The Queen's Blade

by T C Southwell

  “Why could it not be true?” Kerrion demanded. “Perhaps it is she who killed our father.”

  “Impossible!” Lerton asserted. “She is a woman! It would require a man’s strength to overcome and stab a man as powerful as the King!”

  “She is a large woman,” Kerrion pointed out.

  “No matter. She would not have the strength. She was sent to distract him so you could sneak in and stab your own father. Women do not kill in such a manner,” he went on, becoming a little pompous in his mien. “They rarely have the stomach to kill, and when they do, they use poisons or hire assassins. They do not use daggers. Not only are they too weak and squeamish, they would not know how to kill a man so efficiently. My father was killed by an expert; someone trained in the arts of war, such as you, brother.”

  “So there is obviously no doubt in your mind that this is indeed a woman, and you seem to be quite an expert on the subject.”

  Lerton smirked. “I have known a lot of women, yes.”

  Kerrion faced the judges again. “My Lords, what do you see before you?”

  The eldest judge shrugged. “A woman.”

  Kerrion nodded and turned back to Lerton. “I agree with you, brother. No woman would have the strength to murder King Shandor. He was a strong man, as we all know. But the person you see before you is, in fact, not a woman.”

  “Ridiculous!” Lerton shouted, leaping to his feet. “This is to substantiate your nonsensical story of an assassin who turns into a woman at will!” He laughed. “As if such a person could exist. No man can disguise himself as a woman without being discovered. I will show you!” He vaulted over the wooden partition that separated the gallery from the floor before the judges’ bench and approached Blade. The assassin faced him, keeping his head bowed and his eyes downcast. Lerton stroked Blade’s cheek, then turned to his brother with a triumphant grin.

  “Smooth as a baby’s bottom! What fools do you take us for? Will you trot her out now and bring in a man, then claim that they are one and the same person?”

  “No.” Kerrion glanced around at the audience. “None of you are fools. I never said you were. This disguise, in all its perfection, has fooled many people. It fooled my father, it fooled me, and it has made fools of all of you. The person before you is a man.”

  “Rubbish!” Lerton snapped. “Next you will claim that he is a mage!”

  “No.”

  “Then prove it! Beyond a shadow of a doubt!”

  Kerrion looked at Blade, who unpinned the blond wig and pulled it off. Lerton gaped as the assassin stripped off the gown with swift movements, removing the water bags that hung from his neck, then took off the jewellery and added it to the pile on the table beside him. Hisses of surprise came from the spectators, and a few murmured to their neighbours, setting up an excited buzz that spread around the room. Blade took a damp cloth from his pocket and wiped away the berry juice and skin dye. The buzz of conversation grew louder as he revealed his pale skin, then he turned his back on the audience and faced the judges. Blade unhooked the earrings and wiped the dye from his hands, standing before them in his simple black outfit.

  Kerrion walked closer to his brother. “Lerton, I would like you to meet the assassin who killed our father.”

  Lerton closed his mouth, shaking his head in mute denial. Kerrion looked at the stunned judges, and a hush fell over the assembly. “My Lords, I present to you the Jashimari assassin, Blade. He is also known as the Invisible Assassin, the Silent Slayer, and most recently, the Queen’s Blade.”

  The eldest judge cleared his throat, staring at Blade. “You admit to killing King Shandor?”

  Blade spoke in his own voice. “I do.”

  “You acted on the orders of your queen?”

  “Yes.”

  “What were they?”

  “To assassinate King Shandor and bring his son Kerrion to her, unharmed,” Blade replied.

  “For what reason?”

  “She wished to talk of truce.”

  The judge shot Kerrion a doubtful look. “And he refused.”

  “He did.”

  “So she released him.”

  Blade nodded, clasping his hands behind his back.

  “And now she sends you to testify on his behalf, even though he would not co-operate with her. Why?”

  “The same reason that she released him. She wishes to deal with a Cotti king she perceives to be honourable and intelligent, not a devious, lying one, such as Prince Lerton would make.”

  “Our realms are at war,” the judge pointed out. “What difference does it make to her?”

  “She still wants peace.”

  “But Prince Kerrion refused.”

  Blade shrugged. “I am an assassin, not a politician.”

  “And a dead one!” Lerton shouted, recovering from his stunned stupor and stabbing a finger at Blade. “He murdered King Shandor. He must die!”

  Kerrion said, “He has been granted amnesty.”

  “You would protect your father’s murderer?”

  “By coming here, he has saved my life. Had I not offered him amnesty, he would not have come forward, and I would be facing the gallows because of your lies.”

  “They were not lies!” Lerton protested, glancing at the judges. “The evidence against you was damning. No one believed this man existed; if you could call him a man.”

  “I have to keep my word. He is free to go.”

  The senior judge nodded. “Unfortunately, he has the right of it, Prince Lerton. We cannot charge him with a crime for which we have already agreed to pardon him. At your urging, I might add.”

  “He is dangerous!” Lerton cried. “You cannot let him remain free.”

  “Nor can you lock him up when he has committed no crime other than the one for which he has been granted a pardon,” Kerrion remarked.

  “He is a Jashimari!”

  “One who has done me a great service, and has thereby earned his freedom. Since I am no longer accused of any crime, I will soon be King, and he has my protection as long as he obeys the laws of our land.”

  Lerton’s expression became cunning. “He might have been sent here on the pretext of saving you, in order to assassinate someone.”

  “He did not need a pretext to come here. He arrived undetected in my rooms last night, and offered to testify for me if I was able to grant him amnesty. Had he wished to assassinate someone, he could have done it then. One thing is certain, he was not sent to assassinate me.”

  Lerton stepped back and shot Blade a hunted look. His snake hissed and coiled more tightly around his neck. The assassin smiled and gathered up his disguise.

  Kerrion turned to the judges. “My Lords, what is your verdict?”

  The senior judge stood up to address the court. “We find Prince Kerrion innocent of King Shandor’s death.”

  As if released from a trance, the audience burst into a hubbub. Some members turned to each other; others left to carry the news far and wide. The judges filed out through a door at the back. Lerton returned to the clutch of brothers who awaited him, vanishing into their midst as they drew close to listen to him.

  Blade glanced at them, then at Kerrion. “Perhaps I should get rid of a few more of them.”

  The Prince gave him a push towards the door. “Try to control your bloodlust, Blade. They are still my brothers.”

  Back in Kerrion’s rooms, Blade dumped his burden and perched on the edge of the desk to pour a cup of wine. Kerrion went to the window and stared out, his hands clasped behind his back. Kiara flapped to her perch and preened herself.

  “Did Minna send any other messages with you?”

  Blade tasted the wine and grimaced. “Not really.”

  “Is there any way I can repay her?”

  “Make peace.”

  “I cannot do that.” Kerrion turned to scowl at him.

  “Jashimari cannot fight two kingdoms and survive. The Contarans will overrun us, and you will descend like vultures to feed on the spoils.”


  “That was Lerton’s plan.”

  Blade sipped the wine. “And you approve of it.”

  “No!” Kerrion gestured. “It is dishonourable. I have inherited a war I have no wish to continue, but cannot end without being overthrown.” He paused. “If she surrenders to me, I can promise her fair treatment. I will ensure a peaceful occupation, offer her protection and banish the Contarans back to their land.”

  “She will never surrender, not to you, or anyone else.”

  “Then the Jashimari will be wiped out.”

  “You will continue the war against your daughter?” Blade enquired.

  “She will not take power for five and twenty years, but then no, I will not.”

  “Jashimari will not outlast the spring, and when Jondar falls, your daughter will be at the mercy of the Contarans. Why not end it now?”

  Kerrion sighed, rubbing his eyes. “If only I could. My nobles will not agree to end the war against Minna-Satu, but they too will not wish to fight against a Cotti queen.”

  “Half Cotti.”

  “What if the child is a boy?”

  Blade shrugged, frowning at the sour young wine in his cup. “Shamsara predicted a girl; chances are, he is right.”

  “The Idol of the Beasts should not be interfering in politics. It is not his place.”

  The assassin put down his goblet and stood. “Have you any messages for the Queen?”

  Kerrion shook his head. “Only my offer of peaceful occupation. No slavery, no atrocities, and no massacres.”

  “Only oppression.”

  “I cannot do any more than that.”

  “You are the King,” Blade said. “Or are you just a puppet?”

  Kerrion’s frown deepened. “I am no puppet, but the nobles wield a great deal of power, and have fifteen princes to choose from. If I try to end the war, they will turn the people against me; accuse me of treason or cowardice or something. I have no hope of support from the armies. They exist only to do battle. Without a war, they will be jobless and destitute.

  “You saw how close I have already come to the gallows, and for no other reason than that my younger brother wished to get rid of me. It is well known that he was my father’s favourite, and that he wanted Lerton to inherit the crown. I am not well liked because of that. My claim to the crown is only upheld because I am the first born son. Perhaps, over the course of a few years, I can make powerful friends and talk to them of the disadvantages of war, but I cannot call an end to it the moment I am crowned.”

  He turned away and bowed his head, his shoulders hunched. “If I am overthrown, the next in line will see to it that my daughter does not survive. I have to be King to ensure her safety. If I am King when Cotti invades Jashimari, I will protect them both, I swear it. I shall not allow any harm to come to Minna-Satu.”

  Kerrion paused. “Usually Cotti warriors take little notice of women. They are inconsequential, and if captured, spoils of war. But the fact that the child is of royal blood, both Minna’s and mine, will ensure her death, should I be ousted.

  “I suspect that Minna knows this, which is why she sent you, her most valuable ally, into the jaws of death to redeem me. Minna’s child can only bring peace between our kingdoms if she is the daughter of the Cotti King. Even so, we would face another five and twenty years of war, if Jashimari could last that long.”

  Blade toyed with the wine cup, remembering the Queen’s sadness on the night she had gone to Kerrion’s bed, her strange depression since then, and her constant promises of peace, soon. “I do not think she would have waited five and twenty years, and now she cannot.”

  Kerrion swung to face him. “What do you mean? Every Jashimari queen rules for five and twenty years.”

  “Obviously Minna-Satu will not, since the Contarans will invade in the spring, but I think her rule will end before the Contarans reach Jondar.”

  The Prince closed the gap between them and gripped Blade’s shoulders, his eyes filled with anxiety. “What are you saying?”

  Blade shook him off. “You know perfectly well.”

  “She cannot do that! She cannot put an infant on the throne!”

  “She can. If she appoints a regent, your daughter could be Queen in just a few moons.”

  Kerrion gave a despairing groan. “She will place me in an impossible position.” He paused, frowning. “But how? She cannot step aside.”

  “She can, by taking the Queen’s Cup.”

  Kerrion turned away. “I see.”

  Blade headed for the door, collecting his bundle. “Your brother dies tonight.”

  “Wait!”

  Blade paused at the door, his hand on the knob.

  Kerrion raked a hand through his hair. “Tell her that she cannot do this. She must give me time; a year or two, at the very least.”

  “I am sure she would like to, but I do not think the Contarans will allow her that option. With the spring, they will be able to advance swiftly on the capital city. Your daughter must take the throne before Jondar falls, so you will be forced to come to her aid, or not, as your conscience dictates.

  “Of course, if you do not, Contara will conquer Jashimari, and all your centuries of war will be for nothing. How will your people feel if their prize is stolen from under their noses? If you take advantage of Jashimari’s weakness now, you will have to slaughter every last man, woman and child before there is peace again.” A slight, ironic smile curled his lips, tinged with sadness. “Besides, I may not live to deliver your message.”

  Kerrion stared at him. “Blade... let Lerton live.”

  The assassin frowned. “No.”

  “You do not understand. His death will delay my coronation. Six tendays of mourning will be declared; a whole moon phase. Then another three tendays before I can be crowned. I will not have time to pick up the pieces.”

  “You will have to manage.”

  “I could warn him.”

  Blade shrugged. “You already have.”

  The assassin opened the door and slipped into the passage, closing it behind him. The Prince stared at the door for a long time, his mind whirling with possible solutions and their pitfalls. Despair and sorrow filled him as he went to the desk and poured a goblet of wine. Draining it in a few gulps, he wandered to the window and gazed out at the pale city shimmering in the sun. Kiara flapped from her perch and landed on his shoulder, allowing him to stroke the sleek feathers of her breast.

  He gestured to the sky. “Fly, Kiara. Take my thoughts with you, that they might find some solution closer to god.”

  Kerrion watched the big bird soar with none of the elation it usually brought him, then returned to the desk to pour more wine. “I hope you fail this time, Blade,” he muttered. “Not because I am particularly fond of my brother, but because of all the trouble you will cause if you succeed, you bastard.”

  Blade walked through the palace, returning to the stables. Using the servants’ narrow passages, he avoided guard posts and kept his head down, averting his face when he passed servants. He did not want too many Cotti to see him. Even his brief exposure in the courtroom had been tainted by the fact that he had not removed all of his face paint. Those who had glimpsed his visage would soon find it hard to remember, for he had avoided eye contact and wiped his countenance with a cloth when he had faced the gallery. Protecting his identity was second nature to him, since becoming well known could be fatal for an assassin. Even though he did not intend to return to Cotti, his caution was instinctive and well advised. With a blond wig and skin dye, he would become anonymous again quite easily.

  The peace of the stables, with its warm redolence of horses and hay, was a welcome relief after the palace’s tension and the palpable hatred of its denizens. He stretched out on the straw and ate some bread and cheese while he plotted the night’s assassination. Forewarned, and knowing of his abilities, Lerton would undoubtedly have guards in his room and not allow any women entry. He needed to gain access without causing an outcry, so the stealt
hy approach would not work. The task called for a disguise, but not a female one. Fortunately Lerton’s snake familiar was not a deadly variety, and snakes could do little to raise the alarm. His dislike of snakes made the task of killing the Prince’s familiar a less odious one, if it came to that.

  After a while, he fell asleep, awaking in the late afternoon. By then, a plan had taken shape, and he quit his nest to wander along the rows of stables, patting their inmates. These were the mounts of elite Cotti cavalry, officers and the King’s personal guard. Since most of those men were horse kin, the majority of the beasts were familiars, and immune to the blandishments of strangers.

  The intelligent glint in their eyes made familiars easy to spot, and he noted those that were not. He did not have to wait long before a young officer entered the stables armed with a bunch of cariroots for his steed. Blade eyed him, weighing his suitability. He was a man of otters, which made him vulnerable, since his mount would not object to his injury and his familiar was not with him. The young man wore the insignia of a cavalry officer, but without it, he might have been a guard sergeant.

  Blade waited while the officer fed his horse the cariroots, positioning himself out of sight on the route to the door. As the man walked past, his task complete, Blade stepped out behind him and gripped his neck, pressing on the nerve bundles that would render the officer insensible. He dragged his victim to the straw pile and stripped, bound and gagged him before burying him in the straw. Hiding the uniform, Blade settled down to get some more sleep.

  The assassin woke again in the pre-dawn chill. Rising, he lighted the lamp that hung in the stables before donning the officer’s uniform with shivering haste. He anointed his face and hands with the golden skin dye, inspecting the result in the mirror. The oily dye also lightened his brows, making them brown. To add to the disguise, he glued on a blond moustache he had brought with him for just such an occasion. The plumed helmet, with its chainmail neck guard, hid his hair. Removing the uniform’s cavalry insignia, he buried his clothes and supplies, then blew out the lamp, dusting himself off as he strolled from the barn.

  The palace slumbered in semi-darkness, the few torches that still burnt sputtering as they ran out of oil. Sentries dozed at their posts, some making sleepy salutes as he passed. Most were dog soldiers, and their familiars slumbered beside them or glanced up incuriously. Blade had scorned the officer’s heavy boots and retained his soft ones, which made little sound. Lerton’s rooms were not far from Kerrion’s, as the spy had described, and two alert guards stood outside the doors. They snapped to attention when he approached, and he stopped in front of them.