The Queen's Blade Prequel II - God Touched (21 page)

“
No,” she pleaded. “Please, don't hurt me.”

“
That's it,” the man said in a soft, rasping voice. “Beg. I
like it when you beg.”

“
Please,” she said. “I've got children.”

“
So much the better. Filthy whore. You and your kind are scum.
You don't deserve to live, and especially breed.”

“
I'm not a whore. I'm a washerwoman.”

“
Liar. I followed you from the brothel.”

Blade paused
at the edge of the roof, wondering what the rogue assassin had
against whores. Not that he particularly cared. He took his boot
blades from his pouch and strapped them on while the man sauntered
up to his prey and crouched beside her. He had his back to Blade,
but the woman's eyes were white-ringed and her mouth slack with
terror. The man drew a pair of long silver daggers from his belt,
making his intentions clear, and Blade did not need to wait any
longer. He slid off the roof and landed on the cobbles with a clack
of steel-shod boots. The rogue assassin swung around, his
expression startled, then it twisted into a sneer, and he raised
his weapons.

“
So, another puppet of the Watch, no doubt?” His gaze dropped
to Blade’s silver-studded belt. “Ah. But this time it's the Dance
Master. Your cohort squealed most delightfully when he
died.”

“
And doubtless you will too.”

“
He was a bungling, cowardly fool.”

Blade
shrugged. “Probably. He was cheap.”

“
You didn't get your money's worth.”

“
I was tired of him hanging around my haunt,
anyway.”

“
Glad to be of service. Leave now, and live. I have nothing
against you.”

“
Your death's been purchased.”

The rogue
assassin peered at Blade. “You're just a boy. Are you here to
distract me while another sneaks up on me? A crossbowman, no
doubt.”

“
Don't flatter yourself.”

The man's
black eyes glittered in a lined, narrow face with a broad nose and
jug-handle ears. “You may be good at dancing, boy, but you really
don't want to tangle with me. I was a Dance Master too.”

“
But now you're a common murderer, and a disgrace to your
Guild. They should have killed you.”

“
They tried. Many died, so I left. You and your brethren should
stay out of it. It's the Watch's job to kill me.”

“
Until they paid me to do it. Now it's my job.”

“
Ah, that's a shame. Pitting assassins against each other
doubtless pleases them.”

The gasping
woman stared at them with bulging eyes, apparently too scared to
move. Blade walked closer with clicking footsteps, drawing the
rogue assassin’s attention to his lethal footgear.

He smiled.
“So, you came prepared. Using those in a fight is a lot harder than
dancing in them, you know.”

“
But, since you're not wearing any, they'll serve me
well.”

He nodded.
“And it proves your cowardice.”

“
Why would I risk injury to snuff out a criminal?”

“
Perhaps to prove that you can kill me without them. I mean, we
know you're going to try, but succeeding is another
matter.”

“
I think I'll manage, and I've learnt the folly of
pride.”

“
Have you now? Yes, I'll wager you've had the stuffing beaten
out of you a few times. Smarts, doesn't it? So, now you take no
chances, but what satisfaction is there in having an unfair
advantage?”

Blade scowled,
annoyed by the man's baiting. “I'm here to kill you, not prove my
prowess. I just want it over and done with as soon as possible, and
with the least effort on my part.”

“
So, a pragmatist. How droll. You should have just used a
crossbow from the rooftop in that case, son.”

Blade
shrugged. “I'm not a crossbowman, but I'm just as good with a
dagger.”

“
So what are you waiting for?”

“
Your tongue to stop flapping.”

“
Does it bother you then?”

“
It's annoying, yes.” Blade drew the daggers from his
belt.

The rogue's
eyes narrowed. “I'd say killing a fellow assassin bothers you
more.”

“
You'd be wrong.”

“
Oh, I think –”

The rogue
threw himself aside as Blade's dagger hissed past his throat and
clattered off the wall beyond, missing by a hair. The
well-disguised flick of Blade's wrist had been barely noticeable,
and only the rogue's training had saved him. Blade, however, had
anticipated the rogue's reaction, and his second dagger, thrown a
split second after the first, impaled the rogue's shoulder with a
meaty thud. The man grunted and sprawled, rolling to his feet with
his daggers raised. He glanced down at the weapon buried hilt deep
in his shoulder, and a sickly smile twisted his thin lips.

“
I see dancing isn't all you're good at, boy.”

Blade circled
to his left, allowing the weapons from his wrist sheaths to slide
into his hands. “Remember that you face a Dance Master before you
assume that my youth makes me gullible or inexperienced. It
doesn't.”

“
Well now, that makes it more interesting, doesn't
it?”

The rogue
hefted his weapons and lunged at Blade, who skipped back and
kicked. His boot blade impaled the man's forearm just behind his
wrist, knocking the weapon from his grip. The rogue hissed,
scowling, and drew another dagger, flinging it with a sideways
flick of his wrist. Blade threw himself backwards and rolled to his
feet as the weapon hit the wall behind him with a tinkle. He lunged
at his opponent, slashing sideways. The rogue jerked his head
aside, and the dagger sliced a shallow cut in his cheek. He grunted
and wiped the blood off with the back of his hand, his expression
ugly.

“
You begin to annoy me, boy.”

Blade glanced
past him at the whore, who rose to her feet and scuttled away to
cower beside a wall, her eyes wide. The rogue shot her a quick
look.

“
I'll get around to you, sweetie, as soon as I've finished with
this whelp.”

Blade took two
steps towards his opponent, spun and leapt, his steel-tipped boots
lashing out. The rogue dropped in the nick of time, but Blade
lunged as he landed, his dagger slicing into the rogue's shoulder.
The man hissed again and moved towards Blade with a series of swift
sideways steps, revealing his dancing skill. Blade circled away
from him, his feet tapping on the stones, his awareness expanded to
ensure that there were no obstacles or threats behind him. The
rogue leapt at Blade and kicked. His boot caught the assassin in
the ribs as he jumped back, making him stagger. Blade brought a
dagger up in a scything stroke that the rogue countered with a
lightning-fast retaliation, the blades clashing with a glint of
sparks.

Blade's left
hand flashed in from the side, impaling the rogue in the flank. The
man reeled sideways with a cough, clasping the wound. Blood oozed
between his fingers, and he knew as well as Blade that his life was
forfeit. That made him even more dangerous, Blade knew. The rogue
charged, raising his weapons with the obvious intention of ramming
them into Blade's ribs. The assassin skipped back and leapt high,
hurling himself backwards as he kicked. His right boot cracked into
the underside of the rogue's jaw with a sickening crunch that
snapped his teeth together, the three-inch blade slicing deep into
his throat.

Blade landed
on his back with a grunt, his head hitting the stones, and stars
flashed in his vision. The rogue stumbled towards him, his mouth a
bloody ruin of broken teeth and slashed tongue, his weapons aimed
at Blade's chest. The assassin rolled away as his foe fell to his
knees and brought his daggers down on the cobbles where Blade had
been an instant before. The rogue lunged before Blade could
scramble to his feet, and his weapon sliced into Blade's hip. The
assassin gritted his teeth and kicked the rogue again, this time in
the side of the head. The man sprawled, jerking Blade's leg, due to
the fact that the boot blade was wedged in his skull.

The assassin
struggled to yank it free while the rogue twitched and gurgled, the
stench of blood sickening him. The dying man’s shudders were
conveyed to Blade through the weapon stuck fast in the rogue's
skull, and he turned his head away and retched. By the time the
nausea passed, the rogue had ceased to move. Sheathing his weapons,
Blade placed his other boot on the corpse’s cheek and tugged on his
trapped leg, striving to free it. His hip smarted and his trousers
were growing wet with blood. Blade kicked the corpse's head, and
his boot blade slid free with a dull grating sound. He rose and
moved away, pausing beside the wall to unbuckle his boot blades and
stow them in his pouch. His back ached, his hip burnt, his ribs
smarted and his head pounded.

Rubbing the
lump on the back of his head, he turned to face the whore, who
stared at him.

She murmured,
“Thank you, Dance Master.”

“
I didn't do it for you, you stupid trollop,” Blade
said.

She recoiled,
but rallied. “No, of course not, but I'm still grateful to you for
saving me.”

“
You were just bait, now bugger off.”

“
You're hurt. Can I help?”

“
No.”

As she turned
away, Blade remembered that he was supposed to inform the Watch of
the rogue’s demise and the location of the body. “Wait!”

She swung to
face him again, looking nervous. “Yes, Dance Master?”

“
Go to the Watch. Tell them what you witnessed, and bring them
here. Tell them who killed him. Do you understand?

The whore bit
her lip, nodded and hurried away, glancing back often. Blade
squatted beside his victim and cut a strip from the rogue's shirt
to bind his hip. The placement of the injury made it difficult to
bandage, however, and he pressed the cloth to it to slow the
bleeding. While he waited, he examined his victim in the moonlight.
The rogue was younger than he looked, Blade surmised, disgusted by
the stench that came from him. When he tugged open the man's shirt
to inspect his tattoo, he found a string around his neck with bits
of shrivelled meat threaded on it, whence the stink came. He could
not identify what the dried bits were, but moved upwind, bile
stinging his throat. Evidently the rogue had collected
trophies.

After half a
time-glass, Blade decided that the bleeding had slowed sufficiently
and rose to his feet to limp up the lane, heading for his
haunt.

By the time
Blade reached the run-down whorehouse, sweat beaded his brow and
his stomach churned. Staggering into Lilu's empty room, he flopped
down on the bed. His hands shook and his breath came in harsh
gasps. He knew what it was, but he had not had a fever since he was
ten, and wondered at the reason for it. Whereas then he had passed
out, now he remained lucid when his muscles went rigid and his back
arched in a convulsion.

Blade pressed
the rag to his wound to slow the bleeding, which the spasms
worsened, wondering if he would survive this time, and what had
brought on his childhood illness again. It had something to do with
the shrivelled bits of meat around the rogue's neck, he was sure,
but he did not understand it. Sweat trickled inside his clothes,
but he could not summon the energy to remove them, although he was
burning up. Perhaps this was it, he thought with dull resignation.
Maybe this time the fever would claim him. Darkness nibbled at his
vision, and he let it wash away the pain.

Lilu glanced
around with a frown as the fluting notes of her familiar's most
haunting song echoed in her mind. Symbell never contacted her when
she was not alone, and she sat in the busy taproom with laughing,
shouting, singing men and harlots around her. Something was wrong.
Radiants hardly ever showed themselves to strangers, and especially
not a crowd, but clearly Symbell needed to speak to Lilu now.
Freeing herself from the groping hands of the muscular blacksmith
upon whose lap she sat, she rose and headed for her room, where
Symbell could appear in private.

Lilu stopped
in the doorway, her breath catching. Blade lay on her bed, one leg
dangling, and blood pooled around his foot. A bloody rag lay beside
it, and the assassin's pallor was marked. Sweat ran down his face
and soaked his hair, his eyes were closed and tremors racked him.
Lilu dashed to his side and took hold of his hand, shaking him,
then placed a hand on his brow. She swung away to fetch a basin of
water, sloshing it in her haste. Banging it down on the bedside
table, she grabbed the nearest cloth, dunked it in the water and
placed it on his forehead.

With trembling
hands, she unlaced his jacket and stripped it off, glad that he was
not a heavy man. Beneath it, his shirt was soaked with sweat, as
was his leather vest. She tugged off his garments as quickly as she
could, placing more cold, wet cloths on his chest before pulling
off his boots and trousers. Every so often, his back arched in a
convulsion, and she chewed her lip, wondering if she should summon
a doctor.

No,
a silvery voice murmured in her
mind.

Lilu looked up
as Symbell appeared with a faint pop and a flash of light. The
radiant dragon hovered over the assassin, her wings fanning
him.

“
What's wrong with him?”

He seeks to
quit this world. His soul strives to be free of his mortal
form.