in instantly.”
“Yes, My Queen.”
“He will be here any day now, with the Cotti King as his captive.”
The Queen went over to the windows and gazed at the dreary gardens drenched by sleeting rain, her cheeks flushed with excitement, or perhaps joy. She looked like a girl of sixteen, and sometimes acted like one, despite her upbringing, Chiana thought. The chief advisor closed the doors softly behind her.
The sound of approaching hoof beats woke Kerrion, and he jerked upright in alarm. He groaned as stiff muscles protested and looked around for the assassin, but he was alone. Had Blade abandoned him, trussed and helpless, to the mercy of local marauders? As the horse and rider came into view through the dripping mist, he slumped.
Blade dismounted, cast a glance at his gagged captive, and pulled a pack from his horse. Taking a loaf of bread from it, still warm from the oven, he broke it in two. He yanked the gag from the Prince’s mouth and handed him half.
Kerrion took it, rubbing his aching jaw. “Where did you go?”
“For supplies.”
The Prince tore at the bread. “You do not need to gag me anymore. I will not try to make you angry again.”
The assassin ignored him, glancing around as he ate.
“I do not pity you,” Kerrion stated. “I should think it must be impossible to pity a man like you. But what those soldiers and my father did was wrong. If I am returned to the desert, I shall see to it that these abominable practices are stopped.” Blade shook his head, and the Prince went on, “I shall appoint overseers and employ spies to ensure this. I know that is the only way.”
Blade uncorked a water skin and washed the bread down, then rose to saddle the Prince’s horse.
Kerrion scowled at him, frustrated by his silence. “Do you not have anything to say?”
The assassin shrugged. “I doubt you will get the opportunity.”
“When I tell your queen, I am sure I shall. War is one thing, but these atrocities must be stopped.”
“And you do not think that war itself is an atrocity?”
“We fight for our honour and defend our land.”
Blade snorted. “Honour! What would you know about that? And why would the Jashimari try to invade your god-forsaken desert? What do you have that we would want? Your wealth is measured in tonnes of useless sand.”
“The Cotti are a rich people. We have beautiful cities and great oases, as well as plenty of gold. Your queens have ever been fond of gold.”
“She has so much of the damned stuff that she has built her palace from it. What would she want with more?” Blade tightened the horse’s girth with an angry jerk. “No, it was the Cotti who tried to invade Jashimari land, envious of our fertile soil and abundance.”
Kerrion glanced at the chill mist. “No Cotti would wish to live in such a cold, wet place as this.”
“No Jashimari would want to be boiled to death in your damned desert, nor stricken with its plagues. So I do not know what we are fighting about, nor do I care.”
“No one knows what we are fighting about anymore.”
“Then I do not know why we bother,” Blade retorted. “Nor do I wish to argue about it.”
When the Prince finished his bread, Blade hooded him and boosted him into the saddle.
Chapter Seven
Two days later, they reached Jondar. Kerrion’s hooded form drew curious stares from the populace as they rode along the crowded streets. Blade opened his collar to display the tattoo at the base of his throat, well known as the mark of an assassin, which deflected any enquiries. It was rare to see an assassin abroad in public, even more uncommon in daylight and displaying his mark, which, in itself, aroused some unwelcome interest, and loitering city guards eyed the passing pair.
At the palace gates, two sentries crossed their spears in front of Blade’s horse and forced him to stop, then demanded his business.
“I am the assassin Blade, returning from the front on the Queen’s business, with a prisoner,” he informed them.
One man peered at his tattoo, and then they stood aside, grounding their spears. Blade urged his tired mount forward as the soldier signalled to the men who manned the massive gates. The gilded barrier was pulled open, and he rode into the forecourt of the Queen’s palace. Grooms ran up to take the horses, and Blade dragged the hooded Prince down. More guards approached, offering to take the prisoner. Blade declined, leading Kerrion towards the palace, and four guards fell in behind him.
In the audience chamber, he was told to wait, and he removed Kerrion’s hood. The Prince surveyed his opulent surroundings without expression and turned to the assassin.
“Am I to be taken to the Queen in this state?” He looked down at his travel-stained clothes.
“There is no need to primp yourself, I am sure she does not care what you look like.”
“I thought perhaps she was unused to dealing with dirty, unshaven men who stink of horse and sweat. Does she keep such company, then?”
“Insult the Queen at your peril. I will add a few bloodstains to your attire if you persist.”
“You do not present yourself in such a state,” the Prince pointed out, his gaze raking Blade’s clean leather clothes and glossy hair.
The assassin had bathed in a stream the previous evening, disdaining the cold to wash the mud and stink from himself and his clothes.
“No,” Blade agreed. “I am not a prisoner.”
“If you seek to humiliate me, your effort is wasted, since my filth is through no fault of mine. Your queen is more likely to be offended by such dirt in her presence.”
Blade frowned, then Chief Advisor Chiana entered and approached them, her steps echoing in the pillared room. Kerrion glanced at the assassin, but Blade took no notice of his curious look as Chiana stopped before him.
“Welcome, assassin. The Queen is eager to see you and your... prisoner. You are to come immediately into her presence.”
Chiana led the way to the small door through which she had entered, and Blade tugged the Prince after him, the guards following. At the entrance to the Queen’s private sitting room, the group paused while the guards secured Kerrion’s hands behind his back. Blade smiled at his sullen expression, daring him to protest this further insult.
Queen Minna-Satu paced her chamber. Chiana’s news that the assassin had returned with a prisoner filled her with nervous excitement. She plucked at her peacock-blue silk skirt, dissatisfied with it. Her bodice’s silver embroidery glinted under the sheath of fine golden chainmail. In the few minutes she had taken to prepare, her maids had dressed her hair and ornamented it with golden chains and jewel-tipped pins.
Strings of pearls adorned her neck and thin golden bangles slithered on her arms. For the umpteenth time, she peered into the mirror, examining her flushed face with deep discontent, then swung away to pace about again. Her heart thumped, and she could not say whether it was the prospect of meeting the Cotti Prince or seeing Blade again that made her so anxious.
“Do pay attention, Shista,” she berated the sleepy cat. “Get up. Sit beside me and look fearsome.”
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