Master of the Dance (12 page)

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.

Chapter Eight

Minna sat back to allow a handmaiden to remove her empty breakfast plate, casting a frowning glance at Kerra's unoccupied seat at the table. Kerrion had left early on some urgent business, and she had been forced to eat alone, since Kerra had not joined her. Summoning a hovering maiden with a flick of her fingers, Minna sent the girl to fetch Kerra.

A few minutes later, the maiden returned, looking flustered. Kerra was not in her rooms, and the maid could not find her. Thinking it odd that Kerra should stay abed until breakfast, since she was usually an early riser, Minna went to Blade's rooms in search of her. As soon as she entered the assassin's chambers, she knew something was amiss. A strange smell hung in the air, and it made the Elder Queen dizzy.

Minna retreated, leaving the door open to allow a breeze to blow through, and sent a manservant in to find Kerra and Blade. He returned a short while later, with Kerra in his arms. Minna gave a cry of distress and took hold of her daughter's hand, clinging to it as the servant bore Kerra to her rooms and placed her on her bed. She sent a maiden to summon Kerrion and a healer, and the elderly Cotti bent over the girl with a grimace, sniffing her hair.

"She has been drugged. It's a gas used by healers who cut open their patients. It makes them sleep. She'll be all right in a few time-glasses."

Minna turned to Kerrion with a frown. "Why drug her and leave her there, unharmed?" She raised a hand to her mouth. "Unless Kerra was not the target. Where is Blade?"

The Queen trotted after Kerrion to Blade's rooms, where the gas still lingered. Kerrion made Minna wait in the corridor while he dashed in, holding his breath. When he came out, he shook his head, his expression grave.

"He is gone."

"Someone has taken him. We must search the city at once. We must find him."

He nodded, taking her hands. "We will. But it is a big city, my love, and he could be anywhere."

"Call in all your spies, and offer a reward for information. That is how I found him last time."

"Last time?"

"Yes, he was kidnapped by the lords who tried to have you assassinated. My men found him tied up in a cellar."

Kerrion's grip on her hands tightened. "He may already be dead."

"No!" She jerked free. "He is alive."

"Minna..."

"We must find him! Why take him, if they only wanted to kill him? They must plan to torture him into revealing his employer, and we must find him before they realise that it is futile. He will lie, and frustrate them for as long as he can. We must rescue him!"

He nodded. "I shall do my best, calm down. I want him back in one piece as much as you do, but perhaps not for exactly the same reasons."

"I have made no secret of the fact that I care for him, but this is no time to get jealous."

"I am not. I will send men into the city at once, I promise. You stay with Kerra and comfort her when she wakes."

Kerrion strode away, leaving Minna gazing after him. As he marched to his study, he wondered how he was going to explain this to the captains he must send to find the assassin. Minna's reaction to Blade's loss reminded him of his frantic search for her, and he wondered just how deep her feelings for the assassin went. He sat at his desk and summoned Jadar, who arrived swiftly and bowed.

Kerrion steepled his fingers and frowned. "Jadar, I have a task of great urgency for you. I want you to send runners out to all my spies in the city. Tell them I wish to know the whereabouts of a Jashimari man. He is my wife's courtier, a lord who is visiting her.

"He was abducted from his rooms last night, and it is very important that he is found before he comes to any harm, you understand? He is an important man, the Regent's husband and Lord Protector of Jashimari. If he is killed, it will sour relations between the kingdoms."

Jadar nodded. "Yes, Sire. Why was his presence not known to me?"

"You do not need to know everything."

"But a visiting dignitary..."

"I saw to his comforts myself, and my wife entertained him. I would have informed you, had the need arisen, like now. Go, and send one of my generals in here."

"Yes, Sire." Jadar bowed.

When the general arrived, Kerrion ordered him to send squads of men into the city to search for Blade, describing him in detail. As soon as the man left, Kerrion returned to Kerra's rooms, where Minna sat vigil beside her daughter's bed. He gazed down at Kerra's peaceful face.

"I have dispatched spies and troops."

Minna glanced up at him and nodded. "Good."

"I will find him. I am going to join the search myself. I will bring him back."

Minna forced a brittle smile, her eyes filled with anguish. Kerrion swung away, furious that his brother had caused her more distress. The chances of finding Blade alive were slim, but he would do all he could, and his presence would spur his men to greater efforts.

Jadaya was a huge, sprawling city, its outskirts a mass of alleys, slums and shanty towns. Kerrion sent his troops in every direction, with orders to search houses, inns and stables, and offer a bag of gold to anyone who had seen a Jashimari man. By lunch time, two Jashimari traders had been presented for his inspection, protesting their arrest. He sent them on their way with an angry gesture, hiding his disappointment behind a fierce frown. His presence in the city attracted crowds of well-wishers and petitioners, forcing him to keep on the move, ducking down alleys to avoid them.

In the afternoon, he returned to the palace to see how Kerra was, finding her awake and dressed, apparently none the worse for her experience, but as distressed as Minna by Blade's abduction. He wondered afresh how it was that such a surly, cold-hearted man could win the hearts of every woman he met, and so completely.

Kerrion had also experienced Blade's fatal charm, but although he knew its power, it certainly did not have the same effect on him. Nevertheless, he was concerned for the assassin, which was ironic, considering that Blade had killed his father and treated him with disdain when he had been the assassin's prisoner. Yet without Blade, all his plans would fail, and that, he told himself, was the real reason for his concern. At the same time, he wondered if he was fooling himself.

Voices from below woke Blade, and he stifled a groan as pain flared all over him. He was so weak he could hardly move, which was just as well, for any attempt to brought fresh waves of agony. His wounds had stiffened, and dried blood gummed his eyelids together. When he tried to shift his position, he found that he was stuck to the hay. A raging thirst glued his tongue to the roof of his mouth, and his throat burnt. He listened to the activity below, the clatter of buckets as the horses were fed and the laughter and chatter of the grooms as they brushed and saddled their charges, then mucked out the stalls.

The sound of water pouring into the horses' troughs was torture, for his desiccated body cried out for moisture. The blood and sweat he had lost during the duel had caused severe dehydration, and he sensed that he was growing weaker by the time-glass. He was in a worse predicament than he had ever been before, badly wounded in a hostile city, where no one would help him. In Jashimari, few would help an assassin, but in Cotti they would probably kill him. He dozed, fading in and out of consciousness, chilled by shock and blood loss. Shivers racked him from time to time, and even when the day warmed, he remained cold.

As darkness fell, the chill woke Blade again. His shivers sent shafts of agony through him and made his wounds bleed. Cramps knotted the muscles of his thighs and arms, made his belly rigid and tore at his wounds. He bit his lip to stifle the groans that grated in his dry throat, but only a hiss came from it. Thirst drove him to seek water, no longer caring if he was found, for a quick death was better than this lingering agony.

Rolling onto his belly, he crawled out of the hay, the boot-blades scraping along the floor. At the top of the ladder he paused, wondering how he would climb down it when his hands had no strength in them. Turning around, he placed his feet on the rungs and began to ease himself down, but his hands slipped and he plunged to the ground with a thud. Fresh agony tore through him, and this time he groaned aloud. His predicament reminded him of the night when he had lain in a gutter in Jondar, left for dead by the thugs who had broken his arm and beaten him almost to death. Then a broken-nosed harlot had taken him in and nursed him back to health, now no such hope existed.