Blades of Fate

by Alledria Hurt

  His exit strategy was already planned. He had only to make it across the room and out of the doors before anyone could stop him and he would wind his way through the palace and out into the garden where he would make his escape.

  The kiss was the perfect moment. He charged out of the dark and into the Queen's side, stabbing her. She whirled around and drew her sword. Though he should have been on his way out, he hesitated a moment. Their eyes met. Hers stood out from her face with an unnatural blue. Warden felt his knees lock, then instinct kicked in and he ran. His head might have been full, but his process was simple.

  Escape.

  Behind him, others gave chase. Blood coated one hand. His breath stung as he sprinted down the length of the hallway. The guards were too slow as he flashed past. A body smacked into him as he made his way into the garden. Someone slashed at him from behind. He rolled forward and out of range before coming to his feet. The Trusted stood two feet away and coming closer. He evaded her attacks as best he could certain she might very well kill him. Sprinting for the wall, he hoped to leave her behind. He reached the edge and threw himself up the wall with quick hands. She came to the face of the wall and watched him as he went over the top. He caught her eyes as he dropped down on the other side. Why was she smiling? Warden didn't ponder it long. The slash along his back hurt, but he didn't let it stop him from running. He would have plenty of time to tend to it once he had fully escaped from the palace grounds.

  Her dress did not soak up the blood but rather let it pearl to the floor. The wound ached. Leviana leaned on Kendrick's arm as she stood in the aftermath. Her blade had done her no good. A momentary distraction. Well planned. Someone wanted her life. Certainly not the first time, but this had been the most effective. She closed her eyes. There was nothing she could do but bear the wound.

  The surgeon came to her.

  "Immortal--"

  "Do what you must," she said.

  "Then let us bring you somewhere that you can be comfortable."

  Kendrick carried her through the halls and she felt the loss of blood keenly. The Trusted appeared out of the throng and followed them. They made their way to the surgeon's space where Kendrick put her down. The other patients raised their heads interested in the commotion. Leviana tried to turn over on her back, but couldn't quite manage it. Someone turned her over and the surgeon cut through her dress to reach her wound.

  Lying on her face, she pillowed her head on her arms.

  "How bad is it?"

  "He's punched a hole in your back. You are bleeding steadily."

  Leviana closed her eyes. She would survive this and have the head of whomever had presumed to try and take her life. The penalty for traitors to the crown was stiff. If she truly felt it necessary, she could do to them what she had done to the body of Curcula while they were still alive. She would take some satisfaction in that.

  "Immortal," Kendrick said. "Will you be alright?"

  "I have survived worse wounds."

  The blood continued to leak from the wound.

  After washing his hands, the surgeon felt around inside the wound checking for interior damage.

  "He missed your kidney."

  "I would have bled to death already if he hadn't."

  "Indeed."

  Leviana's vision swam when she opened her eyes. Yet she refused to allow herself to pass out. Her strength would not allow it. The Trusted came close.

  "I almost had him. He made it up over the wall before I could stop him."

  "Hunt him down," Leviana said. "I want his head on a pike before sunset tomorrow."

  The Trusted bowed in her vision and then stepped away. Leviana listened for her to exit and smiled when she did. The surgeon swabbed the wound as best he could with wine and water before attempting to sew it shut. It would leave behind an ugly scar.

  Kendrick stood nearby, waiting.

  "Layric," Leviana said. "Go to the assembled and tell them that their Queen still lives."

  "Are you certain I should do that?"

  "You are the Voice now. It is your place to be my Voice to the people. They will be expecting something from you. Then make sure they clean up the mess left behind by my blood. I don't want it on the floor when we have dinner there tomorrow."

  "Are you certain you will be having dinner there tomorrow? Certainly you will be in bed resting."

  "No, I am going to the tomb tomorrow. This will not change that."

  The surgeon kept quiet whatever his opinion might have been.

  "You are injured, certainly it can wait a day or two while you begin to heal."

  "I will be fine. The Trusted will be with me. Now go. Make sure my people know that I have not died and will not die. Do as you are bid."

  He waited several seconds for more instructions before walking out.

  Finally, she let her weakness overcome her. Black spots appeared at the edge of her vision pulsing with her heart.

  "Dear Immortal?" the surgeon said.

  "Yes?"

  "I must say I don't think traveling would be the best choice in your condition."

  "I will do what I must. I visit his tomb once a year. This year it will be tomorrow." Leviana gritted her teeth against the bite of the thread pulling through her flesh. Rearranging her legs, she tried to get more comfortable. "Be finished quickly. I will need to rest."

  "Of course, Immortal."

  "Thank you."

  He continued his work in silence.

  Kendrick reentered the main hall to shouts of concern and accusation. He went to the thrones and waited for the din to die down. Certain he had the eye of everyone in the room, he brought up his hands still bearing the blood of their Queen.

  "The Queen lives. She is injured but will not die," he said. "She wishes for the foolish one who has done this to be found so that she may have the pleasure of exacting her revenge. To that end, Arathum is under martial law. The guard will close the gates and none but those vetted by the city guard may leave. He will be found and put to the sword."

  More than one person made sounds of assent.

  "How badly is the Queen injured?" asked Councilor Sherac, his black sash askew from being jostled by the crowd.

  "Not so badly that she will not be making her yearly trip to the Black King's tomb on tomorrow. Indeed, I think she is only scratched, be it a long and deep one."

  Her wound was a stab, not a scratch but no one needed to know that. He would keep his knowledge to himself. When he stepped back out of the room, leaving others to make their own decision about what they would do, he walked right into the Trusted.

  "Versa," he said.

  "Lockdown?"

  "It should make your job easier. He cannot leave the city and we will find him."

  "She will not be pleased as it will make her going to the tomb harder."

  "I am the Voice, all that I do is with her authority. She will thank me when I have her near killer in her hands."

  "That is my job."

  "Then do your job. Find him before he can make good his escape. I want nothing more than to see him flayed alive and salt rubbed into his wounds."

  He stopped, letting her say something else if she intended to. She said nothing. He turned his back on her. They parted ways in the corridor.

  Making it back to the Den, he was careful not to bleed all over the floor. Though he would certainly be marked for coming and going so late, he did not wish to add to it by showing obvious signs of being injured. If his aim had been true, the Queen would bleed to death. The contract completed. He shut himself into his room and stripped out of his shirt. The back lay open and he could feel the edges of a bleeding wound. The Trusted had missed for the most part, but contacted enough that he was uncertain how deep it went. The muscles still moved freely, so it couldn't be too deep. He would need it covered before someone noticed.

  Warden sat down on the edge of the bed and took a deep breath, the pain flared in his back. Unpleasant but not unbearable. Better to do what little he co
uld for himself and see a surgeon in another city. As he sat there, he stared at the lamp hung over a nearby table. The moonlight glinted off the unlit lamp throwing a beam of light across the bed. He needed to light it if he was going to stay up. Seeing by moonlight was fine when the weather was not fickle and he didn't want to be suddenly plunged into darkness. However, that meant going downstairs with a bleeding wound to retrieve a candle from the night watcher below. Wearing his cloak would hide the wound and hopefully not rouse too much suspicion. He wrapped himself in his cloak and headed down the stairs.

  On the landing, he heard voices below him.

  "I saw him come back," one said. "He's in one of the rooms above."

  "Good." Three sets of footsteps headed up the staircase. Warden ducked back into his room, certainty they spoke of him washing over his senses. Why were they looking for him? Who sent them? The questions taunted him, but he did not have much time to heed them. The stairs were not long. They would find him soon if he didn't find a way off the floor immediately. He went to the window and spared a glance back for the things he would be leaving behind. There simply was not time to pack. Flinging open the window, he put his foot on the sill and crouched through the opening. Behind him, the door banged open. He threw himself forward and out into the night. Two stories down, he landed and collapsed into a tumble before coming to his feet. Above him, a man stood at the window looking out. Warden acknowledged him with a tip of his head and ran.

  Pursuit couldn't be far behind.

  Moonlit streets passed under his feet as Warden ran. He did not have a plan or a place to rest. Both would have to come later. He needed to find a quiet place to collect his thoughts. He ducked into a tavern with a black gravel floor and glossy metal platforms under the sitting cushions. Finding a seat away from the door, he considered his options. Though he had no proof, the fact that those had come to kill him seemed too obvious. Why? He succeeded in his action. Perhaps that was why. His success made him a problem. Of course, someone who killed the Queen would be worth a pretty penny to the new government. He had no intention of becoming a martyr for someone else's cause.

  The suit pants made sitting cross-legged difficult, they had very little give. Glancing around the room, he counted patrons. Behind the bar were two, a man and a woman. Seated out among the cushions near the burner were three others all men. They appeared to be in a lively conversation about a game of dice they played over their pipes. Warden was the only one sitting alone. Not good. Singles were targets. Getting up, he moved to the bar. The woman greeted him with a smile. The man, in the process of lighting his own pipe, grunted in his general direction. The place smelled of burning fragrance oil left too long.

  Cursing under his breath, Warden remembered he had no money. It was all behind him in the room he vacated. Everything he owned, abandoned, and he had so little.

  "Forgive me," he said. "May I have a cup of water? I have no money and I am so thirsty."

  The woman looked him up and down, then looked at the man who made a dismissive gesture. Dipping it up from a jar behind her, the woman gave him a cup of water.

  "Thank you."

  "Your accent is foreign. From where do you hail?" the man asked over a puff of smoke.

  "I've recently come from Utica. Here to celebrate the Queen's reign."

  "May the Immortal rule," the woman said making the sign of the rising falcon, the Queen's crest.

  "Till the Black King comes again," finished the man. Warden knew the call and response of the royal house well enough though he had never heard it said by anyone who truly meant it. He couldn't be certain if they did or not, but they seemed sincere. He sipped from his water. The man continued to eye him, but said nothing. Warden let the curiosity pass him by. It was not to his interest to satisfy it. Instead, he contented himself by measuring the length of the woman's hair down her back from her profile.

  "May I sleep here?" Warden asked. Hospitality might be given, if he asked. Fatigue weighed on him, but he didn't dare close his eyes until he knew for certain he would not find someone standing over him with a knife in the morning. "I have no money to repay you."

  "During the Black King's festival, one can afford to be charitable," the man said. He blew another puff of smoke out in the air between them. "Take a place close enough to the coals not to grow too cold."

  Finishing his water, Warden nodded. Fortune appeared to be smiling upon him. Better than his night had gone so far. He found himself a spot near the coals, wrapped his cloak closer, and closed his eyes. As he did so, a darkness dropped over his sight blanking out the room. Sleep overcame him.

  The leathery clap of massive wings broke his sleep. He opened his eyes to a sky blue as sapphires above black ground. Warden turned in a circle seeking the sound. It dropped from the sky above him and landed with a great thud throwing up dust all around its landing. The dragon, black in scale and red of eye, bore down upon him. For heart stopping seconds, Warden watched it come. Then it leapt the distance becoming nothing more than mist as it came. The breath of wind hit Warden square in the chest and the mist drew up around him, a black cloud streaked with blood. He breathed it in and it invaded him. The whole thing lasted just a few moments, but he felt it taking over him. When he opened his eyes, the world had changed. A dark haired woman stood before him. Her beauty captured him. She glowed with a faint blue light that mirrored the sky.

  Vadian, she said.

  Without knowing that name, he bent his head in acceptance.

  Come back to me, Vadian.

  The Queen stared through him with her blue diamond eyes. She called the name once more and Warden heard it as he woke.

  "Vadian," he said. Who was that? The scratch along his back felt better under the light of day. Stiff limbs cried to be stretched. The woman from the night before had already come in. The gamblers were gone. The coal burner had gone dead not to be stoked until the coming night. Warden unwrapped himself and stood up. The woman stopped what she was doing to look at him. He nodded to her and made his way out of the tavern. The man from the night before sat out front.

  "Sleep well?" he asked.

  "I slept much better than I expected, thank you."

  "Good. Move on. One night you may have, but another is not granted."

  "Thank you. I will go."

  He couldn't get his horse without his money, so he would have to walk. So be it. He needed to leave the city. He walked through a small market square meant to serve the nearby neighborhood. Already there were those who set up their wares though the morning had only just begun. As he walked through, Warden listened. A child ran past him and he stepped to one side. Two women had their heads together over a stall partition.

  "The Queen lives," one said. She had her hair tied back by a leather thong and wore a plain dress with an apron over the top.

  "Ancel's mercy," said the other. Her dress was finer, but threadbare at the edges. "May the Immortal reign."

  "Yes, may she," the long haired woman said. "Her rule is just."

  Warden moved past them and found himself looking longingly at fruit arrayed on the table of one stall. His stomach growled. He would need food. He needed money. Not out of his reach, but he would have to employ skills it had been some time since he used. Killing paid better than thievery.

  He nicked a fruit from the table with a flick of his wrist, hiding it under his cloak. Several stalls away, he took a bite out of the succulent red flesh. Juice squirted out. He turned away from the market and into the residential streets.

  How much could he steal before being found out? The day still woke for many. They came out from their houses in ones and twos. He needed to leave the city. First priority. If he remained, his life might well be forfeit.

  The Queen lived. He had missed. The news disheartened him, but he could not allow it to affect him overmuch. He had his own problems. Those who stalked him were undoubtedly still looking and the guard would be seeking him as well though they would have a harder time not knowing what he loo
ked like. He turned down another street. The houses grew larger at the sides and the street widened into a boulevard. Drawing his cloak in close, he stepped out of the way of a carriage crunching its way along.

  A rock garden greeted him when he stepped up to a house close by. The two story house sat back a little from a small basalt wall. Warden could have scaled the wall, but he had no need. The gate stood open. He walked in and up to the door. If no one answered the door, he would be certain to let himself in.

  The door opened at his light knock, a young woman wearing an apron waited on the other side.

  "Please Miss, I am poor," he said.

  She looked at him with flinty gray eyes. Reaching to the side of the door, she came back with a small knife.

  "Go now. We don't do business with beggars."

  "A son of Ancel asks aid," Warden said. Her face did not soften, but she did put the knife away.

  "Come this way." Walking away, she expected him to follow. Warden made his way inside and shut the door behind him. She led the way up the stairs to the second story and opened the door to a study where an old man with white hair sat.

  "A son of Ancel to see you, sir," she said.

  "Come in, son."

  Warden entered and waited for the woman to shut the door before bowing to the man.

  "I come in need of aid."

  "You presume much using that passcode here. She might well have shut the door in your face." The man rose from the desk and offered his hands to Warden. Then he smiled.

  "Your old connections are not completely forgotten, Master Linn," Warden said. He returned the man's smile with a wane one of his own.

  "Don't call me that here. I am a merchant now. It's Sir Calinn." The chiding tone kept things light.

  "Sir Calinn," Warden corrected. "I need your help."

  "Are you the one who attempted her life at the coronation last night?"

  "I am."