The Queen's Blade V - Master of the Dance

by T C Southwell

  Blade turned back to the servant. "You are a fool, then. Dravis sent this message so you would lead his spies to me, and now you have."

  Olan scowled, his eyes sliding away from the assassin's glare. "I just do as I'm told."

  "Leave me."

  Blade broke the seal and opened the letter, scanning the brief message within. His lips twitched into a smile, which widened into a grin, then he threw back his head and laughed. When his mirth subsided, he went to Minna-Satu's chambers, where the guards admitted him, as usual. To his annoyance, he found the King there, seated on a cushion beside his wife, talking to Kerra. They fell silent and looked up when Blade entered, and the absence of handmaidens made him suspect that they had been discussing him, or the situation. He stopped before Minna and bowed.

  "My Queen."

  She smiled. "My Lord. How nice of you to visit so unexpectedly. I had not thought to see you until supper. Sit."

  Blade sank down on a cushion, shooting Kerrion an irritated glance. "I came to inform you that I have received a message from Dravis."

  Kerrion looked alarmed, frowning at Blade. "What does he want?"

  The assassin ignored him, pulled the letter from his tunic and handed it to Minna. She read it and paled, looking up at him with consternation in her eyes.

  Blade tilted his head, watching her. "You do not find it amusing, My Queen?"

  "No, My Lord, I do not."

  "Do you, for one moment, believe that I would agree to such a thing?"

  "Of all the people I know, you are the least predictable, Blade."

  Blade stared at her, then shook his head, jumped up and headed for the door. After a moment of surprised inaction, Minna cried, "Wait! Blade!"

  He turned, and she rose to walk over to him. He spoke in a low, angry tone. "I am greatly disappointed in you, Minna."

  She made a vague, helpless gesture. "My Lord, you must understand -"

  "That you think me a traitor?"

  "No!"

  "Then what?"

  "That you are, first and foremost, an assassin."

  Blade stepped closer, and she gazed up into his wintry eyes. Seldom had he met her eyes as boldly as he did now, his brows drawn together in a deep frown. His hand dropped to the hilt of one of the daggers in his belt, and he drew it with a faint slither of steel. Her eyes followed his hand as he raised the naked blade, holding it between them, mere inches from her heart.

  "Have you forgotten the oath I swore to you? Because if you think me capable of this, then keep your side of it now."

  Blade took her hand and placed the hilt of the dagger in it, closing her fingers around it. Turning it on himself, he pressed the point to his chest, holding it there when she tried to pull away.

  "Strike now, if you think I would kill you."

  Kerra gasped and started to rise, but Kerrion raised a hand, stopping her. Minna gazed into Blade's eyes, as if trying to fathom what lay behind the fierce hatred and bitterness that filled them, but he knew she would fail. Raising her free hand, she ran her fingertips along his cheek. He averted his eyes and released her hand, and she lowered the dagger, holding it before her as she searched for the right words.

  "You are correct, My Lord. I should have found it amusing, but it is difficult to read one's death warrant without a twinge of trepidation. Dravis is a fool."

  He stepped back. "I trust we will not repeat this misunderstanding."

  "I have insulted you gravely, without that intention." She handed him the dagger, then turned and walked back to the cushions. "Come, My Lord, sit, have some wine."

  Blade followed her, and Kerrion watched them with deep mystification. As they settled back on the cushions, the King raised his brows at Minna.

  "Are you going to tell me what this is all about?"

  She smiled. "Dravis has offered Blade a man's weight in gold, to assassinate me."

  Kerra gasped, and Kerrion frowned, glancing at Blade. "And you thought he would do it?"

  "I was discomfited by the notion, that is all. Knowing that the world's deadliest assassin has been hired to kill you is not a pleasant thought."

  "Even I know Blade will not work for a Cotti." He looked puzzled. "Jovan knows this; I told them all at the meeting."

  "Dravis has no intention of hiring me to kill the Queen," Blade murmured as he poured himself a cup of wine. "The note was the means by which he learnt my location, since Olan brought it to me in my rooms. He also asked me to meet him, to claim the first half of my fee, as is traditional."

  "That is unfortunate, but it makes more sense," Kerrion remarked. "And had you gone to this meeting place, there would have been an ambush awaiting you. So either way he wins. You will have to move into another suite, and one of the decoys will stay in yours, with guards. Perhaps we can catch this assassin, and turn the tables on my scheming half-brother."

  "The assassin will tell you nothing. It would be better just to kill him, if your men can," Blade stated. "If he needs to know where I am, he is not going to hire a poisoner, and a crossbowman could shoot the decoy through the window."

  The King grunted, sipping his wine. "Well, if the bastard gets into the palace, he will die."

  "Of course, if he kills the decoy, Dravis will inform your brothers that I am dead, and they will vote against your laws. Then you will have to prove that I am still alive, which will be difficult, unless I kill another one of them."

  "Only if the assassin escapes to inform Dravis of his success."

  "Which, if he is a crossbowman, is highly likely."

  Kerrion thumped the cushion on which he sat, frowning. "Damn it, is there no end to the dire possibilities that could arise from this situation?"

  "Only if the decoys and I stay indoors and keep the windows closed."

  "Then do that. By god, this is becoming more and more complicated by the day." Kerrion glared at the assassin. "And I think you outsmart yourself. You think of possibilities that may not have even crossed Dravis' mind. I tire of hearing about all the things that could go wrong, and about which there is nothing we can do."

  "Then I should return to Jashimari, since I have no wish to die at the hands of a Cotti assassin."

  "No." Kerrion made a weary, placating gesture. "We need you here, and I will ensure your safety, I swear it."

  Chapter Seven

  That night, Blade moved to a suite of rooms down the corridor, and two guards were stationed outside his door. These precautions did not impress him, for he knew from experience that guards were of little use against an assassin. Kerra insisted on staying with him, but he made her install her cot in the adjoining room, so he could enjoy a little more privacy. He found her continued faith in him rather irritating and silly, since he was now the target of an assassin, who would doubtless kill any witness.

  Nor did he set much store in the decoys, or moving rooms. If the assassin was any good, he would find his quarry. The prospect of pitting his skills against a Cotti assassin did hold some appeal for him. The last time that had happened, he had killed the man, although he had come close to death himself. Then, however, he had already been injured when he was attacked.

  Blade did not use the bed that night, knowing that the assassin would go straight to it. He stuffed some cushions under the sheets, so it appeared that someone slept in it, then spread a few blankets on the floor behind the curtains, where he could sleep hidden from view. He stretched out on them fully clothed and armed, and fell asleep confident that if the Cotti assassin should find him, the slightest whisper of sound or wisp of scent would wake him.

  Blade jerked awake with the familiar tingles of alarm running through him, like pins pricking his flesh. His hair bristled and his heart speeded up. Lying still, he listened to the silence, waiting for the sound that had woken him to come again. A scratching, so faint that he held his breath and strained to hear it, broke the hush. It came from the window, as he had expected, and he sat up, opening the curtains a slit so that he could see the room. Moonlight came through the wi
ndow, silvering the rug and one side of the bed. He waited for the assassin to show himself, easing a dagger from his belt sheath.

  For several minutes he remained immobile, years of training and experience giving him infinite patience. A faint hissing made him tense, and he stared at the window, puzzled. Although some assassins had deadly snakes as their familiar, they never sent them to kill their victims, since this was dangerous. Also, the hissing was continuous, and sounded less and less like a snake. As he waited, watching the window, a faint smell reached him, acrid and unpleasant, yet unidentifiable.

  His puzzlement turned to alarm when a wave of dizziness swept over him, and realisation dawned in a cold tide. Holding his breath, he crawled towards the door, but a terrible lethargy slowed his progress and made his eyelids droop as if leaden. Fighting it, he struggled to his feet and staggered across the room. His vision blurred, making his surroundings warp and smear like paint in the rain. Halfway to the door, his knees buckled and he fell to all fours, then was forced to draw breath as his lungs demanded air. The dizziness increased, and he collapsed as a curtain of darkness slammed down.

  A stinging slap jerked aside the veil of unconsciousness, bringing him to his senses with a gasp. Awareness returned with a rush of unpleasant reality that set all his alarms jangling. His hands were bound behind his back with a thin cord, which cut his wrists when he struggled, and his ankles were tied together.

  Blade turned his head, taking in the details of his surroundings. Many freshly lighted torches burnt against stone walls, illuminating a spacious, unfurnished room. He sat on the only chair in the centre of it, and the shadowy forms of many grey-clad assassins stood watching him.

  A tall, well-built man stepped forward, and Blade raked him with a measuring glance. His ash blond hair was pulled back in a plait, and his golden skin gleamed as if oiled. Moving with the lithe grace of an assassin in his prime, he stopped before Blade and smiled, his dark brown eyes sparkling with enjoyment. His smooth, handsome face had sharp features and a pointed chin, his eyebrows and lashes so blond they were almost invisible.

  Blade knew his animal kin even before the weasel poked its head out of the assassin's tunic and gazed around, twisting its neck with the sinuous grace of its kind. He raised his eyes and locked them with those of the assassin, receiving the satisfaction of the man's slight flinch from the biting frostiness of his gaze. The Cotti assassin stroked the weasel and glanced back at the others before addressing his captive.

  "So, you're the assassin known as the Queen's Blade."

  "No I'm not."

  The Cotti smiled. "I know you are, so don't bother to lie. Prince Dravis' message was delivered to you, and my familiar followed the servant, then gave me the location of the new rooms where you tried to hide. That's how I knew where you were."

  "But it doesn't tell you who I am. The message was brought to me because I'm Queen Minna-Satu's courtier and advisor."

  "Indeed? And do all Jashimari courtiers wear six daggers about their person, including two in wrist sheaths?"

  Blade shrugged. "I've learnt some skill with daggers, and in this land, I keep them to defend myself against scum like you."

  The Cotti assassin chuckled. "Most amusing. But we know who you are, without a doubt. I don't make mistakes, you see. That's why I didn't try to sneak into your room and stab you, it wouldn't have worked."

  "So instead you used gas, a coward's tool, as bad as poison."

  "But it worked. You're here, bound and helpless."

  Blade glanced at the dark forms behind the Cotti. "If Dravis hired you to kill me, then why am I still alive?"

  "Ah, well, they told me that you're the greatest Jashimari assassin to have ever lived, and since I'm the greatest Cotti assassin ever, I wanted to meet you. I went to a lot of trouble, too. Allow me to introduce myself. My name is Ice, and I'm also known as the Dancer." He bowed, smiling.

  "Well, now you've met me, so get on with it."

  "No, it's not as simple as that. You see, I intend to prove that I'm better than you, and therefore the best assassin in two kingdoms."

  "And just how do you intend to do that?"

  Ice smiled and glanced at the assassins behind him. "By challenging you to a Dance of Death, naturally."

  "I see. And the loser, if it's me, dies, I presume."

  "Oh, the loser will definitely die." Ice chuckled. "You see, it won't simply be a Dance. Your death has been purchased, and my elders have given their permission for me to kill you in a Dance of Death. A real one."

  Blade squinted at the shadowy forms, becoming aware of an ache in his ribs and another in his thigh, probably bruises from being carried from the palace. The tall assassin could not have done it alone. He must have brought another man to help carry Blade over the walls and into the city. He turned his attention to Ice once more.

  "And if I win?"

  "You will not." Ice smiled in a chilling manner, betraying the reason for his name.

  "Indulge me."

  One of the shadowy men stepped forward. "If you kill Ice, you'll be free to go, since he's the one who was hired to kill you."

  Blade inclined his head, then looked at Ice. "Do you intend to make me fight you with my hands and legs bound?"

  Ice chuckled and drew a dagger, slicing through the cords that bound Blade. The Jashimari assassin rubbed his wrists and stood up to stretch the stiffness out of his legs, wincing as his bruised ribs twinged. Ice noticed and smiled, beckoning to a huge man, who emerged from the shadows, carrying a wine bottle and two cups.

  "Let's drink before we duel. This is my helper on tonight's jaunt, Oben. He's a strong lad, as you can see. He carried you out of the palace grounds, after I dropped you to him from the window."

  Blade eyed the big man, whose receding forehead and small eyes, along with his thick neck and bulging arms, marked him as a man of bulls. Turning his attention back to Ice, Blade found that he was almost a head shorter than the Cotti. He glanced around at the silent throng, then measured the chamber, noting that the floor had been swept clean. Ice had planned this encounter, probably from the moment Dravis had hired him. The temptation to pit his skills against a Jashimari assassin with a legendary reputation had clearly been too great for him to resist.

  Ice poured two cups of wine and held one out to Blade with a smile. Blade took it and waited for the Cotti assassin to drink some of his before tasting it, finding it a sweet red wine, the sort he preferred. Ice's smile widened at Blade's caution.

  "I wouldn't drug you. What would be the point? I may as well have killed you in your room while you were unconscious. I must say, you're a lot smaller than I had imagined."

  Blade shrugged. "It makes my job easier."

  "Yes, I suppose so, but it must be a disadvantage in a duel."

  "I haven't found that."

  "Dravis said that you killed King Shandor and seven princes, quite impressive. What's your tally?"

  Blade sipped his wine. "I believe it was about two hundred and fifty when I retired, so it would be a few more than that now."

  "There must be a lot of work for assassins in Jashimari."

  "From that, I assume that yours is considerably less."

  "I'm half your age. It's hardly a fair comparison."

  Blade drained his cup and tossed it to Oben, who fumbled the catch and dropped it with a shrill clatter. "Do you intend to bore me to death with idle chatter, or shall we get on with this?"

  Ice slugged back his wine and held out the empty goblet for Oben, who took it and retreated. "I want the effect of the sleep gas to be completely worn off, to be fair."

  "It has."

  "Good." Ice turned to the shadowy figures, and one held out a pair of glittering boot blades. The Cotti assassin gave them to Blade, who examined them, finding that they were his, taken from his pack in the palace. The assassins and elders who made up the crowd spread out along the walls, leaving as much clear space as possible in the middle of the room, and Oben came forward to remove the chair
. Blade bent and strapped on the lethal footgear, then straightened and stripped off his jacket, under which he wore the tight vest traditionally worn at Dances.

  When Ice removed his jacket, he revealed the ornate, gold-studded belt that only a Master of the Dance could wear, as Blade had expected. Naturally Dravis had hired the best assassin in Jadaya, one whose ego matched his prowess. Blade bent and pressed his forehead to his knees to stretch the tendons in the back of his legs, then swung his arms and twisted to limber up. He made an experimental jump to test the weight of his boots with the blades attached, for the extra weight always made it more difficult. Walking around, he stamped his feet and lifted his legs high to get used to it, his metal-shod feet clacking on the stone.

  It had been a long time since he had completed the Dance of Death in all its complexity, but his recent exercise at the palace had increased his fitness. Still, he was not certain he could defeat Ice, and even if he did, the duel would be a bloody one. Injuries were inevitable, and quite possibly lethal. The prospect angered him, firing the bitterness that had ruled his life for so long, and his hatred of Cotti flared to new heights. If Ice had the advantage of youth and ambition, Blade had a lifetime of enmity and resentment to fuel his muscles and chill his mind to icy calmness and clarity. The Dance of Death as an armed duel had been forbidden decades ago, because one or both combatants inevitably died of their wounds.

  Blade stood with his head bowed, steeling himself to ignore the pain and the frightening sight of so much of his own blood. The fact that he placed little value on his life, and courted death at every opportunity, worked in his favour now. He would fight with reckless abandon, while Ice would be more concerned about staying alive. The things about him that Ice did not know would work against the Cotti assassin, perhaps enough to balance the scales. He wondered if a Jashimari assassin would ever be foolish enough to challenge the Queen's Blade to an armed Dance of Death.

  Raising his head, he glared at his opponent. "You've made a big mistake, Cotti. Challenging me to a Dance of Death is signing your own death warrant. I was the Master of the Dance my entire career, and even when I retired, I could have kept the title. I'm the only assassin to have ever held two belts, since an upstart Dance Master from another city challenged me. At the time I was almost crippled, and I still defeated him."