The Queen's Blade VI - Lord Protector

by T C Southwell

  Chiana went into the bedroom, and Blade finished his wine in a gulp and followed. Shedding the robe, she climbed into her bed in her nightdress. The assassin wandered over to a velvet couch, loosening the ties of his jacket. Chiana watched him strip off his jacket, belt, wrist sheaths and boots, then sat up when he lay down on the couch.

  "You intend to sleep there?"

  He nodded. "It is comfortable enough."

  "The bed is more so."

  "I am accustomed to sleeping alone. Your presence will keep me awake."

  "You have shared my bed before."

  "Only when extremely drunk."

  She eyed him. "I may throw myself out of the window in the night."

  "I will wake before you do."

  "You said that you intended to be more of what I wished for. I wish you to sleep beside me."

  Blade sighed, then rose and approached the bed. Chiana lay back and watched him strip down to the comical pair of baggy grey flannel shorts. The number of new scars on him shocked her. Some looked quite recent. He lay down beside her, and she moved closer to trace a pink scar on his arm.

  "How did you get this?"

  "The Cotti assassin."

  "Tell me what happened."

  "I thought you were tired."

  "I am. You may stop when I fall asleep."

  Blade sighed again and related the tale. Chiana slid her arms around him and rested her head on his shoulder while she listened to his soft voice detailing a man's death. Being so close to him was bliss, secure in his presence, the joy of it dulling her pain. She fell asleep before the end of his story.

  The next morning when Chiana woke, she sensed Blade's presence beside her. She opened her eyes and raised her head to study him. The pain of her loss burnt like a hot coal in her heart, but a cloud of joy blanketed it, dulling its heat. Just as he had eased the pain of Inka's loss with the rare gift of his presence, so he did now. Why would a man who claimed to be heartless do such a thing, she mused. Merely because he did not wish to be Regent? Unlike when Inka had died, she had no longing to end her life, but if she told him that, he would leave. Was she becoming a liar too, in order to keep him at her side? She longed to touch him, but hesitated, afraid he would lash out if startled awake. As she vacillated, a faint smile curled his lips.

  "You are awake," she accused.

  "Of course."

  "Did you sleep?"

  "A little."

  "I did not have the nightmare."

  He opened his eyes. "I know."

  "It is because you were here."

  "Nothing like a monster to keep other monsters at bay."

  "You are not a monster." She slid her arms around him and rested her cheek on his chest.

  Chapter Eleven

  Chiana ordered that her father's body be brought to the palace for her to view, then interred in a lavish funeral, which was held in the graveyard reserved for members of court. Funerals were the only events that regents and queens were allowed to leave the palace to attend, surrounded by a military presence that was almost an army. Blade remained at her side all through it, and she leant on his arm as she accepted the court's condolences. Mourning flags decked the city, and the temples flew skeins of grey and black dreamsilk from their poles. The funeral feast took place in the great hall, and went on for most of the afternoon. Blade drank a great deal of strong wine and encouraged her to do the same, so that by the time it was over he had to help her to her rooms.

  For the next three days, Blade remained at her side most of the time, leaving only to exercise in the gardens. At her request, he related the tales of some of his exploits, and she learnt more about her enigmatic husband. So fascinating were his stories that she had a scribe write them down, much to Blade's disgruntlement. When she was forced to attend to urgent duties, Blade sat nearby and read, which tended to make visiting dignitaries and messengers quite nervous. She found that studying people's reaction to him told her a great deal about their character. Those who were arrogant or deceitful became hostile in his presence, while he intimidated good men. She found this to be useful in her dealings with strangers, and all Blade had to do was sit nearby and read a book.

  The nights beside him were blissful, and free from the horrible nightmare that had plagued her since Inka's death. Her only worry was that this wonderful state of affairs would not last, and one day, when he was convinced she no longer needed him, he would leave. She decided not to try to stop him, but to make the most of his presence while he remained. Kerra seemed to have given up her hopeless infatuation, and relations between them became cordial once more. The only people who aroused open hostility from the assassin were the Cotti advisors, whom he glared at whenever he encountered them. Consequently, their irritating visits to complain about Kerra's upbringing became rarer, to her relief.

  Blade found the time spent with his wife only a little trying. Her interest in his past was irritating, for he disliked dredging up memories he considered best forgotten. At times, however, she could be an entertaining companion and interesting conversationalist, especially when the topic was not her father or her husband's past, about which she was far too curious for his liking. At first, her appetite for his proximity was discomfiting and annoying, for he disliked contact with others and usually avoided it.

  Chiana's manner in this regard was hesitant. Often, she would reach for his hand and then glance at him as if unsure of his reaction. The meaningless gestures of affection he schooled himself to show her brought joyful reactions, which he found oddly touching. They brought back warm, hazy memories of sitting on his father's knee playing with his beard, or helping his mother bathe his younger sisters. Then there had been many hugs and kisses, pats on the head and ruffled hair, warm biscuits from the oven and wooden toys carved by his father's rough hands.

  A wall of ice had surrounded his heart when he had lost his family, separating the joy from the sorrow, the good from the bad, and nothing had sullied it until now. Others had tried to show him affection in the past, but he had always rejected it, preserving the purity of his hatred of the world. Now he was forced to accept it from Chiana, and he found it strangely uplifting and depressing, reminding him of his childhood.

  As Shamsara had predicted, he did find her happiness pleasing, and that it took so little effort on his part to bring her this joy was fascinating. His heart remained untouched, however. His emotions were as frozen as ever and his every gesture of affection was false. He did find himself more inclined to share his secrets with her, and on the third afternoon he showed her the belt he had won from Storm.

  Chiana fingered the soft black leather, tracing the intricate patterns of silver that covered it, then raised her eyes to meet his.

  "So you are once more the Master of the Dance."

  He nodded. "Until I retire again."

  "And when do you plan to do that?"

  "I do not know."

  "Shamsara's blood keeps you young. I shall grow old, while you do not."

  "Does that trouble you?"

  She smiled. "Only if you seek the bed of a younger woman."

  He chuckled. "I have never sought a woman's bed."

  "Did you ever try -"

  "No."

  "I am sorry." Chiana looked away, clearly contrite. "I should not have asked such a stupid question."

  "The answer is self-evident, I would have thought."

  "Not necessarily, but still, it was thoughtless of me." She smiled again. "But it is comforting to know you have not enjoyed another woman's embrace."

  "And never will. At least one of us finds that a good thing."

  She handed the belt back. "This conversation is fraught with pitfalls. I am glad you have reclaimed your belt. It is beautiful."

  Blade put it away. "There is nothing to tell on that subject. I have lived the life of a monk."

  Chiana nodded and turned away, declining to enquire further. He sensed that the conversation was more discomfiting for her than it was for him, although, he reflecte
d with some amusement, they were equally innocent in that regard.

  Over the course of the three nights, Blade grew accustomed to her presence, and snatched several time-glasses of sleep. Whenever she moved he woke, but soon fell asleep again. On the third night, when she had fallen asleep, he moved away and dozed off, his tiredness enabling him to find the deep embrace of oblivion.

  Blade sat outside his father's house, a child once more. He was Conash, but his family called him Ash. He held the belt of ribbons and bells he was braiding for his sister Shinda's eighth birthday. His brother Orcal, who was ten, had carved a tiny horse for her, and dyed it red and yellow like the sorrel filly who had recently become her familiar. Little Ryana, only six, had made a hair clip with their father's help and decorated it with her humming bird's bright feathers. Alenstra, almost grown at fourteen, had sewn a frilly dress for her tomboy sister, and Rykar, nearly a man at sixteen, had bought her a silver necklace.

  Conash glanced at the cat who lay in the shade of a nearby tree, his black coat gleaming. He smiled as Rivan swatted at a fly, his tail twitching. Today was Conash's day to tend the goats, and he had just returned from the high pasture where they grazed. Orcal cleaned the pens and Rykar hoed weeds in the vegetable patch with his father, Jarren. His sisters and mother had gone down to the stream to wash clothes, so he was enjoying the peace and quiet. The land slumbered in the late summer sun's warm rays, its soil furred with greenery. The distant sound of goat bells came from the slopes all around, where each family's herds nibbled the velvet grass.

  A hawk's scream shattered the peace, and Rivan sat up as if someone had stuck a pin in him, his ears swivelling. Conash glanced up at the bird that hovered like a cross in the sky, wondering what had upset Keal, Alenstra's familiar. The bird folded his wings and stooped, plummeting to earth like a comet, then spread his wings at the last moment and glided to perch on the fence. He screamed again, his crest raised, and Conash glanced at Rivan. The cat's ears swivelled and his nose twitched as he sniffed the breeze. Curious, Conash sent an enquiring thought to him, surprised when he received an urgent image in reply. Danger.

  Conash tucked the belt into his pocket and stood up, peering down the path that led to the stream. Had something happened to his mother and sisters? Rivan was unsure, but Keal took flight, heading for the vegetable garden. Conash ran after him, arriving as his father and Rykar dropped their hoes and ran towards the house. Jarren grabbed Conash's arm and dragged him along so fast his feet barely touched the ground.

  "What is it?" Conash cried, alarmed.

  "Cotti!"

  Conash's stomach knotted with dread, and he glanced down the valley at the village. Beyond it, a mass of yellow and blue, glinting with silver, moved through the fields. Faint plumes of smoke rose beyond it, and running figures fled the village in its path. Reaching the house, his father released him and turned to Rykar.

  "Go and fetch your mother and sisters. Run!"

  Rykar raced down the path towards the stream, and Conash gripped the hem of his father's coat, staring at the approaching horde.

  "What do we do, Papa?"

  His father shook his head. "Pray that the border garrison reaches us before they do. Someone will have alerted them by now."

  "We could hide in the forest."

  "They'll hunt us down like deer. Go fetch Orcal."

  Conash ran to the goat shed, his heart hammering with terror. The Cotti army approached at a gallop, spreading out as it stopped to burn and kill. Some soldiers chased fleeing villagers, but still more continued to advance. The thunder of hooves reached him, mingled with distant screams and the clash of steel. As he dragged Orcal from the goat shed, he knew they were all going to die. They reached the house as Rykar arrived with the panting women, little Ryana weeping and clinging to her mother's skirts. Shinda stayed close to her mother too, paying no heed to her familiar's whinnying and cavorting as Cavat tried to persuade her to climb on her back and flee.

  Conash's father went to the shed and emerged with two pitchforks, handing one to Rykar. They exchanged a meaningful glance, alike in temperament though not in animal kin or looks. Rykar had inherited his mother's black hair and grey eyes, like Conash and his sisters. Only Orcal had his father's green eyes and brown hair. Conash longed to run, and watched the Cotti advance with a lump of terror blocking his throat. It seemed to take only minutes for them to reach the farm, and a group of five split from the rest in search of booty.

  Alenstra ran into the house and emerged armed with a kitchen knife, her eyes bright with defiance. The bronze-skinned soldiers galloped around the house, shot burning arrows into the thatch and set it ablaze, driving the family from the shelter of its walls. Jarren lunged at a rider with his pitchfork, forcing the man to rein his horse aside. Conash's mother, Misha, lifted Ryana onto her hip and clutched Shinda close to her skirts as she watched the circling men with wide, terrified eyes.

  Rykar stabbed a soldier's horse, making the beast rear and squeal. Another Cotti trotted up behind him and raised his sword to chop off Rykar's head. Conash's warning yell made Rykar spin around, only to receive the sword in his throat even as his father tried to fling himself in between. Conash's scream mingled with his mother's and Alenstra's as Rykar collapsed, clutching his neck. A wolf's agonised howl rent the air, and Rykar's familiar attacked the soldiers in a frenzy of grief and pain.

  The men cut him down before he reached them, impaled him on a spear and sliced off his head. Jarren charged the Cotti, his pitchfork lowered. He stabbed a soldier's horse, and the animal fell, screaming and thrashing. Two men jumped from their steeds and attacked the farmer, and Jarren fell to his knees with a spear in his gut.

  Conash backed away, the sickly stench of blood twisting his stomach. He glanced at Rivan, meeting the cat's golden eyes, and his urging filled the boy's mind. Flee flee flee flee. His mother ran to her dying husband, Ryana clutched to her breast and Shinda clinging to her skirts. The Cotti laughed and jeered, allowing her reach him before one plunged his sword into her back. She slumped over her husband, and the girls fell into his blood with terrified shrieks. Conash cried out, frozen with shock, and stared at the harrowing scene with wide eyes. Alenstra stabbed one of the soldiers, drawing blood, but the man struck her down with a savage backhand blow.

  Conash stood transfixed as the men turned towards him. One grabbed Orcal and shoved him roughly to another. A Cotti headed for Conash, his spear red with Jarren's blood, his eyes glinting with cruelty. Once again, Rivan's urging filled Conash's mind. Flee flee flee flee. As Conash turned to run, Rivan's scream rent the air. He leapt at the soldier and raked his sneering face with razor claws. The Cotti roared and smashed the wood cat aside, blood oozing from his cheeks. He stabbed at the cat, but Rivan dodged and leapt at him again. Conash turned back, shrieking as another soldier chopped at Rivan, slicing a shallow gash in the cat's flank.

  Agony shot through Conash, and his knees buckled. Rivan's scream mingled with his as the soldier thrust his sword into the cat's gut. Blue entrails spilt onto the grass, and the cat writhed, biting himself in his agony. Conash thrashed as the pain ripped through him, clutching the illusory wound in his belly. The Cotti laughed at the cat's suffering, and one kicked him. Conash leapt up and charged them, beat them with puny fists and shouted until his voice broke. A soldier stepped forward and slit the cat's throat.

  Blade sat up with a jerk. Sweat soaked the twisted sheets and ran down his face. His ears echoed with Rivan's scream, his throat ached and his muscles thrummed. The vision of the dying cat remained, burnt into his eyes like the image of a bright light. The darkness rushed in, mingled with the scent of incense and flowers. He struggled to orientate himself, the sights and sounds of the dream more vivid than reality.

  Blade clutched his belly, where the imaginary pain lingered, knotting his gut, and sweat ran down him like blood. Rivan's blood. His hands were red with it, but he did not remember reaching the dying cat. The dream ended where his memory did, at Rivan's death. It was the
same nightmare he had endured for many years, but had not suffered for many more. The sound of his gasping came to him through the numbness of his ears, and all his finely-tuned senses seemed dull and damaged. Someone touched his arm, and a soft voice called his name in an urgent, frightened tone. He jerked around, his eyes raking Chiana's face, and she shrank back, her eyes fearful.

  "Blade?"

  Blade looked down at his belly, lifting his hands to reveal its ridged wholeness. The pain ebbed, and the night air chilled the sweat that filmed him, making him shiver. Chiana lighted the lamp beside the bed, and its soft illumination gilded the tangled skeins of hair that framed her frightened face.

  "Blade? Are you all right?"

  He nodded.

  "You had a terrible dream."

  "I know." His voice was hoarse.

  "I could not wake you. It is all right now. It is over."

  He bowed his head and closed his eyes as Chiana pulled the blanket over his shoulders.

  "You are freezing. Lie down."

  Blade rubbed his face, and Chiana hugged him as the harrowing images faded. The old wounds of his childhood suffering, so long scabbed over, bled afresh. The pain, blood and terror were now as vivid as the day it had happened, and Rivan's screams echoed in his ears. His racing heart slowed and his gasps stopped. He lay down, staring at the canopy. Chiana stretched out beside him with a hand on his chest, watching him with deep concern.

  "Do you want to talk about it?"

  He shook his head. "It was my familiar's death."

  "I thought you no longer had that dream."

  "I do not. Did not. Until now."

  "Why would you have it again now?"

  He hesitated, allowing the amazing, joyous realisation to sink in, then smiled. "He has been reborn."

  She frowned. "Who has?"

  "Rivan."

  "Who is that?"

  "You will find out soon enough."

  Chiana sighed and rested her head on his shoulder. Blade stared at the canopy until his sweat dried, then rose and pulled on his clothes. Chiana sat up.