The Queen's Blade

by T C Southwell

  “Have you checked on your fellows inside?” Blade asked in perfectly accented Cotti.

  “A couple of time-glasses ago, sir,” one sentry replied.

  “They could be asleep by now, dolt! Is this how you protect your prince? They should be checked every time-glass.”

  “I’ll check on them now, sir,” the man offered, reaching for the doorknob. The war dog beside him sat up and whined, sniffing Blade.

  “No.” Blade raised a hand. “I’ll do it myself. There will be hell to pay if they’re slacking, and I don’t want you covering for them.”

  The sentry snapped to attention again. “Yes sir.”

  Blade opened the door and entered a dark sitting room, closing it behind him. The two guards who stood on either side of a canopied bed in the adjoining room turned at his entrance, relaxing when they saw his uniform. He beckoned them over, then crossed his hands and gripped the hilts of the daggers strapped to his wrists. The soldiers stopped before him and stood to attention. There was no sign of their familiars, as he had expected. The Prince did not want dogs in his bedroom, due to their smell and fleas. Blade had counted on that, for two dogs would certainly have complicated matters quite considerably. He hoped the beasts were safely caged in the barracks, where they could not raise the alarm when their friends died, as familiars were wont to do.

  Blade remarked in a hushed tone, “I’m glad to see you’re awake and alert, men. Good work.”

  They smiled, and one murmured, “Thank you, sir.”

  “You’re welcome.” Blade jerked his hands apart, raising them in a flash to slit the soldiers’ throats. They coughed, pawing at their necks as they collapsed. The faint clatter of their falling bodies was unavoidable, and Blade hid his hands behind his back as the occupant of the vast, silk-strewn bed sat up, peering into the gloom.

  “Who is there?” Lerton demanded.

  Blade strolled closer, deepening his voice to a gruff baritone, lest the Prince recognise the peculiar timbre of his speech. “Don’t be alarmed, My Prince, you’re in no danger.”

  Lerton glared at him, the moonlight that streamed in through the window revealing features puffy with fatigue. “What woke me? Who are you? And what are you doing here? Where are my guards?”

  The assassin wondered if all Cotti princes were so full of questions. It seemed to be a family trait. “The guards were tired, My Prince. I sent them for replacements before they fell asleep. The closing of the door woke you. I apologise.”

  Lerton flopped back. “And who are you?”

  “An officer of the night watch, Jickal by name. I’ll guard you until the new sentries arrive.” Blade reached the bedside and stopped.

  “Well do not loom over me. Go away,” Lerton said peevishly. “Go and stand by the door.”

  “Yes, My Prince.” Blade did a fair imitation of a guard’s salute and made as if to turn away. Instead, he whipped his arms up and hurled the daggers underhand. One embedded itself at the base of Lerton’s throat, cutting off any outcry; the other hit the pillow beside his head. Lerton stared at Blade with bulging eyes as his life oozed out in a crimson river. While he still had an audience, the assassin doffed the plumed helmet and smiled.

  “A gift from Queen Minna-Satu. In case you do not recognise me, I am Blade.”

  Lerton’s mouth worked as he strived to speak. Blade leant over to retrieve the dagger that had missed its mark.

  “I must be getting sloppy in my old age,” he commented as the Prince’s eyes glazed. When the last flicker of life dimmed from them, Blade pulled the dagger from Lerton’s throat and wiped it, then slid the weapons back into their sheaths. He glanced around for the stone snake, which was curled up on a chair nearby. Already it glided towards him, its black tongue tasting the air, its cold eyes fixed on him.

  Fortunately it was a slow creature, and he grabbed it and snapped its neck, dropping the coiling body. The mindless writhing of the dying snake filled the room with soft slithering, adding to the discomfiting sight and stench of the Prince’s blood. Eager to quit this chamber of horrors, Blade left. The sentries outside snapped to attention again, and Blade inspected them.

  “Your friends inside are awake, luckily for them. I don’t think they’ll be dropping off now, but I’ll be back in a time-glass to check on them.”

  “Yes sir.”

  Blade nodded and set off back towards the stables. Bleary-eyed guards watched him pass resentfully, his unwanted presence disturbing their napping. Moving with some urgency now, he dug his bag out of the straw and pinned the cavalry insignia back on the uniform before saddling the young officer’s horse. He rode unchallenged from the palace courtyard and out into the city, breathing a sigh of relief when he passed the final sentries. Only the city guards stood between him and freedom, easy to pass before the alarm was raised.

  The Cotti spy waited at the appointed place with horses and supplies, stamping his feet to ward off the chill. At first, he did not recognise the assassin, then set about swathing him in the flowing robes of a Cotti citizen, grumbling at the ungodly hour and the cold, as well as the ordeal of leaving a warm bed and plump wife to go travelling across the freezing desert.

  Blade remounted and rode away, leaving the spy to follow. By the time they reached the city gates, Blade was heartily sick of the spy’s endless carping, and pointed out acidly that he was being richly paid for the work, which silenced Valda for a time. As soon as they were out of the city, Blade urged his horse into a canter, eager to put as much distance between himself and Jadaya as possible.

  Kerrion started awake when his bedroom door banged open and several soldiers and two senior advisors barged in. Dawn’s cold light slanted in through the windows. The guards began to search the room, poking their swords into the curtains that hung against the walls and framed the windows. Their dogs sniffed around, tails wagging. Kerrion sat up, taking in the activity with some confusion. The advisors bowed, perhaps not quite as deeply as they should have, giving Kerrion a twinge of unease.

  He frowned at them. “What is going on? What is the meaning of this intrusion? I was asleep!”

  The elder advisor looked apologetic. “We beg your pardon, Sire, but we have terrible news.”

  Kerrion glared at the soldiers. “Why are they searching my room? What are you looking for?”

  “Sire, your brother has been slain.”

  Kerrion ran a hand through his tousled hair. “Which one?”

  “Prince Lerton.”

  “So why are you searching my room?”

  The advisor’s eyes slid away. “We can only assume Prince Lerton was killed by the assassin Blade, whom you were entertaining here yesterday.”

  The subtle accusation was not lost on Kerrion. “So you also assume he is hiding here after killing my brother? I think not, gentlemen. The Jashimari assassin left here yesterday at noon. I have not seen him since.”

  “Were you aware of his intentions, Sire?”

  “Of course not! How dare you voice such an unfounded accusation?”

  “There was no love lost between you and your brother,” the advisor pointed out.

  “That is no secret, but you forget, the assassin Blade does not work for me. He obeys the Jashimari Queen. Only she could order Lerton’s death.”

  “You allowed him to remain free, by granting him a pardon.”

  “I did not grant him a pardon,” Kerrion said, “the court did. You know very well what happened, Darjel. I had no idea that he had another task. Do you think I would have left him free if I had? Stop wasting time and seal the city gates. Search the city, arrest all suspicious persons and check for disguises. Are you morons? Do you expect to find him under my bed? Get out, all of you!”

  The advisors hesitated, but then apologised and retreated with the soldiers. Kerrion sat on the bed for a while, his head in his hands, cursing Blade. “How in damnation did you do it, you bastard? Two guards in his room, and no women allowed; two guards at the door and four patrolling under his window. It should
have been impossible.”

  The Prince washed and dressed, then went into his suite’s living area and called in one of the advisors. Sitting behind the desk in his study, Kerrion glowered at the man.

  “What happened?” he demanded. “How did he kill my brother?”

  “We do not know, Sire.”

  “You must know something, Darjel. Tell me what happened.”

  The advisor sat on the chair in front of the desk, looking subdued. “The night watch in the Prince’s room was changed at midnight, as were the guards at the door. Just before dawn, an officer came to inspect them, and found the guards awake and alert. No one else entered the room until the bodies were found at dawn.”

  “Bodies?”

  “The two guards were also slain, Sire.”

  “How?”

  Darjel made a feeble gesture towards his throat, looking sick. “Their throats were cut.”

  “And they did not fight or call out?”

  “Apparently not, Sire. It seems they were killed at the same moment.”

  “Why did their dogs not raise the alarm? Were they slain also?”

  The advisor shook his head. “Their dogs were not allowed in the room, by order of the Prince.”

  “And my brother?”

  Darjel lowered his gaze. “Stabbed, Sire, through the throat.”

  Kerrion stared at him. “The officer.”

  “Pardon, Sire?”

  “The officer was the assassin.”

  “But....” The advisor motioned towards his mouth.

  “What? He had a moustache? A beard? What fools do we employ as guards here? No doubt he had dark skin and spoke perfect Cotti as well. Did no one listen to me in the court yesterday? Blade is a master of disguise, and not just female ones. Somewhere you will find the body of the officer whose uniform he stole.” Kerrion thumped the desk. “Are the guards such buffoons? They should not have allowed anyone into Lerton’s room.”

  “They thought he was an officer.”

  Kerrion jumped up. “That is what they were supposed to think. I want him found! Send patrols into the desert towards Jashimari. If he has already left the city, which is probable, that is where he is. I want his head on a plate! We must show the Jashimari Queen that she cannot send an assassin to murder a Cotti prince and get away with it.”

  The advisor rose, then hesitated. “What of the guards, Sire?”

  “What, must I have them flogged for stupidity? Throw them out. They are not fit to be soldiers.”

  “Yes, Sire.”

  After the advisor left, Kerrion sat and stared into space. Reluctant admiration warred with deep resentment for the elusive assassin, whom he did not doubt was far across the desert by now, out of reach. He did not mourn Lerton’s death, but disliked the ease with which Blade had achieved it. It gave him a nasty, vulnerable feeling, even here in the bastion of his people.

  One part of him hoped the assassin reached Jashimari safely and bore his message to the Queen, another part longed for his death. Each time they met, Blade humiliated Kerrion in one way or another, first by his ill treatment of the captive Prince, and now by offering his aid with such mocking effrontery and then killing Lerton despite the precautions that had been taken. Forewarned was forearmed, but against Blade, it seemed to do little good.

  Blade scowled at his guide, wishing for the umpteenth time that the man would stop grumbling about every little thing. If it was not the sand in his clothes or the heat of the day, it was the discomfort of the saddle or the glare hurting his eyes. Most of all, it was the fast pace Blade set so relentlessly. With the mountains of Jashimari visible in the distance, the assassin was tempted to leave the man behind and gallop to the border. His horse, however, had little energy left for such an effort, and he disliked torturing a blameless beast for Valda’s crime.

  “Anyone would think the Hounds of Damnation were after us,” the spy carped for the hundredth time. “Why we can’t simply walk is beyond me. All this jolting and jiggling is bad for my constitution. It makes me sick to my stomach and hurts my head, to say nothing of my rump. We don’t even stop to eat, and I can hardly chew when my teeth are rattling. Trying to drink water when it’s splashing all down your front is no fun at all. Not to mention -”

  “You may stop if you wish,” Blade said, startling the spy with his remark after days of silence. “The mountains are there before us. I can reach them by dusk, and you can catch up at your leisure.”

  “Oh, no, I must be seen to deliver you to the Jashimari soldiers, so I can collect my reward. You don’t think I’m putting myself through this for nothing, do you?”

  “I’ll tell them you did your part.”

  Valda shook his head. “If I’m not with you, they’ll think me incompetent or soft or something, and I’m none of those things.”

  “Just full of endless complaints.”

  “With good reason! I sweat all day because you insist on going so fast, and we haven’t enough water to give the horses, so they’ll probably drop dead from thirst soon enough, then I’ll have to walk. My blisters have blisters, and I might as well have run across the desert, so tired am I. Once the horses give out, I’ll be on foot, and I don’t think I need to tell you how much I’ll enjoy that!

  “Yet you can’t even tell me why we’re in such a damned hurry. You went to deliver a message to Prince Kerrion, so I was told, and to meet with Prince Lerton on some vital matter, so why the rush to return? If it’s an urgent message for your queen, why wasn’t a familiar dispatched to carry it? In fact, why didn’t a familiar bring the message to Kerrion? Why did you have to go there yourself? I could understand -”

  “I was not just sent to deliver a message,” Blade interrupted again, desperate to put an end to the constant grumbling. “We’re being pursued. That’s why we must go so fast.”

  Valda glanced back at the empty desert. “I see no pursuit. What did you do, bed Prince Kerrion’s favourite concubine?” He laughed. “I hardly think the Prince would mind. I hear he’s not partial to women, unlike his brother, Prince Lerton. If she was one of Prince Lerton’s, I wouldn’t worry either. He’s got so many that he wouldn’t notice. He has….”

  Blade closed his eyes, wishing he could be struck deaf. It seemed that giving Valda any information only broadened the subject matter of his constant chatter. Valda went on to enumerate Lerton’s concubines, compare their charms and the number of children they had borne him, then started to talk about their families and pedigrees or lack of them.

  Unable to stand it any longer, Blade said, “Damn it, be quiet! Lerton’s dead, and I don’t care about his bloody concubines!”

  Valda gaped at him, granting Blade a short respite. All too soon, however, he recovered and demanded, “When? How did he die? Why didn’t you tell me this before?”

  “For this very reason, I suspect.”

  “You must tell me! I have a right to know. He was my prince. He should have been King, not that snivelling weakling, Kerrion. Prince Lerton was the one with vision and plans. He took after his father, the great King Shandor. How was he killed? A riding accident? Lerton was ever one for riding spirited horses. He was -”

  “One of his concubines stuck a knife in him, I heard,” Blade drawled.

  “Impossible!” Valda shouted. “They wouldn’t dare, and he would strangle them for even trying! Don’t lie to me. It’s not a jest!”

  Blade shrugged. “All right, he slipped in some dung and broke his neck.”

  “Don’t insult Prince Lerton! He was the best of the princes! He was a great warrior, a strong man! Tell me the truth!”

  Blade sighed. “I don’t know, nor do I care. Perhaps one of his enemies killed him, or maybe his mother did what she should have done at his birth and drowned him. Just be quiet.”

  “No! You know what happened. I demand that you tell me!”

  “I’ve just said I don’t know. I heard that he was dead, that’s all.”

  Valda cursed under his breath, and, for almost h
alf a time-glass, Blade thought he had finally silenced the spy’s grumbling. He hoped the man would retreat into gloomy introspection, which was why he had informed him of Lerton’s demise. Blade sensed the spy’s eyes boring into him. The Cotti’s scrutiny made him uneasy, and he shot him a hard glance. Valda’s mouth was set in a grim line, and the assassin glimpsed a flash of pure hatred in his eyes. It vanished, and his face became oddly expressionless. Blade studied the spy, becoming wary. For all that Valda was a well paid informant, he was also a Cotti, and perhaps a little too clever. Although it had achieved the desired result, he now regretted telling Valda of Lerton’s death.

  Blade looked ahead again, shrugging off his misgivings. Of course the spy hated him. He was Jashimari, and he had just insulted Valda’s favourite prince. It did not mean Valda suspected him of anything. Nevertheless, he was on his guard. As far as he knew, Valda was unarmed, although he now wished he was certain of that. For the next time-glass, only the thudding of the horses’ hooves and the occasional raucous comment from Valda’s familiar broke the silence.

  Valda muttered, “I’m tired. I’ll let my horse walk for a while. You go on ahead, I’ll catch up.”

  Blade shot him another suspicious glance, but had no objection to this idea. The further he was from the spy, the better. Valda reined his horse in and fell behind as Blade continued at a trot. He gazed ahead at the mountains that beckoned to him, filled with the promise of green grass and cool mists. By dusk he would reach them, and quit this accursed desert, hopefully forever.

  Something struck him in the back, punching the air from his lungs with a coughing grunt. The force of the impact propelled him forwards, the world tilted as his limbs lost their strength and he slid from the saddle. Sand hit him in the face, and everything went black.

  ****

  About the author

  T. C. Southwell was born in Sri Lanka and moved to the Seychelles with her family when she was a baby. She spent her formative years exploring the islands – mostly alone. Naturally, her imagination flourished and she developed a keen love of other worlds. The family travelled through Europe and Africa and, after the death of her father, settled in South Africa. T. C. Southwell has written over thirty novels and five screenplays. Her hobbies include motorcycling, horse riding and art.