The Queen's Blade II - Sacrifice

by T C Southwell

  "Yes, my lady. At least let me stay until he wakes."

  "You are not known here. You are a soldier and must return to your duties, there is no arguing with that."

  "My lady, if you would ask the healer Verdan, he can tell you -"

  "Will you two be quiet?" A weak voice from the bed startled Jayon, and he rushed to the bedside. Blade raised a shaking hand to rub his brow, frowning. "I have a crushing headache. Get me something for it, Jayon."

  "At once, Lord Conash." Jayon shot the woman a triumphant look, his face wreathed in a relieved grin, and dashed out.

  Chiana approached the bed and studied Blade, placing a hand on his brow. "How are you feeling?"

  He slapped her hand away. "I have just told you. On top of that I feel queasy, but that is probably from listening to the two of you. Leave the boy alone. If he wants to stay, he can."

  She smiled, her heart bursting with joy that she could not show, although she feared that her eyes glowed with it, and strived to hide it. Blade's eyes were closed, and lines of pain scored his brow.

  Chiana gazed at him. "When did you wake?"

  "Just now. Your carping woke me." He rubbed his brow again.

  She fought the urge to touch him, and her anguish found voice in words that trotted off her tongue of their own volition. "You look terrible, Blade, you are so thin."

  "Thank you." He opened his eyes and shot her a hard glance. "So do you."

  Chiana straightened, stung. She had not meant to reveal her feelings in such a raw statement of concern, but fortunately such emotional outbursts only annoyed the assassin. To negate her impulsive words, she said, "The Queen wishes to see you the moment you wake. I will tell her that you are."

  "You will do no such thing," he growled. "Leave me alone, and do not let her near me, or I swear, I shall be so rude she will have no choice but to send me to the gallows. I am in no mood to see anyone."

  "You never are," she replied with a trace of bitterness. "But the Queen will never send you to the gallows, Blade, you may be sure of that."

  "Where is that damned boy? Does he not know how to run?"

  A minute later, a panting Jayon burst in, carrying a cup. Slowing to a walk, he came to the bed and helped Blade to sit up and drink its contents, then eased the assassin back onto the pillows.

  "I knew you would do it, Blade. I knew you would beat the poison."

  "Did you?" The assassin's gaze flicked to Chiana, who stiffened. "This is Chiana, the Queen's chief advisor. She is not a lady, so do not call her one. Call her Chief Advisor or Chiana. Do not let her bully you, either. You are in my employ, and I outrank her."

  "He is a soldier," Chiana protested.

  "He is my attendant, and I will have no other."

  Chiana glared, then bowed. "As you wish, My Lord."

  "And tell the Queen I am asleep."

  "Yes, My Lord." With a swirl of skirts, she left the room, banging the door behind her.

  Jayon tucked in Blade's sheets and plumped the pillows. "I'm glad you want me to stay. You'll soon be asleep anyway, the draught will see to that, and it's the best thing for you right now."

  "Jayon, quit fussing over me. Leave me in peace, before I slit your throat for the sake of peace and quiet."

  Jayon chuckled. "You don't have a dagger, I'm afraid."

  "Then bring me one."

  "You don't need it."

  "Do as I say."

  Jayon stepped back, his smile fading. "If you wish. I see that you are in an even fouler temper than before."

  "I'm sicker than before, so bugger off."

  Jayon frowned and stomped out, slamming the door with only slightly less force than Chiana. Blade closed his eyes, revelling in the silence. The poison seemed to have made his hearing more acute, and his head pounded as if someone used it as a drum.

  Chiana banged into the Queen's apartments, made a brief prostration and straightened looking flushed and angry. Minna eyed her askance, divining the reason for her ire.

  "I take it Lord Conash is awake?"

  "Yes, My Queen. Well, he was, but he is probably asleep again. He was given a draught for the pain."

  "Ah. And his manners have not improved."

  "They are abominable. He treats me worse than a servant."

  Minna smiled. "I shall have a word with him about it, but it is probably because he likes you."

  "Likes me?" Chiana squeaked. "He takes every opportunity to belittle and humiliate me. He delights in it."

  Minna shook her head in gentle rebuke. "He tries to keep you at a distance and make you dislike him. It is his way of preventing emotional entanglements."

  "He has no emotions. The fires of Damnation could not melt his heart."

  "But you would like to?"

  Chiana looked down, biting her lip.

  "Of course you would," Minna mused. "And he sees it. I could order him to wed you." The Queen walked towards the windows. "Then he would have to accord you the proper respect, since you would be equals in rank. In time, he may accept your affection, maybe even return it. The match would suit me admirably, for when you are Regent you will need him beside you, to deal with your enemies and protect the child Queen."

  "Please do not speak of that, My Queen, I cannot bear it."

  Minna ignored her. "You may even find intimacy with him one day, but of course, no children." She shrugged. "Then again, you may not. He is now a sacred Knight of the Veil, all of whom undergo voluntary castration. The Knights are not prohibited from marrying, however. Since his return, he holds the highest rank in the land, next to my own. I have declared him to be the Lord Protector of Jashimari, and of course, he is respected by the church. It would be fitting if the Regent was his wife." The Queen turned from the window. "How is he?"

  "Bad tempered." Chiana quailed under the Queen's frosty glance. "He is thin, My Queen, almost wasted, pale and weak. It is a miracle that he survived the poison as well as that terrible wound."

  "No wonder he is in such a foul mood." Minna laughed at Chiana's incredulous expression. "Well, what do you expect? He is a man of action who relies heavily on his physical abilities. Without them, what does he have? Only a barbed tongue."

  Minna sighed. "I have been studying the guild of assassins. It is a secretive society, but I have found a good source of information; one who is retired. It seems that amongst assassins, skill is measured by a dance, strangely. Something to do with the speed of their feet and their agility. It is performed on a wooden platform, on which they beat out a quick tattoo.

  "The faster they can do it, the better they are. Obviously they cannot fight for their rank, nor can it be accurately measured by the number of kills they have made. Although that is a fair yardstick, it takes time to accrue a high tally. I am told that Blade, when he took the test, was faster than any other, ever.

  "That is how he came to be the Master of the Dance, a title coveted amongst assassins. Only the best are able to earn it. It is common knowledge that the Master of the Dance is the best assassin in the city, and Blade told me himself that he has the title."

  Chiana was clearly fascinated. "I think I saw him practising once, in the garden. It looked like he was dancing, it was most graceful."

  Minna nodded. "So imagine how he feels now, lying abed, unable to even walk. You must be patient with him, Chiana."

  "My Queen, on the matter of marriage..."

  "Yes?"

  Chiana looked away. "I would like it very much, but only if he is not averse to the notion."

  Minna laughed, shooting her chief advisor a pitying look. "Of course he will be averse to it. It goes against all of his principles, the very fabric of his being. He will make your life a misery for a while, I should not wonder, but you will have an unbreakable hold on him. Assassins do not wed, it is against their traditions. They make no ties until after they have retired, although even then they do not marry, and of course, Blade has an additional impediment."

  "I do not care about that." Chiana hesitated, glancing
at the Queen. "Yet I do not wish to force him into anything."

  "You will have to. Or rather, I will. I suggest that this conversation will be our secret. Act as reluctant as you wish, argue with me if it suits you. Maybe then he will not be angry with you, just me. My daughter will need parents, Chiana. I knew my father before my mother sent him back to the front. He was a kind, gentle man, and I admired him. Although she must know that Kerrion is her real father and I am her mother, she will benefit from growing up with Lord Conash as a mentor."

  Chiana bowed her head. "As you wish, My Queen."

  "I shall let him recover first, to improve his mood." She walked over to the slumbering sand cat. "Let me know when he wakes again, and I shall brave his rudeness."

  Three days later, the healers allowed the drug to wear off, and Blade woke, his head pounding and his stomach knotted. Jayon brought a bowl of thick meat stew and tried to feed it to the assassin, but he wanted only to sink back into the peace of sleep. Jayon persisted, undaunted by Blade's growls.

  "You must eat, or you'll starve to death."

  The assassin glared at him. "Get that out of my face, boy. I want the sleeping draught, now!"

  Jayon shook his head. "I can't give it to you until you've eaten."

  Blade lashed out, sent the bowl flying and sprayed broth all over the floor. "Bring me the draught!"

  Jayon leapt up, frowning. "I'm trying to help you!"

  "Then get me the draught, boy."

  "Blade."

  The assassin glanced around to find Queen Minna-Satu framed in the doorway, regal in a flowing midnight-blue gown embroidered with patterns of silver and gold. A silken overdress of transparent green sheathed it, picked out with tiny diamonds, like stars in a night sky. Chiana stood behind her, looking a little apprehensive. Jayon fell to his knees, and Blade groaned and flopped back on the pillows.

  Minna walked to the bed and gazed down at him. "You are acting like a spoilt child, Lord Conash. You will do as your healers say, or you will receive no medicine."

  "You torture me. I do all you ask, and this is my reward?"

  "No, your reward has yet to be decided. This is to save your life. I know that you are in terrible pain, but -"

  "You know nothing," Blade interrupted, and Chiana's eyes widened at his effrontery.

  "I know that you long to arise from this bed and walk again, but you will do that only if you eat," Minna said.

  "If I eat, I shall be ill."

  "If you do not, you will die. I am sure your attendant would rather you vomited on him than flung the food across the room. It is easier to clean up."

  Blade gazed at Minna, then smiled, the expression not reaching his eyes. "You do have a way about you, My Queen. Why is it that everyone else gets angry with me, but you do not?"

  "Perhaps because I understand you better than they. We are both cat kin, after all."

  Blade nodded, wincing. "I will eat only if I get my medicine right after I have vomited."

  Minna smiled. "So you shall." She looked at Jayon. "Attendant, bring Lord Conash more food."

  "At once, My Queen." Jayon scuttled out, shooting Blade a hard glance.

  Minna perched on the edge of the bed and studied the assassin's gaunt countenance, but did not make the mistake of commenting on his appearance, as Chiana had done. "You know that I am well pleased with you. Did Kerrion have anything to say?"

  Blade looked at Chiana. "Does she know?"

  "Yes."

  "He asks that you delay taking the Queen's Cup for at least a year, so he has time to take up the reins of power."

  Chiana gasped, and Minna frowned. "How does he know...?" She sighed, shaking her head. "You are too perceptive. I have told you before. You told Kerrion that I planned to take the Queen's Cup?"

  "Right after the birth of his child."

  "So, now he knows everything." Minna looked thoughtful. "It saves sending a message, I suppose. But I cannot wait that long, the Contara will be at the gates by mid-summer."

  "So I told him."

  "And?"

  Blade shrugged. "He needs time. You do not have it. There is no solution."

  "He will have to take action to save his daughter."

  "And if he does not, Jashimari is doomed."

  "Yes, but we are in any case." Minna rose and turned away. "I wish you a speedy recover, My Lord, there will be work for you soon."

  The assassin stared at the ceiling after she had left, then groaned when Jayon returned with a brimming bowl of broth. Blade ate some of it without vomiting, then received his medicine and went back to sleep.

  Chapter Three

  Over the next moon phase, Blade's appetite returned, and his strength followed. The wound in his lung healed, and he went from gentle exercise in his room to brisk walks through the garden. Jayon stayed, airing no wish to leave, though his services as a nurse were no longer required. Blade received a letter from Lilu, scrawled in her childish hand, reporting that the estate was well but she suspected the retainer of stealing from the coffers.

  Blade laughed when he read it, not bothering to find any truth in it. His bodyguard, Lirek, took up his duties again, and Jayon made a jolly threesome when they ventured into the city to drink. Blade increased the vigour of his exercise daily, revelling in the stiffness of his strengthening muscles and the renewed bounce in his stride. The Queen visited him often, enjoying his much-improved mood, although his prior rudeness seemed to have mortally offended Chiana, who avoided him like the plague. He decided to speak to her about it, but put off that day constantly.

  Judging that the time was right, Blade resumed his daily ritual of exercise, not merely walking and running but going through the strenuous steps of the assassin's dance, also known as the Dance of Death. At first his steps were clumsy, his feet slow and his leaps lacked the height that enabled him to tuck up his legs or kick one high in the air. Less than halfway through it, he was forced to stop, sweat beading his brow as he gasped for air.

  A burning pain smouldered in his left lung, and his legs cramped. The following day, he tried again, forcing his aching muscles to obey, and completed a little more. By the end of a tenday, he could perform three quarters of the Dance, but with difficulty, and the last few steps were torturous. His disability annoyed him, but no matter how hard he tried, the pain in his lung held him back. He wondered if he would ever again be able to complete the Dance of Death. If his disability proved to be permanent, he would be forced to retire, for any assassin who could not complete the Dance was not allowed to ply his trade.

  Kerrion's coronation was a splendid affair, one in which he took little pleasure, though some satisfaction. The city celebrated with music, dancing and revelry. Banners and flags flew from every rooftop and flagpole. Ribbons decked the streets, festooning houses and people alike. Jesters, jugglers and clowns thronged amid the crowds, and stalls of food and wine did a roaring trade. Men toasted the new King's health with many tankards of ale and wine, and drunken brawls erupted, to be stamped out by the Watch.

  Within the palace, the ceremony took place with far more dignity. The high priest blessed it, and the supreme judge ordained it. Fanfares echoed through the vast hall as Kerrion stepped up to receive the gold circlet that signified his rank. Muted applause arose from his brothers, while the lords gave a far more enthusiastic accolade.

  Kerrion took the throne and received the King's cloak, a length of pure white velvet heavy with silver and gold embroidery that formed an image of the sun at its centre, its rays picked out in long lines of diamonds, its edge trimmed with rubies. After the crowning, he was required to ride through the city in a cavalcade, allowing his people to throw petals over him as he passed. On his return to the palace, he hosted a feast for all the attending nobles, where wine flowed like water and the tables groaned under mountains of food.

  Kerrion was glad when the day was over, the nobles sated and drunk and the populace tired after all the festivity. He retired to his study, formerly his father's, where seve
ral senior advisors attended him, awaiting his first orders as King. After dealing with a few minor affairs, he made his most important announcement.

  "Tomorrow I leave for the front. I shall expect to lead the greatest army ever assembled, you will see to it. We will launch an all-out offensive against Jashimari, and conquer it finally. Now that the Contara have weakened them, they can no longer withstand the might of the desert army."

  The advisors smiled, looking well pleased. "And what of Prince Verone?" their spokesman asked.

  "Prince Verone is an upstart," Kerrion said. "He has murdered his father-in-law and stolen his crown. We will crush his army and drive it from Jashimari. The prize is ours by right. We have fought this war for generations, we will not allow him to take what is ours."

  "But he is our ally," one advisor protested.

  "He made a bargain with my brother, who had no right to do so. He was not the King. I will not share Jashimari."

  The advisors glanced at each other, some clearly dismayed by what they perceived to be a betrayal. Others looked pleased by Kerrion's apparent ruthlessness and strength of conviction. Any dissent went unsaid before the King's air of determination and withered under his glare, which challenged any to quarrel with him.

  The spokesman declared, "You are right, Sire, it will be a great triumph."

  "The force that guards the pass is weak," Kerrion went on. "I want it overrun quickly and a lot of prisoners taken. On the march to Jondar, I shall countenance no looting, no slaughter, no atrocities. I will not plunder the land I mean to rule, is that understood?"

  Kerrion watched the advisors, aware that he was treading on thin ice. They glanced at each other again, and some shrugged. The one who spoke for all of them nodded. "As you wish, Sire."

  "Good." Kerrion shuffled the papers on his desk and sat back. "That is all. Have the army ready at dawn."

  Queen Minna-Satu gazed across the golden throne room, her eyes meeting the cold glance of Advisor Mendal with equal chill. She was heavy with child now, the day of the birth drawing near, and questions had been raised about it. Antare had returned to the front, his duty done, but it was obvious to all that the child she bore could not be his. The healers had predicted the birth within a few days, three tendays early, if Antare was the father, yet she was at full term.