The Queen's Blade VI - Lord Protector

by T C Southwell

"Bugger you. You did this to annoy me."

  "I knew it would. He's a brash bastard. Keep it."

  "It's no use to an elder."

  "It will make the earnings amongst the members fairer. Pickings are slim these days. Many young assassins can barely earn enough to live on." Talon gripped Blade's arm. "If he dares to challenge you, prove to him how inferior he really is, or else he'll brag that he's better than you. I know he will. Look at him. Your ankle is healed after a moon."

  Blade shook him off. Poison made a victory lap around the stage, holding the belt aloft. The lack of accolades did not dampen his triumphant smirk. Blade's eyes narrowed, and he shot Talon a frown.

  "All right. Tell him he'll have to challenge for the belt."

  Talon smiled and summoned Poison with a gesture, informing him of the change. The young assassin shook his head and marched over to Blade.

  "You're retired, Elder Blade, you can no longer hold the belt."

  Blade shrugged. "The elders seem to think differently. Argue with them about it."

  "Why are you doing this?"

  "You know that little victory lap you were making? That's bloody annoying when done by someone who's just been given something they didn't earn. If you want to act like you've won it, then you'll have to actually do it."

  "Then I'll beat you. You're too old to win it now."

  "I seem to remember defeating Storm just three winters ago, when you couldn't."

  "That was three winters ago. I'm better now, and doubtless you're worse. You're certainly older and slower." Poison raked Blade with a scathing glance.

  "You think so? Now you'll have your chance to prove it, won't you? If you defeat me, you'll be famous."

  "I'm surprised you'd risk your unbeaten status."

  Blade shrugged. "I don't consider it a risk. The day a second-rate assassin like you can best me, I'll know it's high time I retired."

  "It's past time you retired, old man."

  Talon thrust his face into their conversation. "No insults. You'll address Blade as Elder, Poison, or pay a penalty."

  Poison spat and stalked off, and Talon turned to Blade. "What is it about you that irritates some people?"

  "It must be my winning personality."

  "Or perhaps the fact that everyone knows he can't beat you, including him."

  "Let's get on with this. I'll accept his challenge without him completing the Dance. I intend to make this brief."

  Talon grinned and reclaimed the belt from Poison, holding it up. "Elder Blade will accept Poison's challenge of a Duel, for the title of Master of the Dance!"

  A muted cheer greeted this, dying down to an excited muttering as Talon handed the belt to his former pupil. Blade donned it and sat on the steps to strap the metal pieces to his boots. As the challenger, Poison had to start the Duel, and Blade bent and stretched while he waited for the young man to limber up. A burly assassin stood beside the drum that would start the Duel, awaiting the signal.

  Poison raised his arm, and the drummer pounded out a slow rhythm. The young assassin leapt high and landed lightly, his feet blurring in a buzzing rattle as he seemed to float over the stage, his arms rising in a graceful sweep. Blade could find no flaw in Poison's speed or technique, but then, he had not really expected to. Anyone who had won the belt in a big city like Jondar had to be good. The young assassin used a number of flamboyant gestures and high kicks, clearly intent on showing off all his talents. His sideways leg flicks crossed above the knee and his heel-clicking jumps carried him high into the air. His swift steps and fluid movements bespoke moons of rigorous training, and he rounded out his performance with a series of spinning kicks, ending with a double stamp.

  Blade stripped off his jacket and tossed it over one of the posts, turning to face his opponent. The drummer began the beat, and Blade tapped one foot, raising his arms in a slow, graceful gesture. Over the years, he reflected, he had gained even more speed with his experience. Nothing honed one's reflexes quite like dodging swords and crossbow quarrels, and, with Rivan's return, his cat traits had increased his suppleness further.

  Taking three running steps, he leapt high, hung in the air and landed in a faster version of Poison's buzzing rattle. He spun around the stage while he did so, then leapt high again, his stiff legs scissoring and his metal-shod boots clashing in a shower of sparks. He landed on one leg as the other rose above his shoulder, then brought it down in a stamp and spun, leaping as he did so.

  Raising his arms, Blade performed the same series of high kicks as Poison, forgoing the flamboyant gestures. He had to better Poison's performance before adding his own, and already he had added in the scissor kick, which he suspected Poison would be unable to emulate. Blade performed the spinning kicks faster and higher than Poison had, then began his challenge.

  Stopping in the centre of the stage, he placed his hands on his hips. His right foot beat out a buzz on the boards, while his left foot tapped a slower tempo. Gradually he increased the speed of his fast tapping, pushing the limit of his ability, until the buzz became almost a drone. Reaching his limit, his leg muscles burning, he spun and leapt, tucking up his legs as he achieved the extraordinary height that others had never been able to match. He clicked his boots together at the pinnacle of his jump and landed in a series of spinning kicks, lashing out with one foot, then the other as he moved around the stage.

  Blade leapt again, performing the stiff-legged, scissoring move that brought a bright flash of sparks as his metal-shod boots clashed. Landing lightly, he allowed his wrist daggers to slide into his hands and spun again, lashing out with them. Raising them above his head, he executed a complicated series of steps that beat out a simple tune, seeming to float across the platform. Lowering his arms, he spun again and ended with a single stamp, his chest heaving. He turned to Poison with a mocking smile.

  The young assassin glared at him, hesitated, then quit the stage. Blade grinned and tucked away his daggers as Talon came over, and a ragged cheer rose from the spectators.

  "Well, you certainly showed him, didn't you?" Talon remarked.

  Blade shrugged. "He's an arrogant bastard."

  "So are you, my friend. The only difference is, you have the skills to back up your arrogance. No one could match that performance. At least he had the good sense not to try."

  "It's easy to be the best when there's nothing else in your life."

  "I suppose so." Talon cocked his head. "How is your lovely wife?"

  "Probably wishing she had not married me."

  "Oh, I think not. You didn't see the look on her face when I told the Queen that the Guild had agreed to allow the marriage."

  Blade chuckled. "I always knew she had a hand in it."

  "At least you're no longer bitter about it. Come, it's time to judge the next batch of apprentices."

  Blade groaned and plucked his jacket from the post, donning it as he quit the stage. Talon led the way to the throng's front row, and several elders shuffled aside to make room.

  Dirk turned to Talon. "You'll judge the nameless boy who wishes to be called Gash, and Blade will judge the one who wishes to be called Inferno."

  Talon snorted and glanced at Blade. "I swear, the names just keep getting worse. Inferno, indeed."

  "It's better than Gash."

  "Not much."

  Four gangly boys mounted the stage, and an elder moved amongst them, muttering to each one.

  Talon murmured, "Ah, yes, the new rule. Nowadays, the boys know which elder will judge them. Apparently it's to enhance their performance. Personally, I think it's just to make them bloody nervous."

  "Nervousness is all part of the challenge."

  "That depends on the degree. You see the boy on the far side, who now looks like rabbit kin?"

  Blade nodded, glancing at the slender youth with short dark hair, and Talon smiled. "That's the one who wants to be called Inferno. He's just been told that he's to be judged by the Master of the Dance, Elder Blade. I'll be surprised if he doesn't fall off t
he stage."

  Blade chuckled, shaking his head. "You're a cruel man. If he does, I'll pass him, just because you've probably jinxed the poor boy."

  "You can't pass him if he falls off the stage!"

  "I can, and the rest of you can argue all you want. It's my call."

  Talon sighed. "I never thought I'd see the day when you would go soft."

  "I'm finding it quite pleasant."

  "You would."

  The drum began to beat, and the four boys tapped out the first steps of the Dance of Death. Blade studied Inferno, finding his performance rigid, but precise. Beside him, Gash gave a more polished rendition as the four boys moved in unison. Halfway through the Dance, a boy at the back stumbled and quit the stage in shame. The remaining three continued, gasping now, and Inferno looked ready to drop. Gash missed a step, and Talon shook his head.

  "That's it, he's out."

  "You're merciless," Blade said.

  Inferno's performance had improved, he thought, and, although it still lacked any form of grace, it remained precise. The Dance neared its conclusion, and the boys moved around the stage in the set discipline of the Dance. Inferno performed a graceless leap, and stumbled when he landed. His foot slipped off the platform, and he vanished over the edge. Talon slapped his knee and guffawed, then stifled it and nudged Blade.

  "What did I tell you?"

  "You bastard. That's your fault."

  Talon chuckled. "No, actually, it's your fault."

  "It's not fair."

  "You can't pass him. He's failed."

  Blade shook his head. "Because I'm judging him."

  "There's no excuse for falling off the stage."

  The Dance ended, and two exhausted boys slumped on the platform. Talon went to shake his head at Gash, who walked away with slumped shoulders while the last boy received Razor's handshake. Blade rose and walked around the stage, searching for Inferno. He found the boy sitting on the grassy bank beside several other apprentices, and approached him. The youth glanced up, and his mouth fell open. He scrambled to his feet, looking hunted. Blade stopped before him.

  "I would have passed you if you hadn't fallen off the platform."

  Inferno hung his head and mumbled, "I slipped, Master."

  "I'm not your master, boy."

  "You're the Master of the Dance."

  "Ah, right." Blade rubbed his brow. He had forgotten that assassins used the title when speaking to a Dance Master. "How much of your poor performance was due to the fact that I was your judge?"

  "Pretty much all of it, Master."

  "Come with me." Blade walked back to the steps and mounted the stage. The boy followed with his head down, looking nervous. Blade stripped off his jacket and flung it over a post, then stopped in the middle of the platform and turned to the apprentice.

  "I'm going to give you another chance, boy."

  Inferno glanced up, his eyes bright with hope and dread. "That's not allowed, Master."

  "It is if I say it is. Do you want another chance?"

  "Yes, Master."

  "Good." Blade glanced around as Talon mounted the stage and hurried over.

  "What are you doing?" he demanded.

  "I'm giving him another chance."

  "You can't do that. He's failed."

  Blade cocked his head. "Am I not the Master of the Dance?"

  "So?"

  "And am I not also an elder?"

  "So what?" Talon frowned.

  "Who outranks the Dance Master?"

  "The elders." Talon shook his head. "But now you're both."

  "So what does that make me?"

  "Pierce's peer."

  "So, if I want to see this boy dance again, who's going to argue with me?"

  Talon snorted. "Pierce, probably."

  "I'd like to see him try."

  Talon chuckled and shook his head. "Suit yourself."

  "I will."

  Blade turned to Inferno as Talon walked off, and raised his hand to signal the drummer. The gathering, which had started to disperse after the apprentices had finished, sat down again.

  Blade said, "I'll dance with you, and you follow my steps, understand?"

  "Yes, Master." The boy licked his lips.

  "Forget who I am, just do exactly as I do."

  "I-I'll do my best, Master."

  "Good."

  Blade lowered his arm, and the drummer pounded out the first beats of the Dance of Death. The boy mirrored Blade as he turned and tapped, his eyes never leaving the elder assassin. Blade kept to a slow, simple form of the Dance, as was required of apprentices, and Inferno matched him step for step. Although the youth lacked grace and finesse, his rendition was more than adequate. Blade accompanied Inferno to the end of the Dance, and when he rose, panting, from the final discipline, Blade held out his hand.

  "You've passed, Inferno."

  The young assassin grinned and wrung Blade's hand with surprising vigour. "Thank you, Elder."

  "Now go and have some pins stuck in you."

  The boy ran off, and Blade found Talon and Pierce waiting for him at the bottom of the stairs. He sat down on the last step and unstrapped the metal boot pieces.

  Pierce looked irritable. "That boy failed."

  "Not the second time, and the first time he was too nervous. He had an unfair disadvantage."

  "It's not up to you to decide such things. We have rules, you know."

  "A pox on your rules. He passed."

  "You just want to throw your weight around now, don't you?" Talon enquired.

  "Damn right. If the title of Dance Master isn't going to win Poison more work, then it's going to win me more influence, and you know it."

  Pierce turned away with a smothered oath, and Talon watched him leave with a rueful smile. "Already you're making waves. Yesterday we thought you were dead. Tonight Pierce wishes you were. You're a difficult man."

  "Tell that to Inferno."

  "Oh, I'm sure he'll worship you forever now."

  "That wasn't my intention."

  Talon cocked his head. "What's got into you?"

  "None of your business." Blade pushed the metal pieces into his pocket and stood up. "Now, I'm going to bed."

  Chapter Twenty Six

  When Chiana woke the next morning, she found her husband beside her, apparently asleep. She had been unsure of whether or not he would come to her rooms when he returned from the guild meeting, so she had taken the precaution of sleeping in his bed. Now she wondered if he would have come to her rooms, had she not. So many questions still plagued her, but, for the most part, she was just so happy at his safe return and improved temper that she had not asked most of them, for fear of annoying him. Most of all, she longed to show him off to the court, and that would happen later today.

  Propping herself up on one elbow, she gazed at him, still hardly able to believe he was here, and alive, and that this was not another dream. She glanced around as Rivan stretched and yawned at the end of the bed.

  When she looked at Blade again, she found him watching her with a slight smile. To her surprise, he sat up and pushed her back, straddling her with the lithe grace of a panther as he leant down to kiss her cheek. Being around Blade when he was in a playful mood, as he often was these days, was much like being a great cat's toy, she had discovered. He smiled and lowered himself slowly, sliding his arms under her to hold her close in a brief embrace, then he was gone. A thud and hiss from the end of the bed told her that he had pounced on Rivan, and she sat up.

  Blade had the cat pinned, and Rivan struggled and spat, biting the assassin's arms just hard enough to make him hiss and grimace. The cat brought his back legs into play and shoved Blade away with a powerful kick. The two rolled off the bed and landed on the floor with a thud, then the cat bounded away to leap onto the chest of drawers on the far side of the room, making several ornaments rock and teeter. Chiana held her breath, but nothing fell off, for a change. Blade sat up, shaking hair from his eyes, and started towards the cat.
<
br />   "Blade..."

  He turned, raking her with an enquiring glance.

  "Have the two of you not broken enough ornaments?"

  The assassin smiled and went over to the basin to splash his face. Rivan jumped down to lie in a patch of sun and wash his, as if emulating his friend. Since Blade had brought his familiar to the palace, the toll of broken ornaments and torn curtains had mounted, yet she could not complain. The cat frequently lay in ambush for his friend, and Blade's progress through the palace was usually marked by thuds, grunts and smashing pottery these days, leaving a trail of detritus in his wake. Chiana was almost inclined to assign a posse of servants to follow him around with brooms to clean up the mess.

  The assassin seemed to have taken on not only the feline aspects that marked all cat kin, but also the obstreperous, affectionate nature of his young familiar, and she blessed Shamsara daily for Rivan's rebirth. Yet despite his now frequent, though usually mocking smiles and rather playful affection, he retained his air of subdued menace. If anything, it had grown stronger, now coupled with a powerful animal magnetism on top of his former cold charisma.

  Chiana rose and went to her rooms to dress, and Blade joined her there for breakfast a little later. He still picked at his food, and exercised in the gardens every day. He had cut down on his drinking, which pleased her. After the meal, he rose and pushed open the doors that led into the gardens, then held out his hand to her as Rivan trotted out and vanished into the shrubbery. Chiana smiled and took it, and he led her along a path towards the bird bath in the clearing, where he exercised.

  Chiana sat on the wooden bench and watched him begin the slow movements that he often used to keep fit. She was a little disappointed that he did not dance, but he usually did that in the afternoon. To her delight, when he had completed the slow routine, he spun and leapt, his feet tapping out a complicated tattoo on the stones around the bird bath. His hands moved in a series of swift actions whose purpose she did not guess at until six daggers thudded into the bench all around her with a quick rat-a-tat-tat.

  Blade grinned as he walked towards her, and she glanced at the glinting blades embedded in the wood so close to her and rubbed her arms with a shiver. He leant over her to tug them out and tuck them away into their various sheaths, then sat beside her and chuckled.