The Queen's Blade V - Master of the Dance

by T C Southwell

  "Let us not go into details. I did everything I could."

  Blade flopped back, tensing as Kerrion pushed the needle in once more. His pallor increased and sweat sheened his brow. His eyes closed, and the King glanced at Minna, who stepped closer to touch the assassin's shoulder.

  She frowned with concern. "He has fainted. He must be weak indeed."

  "More so than we thought."

  "Considering what he has been through, it is not surprising. He probably has not eaten for two days, either."

  The King grunted, stitching the wound swiftly now that Blade could no longer feel it. When he finished, he smeared ointment on it and the wound in Blade's shoulder, then bandaged them before pronouncing himself satisfied.

  "Now he needs rest, and food when he wakes."

  "When will the search pass through here?"

  "These rooms were searched last night, when Kerra and the dead guards were found. When they do not find him elsewhere, they will return to search more thoroughly, perhaps tomorrow."

  Minna nodded, gazing at Blade. "Let us hope that he has recovered sufficiently by then."

  Blade woke that afternoon, and the maidens plied him with hot broth and mulled wine. Minna knew that allowing the girls to tend him now was risky, since the marks of the ropes on his wrists were impossible to hide. Now that his true identity was known, it would only take a whisper of gossip to betray his presence here. For this reason, she only allowed her two most trusted maids in the rooms, who had been with her for several years. While they may still be tortured into revealing his presence, it seemed unlikely that anyone would do such a thing. She had to take the risk, in any case, in order to hide him. Minna swore the girls to silence, knowing, even as she did, that Blade's continued presence was becoming far too dangerous.

  Minna urged Kerrion to stay away, not only to avoid suspicion falling upon him, should Blade be discovered, but also to prevent further arguments with the irritable assassin. In his present mood, the mere sight of the King annoyed him, and the slightest excuse brought cutting remarks that Kerrion seemed unable to ignore. The maidens washed Blade with warm wet cloths and rubbed kellis flower oil on his bruises, massaging his stiff hands with the aromatic oil while he cursed them for causing him pain.

  The following day, Kerrion warned Minna that the court guards would search their rooms again in the afternoon, and she took Blade's bag of cosmetics to him, along with the wig and a handmaiden's gown. The maidens had arranged the wig into a fetching coiffure, disguising its shortness. Minna dismissed the girls, and Blade limped into the adjoining room to don the disguise, refusing her offer of aid.

  When he re-emerged, the Elder Queen stared at him in amazement. The blond wig framed his narrow, sculpted face, enhancing the golden hue of his smooth skin, and the dye hid the scar on his cheek. The white gown clung to a modest bosom and slim, but womanly hips, and he walked with a girl's swaying grace. Several rings graced his fingers, and a silver necklace encircled his throat. A little kohl outlined his pale eyes, making them appear larger, and berry juice reddened his sensual lips. He met her incredulous stare with a hard glance and sank down on a couch, his every movement and gesture feminine.

  The beauty of Blade's feminine disguise astonished Minna, being more profound than she had ever imagined and putting the loveliest girls to shame. The handmaidens had returned in his absence, and gazed at him in confusion, clearly perplexed as to who he was. That was why the disguise was so effective, Minna mused. Few would believe that the person who wore the wig and paint was a man. Even she found it hard to credit that the gown hid a muscular male body. No wonder he was able to lure his victims into his perfumed embrace so easily before slipping a dagger between their ribs.

  Minna went over and sat on the couch beside him, searched for a flaw in his make-up and found none. No hint of his true identity remained, apart from his eyes, although his features were familiar.

  "That is truly amazing, My Lord."

  He smiled. "If you call me that, it will do me no good."

  Minna glanced at Kerra, who studied him from the bed, her eyes wide. "I will wager that even someone who knows you would not recognise you now, and certainly not the court guards."

  Blade sighed. "I keep hoping each time will be my last, but there always seems to be another demand for this damned disguise."

  "It has served you well."

  "But my dislike for it has never waned. I use it only when necessary." He made a graceful gesture with a be-ringed hand. "Now you know all my secrets, My Queen."

  "They are safe with me, but I am certain you still have some that I will never learn."

  "Perhaps."

  When the soldiers arrived a time-glass later, they found a room populated entirely by women. Three handmaidens embroidered on the window seat with the King's wife, and a sick girl lay in the bed. They looked behind the curtains and rooted around in the cupboards, inspected the bathing alcove and even peered under the bed. The officer in charge gave the women a cursory glance, which lingered on Blade, who kept his head bent over the embroidery he was ruining. Suspicion was not the reason that the officer's eyes lingered, however, and when the men had searched every inch of the room, they left.

  Minna relaxed with a sigh, glancing at Kerra, who had been pretending to sleep, and now opened her eyes. Blade continued to ply his needle, apparently engrossed. The maiden whose embroidery he had borrowed gave a cry of horror at the mess he had made of it and snatched it away, whereupon he looked up in surprise. One of the other girls began to giggle, and soon the group was in helpless fits of laughter, except Blade, who watched them with a smile.

  Chapter Eighteen

  Prince Endor looked up at his senior officer with a frown, pushing aside the plate of stuffed fowl and mashed rengal roots bathed in blood gravy, which he had barely touched. The conversation of the lords around the dining table abated as they became aware of the officer's presence, and glanced around. Two tendays ago, Endor had returned to his home in the King's palace in Ashmarad, capital city of Contara, where he had dwelt since he had been sent to rule Contara after Prince Armin's death, fifteen years ago. Then he had been happy to be placed in a position of power at such a tender age, but the years of ruling the rebellious kingdom had made him bitter.

  The Contara people hated his reign, and their continual attempts to oust him had grown tiresome over the years. Many attempts had been made on his life, mostly when he left the palace to go on hunting trips. Five Contara assassins had met grisly ends, either at the hands of his soldiers or on the executioner's block. Seven Contara lords had been put to death or driven out for plotting against him, and several more were under suspicion and constant surveillance by his spies. He had fostered a considerable contingent of spies, some Cotti and some Contara traitors, a few of them lordlings.

  Many of his cronies had followed him here, and been rewarded for their loyalty with rich estates. He kept them close, for support and protection, and they had been instrumental in foiling several plots against him. Regent Chiana's familiar resided in a gilded cage, and he occasionally tormented the creature for amusement. He intended to kill it, but he was waiting for the Queen's Blade to make his attempt, whereupon the bird would perish soon after the assassin. His spies in Jadaya had informed him of Blade's presence there, and his activities, so he knew that the assassin would not be arriving in Contara for some time yet. He was certain that Blade would make an attempt on his life at the behest of his wife, however, and was prepared for it.

  The officer bowed. "My Prince. I have received word from the spies. They suspect that a Jashimari assassin is in the city."

  Endor leant back and smiled. "Indeed. How interesting."

  "He has been here for several days already, perhaps longer, staying in different inns."

  "Ah, planning his attempt, no doubt. Do you know where he is now?"

  "He moves each day. To avoid capture, I suspect."

  Endor nodded. "He is clever."

  "Do you wish to ord
er his capture, or should we wait until he makes his attempt?"

  The Prince smiled. "Let him try, General. It will be far more humiliating for him to be caught in the act."

  The officer shifted. "If you are sure, Highness."

  Endor stroked the snake that was coiled around his neck. "So, the Jashimari whore dares to insult me again by sending another second-rate assassin. She will pay. And so will he. Keep an eye on him, and be ready for his attempt. I am sure he will not be much of a threat."

  "Yes, Highness."

  When the door closed behind the general, Endor turned back to his dinner guests, four of his loyal Cotti lords. The eldest, a grey-haired man with broad, blunt features and dark brown eyes, raised his brows.

  "Is that wise? Surely it would be better to send men to kill him in the city?"

  "Wise, perhaps, but boring. I crave excitement, Margal, and there is precious little to be had in this infernal country. Even torturing Contara conspirators grows tedious."

  Margal looked concerned. "But why do you want the Jashimari Regent to send the Queen's Blade?"

  "Because it is a challenge. He has never failed, and he killed my father and my two full brothers, not to mention five half-brothers. His latest victim is Trelath, although Dravis is accused of it."

  "Perhaps it is tempting fate."

  Endor smiled and picked up his wine cup. "Which I enjoy doing. I have the best protection, even better than Kerrion himself. After all the attempts on my life, the men who guard me are experts at their jobs.

  "No assassin will be able to get near me, not even the Queen's Blade. His attempt will be his last, and I shall send his head to his wife. Then I will kill her familiar, and Jashimari will be plunged into anarchy. Even if the child Queen returns, she will not be able to rule, she is too young."

  The lords smiled and nodded, hiding their concern behind the bravado Endor so clearly expected of them. Margal proposed a toast to the death of the Queen's Blade, and they all raised their cups.

  Lance walked along a dark, refuse-strewn alley, avoiding the litter. For seven days now, he had watched his target, mapped his movements and noted his routines. Endor kept few, being an impulsive man prone to sudden fits of excess, when he would visit an inn with a bevy of Cotti lords and drink himself senseless. He was a bully, and his excursions into the city were more to humiliate a few of its inhabitants than to drink, for there was plenty of wine and ale at the castle. On these occasions, he started brawls by shouting insults at Contara patrons until they retaliated, whereupon he and his friends would engage in fisticuffs with the hapless men.

  Although most Contara avoided him as if he was diseased, a few were always prepared to put their pride before good sense and allow themselves to be riled. Endor played a dangerous game, for it only took one man with a weapon to get close to him to snuff out his unwholesome life. The men who protected him ensured that none did, however, only allowing them near the Prince when they had been knocked almost senseless, so Endor could finish them off. Occasionally, they would search a man and let him through comparatively unscathed, so the Prince could do the damage himself.

  Lance had weighed the odds, and, after spending several days watching the castle, had decided that his best chance would be at one of these brawls. The castle crawled with soldiers day and night, including a great many dog men, whom Endor favoured. He became a far easier target when he left the castle with his cronies and a few bodyguards. Public assassinations were tricky, however, because so much could go wrong. A lot was left to chance, and bad luck could ruin everything. While Endor courted danger in the city, he did not court death, and wore chain mail under his tunic.

  Slaying him with a thrown dagger would entail hitting him in the eye or neck, small targets, particularly in a crowded taproom, when he would be in constant motion. A crossbow would have been better, but when the Prince entered an inn his guards searched the patrons and confiscated all weapons. Endor was the hardest target Lance had ever had, and he had spent many time-glasses going over Blade's teachings, searching for something that could aid him. Endor's men brought harlots to the castle when he was in the mood, so enlisting the aid of one to get him alone was out of the question. He had come up with a plan that involved a disguise and a concealed weapon, which an armourer had made for him, and he had collected it today.

  Rumour had it that Endor would come into the city that night, and Lance made his way towards the Prince's favourite inn. He wore a hooded robe of dirty homespun, and a loosely woven cloth covered his eyes. The fact that he was Jashimari did not matter in Contara, where people came in a variety of skin tones and hair colours. Most were crossbreeds, their ancestors born to mixed marriages before the Endless War.

  Before he reached the inn, Lance hunched his shoulders and bowed his head, tapping the street with his wooden staff. He groped his way along a wall to the door and pushed it open, entering the taproom's warm, smoky confines. The patrons who glanced at him saw only an old blind man. Shuffling to a table, he sank down on a bench by the wall, keeping the staff close at hand. He ordered ale from a serving wench and settled down to wait. The rumours of the Prince's visit had brought several young bravadoes to the inn, along with a smattering of veteran soldiers and embittered men, who all hoped for a chance to vent their ire on Endor. The establishment had prospered under the Prince's patronage, and its taproom was unusually clean and well furnished.

  Several time-glasses passed, and Lance had begun to wonder if the rumours were false when a group of Endor's men thrust open the taproom door. They pushed into the crowd and searched the patrons, garnering a few daggers and garrottes, which they confiscated. The soldiers were thorough, and a husky Cotti dragged Lance from his seat to grope him, then thrust him back onto his bench. As he had hoped, the soldier did not bother to take his staff, and he sat clutching it as an old blind man would. A few minutes later, Endor entered with a group of Cotti lords, all of whom appeared to be quite drunk.

  The Prince shoved a Contara patron, laughing when the man spilt his ale and almost fell into another man's lap. He called insults to those around him, tipping another man's ale over his chest. Angry growls arose, and Endor encouraged them with more insults, shoving one of his lords at a Contara man. At first he seemed intent upon starting a brawl immediately, then he ousted a group from their table and sat at it, his lords jerking chairs from under other customers and seating themselves. A serving wench came over with a tray of brimming ale tankards, having her bottom pinched and her bosom groped. Endor did not pay for anything; the inn's proprietor had to give him what he wanted or have it taken by force.

  The Contara men glared at the Prince when he banged his tankard on the table and sang a lewd ditty, his lords joining in. His soldiers stood amongst the crowd, vigilant for signs of trouble. Several war dogs accompanied them, and snarled at anyone who dared to come too close. Lance hunched over his mug of ale and waited for the brawl to start. Endor finished two tankards before he initiated the conflict by tripping up a passing man, making him sprawl and spray ale from the flagon he carried, which splattered nearby customers.

  Endor and his cronies roared with laughter, and the Prince rose to kick the supine man, sending him rolling into the crowd. A Contara man charged the Prince, only to be brought down by a soldier who stepped into his path and punched him in the face. More Contara joined the fray, engaging lords and soldiers alike. Lance watched through the cloth that covered his eyes, waiting for the right moment. Within seconds of the first punch being thrown, a full-scale brawl was in progress, furniture smashing under heavy bodies or being broken over them. Tankards flew, trailing wakes of ale in graceful arcs and landing with discordant clatters amid the sea of heaving bodies.

  The assassin stood up and groped his way into the melee, cowering away from combatants who buffeted him. Most left him alone when they realised that he was just an old blind man, but a few gave him a passing cuff or pushed him aside. He made straight for the Prince, the staff gripped before his chest. A Conta
ra man tried to wrench it from him, undoubtedly planning to use it as a weapon, but Lance jerked it back and pushed past.

  Endor stood just ahead, kicking a supine young man who yelped and writhed. The Prince spied Lance and left his sport, finding the prospect of taunting a blind man irresistible, as Lance had hoped. He walked up to the assassin and poked him in the ribs, giggling when Lance shied away and swung around in apparent confusion. Endor stepped closer again and bellowed in the assassin's ear, and he jumped theatrically, which made the Prince guffaw.

  Lance pretended to try to get away, knowing that the Prince would not let him. Endor grabbed his robe and yanked him back, spinning him around. This was the moment for which the assassin had waited. He pulled on the end of the staff, which parted several inches down to reveal ten finger's span of gleaming steel. Lance lunged at the Prince, the dagger aimed for his throat. As he did, a war dog leapt at him, its jaws closing on his calf. The blade skimmed past Endor's neck, opening a gash but missing the jugular by a hair's breadth.

  The Prince recoiled with a shriek, clutching his throat as blood oozed from it and splattered his pale blue tunic. Lance tried to jerk his leg from the dog's jaws, but the hound hung on, worrying his calf and sending shafts of pain up it. Another dog rushed into the fray, leaping for his arm, but missed when he jerked it away. Soldiers charged towards him, drawing their swords, and he knew that his chance was slipping away.

  Lance stabbed the dog that worried his calf, but as it fell the other took its place, and he knew that if all he did was try to free him, he would achieve nothing else. His chance of escape was almost gone, but killing Endor was still possible if he acted quickly. Although the dagger, with its clumsy wooden handle, was not designed for throwing, he flipped it in the air, caught it by the blade and flung it at Endor. The Prince stared at Lance in astonishment and horror, and the unbalanced dagger struck him in the cheek and bounced off the bone, leaving an ugly gash.