Lost in his thoughts, Blade took little notice of the dark figure that followed him into the city, keeping well behind and ducking out of sight whenever the assassin glanced around. Discounting it as one of Minna’s spies, sent to watch over him or spy on him, he paid it no heed. The Queen’s warning made him a little more alert than usual, and he kept a wary eye on side streets and alleys. Making his way through the more affluent parts of the city, he headed for a middle class area, where honest merchants lived and plied their trade.
At his favourite alehouse, he chose a table in a corner and imbibed several tankards of good ale, relaxed and enjoyed the atmosphere. The taproom had a welcoming air to it, with clean rushes on the floor and well-worn, but comfortable furniture. The innkeeper was an honest fellow with a merry disposition, who owned a well-stocked cellar and had a plump wife who cooked a wonderful rabbit stew. Horse brasses adorned the walls, and polished pots hung over a massive fireplace on the far side of the room, where often a sheep carcass turned to provide meat for the hungry patrons.
Just before dusk, Blade started back towards the palace, filled with the warm glow of beer. His time at the alehouse had relaxed his vigilance, for nothing untoward seemed imminent. When a figure strode out of an alley beside him and collided with him, he recoiled with a startled oath. Alarm penetrated his ale-soaked brain when the man gripped his arm and gave it a powerful tug that yanked him off balance and sent him stumbling into the side street. Before he could regain his equilibrium, someone grabbed his arm again and swung him into the wall, knocked the wind out of him and made bright stars dance in his eyes. His knees buckled, and he slid down the wall, too stunned to offer any resistance as boots thudded into him from all sides.
The alcohol in his blood slowed him further, and all he could do was raise his arms to protect his face as the men punched the air from his lungs and bruised his ribs with savage kicks. After several minutes, they dragged him upright, twisting his arms behind his back. He shook his head, trying to clear it as he was pushed back against a wall. Blood sprinkled his chest, running from his nose, and he wondered dimly if it was broken.
Four brutish men stood around him, their faces wreathed in sneers and gleeful grins. Two held his arms, and a third drew back his fist. Blade ducked, and the thug’s fist thudded into the wall. The man howled, clutching his hand as he hopped and cursed foully. Blade struggled to free his arms, but the men held him. The fourth roughneck stepped up and drove his fist into Blade’s stomach. He doubled over with a groan, coughing. The man gripped Blade’s hair and pulled him upright, punching him in the jaw. The assassin spat blood, jerked his hair from the thug’s grip and kicked him in the crotch. The man shrieked and collapsed in a tangle of arms and legs, curling into a foetal ball on the cobbles.
The sight of his whimpering comrade apparently angered another of Blade’s captors, who swung a fist. The assassin jerked free and ducked, butting the man in the stomach. The thug went down with a grunt, and Blade almost fell on top of him as his legs wobbled. He struggled to free himself from the roughneck who held his other arm, but the man punched Blade in the side of the head as the assassin lashed out with his free hand. The winded man, seeing the assassin on the brink of escaping, drew a knife and charged. The weapon skittered off Blade’s chainmail and impaled his biceps.
Blade grunted and swung on his assailant as he released a dagger from its wrist sheath and let it slide into his hand. With a swift slash, he opened a wound across the man’s chest from shoulder to hip. The thug howled and dropped his knife to clutch the wound. The last man whipped an arm around the assassin’s neck, and a dagger sank into his hip just below the chainmail. Blade tried to twist free, but the man’s arm tightened, crushing his windpipe. Before his vision darkened, Blade flipped his dagger over, gripped it point down and thrust it into the thug’s belly. The man released him with a coughing grunt, doubling over to clutch the wound.
Blade staggered away, one leg dragging from the wound in his hip, shock and alcohol slowing him further. The dark alley swam in and out of focus as he tried to get his bearings. The two thugs who were not bleeding hobbled after him. He tried to increase his pace, his breath hissing through his bruised throat. Before he reached the main street where people might see the struggle and call the Watch, one of his pursuers tackled him, bringing him down hard enough to punch the wind from his lungs, and the dagger clattered away.
The second man pinned his arms and twisted them behind his back, and they dragged him back into the alley. Blade struggled, shouting for help, but they held him fast and bound his hands with coarse rope. A dirty rag was stuffed into his mouth and tied around his head. They hauled him further down the alley, along two dim side streets and down a flight of stone steps into a musty cellar. There he was flung onto a bed of damp straw, and the thugs slammed the door and barred it as they left, enveloping him in darkness.
For a while he twisted and tugged to try to loosen the ropes on his wrists, but to no avail. When his skin grew raw from the chafing, he slumped back on the straw, his wounds throbbing and his head aching. The ropes bound his remaining dagger to his wrist, so he could not free it. The stench of damp and mildew, mixed with something fouler, made him fight the urge to vomit. Inwardly he cursed whoever was responsible for this, and wondered what horrors lay ahead.
Chapter Thirteen
Queen Minna-Satu picked at her midday meal without appetite. Her sense of foreboding increased by the time-glass, and she had been unable to relax since learning that Blade had not returned after going into the city the previous day. A squad of soldiers had been dispatched to search every alehouse and brothel, and would return at any moment.
She looked up as Chiana entered and prostrated herself. “What news?”
“None, My Queen. The soldiers are back, but they did not find him.”
Minna jumped up, almost upsetting the tray, and strode over to the windows. “He is in trouble, I know it. Those who tried to kill Kerrion have taken him, which means they will attempt the Prince’s life again, this time secure in the knowledge that I cannot retaliate. I could easily hire another assassin, although he may not be as good as Blade. He may fail…. Yet I am sure they have a better reason than that….” She frowned as a far worse thought struck her. “They plan to torture him, and find out what he knows.”
Chiana wrung her hands. “What does he know?”
“Too much,” Minna retorted. “If he talks, it could ruin everything.”
“How?”
The Queen waved a dismissive hand. “I cannot tell you, but if my plans become public now, it would be a disaster.”
“I doubt Blade would reveal them, My Queen.”
“So do I, but I will not have him suffer at the hands of traitors and thugs. It is not right.” She paused, staring out at the sunny garden. “I have orders for Captain Redgard. The Prince must be returned to the desert at once. He must be escorted by a squad of my best men, those who can be trusted. He must be taken to the pass and released on a horse, unharmed. Is that clear?”
Chiana nodded. “Yes, My Queen.”
“See to it, then return to me.”
Minna waited by the window while Chiana went to pass on the orders. The winding streamers of dream silk seemed to mock her, and she glared at the sombre cloths that rippled in the breeze above the temple. Today, in keeping with the Death Moon, the priestesses had hoisted grey, scarlet and black, to bring death and blood into the dreams of the unfaithful. The faint hissing and snapping made her shiver. When Chiana returned, Minna tore her eyes from the ominous cloth and turned.
“Despatch as many squads of soldiers as can be spared into the city, tell Redgard to lead them himself. I want every house searched; every business, cellar and loft. Round up all known criminals, every thief, pickpocket and beggar, and offer a reward of gold to the man or woman who can lead us to Lord Conash.
“Put out the word that whoever is found holding Lord Conash will face a sentence of death. Inform the advisors, in particular
Mendal, Motice and Pelin, that if the assassin is not found alive, I shall find out who killed him and have him executed, slowly. Contact all my spies; have them listen out for any clue. I want him back, Chiana, alive.”
The chief advisor nodded and took a step back. “At once, My Queen.”
“I did not give you leave to go.”
Chiana froze, her eyes wide.
Minna strode up to her. “Has Prince Kerrion left yet?”
“I believe he is even now in the courtyard, preparing to ride out.”
Minna-Satu swept past her and into the golden hall, startling the guards outside her door. They leapt to attention as she marched past, then fell in behind her, spears ready. Chiana hastened after her as the Queen headed for the courtyard, surprising sentries, who sprang to open portals in her path, some joining the growing retinue in her wake.
In the courtyard, Prince Kerrion looked up from adjusting his horse’s girth at a commotion behind him. Queen Minna-Satu strode into the sunlight, her hair gleaming like polished ebony. Two dozen soldiers fell to their knees and prostrated themselves at the sight of their sovereign, so rarely seen outside the palace or its enclosed gardens. She stopped several feet away, and he accorded her a slight, stiff bow.
“Prince Kerrion, I hope our talks have brought us some understanding of our troubles, so in time we may resolve our differences and work towards peace. I return you unharmed to your kingdom, and wish you well. Always remember that you were my prisoner, and I set you free. Let it be something to lessen the rancour between our kingdoms. We shall not meet again. I bid you farewell.”
Minna swung away and re-entered the palace, leaving Kerrion with his mouth open to reply, but no one to address. The soldiers followed her, and Kerrion, his escort, and Chiana stared after them. The Prince recovered first, turning to Chiana.
“What was that all about? Why the sudden change of plans?”
Chiana was clearly bemused, and he surmised that events had moved with bewildering rapidity, leaving her placid nature floundering in their wake. She gathered her wits with what appeared to be a conscious effort.
“Lord Conash has disappeared,” she explained. “The Queen blames it on the same traitors who tried to have you assassinated. Without the threat of the Queen’s Blade, she must send you to the safety of your land while she endeavours to find those responsible.”
“So, I have Blade to thank for this. He is probably drunk in some gutter, I should not wonder.”
“The Queen will tear the city apart to find him, and without you here, she can bring the traitors to trial.”
“I pity any who fall foul of her in her present mood.”
Chiana bowed. “If you will excuse me, Prince Kerrion, I have matters to tend to.”
He nodded, gazing at the doorway through which the Queen had vanished, a faint frown furrowing his brow. As Chiana left, he whispered, “Farewell, Minna.”
An officer gave the order to mount, and the Prince swung aboard his horse, gathering up the reins.
Minna stood on her balcony, where she could watch the cavalcade of Kerrion’s escort as they rode out of the palace gates into the city streets. A breeze loosened her hair and played with it, causing tendrils to fall about her face. Minna brushed them away as she strived to catch a glimpse of Kerrion amongst the troops, silently cursing the distraction of the hissing dream silk that flew on the temple behind her. The Prince’s golden head stood out amongst his guards’ polished silver helmets, and his short, dark blue cloak billowed from his shoulders as his horse pranced, eager to be off.
Angrily she brushed away the tears that ran down her cheeks. She watched until the buildings swallowed him up, wondering if he had once glanced back at the palace. Minna looked up at the great golden bell that hung in its tower high above her, which tolled only upon a queen’s death, every twenty-five years. Soon it would toll again, for her. She glanced down at a brush on her leg, meeting Shista’s eyes as she gazed up at her with deep concern. Minna knelt and slipped her arms around the cat’s neck, burying her face in her fur.
By the time Chiana returned, the Queen had regained her composure and sat amongst her cushions, the big cat purring at her side.
“The Prince has left, My Queen.”
Minna nodded. “What did he say?”
“Why, nothing, My Queen. He asked about the sudden change in plans, and I told him.”
“So, he was well pleased to be on his way?”
“I suppose so, but he did not look pleased or sad; maybe a little pensive, is all.”
Minna gazed at Shista, hiding her expression. “Leave me. Return only with news of Blade.”
The chief advisor made her abasement and left, looking a little alarmed.
In the city, the Queen’s men set about their duty with fervour. The orders they had received told of the Queen’s anger, which spurred them to extreme measures. They herded people from their homes and searched the dwellings from roofs to foundations. Businesses were disrupted as soldiers searched storerooms and cellars. Criers spread the news of a rich reward offered, and scores of criminals were arrested and questioned. By the end of the day, the populace’s interest or anger was thoroughly aroused, and the search went on into the night.
Blade opened his eyes as the cellar door banged open and four torch-bearing men descended the steps. From their beefy faces and the bandages two of them wore, they appeared to be the same thugs who had attacked him in the alley. Two gripped his arms and hauled him to his feet, and he groaned as the wound in his hip tore open. A roughneck yanked the gag from Blade’s mouth, and he spat out its foul taste. The man, who wore a bandage visible through the long, blood-stained tear in his shirt, thrust his face close to Blade’s.
“The Queen wants her pet assassin back, Lord Conash,” he sneered. “Got herself mighty steamed up about it, too.” His voice dropped to a growl. “But she’ll not see you alive again unless you tell us what we want to know.”
Blade met the man’s eyes. “And what’s that?”
“Her plans. Why did she keep the Prince here so long? Why didn’t she execute him? Why has she now sent him back all of a sudden? Tell us, or you suffer.”
“Has she?” Blade muttered, and the cutthroats twisted his arms. “If your masters are too stupid to know the Queen’s plans are no secret, I’ll tell you. She was trying to make peace with the Cotti Prince. Perhaps she kept him because he wouldn’t agree.”
The lout glanced at one of his cohorts, who shrugged. Blade judged, by their obvious stupidity, that the questions came from someone else, who did not wish to reveal his identity. This gave him some hope that he might be released, and he took courage from it.
“Why has she sent him back now?” the thug demanded again.
“Probably because there’s a group of traitors, undoubtedly your masters, who plotted to assassinate the Prince. I killed one of them, Lord Mordon, and that’s no secret either. With me out of the way, she had no choice but to release the Prince before your masters killed him. Now she has a free hand to arrest and execute whomever she pleases, without the populace accusing her of protecting an enemy prince.”
“You talk too much.” The cutthroat dug his fingers into Blade’s jaw to force his mouth open and stuffed the gag back in. “I hope I’m the one who gets to kill you.”
The man turned away, and his companions dumped Blade on the straw again before following their leader up the steps, leaving the assassin in darkness once more.
For three days, the Queen’s soldiers ransacked the city, turning it and its denizens upside down in their zeal. Minna read the reports of the chaos the search caused with some disquiet, but her anger tempered her concern, and a deep-seated need to find Blade alive. Loyal citizens turned upon their neighbours, accusing them of the deed. Dozens were arrested and questioned, dozens more clamoured for the reward, sending the soldiers of fruitless searches that found other dark-haired men. Many people took up searches of their own to claim the prize.
Fights erupted in
the streets as ostensibly righteous citizens, intent on finding the Queen’s Blade, invaded homes and pilfered valuables in their search. Petitions poured into the palace, and Chiana spent most of her time dealing with them, as well as irate lords and citizens claiming damages. Minna kept to her rooms, denied audiences and ignored her advisors’ demands.
Blade lay motionless to conserve his strength and keep his suffering to a minimum by not aggravating his wounds. His arms had stiffened in their uncomfortable confinement, and moving only brought fresh pain. Rats scuttled and squeaked in the straw, at times crawling over him and waking him from the uneasy doze he fell into from time to time. In the darkness, he had no idea of how much time had passed. It seemed an eternity, and only his hunger and thirst gave him some measure of it.
The sounds of the search came close to his prison several times, and perhaps it was this that kept his jailers away. Each time the tramping of soldiers’ feet and shouted commands drew close, his heart beat a little faster, but as they moved away again, his hopes faded. When the tramping and shouting came close once more, he paid it little heed, certain they would pass him by yet again.
The cellar door was kicked open, and heavy feet thudded down the steps. Someone lighted a torch and thrust it close to where he lay, then a startled exclamation filled him with hope and relief.
“Lord Conash!”
Two soldiers fell to their knees beside him. One pulled out the soggy gag; the other cut the ropes that bound his wrists. Blade hissed as fresh pain surged through him, grimacing when he tried to move. The men cut the ropes on his ankles, then tried to pull him to his feet. Blade groaned, and a voice barked orders from the top of the steps.