Master of the Dance (45 page)

Blade swung to seek the second assassin in the darkness, using the pretence of inattention to draw an attack from the first man. He sensed the assassin lunge at his back and spun, crossed his arms and jerked them apart. The Contaran dropped his weapons and staggered back, clutching his neck, which spouted blood in little fountains.

Blade sensed movement behind him and turned just in time to collect the second assassin in the chest as he charged from his hiding place in a most unusual tactic. Assassins avoided contact when fighting, preferring to keep a distance and use their weapons. Engaging in grunting tests of brute strength was reserved for the brainless lumps of brawn who called themselves warriors. Blade tried to roll aside as the force of the man's charge sent him flying backwards. The Contaran grabbed his shoulders and hung on, landing atop him as they crashed to the floor.

Blade's head hit the marble with stunning force, and he went limp as the world receded into a roaring blur. One dagger fell from his lax hand with a soft clink, and his attacker jerked his knee into Blade's groin, a particularly ineffective move against a eunuch. As the Contaran paused to puzzle over Blade's lack of reaction, the Jashimari assassin's vision cleared, and he looked up into the stranger's brown eyes. The Contara assassin raised a dagger above Blade's chest, preparing to plunge it into his heart, and a shriek of horror came from the bed.

Chiana clamped her hands over her mouth as the intruder raised a dagger to kill her husband. A primal instinct took over, and she leapt off the bed, swept up the pottery urn that stood on the side table and ran across the room. The assassin who straddled Blade glanced up as she bore down on him, his eyes widening in surprise. She swung the urn at his head, but he ducked, causing her to go whirling across the room as the weight of her weapon swept her after it. She fought to regain control of it and turned to attack the man again, her bed sock-clad feet slipping on the polished floor.

The assassin straightened and raised his dagger once more, apparently savouring his moment of triumph. As he plunged it towards Blade's chest, the Jashimari assassin became aware of his peril and flung up an arm. His other hand, which still held a dagger, jerked up, plunging the blade into the Contaran's side. The intruder gave a coughing grunt, and Blade hissed as the stranger's weapon impaled his forearm. The Contara assassin jerked it free and slashed at Blade's throat, forcing him to block the blow with his arm again. He heaved the Contara assassin off, and the man rolled to his feet as Blade regained his more slowly, his eyes fixed on his opponent. Blood flowed from his arm and ran down the intruder's side, spotting the pale marble with dark drops.

Chiana watched them with wide eyes, her heart pounding in her throat. Seeing that her husband was out of immediate danger, she put down the urn and ran towards the sitting room door, intent on finding help. The intruder turned at the sound of her footsteps and flung a dagger with a vicious, sideways flick of his hand as Blade threw himself at him in a vain attempt to stop him. Chiana yelped as the weapon struck her in the back. The blow sent her sprawling, hitting her chin on the unforgiving marble.

Blade hit the Contara assassin with all the force of his charge, but the other man was a head taller and weighed half again as much. Although the impact staggered him, he stayed on his feet and turned to grab Blade's wrist. Blade tried to jerk free, and his feet skidded as his free hand flashed towards the stranger's face.

The intruder blocked the blow, using his bone-crushing grip on Blade's wrist to twist his arm cruelly, his hatchet face filled with triumph. Blade hissed as pain lanced up his arm to join with his pounding head and contrive the most exquisite agony. This was the danger he had always sought to avoid. Once a stronger, skilful opponent had a crippling hold on him, the end was nigh. The stranger twisted his arm harder, forced it up behind Blade's back and sent shafts of excruciating torture through him.

A flash of memory released an explosion of pent-up rage that swept through Blade in a black tide, washing all else from his mind. The simmering hatred and anger that so many had glimpsed in his eyes over the years flared into white-hot fury. Blade turned, ignoring the searing agony in his arm as tendons tore, and stabbed his assailant in the chest. The Contara assassin recoiled in surprise, releasing his hold as he jumped away.

Blade followed with murderous intent, his right arm hanging at his side. He attacked viciously, uncaring of his safety and ignoring the years of training that had taught him self-preservation above all else. Stabbing the retreating Contara assassin in the arm as the man flung it up, he leapt, lashing out with blade-tipped feet. One stabbed his opponent in the hip, the other ripped through his shoulder, inflicting a long gash. The Contara assassin threw himself backwards in a desperate attempt to avoid the barrage of stabbing, slashing blows, lashing out with his weapon.

The doors in the sitting room shuddered under a barrage of heavy blows. Shouts followed, faint through the thick wood, then the assault was renewed with increased vigour. The Contara assassin turned and ran towards a window, and Blade flung his dagger. It struck the fleeing man in the back of the neck, and he stumbled to a halt, clawing at the point of the blade that protruded from his throat. He stood swaying, then fell to his knees, where he remained for another moment before toppling forward onto his face.

Chapter Thirty

Blade stared at his fallen enemy as his fury ebbed, then his hand sank to his side. He turned, his legs almost buckling as a wave of weakness sapped him. Limping over to Chiana, he lowered himself to his knees beside her, his eyes on the spreading stain on her nightdress and the dagger hilt that protruded from its centre. His breath came in rapid wheezing gasps, and sweat ran down his face.

The pounding on the doors continued, accompanied by creaking and cracking as the wood weakened under the assault. He toyed with the idea of opening the doors, but he did not have the strength. Instead, he took hold of the dagger in Chiana's back and pulled it out, releasing more blood. Flinging the weapon aside, he turned her over and cradled her head in his lap as he brushed the tangled hair from her face. Blade recalled the time when she had held him thus, as he lay dying after blocking the dagger intended for the infant Queen.

With a splintering crash, the doors in the sitting room burst open to admit a flood of spear-toting guards and shouting officers bearing torches. They rushed towards him, some drawing their swords, others lowering their spears when they spied the black-clad man holding the Regent. Blade looked up, and a red-haired, sharp-featured man at the group's forefront raised his torch to illuminate the scene.

"Hold!" he cried, halting the advancing soldiers, who glanced at him in surprise, then back at Blade, some of them with dawning recognition. Redgard's eyes flicked to Chiana, and he turned his head to bellow at those behind him, "Summon the healer!"

The guard captain stepped forward and lowered himself to one knee, meeting Blade's eyes. "How badly is she hurt?"

Blade shrugged, wincing. "Badly enough."

Redgard barked orders at his men, who ran to light lamps and examine the Contara assassins' corpses. In a few minutes, the bed chamber was brightly lighted, and muttering men stood over the bodies. Redgard handed his torch to a soldier and studied Blade, his eyes lingering on the arm that hung at the assassin's side and the blood that oozed from the other to drip onto Chiana's nightgown.

"We must stop that bleeding, My Lord."

Blade glanced down. "I am afraid I do not really have the strength, Captain."

"I am not surprised."

Redgard signalled to his men, and one stepped closer to kneel beside Blade and draw a knife from his belt. Blade watched him cut the thongs that bound his jacket, his mind blank with exhaustion and pain. The soldier eased the garment off Blade's shoulders, and he pulled his good arm free, leaving the soldier to extricate his flaccid limb. While the assassin sat in an exhausted daze, the soldier unbuckled the loaded wrist sheath on Blade's injured forearm and set it aside. The second soldier brought cloths and bound Blade's arm, staunching the bleeding. Redgard's expression made Blade glance down at his chest, where a pattern of bloody cuts shredded his leather vest.

"We should put her on the bed."

Blade looked up at the captain's words and nodded. At Redgard's instructions, two soldiers eased Chiana from his lap and carried her to the bed. Blade continued to sit, finding that he was too tired to rise and vaguely embarrassed about it.

Redgard studied the man before him, amazement and deep respect swelling his heart until he could not speak. Blade's face was chalk-white, splattered with drops of blood and beaded with sweat. Lines of pain bracketed his mouth and furrowed his brow. All his life, Redgard had scorned assassins as sneaky killers who slew their victims while they lay helpless in their beds, a fact that caused warriors to revile them. This man had earned his esteem, however, and his heart. Redgard glanced at the Contara assassins' corpses, marvelling at the skill and courage it must have taken to defeat them. Blood spotted the floor in numerous spray patterns, some smeared by footprints. Becoming aware that Blade had closed his eyes, and looked ready to pass out from exhaustion, Redgard leant forward and touched his shoulder.

"Let me help you up, My Lord."

"No. Not yet. Bring me some wine."

"Of course." Redgard turned his head. "Fetch some wine!"

A soldier brought a bottle and a cup, which Redgard filled and held out, waiting for Blade to notice it. The assassin took it with a trembling hand and gulped it down. Redgard refilled it, then looked around as the tramp of boots heralded the arrival of Verdan, supported by the two soldiers who had been sent to fetch him. He swore when he spotted Blade and tried to break free, but the soldiers hustled him over to the bed. Two of his assistants followed, carrying his bags, and, as he bent to examine Chiana, he sent one over to tend to Blade. The young healer knelt beside the assassin, his eyes widening as he took in the extent of Blade's wounds, then he glanced at Redgard.

"We need to put him on the bed."

Redgard nodded, but Blade turned his head to glare at the man. "You may address me directly. I am not deaf."

"Yes, My Lord." The healer reached out to help him, but Blade jerked his arm away.

"For the moment, you may leave me alone."

"But My Lord, your wounds need treatment."

"I am aware of that. Right now, I need more wine." Blade held out his empty cup, and Redgard refilled it.

The healer's gaze flicked to the blood that trickled down the assassin's chest and soaked the bandage on his arm. "I must stop the bleeding, My Lord."

Blade lifted the cup and gulped the wine. He did not bother to glance up at the sound of more people approaching from the sitting room, although Redgard's expression told him that the newcomers were high ranking. Still, he was surprised when a silk skirt and jewelled slippers stopped before him, and Redgard scrambled out of the way. Blade looked up at Queen Kerra-Manu, and a wry smile twisted his lips.

"So, at last you find me in a suitably humble position, Kerra."

She sank to her knees, casting a worried glance at the bed, but gazed at him with even deeper concern. "This is not a time for your jests, My Lord. You are badly hurt."

"Actually, I am quite well aware of that."

Kerra shot the young healer an accusing glance. "Why do you not tend him?"

"He refuses to move, My Queen."

"Did it occur to you that he may not be able to?"

Blade snorted and drained his wine cup again, holding it out to Redgard for a refill. "I shall move when I am good and ready."

"Hopefully before you bleed to death."

"Indeed."

"Blade -"

"Kerra, I am not in a mood to be trifled with."

Her eyes darted to the body of one of the assassins. "I would say that you are lucky to be alive."

"Luck had very little to do with it. But I did have a splitting headache at the time, which put me in an exceedingly bad mood. And I still have both the headache, and the foul temper." Blade slugged back the wine and held out the cup again.

Kerra frowned at the healer. "Tend him where he sits."

"Leave me be," Blade growled.

She jumped up. "All right, I have had enough of this foolishness. Take him to the bed and tend to his wounds, now!"

Blade shot a wintry glance at the two soldiers who stepped forward to obey. "Touch me, and you die."

They hesitated, glancing at Redgard, who appeared to be in a quandary, and looked at the Queen. Kerra snorted and stepped closer to bend and grip Blade's arm above his injury. "I would like to see you kill me, Blade."

"Would you?" he snarled, jerking his arm from her grip, but she merely sighed and renewed her hold.

Redgard took the empty cup from Blade and joined her attempt to haul him to his feet. The assassin was forced onto his knees, but refused to rise, since he knew full well that he could not. Instead, he gripped the front of Kerra's gown and yanked her closer, glaring into her eyes.

"You need to be a little more attentive to the wishes of your people, girl. When I say leave me be, I mean it. When I want your help, I shall bloody well ask for it."

She met his eyes with a steady gaze. "When have you ever asked for help?"

"Never."

"Yet many have saved your life, whether you asked for help or not. Jayon, to name just one. And you need it now, or you will bleed to death on the floor. An ignominious end for such a legendry man, do you not think?"

"You are as quick-tongued as your mother. It is a pity you are not as wise."

"We are not going to hurt you, unless you fight us."

He grimaced, his hold on her gown loosening. "It will hurt no matter what I do."

"Unless you get drunk first."

"Exactly."

"But you will be dead before then, and I will not allow it."