The Queen's Blade II - Sacrifice Page 8

  Though it was late, Arken was on hand to fill a tub with hot water. The smell of stale sweat was repugnant to the fastidious assassin, whose aversion to bodily odours was not only due to personal cleanliness. His training taught him that the pungent stench of an unwashed body could alert a prospective victim to his presence.

  Chapter Five

  Three days later, Blade lounged on the window seat of his room, enjoying the warm spring sunlight that streamed onto the pages of the book in his lap. The Queen was giving birth, and it was proving to be long and arduous. The palace was in a state of high tension until the Princess' safe delivery was announced. Chiana had been absent all day attending the Queen, and he was enjoying the peace and quiet. He glanced up as the palace temple's great gong sounded a mournful bull-roar that announced the Princess' birth to the city's populace.

  Other gongs further away took up the refrain, adding their clamour to the deep, resounding booms of the palace's and all but drowning out the distant cheering of the crowds that had gathered outside the palace walls to await the announcement. Flags and banners were raised and jobs abandoned as people poured into the streets to celebrate the arrival of their next Queen. The war seemed to be forgotten, or perhaps this happiness overshadowed it for the moment. Blade put aside the book and leant back, closing his eyes with a sigh. Reading was impossible now that the peace of the day had been shattered.

  The door burst open, jerking him from his languor, and he looked around. Chiana swept in, her face flushed with happiness and her eyes bright. He gave her a dour look as she ran to his side and grabbed his hands, hauling him to his feet with surprising strength. She bounced with joy.

  "Is it not wonderful? The Queen has birthed a healthy baby girl!"

  "Marvellous." Blade tried to extricate his hands, but she hung on.

  "Let us go and celebrate!"

  Blade glanced out of the window. "In the city?"

  "Of course, where else? There will be music and games, dancing in the streets, fairs and circuses, all manner of entertainment."

  He pulled his hands free. "No."

  "Oh, please, Blade! It will be great fun. There will not be another celebration like this... maybe ever, and I do so want to see it. Once I am Regent, I will not be allowed out of the palace."

  "Then go, I am not stopping you."

  Chiana frowned. "I want you to come with me. You are my husband, even if only in name. At least you can accompany me today, if you do nothing else."

  Blade raised a brow, a faint smile tugging at his lips. "Indeed? So will this be the last of my husbandly duties?"

  Her eyes slid away. "Perhaps."

  "If I come then so will Lirek and Jayon. You know I can go nowhere without my shadows."

  "Then let them, I do not care."

  The assassin sighed and glanced out of the window again. The distant cheering was barely audible over the bells' great clamour. "I dislike crowds."

  Chiana gave a snort and grabbed his wrist, dragging him towards the door. "For once in your life forget that you are an assassin and enjoy yourself."

  "I cannot do that." He hung back, but she hauled him along.

  "Of course you can."

  "At least let me change."

  Chiana stopped and turned to study his loose white linen shirt tucked into high-waisted black leather trousers. The shirt was open to the waist, owning no buttons or laces.

  "What is wrong with the clothes you are wearing?"

  "It is not suitable attire for an assassin in public."

  She smiled. "I like it."

  "No, I -"

  "This is a day of great celebration and joy. No one will care what you are wearing." Chiana pulled him forward again.

  "Chiana -"

  "Come on!"

  Blade sighed and allowed her to tug him along the corridor, passing a surprised Lirek with a helpless shrug. The bodyguard's eyes widened at the sight of a bright-eyed Chiana hauling the assassin along. He fell in behind them, and Jayon, whom they found taking in the scene outside the main gate, joined them. At least Chiana had had the sense not to request an armed escort for her jaunt into the city, Blade mused. He would have objected to the irritating company of more stern-faced guards. Jayon and Lirek were bad enough. He freed his wrist from Chiana's grip and followed her into the dancing throng that filled the streets.

  While it was inadvisable for an assassin to display his mark in public, it was not forbidden. There was a chance that he would be insulted or spat at, but that did not perturb him unduly. Perhaps it would serve to educate Chiana in the perils of being in his company, an idea to which he was not averse.

  Pipers and drummers set up a skirling tune, and people skipped and twirled. Red-faced men waving flagons capered to the merry tunes, slopping their beverages over any who came near. Blade's group had a few close shaves with being thus anointed, but made it to the marketplace unscathed.

  A fair had been set up days ago in anticipation of the Princess' birth, and stalls selling food jostled with puppet shows and circus acts. Jesters tumbled and laughed, jugglers threw their wooden balls and sticks high. Familiars helped their human companions in their trades. Monkeys delighted audiences with their antics and collected the coins thrown in appreciation. Chiana laughed and clapped her hands like a child, tossing a handful of silver to a particularly charming little ape dressed as a soldier.

  The assassin sauntered at her side, his hands clasped behind his back and his eyes scanning the crowds. Most people stepped from his path when they glimpsed his tattoo, shooting him dark looks. Those whom the mark did not intimidate tried to jostle him as they pushed past, but he sidestepped such trouble makers. Lirek's steely-eyed presence behind him, clad in the uniform of a royal guard, helped to avert unwanted confrontations. Blade had never before ventured into a busy street on foot with his tattoo visible, and found the experience unsettling. He resisted the urge to pull his collar closed, not wishing to walk about clasping the neck of his shirt. Chiana seemed oblivious to his discomfort as she moved from stall to stall, sampling sweetmeats and cakes, laughing at the sideshows.

  As the afternoon wore on without mishap, Blade relaxed his vigilance somewhat. He watched the performers instead of the crowd and sometimes smiled at their tricks. Lirek purchased a flagon of ale along the way and shared it with Jayon and the assassin, much to Chiana's disgust. Jayon vanished into the crowd at some point, lured away by the siren call of more good ale or perhaps a comely wench. Chiana bought a packet of frosted buns and thrust one into Blade's hand, ignoring his attempt to avoid the sticky gift. He nibbled it as they walked, disliking its sweetness, and ditched it into Fang's eager jaws when she looked away. Chiana spotted a lively show across the way and pushed towards it, forcing Blade to lengthen his strides.

  Five black-clad men materialised from the crowd right on top of the trio, shoving people aside to reach their targets. Two grabbed Blade's arms, the other three attacked Lirek. Fang sprang to his friend's defence, but a blow felled him. Lirek went down in a melee of arms and legs as his attackers bore him to the ground. People shrieked or shouted in alarm, recoiling from the tussle. Chiana swung around at the commotion behind her, and the men dragged Blade towards an alley, twisting his arms to prevent him from struggling.

  The crowd drew back from the skirmish as Blade's captors hauled him into the quiet, litter-strewn street. Chiana followed, her eyes wide with fright, her shouts for help ignored despite her noble attire. The crowd stared at the struggling men, clearly unwilling to become involved, especially since they were assassins. Blade twisted and fought, but his assailants were experts in their trade. Giving up the futile effort, he allowed them to pull him deeper into a dead-end alley bordered by middle-class merchants' houses whose occupants were all at the celebration.

  A group of assassins waited there, with Swift at their forefront. He grinned as the men dragged Blade, with much pushing and shoving, towards him. Sting stood behind him, his countenance as tight-lipped as ever. One man left the group a
nd strode back up the alley, his eyes on something behind Blade. When they reached Swift, Blade's captors forced him to his knees, evincing a growl of rage from him. He glared up at Swift, who leant forward, his hands on his hips.

  "I want my belt back."

  "I'll send my man to fetch it for you, bring him here," Blade retorted.

  "Don't insult me. It means nothing unless it's won."

  "So how do you intend to do that? Hamstring me, then challenge me again? I will not defend it again. You can have it."

  Swift looked puzzled. "It means so little to you?"

  "It means nothing. In another three tendays this city will be rubble. Who cares about a damned belt?"

  "I do," Swift said. "I've never been beaten, and I intend to win it back before this city falls. I'll prove to you and everyone else that I can beat you."

  "You'll prove nothing, because I won't defend it."

  "You must!"

  "I don't have to do anything."

  Swift stepped closer, his manner menacing. "You'll defend the belt, or I'll burn that mark from your worthless hide."

  Blade glanced at Sting. "That's not allowed. I haven't renounced my trade."

  Sting looked smug. "Technically, no, but in a case where an assassin can't complete the Dance of Death, it's been known to happen."

  "Lazy bastards who grew fat and unfit were punished thus, I have not."

  "You admitted that you can't complete the Dance," Swift pointed out.

  "I did not."

  "You didn't deny it." Swift raised a mocking brow. "Do you deny it now?"

  "I demand that my elders are informed of this."

  "I'm an elder," Sting stated. "There's no need for others."

  "Archer is senior. You can't judge me alone."

  "We're not judging you, only challenging you to a Trial of the Dance."

  "A Trial of the Dance is to weed out incompetents and malcontents, assassins who have slipped from their training and fallen into the debauchery of common thuggery or thievery."

  Sting frowned. "I don't need to be reminded of the laws of the guild. You've admitted that you can't complete the Dance of Death. The laws state that you must be able to, unless you retire."

  Blade looked away. "Then I retire."

  "No!" Swift swung on Sting. "You can't allow this! I must win back my title as Master of the Dance."

  Sting pondered this, frowning. "Blade, you were challenged before your announcement, therefore you must accept it."

  Blade raised his head to glare at the Vordan elder. "What is this then? A Duel or a Trial? If the former, I've already beaten this man, and will do so again without performing the Dance. If the latter, Swift can't win back his belt, and therefore the exercise is pointless, since I've already volunteered to retire."

  Sting glanced at Swift, looking perturbed.

  Swift snarled, "Both. Since you're so old and frail, we'll combine them for your benefit, to ascertain your ability to complete the Dance and defend your belt. You can't defend the belt if you can't complete the Dance, which means your prior defence is null and void."

  "Then I'll return your belt to you."

  "No!" Swift reddened with rage. "You humiliated me in front of my guild, I demand retribution! I challenge you to better my rendition of the Dance of Death. That's my right."

  "That's the right of an assassin wronged by another, the loser being stripped of whatever status he has. I have not wronged you. You have no right to claim a duel of this kind."

  "You defended your belt under false pretences. You can't complete the Dance. In this, you have wronged me." Swift looked at Sting, who nodded, but looked a little anxious.

  "If you lose, Swift, it's you who'll be stripped," the elder declared.

  "I won't lose." Swift glowered at Blade. "I claim the right to challenge him."

  Blade met Swift's hot glare with an arctic stare that made the younger man blink.

  "Stop this at once!"

  All eyes focussed behind Blade as a woman's voice rang out, and the assassin cringed inwardly as he glanced back. Chiana tried to push past the assassin who had blocked her path while Sting and Swift had argued with Blade. Now that the debate was over and Blade's fate decided, she evidently could not keep silent any longer. The Vordan assassin held her back, but Sting nodded and the man stepped aside, allowing her to march up. She stopped behind Blade and scowled at the Vordan assassins. Sting bowed with a touch of mockery as Blade faced him again.

  "My lady."

  "You will release Lord Conash this instant!" Chiana said. "He is under the Queen's protection. Harm him, and you will incur her wrath."

  "We have no intention of harming him, my lady. Our laws forbid it."

  "Then release him."

  Sting smiled, his expression hard. "You don't understand. He has been challenged to a duel of strength, nothing more. He'll be returned to you whole and hearty, I assure you."

  "Not if you make him perform the Dance of Death. He cannot. He was injured badly, and has yet to recover his strength. This is -"

  Blade twisted in his captors' grip. "Chiana, be quiet!"

  "Why?" She looked astonished. "You are not well. You cannot be expected to accept this challenge."

  He groaned and looked away.

  Swift sneered, "How prettily your wife springs to your defence." He stepped forward and gripped Blade's hair, jerking his head up to glare into his eyes. "You're an abomination, an insult to the Guild of Assassins. You're a lord, and wed, as if being the Queen's plaything wasn't enough. You're not worthy of your mark. You're nothing but a pet killer." He turned to Sting. "Enough of this arguing, let's get on with it. Bring him!"

  The men dragged Blade to his feet, twisting his arms when he tried to wrench free.

  "The Queen will hear of this!" Chiana raged, trotting after them when the assassins strode towards a door in the wall behind them. "You will not escape unpunished!"

  Blade glanced back at her. "Go back to the palace."

  "No!" She caught up and tried to free one of his arms. The man who held him shoved her, causing her to trip and sit down in the mud. Blade kicked him in the shin, and the Vordan assassin hopped and cursed, another taking his place as he bent to rub his smarting shin. The new man twisted Blade's arm until his tendons cracked, making him grimace and grit his teeth.

  Chiana picked herself up and hurried after the assassins, clearly determined not to let Blade out of her sight. Sting led them through a dingy building and out onto a less crowded common, where several stages had been erected for the benefit of performers. The assassins mounted the steps onto one of them and shoved off the four female dancers. The crowd that had been watching them hissed and spat, dispersing. Swift stepped up to Blade, who was shorter than him, but untroubled by this.

  "I'm going to enjoy watching you fail, old man."

  "You're going to do it here, in front of commoners? This is forbidden."

  "Not where I come from."

  "I have heard that you're quite the entertainer," Blade sneered.

  Swift grinned. "At least I've stayed in shape."

  "You may win, but you'll get no satisfaction from your victory."

  Swift's eyes narrowed. "If you're planning on making a mockery of this, you'd better think again. Unless you give your best performance, I'll burn that mark from your hide anyway. If you want to keep it, you'll have to try to win." He gripped Blade's collar and ripped the shirt from his shoulders. "You even dress like a damned palace fop."

  Swift swung away, and Blade's captors released him and quit the stage. Blade rubbed his arms, then stripped off the torn shirt and threw it down. The assassins formed a ring around the stage, settling down to watch, and Sting called up from their ranks, "The Trial will be according to the rules. The challenger dances first."

  "And who will judge?" Blade demanded. "You're biased. I'm not from your guild."

  "All assassins belong to the same guild. You'll be judged fairly," Sting averred.

  Swift straightened
from tying the metal pieces to his boots. "There will be no need for judging, since you won't be able to complete the Dance."

  Blade walked to the edge of the stage and leant against one of the posts that marked its perimeter. Folding his arms, he waited while the Vordan assassin went through a few limbering up exercises, stretching and bending to touch his forehead to his knees. Swift grinned and raised his arms, leaping into the first twirling jump energetically and landing lightly, his feet tapping out the set steps of the Dance of Death. Blade scanned the crowd around the stage, hoping to glimpse a black-clad figure who might be one of his own guild. If word of the Trial reached Talon or Archer, they might be able to stop it.

  The crowd, seeing a fascinating dance being performed, drew nearer, gathering just beyond the ring of assassins. Blade turned his attention to Swift, assessing the assassin's performance with critical eyes. If Swift stumbled or missed a step the Trial would be over, but this did not seem likely. The assassin performed the Dance with consummate ease and obvious enjoyment, using the whole stage. His steel-shod feet tapped out a perfect rhythm on the boards, his kicks reached above his shoulders and his leaps were high and perfectly timed, so his landing continued the rhythm of the dance.

  The Dance was open to additions, but not subtractions, and Swift added in several moves to prove his mastery, which only the best could do and still complete it. It also meant that Blade would have to make additions, lengthening the ordeal that he already could not complete. If he was forced to do his best, however, he was determined to try to win, for nothing would give him more satisfaction now than defeating the Vordan assassin.