Bolt studied the Cotti camp, searching for his quarry. The Regent's description of the Prince had been detailed, and a royal figure would stand out amongst the soldiers anyway. He had caught up with the fleeing Prince only three days from the Contara border, for Endor had set a gruelling pace. Apparently the Prince expected retaliation, and with good reason, if the stories Bolt had heard about the Regent's treatment had any truth to them.
The moon-phase of hard travel had disagreed with the assassin, whose dislike for horses and dirt was almost as strong as his former mentor's. Winter's approach cooled the days and made the nights chilly, so camping in the forest, as he had been forced to do on a number of occasions, was most unpleasant.
From his position behind a mossy boulder, Bolt could survey the entire camp, apart from a few areas that trees hid from view. He had crawled within range, but it would be a long shot. The Cotti broke camp in the early morning mist. Some washed in a nearby stream; others gathered equipment and loaded the packhorses or pulled down tents. His crossbow was warm in his hands, loaded with a barbed steel quarrel and set on its tightest notch for the distance.
A tall blond man clad in a pale yellow tunic emerged from a tent in the middle of the camp, stretching and yawning. Bolt recognised the Prince's aquiline features and his heart beat faster. A familiar bloodlust rushed through him, as it always did when he spied his target. The power to snuff out a man's life was heady, and coursed through his veins like a euphoric drug.
As an assassin's son, Bolt had been raised on the tales of his father's exploits. The graphic details of killing and danger had allowed him to share the excitement of it and acquire a taste for blood-letting. His mother had tried to temper it with love and teach him compassion, but his father's influence had triumphed in the end. He had started killing at a young age, first rats, then birds and cats, until his father had given him his first crossbow, and he had graduated to dogs and deer. Now only a man's death could satisfy him.
When he had been apprenticed to Blade, he had been honoured, but Blade's blatant scorn and chilly aloofness had soon disillusioned him. Nor could he understand how a man who did not enjoy killing could become such a great assassin. He had paid scant attention to many of Blade's lessons, convinced that they would do him no good. The elder assassin was a dagger man, after all, and Bolt did not see the need for such stealth and caution when he killed from afar. He had practised with his crossbow at every opportunity, killing animals, until Blade had put an end to it with a few good slaps and confined him to inanimate targets.
Bolt had disliked the silly dance and shown little interest in strategy or planning, lacking the patience to spy out his target's surroundings. His respect for his mentor had not waned, for he could not fail to revere such a talented and deadly man, even though they had never agreed. His familiar, a black barred widow-maker spider, was hidden in his hair, its usual resting place.
Bolt inched into position, resting the crossbow on top of the boulder to steady it while he sighted along it. The Prince splashed his face in a bowl that a soldier held, a perfect target. Bolt smiled as he eased his finger around the trigger and took up the slack, aiming at Endor's heart.
The power of the steel crossbow was so great that the quarrel would punch right through his target, making a wound that no man could hope to survive. The bow could not be drawn by hand, but had to be cranked with a handle. Bolt concentrated on his target, licking his lips as he imagined the result of the quarrel striking the Prince. As his finger tightened on the trigger, he sensed a presence behind him. Something struck the back of his head, and darkness swallowed him.
Endor finished drying his face and tossed the towel to a manservant, then turned as two soldiers dragged a limp black-clad man into the camp. He strode over to them, his joy turning to disappointment when they dropped the assassin and flipped him onto his back, revealing the face of a stranger. One soldier held up a crossbow, and Endor grunted, frowning.
"This is not the Queen's Blade. How dare she send some inept dimwit after me? I want Blade's head on a pike, not this fool's. Kill him."
Endor marched back to his tent and picked up the cage that held the grey dove, beckoning to the man whose job it was to torture the bird.
"Make her suffer."
"My Prince, the creature is already weak..."
"I do not care. I want her punished for her stupidity and insolence."
The man took the cage and bowed. "As you wish, Highness."
Endor pondered what painful death he would order for the upstart assassin. Disembowelment was one of his favourites, but was sometimes too quick. He wanted the idiot to suffer for his temerity. Perhaps impalement would be better, preceded by a round of flaying to soften him up. There was always pleasure to be had from a man's screams, especially if copious amounts of begging accompanied them. More entertaining than watching the torturer stick pins in the stupid dove. The prospect pleased him, and he smiled.
Chiana was reading petitions in her study when a shaft of pain stabbed her chest, making her cry out and collapse. Her scribe and two maidens rushed to her aid, carrying her to the cushions in the seating area while a maid ran to summon Verdan.
Chiana gasped and clutched her chest, where the stabbing agony tore at her flesh. When Verdan hurried in, puffing from his run, he could only feed her a pain potion that made her sleep. Her maidens moved her to her rooms and tucked her into bed. Verdan stayed to watch over her and give her more potion if necessary.
When she woke the pain had gone, but she rested for the remainder of the day. The following morning, Insash visited her in her study, his expression concerned.
"This attack must mean that the assassin has failed, Regent," he stated.
"Yes." She gazed past him. "He is probably dead, and Endor is angry."
"Or perhaps he only failed to free the bird?"
"No, I believe Endor is still alive. Only he would be cruel enough to torture her. I just pray that Lance will find him soon, and be successful where Bolt was not."
"He seemed competent."
"So did Bolt, although I agree that Lance was more impressive."
Chiana recalled the slight, silent man who had answered her summons two tendays ago. From the moment she had laid eyes upon him, she knew he was Blade's best apprentice, with all of his mentor's skills. Like Blade, he was a man of cats who moved with their supple grace, and his hard, pale blue eyes held a wild glint. He possessed a gaunt, slightly feral look that made her shiver, and, although he never met her gaze, she sensed that his eyes would be impassive.
His familiar had followed him like a pale shadow, a spotted snow cat from the mountains, shy and fierce. From the number of daggers secreted about his person, of which she could see four, she knew he followed in his master's footsteps, and his silent demeanour contrasted with Bolt's bragging. Lance had listened to her request, and then bowed to accept it, leaving her presence at her signal without uttering a single word.
Insash's voice dragged Chiana from her reverie, and she asked him to repeat what he had said.
He smiled. "Even if Lance also fails, your husband will not."
"Lord Conash is retired, and although he has put that aside temporarily, according to Kerrion, I would not ask him to undertake such a dangerous mission."
"Then why not send a message to our border guards and order Endor's arrest?"
"Endor has a company of soldiers with him, and would fight. He would also kill my familiar if he is attacked, which is why she still lives. Even if I had him arrested, the charges against him would only earn him a term in prison, and the Cotti courts would object. It would lead to an unpleasant political wrangle. Also, I promised his death to Blade as payment for protecting Kerra."
Insash nodded. "Then we can only hope that Lance will free your familiar."
"I pray for it every day."
Blade watched the funeral procession from the window of an empty suite of rooms above his old ones. It proceeded down the main thoroughfare towards the graveyard on the outskirts of the city, where a mighty tomb waited to receive the bodies of Trelath and Chaymin. Sombre crowds lined the way, whose members wailed and prostrated themselves as the coffins passed, some throwing flowers onto the caskets. The outpouring of grief could not be genuine, since commoners never knew the princes except as distant, domineering figures, but it was expected of them.
Black flags flew from every turret and flagpole, and the troops who followed the coffins carried their spears point down. Two saddled, riderless horses walked behind their former masters' caskets. The King and all the princes were obliged to attend, and rode in the cortege in full royal regalia, their helmets off.
This was the first time since Minna's rescue that Kerrion had been forced to leave the palace, and, to ensure their safety, he had hidden her and Kerra in the harem. Minna had begged Blade to don a female disguise and join them, but he had refused. Instead, he had moved to the empty suite, deciding that he would be safe enough there. Dravis could not enter the palace without being arrested, and Jovan would not dare to try to kill him, Kerrion asserted.
As the funeral procession dwindled into the distance, Blade lost interest in it, moved to a chair and picked up a book. It was an account of King Jadaya, who had founded the capital city almost two thousand years ago, and whose deeds the author greatly exaggerated. Parts of it he found boring, personal details that he skipped over. King Jadaya had been a diviner in an Age of Elements, a water wizard who had found the underground river over which Jadaya had been built.
Jadaya had also been a cruel monarch, and thousands of men had died digging the wells that tapped the river and now fed the city. This was before the Endless War, but, to supply his need for labour, he had raided Jashimari and enslaved poor farmers who dwelt just beyond the mountains. The Jashimari slaves had succumbed to the sand fly disease, and fresh ones were in constant demand. King Jadaya had built his palace over the largest well, which now supplied its denizens and the vast gardens.
A faint scream made Blade look up, frowning. He glanced at his bodyguards, but they stared into space as usual. The cry had been female, and possibly the servants indulged in a little horseplay while the King was away. He listened, and when no more cries came, returned his attention to his book.
The door flew open with a bang. The assassin jumped and dropped the book, then rolled out of the chair as a volley of crossbow bolts hissed across the room. Three bodyguards died with soft gasps and grunts, crashing to the floor.
The fourth rushed at Blade, who jerked two daggers from his belt as the man reached him, twisted and stabbed upwards. The soldier brought the butt of his sword down on the assassin's head as Blade jerked aside, and the glancing blow filled his eyes with stars. His dagger sank into the guard's belly, and the man staggered back, fell to his knees and pawed at the spreading red stain on his tunic. The assassin crawled behind the chair and twisted to look at the door, which soldiers wearing Jovan's pale magenta colours crowded. They advanced into the room, spreading out around the walls.
Blade glanced at the window, calculating the distance to it and how long it would take him to get there. He shook his head to try to clear the bright lights that impaired his vision, but it did not help. His injuries would slow him, and his strength might not be sufficient to scramble down the wall fast enough to escape. If the soldiers had been sent to kill him, they might succeed, but if they had been ordered to capture him, he stood a chance.
If he remained behind the chair, he would certainly be captured or killed, even if he did take a few with him. He glanced back at the soldiers, at least a dozen of whom were now in the room, their eyes fixed upon his hiding place. Several carried loaded crossbows, and he stood little chance of evading the bolts if their aim was good. One soldier removed his helmet, revealing shoulder-length blond hair and a strikingly handsome face. He grinned at the chair behind which Blade hid, his expression triumphant.
"Come out, coward, or I shall have my men drag you out. There is no escape, so you may as well give up."
Blade turned to the window again, gathering his strength for the explosive burst of energy that he would need to reach it. The soldier he had stabbed lay groaning a few feet away, and his traitorous actions explained Dravis's knowledge of Blade's hiding place. The guard was a man of starlings, whose familiar had undoubtedly carried the information to the Prince. Blade tucked the daggers back into his belt, steeling himself for the pain that would lance from his injuries, then leapt up and sprinted for the window.
Dravis yelled, and two bolts hissed past Blade's ears, ricocheting off the wall in front of him. He ducked, swerving to hamper their aim, then a tremendous blow struck his shoulder, spun him around and sent him crashing into the wall, cracking his head against it. His vision dimmed as he struggled to get to his knees, groping for the window ledge above him. His shoulder had gone numb, and a stab of pain came from the old wound in his thigh.
Strong hands grabbed him from behind, and he yanked a dagger from his belt, slashing at his attacker. A harsh grunt rewarded him, then someone kicked the dagger from his hand, and it skittered across the floor. He drew another as more hands gripped him. Several husky soldiers bent over him, taking hold of whatever part of him they could reach. Stabbing upwards, he plunged the dagger into one, and the man recoiled with a hiss. A soldier punched him in the jaw, almost robbing him of his senses, and more hands gripped his arms, pinning them. Someone wrenched the dagger from his fist, and boots thudded into his ribs.
"I want him alive!" Dravis' command cracked across the room, and the soldiers stopped kicking Blade. They tried to haul him to his feet, but he drooped in their grip.
"Gag him, bind him and bring him!" Dravis snarled.
The men dumped Blade and pinned him face down, twisting his arms behind his back. He struggled, but the pain of his old wounds, combined with the fresh one in his shoulder and the beating he had just received, robbed him of most of his strength. They took his daggers and stuffed a rag into his mouth, binding it in place, then tied his hands behind his back and bound his ankles together.
The soldiers picked him up and followed the prince, who replaced his helmet and led the way down the corridor at a brisk trot. The two guards at the end of the corridor lay dead, for they had orders to allow no one entry except a select few, and Jovan's men were not on the list. Jovan was only guilty of freeing his brother, and the rest of the palace guards had no orders to stop his men, which was how they had gained entry into the palace.
Jovan's crime had earned him nothing more than a minor fine and a reprimand from the courts, under Cotti's peculiar laws. The lax laws for princes stemmed from centuries of princely plotting to gain as much leniency as possible, and the minor amendments hardly caught the attention of the judges who enforced them. As a consequence, princes were almost immune to prosecution for just about anything, and they used it to their advantage at every opportunity. Jovan would be in trouble for killing Kerrion's men, but would, in all likelihood, shift the blame onto his men, and have them flogged. Blade shook his head again to try to clear it, but it throbbed viciously, and his action only made it worse.
The group approached another set of guards, who stared in surprise at the peculiar party bearing down on them with weapons drawn. The guards started to draw their swords, but Dravis' men rushed them and slew them before they could, taking full advantage of Jovan's reputation as a peaceful prince. Dravis led the group at a run, two men carrying Blade. Taking them to side exit that opened into the gardens, he headed for a ladder set against the outer wall and scrambled over it.
The men followed, handing Blade to more who waited on the far side. Quite clearly this operation had been well planned, and with Dravis' knowledge of the palace, would succeed. His last hope of rescue faded as he was bundled into a carriage, and Dravis climbed in beside him, removed his helmet again and grinned down at his captive as the coachman whipped up the team. The carriage rattled through the city for several minutes, then stopped at an imposing mansion.
The men carried Blade into a sumptuous, tapestry-hung room that had benefited from Jashimari trade to the tune of several polished burwood chairs and an ironwood table. The soldiers dumped Blade in a chair and retreated to stand by the door.
Dravis approached him, smiling. "So, assassin, I have you at last. Even if I did have to do it myself. The legendary Queen's Blade, pawn of the Jashimari whores. Not so tough now, are you?" His gaze slid to the barbed bolt that protruded from Blade's shoulder. "That must be painful. Allow me."
Smirking, the Prince pulled the quarrel out, watching Blade's face as he did so. Blade refused to give him the satisfaction, and remained impassive. Dravis removed the gag and stepped back, still smiling.
"So, what have you to say for yourself?"
The assassin summoned some moisture into his mouth and spat. "Cotti bastard."
"Ah. How enlightened. But then, I should not expect wit from a common assassin, should I?" He went to the table and poured himself a cup of wine. "I suppose you want to know what I intend to do with you?"
"You are going to hand me over to the court for execution, in the hope of clearing yourself of Trelath's murder."
Dravis grinned and raised the cup. "Very good. And you are going to tell them the truth, or the Jashimari slut dies."
Blade lowered his gaze to the floor while he considered his options. If he told Dravis he did not care about Minna-Satu, the Prince would see him as a greater threat, one who could not be coerced, and may tell damaging lies at a trial. That could force him to kill Blade now and forgo the glory of his capture. He also disliked the idea of his queen dying at this upstart Cotti prince's hands, while if he pretended to go along with Dravis' plans, there may be an opportunity to escape.
Even if he did not escape, the forum of the trial would give him the chance to make Dravis regret trying to force him to do as he wished. Although the humiliation would be great, it was better than giving up all hope of vengeance or escape by signing his own death warrant. After this, killing Dravis would be a particular pleasure, and one that he wanted to enjoy. It took only a moment to decide, then he raised his eyes and shrugged.
"Very well."
Dravis' brows shot up. "Indeed? I had not thought you would agree so easily. I even brought my torturer along. He will be so disappointed. I thought assassins never named their clients."
"We do not."
"Then my torturer will have work to do after all."
Blade shook his head. "It will do you no good."
"Oh? You think you can withstand a Cotti torturer?"
"I have done it before."
Dravis's smile faded. "Then what truth did you agree to tell?"
"That I killed Trelath and Chaymin."
"Name Kerrion as your client, or the woman dies."
Blade shook his head. "That is not the truth. I do not work for Cotti scum."
"I do not care, just name him. You should not have a problem with that if he is not your client."
"If Kerrion is executed for treason, what happens to my queen?"
Dravis waved a hand. "I will see to it that she is returned to Jashimari."
"You expect me to trust you?"
The Prince frowned. "I shall write to the courts and order her expulsion as soon as Kerrion is executed, they will see to it. You have my word."
"You are a traitor. Your word is worthless."
"You do not have a choice, assassin. Either agree, or you die now, and your queen soon after you."
"Put it in writing, and let me hand it to the judges at my trail, then I will agree."
Dravis pondered this, then shrugged. "Very well."
"Then we have an agreement."
The Prince sipped his wine, looking disappointed. "I thought it would be far more difficult to make you do as I wished. It does not bother you that you are destroying the Jashimari slut's hopes of becoming the Cotti Queen?"
"No."
"Yet you want her to live."
"She is my queen."
"Ah." Dravis smirked. "But I think she will be rather angry when her husband is executed."
"Then she will ensure that you pay for it."
"She will not succeed, because you will be dead."
Blade raised his chin and smiled. "Scorpions are easily stepped on."
Dravis' smile vanished, and he swung away to snarl at his men, "Take him away and chain him up."