Blade stared into his wine cup, fed up with the tolling of the great golden bell that echoed through the city. For the first day of mourning, the populace of Jondar had vented its grief in singing, prostration towards the distant palace and visits to temples to light flames and pour water for the dying Queen. Tashi-Mansa had reached her fiftieth year, and taken the Queen's Cup. The initial fervour had died down, and an air of desolation hung over the city. Blade found it odd, since Jashimari queens were distant, invisible women whom commoners were lucky if they saw once in their lifetimes. That was when the newly crowned Queen stood upon the Plinth of Power outside her gold-plated palace and pledged herself to her people and the Endless War.
That happened every five and twenty years, when the Elder Queen drank poison and died. As traditions went, it was pretty macabre, he thought, but served to ensure that Jashimari queens did not live long enough to become senile and dangerous, as had happened once, ages ago. The great golden bell in its tower tolled for three days, by the end of which the Elder Queen was dead. Her daughter was crowned mere time-glasses after the old Queen took the poison, however. The coronation took place within the palace, unseen by commoners, who packed the streets around it to glimpse the young Queen when she emerged and ascended the Plinth to make her pledge.
Curiosity had driven Blade to a rooftop not far from the palace gates, which gave him an excellent view of the Plinth. The gates had swung open at the appointed time, just as Queen Minna-Satu had emerged from the palace's arched doorway and paced down the long, tree-lined avenue that led to the Plinth. Blade recalled the mighty golden sand cat that had walked at her side, a jewelled collar around her throat. The Queen's familiar. He had used his spy-glass to gain a better view of the young Queen in her sweeping turquoise gown and sheath of golden chain mail. Twenty handmaidens had carried the fur-lined train that stretched behind her, and curled white plumes had bobbed in her hair.
From his vantage, he had watched her ascend the steps that ran up the back of the Plinth to the top, where attendants waited to hand her a six-foot sceptre. Her small stature had surprised him. She had waited for the golden bell to peal, and, as the sound faded, she had spread her arms and cried the brief pledge before the next peal sounded.
“I pledge myself to you, Jashimari! From this day forth, for five and twenty years, I am your queen. I shall defend Jashimari. I shall uplift its people and uphold your honour. I shall end the Endless War!”
The crowd had cheered and trumpets blared, then the golden bell had drowned them all out. Queen Minna-Satu had turned and descended the Plinth, her duty done, and Blade had frowned at her proclamation. It puzzled him still. End the Endless War? How was that possible? Why would she wish it? By the time the young Queen had re-entered the palace, he had shrugged it off. Certainly it made no difference to him what she vowed to do.
Three days later, the city seemed to hold its breath while it waited for the last peal of the bell that it would not hear again for another five and twenty years.
Blade sipped his wine and glanced at Rendal, who polished cups behind the counter. The taproom was empty apart from him and Lilu, who dozed on a bench in the corner, her mouth open. Most chose not to drink, and some did not eat either, during the Elder Queen's three dying days, out of respect. Blade had not changed his habits, however. He had no interest in queens, dying or otherwise. Ironically, tomorrow would be a day of manic celebrations, and the taproom would no doubt be packed. The assassin did not plan to partake in that, either.
The silence between the bell's peals seemed longer this time, and Blade looked up. The silence grew more profound as the sounds of the crowd outside faded away. The bell had stopped. A wail went up from the mourners, and the crowd fell to its knees and performed its last prostration to the Elder Queen, a distant roaring spreading through Jondar. Lilu woke with a snort and looked around, rubbing her eyes. Rendal put down the cup and vanished behind the counter as he performed his abasement.
Blade topped up his wine and sighed, relieved that the bell, though not loud this far from the palace, had stopped at last. Tashi-Mansa was dead. The crowd shouted her name, then silence clamped down again. It was amazing how quiet the city could be when everyone was silent, he mused. Gradually the sounds returned as people muttered, carts rattled, children shrieked and animals bawled, barked or neighed. The temples would fly grey dream silk for a moon-phase in Tashi-Mansa's honour, then her time would be done. Now it was up to her daughter to lead the kingdom for the next five and twenty years.
Patrons trickled into the taproom, demanding ale or wine, and Lilu sat up and tidied her hair. In distant parks, closer to the palace, carnivals and side shows abounded and the wealthy and noble celebrated in flag-festooned streets. Here in the slums, however, not much changed.
Blade looked up as a middle-aged woman sat on the bench opposite, a smile on her powdered, noble-born face. Brown ringlets fell from an elaborate coif and berry juice reddened her lips. Her brown eyes roamed over him, lingering on his belt, then flicked up to his chest, unable to see his mark since he wore a high-collared jacket. She leant closer.
“Will you celebrate our new queen with me, Dance Master?”
“No.”
“I will make it worth your while.” She pushed a golden across the table.
Blade shook his head. Over the years, he had grown accustomed to the attentions of noblewomen, although he had not come to like them.
“I am not a bully boy, Madam.”
“I do not want a bully boy, Dance Master.”
“Then perhaps your husband will oblige if you make him the same offer.”
Her brow wrinkled. “Why do you refuse?”
“I am not interested in such pastimes.”
“Come now, surely everyone is?”
He shrugged. “Everyone except me, it would seem.”
“And why is that?”
“None of your business.”
Blade glanced up as Lilu arrived at his side, as she often did when noblewomen propositioned him. To his annoyance, she squeezed onto the bench beside him and scowled at the woman.
“Go peddle it elsewhere,” she said.
The woman rose and left, clearly offended.
Lilu smiled Blade, her eyes sparkling. “I'll pay you a copper for it, Dance Master.”
“I think a golden is my fee for that these days.”
“Made any sales?”
“Not as many as you'd think.”
She giggled and slipped her arm through his. “You'll be retiring soon, so at least you'll be able to earn a living then.”
He frowned and shook her off. “I have no plans to retire.”
“You're almost thirty years old. Don't assassins retire at your age?”
“Only those who have lost their edge.”
“And you haven't?”
“Not that I'm aware of.”
“But you will before you do, won't you?” She looked concerned.
“In all likelihood.”
“Good.” She shot a glance at his belt. “None have ever retired as Master of the Dance, I've heard.”
“Not as far as I know.”
“Will you be sad to give it up?”
“I expect so.”
Lilu sighed, looking martyred. “Trying to have a conversation with you is like pulling teeth.”
“You should know; you've got so few left.”
“That's mean.” She leant back and gazed across the room. “What do you think of the new Queen's proclamation?”
He shrugged. “Not much.”
“You don't approve?”
“I haven't thought about it.”
“And if you did think about it?”
“Why would I bother?”
She frowned at him. “Because I asked you to?”
“Why do you want me to?”
“Because I want your opinion!”
“Why?”
“Blade!”
He smiled, shaking his head. “I don't care one way or the other.”
“And if you did?”
“But I don't.”
She gave a frustrated snort. “It's a waste of time trying to talk to you, isn't it?”
“I'm working.”
“You call lazing around drinking wine working?”
“Just as you call lying on your back working.”
“I do more than –”
He raised a hand, grimacing. “Spare me the details.”
“This isn't working; it's waiting for work.”
“You call it work when you're trying to persuade men to bed you.”
“Because it is!” She shook her head. “I have to sit with them and talk to them, and they –”
“Again, spare me the details. I've seen it too often.”
“You still can't call sitting around drinking wine work.”
“And yet, I do.”
“So what do you do for fun?”
He shrugged. “Nothing.”
“What about when you talk to me? Isn't that fun?”
“Not really.”
“So why do you do it?”
He sipped his wine. “Because you talk to me whether I like it or not.”
“If I didn't, no one would.”
“That wouldn't bother me.”
“You're a heartless monster.”
He smiled again. “I know.”
“You've been working on becoming one for how long now? Nine years?”
“More like seventeen.”
“Well, you've certainly perfected it.”
“I usually do, when I set out to do something.”
She cocked her head. “Why would anyone want to be a heartless monster?”
“So people will leave him alone.”
“Why do you want to be alone?”
“I like it.”
“Yet you visit me in my room quite often.”
He gazed across the alehouse. “Go away.”
“Was that an awkward question?”
“It wasn't a question.”
“Statement, then,” she said.
“No, just an irritating one.”
“Because you don't like to admit that you enjoy my company.”
Blade turned his head to scowl at her. “Right now I'm not.”
“But you do, sometimes.”
“It's tolerable, when you're not nagging me, talking my ears off or pawing me.”
“So that would be... when I'm asleep?”
“Precisely,” he said, his slight smile returning.
“And yet you don't sleep with me.”
He chuckled. “There are usually men in your bed.”
“Otherwise you would?”
“Gods, no.”
“I wouldn't charge you, you know.” She put a hand on his knee, making him jump and frown.
“Bugger off, Lilu.”
She giggled. “You're blushing.”
He sighed. “I'm not, but if I was, it would be out of embarrassment at being pawed by an ugly trollop.”
She leant closer, pouting. “How would it be if an ugly trollop kissed you?”
“Disgusting.”
Lilu darted in to kiss his cheek.
Blade wiped it, shooting her a frown. “Go away before I make you.”
“Or I'll ruin your reputation?”
“Before someone thinks you'll make a good bargaining chip.”
She glanced around. “If I just leave, it won't be –”
Blade thumped the table. “Bugger off!”
Lilu jumped up and flounced off, her nose in the air. The assassin leant back and signalled Rendal to bring him another bottle of wine.
Almost three moons later, Blade strolled into the taproom and sat in his usual spot. The serving wench brought him a bottle of red wine, and he settled down to wait for a customer to approach him, if one was going to. On average, he received one assignment per moon-phase, although sometimes he got as many as three and occasionally none, but he had amassed a sizeable collection of goldens to tide him over the lean months. He spent a few time-glasses each day in the common room, and the rest of the time reading or practicing his skills.
Pouring a cup of wine, he glanced around, spotting Lilu giggling with four tough looking soldiers in civilian clothes. Their stern, scarred miens and rigid postures gave them away, along with a certain air of nobility that hung about them, even though they were clearly commoners.
Half a time-glass later, they left, and Lilu came over to slide onto the bench opposite Blade, who shot her a frown.
“Go away.”
“I have something to tell you. Those four are from the palace guard, and one of them told me something amazing.”
“Only one? You were sitting with four of them.”
“He came to my room.”
“Ah.” Blade gazed across the taproom.
“He said that he and his companions are going to Cotti. The Queen has offered them lands, riches and titles.” She leant closer, lowering her voice. “To kill the Cotti King.”
Blade's heart quickened, but he feigned disinterest. “How bizarre. They won't get near Shandor, never mind slay him.”
“Well, that's what he said. The Queen also wants the Prince brought to her, alive.” She glanced around as if she was imparting royal secrets, when this was clearly not something the soldiers had been sworn to secrecy about, or else the man would not have divulged it. “Do you think it has something to do with her plan to end the war?”
“Killing Shandor won't end it. It's more likely to escalate it.”
“But perhaps she'll be able to negotiate peace with the Prince.”
He said, “The Cotti live only to make war and slaughter innocents.”
“She must have a reason for doing it.”
“I expect she thinks she can make peace with Kerrion, but I would say she's sadly mistaken.”
“And yet, she consulted the Idol.”
Blade shrugged. “What of it?”
“He can see the future. Perhaps he told her what to do this to end the war.”
“Then he's sadly mistaken, too.”
Lilu picked up Blade's wine cup and sipped from it, looking thoughtful. “I'll wager you could kill the Cotti King.”
“Probably.”
“Wouldn't you like to be a wealthy noble?”
“Not particularly, and I certainly don't want to go back to that infernal desert.”
Her gaze sharpened. “You've been there before?”
Blade looked away, cursing his slip, and several minutes passed before he replied, “A long time ago.”
“That's where...” She looked down at the wine, biting her lip.
“That's where what?”
“You were... hurt.”
“You already know this.”
She shook her head. “I thought so, but you'd never talk about it.”
“Nor will I now.”
“I understand.”
“No you don't.”
“The Cotti are cruel; everyone knows that.”
Blade retrieved his wine cup and topped it up. “The true depths of their depravity aren't known to anyone who hasn't been in one of their camps, and they don't survive.”
“But you did.”
“I was unlucky.”
“Some would say lucky.”
“They also know nothing.” He hesitated. Although he considered her suggestion to be impossible, the prospect of killing the Cotti King did interest him. “How many bungling soldiers has the Queen sent into the desert?”
“I don't know. At least one other group, I think.”
“They won't succeed.”
“He said she offers a mighty reward. An estate, a title and a yearly income. You'd never have to work again.”
He shook his head. “It's a fool's errand.”
“Not for you.”
“A little while ago, you were begging me to retire before I got hurt, now you want me to go to Cotti and kill their king? That's about the most dangerous thing I could attempt.”
“But think of the rewards,” she said. “It would be worth the risk, and if, as you say, you haven't lost your edge, you'll be fine.”
“And you think you'll share in my reward, huh?”
“If you were generous, I suppose I might. It would be nice.”
“Leave it alone. You don't know what you're talking about. Ten leagues of burning sand just to get to Shandor's camp, and no Cotti horse to ride. A Jashimari beast would be instantly spotted, even if it survived the journey.”
She shook her head. “No, the soldier said less than a league. The camp is practically in the foothills of the Endine Mountains.”
“They've moved it, then.”
She leant forward, her eyes gleaming. “Don't you want to kill Cotti? Especially their king.”
Blade inclined his head. “There would be some satisfaction in that.”
“And you'll have the Cotti Prince as your prisoner all the way back to Jondar.”
“That part's not so appealing.”
“But he'd be at your mercy,” she said. “You'd be able to humiliate him, or worse.”
“I'm not a torturer.”
“Think on it, though.”
“Maybe.” Blade said, to put an end to her nagging. He had no intention of leaving the city and enduring the hardships of travel, nor did he ever want to return to Cotti. Even if he wished it, he could not do the deed without a client, and the Queen hardly ever granted audiences to commoners. She consulted with her advisors and nobles, and the only commoners who were allowed into her presence were palace soldiers, the clergy and her advisors. Lilu gazed at him, clearly expecting him to come to a decision while she waited, and he sighed.
“Even if I wanted to, the Queen doesn't speak to commoners.”
Her face fell, and she looked thoughtful. “You could request an audience.”
“She won't grant it.”
“You don't know unless you try.”
“I think the chances of an assassin gaining an audience are even slimmer than any other commoner, and that happens rarely. You're being silly. Even commoners spit on assassins.”
“Well they shouldn't. And you're not just an assassin; you're the Master of the Dance.”
“I doubt the Queen even knows what that is,” he said, “and it wouldn't impress her if she did. And you really think her guards will allow a killer into her presence?”
“You're an assassin. Everyone knows you won't kill without a client. No one would pay you to kill the Queen, and even if they did, you wouldn't do it, because you're Jashimari.”
“I'd have a better chance if I didn't tell them who I am.”
“So you'll do it, then?” She looked eager again.
“No. It would be a waste of time, and the palace guards would probably arrest me just for trying.”
“They can't. There's no crime in asking for an audience. Even if you were only allowed to meet her chief advisor, he could give her the message.”
Blade sipped his wine, becoming irritated. “The palace guards could easily concoct a reason to arrest me, or they may just kill me and throw my body down the closest cesspit. Assassins are considered to be vermin, remember? Killing one hardly constitutes a crime.”
“You killed Lord Rothwayer and Graleth. I'll wager you could sneak into the Queen's bedchamber if you wished.”
He chuckled. “Oh, that's a good idea. As soon as I woke her up to put my proposal to her, she'd scream the place down and her guards would chop off my head. I got away with those killings because I left no one alive to raise the alarm, but I can hardly do that to the Queen if I want to talk to her, can I?”
“You could do what you did to me. Make her fall asleep.”
“I can't talk to her while she's asleep.”
“No,” she said, “you make her sleep, then you bind and gag her. You speak to her when she wakes up, then make her sleep again and untie her.”
“How will she agree if she's gagged? And how likely do you think she is to agree after I've just broken into her room and assaulted her?”
“But it will also prove that you could kill the Cotti King. I mean, if you can get into Minna-Satu's bedchamber, you'd have no trouble getting into Shandor's would you?”
“Except Shandor lives in an army camp, not a palace.”
“Doesn't that make it easier?”
He shook his head. “Not really. There are several thousand seasoned warriors around him. Besides, I think the Queen's palace will be a little harder to get into than Graleth or Rothwayer's mansions.”
Lilu sighed and picked up Blade's wine cup, sipping from it. “You don't really want to do it, do you?”
“Not particularly, no.”
“Do you think you'll fail?”
“I don't think I'll be granted an audience with the Queen.”
“But what if you did?”
“I won't,” he said.
“I think you might. Why don't you just try? Prove me wrong. What harm can it do?”
“Apart from getting me arrested or killed?”
“If you don't tell them you're an assassin, they won't arrest or kill you.”
“Until they see my mark.”
“How will they? Do you plan to go there without a shirt?”
Blade retrieved his wine cup and refilled it. “They'll search me. If they see my mark... I'm a dead man, most likely.”
“But maybe not.”
“Gods, Lilu, leave it alone!” He glared at her, thoroughly fed up with her nagging. “I'm not going to ask for an audience or break into the Queen's bedchamber. It's ridiculous. And even if I did, by some miracle, get an audience, she won't hire me. Why should she, when she has thousands of soldiers at her beck and call?”
“Because they can't do what you can do. They won't be able to kill Shandor.”
“She doesn't know that.”
“She will, when more of her men have failed.”
“She still won't know that I could do it, and if she does realise it, let her send a messenger to hire me.”
Lilu sat back and folded her arms. “Maybe she will.”
He snorted. “And maybe potpigs will fly.”
“If you don't –”
Blade banged his goblet down, slopping wine. “Enough now!”
The whore glowered at him, then jumped up and flounced away, this time genuinely angry. He sat back and sipped his wine, trying not to think about Lilu's suggestion and its pitfalls. It was a foolish idea, and she was wrong. As for sneaking into Minna-Satu's bedchamber to speak to her, that was ridiculous, and a recipe for parting his head from his shoulders. He shrugged it off. Perhaps Minna-Satu's soldiers would succeed.
Two moons later, Blade relaxed on Lilu's bed while she was in the taproom collecting another bottle of wine. Mid-afternoon sunshine crept in through chinks in the dirty curtains to spot the rumpled sheets with flecks of gold. He was glad that Lilu washed her bed sheets regularly, so, although old and grey, they were clean. He had just returned from practicing on his platform outside the city, and drying sweat prickled his skin. He would have gone to his rooms to bathe, but his exertions had given him a thirst that he wanted to slake first. The whore was taking a long time to fetch the wine, however.
Just as he was about to go in search of her, she entered, locking the door behind her. He eyed her when she sat on the chair beside the bed, wondering why she had locked the door. She poured two cups of wine and handed one to him, and he noted the excited sparkle in her eyes.
“I've just heard that all the soldiers the Queen sent to Cotti failed to kill the King,” she said. “Two dozen men.”
He sipped the wine. “What of it?”
“You should go, and…”
He raised a finger and wagged it. “I've already told you I'm not going to ask for an audience, and why. Don't nag.”
She frowned at him, her excitement fading. “I'm not nagging; I'm just saying that you could do it if you wished. Not only kill the Cotti King, your enemy, but also earn huge wealth and honours. All for the small risk of being arrested if the palace guards find out you're an assassin.”
“Not to mention the far greater risk of being caught in Shandor's camp and eviscerated. That's what they do, you know. They stake you out on the sand and slice open your belly, then the crows peck out your eyes, and –”
“Enough, Blade!” She looked sick.
“It's true. Is that what you want to happen to me?”
“It won't. You're too good at what you do, and you know it.”
“You don't know how I do what I do, so how do you know it will work in Cotti?”
Her brows rose. “Why wouldn't it? Sneaking about will work anywhere.”
“Maybe. But I'm still not doing it. I have a good life here. Why would I want to ride all the way to Shandor's camp to kill him, then drag his undoubtedly annoying son back to Jondar? I don't like riding, and I like camping in forests even less.”
“Wouldn't it be worth it, to kill the Cotti King? Don't you want vengeance for what they did to you?”
Blade glowered at her. Her words struck a raw nerve and sent a twinge of vengeful lust through him, stronger than he had experienced for many years. It was impossible, however, and he shook his head. “No matter how much I'd like to kill that bastard, it's impossible. Now leave it alone or I'll go back to my rooms.”
Lilu sighed, but changed the subject. Blade listened to her prattle about the other whores and their problems with half an ear while he thought about the prospect of using his hated trade to finally exact vengeance upon the Cotti. It almost seemed as if fate had given him the chance to repay them for the atrocities they had committed upon him. Perhaps it was. He was almost at the age when assassins usually retired, and while he did not think his speed or agility had suffered yet, they probably would in the not too distant future, no matter how hard he trained. Then all he had to look forward to was empty years of teaching foolish youngsters and drowning his bitterness with wine. Even if he died in his attempt to kill the Cotti King, it was a worthy endeavour, and would guarantee his reputation in the Guild forever. If he succeeded, not only would he have his vengeance, he would gain unassailable fame in the Guild.
Then there was the reward the Queen offered, which was tempting, too. He would have more to do after his retirement if he had an estate to run, and he would have to teach fewer apprentices. The Guild required him to pass on his skills, but it did not specify how many boys he had to train. Most elders had no choice in the matter, since they needed the income the young assassins were obliged to give them. Mostly, however, the possibility of slaying the Cotti King, and probably a few soldiers, tempted him. Humiliating the Prince also had its attractions. Even if the Queen did not grant him an audience, he could go to Cotti and do the deed, or try, and if he returned with the Prince as his captive she would have to give him the reward. He did not require any help from her, although he did need a client. Then again, the fact that she wanted Shandor dead, and had offered to pay for it, meant that he could claim her as his client. It met all the Guild’s requirements.
Blade sat back and sipped his wine, watching golden speckles of sunlight wander around the dirty floor as a breeze swayed the moth-eaten curtains. His existence remained tawdry, for all his deadly reputation and high standing in the Guild. The money he had amassed was enough to ensure a comfortable life, but he was not a wealthy man by any measure. There was simply not enough work, even in a big city like Jondar, and only the rich could afford his services now. Would the skills he had honed to such a high calibre over the years be enough to ensure his success? His eyes drifted to the darkest corner of the shabby room, where he suspected the ghost of a black cat sat, watching him. More than anything, he wanted revenge for Rivan’s death.
The Cotti had made a lifelong enemy out of him on the day they had slit his familiar’s throat, yet all his hatred was futile if he never put it into action. Perhaps this was his destiny. Perhaps everything he had suffered had been leading him along this path, to this juncture, where he must decide to make it all worthwhile and kill the king of the barbarians who had stolen his life from him. If he failed, his death was assured. There would be no wandering whores or elder assassins to save him in the desert. It would be a painful demise, though, and that gave him pause. If he went to Shandor’s camp in a female disguise, however, his chances of being caught where slim.
The desert warriors scorned women, and treated them as servants or worse. He had witnessed their ill treatment of the whores in the Cotti camp when he had been their prisoner. Even though some soldiers would see a woman with the King just before he was killed, they would never believe she was capable of slaying a man, never mind their warrior King. They would probably blame Prince Kerrion for it, especially if he vanished afterwards. The thought almost made Blade smile. If the Queen tried to negotiate peace with Kerrion, and sent him back to his people afterwards, Blade was sure the Prince’s brothers would accuse him of killing Shandor. That would make his triumph even sweeter. If he returned triumphant, he would not only add a king to his tally, but be instrumental in the downfall of a crown prince, too. The more he thought about it, the more appealing the idea became, although he was still unsure of whether or not he would do it.