The Queen's Blade (2 page)

Mendal shot Symion a hard look and turned away, raising an arm to summon Chiana. "Chiana, I would speak to you."

When the new chief advisor arrived, Mendal addressed her in a condescending manner. "Your new duties include finding consorts for the Queen, and you should set out immediately for the armies. She may take many moons to choose one from amongst them, you know."

Chiana smiled. "I know. In fact, the duty is not mine alone, and in this I nominate you and Symion to journey to the armies. The Queen needs me beside her right now, but I doubt that she needs you."

Mendal paled, stung by her words, and offered an insulting bow. "Of course, Chief Advisor, I shall do my best."

"Good. Try to choose plenty of cats, or at least warm-blooded men. You know how she hates snakes."

His eyes narrowed, raking her slender form disparagingly. "Well, we all know how much cats like birds. Especially doves."

Chiana scowled and swung away, leaving Mendal smiling coldly at her back as she strode after the Queen.

Symion gave a soft snort of derision. "It is ill advised to insult her now; she has the Queen's ear."

"I said nothing that was not true."

"Even so, you should watch your step. We have a new queen, who already does not like you. And, with her, doubtless, a new set of intrigues and subterfuges. There will be much jockeying amongst the advisors, and many moons before we know where any of them stand. Perhaps leaving the palace now would be beneficial, for we will not be amongst those who fall foul of a knife in the back."

Mendal grunted, glancing around at the muttering throng, most of which shuffled from the vast room. "I know where some of them stand, and now I shall not be here to ensure their continued loyalty to me, which is perhaps worse than the risk of a knife. While we are away, Chiana will have much time to influence them."

"Or find a knife in her back."

Queen Minna-Satu reached the sanctuary of her rooms and flopped down on a soft pile of gilt-edged satin cushions. Since her coronation two days ago, her new duties had drained her, coming as they did so soon after her mother's interment and the cessation of the tolling of the great golden bell that had mourned the death of the Queen for the three days it had taken her to die. The sadness of her mother's death was tinged with a hint of guilty relief, for they had never agreed upon matters of importance.

A handmaiden stepped forward to enquire after the Queen's wishes, and Minna ordered a bath. When the girl had left, Minna's eyes drifted to a corner of the room, where a pair of the palest green met them. The huge sand cat lolled on a cushion, her chin resting on her paws. Her pale golden hide, dappled with an intricate pattern of white, dark gold and black, shimmered in the sunlight that streamed through the window. Minna longed to run her hands over that silken fur and caress the sleek muscles that rippled just beneath it.

Shista rose and limped to her, rubbing her cheek against Minna's thigh. The Queen clasped the cat's neck and hugged her, running her hands over Shista's soft coat. The cat, easily ten feet long and weighing more than four times as much as her friend, flopped down like a kitten and batted at her with great paws. One bore the scar that made her limp, a narrow band of bare skin just behind her toes. Minna took the paw and rubbed that scar, remembering its infliction, and how she had found her cat.

Five years ago, Minna had travelled to the desert, where her troops had gained an area beyond the mountains and held it against Shandor's attacks. For a tenday, she had observed the constant battles, which gained a few arid miles one day, then lost them the next. Her presence had spurred the troops to great feats of courage, but the desert King had held his ground in the end, and forced her warriors back.

During the retreat, she and a group of her personal guard had entered a narrow canyon with crumbling walls. Leading them, Minna had almost been unseated when her horse shied violently.

Minna controlled the beast and dismounted to approach the reason for its fear on foot. A young sand cat, maybe a year old, maybe less, lay dying on the rocks. She still had a cub's brown stripes, and her dull hide was stretched over prominent bones. Though she regarded the Princess with blazing eyes and snarled her defiance, she could not flee. The reason for her plight was a front paw trapped amongst the stones, crushed by a recent rock fall and pinned there. Days of lying in the sun without food or water had reduced her to skin and bones, and the pain of her wound filled her eyes with madness.

"Be careful, Princess," a soldier warned, but Minna ignored him and walked closer to the cat, who spat and bared her fangs, growling deep in her chest. Minna ignored her too, and reached out to stroke her harsh coat. The cat whipped around and bit Minna's hand, her sharp fangs bruising the flesh. A soldier notched an arrow and drew it.

Minna murmured, "You fire that arrow, and I shall personally cut out your heart."

An officer knocked the weapon from the soldier's hands, and all waited as Minna crouched beside the cat. Their eyes met and held, blue and pale green, locked in a battle of wills for a length of time that gave the soldiers ample opportunity to start sweating. At last the young sand cat released the Princess' hand and licked it, then flopped onto her side as if ready to die. Minna examined the red marks on her hand, none of which had drawn blood, and smiled. Within a few minutes, the soldiers had lifted away the rock that pinned the cat's paw. Minna gave her water and dried meat before they were forced to leave her as Shandor's men drew closer.

Two days later, Shista had wandered into Minna's tent and taken up residence, becoming a permanent fixture from then on. The crushed paw had healed, and she had followed the Princess back to the palace. The strong bond that had formed between them could never be broken now, a sharing of minds and traits that had increased Minna's feline qualities and imbued her familiar with an almost human intelligence.

Minna scratched the cat's belly and listened to her rumbling purr. Shista was larger than any cat found in Jashimari lands, which boasted only the white snow cats from the mountains, wood cats and small domestic cats. Shista outweighed the largest, the snow cat, by twice its weight. In the five years that had passed since then, Shista had never shown aggression to anyone, but appeared to be fond of all, even rubbing herself affectionately on certain people she especially liked.

Minna alone was accorded the honour of play, when Shista would roll about like a kitten and pat her human friend with massive paws that could disembowel her with a swipe. She had a herd of goats in a pen outside, from which she would select a meal whenever she was hungry. On rare ceremonial occasions, Minna would put a jewelled golden collar on her and persuade the great cat to walk at her side, but Shista disliked this, and bore it with ill-concealed disgruntlement.

The maid returned to announce that the Queen's bath was ready, and Minna left the purring cat to go and enjoy a long soak in a hot scented tub, aided by several virgin girls whose sole duty it was to attend the Queen.

Shamsara looked up at a raven's harsh caw, and the snow cat beside him snarled a warning. The scrabble of slipping footsteps and gasps of an exhausted man reached him, and he put aside the bowl of herbs he had been grinding to settle back on his pile of leaves, his gaze fixed on the cave entrance. The snow cat spat and slipped away, the two mongooses that played together on the floor sat up. The raven cawed again, and the owl that roosted outside the cave entrance hooted. A panting grey wolf trotted in and sat beside Shamsara, tongue lolling.

The silhouette of a man appeared against the sky, stepped within and fell to his knees. Shamsara noted his livery and beckoned him to come closer. The messenger obeyed, stopping two paces away at a snarl from the wolf. A chameleon clung to his shoulder, blending with the green and gold of the Queen's colours.

Shamsara smiled. "Well, man of chameleons, what does the Queen wish of Shamsara?"

"She summons you, Idol of the Beasts."

"Ah." Shamsara nodded, still smiling. "What is her reason?"

The man breathed deeply several times before replying. The trail to Shamsara's door was an arduous one, designed to repel any who did not have a good reason to seek him out. The Queen, however, did not have to make this journey herself, or at least, did not think so. Shamsara waited until the man had regained his breath.

The messenger proclaimed, "She has vowed to end the Endless War, and wishes to consult you upon the matter."

"Ahha!" Shamsara's smile broadened into a grin, revealing a set of perfect white teeth, incongruous in an ageless face of lined, weather-beaten skin tanned to a deep nut brown. His soft blue eyes gleamed with gentle humour, and a mane of pure white hair framed the open honesty of his countenance. He nodded cheerfully, reached back and grabbed a bunch of leaves, added them to the bowl and ground them into a paste with the rest of the ingredients. The messenger waited, looking a little puzzled at Shamsara's sudden preoccupation with his grinding. The wolf whined and retreated to curl up in the shadows, the mongooses groomed each other. Only the gritty sound of Shamsara's pestle on the stone bowl broke the silence.

The messenger bowed and backed away, but Shamsara glanced up sharply. "I did not give you leave to go."

The man shuffled his feet. "Will you come, then?"

"Mmm. As soon as I have had my lunch."

Chapter Two

The news of Shamsara's arrival in the Queen's city provoked great excitement, and vast crowds flocked to see him. The city of Jondar, far from the border and therefore spared the savagery of war, prospered in a broad vale patch worked with farmers' fields. The Queen's most ardent supporters and greatest dissenters populated the bustling metropolis in a vast cauldron of political intrigue that sheltered within its tall grey walls. All were united in their reverence for the Idol of the Beasts, however, a living emissary of the great god Tinsharon and harbinger of the Age of Beasts. He alone could bond with any animal and resembled none. His birth seven centuries ago had signalled the end of the Age of Trees and ushered in a new aeon.

The Idol of the Beasts rode a mighty grey stallion without rein or spur, a wolf trotting at his heels, a hawk perched upon his shoulder. His garb, made up of many skins and feathers, hid a number of smaller friends, some of which peered out at the sea of humanity. The crowd threw flowers in his path and chanted his name. Mothers held their children up for his blessing. The Idol of the Beasts rode with dignified calm, occasionally raising a hand in a vague gesture of acknowledgment.

Arriving at the palace steps, he dismounted and walked within, a bevy of advisors, who bowed and vied for his attention, surrounding him. Shamsara blithely ignored them and followed a royal attendant, who led him through the immense audience hall and into the Queen's private chambers. The doors closed in the advisors’ faces, and the Idol of the Beasts entered a room hung with silks and tapestries. Rich carpets covered the golden floors and cushions were piled randomly on the rugs. Great windows opened onto the palace gardens, and pale blue curtains billowed in the breeze with a whisper of silk. He turned to meet the unblinking gaze of a sand cat, who lolled upon a pile of cushions. The wolf at his side sat down, and the hawk ruffled its feathers.

Shamsara smiled at the cat and allowed his gaze to wander on, lingering on a pool filled with flowering water lilies. Here was tranquillity and happiness, a sense of serenity he found most pleasing. The sand cat stretched and purred as a slender, petite woman brushed aside a silk hanging and entered his presence. Ink-black hair framed a fine-featured face in which feline blue eyes slanted between long lashes. Her creamy skin seemed to glow in the soft light, and her lips curved in a slight smile of greeting. Her graceful movements and air of contentment confirmed her cat kindred, and he would have known it even without the over-large familiar who lolled upon the cushions.

"Shamsara."

He inclined his head. "Minna-Satu."

"Welcome. Sit, if you will." She sank onto a pile of cushions, arranging her skirts about her in a fall of turquoise silk. Gold gleamed at her neck and wrists, surprisingly little adornment for a queen. As he settled himself, a handmaiden entered with a tray upon which rested an assortment of goblets. He chose water, and the Queen selected a pale wine. As soon as the maiden left, the Queen set aside her cup and folded her hands.

"I am glad you spared me the journey to your home, Shamsara."

He shrugged. "It is not as fine as yours."

"I would like to see it one day."

"Curiosity killed the cat."

She laughed, a husky, gilded tone. "Not this one."

The wolf lay down with a sigh, resting his muzzle on his paws. Shamsara sipped his water, savouring it as a connoisseur might before setting it aside. A brown field mouse crept from his sleeve to sample it before retreating into its sanctuary again. The Queen started as a slender yellow viper slid from his hair and coiled around his neck. Its presence would startle most, for it was the deadliest snake in the world, and cat people disliked them, he knew. Shamsara smiled, his ageless countenance wrinkling along well-used lines, for he smiled often.

"So, Minna-Satu. You requested my presence, and here I am. What will you ask of me?"

Her face became solemn, belying its youthful beauty. The sand cat stopped purring, and Shamsara missed the deep rumble. He cast the cat a reproachful look, and received a cool stare.

Minna-Satu gazed at him. "How can I stop this eternal, accursed war?"

Shamsara nodded, his smile fading. "Only by a great sacrifice, one that is not easily made by one so young."

"I will make it, if necessary."

"Do not pledge yourself so hastily to a sacrifice you have yet to know."

"Tell me."

Shamsara turned his gaze upon the great cat. "You must die."

Shista sat up in a lithe movement that required the lash of her tail to achieve it. Her eyes fixed upon the Idol of the Beasts, and she rose, her limping gait carrying her to him in a few strides. Imposing herself between him and the Queen, she settled back on her haunches and studied him with alarm and puzzlement.