Master of the Dance (23 page)

"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.