The Queen's Blade (27 page)

"That is no secret," Kerrion muttered. "Many people hated Shandor."

"They have said that you were in league with the camp whore, and she drugged the King so you might kill him. Afterwards you went to Jashimari together to strike a bargain with the Queen."

"In which case I would not have returned. Surely the judges cannot think me such a fool? This story of Lerton's is implausible, it makes no sense."

His mother nodded. "And yet he will convince them, if not with the truth of his stories, then with the depth of his pockets. He is determined to oust you, and has grasped the perfect opportunity."

Kerrion frowned at the disturbing wisdom of her words. "You should not be here. I did not summon you. If the guards find you, there will be an uproar that I will have to deal with, and right now, I am not in the mood for an argument."

"Of course, you are tired, I understand. Do not worry, no one will see me leave." She bowed her head and folded her hands.

"See that they do not."

Patriss started to abase herself, but Kerrion waved an impatient hand, and she vanished amongst the curtains at the back of his bed chamber. He considered his vague memories of soft hands and a sweet voice singing lullabies to him in the darkness. At the age of six, he had been removed from her care and taken to the men's quarters, where a stern tutor had taken over the duty of rearing him. Menservants had washed and dressed him, and he had not known a woman's touch again until he was old enough to be allowed a concubine to warm his bed. He hardly knew his mother, and had been brought up to believe that women were inferior, too stupid to talk to and good for nothing but bearing children and giving a man pleasure.

Since his encounter with the Jashimari Queen, however, his opinion had changed. Not only was she remarkably intelligent, but also proud and strong willed, something he had not encountered amongst the humble Cotti women. She was not unique, he mused, for the chief advisor, Chiana, had been equally clever, though a little less proud. He wondered what it must be like to share a lifetime with such a woman, instead of the meek silence to which he was accustomed. His father had been a firm believer in the inferiority of women, taking every opportunity to revile or insult them. Yet beneath this arrogant exterior Kerrion had sensed a deep loneliness, an emptiness that had made King Shandor turn to drink and sports to fill his time.

Kerrion's problems had started at birth, when he had been the first son born to a wife Shandor disliked. The King's uncle had arranged the marriage, and Shandor had resented it, especially when his favourite wife, chosen for her charms, had borne a son just two moons later. Shandor had done his best to rid himself of his eldest, unwanted son by placing him in perilous situations. The first attempt on Kerrion's life had been when he was seven, and had recently learnt to ride. Shandor had given him a spirited horse and insisted that Kerrion master the animal. The Prince had soon found himself in a situation he could not control, when the stallion had bolted and thrown him. Luckily, he had escaped with only a broken leg and collarbone.

The next attempt had involved Lerton, who had pushed Kerrion down a well. A peasant had found and rescued him, and Lerton had received several light blows from his father's belt in token punishment. At the age of twelve, Shandor sent Kerrion to inspect a village ravaged by a deadly plague. Although several of the soldiers who went with him died, Kerrion did not sicken. At fourteen, he had been left on foot in the desert while out riding with his personal guard. They had camped overnight, and in the morning Kerrion had found himself alone.

His personal guard had also neglected to search for him, or to even notice his absence. He had walked to a village, where he spent two tendays recovering from his ordeal before returning to his father's palace. At sixteen, he had started his training in armed combat, and his years amongst the soldiers had been rife with strange accidents and odd mistakes by seasoned warriors. He had emerged battle-scarred and tempered by several brushes with death, which had left him wary and suspicious. Upon his return to his father's court, he had employed a food taster, and three had succumbed to poison over the years.

Kerrion sighed as he pondered the strange fact that he had probably been safer in the Jashimari Queen's palace than he was in his own.

Blade halted his horse and gazed at the village nestled in a muddy hollow amid rolling hills covered with giant bloodwood trees. The gloomy aspect did little to lighten his mood, just as shifting his seat did little to relieve the smarting of his posterior from a tenday of almost constant contact with a saddle. Autumn winds had stripped most of the red-gold leaves from the trees and turned them dingy brown, matching the mud that clogged the streets and the houses built from undressed timber. The scene had little to recommend it, even the people who waddled through the sucking mire wore grey or brown clothes. Put together with the haze of smoke that hung about the place and the yapping of half-starved dogs, it struck him as a singularly unhealthy spot.

Blade turned to Lirek, who sat poker-faced on a broad bay horse beside him. "This is the Queen's reward? Does she wish me dead?"

Lirek smiled. "The town's not so good, but your estate is far better."

"You've been here before?"

The bodyguard shrugged. "I've passed through it."

Blade surveyed the scene once more. "What keeps these people here? What do they live on? I see no cultivation."

"These are miners. Your estate has one of the richest gold mines in the country."

"Gold." Blade pulled a face. "As if we haven't got enough of it."

"It pays the bills."

The assassin glanced back at the mud-splattered company who sat stony-faced on their steeds behind him. He had quickly deduced the advantage of riding in the front, and, after two muddy days in the middle of the company, had assumed the lead. The young squad leader rode behind him, his finery somewhat soiled from the day's ride, an eager look in his eyes. Blade turned away and nudged his horse forward. He disliked eager-to-please people, and was unused to the fawning of lesser men.

As he and his men emerged from the forest, some of the peasants cast disinterested glances in their direction, but few paused for more than a moment before going on about their business. Here, in the heart of Jashimari, the war seemed unreal, and the intrusion of a squad of strange soldiers aroused no suspicions. Unlike the border town in which Blade had been raised, where the goatherds had doubled as lookouts and every stranger had been regarded with suspicion. He found their apathy depressing, and their smugness galled him when he thought of all the men who had died to keep these dull people safe.

The company trudged through the muddy streets to the far side of the village, where the forest drew back on either side to reveal a tract of cleared land covered with soggy grass and a few animals. The road divided into two, one winding away into the forest, the other leading to an imposing keep of grey and black stone. Set against a backdrop of dark, bare trees, it brooded beneath a sullen grey sky, summing up Blade's mood.

"How suitable," he muttered.

"My Lord?" Lirek enquired, looking perplexed.

"It suits me, don't you think?"

Lirek shrugged. "If you say so."

Blade kicked his horse into a canter, his bodyguard and the troops following. The tall wooden gates stood open, allowing the cavalcade to clatter into the castle's courtyard unchallenged. Blade swung down from the tall black charger with a soft groan, rubbing his offended hind parts. Shock-haired grooms ran up to take the horses, gaping at the new arrivals.

Blade glanced around for someone more intelligent, and spotted a brown-clad man hurrying towards him. His animal kin was so easily recognisable that Blade was hard put not to smile. The man's hook-nosed face poked forward on a wrinkled neck, his bald pate gleamed in the dull light, and small brown eyes glared from under heavy lids. His movements, while giving the appearance of haste, had a ponderous quality about them, and Blade awaited his arrival with interest.

"Who are you, sir, to ride in here unannounced?" the man demanded. "My Lord, were he here, would not approve."

Blade smiled, switching to the high-born speech that nobles used. "Indeed. And who might your lord be?"

The man drew himself up. "Lord Conash, holder of the Queen's favour, esteemed advisor and confidant of our illustrious matriarch and slayer of the despised King Shandor of the Cotti."

"He sounds like quite a man," Blade commented.

"He is indeed! He would be here to tell you this himself, if he was not so utterly indispensable to the Queen that she insists on keeping him at her side."

"Ah, well, maybe he has other attributes that she requires," Blade remarked, starting to enjoy himself.

"How dare you?" the retainer spluttered. "How dare you insult My Lord and the Queen herself?"

"Did I? Is it so insulting to be chosen by the Queen, or for the Queen to choose from amongst her esteemed lords?"

The man's face reddened and his eyes bulged as he wrestled with this conundrum. "My Lord Conash is... he would not... could not..." He waved an arm. "I do not have to explain myself to you, sir. Suffice it to say that such a thing could not happen."

Blade raised a brow and glanced at Lirek. "News does travel fast." Lirek opened his mouth, but Blade held up a hand and addressed the retainer. "Tell me, my good man, do you know your lord well?"

"Well?" The man looked puzzled. "Not exactly."

"Truth be told, you do not know him at all, do you?"

"Well, not personally, no."

"By reputation only, then?"

The retainer nodded. "That's right."

Blade started to pull off his gloves, one finger at a time. "So you do not know what he looks like, do you?"

"No."

"Nor do you know his signature."

"No."

Blade finished removing one glove and started on the other. "So if you were to receive a letter, signed by him, you would not know if it was indeed his signature, would you?"

"Of course I would!" the man protested, clearly outraged by this impossible assumption.

"How?"

"I know a noble's hand. I can tell a lord's signature from some peasant's forgery."

"Ah." Blade folded his gloves, concentrating on the task to keep from laughing.

"What's this all about, anyway?" the retainer demanded. "What right have you to question me? You have not even told me who you are. And all these soldiers!" He glanced around. "You can't stay here, we can't feed this many men, and besides, you have no permission from Lord Conash."

Blade smiled. "I do not need permission from Lord Conash. I am he."

The man's eyes widened, and he stepped back with a gasp. Confusion wrinkled his brow, then suspicion dawned. "So say you!"

Blade sighed, tiring of the game. "What, do I not look like a lord, even in such finery?" He glanced down at his black, silver-studded tunic. "Do I need to bring the Queen here to vouch for me? But then, you might doubt her identity, too."

He stepped forward and poked the man in the chest. "I sent a woman and her children here several moons ago, with a letter, and they were turned away. Is this how you serve your master? Would you try to turn me away as well? Because I assure you, I will not leave so easily, and I have a company of the Queen's men to back me up. Ask them who I am, if you wish, but if you do, you will find yourself out of a job."

The retainer purpled, then paled, his eyes darting about the courtyard like a trapped rat. Finally he dropped to one knee and bowed his head. "I am sorry, My Lord Conash, I had no way of knowing you."

"Nor, apparently, my signature. A little less suspicion would have served you well, and if you had done as I ordered in the letter, I would not be here now, to make your life unpleasant."

"I apologise, My Lord."

"Bring me the woman and her children at once."

"Yes, My Lord." The man jumped up and trotted away in the manner of an agitated tortoise.

Blade turned to smile at Lirek, reverting to the commoner's form of speech with the ease of many years' experience. "I could get used to this."

"You seem to have the knack of it, My Lord."

"Hmm. Well, let's go and find something to eat and drink. A tankard or two of ale would go down well right now, I must say."

Lirek grinned. "I won't argue with that."

Within the keep, they found willing serving girls and a well-stocked larder waiting to be washed down by an equally well-stocked cellar. Blade had found Lirek to be a compliant and pleasant drinking companion, if inclined to get bawdy. The over-eager squad leader and his junior officers joined them, but before long vanished in the company of giggling maids. Lirek kept eyeing a buxom wench who winked at him often, until Blade could stand it no longer and ordered his bodyguard to give in to her blandishments.

When Lirek had been dragged away, looking apologetic, Blade found himself drinking alone, as he often did. He surveyed his domain with tired eyes, finding the decor depressing. Dusty trophies stared down at him with accusing eyes and tattered battle flags dangled like dirty washing on the walls. A pile of ash resided in the massive fireplace, and the rushes on the floor gave off a dank smell.

A scream from the doorway made him jump up and whip around in time to collect a ragged, dirty bundle of sobbing broken-nosed joy against his chest with such force that she almost bowled him over. A strong smell of cows accompanied her, mixed with the redolence of straw and dung. He fended her off, glancing around at the smirking retainer and five snotty-nosed children who stood in the doorway.

"Lilu, get a hold of yourself," he growled, pushing her away. "You've spent too much time with the cows."

She stopped trying to hug him and stepped back. "Of course I have, all because that buffoon couldn't read your signature." She shot the retainer a venomous glance.

"I'm sure you'll make him pay."

Tears shimmered in her eyes. "You came! I can't believe it. You came all this way to save me."