The Queen's Blade II - Sacrifice

by T C Southwell

  Blade stared at the soot-stained ceiling for a long time after the young officer had left, thinking about what he had said and listening to the soft rattle of fluid in his chest. It must be nice, he mused, to be as content with life as Jayon. Free from bitterness, having never known sorrow and loss. It seemed ironic that the boy would admire a man so filled with bitterness and hatred that it had soured his spirit. He was unable to fathom Jayon's animal kin, for it was not one of the more obvious ones, but he was certainly not Shunned.

  From the boy's sunny nature and positive disposition, he guessed that it was some sort of bird. Most healers were bird kin. Their inherent gentleness and caring came from the sensitive nature of their avian familiars. Since people took on many of the traits of their animal kin, healers were mostly bonded with doves or songbirds. The healer who had first tended him had had a bardbird perched on his shoulder, he recalled. Perhaps Jayon was bonded with one of the shy woodland birds that disliked the company of humans other than their particular friends. He closed his eyes and sighed.

  A whisper of sound woke Blade, so soft that he could not be certain of what it was. A slither, a slight rasp, but enough to set off his finely tuned internal alarms and prompt his sleeping mind into waking him. He opened his eyes a slit. The lamp beside the bed had long since run out of oil, and the fire had died. The only illumination was the faint strip of moonlight coming through the window. He moved his right arm under the sheet, sliding it down to the hilt of the dagger tucked under the mattress.

  Grasping it, he pulled the blade free and waited, sensing the presence of someone in the room. Turning his head as one asleep might, he scanned the darkness by the door. He was unable to make out anything in the gloom, but his other senses jangled with alarm. The sound of breathing reached him, and he smelt a spicy scent that many Cotti wore. Tense as a coiled spring, he waited for the attack.

  The darkness moved, disgorging a grey-clad man who strode to the bed, committing himself to the assault. His arm rose to deliver a lethal stroke to Blade's chest, aimed at his heart. Blade pushed himself up with all his strength and thrust his dagger into the assassin's belly. The man stood frozen just long enough for Blade to pull the weapon free, but before he could use it again, the Cotti stabbed downwards, and Blade flung up his arm.

  The Cotti's dagger cut into his forearm, and Blade grunted as he jerked free in an instinctive recoil that preceded his immediate retaliation. He lashed out in a scything stroke, sliced open the man's throat and loosed a fountain of blood that splattered down on him like warm rain. The Cotti staggered back and collapsed, his weapon hitting the stones with a tinkle. Blade struggled from the bed, determined to ensure that the intruder was dead. His legs buckled, forcing him to crawl towards his erstwhile assailant.

  The door burst open, admitting two torch-bearing soldiers in a flood of light. They rushed over to the Cotti assassin, saving Blade the trouble of checking him. One of the men exclaimed in disgust and brought his boot heel down on something that crunched under it. Blade sagged as fresh weakness invaded his limbs, and the other soldier came over to him, snapping orders at his companion.

  "Fetch a healer, Lord Conash is hurt, and alert the commander."

  "No," Blade said. "Fetch Jayon."

  The second soldier ran off, leaving his companion to place his torch in a sconce on the wall and try to help the assassin up, but Blade shook him off.

  "Leave me be. How did this man get in here? Why was there no guard at my door?"

  "There was, My Lord," the soldier replied. "He's dead."

  "And where were you?"

  "On watch further down the hall. We heard a noise and came to investigate."

  "What did your comrade step on?"

  "A scorpion, My Lord, the assassin's familiar."

  Blade coughed, the sudden exertion bringing on the fit. The soldier, looking worried, went out and returned with two more torches, which he placed on the walls, filling the room with light. Blade struggled to stop coughing, a burning pain starting in his left lung, which the crossbow bolt had pierced. When at last he brought it under control, dark spots danced in his eyes, and the salty tang of blood filled his mouth.

  Someone grabbed him and hauled him onto the bed, ignoring his growl. When his vision cleared, Jayon knelt before him, examining the deep cut in his arm. The young officer pried the dagger from Blade's fist and tossed it aside, calling for bandages and herbs. Soldiers now crowded the room, and the commander crouched beside the strange assassin's body and pulled off its hood.

  "Cotti," he growled.

  "Of course," Blade said, studying the golden-haired assassin. He was barely more than a boy, his face unlined and innocent. Spots of blood patterned his cheek, stark against the pallor that was creeping into his skin, turning it an ugly shade of yellow. A youngster, Blade thought bitterly, probably with only a few kills under his belt, and certainly not sufficiently experienced to take on another assassin. While Blade was safe from Jashimari assassins, enemy assassins were fair game to either side.

  Commander Vandar straightened and looked at Blade with deep concern. "Are you all right, My Lord?"

  "I'll live."

  A soldier picked up the Cotti's weapon and sniffed it. "Sir, I think this blade is poisoned."

  Jayon's head jerked up, and he frowned at the yellow-stained blade the soldier held. He swore foully, making Vandar rock back on his heels, and barked, "Bring water, lots of it!"

  A soldier ran out, and Jayon tore off the bandages he had wrapped around Blade's arm, cursing. Blade watched him, a faint smile curling his lips.

  "Maybe I won't live after all."

  Jayon glared at him. "You find it amusing?"

  Blade shrugged. "Just ironic."

  The soldier returned with a basin of water, and Jayon thrust Blade's arm into it, scrubbing the wound with vigour that made the assassin hiss and grit his teeth. The water turned red as Jayon squeezed and rubbed the gash in Blade's arm, trying to wash out as much of the poison as he could. When at last he was satisfied that the wound was clean, he bound it again, then started to remove the blood-soaked dressing from Blade's back.

  "Find out what the poison is," Jayon instructed a soldier. "Take the dagger to Mergan."

  The man nodded and ran out with the weapon. Commander Vandar scowled at the dead assassin, prodding the corpse with his boot.

  "Search him," Vandar ordered. "He may have the antidote with him, in case he cut himself."

  Two soldiers searched the Cotti's body, but came away empty-handed. Blade watched them with dull eyes, filled with a growing sense of detachment much like he had experienced when he had been sedated in the palace. He had known that they would not find the antidote, assassins rarely carried something that could be used to undo their work. Any poisoner worth his tattoo knew that if he cut himself with his poisoned blade, he must suffer the consequences. It was a risk of the profession.

  "What happened?" Commander Vandar turned to Blade. "How did you...?"

  "Survive?" Blade glanced up at the grey-haired commander. "He made two mistakes. Small ones, but they cost him his life. The first was that he made a noise, very slight, but enough to wake me. He should have known that an assassin is ten times more alert than an ordinary man. Even his breathing would have woken me. Also, he was wearing perfume, a distinctive Cotti scent, which is how I knew that it wasn't Jayon sneaking in here to check on me, as he does sometimes."

  Jayon looked startled. "You were asleep."

  "Sort of. Still, the Cotti succeeded. This is what assassins have always surmised would happen if one was sent to kill another, which is why it's forbidden. Both will die. The poisoned blade is something quite a few assassins use, it assures the outcome, even if the kill isn't clean. He tried to stab me in the heart, so he was not relying on the poison."

  Blade sighed, finding it harder to breathe. A band of steel tightened around his chest. "I remember one who relied on poison. He was called Shadow, and he used a particularly fast-acting variety. He use
d to accost his victims on a busy street and stab them with a tiny blade, little more than a needle really, then vanish into the crowd.

  "His victim would be dead within minutes. He was snake kin, some say the yellow viper, so perhaps he used his familiar's venom. One day, he dropped dead in the market place, and it can only be deduced that someone bumped into him, and he stabbed himself... that's the danger of poison... I'm not surprised that our young assassin hasn't got... the antidote... the penalty for carelessness is... death." Blade's words slurred, and he breathed heavily, his eyes drooping.

  Jayon shook him. "Blade, stay awake."

  Blade sighed again. It was growing increasingly difficult to listen to the boy through the roaring in his ears. He closed his eyes and slid away into the darkness with a sense of relief that all the pain was over.

  The assassin slumped, and Jayon laid him on the bed, frowning. Vandar's worry was palpable as he paced the floor, glowering at the dead Cotti until he got tired of this and ordered the soldiers to remove the body. Jayon used a damp cloth to wipe the blood from Blade's chest, staying with him after Vandar muttered an excuse and left, apparently unwilling to watch the assassin die.

  When Mergan identified the poison, several time-glasses later, Jayon's heart sank. Not only was it lethal in small doses, there was no antidote for it in the camp and no way of getting any in time. This time the old healer's pessimistic prediction seemed inevitable. The assassin would die within a few days.

  Kerrion looked around at a knock on the door, commanding the applicant to enter. A senior advisor came in and bowed.

  "Sire, the procession awaits."

  Kerrion sighed and tugged at his ornate white tunic, picking up the plumed silver helm he must wear on this occasion. Finally, Lerton was to be buried, a full four tendays after his death. Once the preservers had embalmed him, he had lain in state for all this time, a high collar covering the wound in his throat. Kerrion had stood with his brothers beside the bier to receive the condolences of all the lords of the land, some of whom had travelled great distances to attend.

  After them, numberless advisors, judges, senior and retired officers had filed past, each bending their knee to the bier and murmuring the ritual words of condolence to Kerrion and his brothers. Then the clergy had paid their last respects, starting with the high priests, then the hundreds of ordained monks and acolytes. When all the nobles and men of rank had attended, the princes were able to take turns each day for the sake of the commoners. Now, at last, the ordeal was over, and the funeral procession was ready to leave the palace.

  The advisor stood aside as Kerrion started towards the door, just in time to meet a dusty messenger who trotted up. The advisor intercepted the man and took the missive from him, unrolling it to read it to Kerrion.

  "It is from the border. An assassin was sent to kill the Jashimari murderer, but he still lives." The advisor frowned. "He is, however, mortally ill from poison, and not expected to survive much longer."

  Kerrion almost smiled at Blade's tenacity. "And this, after that damned spy claimed to have killed him also. Blade leads a charmed life. I will believe him dead when I see his grave, or his head on a plate. Still, commend the assassin, he did well."

  The advisor glanced at the message. "He is dead, Sire, the Jashimari assassin killed him."

  "Of course." Kerrion nodded, realising that he should have guessed the outcome.

  Brushing past the advisor, he set off down the corridor that led to the main palace entrance, where he must take up his position at the head of the mourners behind the coffin. The advisor trotted after him, his sandaled feet slapping on the marble floor.

  "Any orders, Sire? Should we send another assassin to finish him off?"

  "I did not order the last, so why ask me now? I see no point in sending another if Blade has been poisoned, do you?"

  "He may survive..."

  "But now that they have been warned, they will guard him that much better." Kerrion swung to face the advisor, who stumbled to a halt. "Unfortunately, I do not have an assassin as good as Blade in my employ, Gertan, or I would have put him to good use already. As it is, we must just hope that the poison works, must we not?"

  "Sire, you cannot allow him to live. He killed your father and your brother."

  "I am aware of that. He also kidnapped and humiliated me. Do you think I want him to live? Even though he saved me from my brother's lies, he has done more harm than good. But, considering that the last assassin is dead, who will you send? I doubt that we will have any more success than Queen Minna-Satu had trying to murder my father until she sent Blade. He is important to her. She will do all she can to protect him, so why not make the decision yourself? Let it be on your conscience that you sent men to be tortured in a Jashimari camp."

  Kerrion swung away, leaving the advisor agape, and went out to meet the crowd's roaring accolade.

  Blade's fever worsened, and he lay soaked in sweat for the next five days, tossing and muttering in a delirium. Even though they did not expect him to live, they doubled the guard outside his door, and Jayon moved his bed into the room. Each morning that he found Blade still breathing was a miracle. The assassin clung to life with a persistence that astounded everyone.

  The Queen's coach reached the camp a tenday after the attack, carrying a dishevelled and thoroughly exhausted palace healer. Blade teetered on the brink of death, yet would not slide over it. The Queen's healer did not have the antidote with him, but ordered that the assassin be bled, thus removing more of the poison from his system. This weakened Blade further, lessening his sweating and tossing, which pleased the new healer.

  After a day of rest for the men who had accompanied the carriage, Blade was loaded aboard it for the journey to Jondar. As it was preparing to leave, Commander Vandar caught sight of Jayon's forlorn expression and offered to let him accompany the assassin. The boy grinned and dashed to his room to cram his few possessions into a bag, and was forced to ride after the coach, which had already left.

  Like the camp healers, the Queen's healer did not expect Blade to survive the journey, and Jayon had his doubts too. The assassin did indeed seem to be at death's door, his skin cold and ashen, his eyes sunken and breath rank. Yet Jayon refused to give up, nursing him with diligence that impressed Verdan, the Queen's healer. Despite the danger of setting the coach alight, Jayon had braziers lighted inside it to warm the air and kept Blade bundled against the chill. Three times a day he propped him up and spooned a nourishing soup, spiked with medicine, into him.

  At each village they passed through, Verdan went in search of the antidote, but did not find it until the third town, five days after leaving the border. Jayon's spirits rose when the antidote had been administered, but Verdan warned that it may be too late. The antidote appeared to make no difference, and Blade remained comatose and feverish. Verdan assured Jayon that the lung wound caused this, not the poison. When Blade had exerted himself, he explained, the assassin had torn open the wound in his lung, and now it had to heal all over again.

  The journey progressed at a fair speed, many of the roads still clear from the outbound trip, although they did encounter some deep drifts in places where new snow had fallen. Here the soldiers slaved to shovel it from the road, and the carriage proceeded at a snail's pace, or stopped and camped while the men worked through the night. No effort was spared, and Jayon wondered at the Queen's urgency to have the assassin back at the palace, even unconscious.

  When the exhausted group arrived at Jondar, they had cut short the journey by five days, and Blade still lived. Verdan's admiration for the assassin's constitution knew no bounds, and Jayon was proud of his patient. The coach rattled into the courtyard, drawn by eight exhausted horses that blew great clouds of steam that mingled with the billows rolling off their flanks, and men rushed out to carry the assassin's litter inside.

  The soldiers who had worked so hard to get them there stood and watched with dull eyes as four men bore the litter past them. Snow sleeted down in
icy flakes, and Jayon brushed it off Blade's face as he trotted beside the litter. The assassin's skin was so cold that the snow did not melt on it. The soldiers whisked Blade up to his room, Jayon following, while Verdan left the party to eat and rest.

  A manservant already had a fire roaring in the grate, and heavy velvet curtains were drawn to keep the cold from creeping in through the windows. Jayon glanced around at the tapestry-hung chamber carpeted with russet wool rugs. Gossamer amber curtains hung from the bed posts, and gilt furniture stood in the corners. A full-length mirror hung on one wall, a rare luxury. A curtained door led into an adjoining room panelled with bloodwood and floored with marble. A permanent tub stood at its centre, soft towels and expensive aromatic soaps and oils surrounding it. When he returned to the bedroom, he found that the soldiers who had brought Blade had left, and for the moment he was alone with the assassin. Jayon went over to the bed and addressed his comatose friend.

  "Very nice, I must say."

  "Who are you?" A feminine voice demanded behind him, and Jayon spun in fright.

  A chestnut-haired woman regarded him with suspicious eyes, looking uncertain, but determined. From her rich garb, he deduced that she was not a servant, and bowed. "My lady, I'm Patrol Leader Jayon, from the border pass."

  "What are you doing in Lord Conash's room?"

  "I accompanied him from the border, my lady. I have been attending him."

  Her expression softened. "I see. Well, your services are no longer required, we have plenty of servants here."

  "You don't understand, I - he's my patient. You can't simply dismiss me."

  "Are you a healer?" Her eyes raked his uniform.

  "No... but -"

  "He will get the best possible care here. You may return to your post."

  Jayon stepped closer, desperate to convince her. "My lady, you don't understand. Blade would want me to stay... I - we - I'm his friend."

  Her brows rose. "Indeed? But since he is unable to attest to that, I have only your word for it, have I not?"