The Queen's Blade V - Master of the Dance

by T C Southwell

"Why have you brought me here? Why did you not just kill me?"

  "Because you deserve to suffer, Cotti. Ronan suffered for killing my sister, but I did not have the pleasure of watching it."

  "You will get no satisfaction from it, half man. I will not ask for mercy."

  Blade smiled. "Good, because you will not get any."

  "What are you going to do?"

  "I am not sure. I have not tortured anyone before, but I have a fine example of some good methods from my former apprentice."

  Endor glanced at Lance, who watched him with cold eyes. "You would not dare. Torturing me to death will bring repercussions from my brothers. They will avenge me."

  "Kerrion has sanctioned your death, and I do not think that the rest will care. Even if they do, there is nothing they can do about it."

  "They will send assassins. They will not rest until you are dead!"

  "I think you overestimate your popularity. One of them will be sent to govern Contara after your death, a promotion they will be keen to receive, considering how unpleasant Kerrion is making life for them in Jadaya." Blade glanced at Eshra. "Now, it is time to begin your punishment. Would you like to participate, Eshra?"

  She shook her head, shrinking back a little, and Endor sneered, "You will get no help from a feeble-minded female, Jashimari pig."

  Blade sighed. "Unfortunately, it seems that possessing a compassionate nature is a curse in Cotti society. If you are not a sadistic bastard, you do not match up to the men. But I was moulded by your kind, and I can be just as merciless as you, perhaps more."

  "What are you going to do?"

  Blade drew a dagger and tested its keenness with his thumb, looking pensive. "Why do people always want to know that? I thought I would start by cutting off your nose. How does that sound?"

  "Wait!" Endor squirmed closer to the wall and levered himself up until he was sitting with his back against it. "If you kill me, your wife dies."

  Blade paused, eyeing the Prince. "Indeed?"

  "Yes. Only I can stop it."

  "You have sent an assassin."

  "Four of them, the best in the city."

  "And you will recall them if I spare you, I suppose?"

  Endor nodded. "Yes."

  Blade lowered himself to one knee beside the Prince. "Now why do I not believe you? Could it be because you are a lying piece of worthless dung, or because I am not stupid enough to think that your word is worth the air it is spoken with?"

  "I swear, I will recall them."

  "Are you begging me to spare you?"

  Endor looked sick, his ashen skin dewed with nervous sweat. "I am offering you the life of your wife if you release me."

  "Ah, so you are begging for your life."

  Endor gritted his teeth. "I do not beg. If you want your wife to live, release me now!"

  Blade leant forward and rested the dagger against the Prince's cheek, his voice barely more than a whisper. "No."

  Endor twisted his head away, panting with dread. "You are making a mistake, fool. Shed one drop of my blood, and she dies!"

  Blade slid the dagger down Endor's cheek, slitting it. Blood ran down to drip off his chin. He gasped and ground his teeth, glaring at the assassin. "You have just killed your wife, assassin."

  "Since releasing you would not save her, I have changed nothing. I am not a lack wit who falls for false promises."

  "You will not get out of this castle alive," Endor snarled.

  "I do not particularly care, but I will wager that I do."

  "My men will hunt you down and gut you like a pig!"

  "Now there is an idea." Blade lowered the dagger to Endor's belly. "Would you like to see what your insides look like?" The assassin spoke in a soft, menacing tone, almost a croon.

  Endor glared at him. "You have not the stomach for it. I can see it in your face."

  "Then your eyes deceive you. Perhaps I should cut them out?"

  "No! Release me, and I will kill you with my bare hands. You have not the courage to fight me, only to torment me while I am bound."

  Blade chuckled. "I am not going to chase you around the room when you run like the cowardly snake you are."

  "You are the coward."

  The assassin's hand flashed out in a lightning-fast flick, and Endor's nose dropped into his lap. His eyes bulged as he stared at it, the blood draining from his cheeks. Eshra made a soft sound and turned away. Blade shot her a cold glance.

  "You wanted to watch."

  "I wished to see him die, not suffer."

  "Then wait outside. I will tell you when to return. This will not take long."

  Eshra shook her head, forcing herself to look at the Prince. Endor continued to stare at his severed nose, a look of horror dawning in his eyes. Slowly he raised his gaze to Blade's impassive face, the horror giving way to sheer, unadulterated terror.

  "Do not do this," he rasped.

  "You did it to Lance." Blade indicated the mutilated assassin with the dagger. "Now it is your turn." He jumped up and walked away a few steps, then swung to face the Prince again.

  "How many others have you tortured? How many innocents have you slaughtered? Although my former apprentice was sent to kill you, he did not deserve to be tortured. He was the instrument of another's wrath. Her fury resulted from your treatment of her, so the blame comes full circle and rests upon you. Now I am the instrument of their wrath, and this time it is you who will pay the price."

  "I did not do that to him."

  "You ordered it." Blade strode over to him, gripped a fold of his cheek and sliced it off.

  Endor howled, writhing. Blade swung away again, swallowing the bile that rose in his throat and despising his inability to stomach the sight of blood and suffering. The Prince sobbed and gasped, spit and blood oozing from the hole in his cheek. The assassin knew that he would not be able to stomach much more without being ill.

  The Prince struggled to retain his dignity, biting his lips to stop himself from crying out again. Lance watched his former tormentor's suffering without any sign of revulsion or pleasure. Eshra stared at Endor with wide, shocked eyes, clearly overwhelmed by horror. This night would probably haunt her for the rest of her life, and Blade wondered why she insisted on staying to watch. He turned back to his victim, who struggled to control his terror as the assassin approached.

  "No! Do not do this!"

  Blade paused. "I have no mercy, Cotti. It died with my family, many years ago."

  "I will do whatever you want, just stop!"

  "All I want is for you to suffer."

  "If you can do this, then you are as bad as you accuse me of being. You have slaughtered innocents too. It is your trade!"

  The assassin shook his head, shooting a glance at Eshra. "No. I take no pleasure in this. Nor do I feel pity for you. Your screams for mercy will do you no good. If I enjoyed it, I would be as depraved as you."

  Endor writhed, straining against his bonds when Blade stepped closer, then he jerked and screamed as the assassin's hand flashed out, and an ear fell to the floor. A pool of wetness spread from Endor's crotch, and Blade recoiled from the stench of urine. Eshra turned away, covering her mouth.

  "Enough, Blade."

  He swung to face her. "Did he ever show you any pity?"

  She shook her head. "But you are not him, as you pointed out. If you do not enjoy it, what is the point?"

  "That he should suffer, as his many victims have."

  "But you are suffering too."

  Blade frowned. "I am meting out justice. I do not have to enjoy it. Lance will decide when it is enough."

  Lance raised his eyes. "He made me suffer far more than that."

  "Then it is not enough."

  Blade walked back to his victim, who wailed and tried to wriggle away. Flipping Endor onto his stomach, Blade took hold of the Prince's bound hands and sliced off two fingers at the knuckles. Endor's screams reverberated around the chamber, and Eshra stuffed her fingers into her ears. Blade went over to her and pull
ed her hands away.

  "Listen to him. This should be music to your ears."

  "For God's sake, just kill him!"

  "When Lance is satisfied. Apply to him, not me."

  Eshra jerked free and plugged her ears again as Endor continued to scream. Blade returned to the Prince and sliced off two more fingers, redoubling Endor's bellows of pain. The assassin swung away once more, gritting his teeth as the Prince's shrieks made his head ache. His dislike for the situation grew by the moment, and he glanced at Lance, wishing that he would put an end to it, but Lance continued to watch Endor with impassive eyes.

  Blade's stomach churned, and burning bile rose in his throat. Thrusting aside his squeamishness, he walked back to the Prince and flipped him onto his back, then made incisions in his chest and arms, releasing streams of blood. Endor writhed and flopped, his screams becoming hoarse cries and bubbling groans. Blade sliced off the Prince's other ear. Endor choked and gurgled, his back arching. Still, no pity stirred in Blade's heart. Instead, the ice within him grew thicker and colder, chilling his entrails. Endor shrieked as Blade sliced off his lips, flinging them away in disgust and swallowing more bile. He glanced at Lance again, who nodded, closing his eyes.

  "It's... enough."

  "How long did you suffer for?"

  Lance shook his head. "I know not, but... that's enough."

  Eshra turned to look at her husband, biting her lip, and Blade silenced the Prince's wails with a dagger thrust. Endor gasped and stiffened, then went limp, his eyes glazing as Blade wiped his weapon on the Prince's nightshirt. Sheathing the dagger, Blade rubbed his brow, then walked over to Lance and squatted down in front of him.

  "Good. I was getting a headache."

  Lance tried to smile, but managed only a lopsided leer. "You never could stomach suffering. That's why you disliked Bolt so much. He enjoyed it."

  "Endor deserved it."

  "Now it's... my turn to die."

  "Yes." Remembering the comfort Sir Raylin had gained from the few words he had spoken over him, he asked, "Do you want the last rites?"

  Eshra turned. "You're a priest?"

  Blade glanced up at her. "So, there is something you do not know about me. Yes, I am a Knight of the Veil."

  Eshra's eyes drifted to Lance and flinched away. "How can you kill your friend?"

  "He is not my friend, and he wants to die. Who would want to live like this?"

  She shuddered, shooting the young assassin a pitying glance. "I'm going back to the harem. I have no wish to see this."

  "As you wish."

  She started to turn away, then paused, gazing at him. "I'm glad Endor is dead. Thank you, Blade."

  "His death was my payment for hiding Queen Kerra-Manu, and to avenge his abuse of my wife."

  Eshra forced a wan smile. "It's good to know a man who loves his wife enough to avenge her suffering."

  "I'm fulfilling a vow that I made to her, nothing more."

  "And torturing him? Was that for your benefit?"

  "No, that was for Lance."

  "You claim that he's not your friend, so why did you avenge his suffering?"

  "His torture, like that of my wife, was designed to humiliate me."

  A rusty, rattling chuckle came from Lance. "You'll get no admission of caring for anyone... from Blade, dear lady. He'll deny it with his dying breath."

  "Since it's the truth, yes," Blade retorted.

  "Did Endor kill the Regent's familiar?"

  "Yes."

  The young assassin hung his head. "I'm sorry I failed."

  "Most assassins fail a few times in their careers. You just chose a really bad time to do it."

  "You've never failed."

  "I've been fortunate."

  "Fortune had nothing to do with it." Lance gazed at the Prince's mutilated body. "Most thought it would be impossible... to assassinate him. Yet you've tortured him in his dungeons... and will, in all likelihood, escape too. You even managed ... to bring a spectator."

  "You could have achieved the same, if you had scaled the wall. Just as I would have failed had I attacked him in the tavern."

  "But you were not a fool, like me."

  Blade sighed. "An error of judgement, due to inexperience. I erred when I told Chiana to send you. The mistake was mine. I underestimated Endor."

  "Or overestimated me."

  Blade glanced at Eshra. "There's little time. Every moment I stay here increases the chance of discovery. If you don't want to witness his death, then leave."

  Ashra nodded and went to the door, pulled it open and paused again to gaze back at him. "I hope you escape, Blade. I wish you luck, and farewell."

  Without waiting for a reply, she slipped out and closed the door. Lance rested his head on the wall and closed his eyes with a shuddering sigh. Blade turned to him.

  "Where's Jinare?"

  Lance coughed. "I don't know... exactly. Hiding somewhere, I suppose."

  "Far away?"

  "Far enough, I think."

  "Be sure. I don't want him alerting the soldiers to my presence."

  "He won't. My pain has made him... seek a quiet, dark place to share it with me. My end will be a relief."

  Blade knelt beside Lance, frowning as he recalled the words of the death rites. "At this, the time of your departure from this world, I call upon Tinsharon to look down upon you -"

  Lance opened his eyes. "You never gave me a kind word... in all our years together. Do you like me?"

  "I was your mentor, not your friend or your father."

  "My father was a bastard who murdered my mother... and was hanged for it. Why did you choose me?"

  "You were full of anger."

  "But do you... like me?"

  Blade considered the question, taking into account the circumstances under which it was being asked. To give a dying man a moment's comfort was within his means, and he saw no reason to deny it. "Yes."

  Lance managed another ghastly smile. "I... love you, Blade. You're my idol, and my hero. Even before... I found out who you really were."

  "Go in peace, Redane, may Tinsharon welcome you into the Everlasting, where you will find joy forever."

  "Do you truly feel nothing? Not even for my death?"

  "Death will end your suffering, as it will for me one day. I look forward to it, so I feel no grief for you. It's a journey we must all make. There's no sense in fearing it."

  Lance gazed into Blade's eyes. "I think... you're already dead. You breathe, but you're dead."

  Blade inclined his head, a slight, bitter smile twisting his lips. "I died a long time ago."

  "I'm ready." Lance closed his eyes. "End my pain."

  Blade placed his hands on his former apprentice's throat, finding the correct places on either side of it, and applied the required pressure. Lance slumped, the lines of suffering on his face vanishing as the pain ebbed from his broken body. Blade drew the dagger he had used to slay Endor and slipped it between Lance's ribs. As the young assassin ceased to breathe, Blade stood up and wiped the weapon clean, then slid it back into its scabbard and turned away. Without sparing Endor's sprawled corpse so much as a passing glance, he strode to the door and let himself out, then retraced his steps through the castle.

  Blade walked through silent, empty halls, alert for the unexpected. Dawn approached, and the guards would soon be changed, at which time his night's work would be discovered. He had to be out of the castle by then, or risk capture. Without the distractions that had enabled him to get in, escaping the castle would be far more difficult. Since he had achieved his aim, however, the discovery of his presence would only mean that he would have to move quickly to avoid capture, something at which he excelled.

  Chapter Twenty Six

  As Blade ascended the short flight of stairs that led to the parapet, he remembered the two guards he had not seen on his way in, and slowed. At the doorway, he stopped and removed the boot blades, stowing them in his pack, then reached out into the chill night with his senses, st
raining to detect a sound or scent that would indicate the presence of his foes. A faint smell of tobacco smoke assured him that there were guards on the parapet, and from the direction of the wind, he knew where they were. Edging to the corner, he peered around it to assure himself that they were both there, glimpsing the two huddled over a board game, their cloaks pulled tight around them to ward off the chill.

  They sat on the far side of the parapet, where it overlooked the inner courtyards, away from the dizzying drop of the great wall and the cold wind that blew up it. This suited Blade, who moved around the square structure that housed the stairwell and went to the other edge of the parapet, out of sight of the guards. After glancing down to assure himself that no extra men were stationed at the bottom, he slipped over the edge and lowered himself down the wall.

  Although descending the wall was easier than ascending it, he was shaking and sweating by the time he arrived at the bottom, for the night's activities had depleted his stores of energy. He rested for several minutes atop the wall that ran up to the cliff's base, watching the sentries who guarded the next gateway. These two were easily avoided by taking the areal route along the huts' roofs to the next portal, but that presented a problem. The gate led into a short passageway, and there was no way to go around it other than scaling the wall above it and making his way around the tower, but that would take far too long.

  The dog soldiers who stood at either end of the passage were no longer distracted by the bitch, and looked alert, their familiars dozing at their feet. He crossed the huts, then paused atop the wall, as close as he could venture without the dogs scenting him. Stealth was out of the question, for he had to pass between the guards to get through the passage, and the wind was blowing in the wrong direction. The dogs would scent him and alert their bondsmen and the next set of sentries. Essentially he was trapped, and would have to fight his way out, no easy task with so many dogs involved.

  While most wild familiars were inclined to go a little mad when their kinsman died, and attack anything available, dogs would not fight once their friend was dead. This was a peculiarity for which he was grateful at this moment, and because of it, the men would be his primary targets. He sat down and fished the boot-blades out of his pack, strapping them on as he balanced on the wall. Tying the bag to his back once more, he lowered himself over the edge. He could not find purchase while he wore the boot-blades, so he was forced to drop, and landed with a clack of steel on stone, cushioning the impact with bent legs.