The Queen's Blade

by T C Southwell

  “I will have need of you once my condition becomes known. People will suspect. There will be much speculation. My enemies will plot against me again.”

  “Unless you give them no reason to.” At her puzzled look, he elaborated, “If you take one of the consorts to your room, they will assume -”

  “No. I cannot do that.”

  “He has only to sleep on the floor, as long as you can trust him. It will buy you some time, allay their suspicions until they realise that the consort could not be the father of your child.”

  Her eyes roamed over his face. “You are clever, Blade, although your shrewdness does seem rather underhand. I do not like stooping to such measures, deceiving those around me with charades and lies. I shall, however, think on the matter, for it is my child’s life that is at stake here.”

  For several minutes she appeared lost in thought, then she said, “Go to your estate then. All is quiet here for now, but return before the winter storms. I shall give you a company of men to guard you, for there are perils on the journey.”

  Blade did not want a company of men, but saw no point in arguing. The Queen could be implacable at times, and he sensed that this was one of them. He rose and bowed. “My Queen.”

  She inclined her head. “Safe journey, My Lord Conash.”

  Chapter Fifteen

  Kerrion returned to his desert city in a glorious fashion. Thousands lined the way to his palace, cheering and tossing precious flowers in his path. He wondered at the hero’s welcome bestowed upon a prince who had been the Jashimari Queen’s prisoner and released at her behest. There was nothing heroic about his ignominious return to the desert, dressed in Jashimari clothes and riding a steed the Queen had provided. Upon reaching the Cotti camp, he had almost been shot before he was recognised. The well hidden, pitying looks of his senior officers had annoyed him greatly. In their eyes, at least, his captivity had reduced his stature.

  Once dressed in Cotti clothes again, he had been joyously reunited with his familiar, Kiara, who had been caged during his absence to prevent her from following him and being killed. Fortunately, the officer who had discovered his abduction had had the foresight to cage the bird before she had woken on that fateful morning. With her perched upon his shoulder once more, he had compounded his unpopularity in the eyes of his men by announcing that he wished to have a Jashimari slave, and ordered that all the slaves in the camp be brought for his inspection. Twenty dull-eyed boys and fifteen frightened girls had been brought before him. Kerrion had ordered that they be taken to the mountain pass and released, which had incited angry mutters from some of his bolder officers. He had informed them that slavery was banned under his rule, and any slaves found would be released and their owners punished. A few officers had voiced protests to this, but his glare had silenced them.

  Three days later, he had set off on the two-tenday journey to the city, where he would face his brothers and the ordeal of his coronation. The pale metropolis shimmered in the heat, its buildings constructed primarily from white stone or whitewashed to reflect the fierce sun. Tall palms shaded the wide, paved roads, and patches of verdure grew next to mansions and temples. Awnings extended from shops to cool their bland interiors and invite the heat stricken to enter their tempting shade. The throngs of sun-bronzed Cotti that lined the way to wave and cheer their prince provided thirsty patrons for roadside taprooms and teahouses after he passed.

  Kerrion still wore a prince’s silver circlet as he reined in his horse in front of the sweeping marble steps that led to the pillared archways of his father’s palace. The tall, gilded domes glowed in the sun atop pale walls built by master crafters in a previous age. He dismounted before the roaring crowds that cordons of soldiers held at bay, and turned once to wave before mounting the steps, his officers flanking him. The noise was left behind as he entered the cool, bare halls of the palace, a building that had outgrown its furnishings and whose grandeur was marked by an echoing emptiness, apart from a few cosy rooms. The scarcity of wood made it impossible to fill the many chambers with anything other than stone statues and a few paintings.

  Liveried servants bowed and took his dusty white cloak, brushing sand from his tunic with its silver sun emblem, while others ushered him towards his private quarters. He did not expect to reach them unmolested, and was not surprised when Lerton confronted him with a supercilious sneer. His younger brother, resplendent in foppish finery of pale yellow linen with gold trappings, bowed mockingly.

  “Welcome home, Sire,” he jeered.

  Kerrion frowned, his fatigue making him curt. “I am not in the mood for your antics, Lerton. I am tired and I want a bath. Get out of my way.”

  Lerton hopped aside. “Whatever you say, Sire! Your word is my command.”

  Kerrion stalked past, and Kiara spread her wings to keep her balance.

  Lerton fell into step beside him. “Did you enjoy the hospitality of the Jashimari Queen?”

  “I was a prisoner.”

  Lerton laughed. “Aye, taken prisoner by a woman!”

  Kerrion stopped and swung to face his brother, causing Kiara’s claws to dig into his shoulder. Lerton eyed him, and the various retainers stepped back. Because they had different mothers, Lerton was a mere two moons younger than Kerrion. He took after his father, a broad bear of a man, despite being the kin of snakes. His familiar, a pale golden stone snake with enough venom to give a man a bad headache, was coiled around his neck. The half-brothers looked nothing alike, since Lerton owned blunt features, ash blond hair and dark brown eyes.

  “Is that what everyone thinks?” Kerrion demanded.

  “It is true.” Lerton shrugged, his expression smug.

  “No, it is a lie, which you probably made up. I was kidnapped by a man disguised as a woman, a skilful assassin who also killed our father.”

  Lerton snorted. “You were seen walking off into the desert with a whore, and you went willingly.”

  “I had a knife at my ribs, you fool.”

  “So you say, but of course you would. Who would admit to such a demeaning capture?”

  “And do you also think our father was killed by a woman?”

  “No one knows who killed him. Perhaps it was you, so you could run off with your whore and consort with the Jashimari Queen.”

  Kerrion’s eyes narrowed as he saw the thrust of Lerton’s accusations and their danger. If enough people believed his brother, Kerrion could be denounced as a traitor. “You lying little worm,” he said. “If that was true, I would not have returned.”

  “But you had to claim your crown. You are nothing without it.”

  Kerrion glanced around at the gaggle of servants who stood blank-faced, absorbing every word, and mustered his poise. To allow Lerton to goad him into a public outburst would be ill advised, and was exactly what his brother was trying to do. Kerrion forced an indulgent smile.

  “And you would dearly like to get your hands on it, would you not? No doubt you have regaled any who would listen with this ridiculous story. Be careful your desperation does not lead to anything that may be seen as treason. I would not like to see my little brother on the gallows for making false accusations and spreading malicious lies about me. If there are any doubts about what happened in Father’s camp, let the courts accuse me. It is not your place to do so.” Kerrion marched off.

  Lerton seemed stunned for a moment, but then trotted after him again. “Rest assured, there will be an enquiry, brother. No one will believe that a woman killed Father. Trying to blame it on the whore he slept with that night is folly. Your claim that she was a man is ridiculous. Many of the officers observed her that night, and none doubt her sex.”

  “That is what makes him so successful, idiot. How am I to prove the truth of my words? Would you have me call him as a witness?”

  Lerton giggled. “Of course that is impossible, since he does not exist. All the killers the Jashimari bitch sent failed, so you decided to do it yourself and blame it on some non-existent assassin who looks lik
e a woman. That is a tall story for anyone to swallow. Could you not think of a better one?”

  “Sometimes the truth sounds more far-fetched than the tallest tale, but that does not make it a lie.”

  “You had better start thinking of a better story than that. The council of judges will never believe such a ludicrous yarn.”

  Arriving at the door to his chambers, Kerrion turned to face his younger brother. Blade, he thought angrily, was too good at his work, so much so that the blame was now being laid at his own doorstep. “I have never been eager to sit on the Cotti throne. That has always been your greatest ambition. If I did not know the Jashimari Queen sent that assassin, I might be tempted to accuse you of it.”

  Lerton scowled. “I was here in the city when it happened.”

  “There are plenty of assassins for hire.”

  “None who would kill their king!”

  “Not a Cotti, but a Jashimari or Contaran assassin would be eager for the work; a simple matter of sending a messenger to find a suitable man. Everyone has a price, and you have access to almost limitless funds, although not for much longer.” Kerrion stepped closer to his brother. “Once I am King, I intend to restrict your powers, since you only use them for ill. Think long and hard about what you are doing before you incur my wrath. You may live to regret it, if you make an enemy of the future King. I advise you to leave me alone right now; my mood is not good after the long journey.”

  Kerrion left his brother gaping at him, and the servants closed the doors. Kerrion placed Kiara on her perch and crossed the room to splash his face in the water basin. The servants unbuckled his armour and stripped off the royal trappings he had worn for his return to the city. Curtained doors on one side of the room opened onto the palace’s inner garden, which spanned the area between the royal quarters and the harem on the far side of the square. A feast of fruit and cold meat awaited him on a table, and he went over to sample it as the retainers finished their tasks and retreated. With a sigh, he sat on one of the finely crafted wooden chairs and nibbled a grape, frowning.

  The movement of a curtain caught his attention, for no wind blew in through the open doors. His hand dropped to the jewelled hilt of the dagger in his belt.

  “Come out, or I will call the guards.”

  A woman stepped out, her eyes downcast and her hands bunched in her skirt. She retained much of her former beauty, although the years had ravaged her fine skin and whitened her pale hair.

  Kerrion relaxed. “Why are you hiding behind the curtains, Mother?”

  She shot him an apologetic glance with pale amber eyes. “I wished to speak to you, but when you seemed in such an ill mood, I thought better of it.”

  He considered her, comparing her submissiveness to the Jashimari Queen’s haughtier and poise, and disliked the contrast. “What did you want to speak to me about?”

  “I came to warn you. Much has happened in your absence. Lerton, Armin and Ronan plot against you. They have already told the courts that they suspect you of killing your father, and have testified to your hatred of him.”

  “That is no secret,” Kerrion muttered. “Many people hated Shandor.”

  “They have said that you were in league with the camp whore, and she drugged the King so you might kill him. Afterwards you went to Jashimari together to strike a bargain with the Queen.”

  “In which case I would not have returned. Surely the judges cannot think me such a fool? This story of Lerton’s is implausible. It makes no sense.”

  His mother nodded. “And yet he will convince them, if not with the truth of his stories, then with the depth of his pockets. He is determined to oust you, and has grasped the perfect opportunity.”

  Kerrion frowned. “You should not be here. I did not summon you. If the guards find you, there will be an uproar that I will have to deal with, and right now I am not in the mood for an argument.”

  “Of course, you are tired, I understand. Do not worry; no one will see me leave.” She bowed her head and folded her hands.

  “See that they do not.”

  Patriss started to abase herself, but Kerrion waved an impatient hand, and she left through the curtains at the back of his bed chamber. He had vague memories of soft hands and a sweet voice singing lullabies to him in the darkness. At the age of six, he had been taken to the men’s quarters, where a stern tutor had taken over the duty of rearing him. Menservants had washed and dressed him, and he had not known a woman’s touch again until he was old enough to have a concubine to warm his bed. He hardly knew his mother, and had been brought up to believe that women were inferior, too stupid to talk to and good for nothing but bearing children and giving a man pleasure.

  Since his encounter with the Jashimari Queen, however, his opinion had changed. She was not unique, either, he mused, for the chief advisor, Chiana, had been equally clever, although a little humbler. He wondered what it must be like to share a lifetime with such a fascinating woman, instead of the meek silence to which he was accustomed. His father had been a firm believer in the inferiority of women, taking every opportunity to scorn them. Yet beneath this arrogant exterior Kerrion had sensed a deep loneliness that had made King Shandor turn to drink and sports to fill his time.

  Kerrion’s problems had started at birth, when he had been the first son born to a wife Shandor disliked. The King’s uncle had arranged the marriage, and Shandor had resented it, especially when his favourite wife, chosen for her charms, had borne a son just two moons later. Shandor had done his best to rid himself of his eldest, unwanted son by placing him in perilous situations. The first attempt on Kerrion’s life had been when he was seven, and had recently learnt to ride. Shandor had given him a spirited horse and insisted that Kerrion master the animal. The Prince had soon lost control, and the stallion had bolted and thrown him. Luckily, he had escaped with only a broken leg and collarbone.

  The next attempt had involved Lerton, who had pushed Kerrion down a well. A peasant had found and rescued him, and Lerton had received several light blows from his father’s belt in token punishment. At the age of twelve, Shandor had sent Kerrion to inspect a village ravaged by a deadly plague. Although several of the soldiers who went with him had died, Kerrion had not sickened. At fourteen, he had been left on foot in the desert while out riding with his personal guard. They had camped overnight, and in the morning Kerrion had woken alone.

  His personal guard had neglected to search for him, or to even notice his absence. He had walked to a village, where he spent two tendays recovering from his ordeal before returning to his father’s palace. At sixteen, he had started his training in armed combat, and his years amongst the soldiers had been rife with strange accidents and odd mistakes by seasoned warriors. He had emerged battle-scarred and tempered by several brushes with death, which had left him wary and suspicious. Upon his return to his father’s court, he had employed a food taster, and three had succumbed to poison over the years.

  Kerrion pondered the strange fact that he had probably been safer in the Jashimari Queen’s palace than he was in his own.

  Blade halted his horse and gazed at the village nestled in a muddy hollow amid rolling hills covered with giant bloodwood trees. The bleak view did little to lighten his mood, just as shifting his seat did little to relieve the smarting of his posterior after a tenday of almost constant contact with a saddle. Autumn winds had stripped most of the red-gold leaves from the trees and turned them dingy brown, matching the muddy streets and the houses built from undressed timber. The scene had little to recommend it; even the people who waddled through the sucking mire wore grey or brown clothes. Put together with the haze of smoke that hung about the place and the yapping of half-starved dogs, it struck him as a singularly unhealthy spot.

  Blade turned to Lirek, who sat poker-faced on a broad bay horse beside him. “This is the Queen’s reward? Does she wish me dead?”

  Lirek smiled. “The town’s not so good, but your estate is far better.”

  “You’ve been he
re before?”

  The bodyguard shrugged. “I’ve passed through it.”

  Blade surveyed the scene once more. “What keeps these people here? What do they live on? I see no cultivation.”

  “These are miners. Your estate has one of the richest gold mines in the country.”

  “Gold.” Blade pulled a face. “As if we haven’t got enough of it.”

  “It pays the bills.”

  The assassin glanced back at the mud-splattered company who sat stony-faced on their steeds behind him. He had quickly deduced the advantage of riding in front, and, after two muddy days in the middle of the company, had assumed the lead. The young squad leader rode behind him, his livery somewhat soiled from the day’s ride, an eager look in his eyes. Blade nudged his horse forward. He disliked eager-to-please people, and was unused to fawning.

  As he and his men emerged from the forest, some of the peasants glanced at them, but few paused for more than a moment before going on about their business. Here, in the heart of Jashimari, the war seemed unreal, and the appearance of a squad of strange soldiers aroused no suspicions. Unlike the border town in which Blade had been raised, where the goatherds had doubled as lookouts and every stranger had been regarded with mistrust. He found their apathy depressing, and their smugness galled him when he thought of all the men who had died to keep these dull people safe.

  The company followed the main street to the far side of the village, where the forest drew back on either side to reveal a tract of cleared land covered with soggy grass and a few cows, sheep and horses. The road divided into two, one winding away into the forest, the other leading to an imposing keep of grey and black stone. Set against a backdrop of dark, bare trees, it brooded beneath a sullen grey sky, summing up Blade’s mood.

  “How suitable,” he muttered.

  “My Lord?” Lirek enquired.

  “It suits me, don’t you think?”

  Lirek shrugged. “If you say so.”

  Blade kicked his horse into a canter, his bodyguard and the troops following. The tall wooden gates stood open, allowing the cavalcade to clatter into the castle’s courtyard unchallenged. Blade swung down from the tall black charger with a soft groan, rubbing his offended hind parts. Shock-haired grooms ran up to take the horses, gaping at the new arrivals.