Chapter Fifteen

 

Kerrion stood on a turret that overlooked the executioner's courtyard, gazing down at the place where Blade was to die. Workmen toiled in the hot sun, building the scaffold to which he would be bound. The sentence was to be carried out immediately, and a crowd of courtiers and lords gathered, filling the edges of the courtyard and the many balconies and windows that overlooked it. Kerrion hated their arrogant, laughing faces and smug cruelty. Blade had good reason to hate the Cotti, he reflected, not only for the death of his family, but for their conceited disregard for the suffering of others. He glanced up at Kiara, hovering high above, and wished that he could join her in her simple world of wind and hunting.

Kerrion turned at the sound of footsteps, frowning. Marek strolled towards him, looking smug.

"What do you want?" Kerrion demanded.

Marek bowed. "Only to join you in your vantage. I am surprised that you are going to watch your assassin die."

"Leave me."

"So, you no longer deny it. Come, let us be friends. Order your assassin to exonerate Dravis, and all will be forgiven. We will even let you pass some of your silly laws, just to show our good intentions."

Kerrion turned away to stare down at the courtyard. "That is the problem. A king should not have to curry the favour of his brothers in order to pass laws. And how long will it be before one of you harms my wife again?"

"No one will, I swear."

"Your oaths mean nothing to me, or to Dravis. He wants the throne, and he will kill all of you to get it."

"He has not killed anyone. He is just a boy."

The King nodded. "Exactly. He is already plotting against me."

"If you do not order the Queen's Blade to absolve Dravis, none of your laws will be passed."

"More blackmail, Marek? It did not take you long to resort to your brothers' tactics. As for the assassin, he is not mine, and I do not have the power to order him to do anything."

"Then tell your wife to do it."

Kerrion swung around. "Do not bring her into this. It has nothing to do with her."

"He is her assassin, by his own declaration."

"Even if she could order him to do it, I will not ask it of her."

Marek shook his head. "You are making a mistake. If you do not help Dravis, you will make an enemy of him."

"He is already my enemy. He chose to be, and my helping him would not change that, even if I wanted to, which I do not." Kerrion turned his back on his brother. "Now leave me."

"You should reconsider..."

The King spun around, closed the gap between them with a single stride and punched his brother in the face. Marek went sprawling with a grunt of surprise, and gazed up at the King with dazed eyes. Kerrion stood over him, breathing hard through flared nostrils, his hands clenched at his sides. Marek wiped the blood from his nose and sat up, looking stunned.

"Disobedience is a punishable offence," Kerrion growled. "From now on, I intend to see to it that you pay for every insult you offer me, every infraction of the laws. Before this, we merely disliked each other, but now you are my enemy, and will be treated as such. I think I will send you to lead the army against the nomads to the east. I will find suitably unpleasant posts for the rest of your scheming, traitorous brothers too."

Marek struggled to his feet, holding his nose. "I have done nothing to earn your disfavour!"

"You have connived with Dravis, and insulted me and my wife with your championing of his cause. It makes you as bad as him."

Marek shook his head, clearly dismayed. "I only wanted to find the truth. I have not plotted against you."

"Nor will you get the chance. Your insolence is abhorrent to me. I still have the power to make you pay for it, and you will."

"Do not do this."

The King raised his hand and beckoned to the guards who stood in the doorway, and they marched closer and bowed.

"Take Prince Marek to the dungeons. He is to be charged with disobeying the King."

The guards took Marek's arms, tugging him away. "No!" Marek cried. "My horses!"

"You should have thought of that before you took Dravis' side. Be grateful that I do not have your stallion taken out and slaughtered."

Marek paled with shock and horror, and allowed the guards to lead him away. Kerrion turned to study the courtyard below with a slight twinge of satisfaction at Marek's fate.

The workmen had finished their task and left, now the crowds awaited the assassin's appearance. Kerrion raised his arm, and Kiara floated down to land on his wrist, shuffling her wings into place. He stroked her soft breast as she trilled a greeting and stretched out her neck, begging him to scratch it. Obliging, he watched the crowd below. The atmosphere had become jubilant, and servants plied their masters with pastries and wine. Gales of laughter wafted up on the warm breeze.

It died away as all heads turned towards the doors on the far side of the courtyard, which led to the dungeons. They swung open to admit a dozen spear-toting court guards, who formed a square around the prisoner. Blade walked in the centre of it, two soldiers holding the long ropes that bound his wrists, pulling the assassin's arms away from his flanks. Two more walked behind, holding the ropes that bound his ankles. He was stripped to the waist, revealing the many scars that marred his pale skin and the tattoo at the base of his throat.

Kerrion found a lump blocking his throat and tried to swallow it, wondering why Blade's torment affected him so. Perhaps because he owed his life to the assassin, and that of Minna and Kerra too, but it was more than that. Perhaps because Blade had already suffered so much at the hands of Kerrion's countrymen, or maybe simply because he captivated people with his charisma even as he froze their affection with his chilling stare. Then again, it could be that Minna was right, and he considered the laconic assassin his friend, even though Blade would scorn it.

The crowd cheered as the soldiers led Blade towards the scaffold, shouting insults and trying to spit on him. The soldiers kept the people too far away to succeed, but their attempts sickened Kerrion. The throng jeered and booed, surging after the soldiers in an angry mob, pushing against the spears. A few men threw stones, most of which missed the assassin and hit the soldiers around him, making them shout at the crowd to desist. The men ignored the soldiers and kept up the barrage, and some missiles bounced off Blade's back. One struck him on the head, and he staggered, pulling on the ropes. Kerrion's breast burnt with rage, and he turned to the two new guards who stood in the doorway.

"Tell my captains to clear the courtyard!"

One of the soldiers turned and vanished down the stairway, leaving Kerrion to watch with growing disgust as the crowd pelted Blade with stones. He longed to lean over the parapet and bellow at them to stop, but they would not hear him above the noise they were making. A minute later, a company of his white-liveried soldiers surged into the courtyard, using their spear butts and sword hilts to beat the mob back. The throng retreated, and the King was pleased that many of its members were dealt with harshly, beaten to the ground and kicked. Cries of dismay and anger rose from some, but the stone throwing stopped as the horde was forced towards the exits.

Blade reached the scaffold, and the ropes attached to his wrists and ankles were pulled tight and bound to its frame, stretching his arms out above his shoulders. He stood with his legs apart, unable to move in the taut web. By the time he was secured, the courtyard was empty save for Kerrion's soldiers, and the only spectators were those who watched from balconies and windows. Kerrion tossed Kiara back into the sky and quit the turret, making his way down the winding staircase to his rooms, where he poured himself a cup of strong port. His helplessness filled him with guilt, and he could not bear to face Minna. Blade's ill treatment weighed heavily upon his conscience, and he sat and stared at the wall, memories flashing unbidden through his mind.

After several cups of port, he decided to go to the courtyard, even though part of him hated the prospect of seeing Blade strung up in such an undignified manner.

The setting sun threw the wall's shadow over the scaffold. The guards bowed as he passed, and he dismissed them. The assassin's chin was sunk onto his chest and his eyes were closed, but he opened them when the King approached. Kerrion stopped before him, and Blade raised his head to meet Kerrion's eyes with a gaze that made the King shiver.

"Come to gloat?"

Kerrion shook his head. "Far from it. I hate this."

"Why should you? You have always hated me."

"I do not."

"You should."

"Why? Because you killed my father? He was a bastard. I hated him."

Blade shifted, grimacing. "Then what are you doing here?"

"I came to tell you that I am sorry."

The assassin chuckled. "That has got to be a first. A king apologising to an assassin for executing him."

"I consider you my friend, even though you scorn it. I want you to know that."

"Oh, that is a great comfort."

Kerrion stepped closer, finding the assassin's helpless state strangely comforting. While he had never been in danger from Blade, there had always been that underlying sense of menace about him. Now it was almost gone, only the hatred in his eyes remained, but it was a futile loathing now. He found that reassuring and oddly unpleasant, like seeing a fine sword beaten into a hunk of useless metal.

"I tried my best in the court. You must give me that at least." Kerrion glanced up at one of Blade's hands, swollen by the rope's pressure.

"Leave me alone. Your platitudes sicken me."

"I know you are angry with me. I wish it had not come to this."

"Then free me."

"I cannot."

"You are a spineless worm, Kerrion."

The King looked away, torn between anger and shame. Blade was trying to rile him, to make him go away, and he fought the irritation that the assassin's words caused. "I also want to thank you for naming Dravis instead of me."

"I did not do it for you," Blade growled. "Do not delude yourself. It was my vengeance for what he did to me, and you had better ensure that he is hunted down and punished."

"Oh, I will, you can count on that."

"Minna-Satu will see that you do."

Kerrion nodded. "Of that I am certain." He hesitated. "Do you want a priest?"

"I am a priest, you imbecile."

Kerrion looked blank, then nodded. "Of course, you are a Knight, are you not?"

"Amongst my many titles, none of which have ever done me any good."

"I wonder if the Cotti priesthood would object to a priest being executed?"

"I doubt it."

"But it is worth finding out. The church is very powerful."

Blade sighed. "You would be wasting your time. The Cotti priesthood would not lift a finger to save a Jashimari priest. Just go away and leave me to die in peace."

The King gazed at the assassin, who closed his eyes and let his chin sink onto his chest once more. The urge to draw his dagger and cut the ropes grew stronger, so much so that he found himself fingering its hilt. Kerrion walked away.

 

Kerra went to Blade's rooms late that night, long after all but the sentries had gone to bed. She and Minna-Satu had spent many time-glasses discussing their plan, putting forward ideas and rejecting many, while Blade was being strung up upon the scaffold. Initially, Kerra had wanted to disguise herself as a handmaiden and offer the men who guarded Blade drugged wine to put them to sleep. Minna had pointed out that in Cotti maidens did not do such things, therefore it would appear suspicious.

When Kerrion had returned from visiting Blade, Minna had asked him to dismiss all but the minimum number of guards that could be assigned to the duty. He had asked why, but she had told him to just do it, and he had acquiesced. Certainly he knew that she was up to something, but evidently had no wish to stop her, only asking her to take no risks. This she had promised, and he had given the orders. Only four sentries would be in the courtyard, but their presence would still constitute a grave danger to Kerra.

The young Jashimari Queen opened Blade's wardrobe and inspected the black outfits within it, mixed with a few grey shirts. Selecting one, she placed it on the bed while she stripped off her gown and petticoats. Pulling the trousers on over her chemise, she found them a surprisingly good fit, if rather tight across the hips and a too long in the leg. She had yet to develop much in the way of womanly curves, which was fortunate if she wanted to fit into the assassin's clothes.

The jacket was far too broad in the shoulders and baggy across the chest, and she had to turn back the cuffs, but apart from that, it fitted quite well. Her hair was already pulled back in a tight plait, and she donned a black veil that hid all but her eyes. Lastly, she pulled on a pair of gloves, then dug in the bag she had brought with her, taking out one of the five black-hilted daggers Minna had provided. She tucked it into the sheath on her belt, hoping she would not need it. With the slight skills of stealth and patience Blade had taught her, she hoped to reach him without confronting any guards.

Picking up the bag, Kerra left Blade's rooms and crept down the corridor, at the end of which she encountered the first set of sentries, who were engrossed in a murmured conversation. She settled down to wait, wishing her heart would slow its frantic pounding. After about a time-glass, one man left to answer a call of Nature and the other wandered over to a window to gaze out.

Kerra darted through the doorway and slipped around the corner, trotting down the passage. Her heart seemed ready to burst, and her breath caught in little frightened gasps. She struggled to calm herself, remembering Blade's instructions, issued in bored tones, about calmness and the need for a cool, clear head. Panic and confusion were an assassin's enemies. The trade required absolute clarity of mind and steadiness of body, since the sound of gasping would give away his presence. Perhaps that was why he always appeared so calm and cool, even when he was taken by surprise.

At the end of the corridor, a dark shape loomed out of a doorway, and Kerra's heart leapt into her mouth. Without thinking, she stepped into a shadow and froze, watching with wide eyes as the guard who had left his post walked by. When he passed, she slumped, her heart hammering so hard that it made her dizzy and her ears filled with the roar of her racing blood. It took her several minutes to calm herself again, and her reaction brought a gush of fresh respect for Blade. It was hard to remain calm when danger lurked around every corner and in every shadow. She recalled his lessons about sensing the presence of others in the darkness, and tried to do it now. It had seemed easy when she had succeeded in the meadow, but the distractions made it far more difficult.

Kerra crept along the corridor that led towards the executioner's courtyard, using two smaller passages and detouring through a storeroom to avoid another three sets of sentries. She had studied a plan of the palace that Minna had procured, and stuck to her route. A final corridor led into one of the courtyard's antechambers, where a rusty gate opened onto the yard. She peered through the bars, searching for the four guards that would be on patrol. The executioner's courtyard had several entrances, some for public use, others for the King, the court and the jailer.

This entrance was the executioner's, through which he would enter on the day of Blade's impalement. A sliver of moon hung in the sky, and she could barely make out the scaffold gleaming in the starlight. The far wall was indistinct in the gloom, and the guards stood in the shadows, for she could find no sign of them. She settled down to wait, admonishing herself to be patient. Time passed with incredible torpor, and she shifted several times as parts of her began to ache or go to sleep. She kept reminding herself of Blade's assurance that patience was an assassin's greatest asset, and the more he had, the better he was. The cold bit through the jacket and made her shiver, but in the arid air her breath did not steam.

A movement caught her eye, and she peered at it, straining to make it out. Two guards wandered along a side wall, moving out of the shadows at last. She watched them, then glanced around for the other two. They appeared on the far side of the courtyard, also heading towards her. She waited, her heart speeding up again, as the soldiers strolled towards the gates where she hid, passing each other in front of her. They moved away, but still she did not dare to venture out, for she would have to cross a great deal of open ground to reach the scaffold.

Just beyond the scaffold was an area of deep shadow, and that was where she needed to be. There was no way to reach it without crossing the open area of starlit sand, however, unless she found a route through the corridors to one of the entrances within the shadow. She turned and moved back down the executioner's passage, cursing the plans that had not allowed for starlight and shadow.

Kerra tried to remember the map, which had showed a veritable web of corridors leading to the executioner's courtyard. Reaching a junction, she turned into one of the cross corridors and crept along it, alert for guards. Many of the passageways were unlighted, and she had to grope her way along the walls. The rooms around the courtyard were holding cells for the condemned, fortunately empty. She turned again, trying to visualise the map in her mind. If she got lost, it would be the end of her rescue mission.

Deciding that she had gone far enough, she turned into another passage that led to the courtyard. This one ended in a wooden door, and she lifted the latch, pushed it open a crack and peered out. It was the jailer's entrance, and opened into the area of deep shadow. With a sigh of relief, she slipped through it and crouched down, glancing around for the guards. They were on the far side again, and had stopped in front of the executioner's gate to talk.

The scaffold was silhouetted against the starlit sand, and Blade hung in the ropes. Leaving the safety of the wall, she crept towards him, the faint crunch of sand beneath her boots sounding like thunder to her frightened mind. Halfway to him, her courage almost failed, and she fought the urge to bolt. Summoning all her bravery, she forced herself to keep walking until she reached the wooden frame.

The assassin had not moved, and she wondered why he had not sensed her presence. Either he was unconscious, or he did not care, and if it was the former, she was in trouble. She approached him, her eyes adjusting to the darkness. As soon as she reached him, she bent and cut the ropes that bound his ankles, then straightened, finding herself close to his chest. Shivers ran through him in the freezing night air, the only sign that he lived. She raised a hand and placed it on his chest, tilting her head to peer into his face.

"Blade!" she whispered.

A tremor went through him, and the muscles of his chest and arms contracted. He opened his eyes and raised his head. Kerra grinned as heady relief rushed through her.

"It is me, Kerra."

His gaze sharpened, and his brows drew together. "What are you doing here, you stupid girl?"

"I have come to rescue you."

"Go away, now!"

"No." She glanced up at the ropes that bound his wrists, but they were out of reach, and her heart sank.

Blade straightened, twisting his head to search for the guards, who were behind him. "Get out of here, Kerra."

"No."

"Do not be stupid. Even if you cut me down, I will not be able to walk."

"Why not?"

"Because I have been hanging here for a long time, now go."

"No. Just tell me how to cut those ropes."

He glanced at the ropes that bound his wrists. "You stupid girl. Where are the guards?"

"Behind you. They are talking. They cannot see into the shadows, now help me."

Blade found that his legs were free and drew them together, which slackened the ropes on his wrists. He frowned at her. "You will have to climb up me. Use my knee."

The assassin raised one leg, placing his foot against his other leg to form a step. Sheathing the dagger, she stepped closer and slipped her arms around his neck, hooked her leg over his and pulled herself up. She found herself embracing him, his cheek pressed to her breast and her hands locked behind his neck. Squirming, she pulled herself onto his leg, which trembled beneath her weight. Leaning over his shoulder to take some of her weight off it, she gripped his arm with one hand and drew the dagger with the other.

At full stretch, she could just reach the rope on his wrist, and sawed at it. The rope was tough, and it seemed to take forever to cut through it, but finally it parted. Blade's arm dropped, robbing her of its support, and she grabbed his neck to stop herself from falling. His leg slipped, and she slid down him, ending up pressed against him, clinging to his neck. Cutting the rope also removed one of his supports, and he staggered sideways, her weight hampering him. The other rope held him, and he swung from it. She released his neck and slid her arms around his chest to hold him up, and he sagged against her.

"Can you cut the other one?" She tried to press the dagger into his free hand, but he did not grip it.

"No. My hands are useless."

Blade moved to the side of the scaffold, raised a leg and set his foot on one of the cross pieces. "Use me again."

Kerra slid her arms around his neck and clambered onto his leg, pulling herself up. He tried to help her with his free arm, pressing it against her back to steady her. She stretched up and sawed at the second rope, which parted with a faint ripping sound. Blade's knees buckled, and he collapsed, taking her down with him. She landed on top of him, her hands still gripping his neck, and Blade gazed up at the stars before he closed his eyes. Kerra glanced around for the guards, dismayed to find that they had resumed their patrol, and in a few minutes would enter the shadows. She looked down at the assassin and shook him.

"Come on, we have to go."

His eyes opened. "Where are the guards?"

"Coming. Hurry!"

Kerra slid off him, sheathed the dagger and gripped his arm to try to tug him to his feet. He rolled onto his side, struggling to rise. To her dismay, he could not. He seemed weak and dazed. Gritting her teeth, she pulled his arm over her shoulders and lifted him, surprised to find that he was lighter than she had expected. He managed to use his legs a little, and she half dragged him towards the jailer's door. Her heart raced, and she did not dare to glance at the guards, fearing she would find them almost upon her.

Blade staggered, pulling her off balance and making her reel as well, like a couple of drunkards coming home from the pub. They reached the door, and she pulled it open, dragged Blade through it and closed it behind them. His legs buckled again, forcing her to let him slide to the ground. Latching the door, she turned to examine him in the faint light of a torch further down the passage. The dim illumination frustrated her, and she ran to fetch it and put it in a sconce close by.

Blade was drawn and haggard, his eyelids drooping as if he could not stay awake. She gasped in horror at the sight of his swollen hands and the rope that dug into the puffy flesh of his wrists. The knots were too tight to undo, and she cut them, nicking him in the process. His hands were cold, and, as soon as the ropes fell away, she rubbed them to try to get the blood flowing again. After a few minutes they warmed, and the swelling went down a little.

Kerra looked up to find him watching her, his gaze a little sharper. He pulled free the hand she was rubbing and flexed it, so she picked up the other one and rubbed it. Blade winced, glancing around. The wound in his shoulder oozed fresh blood, and violent shivers racked him. Kerra fetched the bag she had left in the passage and pulled out a jacket and a flask of strong liquor called dre'nthen, offering it to him. He tried to take it, but it slipped from his fingers, so she held it to his lips. After he had taken a few gulps, she put it aside and helped him into the jacket, lacing it up. When she finished, she found him watching her again.

"Well, what now?" he enquired.

She shook her head. "I did not know you would be so weak. I thought you would be able to leave the palace and hide in the city."

"We have only a few minutes before those guards discover that I am gone, and my hands are useless. You will have to find me a hiding place in the palace."

"That is the first place they will look."

"It is a big palace. Give me some more dre'nthen."

Kerra held the flask for him again, and he took several deep swallows. Putting it away, she dug out the daggers and pushed them into the sheaths on his belt and boots.

Blade rubbed his hands, flexed them and grimaced as the blood returned. Kerra wondered how much pain he was really in, for she was certain that he did not reveal much of it. He must be aching, particularly his arms and chest. He relaxed, rested his head on the wall behind him and closed his eyes. She knew the dre'nthen would be smouldering in his stomach, and hoped it imparted a little strength.