The Queen's Blade V - Master of the Dance

by T C Southwell

  "Enough, I said!" Blade swayed as a wave of dizziness overtook him. The wine had rushed to his head, and, combined with his weakness and spending too long on his feet, made his legs rubbery. He reeled to the table and leant on it, struggling against the darkness that lapped at his vision. Kerra's concerned voice was distant and muffled, then the table tipped and his knees buckled, sending him sliding to the floor with a shrill clatter of silver goblets.

  Kerra fell to her knees beside the assassin and placed her hands on his chest, a pang of horror and terror stabbing her heart. The doors burst open to admit her guards and Insash, who hurried over to her as he ordered the guards to fetch Verdan. Kerra looked up at him, raw emotions that she did not care to name clogging her throat.

  "What have I done? He just... fell."

  "Do not worry, My Queen. I am certain you did not argue him to death. He is weak. He should have returned directly to his bed."

  She looked down at Blade. "It is my fault. I should not have taxed him so, now I have made him more ill."

  Insash glanced at the fallen goblets and bottle. "More likely it was the inadvisable amount of wine he drank on an empty stomach."

  Kerra shot him a hard look. "Do not be so quick to put the blame on Lord Conash, Advisor Insash. Had you not roused him from his sick bed, he would not be in this state."

  "No, My Queen. And we would be at war. He chose to leave his bed to stop you. I trust you will not try to instigate the lords again."

  "Certainly not. It would be futile in any case. Now that the Regent has ruled on the matter, there is nothing I can do."

  Insash nodded. "Indeed."

  Kerra glanced around as Verdan trotted in, supported by two guards, his face red with exertion. His eyes flicked over his patient, then settled upon Kerra.

  "My Queen," he wheezed, lowering himself to the floor beside his patient, the soldiers aiding him. He placed his fingers against Blade's neck, then lifted the lid of one eye and peered into it. With a soft snort, he stood up and shook his head, frowning, then turned to the two assistants who had followed him in, one of whom clutched a bag.

  "Fetch a litter and take him back to his rooms. Give him the potion for pain, and let him sleep."

  Kerra rose to her feet. "What is wrong with him?"

  "A great many things, My Queen. But apart from his injuries and exhaustion, he is drunk."

  Chapter Thirty Two

  Chiana woke two days later, weak and feverish. Her maids rushed about, bringing her hot soup and mulled wine. Verdan was summoned and the Queen informed. The old healer arrived at a more sedate pace, and under his own steam, trailed, as usual, by his apprentices. After examining the Regent, he sank into the chair beside her bed and bestowed a fatherly smile upon her.

  "So, your husband was right. You will recover."

  "Where is he? Is he well?"

  Verdan nodded. "He is well enough, and in his rooms."

  "What happened? Did he kill them both?"

  "Yes."

  "But he was wounded?"

  Verdan nodded again. "Yes. But do not worry; he will make a full recovery too."

  Chiana relaxed and forced a wan smile. "I thought they were going to kill him. Two against one, and assassins both."

  "Ah, Chiana, I think your husband is as indestructible as those great frozen mountains to the north, and as cold. Of course, his temper is foul, so I have kept him asleep for the most part. I would not advise a visit until he is feeling better."

  Chiana's eyes filled with tears, which spilt down her cheeks in glittering trails. He leant forward and placed a comforting hand on her arm, his florid face filled with concern. "My dear lady, he will be all right. There is no need for you to worry, I assure you. His wounds are not life threatening."

  She shook her head. "It is not that. I am sure he will be all right. It is just... he saved my life again."

  "Ah." Verdan nodded gravely. "Yes, he does seem to make a habit of that, does he not? How many times is it now?"

  "Three." She gulped. "But this is the first time he has risked his own."

  "He nearly went over that balcony with you."

  "Yes, but that was a spontaneous reaction. I am sure he did not intend to endanger himself."

  "I am not so sure of that. Lord Conash does not strike me as the sort of man who does not weigh the consequences of his actions before he does things. I am pretty sure he knew the risk."

  "And all because he does not wish to be Regent?"

  Verdan sighed and patted her wrist. "So he would have us believe."

  "What do you believe?"

  The old healer sat back and folded his hands. "I would not presume to guess the thoughts of a man such as Lord Conash. But it does seem extreme."

  "I will not see him again."

  Verdan frowned. "What are you saying?"

  "It will be better for both of us. I can bear it no longer, to be near him, yet so... alone. He has made it abundantly clear that he does not want my company. He will leave in any case, when he is well. I will not make him feel guilty for doing it."

  Verdan gazed at her. "If he is as cold as he seems, he will not feel guilty, My Lady. And if he is not, if his aloofness is an act, then your rejection will hurt him."

  "If he truly wishes to see me, my guards will not be able to prevent him. My love and devotion evoke nothing but scorn. I want to see what my rejection brings forth."

  "Ah. A test." Verdan nodded and studied the Regent, noting the new lines of strength and determination on her face. Her recent ordeals, and the loss of her familiar, had tempered her. Since Inka's death, her gentleness had waned, giving way to a more assertive, assured woman.

  Before Inka's loss, he could not have imagined Chiana refusing to see her husband, and he suspected that Blade was in for a surprise. He wondered how the assassin would react, and whether to warn Chiana of Blade's unstable nature. Lord Conash, he had long suspected, was not a man to be trifled with, and his icy exterior hid an explosively violent nature fuelled by the burning hatred that smouldered in his heart.

  Chiana's eyes drifted closed, and he rose, signalling to his assistants and the maids to let her sleep before he crept out. In the sitting room, he headed off Kerra, who demanded to speak to the Regent. Verdan persuaded her to come back later, then returned to his quarters.

  Blade gazed out at the winter garden, now hidden under a thick blanket of snow. The first blizzards had arrived a tenday after his return to Jondar, just when he had been able to leave his bed. His arm was still strapped to his chest, and tentative efforts to move it brought intense pain. His left arm had healed, and Verdan had removed the numerous stitches from it, leaving long red scars. His lack of visitors had surprised him. He had not seen Kerra or his wife, although Verdan had informed him of her recovery. Arken tended to him, but there seemed to be an air of disappointment about the manservant, and when Blade ventured out of his room the servants shot him curious, sympathetic glances, which he found irksome.

  Two days ago, he had started exercising in a walled garden that was sheltered from the snow, using the slow stretching techniques to regain some of his suppleness. His head still ached occasionally, as did his left arm when he stretched it. A man suspected of being a Contara assassin had been arrested and put to death after a brief trial. The other was still at large, and the security around Chiana remained tight. Blade had dismissed his guards, except for the two who stood outside his door, and remained at the Regent's order, overriding his wishes.

  Now he longed to seek out Shamsara and claim his reward, and only the weather kept him imprisoned in the palace. As soon as it cleared, he would leave. Two missives from the Guild had been placed in his hand, which he had burnt unopened. His hand crept up to the tattoo at the base of his throat, the red tear drop beneath it still hidden by the leather patch. He was certain that the Guild sought to quiz him about his status, and had no wish to answer their questions.

  A knock at the door made him turn, and Arken entered, bowing low.

&
nbsp; "My Lord. There is a man to see you. He is an elder from your guild. He claims to be your former mentor."

  Blade frowned. "Let him in."

  Arken left, and a few moments later Talon sauntered in, his quick eyes scanning the room. The dark wolf followed him like a shadow, its gaze as swift and intelligent as its friend's. Blade tugged at his silver-trimmed black jacket, aware of the empty sleeve that hung at his side. Like all assassins, the presence of his ilk made him tense, and his injury increased his uneasiness. He rested his hand on the hilt of the dagger in his belt, and Talon's eyes flicked to it as he studied his former pupil.

  "Talon."

  The elder inclined his head. "Blade. Or should I say 'My Lord'?"

  "Say what you will. What do you want?"

  "Ah, to the point, as ever." Talon wandered around the room with the restless curiosity of his familiar, inspecting priceless ornaments and expensive hangings. "Very nice. I always knew you would do well, but I never thought you would rise quite so high. What are you now, High Lord? Regent?"

  "If this is about my status, I'm out of retirement, but soon to re-enter it."

  "Ah. You cut off your mark, as you are required to do?"

  "I hid it."

  Talon closed the gap between them in a stride and tugged open Blade's collar, making the assassin stiffen and glare. Renouncing his retirement also meant that he had renounced his status as an elder, and therefore Talon was once more his superior, since other titles meant nothing to the Guild. Talon studied the leather patch, then swung away.

  "That must itch."

  "Not really."

  "Why didn't you obey the summons?"

  "I was unable to."

  Talon turned to face him. "Injured." His eyes lingered on the empty sleeve. "Crippled?"

  "Not permanently."

  "Broken?"

  "No."

  Talon shook his head with a rueful smile. "Only you could take up your trade again, at your age, and slay another bunch of Cotti princes. Are you crazy? You're lucky you're not dead. You got that fighting two Contara assassins, didn't you?"

  Blade shrugged. "What of it?"

  "Even I didn't think you could beat two assassins. Many of the elders don't believe it."

  "That's their choice."

  "But they want to. To be able to boast of your accomplishments to neighbouring guilds is their greatest pleasure. Your legend has spread far and wide, and, with the news that you have renounced your retirement, there have been many challengers. All the best young assassins want to pit their skills against you."

  Blade turned away and walked to the table that held the ever-present bottle of wine, pouring two cups. "I'm not interested."

  "Oh, I know. I told them you're no longer the Master of the Dance, and therefore cannot be challenged."

  "And?"

  "The elders insist that if you're not retired, you must partake in the competition for the belt."

  Blade held out a cup to Talon, who accepted it with a smile. "I'm not interested."

  "Then you must retire again."

  "Not yet."

  "Why not?"

  Blade sipped his wine. "There's still one Contara assassin out there. If he's not killed or captured in his attempt, I intend to hunt him down."

  "At the Regent's request."

  "Naturally."

  "When your arm has healed."

  "Yes."

  Talon nodded. "And until then, you can neither work nor dance. Fair enough, I suppose."

  "Is that all you wished to know?"

  "No." Talon waved his cup. "There's another matter I wanted to speak to you about. We have a rogue."

  Blade went to the window and gazed out of it again, a slight frown puckering his brow. Rogue assassins were rare. The strict guild rules usually kept even the most bloodthirsty in check, for the punishment for indiscriminate killing was death. Occasionally, however, the trade twisted a man so much that he lusted for killing even more than he feared his demise. These cases resulted in killing sprees that could claim a dozen lives, and only ended when the Guild hunted down the rogue. Usually, he was accorded a slow end and left to die in the gutter.

  "What has that to do with me?" Blade asked.

  "He's a stranger to us. He came to Jondar a moon ago, but didn't inform the Guild. He uses a dagger, and has a wood cat familiar. He claims to be your son."

  Blade swung around. "Impossible, and you know it."

  "He obviously doesn't, which makes me think he doesn't know you well, if at all. But he's a good assassin. He had two jobs before he went rogue."

  "So what do you want from me?"

  Talon shrugged. "You're his idol, and I thought you could tempt him into the open. We've been after him for a tenday, but he's good."

  "You want me to be bait."

  Talon sipped his wine. "If you weren't injured, I would ask you to kill him, but bait will do."

  "How many has he killed?"

  "A dozen that we know of, but it could be more. He chooses whores, mostly, and a few of their customers."

  Blade returned to the table to refill his goblet. "So you want me to sit in a tavern and wait for him to find me. Did it occur to you that he may be the Contara assassin, and this is his plan to find and kill me, so he can kill Chiana? Since I killed the other two, he sees me as a threat, so he is within his rights to try to remove me."

  "Of course. But what better way to get rid of him than to beat him at his own game? If that's his plan, it's a stupid one. Even if he doesn't know you're injured, he surely can't expect you to seek him out alone?"

  Blade nodded. "That's exactly what he would expect if he thought I might believe his story. What man would set a trap for his son? Either that, or he has a plan that will work even with guards around me, like a crossbow bolt through the heart."

  "But why go rogue?"

  Blade sipped his wine. "To draw attention to himself. To ensure that I was informed of his presence. I don't hear much news, cooped up in this place. Maybe to ensure that I sought him out alone, to protect him from the Guild. A man might do that for his son."

  "True. Whatever his reasons, he'll be walking into our trap. Will you help?"

  "If all I'm required to do is sit in a tavern."

  "Good. I'll inform the elders, and we'll send a couple of disguised assassins to kill him. Where will you be?"

  Blade turned to study the snowy landscape outside once more. "The Grilled Gander."

  Talon drained his cup and set it down. "Good choice. Small, not too crowded, but in the heart of the city. When?"

  "Tonight."

  The elder nodded and turned to leave, then hesitated and swung back to face his former pupil. "I know our kind frown upon such sentiments, but I'm glad you're still in one piece."

  Blade listened to Talon's soft-footed departure, and the equally quiet exit of his wolf. Their relationship had always been uneasy, but the tension came entirely from Blade, whose distrust had never waned, even after all the years that had passed. He pondered his decision, and found that he was glad to have something to occupy him, especially since it necessitated spending many time-glasses in a tavern. He hated staying in the palace, with its grandeur and scuttling servants, its air of regal splendour that went against his grain. Now he had a reason to visit a local inn, which he had been planning to do, in any case.

  Three nights later, he sat at a table at the back of the Grilled Gander, nursing his fifth ale in the shadows. He wore his black leather clothes, with a silver-edged cloak to hint at his identity. For once, he wanted to be recognised, and had, judging by the bemused looks he received from the inn's owners and its patrons. At first, his presence had evoked the usual black looks his trade always brought, then the significance of the silver-edged cloak had dawned upon some of the patrons.

  Since then, the inn's popularity had grown considerably. Although no one approached him, they spent much of their time casting him curious, furtive glances. He had spied the two disguised assassins on the first night,
and had made his displeasure known by glaring at them. If he could spot them, so would the rogue assassin, and the trap would fail. After that, it had been harder to make them out, and tonight he had only found one, so far.

  Blade yawned, lowering his gaze to the ale in his cup. Although it was a good brew, he was growing tired of its flavour, and wondered if he should switch to wine. Taproom wine was usually poor and watered down, however, although his status may persuade the innkeeper to send out for some good stuff.

  A shadow fell on him, and he looked up at a nondescript young man, who gazed down at him with a puzzled expression. He was so ordinary his face would blur into anonymity the moment he was out of sight, his features regular but unremarkable, his eyes a dull grey and his hair black, his clothes dark brown and commonly cut. He was the sort of man most would dismiss without a second glance as harmless, but Blade's hackles rose as he sensed that the youngster was a trained assassin.

  The stranger smiled and brushed a lock of hair from his brow. "Do you mind if I join you?"

  Blade leant back. "Do you have business with me?"

  "No, but all the other tables are full."

  This was true, Blade found, and he inclined his head. The stranger sat opposite and glanced around for a maid, which he did not find. Turning to the assassin, he smiled again.

  "Bad service."

  "Go somewhere else."

  "Oh, no, I came here for a reason."

  "Indeed?"

  "Yes."

  The man looked around for a serving wench again, and Blade shot a glance at the guild assassin, annoyed to find the man engrossed in flirting with a whore. He lowered his gaze to his cup and waited while the stranger caught the eye of a serving maid and received a cup of ale from the giggling girl, who cast many coy looks in Blade's direction. He did not bother to look up, but he could sense her covetous eyes upon him, as he had done for the last three nights. He guessed that the stranger was in his mid-twenties, and, if he was the assassin in question, his looks served him well. The maid left, and the stranger lifted his tankard to take a gulp, wiping froth from his lips.