"But that's what I thought!"
"I can't be held responsible for what you thought, friend."
"I withdraw the wager, then!"
Blade considered, then inclined his head. A good horse would cost about thirty silvers. Right now he could afford a nag. The serving girl, however, shook her head.
"I ain't letting you throw a dagger at me, assassin."
"Even if I promise not to hurt you? For ten silvers."
She frowned, glancing at the cork in the barrel across the room. "All right."
"Go and stand against that beam." Blade pointed to a support embedded in the far wall. He hefted the dagger, glancing at the sly-looking man. "Any part of her, right?"
The man nodded, looking a little nervous. "How will you do that without hurting her?"
"Watch."
Blade turned to the serving maid, who stood against the beam, wringing her hands. "Stand very still."
The girl nodded, then froze as he drew back his hand, holding the dagger's blade in a soft, expert grip. His fingers caressed the cold steel of the perfectly balanced weapon, for which he had paid three goldens to a master craftsman. He flicked his hand, and the dagger thudded into the beam above the girl's head, impaling the hair braided on top of it. She flinched, then gasped and tried to move away, but found that she was pinned to the beam. Blade strode over to her and pulled out the weapon, and she fingered her hair, a clump coming away in her hand.
Blade smiled. "It will grow back."
"You owe me ten silvers."
He nodded and limped back to the sly-looking man, who now looked disgruntled as well. "You owe me four and twenty silvers, friend."
The man opened his mouth to argue, then thought better of it and emptied his money pouch onto the table. He was a silver short, but Blade did not quibble. When he had paid the serving girl, he retired to his room. Tomorrow he would buy a horse and return to Jashimari.
Chapter Nineteen
Kerrion stared at Lord Batian, his brows raised in surprise. "When did this happen?"
"The Watch was summoned to a house in the slums just before dawn. Apparently there was a ruckus there earlier, a lot of shouting and dogs barking. The Watch found a number of mercenaries and several Cotti soldiers. Prince Dravis was killed in his bed, and it looks like an assassination. The amazing thing is, there were two dogmen in the room with him at the time, and two more outside his door. Three dogs were killed, and two of the men are in a death sleep now. The last dog was injured, and one of the guards was slain. Two whores were apparently there also, but they had already fled."
"How was Dravis killed?"
"His throat was cut, and he was stabbed twice in the chest. The mercenaries chased the assassin, which is what caused the uproar. A soldier and two dogs were killed, and another man was wounded. Also, a dead wood cat was found in the basement, and it looked like it had been tortured before it died."
The King leant back and clasped his hands, looking pensive. "Well, that certainly solves my problem. I wonder who did it, and who hired the assassin."
"The Jashimari Regent, perhaps?"
"Perhaps, although I would have thought that she would wish to execute him. If not for the method of Dravis' death, and the fact that the assassin was almost caught, as well as that he is supposed to be dead, I would be tempted to think that this is the work of the Queen's Blade."
"Perhaps Jovan was right?" Batian suggested.
"It is a possibility, although the method of killing is not his, nor the narrow escape. Blade is seldom even seen. But I would not have thought it possible for an assassin to kill Dravis with two dogmen in his room and two more outside his door. The number who were killed and injured during the assassination and the chase afterwards makes me think that it must have been Blade.
"Only he would have the temerity to assassinate Dravis while he had so much protection. Those are the same precautions I took. If Dravis did have him prisoner, and tried to force him to kill me, he has paid the price for angering Blade. This is what Minna warned me of, when I captured him. She said I had a sand cat by the tail. But I do not understand the wood cat. Surely Dravis knew that Blade is Bereft?"
"If he believed that the Queen's Blade still had a familiar, and tried to use it to force him to obey, that would explain it."
Kerrion nodded. "Indeed. But why would he think that? It is common knowledge that Blade has no familiar, although must people believe him to be Shunned." The King shook his head and spread his hands. "Yet I find it hard to believe that Dravis was such a fool. He must have had a good reason to believe he had captured the assassin's familiar, but clearly he had not."
"So the Queen's Blade is still alive?"
"Perhaps, but I will not raise Chiana's hopes with this. If he is alive, she will find out soon enough, I am sure." Kerrion sighed and rubbed his brow. "Have Dravis' body embalmed and sent to Jadaya for burial."
Batian bowed. "At once, Sire."
Chiana opened her eyes and gazed at the canopy above her, wondering what had woken her. A whisper of sound made her glance at its source. A shadowy figure moved towards her bed with silent steps, his face a mystery in the gloom. She drew breath to shout for the guards, but then he was beside her, his hand clamped over her mouth. The intruder held her pinned to the bed, and she lay frozen with terror. He leant closer, and the moonlight revealed his face.
"Chiana," he whispered.
Joy suffused her in a warm flood, and he removed his hand.
"Blade..."
A faint smile curled his lips as he straightened, and she grabbed his hand, afraid he would leave. He lifted her hand to his lips and kissed it, sending a thrill racing through her. She fumbled for the tinderbox, longing to light the lamp and see him better, but he took it away and put it out of her reach. To her surprise, he moved closer and stroked her cheek, brushing the tangled hair from her brow. She longed to ask him the dozens of questions that thronged her mind, but found herself unable to speak around the huge lump that blocked her throat.
Blade leant over her, resting his weight on the hand that he placed on the far side of her. She stared at him, her heart hammering, then closed her eyes as he bent and pressed his lips to hers. They were as cold as they had been when she had dreamt of his death, and she shivered, only now with pleasure too as thrills shot through her. He had just come in from outside, she reasoned, that was why he was so cold. Her hands crept up to clasp his neck, longing to pull him closer and share her warmth with him.
When he raised his head, she cupped his face and gazed at him, his skin chilling her hands. He climbed onto the bed and stretched out beside her, propped up on one elbow as his eyes roamed over her face.
"You are alive," she whispered.
His smile faded. "No. I am dead, Chiana."
"But you are here..."
"I am dead." He trailed chill fingers up to her throat, caressing it, and his eyes followed them. With a soft snick, a dagger slid from the wrist sheath, and he pressed it to her breast. "I want you to join me."
Chiana gulped, her heart fluttering as he pressed the cold steel to her skin. Blood oozed from the razor edge, but there was no pain, and she watched it soak into her nightgown. Almost, she welcomed it. To die in his arms was her only wish now. He turned the dagger so its tip was poised above her heart, and she smiled.
"Take me with you, Blade."
The icy steel sank into her breast, and blood spread from it like a crimson flower unfolding dark petals. She gazed at his impassive face, meeting his frigid grey eyes that seemed to glow in the darkness. In a blink he vanished, and a black cat crouched over her, drawing back its lips in a snarl. It spat, then turned and leapt off the bed, bounding away into the shadows.
Chiana sat up and shouted his name, staring into the silent gloom that mocked her with its emptiness. Fumbling with the tinderbox, she lighted the lamp with trembling hands and scanned the room in its illumination. Her pounding heart slowed, and she covered her face and wept.
Blade guided his horse th
rough the morning traffic towards the city gates. The animal was a sedate bay with mild manners and stolid gaits, which suited him. He disliked spirited horses with which he had to constantly fight for supremacy. This one obeyed without question, plodding towards the eastern gate, beyond which lay the road that led back to Jashimari. Soon he would be reunited with Rivan too, and a soft smile curled his lips at the prospect. His ankle still ached and his ribs hurt, but he refused to spend another moment in Contara. He was going home at last.
A farmer driving a gaggle of geese to market blocked Blade's path, and the assassin drew rein, waiting for the man and a boy, probably his son, to shoo the birds across the street. The geese set up a strident clamour, drowning out the crowd's muttering, the clop of hooves and rumble of wagon wheels. The birds' dusty scent filled his nostrils, and he sighed and rubbed his nose. He was in no hurry. Dravis was dead and he was on his way home. All was well.
The hairs on his nape prickled, and he glanced around. Two men in dark, dirty clothes rode up alongside him, on either side, but neither glanced at him. They too stopped to allow the gaggle of geese to pass, and Blade frowned, wondering why his alarms jangled. Certainly they looked like a disreputable pair, but they paid him no heed. No one had reason to harm him, and his garb would put most off attempting to rob him, even if his mark was not displayed.
The assassin returned his attention to the geese, which the farmer had almost cleared from the road, save for a few stragglers that his son chased. Blade urged his horse forward, keen to move away from the men who made him so uneasy. He glimpsed a movement at his side and ducked. Something hit him from the opposite side, and darkness slammed down.
A sharp pain in his cheek jerked Blade from the blackness. He gasped and raised his head, tasting blood, and opened his eyes. His head pounded viciously, and his mouth tasted like the floor of a pigsty. A stranger stood over him, regarding him with almost black eyes that glared from under thick, scowling blond brows and a mop of straw-like hair. The man's pugnacious, strong-featured face had a long, badly healed scar that tugged one side of his mouth into a perpetual leer. A fork-tailed rathawk perched on his shoulder, its sharp yellow eyes glittering.
The assassin discovered that he was bound to the chair on which he sat, his wrists tied behind the back of it and his ankles fastened to the legs. His ribs ached with renewed venom and his ankle throbbed. He glanced around at a cramped, dimly lighted room with mildewed walls and dirty straw on the floor, sensing the presence of more men behind him. Raising his eyes, he met the black-eyed man's hard gaze.
"So, finally you condescend to grace us with your presence, assassin," the Cotti sneered. "I thought Grodal had hit you too hard there for a while. It's about time you woke up."
Blade winced as his neck twinged, wondering how badly he had sprained it when he had fallen off his horse.
The Cotti smiled and thrust his face closer. "Are you feeling a bit bruised, maybe? What a shame." The man's eyes focussed on something behind the assassin, then returned to Blade's. "I think you got off lightly. How many Cotti princes have you killed now? Ten? Eleven? I'll wager you've lost count. Well, you won't be killing any more. Where you're going, you'll be lucky if you survive till winter. The longer you live though, the better, because from this day on you're going to wish you were dead."
The man straightened, glancing past Blade again, then went on, "Allow me to introduce myself. I'm Faradin, eldest son of King Shandor."
Blade squinted at him, the pounding in his skull making it hard to focus.
Faradin leant closer again. "Ah, now you're confused. You thought Kerrion was the eldest, huh? Not so. He's just the oldest legitimate son. The only reason I'm not the Cotti King is because my mother was a concubine. I'm three years older than Kerrion. Ironic, is it not? We put so little store in women, yet it's the status of our mothers that decides whether we are kings or paupers. Do you truly imagine that Shandor only sired legitimate issue?
"He was a king, and a virile man. He sired twenty-two illegitimate sons, and God only knows how many daughters. Those are just the ones he knew about, of course, but every time he visited one of his lords, he lay with their daughters. Doubtless dozens more sprang from his loins."
Blade lowered his gaze to the floor, disgusted at the idea that so many more of Shandor's sons were loose in the world to spread their evil. His pounding head would not allow him to think, and he grimaced, running his tongue over furry teeth. Turning his head, he spat, trying to rid himself of the foul taste. Faradin, it seemed, enjoyed the sound of his own voice, and appeared ready to ramble on forever about his father's virility.
Faradin glanced past Blade again, his expression wary.
The assassin raised his head. "I'll wager your father screwed goats and asses, too, Faradin. Most likely you have siblings out there who bleat and bray."
Faradin recoiled from Blade's soft words, and the rathawk spread its wings to keep its balance. The Cotti's hand swung up, then he glanced past the assassin yet again and lowered it. Blade was growing curious about who stood behind him. Faradin forced a stiff smile.
"So, when you choose to speak, you have a barbed tongue. Beware, assassin, lest I cut it out for you. You would do well to realise that you're at our mercy now, and insults will buy you pain, but not death. That's something you've always courted, I hear, and I'm not in the habit of granting wishes."
Blade sighed. "So, you plan to imprison me. Doubtless another of Kerrion's brothers is behind this. There seems no end to them. Every time I kill one, three more come crawling out of the woodwork. Illegitimate ones now, so at least I'm getting to the bottom of the barrel."
Faradin paled, and his eyes darted past Blade. "You will rue your insults, assassin."
"I'm sure whatever I say will make my fate no worse, since whoever's behind this wants me to suffer as much as possible anyway."
The Cotti nodded. "Certainly your fate is unenviable, but it can be made worse, I assure you."
"Beware that you don't bore me to death with your inane threats, since you want me alive."
"Allow me to make it more interesting then, and tell you what lies ahead for you." Faradin's eyes glittered. "You're going to a place called Andrango, in the northern foothills. It is a Contara prison where the worst criminals are sent, those who are not executed, that is. The Contara see fit to incarcerate some of their murderers for life instead. The belief is, I suppose, that there are worse fates than death, and one of them is to spend the rest of your life at Andrango." He bent to peer into Blade's face. "The food there, I hear, is full of maggots, and prisoners are not allowed to bathe. They sleep on stone floors, and it's a bitter place, very cold. An icy wasteland, by all accounts. No one has ever escaped from Andrango, assassin. You will be buried there, when you eventually die. How does that sound?"
"Boring."
Faradin straightened with a frown. "You try to goad me, but it will not work. Only a fool would not fear such a fate. No one will search for you, and in time you will be forgotten. That is a fitting end for a bastard killer like you."
Blade glanced up, a slight smile tugging at his lips. "My parents were married, Faradin, so the only bastard here is you."
The Cotti scowled and beckoned to someone behind Blade, who glanced up as two soldiers appeared beside him. They untied him and dragged him to his feet, twisting his arms behind his back. When they turned him towards the door there was no one there, but he was certain Faradin had not been looking at the soldiers. It had to be a Cotti prince, but which one? He cast Faradin a last look as the soldiers pushed him out of the door. It all made sense now. Faradin's familiar had spied on Blade while he had been in the village, and possibly before that. That was how Dravis had found him, and discovered Rivan's existence, although the Prince had been careful not to mention Faradin's involvement. This elder brother was important, somehow, and Blade wanted to remember his face.
The imposing walls of Andrango Prison loomed, grey and cold, over the wagon that the prison used for tran
sport, and in which Blade had spent the last tenday. Andrango had once been a border outpost, built by King Juno-Pulan, who had spent his reign in mortal dread of invasion from the mountains to the north of Contara. His fear had made no sense to his generals at the time, or historians since then, and had been proven wrong. The keep had been abandoned after King Juno's death, then converted into a prison many years later. It stood, a solitary sentinel, on the cold tundra that stretched from the mountains to the more moderate climes in the south.
The reason no one ever escaped from it was its isolation, for any escapee would need to traverse many leagues of barren, inhospitable land to reach civilisation, or even somewhere that hunting was available, and would starve long before they reached it. Blade languished in a cage at the back of the wagon, separate from the five other prisoners who shared his fate. Clearly Faradin was taking no chances on the assassin escaping, for Blade's wrists and ankles were also shackled. He surmised that another reason for his special treatment was to set him apart from his fellow inmates, thereby making them wary of him and increasing his ill treatment. At least, he was certain that that was Faradin's intention, but whether it would work or not remained to be seen. So far, it seemed to be.
The five other prisoners consisted of two disreputable looking characters whom Blade had decided were horse thieves, from their tough leather clothes and callused hands. One appeared to be a common murderer, with cold eyes and a nervous tick. The fourth was a short, thin man with darting eyes and a sheepish air, who fidgeted a lot, and Blade had him pegged as a common thief or pickpocket. The last inmate was a bear of a man who dwarfed his companions, with calm blue eyes, oiled, plaited hair and a brutish face. He did not strike Blade as a criminal at all, but rather a fighting man, perhaps a warrior or gladiator, which made his presence puzzling.
The assassin sighed and gazed through the bars again as the cart approached the tall walls and passed through an iron gate. Rivan followed him, somewhere far out in the tundra, where he survived on small prey. Men shouted, and the wagon rumbled over cobblestones as it entered the prison and halted before an imposing, ugly square building built, like the rest of the keep, from black-streaked grey rock. The iron grill door at the back of the wagon swung open, and three guards waited for the prisoners to disembark. The men climbed out and gazed around, stretching.
The Queen's Blade VI - Lord Protector Page 23
