Sacrifice: The Queen's Blade (3 page)

"I need Blade to slay them. The courts are too slow, and may disagree with me. I may be the Queen, but like Kerrion, my enemies may win if I am not careful. They cannot oust me, for they have no others to choose from, but they can slay the child and insist that I bear a pureblood Jashimari princess."

Chiana looked stunned. "I see. That explains much. It is a good plan, if it works."

Minna smiled. "I am glad that you agree. Even Blade was sceptical."

"But it will make you many enemies."

"That is why I need him here with me."

"Of course... but do you think that Kerrion will end the war when the princess is born?"

"No." Minna-Satu looked away. "Only when she is Queen."

"We cannot survive that long, not against Verone as well as the Cotti. The generals all agree that we can barely hold out until mid-summer."

"I know. Which is why she must become Queen straight away, and you must be Regent until she is old enough to rule."

Chiana gasped and sank to her knees. "What does this mean?"

"You know very well. My rule must be a short one."

"But how...?"

"The Queen's Cup." Minna stared over Chiana's head, her face resolute. "A painless end."

"No!" Tears shimmered in Chiana's eyes. "My Queen! You cannot!"

"I can and I must." Minna jumped up and walked over to the windows to gaze at the snow-covered spires visible above the garden walls. "No Jashimari Queen lives her full allotment of years. At fifty we must die, before we become senile, a law brought into effect after the madness of Queen Pilla-Veru. She ordered her entire court executed, and some say she started the Endless War.

"At the urging of her daughter, she was given a painless poison, which is now known as the Queen's Cup. So, I will take mine sooner than most, before the Contara overrun Jondar and murder us all. With Kerrion's daughter on the throne, the Cotti will be forced to protect her, and Jashimari will be saved. Nor can Kerrion conquer us, he is too honourable a man to steal from his own flesh and blood."

Chiana sobbed, covering her face as she knelt before the cushions Minna-Satu had vacated. The Queen turned from the window. "Do not weep for me, Chiana. If I do not do this, the Contara will slaughter all of us anyway. If they capture me, I shall suffer terribly before I die. I would rather a peaceful end. It is those left behind who will face the danger."

"Blade knows this?"

"No. Only that I bear Kerrion's child."

"And Kerrion?"

Minna shook her head. "He knows nothing, as yet."

Chapter Two

Blade proved to be a difficult patient, fidgeting endlessly and complaining about his treatment. When the camp commander found out who he was, he was moved to a room in the fortress, and the best food was lavished upon him. The new accommodations were comfortable, but poor, a chamber with a barred window overlooking the training yard, an empty wardrobe and a fireplace. A narrow bed stood against one wall, its sheets and blanket clean but well worn. A puffwood table was placed beside the bed for his medicines, and a hard chair provided Jayon with a place to sit when he came to visit.

The patrol leader ordered the fireplace swept out and a fire lighted, and had extra blankets placed on the bed. Woven reed mats were brought in to cover the floor and prevent the foundations' chill from creeping into the air. Blade complained about the healers' rough handling, and refused to take the bitter medicine they prescribed. Jayon spent many time-glasses trying to persuade him otherwise, and sometimes Blade did, just for the sake of peace and quiet.

Blade's weakness irritated him, and he constantly tried to build his strength with exercise. His inability to walk soured his mood further. At times, coughing fits would tear open the wound, delaying his recovery. One day, when all the healers were busy after a battle, Jayon changed the dressing, and Blade discovered that the boy had a gentle touch. After that, he demanded that Jayon attend him, and the young patrol leader was excused from his other duties in order to do so.

Blade complained about the lack of a bath, hating his stink and his scalp's itchiness. At first, he refused when Jayon offered to bathe him, unwilling to undergo the humiliation of being washed, but eventually he could stand it no longer. Although the healers warned against it, he agreed to allow Jayon to help him bathe.

The young officer had a tub carried to Blade's room and filled with steaming water. A fire roared in the grate to warm the room, and a cloth covered the window to keep out any draughts. Jayon removed the dressing and half carried Blade to the tub, helping him into it. When Jayon had washed those parts of the assassin that he could not reach due to the pain of his wound, Blade relaxed in the hot water and studied the youth, who stood beside the fire.

"Why are you so devoted to me, boy?"

Jayon smiled and shrugged. "You're a great man."

Blade gave a derisive snort. "What do you hope to gain?"

"Nothing. It's an honour to serve you, Lord Conash. Your deeds are almost legend amongst the men of this army. Many envy my position."

Blade frowned at him, perplexed. "Status then, is that it?"

"Why must it be anything?"

"It's certainly not my company."

"No," Jayon agreed. "It's not that. Perhaps I feel responsible, since it was I who found you and brought you here."

"Has your commander rewarded you for that?"

Jayon inclined his head, tossing another log into the fire. "I have received a commendation. I'll soon get a promotion too."

"So, you don't have to do this."

"No, I choose to. Perhaps I hope to gain your friendship."

"Friendship." Blade sighed, shaking his head. "I don't make friends, boy. I may have to kill them."

Jayon's lips compressed, and he picked up the towel. "I doubt that will happen. It's time you got out, before the water gets cold."

"No. Not yet. It's still hot."

Jayon sighed and set the towel down. "Why must you be so unpleasant all the time?"

"To prevent boys like you seeking my friendship."

Jayon chuckled, shaking his head. "It will do you no good, I'm not so easily put off."

"Pity."

"Don't you have any friends?"

"No. Being an assassin is a solitary profession, there's no room in my life for encumbrances. No one will mourn my passing when it comes. You should go and fawn on someone who will appreciate it, I certainly don't."

"I noticed," Jayon growled, annoyed by Blade's rudeness. "But perhaps you should be a little more grateful. Without me, you would have the healers changing your dressings, and you wouldn't be having this bath, to say nothing of the fact that you wouldn't even be alive." He threw the towel on the floor beside the tub and headed for the door.

"Jayon!"

The youth turned at the door, scowling. "What?"

"I would like to get out now."

"Why don't you do it yourself?"

Blade's brows rose. "You know full well that I can't. Do you want me to freeze?"

"You're too cold to freeze, Blade. You have a heart of ice. I try to help you, and all I receive is scorn."

Blade nodded, gazing at the water. "You're right, but my ill temper stems from my sickness. I find it galling to require a nursemaid. There was a time, not so long ago, when I could have run rings around you, boy. Now I'm reduced to this." He gestured to the tub. "I cannot even bathe myself, but must rely on you. Can you imagine how humiliating this is for me?"

Jayon sighed, mollified. "I can. I suppose you have a right to be ill tempered." He walked back to the tub and picked up the towel, helping Blade to the bed. When he was dry, Jayon put a fresh dressing on the wound and bound it in place, seated next to his patient.

"I have been in this place for more than two tendays, and still I'm too weak to stand," Blade grumbled. "When will this wound heal? What do the healers say?"

"They say it may take several moons. The injury was grave, most men would have died from it."

"According the healer, I did die from it."

"Yes, you did."

"You should have been a healer."

The boy looked surprised, then smiled. "I want to be one day, but while I'm young I must fight. Perhaps when I'm too old for combat, I will become a healer."

"If you live that long."

Jayon tied the bandage and stood up. "You need to sleep now."

Blade stared at the soot-stained ceiling for a long time after the young officer had left, thinking about what he had said and listening to the soft rattle of fluid in his chest. It must be nice, he mused, to be as content with life as Jayon. Free from bitterness, having never known sorrow and loss. It seemed ironic that the boy would admire a man so filled with bitterness and hatred that it had soured his spirit. He was unable to fathom Jayon's animal kin, for it was not one of the more obvious ones, but he was certainly not Shunned.

From the boy's sunny nature and positive disposition, he guessed that it was some sort of bird. Most healers were bird kin. Their inherent gentleness and caring came from the sensitive nature of their avian familiars. Since people took on many of the traits of their animal kin, healers were mostly bonded with doves or songbirds. The healer who had first tended him had had a bardbird perched on his shoulder, he recalled. Perhaps Jayon was bonded with one of the shy woodland birds that disliked the company of humans other than their particular friends. He closed his eyes and sighed.

A whisper of sound woke Blade, so soft that he could not be certain of what it was. A slither, a slight rasp, but enough to set off his finely tuned internal alarms and prompt his sleeping mind into waking him. He opened his eyes a slit. The lamp beside the bed had long since run out of oil, and the fire had died. The only illumination was the faint strip of moonlight coming through the window. He moved his right arm under the sheet, sliding it down to the hilt of the dagger tucked under the mattress.

Grasping it, he pulled the blade free and waited, sensing the presence of someone in the room. Turning his head as one asleep might, he scanned the darkness by the door. He was unable to make out anything in the gloom, but his other senses jangled with alarm. The sound of breathing reached him, and he smelt a spicy scent that many Cotti wore. Tense as a coiled spring, he waited for the attack.

The darkness moved, disgorging a grey-clad man who strode to the bed, committing himself to the assault. His arm rose to deliver a lethal stroke to Blade's chest, aimed at his heart. Blade pushed himself up with all his strength and thrust his dagger into the assassin's belly. The man stood frozen just long enough for Blade to pull the weapon free, but before he could use it again, the Cotti stabbed downwards, and Blade flung up his arm.

The Cotti's dagger cut into his forearm, and Blade grunted as he jerked free in an instinctive recoil that preceded his immediate retaliation. He lashed out in a scything stroke, sliced open the man's throat and loosed a fountain of blood that splattered down on him like warm rain. The Cotti staggered back and collapsed, his weapon hitting the stones with a tinkle. Blade struggled from the bed, determined to ensure that the intruder was dead. His legs buckled, forcing him to crawl towards his erstwhile assailant.

The door burst open, admitting two torch-bearing soldiers in a flood of light. They rushed over to the Cotti assassin, saving Blade the trouble of checking him. One of the men exclaimed in disgust and brought his boot heel down on something that crunched under it. Blade sagged as fresh weakness invaded his limbs, and the other soldier came over to him, snapping orders at his companion.

"Fetch a healer, Lord Conash is hurt, and alert the commander."

"No," Blade said. "Fetch Jayon."

The second soldier ran off, leaving his companion to place his torch in a sconce on the wall and try to help the assassin up, but Blade shook him off.

"Leave me be. How did this man get in here? Why was there no guard at my door?"

"There was, My Lord," the soldier replied. "He's dead."

"And where were you?"

"On watch further down the hall. We heard a noise and came to investigate."

"What did your comrade step on?"

"A scorpion, My Lord, the assassin's familiar."

Blade coughed, the sudden exertion bringing on the fit. The soldier, looking worried, went out and returned with two more torches, which he placed on the walls, filling the room with light. Blade struggled to stop coughing, a burning pain starting in his left lung, which the crossbow bolt had pierced. When at last he brought it under control, dark spots danced in his eyes, and the salty tang of blood filled his mouth.

Someone grabbed him and hauled him onto the bed, ignoring his growl. When his vision cleared, Jayon knelt before him, examining the deep cut in his arm. The young officer pried the dagger from Blade's fist and tossed it aside, calling for bandages and herbs. Soldiers now crowded the room, and the commander crouched beside the strange assassin's body and pulled off its hood.

"Cotti," he growled.

"Of course," Blade said, studying the golden-haired assassin. He was barely more than a boy, his face unlined and innocent. Spots of blood patterned his cheek, stark against the pallor that was creeping into his skin, turning it an ugly shade of yellow. A youngster, Blade thought bitterly, probably with only a few kills under his belt, and certainly not sufficiently experienced to take on another assassin. While Blade was safe from Jashimari assassins, enemy assassins were fair game to either side.

Commander Vandar straightened and looked at Blade with deep concern. "Are you all right, My Lord?"

"I'll live."

A soldier picked up the Cotti's weapon and sniffed it. "Sir, I think this blade is poisoned."

Jayon's head jerked up, and he frowned at the yellow-stained blade the soldier held. He swore foully, making Vandar rock back on his heels, and barked, "Bring water, lots of it!"

A soldier ran out, and Jayon tore off the bandages he had wrapped around Blade's arm, cursing. Blade watched him, a faint smile curling his lips.