Chapter Seven

That night, Blade moved to a suite of rooms down the corridor, and two guards were stationed outside his door. These precautions did not impress him, for he knew from experience that guards were of little use against an assassin. Kerra insisted on staying with him, but he made her install her cot in the adjoining room, so he could enjoy a little more privacy. He found her continued faith in him rather irritating and silly, since he was now the target of an assassin, who would doubtless kill any witness.

Nor did he set much store in the decoys, or moving rooms. If the assassin was any good, he would find his quarry. The prospect of pitting his skills against a Cotti assassin did hold some appeal for him. The last time that had happened, he had killed the man, although he had come close to death himself. Then, however, he had already been injured when he was attacked.

Blade did not use the bed that night, knowing that the assassin would go straight to it. He stuffed some cushions under the sheets, so it appeared that someone slept in it, then spread a few blankets on the floor behind the curtains, where he could sleep hidden from view. He stretched out on them fully clothed and armed, and fell asleep confident that if the Cotti assassin should find him, the slightest whisper of sound or wisp of scent would wake him.

Blade jerked awake with the familiar tingles of alarm running through him, like pins pricking his flesh. His hair bristled and his heart speeded up. Lying still, he listened to the silence, waiting for the sound that had woken him to come again. A scratching, so faint that he held his breath and strained to hear it, broke the hush. It came from the window, as he had expected, and he sat up, opening the curtains a slit so that he could see the room. Moonlight came through the window, silvering the rug and one side of the bed. He waited for the assassin to show himself, easing a dagger from his belt sheath.

For several minutes he remained immobile, years of training and experience giving him infinite patience. A faint hissing made him tense, and he stared at the window, puzzled. Although some assassins had deadly snakes as their familiar, they never sent them to kill their victims, since this was dangerous. Also, the hissing was continuous, and sounded less and less like a snake. As he waited, watching the window, a faint smell reached him, acrid and unpleasant, yet unidentifiable.

His puzzlement turned to alarm when a wave of dizziness swept over him, and realisation dawned in a cold tide. Holding his breath, he crawled towards the door, but a terrible lethargy slowed his progress and made his eyelids droop as if leaden. Fighting it, he struggled to his feet and staggered across the room. His vision blurred, making his surroundings warp and smear like paint in the rain. Halfway to the door, his knees buckled and he fell to all fours, then was forced to draw breath as his lungs demanded air. The dizziness increased, and he collapsed as a curtain of darkness slammed down.

A stinging slap jerked aside the veil of unconsciousness, bringing him to his senses with a gasp. Awareness returned with a rush of unpleasant reality that set all his alarms jangling. His hands were bound behind his back with a thin cord, which cut his wrists when he struggled, and his ankles were tied together.

Blade turned his head, taking in the details of his surroundings. Many freshly lighted torches burnt against stone walls, illuminating a spacious, unfurnished room. He sat on the only chair in the centre of it, and the shadowy forms of many grey-clad assassins stood watching him.

A tall, well-built man stepped forward, and Blade raked him with a measuring glance. His ash blond hair was pulled back in a plait, and his golden skin gleamed as if oiled. Moving with the lithe grace of an assassin in his prime, he stopped before Blade and smiled, his dark brown eyes sparkling with enjoyment. His smooth, handsome face had sharp features and a pointed chin, his eyebrows and lashes so blond they were almost invisible.

Blade knew his animal kin even before the weasel poked its head out of the assassin's tunic and gazed around, twisting its neck with the sinuous grace of its kind. He raised his eyes and locked them with those of the assassin, receiving the satisfaction of the man's slight flinch from the biting frostiness of his gaze. The Cotti assassin stroked the weasel and glanced back at the others before addressing his captive.

"So, you're the assassin known as the Queen's Blade."

"No I'm not."

The Cotti smiled. "I know you are, so don't bother to lie. Prince Dravis' message was delivered to you, and my familiar followed the servant, then gave me the location of the new rooms where you tried to hide. That's how I knew where you were."

"But it doesn't tell you who I am. The message was brought to me because I'm Queen Minna-Satu's courtier and advisor."

"Indeed? And do all Jashimari courtiers wear six daggers about their person, including two in wrist sheaths?"

Blade shrugged. "I've learnt some skill with daggers, and in this land, I keep them to defend myself against scum like you."

The Cotti assassin chuckled. "Most amusing. But we know who you are, without a doubt. I don't make mistakes, you see. That's why I didn't try to sneak into your room and stab you, it wouldn't have worked."

"So instead you used gas, a coward's tool, as bad as poison."

"But it worked. You're here, bound and helpless."

Blade glanced at the dark forms behind the Cotti. "If Dravis hired you to kill me, then why am I still alive?"

"Ah, well, they told me that you're the greatest Jashimari assassin to have ever lived, and since I'm the greatest Cotti assassin ever, I wanted to meet you. I went to a lot of trouble, too. Allow me to introduce myself. My name is Ice, and I'm also known as the Dancer." He bowed, smiling.

"Well, now you've met me, so get on with it."

"No, it's not as simple as that. You see, I intend to prove that I'm better than you, and therefore the best assassin in two kingdoms."

"And just how do you intend to do that?"

Ice smiled and glanced at the assassins behind him. "By challenging you to a Dance of Death, naturally."

"I see. And the loser, if it's me, dies, I presume."

"Oh, the loser will definitely die." Ice chuckled. "You see, it won't simply be a Dance. Your death has been purchased, and my elders have given their permission for me to kill you in a Dance of Death. A real one."

Blade squinted at the shadowy forms, becoming aware of an ache in his ribs and another in his thigh, probably bruises from being carried from the palace. The tall assassin could not have done it alone. He must have brought another man to help carry Blade over the walls and into the city. He turned his attention to Ice once more.

"And if I win?"

"You will not." Ice smiled in a chilling manner, betraying the reason for his name.

"Indulge me."

One of the shadowy men stepped forward. "If you kill Ice, you'll be free to go, since he's the one who was hired to kill you."

Blade inclined his head, then looked at Ice. "Do you intend to make me fight you with my hands and legs bound?"

Ice chuckled and drew a dagger, slicing through the cords that bound Blade. The Jashimari assassin rubbed his wrists and stood up to stretch the stiffness out of his legs, wincing as his bruised ribs twinged. Ice noticed and smiled, beckoning to a huge man, who emerged from the shadows, carrying a wine bottle and two cups.

"Let's drink before we duel. This is my helper on tonight's jaunt, Oben. He's a strong lad, as you can see. He carried you out of the palace grounds, after I dropped you to him from the window."

Blade eyed the big man, whose receding forehead and small eyes, along with his thick neck and bulging arms, marked him as a man of bulls. Turning his attention back to Ice, Blade found that he was almost a head shorter than the Cotti. He glanced around at the silent throng, then measured the chamber, noting that the floor had been swept clean. Ice had planned this encounter, probably from the moment Dravis had hired him. The temptation to pit his skills against a Jashimari assassin with a legendary reputation had clearly been too great for him to resist.

Ice poured two cups of wine and held one out to Blade with a smile. Blade took it and waited for the Cotti assassin to drink some of his before tasting it, finding it a sweet red wine, the sort he preferred. Ice's smile widened at Blade's caution.

"I wouldn't drug you. What would be the point? I may as well have killed you in your room while you were unconscious. I must say, you're a lot smaller than I had imagined."

Blade shrugged. "It makes my job easier."

"Yes, I suppose so, but it must be a disadvantage in a duel."

"I haven't found that."

"Dravis said that you killed King Shandor and seven princes, quite impressive. What's your tally?"

Blade sipped his wine. "I believe it was about two hundred and fifty when I retired, so it would be a few more than that now."

"There must be a lot of work for assassins in Jashimari."

"From that, I assume that yours is considerably less."

"I'm half your age. It's hardly a fair comparison."

Blade drained his cup and tossed it to Oben, who fumbled the catch and dropped it with a shrill clatter. "Do you intend to bore me to death with idle chatter, or shall we get on with this?"

Ice slugged back his wine and held out the empty goblet for Oben, who took it and retreated. "I want the effect of the sleep gas to be completely worn off, to be fair."

"It has."

"Good." Ice turned to the shadowy figures, and one held out a pair of glittering boot blades. The Cotti assassin gave them to Blade, who examined them, finding that they were his, taken from his pack in the palace. The assassins and elders who made up the crowd spread out along the walls, leaving as much clear space as possible in the middle of the room, and Oben came forward to remove the chair. Blade bent and strapped on the lethal footgear, then straightened and stripped off his jacket, under which he wore the tight vest traditionally worn at Dances.

When Ice removed his jacket, he revealed the ornate, gold-studded belt that only a Master of the Dance could wear, as Blade had expected. Naturally Dravis had hired the best assassin in Jadaya, one whose ego matched his prowess. Blade bent and pressed his forehead to his knees to stretch the tendons in the back of his legs, then swung his arms and twisted to limber up. He made an experimental jump to test the weight of his boots with the blades attached, for the extra weight always made it more difficult. Walking around, he stamped his feet and lifted his legs high to get used to it, his metal-shod feet clacking on the stone.

It had been a long time since he had completed the Dance of Death in all its complexity, but his recent exercise at the palace had increased his fitness. Still, he was not certain he could defeat Ice, and even if he did, the duel would be a bloody one. Injuries were inevitable, and quite possibly lethal. The prospect angered him, firing the bitterness that had ruled his life for so long, and his hatred of Cotti flared to new heights. If Ice had the advantage of youth and ambition, Blade had a lifetime of enmity and resentment to fuel his muscles and chill his mind to icy calmness and clarity. The Dance of Death as an armed duel had been forbidden decades ago, because one or both combatants inevitably died of their wounds.

Blade stood with his head bowed, steeling himself to ignore the pain and the frightening sight of so much of his own blood. The fact that he placed little value on his life, and courted death at every opportunity, worked in his favour now. He would fight with reckless abandon, while Ice would be more concerned about staying alive. The things about him that Ice did not know would work against the Cotti assassin, perhaps enough to balance the scales. He wondered if a Jashimari assassin would ever be foolish enough to challenge the Queen's Blade to an armed Dance of Death.

Raising his head, he glared at his opponent. "You've made a big mistake, Cotti. Challenging me to a Dance of Death is signing your own death warrant. I was the Master of the Dance my entire career, and even when I retired, I could have kept the title. I'm the only assassin to have ever held two belts, since an upstart Dance Master from another city challenged me. At the time I was almost crippled, and I still defeated him."

Blade's blood warmed as he spoke, and his heart swelled with the only pride that he had ever known, that of his prowess. Denied the simple pleasures of a normal man, he had excelled in the one thing he was good at, and that pride now bolstered his confidence, just as his words were designed to diminish Ice's.

The Cotti assassin smirked, his eyes darting to the watching assassins. "I'm not afraid of you."

"You're a fool if you think you can defeat the Queen's Blade in a Dance of Death. No one has been stupid enough to try that before." Blade grinned. "I'm going to cut you to pieces."

Ice glanced around again, took two of Blade's daggers from an elder and walked over to hand them to the Jashimari assassin.

"You know the rules, I presume."

"Better than you, Cotti pup."

Blade took the weapons and turned away as Ice collected his own from his elders. The rules were simple. You only had two daggers, and if you threw one and missed, you only had one. A thrown dagger could not be retrieved, so it was better to keep them in hand. The Dance was varied for the different types of assassins, who used their weapon of choice, except for poisoners, who fought empty-handed. Seldom had a duel been fought between two assassins who used different weapons, and then they both had to use daggers, or nothing. That was in the days before the Dance was outlawed. Ice handed his familiar to one of the elders and turned to face Blade again.

"Where's your familiar?"

"Killed by Shandor's soldiers, a crime for which he paid with his life."

"Ah." Ice studied his daggers, fingering their edges. His apparent cheerfulness was a ruse, Blade knew. Beneath his smiling façade beat a heart of pure malevolence, one that enjoyed dealing out death and pain to hapless victims, and he hid his true nature behind a false grin. He embodied everything Blade hated about the Cotti; their arrogance, cruelty and indifference to the suffering of others.

Blade's hands tightened on his daggers, and he tensed, his muscles thrumming with energy seeking explosive outlet. An electrical jolt went through him as Ice tapped his feet in the distinctive rhythm of the Dance of Death, beginning the duel. The rigid structure of the Dance did not apply to an armed duel, but many of the moves would be repeated in it, simply because they were so deadly.

Blade moved towards his opponent, the danger heightening his senses. Ice circled, and, from the wary glint in his eyes, Blade knew his words had dented the Cotti's confidence, as he had intended. He stopped and waited for Ice to attack, since this put the Cotti at a disadvantage. Ice had no choice, however, if he wanted to kill Blade. Ice's feet clicked as he closed the gap in a whirling leap, his blade-tipped boots lashing out towards Blade's chest.

Blade swayed back, allowing the razor edges to skim past his vest, then slashed with a dagger, opening a shallow cut in Ice's arm as the Cotti spun past. Ice landed with a clatter of metal-shod boots, and continued his spin, dropping to slash at Blade's legs, forcing him to spring into the air. Blade kicked as he leapt, his boot grazing Ice's cheek and cutting his ear when he jerked aside. As Blade landed, Ice leapt up and stabbed at him. Blade spun away and kicked his opponent, stabbing Ice in the shin. The Cotti grunted and staggered, then leapt high, one leg lashing out. The boot-blade skimmed past Blade's shoulder as he spun aside, opening a shallow cut.

The assassins' boots clicked without rhythm as they danced the deadly duel, beating out a chilling tattoo of swift death. The moves were too quick for the eye to follow, a blur of flashing boot-blades and slashing daggers in a continuous dance of graceful, lethal motion.

Ice whipped around, lashing out with boot and hand. His dagger ripped open Blade's vest and shed bright blood. Blade twisted aside and leapt, reaching the extraordinary height that made him such an excellent dancer, along with his peerless speed. His rising boot punched into Ice's chest, stabbing upwards into the pad of muscle. Ice grunted and jerked back, then lunged as Blade landed, aiming for his belly. Blade threw himself backwards to avoid the thrust, kicked upwards as he did so and stabbed Ice in the thigh.

The Cotti growled, become frenzied in his pain and fury. Blade rolled away as Ice stabbed at him. The dagger skimmed his ribs and opened another gash. Blade slashed at Ice's neck as he rolled to his feet, but the Cotti flung himself sideways in the nick of time. Blade followed, whipped around and leapt, becoming a spinning dervish tipped with steel. Ice sprang away, but received another cut across his chest, then he lunged in as Blade landed, stabbing at his neck.

Blade threw up an arm, his only option, and the dagger impaled his forearm to the hilt. He grunted and jerked free, blood oozing from the wound and his hand losing its strength. Ice grinned and lunged again, but Blade jumped back and leapt, raising his stiffened legs in the foot-crossing move he had invented, but had never tried in combat. His feet clashed together in a shower of sparks, and his rising boot impaled Ice in the cheek.

The Cotti assassin screamed and jumped back, dropping an instant before Blade's boot-blade would have pierced his gut as Blade landed on one leg and lashed out with the other. As Ice dropped, he stabbed upwards, driving a dagger into Blade's thigh. The Jashimari assassin jerked his leg down, hitting Ice on the side of the head with his heel. Ice fell, then rolled away as Blade went after him, regaining his feet an instant before Blade kicked him again, stabbing him in the calf.

Both fighters dripped blood, their vests soaked with it. Crimson trickles ran down their legs and arms, and Ice's neck. Most of the duels fought before the Dance was banned ended when one fighter died from blood loss, and sometimes the victor succumbed too. No combat was more vicious, fast and bloody than a duel between assassins. There was no respite, no moment of inaction when they could catch their breath. From the moment the duel started, the men were a whirling blur of flashing blades until one died.

Their feet clattered and their gasping breaths rasped in the silent chamber. They gleamed with sweat and blood. As yet neither had slowed one iota, and the speed of the fight made it difficult to follow. Blade's feet blurred as he floated sideways, using the quick, foot-crossing move that looked so graceful in the Dance but had other, more sinister origins. He kicked out as his opponent lunged at him, then spun away when Ice whipped around and tried to stab him in the back. His move brought him closer to the Cotti, and he slashed with both daggers, inflicting wounds in Ice's arm and chest before he sprang away.

Ice followed, leapt high and kicked with a flashing boot-blade, stabbing Blade in the biceps of his injured arm. He spun away, using his momentum to whip around as he leapt. His boot-blade slashed across Ice's arm, severing the muscle. Ice staggered back with a growl, his eyes widening at the sight of the blood pouring from his arm. Blade followed, his mind as cold and clear as frozen crystal, his need to survive blocking the pain of his injuries.

Blade's injured arm sent shafts of agony through him every time he used it, but necessity precluded any favouring of the injured limb, without which he would be greatly hampered. Ice's crippled arm hung at his side, and he swung to face his opponent, his eyes bright with pain and fury. Blood ran down Blade's injured arm and dripped from his fingers. It sprayed each time he lashed out with it, speckling his opponent's face. Their feet rattled across the floor as Ice lunged at Blade, who leapt aside and slashed at his opponent's neck, opening a shallow wound but missing the artery. Blade's feet skidded, and he realised that the floor was now slick with blood.

Ice leapt in and lashed out with a blade-tipped boot that opened another gash across Blade's chest as he jumped back. Blade lunged as Ice landed, stabbing him in the flank when Ice twisted aside to avoid the thrust that was aimed at his heart. Ice stabbed Blade as he did so, impaling him through the muscle on the top of his shoulder when Blade dropped to avoid the blow. Blade kicked him in the shin again, inflicting another wound. Ice jumped back, his razor-tipped boot skimming past Blade's cheek.

The Jashimari assassin jerked away, ignoring the sting of the wound as he slashed with both daggers, one cutting Ice's belly. Ice jumped backwards and slipped in the blood, making the first error of the duel. Blade stabbed him in the flank, missing his belly only because he dropped an instant too soon. Ice rolled to his feet, gasping, and leapt back again as Blade lunged after him, slashing Ice's thigh.

Ice stabbed Blade in the upper arm, then jabbed his elbow into the Jashimari assassin's gut, momentarily winding him. He dropped as Ice swung at his head in a move designed to open his throat, rolling away when the Cotti aimed a kick at his back. He leapt to his feet, stars dancing in his eyes. He ducked another slash and leapt, his stiffened legs scissoring in the deadly high leap that brought his feet to head height. Ice screamed as the bladed boot ripped open his cheek. Blood sprayed from the wound as he spun away, the gaping cut exposing his teeth.

Ice dropped and lunged, his daggers aimed at Blade's belly, but the speed with which Blade spun aside thwarted him, and he stabbed Ice in the back as he went past. Ice spun to face his opponent again, staggering a little as blood loss sapped his strength. He threw a dagger, which thudded into Blade's shoulder just above his lung. Blade ignored the protruding hilt and jumped closer before leaping high again. His scissoring legs clashed in a shower of sparks, and his rising boot opened a gash in Ice's chest. Ice staggered back, raising his empty hand to clasp the wound, his chest red with blood.

Blade paused, eyeing his opponent, whom he knew was defeated. He swallowed with difficulty and gasped, "Only a fool... would think he... could defeat... the Queen's Blade."

Ice snarled and charged, spun and leapt in a last effort to slash Blade's throat. Blade dropped, allowing Ice's feet to pass over his head, then lunged, stabbing him in the belly as he landed. Ice growled and stabbed at Blade's chest, impaling his arm when he flung it up. Blade jerked free and spun away, and Ice flung his last dagger. It glanced off the side of Blade's head, opening a gash above his ear. Blade snarled and flung a dagger, which struck Ice in the chest, just missing his heart. Ice coughed, blood oozing from his lips, and staggered towards his opponent, trying to grab him.

Blade twisted away from the Cotti's grasping hands, his clothes and skin slippery with blood. Ice kicked him in the shin as he jumped back, and Blade spun, his arm whipping out. The dagger sliced through Ice's throat. Blade stepped back as Ice fell to his knees, his hands clamped to his neck and his eyes wide with surprise. He mouthed silent words, then his eyes glazed and he keeled over.

Blade stared down at him, his dagger poised and his muscles thrumming with adrenalin. Only his harsh breathing broke the silence that followed the Cotti's collapse. He turned to face the elders, his metal-shod feet scraping on the bloody stone. They stared at him as if unable to believe their Master of the Dance was dead, slain by the Jashimari assassin he had been paid to kill. Blade glanced around at the gore that covered the floor and spotted the walls in little spray patterns. It looked as if a dozen beasts had been slaughtered in the room, and the thought that a lot of it was his was frightening. It dripped from his hands and trickled down his legs in warm streams, joining the pools on the floor.

The strength drained out of him, and he fell to his knees, shaking with shock and blood loss. His dry throat burnt and his chest was cold from the chill air he had sucked in during the fight, but the pain of his wounds was a dull, faraway sensation. Becoming aware that Ice's dagger still protruded from his chest, he pulled it out and flung it away, sending it clattering into the darkness. The assassins who stood around the walls came to life, shifting and whispering. After a brief, heated debate, the words of which Blade could not discern through the roaring in his ears, a grizzled old man stepped forward.

"You've won, Jashimari. Savour your victory in the little time you have left before you die. We will tell Dravis that Ice failed, but also of your whereabouts, so he can finish you, if you last long enough."

Blade glared at the elder as he turned away, his throat too dry and raw to speak. Four younger men came forward to pick up Ice's body, and the assassins filed out, taking most of the torches with them, leaving the room in semi darkness. In the silence that followed their departure, Blade listened to the hoarse sound of his gasping and took stock of his wounds. His arms bled profusely, as did his thigh and the scalp wound that was filling his ear with blood. He watched it drip into the crimson sea around him, then put away his daggers and pulled off the ripped vest.

If he did not staunch the blood, he would die, and he also had to leave before Dravis arrived. He cut the leather vest into strips and used it to bind his arms, struggling to tie the knots with one hand and his teeth. One arm was virtually useless, but he forced it to work, gritting his teeth as pain shot from the cuts. He bound his thigh with the last of his vest, stopping the worst of the bleeding.

Rising to his feet, he staggered over to his jacket, finding the rest of his daggers atop it. He returned them to their sheaths, using the last of the adrenalin that coursed through his veins to power his escape. If he waited, he would only get weaker. He pulled on the jacket, covering most of his wounds, then limped to the door and pushed it open. Outside, the moon set over a squalid back street in a strange part of the city.

Hobbling into the alley, he staggered along it, not caring where he went, as long as it was away from the room where the fight had taken place. With each step his strength waned, and he knew he would not get far. Two streets away from the alley, he found a run-down livery stable and tottered into it. Glancing back, he checked to make sure he had not left a blood trail, but the street was clean. He reeled into the stable's warm darkness, where the soft wickers of its occupants greeted him.

Groping along a row of stalls, he found a ladder that led to the hay loft and struggled up it, forcing his stiffening muscles to obey. He may still die of his wounds, but Dravis would not have the satisfaction of killing him. Determination made him climb the ladder's last few rungs, and he crawled into a sea of hay, found a hill and burrowed into it until he was buried. At last he was able to relax, the soft wheeze of his breath the only sound apart from the stamping of the horses below. A wave of darkness washed over him, taking with it the pain.