The Queen's Blade II - Sacrifice

by T C Southwell

  The assassin coughed and drew in a shallow breath. Jayon and the healer stared at him in amazement. He opened his eyes and grimaced, his expression dazed. His eyes flicked to Jayon and the healer, and he groped for the dagger that had been strapped to his wrist. His face twisted and his brow furrowed as a coughing fit gripped him, and in between coughs he wheezed, struggling for air.

  Jayon stood up. The miracle of the assassin's return to life stunned him. The man fought to breathe and cough, the struggle painful to witness. His face grew red from the strain, his eyes bulged and veins stood out on his brow. Cords of muscle bulged on his chest, and sweat streamed from him as he hacked and gasped. The healer hastened away and came back with a bunch of leaves, which he crushed under the assassin's nose.

  Their sharp odour seemed to give him a little relief, and his cough became more powerful. Gradually the rattle lessened, and he relaxed as his breathing grew easier. The healer lifted the assassin's shoulder to inspect the dressing, frowning when he found it stained with fresh blood. He left to fetch a clean one, and Jayon sank onto the chair beside the bed. The assassin closed his eyes, looking exhausted. The flush drained from his skin, leaving it ashen. His return to life and consciousness amazed Jayon, who studied him.

  The assassin opened his eyes again, still looking dazed, then his gaze flicked to Jayon and sharpened. He frowned, his arctic stare making the young patrol leader shiver.

  "Who are you?"

  "I'm Patrol Leader Jayon. I found you in the desert, shot with a crossbow bolt, seven days ago."

  "Seven days? I've been here for seven days? Where in Damnation am I, anyway?"

  Jayon nodded. "This is the healers' house in Derrilan Pass."

  The assassin tried to sit up and grimaced, his limbs shaking. Jayon pushed him back. "Lie still, you're too sick to get up."

  "I must." He subsided, apparently realising that he did not have the strength, anyway. "I must speak to the Queen."

  Jayon gave an incredulous laugh. "The Queen? You're deluded. It must be the fever." He placed a hand on the assassin's brow, but he knocked it aside.

  "Quit mothering me, boy, I'm not an infant."

  Jayon frowned. Now that the assassin was awake, he looked ten years older, and the tattoo that had seemed so incongruous for one so youthful and innocent now appeared quite fitting.

  "Who are you?" he asked.

  The assassin stared at the ceiling, and Jayon began to think he would not answer, then he muttered, "I have many names, which one do you want?"

  "All of them."

  Blade pushed himself up on the pillows and studied the young man who sat beside him. Jayon looked to be about twenty years old, a handsome youth with merry blue eyes and thick brown hair, a fringe of which flopped into his eyes.

  "So, you want to know who it is that owes you his life. Is that what prompted you to save a dying wretch in the desert?"

  "No. I know you're an assassin. Not many will help your kind."

  "That's true. Most would have ridden on and left me to die, some would have spat on me before they did." He gazed into the distance. "I'm known as Blade."

  Jayon's jaw dropped. "The Queen's Blade?"

  Blade frowned. "Does everyone damned well know now?"

  "Many have heard of your deeds, even here on the border, yes. You killed King Shandor!"

  "Why don't you shout it a little louder? I don't think the Cotti heard you."

  "There are no Cotti here."

  "There are spies everywhere, boy."

  Jayon looked stunned. "But then... you're a lord, aren't you?"

  "Supposedly."

  "But what happened to you? Who shot you?"

  "That's a long story."

  "I have time."

  The assassin sighed. "Bring me some water."

  Jayon jumped up and dashed off, just as the healer returned with a fresh dressing. He helped Blade to sit up and removed the old bandage, a painful process that made the assassin's eyes water.

  "You had better be nice to that boy," the healer admonished. "I don't care who you are or how many you've killed, he saved your life. He's sat by your bedside every day and mopped your brow, fed you, changed your dressing. Why he bothered with an assassin, I don't know. Not many would. You owe him."

  Blade groaned. "Not again."

  The healer wiped the wound, making Blade grimace and hiss. "Like I said, he deserves your gratitude."

  "I'm sure he'll be well rewarded."

  The healer strapped the new dressing in place. "He not only saved you in the desert, he also brought you back to life. Not half a time-glass ago, you were dead."

  "No wonder I feel so bloody awful."

  The healer finished the dressing and straightened. "Just remember what I said."

  Blade coughed again, unable to stem the urge, and the healer shook his head.

  "Try not to cough, or the wound in your lung won't heal."

  Blade quelled it, and the healer left to tend his other patients, stepping aside to allow Jayon to trot past carrying a water jug and a plate of steaming stew. Blade drained two cups before his thirst was quenched, then started on the food, while Jayon waited with obvious impatience.

  The assassin ate less than half the meal before handing the plate back and regarding the young officer with deep resentment. "So, I'm told that I owe you a debt of gratitude, boy, and I hate owing debts. What do you want from me?"

  "Just your story. How you came to be wounded in the desert."

  "That's all?"

  Jayon nodded.

  With a sigh, Blade related the tale in terse sentences, adding no embellishments and leaving out many details, including the name of his employer, although her identity was easy to guess. When he finished, Jayon stared at him in amazement.

  "That's truly incredible."

  "You must send a message to the Queen. Tell her of my situation, and that Prince Kerrion is safe and Lerton dead."

  "Of course. Once the commander knows who you are, you will receive the best treatment." He pulled a face. "The healers gave you up for dead. They said I was wasting my time tending you."

  Blade fought the urge to cough. "I wouldn't be here if I hadn't been stupid enough to tell that damned Cotti spy that Lerton was dead. Who knew that he had a crossbow and the courage to use it?"

  "It could have been worse. You might have died."

  "You're to tell no one what I told you, boy."

  "Of course. I'll go and tell the commander that you're awake." Jayon rose, then paused. "By the way, my name's Jayon, not 'boy'."

  Blade waved him away. "Leave me be, I need to sleep."

  Cold sunlight poured in through the tall windows of the Jashimari palace's sunroom, which gave a view of the snow-covered garden. Minna-Satu reclined on a pile of cushions, reading a book of poems. In summer, this room became too hot for comfort, but in winter it was one of the warmest places in the palace. The book of poems was meant to take Minna's mind off Blade's possible fate, but did little more than distract her for brief interludes. The rest of the time, she stared out at the icy garden, her mind filled with worry.

  Minna-Satu looked up in surprise as the doors burst open, and Chiana came in, performing a quick prostration. Shista raised her head and glanced around, then stretched with a sigh and flopped down.

  Chiana waved a scrap of paper as she approached the Queen. "He is alive! Blade has been found. He is at the border, safe in a healer's house."

  Minna's heart swelled with relief and joy. "Thank Tinsharon! How is he? When is he coming back?"

  "It does not say, only that he is injured, but recovering. There is little in the message, it was brought by raven."

  "There must be more than that!"

  "Not about Blade. The rest of the message is that Lerton is dead and Kerrion safe."

  Minna smiled as the burden of her worries eased. "He succeeded. And he survived. The man is a marvel."

  "Yes, My Queen."

  "I will send a carriage for him at once. He can c
onvalesce here, where he will get the best attention."

  "But My Queen, the roads..."

  "I will send a company of men to clear the roads for it."

  "Travelling may weaken him... and the cold..."

  Minna waved Chiana's protests aside with an impatient gesture. "I will send my best healer along too. He could use some exercise."

  "It will take more than four tendays to get there, in this weather."

  "So much the better, he will be recovered enough to travel by then."

  Chiana nodded, smiling. "I too long for his return, My Queen, but I did not know that you were so fond of him."

  Minna eyed the advisor, smiling at her gentle teasing. "It is not only that. I am fond of him, I admit, but I shall need him here. By the waning of the Sea Moon I shall have only another moon-phase to go before my daughter is born."

  "One phase?" Chiana frowned. "But that cannot be. You only took consort in the Maiden Moon, just after Blade went to his estate."

  "Yes." The Queen sighed. "It is time you knew, Chiana, although you are to tell no one else. Antare is not the father of my child."

  "Then who...?"

  "Prince Kerrion."

  Chiana stepped back, her eyes wide. "So that is why..."

  "Yes."

  "You would put a half Cotti Queen on the Jashimari throne?"

  Minna nodded. "It is the only way to bring peace between us. Do not look so outraged, it was you who advised me to seek the help of Shamsara, and it was he who predicted that this was the only way to end the war. So long as Kerrion is the Cotti King, they will not make war on his daughter. That is why Blade had to save him. When those who want the war to continue hear of my plan, they will plot against me, and try to kill the child.

  "I need Blade to slay them. The courts are too slow, and may disagree with me. I may be the Queen, but like Kerrion, my enemies may win if I am not careful. They cannot oust me, for they have no others to choose from, but they can slay the child and insist that I bear a pureblood Jashimari princess."

  Chiana looked stunned. "I see. That explains much. It is a good plan, if it works."

  Minna smiled. "I am glad that you agree. Even Blade was sceptical."

  "But it will make you many enemies."

  "That is why I need him here with me."

  "Of course... but do you think that Kerrion will end the war when the princess is born?"

  "No." Minna-Satu looked away. "Only when she is Queen."

  "We cannot survive that long, not against Verone as well as the Cotti. The generals all agree that we can barely hold out until mid-summer."

  "I know. Which is why she must become Queen straight away, and you must be Regent until she is old enough to rule."

  Chiana gasped and sank to her knees. "What does this mean?"

  "You know very well. My rule must be a short one."

  "But how...?"

  "The Queen's Cup." Minna stared over Chiana's head, her face resolute. "A painless end."

  "No!" Tears shimmered in Chiana's eyes. "My Queen! You cannot!"

  "I can and I must." Minna jumped up and walked over to the windows to gaze at the snow-covered spires visible above the garden walls. "No Jashimari Queen lives her full allotment of years. At fifty we must die, before we become senile, a law brought into effect after the madness of Queen Pilla-Veru. She ordered her entire court executed, and some say she started the Endless War.

  "At the urging of her daughter, she was given a painless poison, which is now known as the Queen's Cup. So, I will take mine sooner than most, before the Contara overrun Jondar and murder us all. With Kerrion's daughter on the throne, the Cotti will be forced to protect her, and Jashimari will be saved. Nor can Kerrion conquer us, he is too honourable a man to steal from his own flesh and blood."

  Chiana sobbed, covering her face as she knelt before the cushions Minna-Satu had vacated. The Queen turned from the window. "Do not weep for me, Chiana. If I do not do this, the Contara will slaughter all of us anyway. If they capture me, I shall suffer terribly before I die. I would rather a peaceful end. It is those left behind who will face the danger."

  "Blade knows this?"

  "No. Only that I bear Kerrion's child."

  "And Kerrion?"

  Minna shook her head. "He knows nothing, as yet."

  Chapter Two

  Blade proved to be a difficult patient, fidgeting endlessly and complaining about his treatment. When the camp commander found out who he was, he was moved to a room in the fortress, and the best food was lavished upon him. The new accommodations were comfortable, but poor, a chamber with a barred window overlooking the training yard, an empty wardrobe and a fireplace. A narrow bed stood against one wall, its sheets and blanket clean but well worn. A puffwood table was placed beside the bed for his medicines, and a hard chair provided Jayon with a place to sit when he came to visit.

  The patrol leader ordered the fireplace swept out and a fire lighted, and had extra blankets placed on the bed. Woven reed mats were brought in to cover the floor and prevent the foundations' chill from creeping into the air. Blade complained about the healers' rough handling, and refused to take the bitter medicine they prescribed. Jayon spent many time-glasses trying to persuade him otherwise, and sometimes Blade did, just for the sake of peace and quiet.

  Blade's weakness irritated him, and he constantly tried to build his strength with exercise. His inability to walk soured his mood further. At times, coughing fits would tear open the wound, delaying his recovery. One day, when all the healers were busy after a battle, Jayon changed the dressing, and Blade discovered that the boy had a gentle touch. After that, he demanded that Jayon attend him, and the young patrol leader was excused from his other duties in order to do so.

  Blade complained about the lack of a bath, hating his stink and his scalp's itchiness. At first, he refused when Jayon offered to bathe him, unwilling to undergo the humiliation of being washed, but eventually he could stand it no longer. Although the healers warned against it, he agreed to allow Jayon to help him bathe.

  The young officer had a tub carried to Blade's room and filled with steaming water. A fire roared in the grate to warm the room, and a cloth covered the window to keep out any draughts. Jayon removed the dressing and half carried Blade to the tub, helping him into it. When Jayon had washed those parts of the assassin that he could not reach due to the pain of his wound, Blade relaxed in the hot water and studied the youth, who stood beside the fire.

  "Why are you so devoted to me, boy?"

  Jayon smiled and shrugged. "You're a great man."

  Blade gave a derisive snort. "What do you hope to gain?"

  "Nothing. It's an honour to serve you, Lord Conash. Your deeds are almost legend amongst the men of this army. Many envy my position."

  Blade frowned at him, perplexed. "Status then, is that it?"

  "Why must it be anything?"

  "It's certainly not my company."

  "No," Jayon agreed. "It's not that. Perhaps I feel responsible, since it was I who found you and brought you here."

  "Has your commander rewarded you for that?"

  Jayon inclined his head, tossing another log into the fire. "I have received a commendation. I'll soon get a promotion too."

  "So, you don't have to do this."

  "No, I choose to. Perhaps I hope to gain your friendship."

  "Friendship." Blade sighed, shaking his head. "I don't make friends, boy. I may have to kill them."

  Jayon's lips compressed, and he picked up the towel. "I doubt that will happen. It's time you got out, before the water gets cold."

  "No. Not yet. It's still hot."

  Jayon sighed and set the towel down. "Why must you be so unpleasant all the time?"

  "To prevent boys like you seeking my friendship."

  Jayon chuckled, shaking his head. "It will do you no good, I'm not so easily put off."

  "Pity."

  "Don't you have any friends?"

  "No. Being an assassin is a solit
ary profession, there's no room in my life for encumbrances. No one will mourn my passing when it comes. You should go and fawn on someone who will appreciate it, I certainly don't."

  "I noticed," Jayon growled, annoyed by Blade's rudeness. "But perhaps you should be a little more grateful. Without me, you would have the healers changing your dressings, and you wouldn't be having this bath, to say nothing of the fact that you wouldn't even be alive." He threw the towel on the floor beside the tub and headed for the door.

  "Jayon!"

  The youth turned at the door, scowling. "What?"

  "I would like to get out now."

  "Why don't you do it yourself?"

  Blade's brows rose. "You know full well that I can't. Do you want me to freeze?"

  "You're too cold to freeze, Blade. You have a heart of ice. I try to help you, and all I receive is scorn."

  Blade nodded, gazing at the water. "You're right, but my ill temper stems from my sickness. I find it galling to require a nursemaid. There was a time, not so long ago, when I could have run rings around you, boy. Now I'm reduced to this." He gestured to the tub. "I cannot even bathe myself, but must rely on you. Can you imagine how humiliating this is for me?"

  Jayon sighed, mollified. "I can. I suppose you have a right to be ill tempered." He walked back to the tub and picked up the towel, helping Blade to the bed. When he was dry, Jayon put a fresh dressing on the wound and bound it in place, seated next to his patient.

  "I have been in this place for more than two tendays, and still I'm too weak to stand," Blade grumbled. "When will this wound heal? What do the healers say?"

  "They say it may take several moons. The injury was grave, most men would have died from it."

  "According the healer, I did die from it."

  "Yes, you did."

  "You should have been a healer."

  The boy looked surprised, then smiled. "I want to be one day, but while I'm young I must fight. Perhaps when I'm too old for combat, I will become a healer."

  "If you live that long."

  Jayon tied the bandage and stood up. "You need to sleep now."