The Queen's Blade V - Master of the Dance

by T C Southwell

  Chapter Twelve

  Blade looked up when the cell door opened and Dravis entered, wearing his perennial smile. His prison had once been a cellar, but was now empty save for some damp, filthy straw and the chains that bound him to the wall. A guttering torch shed flickering light, and several men entered with fresh ones and placed them in sconces around the room. Blade watched the Prince approach, wondering what was in store for him. His shoulder throbbed and many of his old wounds ached. His jaw was swollen, and his gums bled where two teeth had been loosened. He sat with his back to the wall, and refused to look up at Dravis, studying at his feet instead. The Prince gazed down at him.

  "How the mighty are fallen, eh, assassin? I will wager that this is a new situation for you. As soon as I receive word from the courts that they have granted me witness privilege to produce my new evidence, I shall take you to the palace." He waited for a response, then continued, "In the meantime, I have decided to amuse myself with you. I have been informed that the assassin I hired to kill you challenged you to some sort of duel, and lost. I enjoy watching a good fight, and have several men eager to pit themselves against you."

  "I will not fight."

  "If you do not, I shall have you flogged."

  The assassin gripped the chains that linked his wrists to the rings in the wall and used them to pull himself to his feet. Dravis stepped back as Blade raised his head and fixed him with a piercing stare, unable to hide a shiver. The fact that he was several inches shorter than the young Prince did nothing to detract from his air of menace, and Blade knew it.

  "You would enjoy that, would you not, you perverted little bastard?" he snarled. "I expect you also enjoy beating women and killing small animals, or do you torture them too? If you enjoy fighting so much, then try it yourself. Stray within my reach, and I will snap your neck like a rotten twig."

  Dravis forced a harsh laugh, glancing back at his men. "I would not soil my hands with filth like you."

  "In other words, you are a coward."

  "I am not afraid of you, assassin."

  "That shows how stupid you are. Any man who does not fear death is a fool, and I am the embodiment of it."

  Dravis sneered, "I am glad that you fear it, you will face it soon enough."

  "We are all destined to die, Cotti pup. It is only the time and the manner that differs. I would rather die young than rot away in a bed."

  "But I will not die screaming on a stake, like you."

  "You will burn forever in Damnation."

  Dravis snorted. "Religious claptrap, invented to fool the mindless unwashed masses. Dolts like you."

  "Believe what you will. I do not care."

  The Prince stepped closer, but not within Blade's reach. "The guild showed me the body of that assassin, and it was not a pretty sight. I want to know how you did it."

  "Turn me loose, give me a dagger and two minutes alone with you, and I will show you."

  "I am not a knife fighter, or a fool. I have a man to fight you, unarmed, and we will see how well you do without your daggers. It will provide amusement for my brothers too. They will be joining us for the spectacle."

  "And if he kills me, you will not be able to hand me over to the court and clear your name."

  "He will not kill you, just beat the arrogance out of you. When he is finished, you will kneel before me and beg for mercy."

  Blade's lips curled into a sweet smile. "I doubt that, but in any case, I would not beg for something that I would not give."

  "We shall see."

  Dravis stepped back and tossed a key to a soldier, who approached the assassin and unlocked the shackles from the wall. Using them to twist the assassin's arms behind his back, he marched Blade into a corridor. More men waited there, falling in around the prisoner as he was forced to hobble in the chains that linked his ankles. At the end of the corridor, his captors pulled a hood over his head, led him outside and shoved him into a carriage.

  After a short journey, they took him into another building and down a flight of steps into a sizeable room, judging by the acoustics. A murmur of voices came from above him, and sand crunched beneath his feet. Someone pulled the hood off, and he glanced around, squinting in the light that poured in through many high windows. He stood in an indoor arena, and several shadowy figures occupied a section of the seats, muttering amongst themselves as they gazed down from their lofty vantage.

  A soldier unlocked the shackles on his wrists, and then squatted to free his ankles. Blade resisted the urge to kick the man before he stood up, rubbing his wrists while the soldiers retreated to a door in the wooden wall that surrounded the arena floor. Four soldiers had crossbows aimed at his heart, preventing him from making any move towards them. Dravis opened the door and beckoned to someone who waited outside.

  A bull-necked man entered, ducking under the lintel. He wore a gladiator's traditional garb, metal-studded leather straps girding a vast hairy chest. His short leather trousers were reinforced at the crotch, and a metal skull cap covered his shaven head. He leered at the assassin, cracking his knuckles with a rumble of laughter. His brutal face bore the scars of many violent encounters, owning a flattened nose and swollen ears. Thick brow ridges hung over his eyes in a constant frown. Dravis patted his shoulder, grinning.

  "This is Bardel, a gladiator from my brother's stable. He has never been defeated."

  Bardel smiled, revealing broken teeth. "I did not know he was a midget, My Prince."

  "Play with him, Bardel. Put some bruises on that pretty face and make it look more like your noble visage. Just make sure you do not kill him. He must testify to the court on my behalf."

  Bardel bowed. "As you wish, My Prince."

  Blade scuffed at the ground with a foot, finding stone under a few inches of hard-packed sand. Glanced up at the seats, he wondered how many of the princes attended, and who they were. Undoubtedly part of the reason that Dravis had arranged this was so he could reveal his captive to his brothers, thereby freeing them from Kerrion's blackmail. Another part was, most probably, to prove that Blade was an assassin by forcing him to reveal some of his skills, and the last reason was purely for entertainment.

  Dravis climbed up to the seats where his brothers waited, finding that all of them had accepted his invitation, and watched his approach with mixed expressions. Marek looked annoyed and Jovan nervous, but Jaren, Torval and Quantar appeared mildly amused. Prethos chewed his fingernails, his eyes wide with disquiet. Jovan was the first to speak, to Dravis' annoyance.

  "This is not a good idea, Dravis. You should keep him locked up until you take him to court. Are you sure that this is the assassin?"

  "Of course, brother," Dravis sneered. "How many Jashimari assassins do you think there are in Cotti? He has the mark, and he has admitted to killing Trelath and Chaymin."

  Marek leant forward. "Then why do this? If he is killed, you will have no chance to clear your name."

  "He will not be killed. Bardel is a professional; he knows what he is doing. Not so, Jaren?"

  Prince Jaren nodded, a slight smile curling his thin lips under a hatchet nose. "But this assassin is a dwarf, Dravis. It will not be sport."

  Dravis sank into his seat. "I do not care. I want to see the insolence beaten out of him."

  The princes settled back, Jaren laying odds on the assassin that no one would take. Prethos continued to look nervous, gazing at the men in the arena with worried eyes. The gladiator approached his slender opponent, and Dravis wondered how long the assassin would last. Blade stood his ground, apparently waiting for Bardel to attack, but the gladiator merely reached for him. The assassin stepped back to avoid the meaty hands, his eyes never leaving his opponent's face. Bardel smiled and repeated the manoeuvre, and Blade retreated. Jaren chuckled and glanced at Dravis.

  "If this turns into a foot race, Bardel will lose."

  "The bastard knows that he will be flogged if he does not fight."

  Jaren grunted and turned his attention back to the two men, just a
s the assassin stopped retreating. He seemed to dance, floating across the sand in a swift circling move that had Bardel swinging around like a confused ox. The assassin leapt high and lashed out with stiffened legs, his boots brushing together with a click as his legs crossed in a scissor action. His boot hit Bardel on the chin and sent him staggering to the side. Blade followed and kicked Bardel in the back of the knee. The gladiator stumbled, then swung around with a growl. The assassin leapt aside as Bardel lunged at him, using his remarkable agility to make the gladiator stumble past. Dravis glanced at Jaren, who sat bolt upright, his mouth open in amazement.

  Blade kicked Bardel in the gut as he turned, making him stagger back with a grunt, then followed, kicking him in the shin. The gladiator roared and lunged at the elusive assassin, who evaded him, leapt high and lashed out with stiffened legs. One boot hit Bardel under the chin and jerked his head back, sending him reeling again. The solid nature of his target threw Blade off balance, and he landed awkwardly, tottering a little.

  Bardel shook his head, rubbed his chin with a snarl and lunged at his opponent once more. Blade stepped sideways and jumped, kicking the gladiator in the belly. This time Bardel braced himself, and the assassin bounced off. He landed badly, twisted his ankle and skidded on the sandy floor, then sprang away when Bardel charged. His ankle buckled, and he fell, rolling aside in the nick of time as the gladiator tried to throw himself on top of him.

  Jaren glanced at Dravis. "That man is amazing."

  Dravis looked sour. "And he is wounded."

  "He cannot possibly win."

  Blade scrambled to his feet as Bardel bore down on him, his hands reaching for the assassin's throat. Swinging around, he ran, pain lancing from his ankle at every stride, his shoulder throbbing. At the wall he turned, and Bardel lumbered towards him, intent on crushing him against the barrier. Blade froze, feigning a horrified expression. Bardel's mouth stretched in an ugly grin, and he flung himself at his foe. At the last instant, Blade twisted aside, and the gladiator crashed into the wall, bounced off and staggered back.

  Blade trotted backwards to put some distance between himself and his reeling opponent, then ran a few steps and leapt at Bardel. He put all of his momentum into one leg, which hit Bardel in the gut. Most men would have been flung back by the blow, but Bardel stood firm, his hands flashing up to thrust Blade's leg upwards. Instead of crashing down on his back, Blade used Bardel's push to flip himself completely over, performed a graceful summersault and landed on his feet. His boot hit Bardel under the chin as he flipped over, jerking his head back again. Blade's bad ankle buckled when he landed, pain lancing through him in a white hot flash, and he fell to one knee with a grunt.

  Bardel charged, forcing Blade to scramble aside. He spun around, a foot outstretched to sweep the gladiator's legs out from under him. Bardel crashed into the sand, and Blade jumped up as the gladiator started to rise. While he was still on his hands and knees, Blade kicked him in the face, sending him sprawling. Blood spurted from Bardel's nose and splattered the sand, but he started to climb to his feet once more. The assassin kicked him in the head again, and he slumped, senseless.

  Jaren jumped up, his eyes wide with disbelief. "He has won! That little runt beat Bardel!"

  Dravis scowled at the assassin, who limped over to the wall and leant against it, panting. "Send in another gladiator."

  Jaren swung around in surprise. "What?"

  "You heard me. I want that bastard beaten."

  "You cannot do that. He is exhausted, and hurt."

  "Good, then he will lose this time."

  Jaren's eyes narrowed. "You will have to make it worth my while. Place a large wager on your assassin if you want another fight."

  "Very well." Dravis named a sizeable sum, and Jaren nodded, leaving the stands to arrange for another gladiator to be sent in to face the assassin. Jovan and Marek muttered together, while Prethos gazed at Blade. Torval rose and came over to clap his brother on the back.

  "Fine sport, Dravis. But he cannot win against a fresh opponent."

  "Good."

  "You will lose your wager."

  "It will be worth it."

  Torval chuckled and returned to his seat, leaving Dravis to watch two men drag Bardel from the arena. The prince's eyes flicked to the assassin, who inspected the wound in his shoulder, his hand coming away bloody.

  Blade turned as the door opened to admit another gladiator, this one a short, stocky man with blunt battered features who was obviously the kin of dogs.

  Jaren returned to his seat, shooting Dravis an amused look. "That is Anshon. He is faster than Bardel, perhaps more of a match for your assassin."

  "He is not my assassin," Dravis snapped.

  "As long as you are wagering on him, he is."

  Blade watched the new man approach, his stomach clenching as he realised that Dravis would keep sending in gladiators until he lost. The prospect of a beating made him nauseous, and the only way to avoid a prolonged battering would be to feign a swift defeat and play dead. Since the Prince wanted him alive, he would be forced to call off the gladiator before he did too much damage.

  The pain of his injuries sapped his strength and his sprained ankle would slow him, robbing him of his greatest advantage. The new gladiator looked so much like a pugnacious dog that Blade almost expected him to bark, but he also appeared determined and skilled, dropping into a fighting crouch and spreading his arms.

  The assassin pushed himself away from the wall, limping. Feigning weakness was an old and useful ploy, one that he had employed before. The blood that oozed from his shoulder would help to convince his opponent that he was too weak to fight, he hoped. This was a situation from which he would normally have fled, and he glanced around for an escape route, then stopped himself and concentrated on his opponent. He had no doubt that he would lose this bout in any case; the trick was to prevent further injury to himself.

  The gladiator feinted, and Blade stepped aside, retreating a few steps. Anshon followed, closing the gap before Blade could speed up his retreat, then dropped and tumbled towards him like an acrobat. He sprang up in front of the assassin and lashed out with his fists. Blade spun aside, narrowly avoiding the blows. The quick movement brought a flash of pain from his ankle, and he staggered. Anshon charged, arms outspread to grab him, and was upon Blade before he could get out of the way. He dropped backwards as Anshon's hands gripped his shoulders, grabbed the gladiator's shoulder straps and pulled Anshon with him.

  As he hit the ground, he jerked up his legs and thrust them into Anshon's belly, lifted the gladiator and threw him onto his back. The combatants rolled to their feet and faced each other, Blade shaking sand from his hair. Anshon charged again with remarkable speed, veering as Blade spun aside and punching the assassin in the midriff. Blade doubled over, almost falling to his knees. He backed away, clutching his belly and struggling to draw air into his aching lungs.

  Being short and fit, Anshon was also fast, something that most warriors lacked. Blade was at a disadvantage in an area where he was usually supreme, due to his sprained ankle. Anshon gave him no time to recover, coming after him again as he drew a wheezing breath. Without thinking, he turned and ran, a tactic he would normally have used in such a dire situation. He raced towards a wall, Anshon close behind, judging by the sound of his footsteps. Instead of slowing or veering, Blade speeded up, reached the wall at full tilt and sprang up it.

  Using his momentum, he ran up the wall, pushed off it and summersaulted over Anshon's head to land behind him. Normally he would have taken advantage of that, but his ankle buckled and he fell. Anshon skidded to a halt and swung around, his eyes wide with surprise, then rushed at Blade again. The assassin rolled aside to avoid the kick that the gladiator aimed at his head, scrambled to his feet and found Anshon upon him again.

  One of Anshon's fists skimmed past Blade's cheek as he jerked his head aside, but the other landed squarely on the side of his head. Lights exploded behind Blade's eyes, and his vision di
mmed, then the ground rose up and hit him on the side of the head. His muscles jerked as instinctive reactions kicked in, but he stemmed the urge to roll aside and went limp, closing his eyes. Anshon's boot thudded into Blade's belly, and he sensed the man looming over him.

  The gladiator kicked him again, sending him rolling across the sand, and he tasted the acid sting of bile. He remained limp, feigning unconsciousness and hoping that Dravis would call off the gladiator before he did serious harm. A hand gripped his hair and lifted his head, a blow struck his cheek and everything went black.

  In the stands, Jaren glanced at Dravis. "Time to put an end to this before he kills your assassin."

  Dravis watched the gladiator kicking and punching the limp assassin with bright eyes, smiling. "No, let him play a while longer."

  Jaren shrugged, looking disgusted. Jovan and Marek shot Dravis sour looks.

  Prethos jumped up and leant out to bellow, "Enough! Leave him be!"

  Anshon turned and strode towards the door, and Dravis swung to glare at his older half-brother.

  "You are merely a spectator, Prethos. You have no right to interfere."

  Prethos met Dravis' furious eyes with a frown. "Your cruelty sickens me. Since you were a child, you have delighted in inflicting pain on others, especially helpless creatures. I will not sit here and watch it."

  "You are a weak-bellied fop. I should not have invited you."

  "Then do not, when you want to indulge your sick perversions."

  Prethos thrust Dravis aside and marched out, vanishing through the door at the back before Dravis could think of a suitable reply. He turned to find the rest of his brothers on their feet and heading for the exit. Even Jaren looked angry.

  As Jovan passed, he muttered, "It will serve you right if he dies, idiot."

  Jaren growled, "I enjoy sport, not watching a defeated man beaten to a pulp."