The Queen's Blade V - Master of the Dance

by T C Southwell

  As he turned away, another soldier charged from the doorway, a dagger in one fist. The assassin leapt aside, narrowly avoiding being impaled, and kicked the weapon from the man's fist. The soldier lunged at him, arms spread. Blade tried to leap out of reach, but his ankle betrayed him and he staggered into the wall. The soldier caught him by the shoulder and spun him around, locked his arm around Blade's throat and cut off his air. The assassin tried to throw the soldier over his shoulder, but his legs buckled and he fell to his knees.

  Kerra's heart hammered as if it would burst, but terror kept her frozen. She expected Blade to win free and defeat his opponent, but it soon became obvious that he could not. The brawny soldier's powerful arm held the assassin helpless, crushing his throat. Since his hands were too weak to use his daggers, all he could do was struggle against his stronger opponent. Kerra's hand dropped to the hilt of the dagger in her belt as the realisation that she would have to do something chilled her gut.

  Swallowing bile, she walked up behind the soldier, drawing her weapon. For an instant she stood irresolute, the dagger poised over the man's broad back, then she recalled Blade's lessons and aimed it at his ribs just beneath his armpit. Gritting her teeth, she closed her eyes and plunged it in. The blade grated on bone and sank into flesh with a peculiar, nauseating sensation, and she yanked it out again. She opened her eyes as the soldier grunted and released the assassin, swinging around.

  Confronted by a vast, muscular chest and brawny arms reaching for her, she shrieked and stabbed him again. Her vision dimmed, becoming tunnel-like as she thrust the dagger into the soldier's chest again and again. All she could see was the front of his tunic and the spreading red stain on it. Hysteria bubbled up in her, making her breath catch as his hands gripped her shoulders, and she plunged the dagger into him repeatedly, wishing that he would fall.

  The soldier's hands slid off her shoulders, and he sank to his knees, his eyes wide as his life ebbed away. He toppled over, and she crouched beside him, continuing to stab him. Blood smeared her hand and gushed over his tunic to pool on the ground. Sobbing with horror, she carried on stabbing him until at last he slumped and lay still. She became aware of Blade trying to tug her away, but his hand had no strength, and he cursed.

  "Come on, he is dead."

  Rising to her feet, she followed him, her mind blank. They traversed several long stretches of well-lighted corridor and negotiated a few crossroads and corners, then slipped into a dark passage and stopped to rest again.

  Blade leant against the wall, studying Kerra, who seemed unnaturally calm. The dagger dangled from her hand, blood drying on her fingers. After a few minutes he moved on, leading her to the wing of the palace where his rooms were, and fewer guards hurried about. It was not the best idea to return to his rooms, but he needed to rest, and hoped that the guards had already searched them.

  There were so many soldiers searching for him outside that perhaps this was not such a bad place. They might not think he would return here. Entering his quarters, he locked the door and went over to sit on the bed, rubbing his throat. Kerra sheathed the dagger and lighted a lamp with the tinderbox beside the bed. In its light, she stared at her bloody hands, then wiped them on the canopy. The assassin jerked his head at the pitcher of water and bowl on the table.

  "Wash it off."

  Kerra scrubbed her hands with soap until they turned pink, then red. Blade rose and stopped her, handed her a towel and pulled off her veil to gaze into her face.

  "It is gone."

  Leading her to the bed, he made her sit on it and piled up the cushions, then lay back on them and eyed her. "How do you feel?"

  She licked her lips. "Numb."

  "Have some dre'nthen."

  The strong liquor burnt Kerra's throat, warmed her stomach and thawed the knot there. She took several deep swallows, even though the liquor made her gasp, then Blade took the flask away. After a few minutes, the numbness receded and a terrible regret gripped her, mixed with shame and sorrow. She had killed a man, snuffed out his life and inflicted terrible pain in the process. Tears stung her eyes, then overflowed to run down her cheeks.

  "Unpleasant, is it not?" Blade murmured.

  She nodded. "Horrible."

  "You did well."

  "I killed a man."

  "Yes. It is no good regretting it. It is done. Forget it."

  "I cannot."

  He sighed. "All assassins go through this when we make our first kill, although the degree of emotional trauma varies. A first kill is always messy and unpleasant. Naturally it is worse for you, because you are a just a girl."

  "Why should being a girl have anything to do with it?"

  "You are gentler, and you do not have a killer instinct."

  "What was your first kill like?"

  He shrugged. "Messy. It took me almost as long as it just took you, to kill him."

  "Were you upset?"

  "Only that it had been so messy."

  She sniffed, wiping her nose. "But you just said..."

  "I said the degree of emotional trauma varies. In my case, there was none. I started killing at an early age, to stay alive. When it is a case of survival, regret is minimal. There was more triumph, that I had succeeded, and would live another day. I was so close to death myself that it held no horror for me."

  Kerra stared at her hands. "That is something I never thought I would have to do."

  "When you came to rescue me, did you not think that you may have to kill a guard or two?"

  "No. I did not plan to."

  "You should have. What you did was incredibly stupid, you know."

  "I had to free you." She wiped her nose again, frowning at him. "You could show a little gratitude."

  "I am grateful, but you took a great risk."

  "It was worth it." She rubbed a tear from her cheek. "Why do you keep saying it was stupid? Did not you want to be rescued?"

  He smiled. "Of course, just not by you."

  "Why, because I am a woman? Is it a blow to your male pride?"

  "No. And you are a girl. You could have been hurt, even killed."

  "You sound as if you care."

  He looked away, frowning. "You are the Jashimari Queen. Did you think of what would happen if you died?"

  "I did not plan on dying."

  "No one ever does." He rubbed his hands, and Kerra took one, studying it. The swelling had gone, and she ran her fingers over the smooth skin, marvelling at its slender beauty, so unlike the blunt, hairy hands of other men. Tiny white scars marred his pale skin, a legacy of learning to use a dagger, she suspected. He allowed her to hold it, perhaps to distract her from her morbid thoughts.

  "Why are you so weak?"

  He snorted. "You try hanging by your arms for that many time-glasses. It paralyses the chest after a while, and you struggle to breathe. That is how you die if you are crucified, of suffocation. This way does not kill you, it is just damned painful."

  "And your hands?"

  He glanced at the one she held. "The circulation was cut off for a long time. They are weak and stiff."

  "Will they get better?"

  "I hope so."

  She slid closer to him, and he watched her. "You have not asked me why I saved you."

  "Because you need me for your mother's plans."

  "No. She does, of course, and she helped to plan this, but that is not why I did it." Tears stung her eyes again. "I killed a man for you."

  Blade pushed himself up against the pillows, moving away from her, but she slid her arms around him and rested her head on his good shoulder, her tears overflowing. For so long, she had yearned to be this close to him. His presence comforted and thrilled her, making her shiver.

  "What are you doing?" he asked.

  "Nothing."

  "If you want to sleep, return to your rooms."

  "I do not want to sleep. Do you want to know why I saved you?"

  "No."

  Kerra held him tighter. The image of the dying soldier f
illed her mind, and she shuddered. She needed the comfort of Blade's closeness as she had never needed anything before, and she wondered at the strength of the emotional storm that swept through her. Over the last few moons, the power of his attraction had grown until it was undeniable, and the longing to be in his arms overwhelmed her. He seemed to sense her distress, and patted her back in an awkward, conciliatory gesture. She slipped her arms around his neck and hugged him, burying her face in the side of his neck as she trembled with anguish and the longing for him to hold her.

  "I saved you because... I love you," she whispered.

  He cursed and tried to sit up, but she clung to him, holding him down.

  "No, do not go."

  "Damn it, Kerra, do not be an idiot."

  "I killed a man tonight. It was horrible." She gulped, swallowing a sob. "Why can you not comfort me? That is all I want."

  "It is improper."

  "Why? Because you are married? Because you are much older than me?" She hesitated. "Because you are a eunuch?"

  "Because you are drunk."

  She drew a shuddering breath. "I just need you to comfort me. Is that so much to ask? I save your life. Is that not worth something?"

  "I did not ask you to," he growled. "Why do people keep doing this, then hold it over my head for the rest of my life?"

  "I know you care for me too. That is why you told me to leave you in the courtyard. You would rather have died than put me in danger."

  Blade stared at her, perplexed. Many women had sought the comfort, or thrill, of his arms in the past, but none had aroused as much as a spark of pity in him, except Chiana. This was a situation he had not anticipated, for although he had noticed Kerra's growing interest, he had not expected this. Certainly what had happened earlier had upset her, but a sixteen-year-old maiden should have been far too shy to make such bold demands. Then again, he reflected, she was used to having her way, and clearly expected to do so now. He was not in the business, however, of offering comfort to distraught girls, and her embrace discomfited him immensely.

  "And just what, exactly, do you think you are going to get from me?" he enquired.

  "A moment's comfort, that is all."

  "Really? Well, I think you have already had several minutes of it, so that is enough." Blade gripped her wrists and pushed her away, sat up and swung his legs off the bed. "Now that you have got that off your chest, you can go back to your rooms before you are missed. I will find somewhere else to hide before the search reaches here." He quit the bed and walked away.

  She sat up and rubbed her eyes. "You are too weak. You need my help."

  "I can walk, that is enough for now."

  She rose and moved towards him. "Let me bandage your wound."

  "No, you can keep your little paws to yourself from now on, girl. I do not find your adolescent fantasies amusing, nor do I intend to be the dolt you practice your wiles upon. Find some poor Cotti dimwit for that."

  She gasped, stepping back. "Do you not believe me?"

  "I am not interested."

  "But I have just told you that I love you..."

  "Those are not magic words, you know, and they do not work on me. You should have realised that by now. It is unfortunate you feel that way, but there is nothing I can do about it."

  Kerra stared at him, her eyes filling with tears again. "Why can you not feel the same way? Why will you not let yourself feel something for somebody?"

  He made a sound of disgust. "Weep, why don't you? That has been tried on me before too. It does not work."

  "Is that how you see yourself? Impervious, unfeeling? A cold, heartless brute?"

  "It is what I am."

  "No, it is not. You did not want me to be hurt helping you, and you were going to die horribly for helping my mother."

  He snorted, turning away from her probing gaze. "I was condemned because I got caught, and I helped Minna-Satu for the reward Shamsara promised me."

  She caught his arm and turned him to face her, gazing into his eyes. "Why were you concerned that I might be hurt freeing you?"

  "I told you, now leave it, Kerra. Go back to your rooms."

  Kerra looked forlorn. As she opened her mouth to reply, the door handle turned as someone tried to open it. Blade cursed, glancing around for an escape route, or somewhere to hide. The argument had prevented him from hearing the footsteps outside, and now it was too late. The window offered him a way out, but not while burdened with the young Queen. The door handle rattled, and Blade grabbed Kerra's wrist, dragging her towards the curtains.

  Before he reached them the door flew open with a splintering bang and two red-liveried soldiers stumbled in, drawing their swords. Blade released Kerra and turned, yanking the daggers from his belt. Kerra stepped back with a cry as the men rushed at them. Blade pushed her out of the path of one as he narrowly avoided the thrusting weapon of the other. She fell with a yelp, and Blade spun, kicking the sword from the guard's hands. It fell with a clatter and slid under the bed, then the other man swung at him.

  Blade dropped and rolled, jumping up out of reach. The soldier who had lost his sword drew a dagger and raised it to stab Kerra. Blade lunged at him, deflected his arm and landed atop the girl, catching himself with his arms. Blade's charge knocked the soldier off balance, and he fell, his dagger impaling Kerra's flank. She gasped, then Blade pushed himself back onto his knees and whipped around, stabbed the man in the side of his neck and severed his jugular. Blood spurted in little fountains as the soldier rolled away, clasping his throat.

  The impact had torn the dagger from Blade's weakened grip, and he turned as the second soldier tried to shove a sword into his belly. Blade rolled aside, cursing his weakness, and slashed at the man's leg with his remaining dagger. The man hopped back, blood oozing down his shin, and slashed at Blade again. The sword skimmed past Blade's ribs, opening a shallow gash. The assassin rolled to his feet and kicked the soldier in the throat. The guard staggered back, gagged and dropped his sword as he pawed at his crushed windpipe.

  Blade turned and fell to his knees beside Kerra. She clasped her wound, her face pale with shock and pain, her eyes wide. He pushed her hands aside and hooked his fingers into the rip in her tunic, tearing it open to expose the wound. Turning to the dying soldier, he cut a strip from the man's tabard with a swift slash and used it to plug the wound. The soldier gurgled and coughed, clawing at his throat, and Kerra glanced at him with horror-filled eyes.

  Blade bound the rag in place with a cloth cut from his bed sheets while Kerra chewed her lip. When he was satisfied that he had staunched the bleeding, he retrieved his other dagger and tucked the weapons away. Returning to kneel beside her, he found, to his intense chagrin, that she had fainted. Cursing, he scooped her up and threw her over his shoulder. He got to his feet with difficulty, staggering under her weight as he went to the bed and picked up the dress she had shed earlier.

  The surge of adrenalin from the fight powered his steps into the corridor and down it. Even so, he staggered drunkenly, using the walls for support. He knew he would not get far, and reeled down a short flight of steps that led to the servant's quarters. Few of the rooms were occupied, since Blade was the only one housed in this wing of the palace, and there were few whom Kerrion trusted to know about his presence. Pushing open the nearest door, he tottered into a tiny room and lurched to the bed, dropping his burden on it with a grunt. His shoulder throbbed and his muscles quivered as he sat beside her.

  It was only a matter of time now before the guards were missed, then found. When that happened, they would search this wing of the palace. If they found her dressed in his clothes, they would probably hurt her before they realised she was a girl. Removing the makeshift bandages, he unlaced the jacket and pulled it off, then the trousers. His hands shook with fatigue as he bound the wound again, then pulled the dress on over her head. The injury was not serious. The dagger had missed any vital organs thanks to his deflection. He threw the black outfit into a cupboard and went back to t
he bed, pausing to gaze down at the girl.

  Kerra's declaration unsettled him, bringing back unwanted memories of childhood laughter and his parents' soft patting hands. That was the only love he had ever known, and it had faded into the mists of his past over the years, drowned in a sea of blood, hatred and death. It never ceased to amaze him that others found him lovable, and he wondered whether he would ever find the answer to the mystery. He used his ability to attract others as a weapon, and never intended that it should evoke such a powerful emotion as love. Then again, those whom it lured into his embrace usually died.

  The fact that someone as young, innocent and lovely as Kerra had fallen in love with him surprised and troubled him. He had left Jondar to escape Chiana's wistful looks and affectionate smiles, and had stayed away from his estate to avoid the same from Lilu. Now he had the problem with Kerra, and it bothered him. As he gazed down at the young Queen, a memory flashed through his mind, taking him back to a terrible day he had tried so hard to forget, and he closed his eyes.

  A ten-year-old girl danced in the hot sand, the sun beating down on her tangled raven hair, her grey eyes filled with pain and despair. Her thin arms, outstretched to plead for the mercy that she would not receive, jerked to the jolting of her exhausted movements. The jeering and clapping of the Cotti soldiers who forced her to dance for them echoed in his mind. Their brutal, sneering faces, laughing at her suffering. Sweat ran down her pale cheeks, mingling with her tears. His heart swelled with anguish and sorrow, merging with the beginnings of the terrible hatred that would sustain him for all the years to come. She collapsed, her fragile, ragged form lying in the harsh heat of the cruel desert sun. He had tried to reach her, tried to save her... he had failed.

  Blade shook himself from the memory before he recalled the stabbing pain of his loss. His last experience of love. Alenstra's face flashed through his mind, bound and gagged by Ronan's soldiers, her eyes pleading with him to save her. She had reviled him for his trade, then died because of him. Again he had failed, as he always seemed to do when someone he loved was in danger. Never again would he allow that to happen. Turning away, he limped into the corridor and made his way along it, seeking a safe hiding place.