"Where are you going?"
"For a walk. I need to be alone."
She lay down again. "You always are."
Guards snapped out of their sleepy poses when he passed, pretending that they had been alert all along. He climbed the stairs to the turret balcony that towered above the palace and gave a panoramic view of the surrounding city. There he leant against the railing and stared out at the distant forest beyond the metropolis, where somewhere, a she-cat had just given birth to a litter, and one of them was Rivan. He sighed a cloud of steam in the chill night air and raised his eyes to the stars, marvelling that a god should take the trouble to grant a wish to one such as he.
No, not a wish, he reminded himself. Payment for services rendered. Who would have thought that his bloody skills could earn such a reward? Or was this simply a twist of fate that Rivan was reborn thirty years after his demise, and Shamsara, seeing it, had used it to buy Blade's skills. That seemed a more plausible explanation, and one that did not please him, for it meant that the Idol of the Beasts had hoodwinked him. He glanced at the slithering black and grey silk that flew from the palace temple, its constant hiss an irritation.
Not only did it signify the mourning for Chiana's father, it also was in keeping with the waxing Death Moon that had set earlier, which Rivan had now been born under. Blade had also been born under a Death Moon, arriving three tendays early at the waning of the moon, much to his parents' consternation. The event had troubled the village seer, who had predicted that Blade would see much blood in his life. His parents had assumed it meant he would join the army and fight glorious battles for queen and country, but luckily they had not lived to learn the truth.
Blade closed his eyes and gripped the cold railing, trying to imagine what had happened after he had lost consciousness that day. Had his father's falcon survived, or his mother's house cat? The soldiers would have slaughtered Cavat and shot Keal, since powerful familiars were forbidden to women in Cotti. Ryana's humming bird would have died of hunger in the desert, as would Orcal's young doe.
Their familiars' deaths would have robbed them of the will to live, just as he had longed to follow Rivan. He had only glimpsed his siblings a few times before he had seen them die, or in the case of Orcal, helped to bury his body. He tried to remember the faces of the men who had murdered his mother and father, but they remained a blur, featureless shaven blobs, as they had always done.
Everything else about that day was preserved in his memory with crystal clarity, save for the faces of those men. Had they been amongst those who had dressed his little sisters in gauzy cloths and forced them to dance like brazen hussies in the sun? Had one of them sold Alenstra to the Cotti lord, and him to the officer who had kept him? They would be old men now, yet still he longed to kill them. Perhaps only then would his thirst for vengeance be slaked.
As the sun rose in golden glory over the city, he returned to Chiana's rooms, where she slept tangled in the sheets once more. If she had had the nightmare while he was away, it was over now. He gazed down at her for several minutes, wondering if he should wake her, then turned away with a sigh. Informing her of his departure would only lead to an argument, and he was not in the mood for one. Once more he had done as Shamsara wished and comforted her after her father's death. His duty was done, and now he was free to go. He headed for the door.
Chapter Twelve
Blade stopped his horse and gazed through the forest, trying to make out the slight movement that had caught his eye. A deer walked away, and he slumped. For three moons he had waited at his estate, much to Lilu's delight, foiling her efforts to fatten him up and taking some interest in the day to day running of his estate. He had not had the nightmare again, and spring had blossomed into summer. The Death Moon had waned and the Maiden, then the Warrior, had replaced it, until finally a Sea Moon had risen.
As the moon waxed, his restlessness took hold, overrode his usual patience and made him irritable. When he could bear it no longer, he had told Lilu he was leaving for a while. Her eyes had filled with tears, and she had looked away to hide them, but had accepted his decision. When he had said he would return within a moon she had forced a brittle smile and nodded, but he knew she did not believe him. For some reason, he could not bring himself to tell her the truth.
Now it seemed that his words would indeed become a lie, for he had been searching the forests for almost a moon, with no sign of Rivan. Although he sought shelter in villages as often as possible, he had been forced to sleep in the forest on many occasions, and had lost weight. Once he had become lost, and wandered for days in the wilderness until he found a stream, which he followed to a village.
Spying a clearing ahead, he urged his horse towards it, deciding to stop for the night and let the animal graze. As he reached the edge of the trees, a hush fell, and he stopped, glancing back. His horse whinnied, and he whipped around, all his internal alarms jangling.
Shamsara stood in the clearing, his beard snowy in the sunlight and his eyes twinkling with mischief. Blade sighed, a reluctant smile curling his lips as he dismounted and walked towards the old man. A sleek black mare stood beside the Idol, a grey owl perched on his shoulder and a spotted snow cat sat beyond him, washing its face.
"Well done, Shamsara, you managed to sneak up on me again."
The Idol chuckled. "I am good at that."
"I noticed."
"Unsaddle your horse, then we will talk."
When Blade had dumped his gear on the grass, he found the Idol sitting on a boulder he did not recall seeing before, and wondered if the Idol could change the landscape at will. He stood before the old man and cocked his head.
"Well?"
"Such impatience does not become an assassin, Conash."
"I have been patient for four moons. Longer, if you include the time before he was born."
"Indeed." Shamsara nodded.
"So where is he?"
"Close."
Blade squatted down, his gaze intent. "Will it be today?"
"Perhaps. You have done as I asked and made Chiana happy, but it has not touched you at all."
"Why should it?"
"I had hoped it would fan that spark in your heart. At least into a flame, if not an inferno."
Blade frowned. "What does it matter what I feel for her? You know I am devoid of such emotions. I have told you so."
"You are not devoid of them, you only deny them. You even deny her love for you, which is even sadder."
"She wed me for status, nothing else. That was made clear before our marriage, as I think you know. She claims to love me so she can control me. She has even had some measure of success in that regard."
"Thanks to me." Shamsara sighed and gazed at Blade. "I hope Tinsharon's gift is not wasted on you."
"Gift?" Blade snorted. "I think it is more likely you foresaw Rivan's rebirth, and used it to make me do your will."
"Ah, once more a pawn, used and abused by the powerful, eh?" The Idol shook his head. "You will find ill in everything, even the most precious gift granted to you by God. Such is your bitterness that you will not believe anyone could love you."
"Why should I? Why should they? There is nothing about me to love. Chiana could not think of a single reason, when I asked her."
"No, she could not, for she does not know what it is, but she does love you, and you know it. You even lie to yourself now, because you cannot accept it. You think others see you as you do, a loathsome creature devoid of redeeming qualities. A man twisted by the horrors of his past, mutilated by his captors and tormented by his guilt at the life he was forced to accept in order to survive. A cold-hearted killer and a liar. This how you perceive yourself, is it not?"
Blade nodded. "I think you have summed it up quite nicely."
"So why does the sight of blood sicken you? Why have you never killed just for the pleasure of it? Why did you save Lilu when she was beaten and avenge her suffering? Why did you rescue her son from his father? Why did you tell Jayon to fl
ee when the Cotti came to your keep? Why did you beat Bolt for shooting woodland creatures? Why did you save Lilu from her horrible life and bring her daughter to court? Why did you save Kerra as an infant? Why did you weep for all the men you killed on the night you retired? Why -"
Blade stood up. "Enough! We have had this conversation before, and it achieved nothing. Nor will it now."
"No one paid you to do those things, nor did you gain anything by them. You did them because, under all that ice and bitterness, you are a good man, and many people can see it, even if you cannot. That is why they love you. Rivan's rebirth is a gift from God, Conash, not a convenient happenstance that I have used for my own ends. Of all that you have lost, he is the only thing God can return to you. Rejoice in his love. Accept it, and be happy."
"I cannot." The assassin frowned, his mouth a grim line, and the Idol studied him with deep despair.
"You are indeed akin to a statue of a saint, Conash. Kerrion once described you thus. A face of purity and innocence, with granite eyes and a frozen heart. Your defences against this cruel world that has hurt you so much are indeed formidable, unassailable, and unfortunate. Rivan will shun you."
"Is that a prediction?"
"If you remain as you are, yes." Shamsara pointed across the clearing. "Go. He approaches yonder."
Blade hesitated, uncertain and afraid. "I cannot change what I am."
"You did not try."
"I do not know how."
"Why did you send Lilu to your estate?"
Blade shrugged. "I tired of her carping... and she begged me. I owed her."
"For saving your life, which you hate?"
"She did not know that."
"What did you feel?"
The assassin shook his head, frowning. "Nothing."
"A lie. You pitied her. You remembered your sister begging for mercy from the Cotti."
Blade's frown deepened, and he glared at the Idol. "I will thank you to stay out of my mind."
Shamsara sighed. "We will get nowhere if you persist in denying it."
Blade shrugged. "All right, perhaps I pitied her a little."
"Good, so you are capable of compassion." Shamsara glanced across the clearing, stroking his beard. "But this will take far too long if I have to drag each admission so reluctantly from you. Do you remember what you felt for your mother and father?"
"That was before -"
"Do you remember what you felt for Rivan?"
"Yes."
"Then you must make that memory a reality once more, and soon." Shamsara gazed across the clearing. "He is there. Go to him."
"How long has he been watching me?"
"He has never seen you." At Blade's despairing look, Shamsara added, "He is barely more than a cub. He still lives with his mother in the cave beyond those trees. He is learning to hunt, and this is the first time he has been away from his siblings. At the moment, he is trying to catch a mouse, without much success."
Blade nodded, still uncertain, then turned and headed across the clearing. He remembered how long it had taken him to make contact with the shy wood cat when he had been a child, and wondered if it would be the same this time. With every step, his nerves tightened and his stomach grew more knotted as the tension within him built. The clearing seemed huge, and the prospect of being reunited with his long-dead familiar became increasingly daunting. His steps slowed and his heart hammered. So many years had passed since he had lost Rivan that he could hardly remember what it had been like to have a familiar, and to be known so intimately. Affection was something he had learnt to avoid, and there was no relationship quite as intimate as that of a familiar.
As he neared the trees, he stretched out his senses in the almost forgotten way in which he had once touched his familiar's mind, seeking the young wood cat's presence. A few strides from the trees he stopped, his nerves twanging like over-tight harp strings, his stomach twisted with trepidation. The presence was there; warm, small and innocent, oblivious to his approach.
His breath caught as his mind filled with wonder and an old, half-forgotten yearning. For thirty years, he had not felt his familiar's warm presence, and to sense it again was almost overwhelming. He fell to his knees, forcing the shield of ice and hate to drop as he reached out with his mind, seeking the touch he had not thought to feel again. It came like a flash of fire, a sensitive, questioning mind filled with the scent of humus and mouse, mixed with faint pangs of hunger.
Blade sensed the cat's awareness of him, curiosity mixed with fear and a strange, confused recognition. Rivan forgot about the mouse and moved towards the clearing, seeking the source of the mental touch that drew him. Blade waited, as tense as a coiled spring, his eyes hunting the first glimpse of his reborn familiar.
Rivan emerged from behind a tree and lifted his head, locking eyes with Blade. He was a shadow against the leaves, his ears and paws too big, his tail too long, huge golden eyes dominating his immature face. For an instant a tenuous link was forged, filling Blade's mind with a wonderful warmth and a brief glimpse of himself, then the cat fled. Blade jumped up with a despairing shout.
"Wait! Rivan!"
Blade took two strides towards the trees and stopped, realising that chasing the elusive wood cat was the worst thing he could do. First contact had been made, and Rivan would return, drawn by the tenuous link that had formed between them. Bonding with a familiar always took several days, sometimes longer, depending on the beast. Clearly Rivan did not remember him, so for him it would be like the first time all over again.
Blade turned and walked back to the boulder where Shamsara sat, finding the stone and the Idol gone. He unpacked his bags, hoping he had enough provisions to last until the bonding was complete. What he had seen through Rivan's eyes bothered him. It gave him a glimpse of himself as another perceived him, unlike an image in a mirror. The last time he had seen himself through Rivan's eyes, he had been a laughing boy with warm eyes that danced with joy. Now he saw a sad, gaunt man with bitter eyes in a face as hard and impassive as a statue's, just as Shamsara had described him.
The next day he did not see Rivan, but sensed that he was being watched from afar. He cooked a meal, brushed his horse and had a cold bath in a nearby stream. For the rest of the day, he searched within himself for some vestige of warmth, some lingering spark of humanity, pity or compassion. He thought of Lilu and Chiana, trying to analyse the emotions they evoked, but found little he could understand.
Blade recalled Jayon's smiling, boyish face with its truant lock of hair, but nothing stirred within him. Only when he plumbed the memories beyond the veil of ice and pain did he experience the pangs of sorrow and loss he had felt at his family's death. Now he was dead and cold inside, devoid of emotions other than rage and hate.
The following day, he became aware of Rivan's presence shortly after he woke, and tried to glimpse the cub amongst the trees without success. Instead of indulging in the harrowing soul searching that only left him hating himself more, he spent several time-glasses exercising until the sweat ran down him. The joy of dancing lifted his spirits. His pride in his skill was the only form of happiness he knew. After another chilly bath, he did some target practice, which made him quite cheerful. Thinking about it afterwards, he realised that the only things that gave him joy were the skills that made him an excellent killer, and self-loathing clamped down once more.
The third day dawned cold and bitter, much like his mood, and he spent most of it staring into his campfire. In the afternoon, a gentle tug at his mind made him look up. Rivan sat twenty paces away at the edge of the forest, watching him. Blade held his breath, his insides freezing with hope and trepidation. The sight of the cat brought a surge of a nameless emotion that caught his throat and squeezed it. Before he could gather his thoughts, the cat turned and vanished back into the woods.
Two more days passed in a similar fashion. Blade exercised, cooked and bathed, washed his undergarments in the stream and hung them up in the sun to dry. Rivan watched him f
rom the forest, not showing himself. Blade whittled a piece of wood to while away the time, blunted a dagger and sharpened it again. The carving became a cat's face, changed into a woman who looked vaguely like Chiana, then degenerated into a shapeless lump of wood, which he threw away. In the afternoon, he spotted an adult wood cat at the edge of the forest, who gazed at him with open hostility before retreating. Rivan's mother.
That night, he dreamt that he was back in the palace, racing towards the window as Chiana leapt from the balcony, and he grabbed her wrist as she went over the rail. This time, however, his grip slipped, and he watched her fall, her eyes locked with his, her gown fluttering in the wind. She hit the stone with a sickening thud, and a red pool spread from under her head. He stared down at her, his throat tight, his heart a frozen lump, incapable of pain. He jerked awake and sat up shivering, his heart pounding.
He glared at the stars. "Stay out of my damned head, Shamsara!"
The next day, he went into the woods to gather nuts and berries to supplement his dwindling supplies, aware of the black shadow that dogged his tracks. Returning to his camp laden with nuts, he set about cracking them with two stones. The nuts proved to be tough, and shot off into the grass when he struck them, forcing him to hold them with one hand. He cracked two before his thumb got in the way, and he jumped up with a curse, wringing his hand. A wave of amusement washed over him, and he chuckled, then glanced around. Rivan sat at the edge of the forest, watching him with mischievous eyes.
Blade smiled. "Laugh at me, why don't you?"
The cat turned and vanished into the undergrowth, and Blade sat down, stunned by what had just happened. Rivan had broadcast his amusement into Blade's mind, as familiars often did, but which Blade had thought he would never share again. The bond was strengthening.
That night, Blade's internal alarms jerked him awake, and he sat up, reaching for his daggers. He could perceive no danger, his senses detected nothing in the darkness around him, no hint of movement or breath, no sense of presence. The woodland was silent and still, bathed in moonlight and clasped in night's chill hush. Throwing off his blanket, he pulled on his boots and jacket, strapping on his daggers. His alarms were never wrong.
The Queen's Blade VI - Lord Protector Page 13
