The Queen's Blade

by T C Southwell

  The ride to the meeting, although achieved at a sedate walk, proved to be painful and tiring. Blade arrived at the assigned location far weaker than he would have wished, and mustered all of his remaining energy to walk without a limp into the ring of torches that lighted the scene. A surprising number of assassins were assembled within the circle of tall grey stones whose origins had been lost in time. Their black clothes made them blend into a formless mass dotted with pale faces, their numerous familiars hidden amongst them. Many were apprentices, young boys barely in their teens.

  An older man stepped from the ranks, a dark wolf following him like a shadow. Blade’s former tutor’s hair was touched with grey at the temples, and his well-trimmed beard bore twin white lines that gave him the distinguished air of a scholar. Then again, Blade mused, Kai had always looked distinguished, an asset that had helped his career. At over forty years old, he was, by assassins’ standards, elderly.

  Had he remained an active assassin, he would not have achieved such a great age. Kai had retired in his late twenties, and now earned his living teaching young assassins for a share of their profits once they earned their tattoos. He was also an elder in the assassin’s guild, aided in its decisions and partook in the rituals, such as judging young assassins striving to attain their mark. Older retired assassins ranked above him, but in this instance, he was the guild’s spokesman, as Blade’s erstwhile mentor.

  He smiled. “Welcome, Blade. I’m pleased that you’ve finally honoured us with your presence.”

  Blade inclined his head. “Talon.” He addressed the elder assassin by his trade name, as was polite.

  Talon surveyed the assembly, with its many young, curious faces, and raised his voice. “For those of you who don’t know him, I present to you the assassin Blade, our most renowned and proficient member, and the Master of the Dance. Over two hundred kills, amongst them great lords, and, of course, King Shandor of the Cotti, his greatest triumph yet. What’s most amazing is that he’s still alive, and almost thirty years old.” He swung back to Blade. “Still no plans to retire?”

  The assassin shrugged, meeting Talon’s slanted, yellowish eyes, which betrayed his kindred to the wolf. “I’m considering it.”

  “Perhaps you shouldn’t delay it until your edge is lost, and, with it, your life.”

  “Perhaps.”

  Talon walked around Blade, an old habit that brought back many memories. “But I wonder, should we address you as ‘My Lord’ now, and bow to you?”

  “Do as you see fit.”

  “I also wonder what you are now. Are you a lord, or an assassin? Have you relinquished your trade? If you have, your mark must be burnt off with a hot iron. If you retire, you’re expected to teach the young.”

  Blade’s back prickled as Talon passed behind him. “I haven’t relinquished my trade, nor am I retired as yet.”

  “Then you’re still an assassin, and subject to our rules.”

  “Yes. Is this the reason I was summoned here?”

  “Not exactly.” Talon stopped in front of him. “An assassin died in the palace, not too long ago. He was sent to kill Prince Kerrion, but he failed. Do you deny killing him?”

  Blade straightened, stung by the accusation. “You think I killed Slash? That’s absurd. I have never broken the guild’s laws. I had nothing to do with his death. I was only told of it afterwards. The soldiers guarding Prince Kerrion killed him.”

  “I find it hard to believe that an experienced assassin such as Slash was discovered by soldiers.”

  “He was not. The Prince discovered him, knocked him down and called the guards.”

  Talon’s eyes narrowed. “Discovered by his target? How?”

  “He tripped over a rug. Slash should have retired before now. He was almost nine and twenty, and had lost his edge.”

  “I see.” Talon circled him again. “And you, in turn, were beaten badly by four street thugs, hired by those who paid Slash. Weren’t they seeking to remove you as an obstacle in their efforts to kill the Prince, because it was you who foiled Slash’s attempt?”

  “No. They were avenging the death of Lord Mordon, whom I was paid to kill after Slash’s death. He was one of those who hired Slash.”

  “And this, we must assume, since you’re an assassin before your peers, is the truth.”

  “It is.”

  Talon stopped in front of him again. “Yes, I suspect the commoners would dearly like to turn us against our own. But they’ve presented us with another dilemma.” He beckoned to the audience.

  A tall man approached, his narrow face marred by a scar that ran from temple to chin, cutting through an eye, which a patch covered. A shiny black scorpion clung to his shoulder, its stinger curled over its back.

  Talon placed a hand on the assassin’s other shoulder. “This is Scar, aptly named. He’s recently been asked to kill a certain Lord Conash, and offered a handsome fee. Since he knows that Lord Conash is also the assassin Blade, he came to me with the problem. As Lord Conash, you’re fair game, but as Blade, you’re not. He was told that you had relinquished your profession, and no longer enjoyed the protection of being one of us. He was told that you now answer only to the Queen, and have been called the Queen’s Blade. Is this true?”

  Blade shifted his weight off his injured leg, hiding his discomfort with a frown. “I have been called that, but I don’t answer only to her. I’m still an assassin. Anyone may hire me.”

  “That’s good.” Talon patted Scar’s shoulder. “So you’ll have forego your fine fee, Scar.”

  The tall assassin smiled lopsidedly. “A pity.” He thrust out a hand. “Good to meet you.”

  Blade shook it, surprised by the vigour with which his was wrung. “Is this the reason for this meeting, Talon?”

  “Amongst other things. There were a number of reasons, most of which we have now dealt with. No assassin may become one man’s pet killer, or woman’s, and it’s this misconception that’s put your life in danger. Those who tried to hire Scar may still pay ordinary men to kill you, as they have already.”

  “Those men weren’t sent to kill me. They only wanted me out of the way then, and they wanted information. The Queen foiled their plans by sending Prince Kerrion back to the desert, thereby putting him out of their reach.” Blade turned to Scar. “If I knew who hired you….”

  The tall assassin’s smile twisted his scar, and the cold glint of his eye betrayed his kind. “He went to great lengths to hide beneath a hood, and didn’t give his name, but I can tell you that it was Lord Bellcamp.”

  Talon looked disapproving. “Who’s now doubtless a dead man, and his accomplices will know who betrayed them.”

  Scar shrugged, making his scorpion twitch. “They shouldn’t have hired an assassin to kill one of his own.”

  “I thank you for telling me,” Blade said, “and I would say that he and his cohorts will be dead before they can have their revenge.”

  “That’s as well,” Talon commented, “for assassins shouldn’t reveal their clients to anyone.” Again he cast a stern glance at Scar. “If you pay the price, you have only yourself to blame.”

  As Scar opened his mouth to reply, Blade interjected, “If that’s all the business you have with me, I’ll take my leave.”

  Talon stepped closer to peer at him. “Are you unwell?”

  Blade toyed with the idea of telling the truth, but rejected it. Even though his rigid stance and pallor should have been obvious, he did not wish to reveal his weakness to his peers. “No, I’m well, but it’s late, and I have business to tend to.”

  “Supper with the Queen, perhaps?”

  Blade shook his head. “Nothing quite so important, I’m afraid.”

  “A pity,” Talon murmured. “Many of these youngsters would like to meet you.”

  “Another time, perhaps. I bid you goodnight.” With a curt nod, Blade turned away.

  The information Blade gleaned mollified Minna-Satu’s fury at his jaunt somewhat, but his refusal to identify
the assassin who had told him sparked her ire afresh. He had regarded her with wintry eyes that challenged her to punish his disobedience. Instead, she ordered Lord Bellcamp’s immediate arrest, only to find that he had already fled, warned by his spies. Realising the strength of her foes, she ordered that the assassin’s rooms be guarded and started a manhunt for the traitorous lord.

  A tenday later, Captain Redgard arrested one of the men who had attacked Blade, but the cutthroat could tell him nothing, having never seen his employer’s face. He did, however, reveal the identity of the other three men, who were arrested and put on trial, found guilty and executed all in one day.

  Blade healed more quickly than the healers had predicted, regaining his health a mere two tendays after the executions. To his disgust and amusement, the Queen assigned a bodyguard to protect him, and forbade him to leave the palace without his watchdog. Blade found it incongruous that an assassin should have a bodyguard, but Minna was adamant and would brook no argument. The soldier set to guard him was a pleasant, burly man named Lirek, a man of dogs with a brindled war hound familiar called Fang. True to the breed, Fang stood above knee height, with a robust, muscular frame, a whip-thin tail and lupine ears.

  The conspirators met once more before Lord Bellcamp fled the city, this time at Mendal’s house. Suspicion and recrimination thickened the air, with Lord Bellcamp at the centre of the animosity. Lord Javare’s scathing remarks made Bellcamp’s hand stray often to the hilt of his sword, and Mendal barely managed to keep the three lords from each other’s throats. Lord Durlan mopped nervous sweat from his fat features, his small eyes darting between the other two. Until this incident, he had been the most hated of the three, now Bellcamp had usurped him. When at last Javare had exhausted his supply of vitriol, the meeting became more business-like.

  Mendal said, “So, Bellcamp has been discovered through his foolishness in trying to hire an assassin to kill one of his own. The point is, what are we going to do about it?”

  “You are the advisor,” Javare remarked.

  “Bellcamp will have to leave the city, of course.” Mendal turned to the bearded lord. “Where will you go?”

  “I have a sister in Luxborg,” Bellcamp said with surly indifference. “I shall stay with her.”

  “We must kill the assassin,” Durlan asserted.

  “Which one?” Mendal enquired.

  “Both, preferably, but particularly the bastard who lives in the palace.”

  “It is Scar’s head I want,” Bellcamp said. “He is the one who betrayed me.”

  “That will not be easy,” Mendal pointed out. “He is a good assassin, I have heard. He will not be an easy target, and you will find few willing to take him on.”

  “We had no problem with Blade.”

  “It is well known that Blade is no fighter, but Scar, by all accounts, is a different matter.”

  Bellcamp snorted, swinging away to pace. “Then we should get rid of Blade. At least that would prevent him from learning more from his cronies.”

  Mendal shook his head. “There is no more to learn. No one else will try to hire an assassin to kill him, and now he has a bodyguard, so he too is a hard target. The Prince has been sent back to the desert, and the war continues unabated, so whatever the Queen had planned to bring about peace has failed. I say we leave well enough alone. Our kidnapping Blade had the unexpected effect of making the Queen send the Prince home, thus breaking off their discussions. There is no point in doing anything more. We have succeeded.”

  “We have to avenge Mordon’s death,” Durlan said.

  “The Queen ordered it, My Lord. Blade was just the tool. According to our laws, she is responsible. Do you propose to kill her?”

  Durlan looked away from Mendal’s glassy stare. “Of course not.”

  “Then I say we lie low and see what develops. Bellcamp will go to Luxborg, where I daresay he will have to spend the remainder of his days, for to return to Jondar would be suicide.”

  Bellcamp shrugged. “I shall not miss it.”

  “Good, then we are agreed.”

  “I will put a price on that bastard’s head before I go,” Bellcamp avowed. “If he ever comes into the city without his bodyguard, he will die.”

  “Lord Conash is not to blame,” Javare said, breaking his sombre silence. “As Mendal has pointed out, the Queen sanctioned Mordon’s death.”

  “That is not the reason for it,” Bellcamp argued, shooting Javare a glare. “If not for Blade, Mordon would be alive. The courts would not have convicted him for trying to kill a Cotti prince. Because of him, Prince Kerrion was sent back to the desert, and now the threat of him hangs over us like an executioner’s axe. We should have killed him when we had the chance. He will only get in our way again.”

  Mendal said, “Providing the Queen makes no further attempts to stop the war, we have no reason to set ourselves against her.”

  Bellcamp raked the advisor with a scathing glance. “You, of all people, should know that Queen Minna-Satu does not give up so easily.”

  “She has spoken to Kerrion and failed. What more can she do?”

  “I do not know, but I will wager that she will think of something.”

  “Let us not build any bridges where there are no rivers, My Lord. When we know in which direction she is going, we can start thinking about how to stop her. Until then, we do nothing.”

  Two tendays after Blade recovered from his wounds, the advisor Symion returned from the front with four prospective consorts for the Queen. Although she praised his diligence, the Queen sent Symion away without considering any of the young men, merely ordering that they should be housed in the palace. This puzzled all but Blade, who did not bother to enlighten anyone, not even Chiana, despite her accusing stares, or perhaps because of them.

  An uneasy tranquillity settled on the palace, which deep currents of suspicion and anticipation underscored, as if everyone held their breath. The only one unaffected was Blade, who ignored the whispers around and about him. Several times, he gave Lirek the slip long enough to enjoy some solitary drinking, and even once to perform an assassination for a merchant client.

  Minna-Satu affected contentment, hiding her unhappiness behind a façade of well-being. Her daily routine went unchanged, although perhaps she showed a little more zeal than previously, as if to provide a distraction from her thoughts. Her countenance remained gloomy, despite the antics of monkey-kin jesters and graceful flamingo-kin dancers.

  Blade was exercising in the garden when Chiana appeared between the hedgerows bearing a plain, grubby missive. She paused to watch him in the moment before he revealed that he was aware of her presence, and he raised mocking eyebrows when he turned to face her. She lowered her eyes and held out the letter, turning away when he took it.

  Blade frowned at her back, wondering why the Queen’s chief advisor should be the one to deliver a missive to him, then shrugged it off and tore it open. The scrawl within was barely legible, although written with great care and smudged with dirty fingerprints and tears. Blade sighed as he finished reading it, and raised his head to gaze around at the sunlit garden.

  His retainers had rejected Lilu, despite the letter he had given her, which they had dismissed as a forgery. She was now living in someone’s barn, working as a milkmaid in utter squalor. Her predicament did not unduly trouble him, but her letter gave him a good reason to travel to his estate, which he longed to see. His request to see the Queen was granted, as always, and she smiled when he bowed to her.

  “My Lord Conash, it is good to see you. Since your remarkable recovery, I have scarcely had your company.”

  “You are busy, My Queen. I do not wish to intrude.”

  Minna-Satu waved it away. “You never intrude. Would you care for lunch?”

  “No, thank you. I have come about a matter of some importance to myself.”

  The Queen sighed and sank onto a mound of silken cushions, glancing at the sand cat who slumbered in a patch of late autumn sunlight. Shista
’s ears and whiskers twitched as she hunted prey in the land of dreams, her paws jerking.

  “So,” Minna grumbled, “you have not come for the pleasure of my company, but for some favour.”

  Blade hesitated, surprised by her testy tone and obvious displeasure. Minna glance up at him and gestured to the floor in front of her. “Do not loom over me, Blade, sit.”

  He settled on a cushion. “I have not come for a favour, My Queen, only to inform you that I shall be visiting my estate.”

  Minna’s brows rose. “To inform me? Not to ask permission?”

  “No.” Blade leant forward, frowning. “Whatever is troubling you, I ask that you put it aside for the moment. I have done nothing to deserve such rancour.”

  “No?” Minna jumped up and strode over to the window, staring out. “You have disobeyed me on numerous occasions, defied my wishes and flouted my instructions. You have even refused to answer my questions, for which a lesser man might have lost his head. I, on the other hand, have rewarded you richly, elevated your rank to one of the highest in the land, and saved your life. For all this, you do not see fit to ask my permission to leave? You brashly announce that you will be leaving, without asking me if I can spare you.”

  He gazed at her stiff back, noting her clenched hands, and his frown faded. “Why do you not write to him?”

  Her shoulders slumped. “And say what?”

  “Ask if he is well. Tell him of your unhappiness and of his child.”

  She turned to face him, looking defeated. “You are far too perceptive. It will get you into trouble one of these days.” She sighed. “I cannot write to him. My letters would never reach him.”

  “Kerrion is a man of eagles. His familiar is a desert eagle. An eagle could bear a message to him and bring his to you. All you need is a man or woman of eagles who you can trust to have their familiar carry the missive.”

  She returned to sit on her cushions, her eyes dark with sadness. “How long will you be gone?”

  He shrugged. “Not too long.”

  “You will be back before the winter storms begin? Once they do, the roads will be impassable.”

  Blade nodded, hiding his reluctance. “Of course.”