Sacrifice: The Queen's Blade (33 page)
Read Sacrifice: The Queen's Blade Online
Authors: T C Southwell
Since then, she had settled into her rooms, furnished them to her liking and selected several additional handmaidens to serve her. Kerrion showered her with gifts of rich clothes and jewels, perfumes and fine wines. Within the confines of her small domain, she ruled as before, and any who slighted or upset her were banished from her presence.
Kerrion spent all his free time with her, and they walked in the lush gardens, rode spirited steeds or bathed in the clear pool at the foot of a waterfall not far from the palace. She always wore a traditional Cotti veil, and never ventured out alone, for Kerrion had warned her that she could expect disrespect if she did. Minna socialised with Kerrion's mother, the only woman whom she deemed to be suitable company, and spent the rest of her time in her usual pursuits of embroidery, painting and reading. Although not perfect, she found her new life quite pleasant, and Kerrion's love made up for any shortcomings she encountered.
After a tenday spent recovering from his flogging, Blade was returned to the yard, but refused to work. His recovery had been a painful one. A healer came every day, and, after a short fight each time, Blade was secured to the wall by his chains while the healer rubbed stinging salve into his wounds. The pain enraged Blade, and at every encounter the guards came away with fresh bruises, as did the assassin. Urgon, unwilling to face the King's ire, refrained from giving the assassin another flogging, but resorted instead to single blows delivered speedily and followed by a hasty retreat.
The blows from Urgon's whip merely brought retaliation in the form of rocks hurled extremely accurately at his head, however, and resulted in both men acquiring many bruises, but still brought no work from Blade. Urgon changed his tactics and had Blade bound to the grinding wheel that produced flour for the palace. With his wrists chained to one of the poles that turned it, the assassin could not fight back when whipped, and the efforts of his fellow prisoners forced him to walk or be dragged. In this way, the jailer won the battle, but not the war. Blade used every opportunity to goad him with insults. In the yard, the prisoners worked in the sun, and Blade was glad to be working in the shade, though he certainly put no effort into it.
Blade no longer slept in a cell, but had joined the rest of the prisoners in a vast dormitory. It took several sleepless nights before he became accustomed to the noise of hundreds of men who snored, moaned, muttered or coughed, rose to empty their bladders or started noisy fights. The brawls were rare, for few had the energy to start a fight after a long day's work and little food, but when they started the guards merely watched, grinning.
The Cotti prisoners stuck together at one end of the huge room, guarding each other from the Jashimari, who outnumbered them. From the outset, Blade's fellow inmates glared at him with open hostility and hissed insults. They even spat at him once or twice. Without a shirt, his mark was visible for all to see, and none of the other prisoners liked him for it.
A tenday after he had been moved into the dormitory, Blade woke one night as a cold chain clamped around his throat. As he jerked in surprise and alarm, many hard hands pinned his arms and legs while the chain tightened, cutting off his air. Five Jashimari prisoners sat on him, their thin faces twisted with triumph.
Blade struggled until his vision darkened, then went limp, surrendering to the inevitable. At a gruff command from one of the prisoners, the chain slackened, and the assassin drew in a wheezing gasp, coughing. A man leant over him, anonymous in his bearded uniformity. All the prisoners looked the same to Blade, save that some had longer beards than others. This one had grey streaks in his beard, and the stench of his breath made Blade gag.
The prisoner fingered the assassin's mark at the base of Blade's throat. "Jashimari assassin. They'll let any scum in here these days. Until now, all the Jashimari in here were soldiers, and the only murderers were Cotti. You're an insult to our people, assassin. You may have given Urgon a hard time, but that lot..." He jerked his head in the direction of the Cotti stronghold. "...Have done nothing but sneer at us since you arrived."
Blade continued to breathe deeply, unable to move.
"We were all captured during battle," the prisoner went on. "Honourable war veterans imprisoned by the Cotti swine, but you... Why did they even let you live?"
Blade licked his lips. "I don't know."
"Where were you captured?"
"In Jashimari, in the Queen's palace."
"And they brought you all the way here?" The prisoner shook his head. "I don't believe you."
"You don't have to. If you're going to kill me, then get on with it before the guards see you."
"So you want to die?" The prisoner glanced at his cronies. "That's what we had planned, but since you want it, why should we oblige?"
"Because the King wants me alive."
"Does he? We've noticed you get special treatment. Anyone else with your attitude would have been dead long ago. Since you want to die, and the King wants you alive, we won't oblige either of you." He turned to his comrades. "Cripple him."
"No!" Blade's shout echoed around the dormitory, and, as the men who held his ankles moved to obey their leader, he jerked a leg free and kicked one of them. The chain around his neck snapped taut, cutting off his air. Blade struggled, horror washing through him in a chilling tide. They were going to cut his hamstrings or break his legs. Of all the fates he dreaded, perhaps that was the one he feared the most.
The chain crushed his windpipe, preventing any outcry, and he fought the men with all his strength. Their years of incarceration and semi-starvation had weakened them, and he found he was able to hamper their efforts considerably, but unconsciousness loomed as the chain choked him. Something sharp drew a burning line down his chest as he thrashed. While two others strived to pin the assassin's legs, the leader carved into Blade's skin with his crude knife.
A shout of alarm came from one of the guards, and several converged on the struggling bunch, their armour jingling. The Cotti soldiers waded into the melee with swinging spear butts, beating off Blade's attackers. The assassin passed out before the chain was removed, darkness rolling over him in a welcome wave.
*****
The tale continues in Part III,
The Invisible Assassin
, available on Smashwords, followed by Book IV,
Knight of the Veil
, Book V,
Master of the Dance
, and Book VI,
Lord Protector
. Then get the two prequels,
Dead Son
and
God Touched
.
About the author
T. C. Southwell was born in Sri Lanka and moved to the Seychelles when she was a baby. She spent her formative years exploring the islands – mostly alone. Naturally, her imagination flourished and she developed a keen love of other worlds. The family travelled through Europe and Africa and, after the death of her father, settled in South Africa.
T. C. Southwell has written over twenty novels and five screenplays. Her hobbies include motorcycling, horse riding and art, and she earns a living in the IT industry.
All illustrations and cover designs by the author.
Contact the author at [email protected]
Acknowledgements
Mike Baum and Janet Longman, former employers, for their support, encouragement, and help. My mother, without whose financial support I could not have dedicated myself to writing for ten years. Isabel Cooke, former agent, whose encouragement and enthusiasm led to many more books being written, including this one. Suzanne Stephan, former agent, who has helped me so much over the past six years, and Vanessa Finaughty, good friend and business partner, for her support, encouragement and editing skills.
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