The Queen's Blade Prequel I - Conash: Dead Son (26 page)

As the slow
beats began, Blade took the first simple steps of the Dance of
Death, his boots tapping on the wood. Energy suffused him, his
muscles thrummed and his blood quickened. The steel spring inside
him coiled tighter, and released as he leapt high. His arms rose in
a graceful sweep while he floated, his legs tucked up. He landed
lightly, his feet hammering out the beat with crisp precision.
Leaping again, he lashed out with one leg and spread his arms, his
movements certain and graceful.

Talon glanced
at Slash, who watched the young assassin with a deep frown, his
eyes glittering. Blade moved around the stage on hammering feet,
the tempo of his tapping far faster than any Talon had heard
before. The taps blended into a rattling tune as Blade performed a
set piece of complicated steps at more than twice the usual tempo,
forcing the drummer to speed up his beat. Blade leapt and spun,
lifting his legs to click his heels together behind him before
landing with cat-like ease. Spreading his arms, he executed a
series of forward kicks, flicking his lower leg sideways and
striking his feet together each time with sharp clicks.

These were a
set part of the Dance, but Blade's boots rose above knee level,
which Talon had never seen before. Nor had he ever seen an assassin
click his boots together as Blade did. It added to the swift tattoo
of his feet, embellishing the already torturous feat with what
appeared to be impossible additions. The young assassin raised his
arms again and performed the next set of complex steps at an
incredible speed, seeming to float across the platform sideways,
his legs crossing as he also stepped forwards and back.

Blade set off
in a stamping rhythm, kicking up his heels to hammer his feet on
the boards. The beat resembled that of a galloping horse, and Blade
used the length of the stage to accomplish it. He switched to the
next series of spinning leaps, his feet lashing out with consummate
grace. His legs seemed to have springs in them; his jumps carried
him high into the air, where he appeared to float, defying
gravity.

Sweat beaded
the youth's brow when he stopped in the centre of the stage and
beat out a rapid tattoo with one foot while his other foot tapped a
slow cadence. He turned slowly, his arms outstretched, and speeded
up the hammering of his feet, his right foot becoming a blur and
the rattle a buzz. Talon realised that his mouth was open and
closed it, shooting a glance at Slash, who looked stunned. Blade
ended his stationary routine with a double stamp and returned to a
series of set steps, moving around the stage with light, floating
strides, his boots cracking down on the boards in a flawless
rendition of the Dance.

Blade was
halfway through the Dance now, and, as he completed the set piece,
he took a few running steps and made a prodigious leap. His
stiffened legs lashed out before him and crossed in mid-air,
striking together with a sharp report and a shower of sparks before
his descending foot hit the ground and his ascending foot rose
above his shoulder. He wobbled a little when he landed, but Talon
was too amazed to take much notice of the slight imperfection. The
young assassin performed the next sequence of whipping spins with
perfect ease, his feet describing elegant sweeps.

Blade's mouth
opened to gasp, while his metal-shod feet hammered on the boards
and his jumps allowed him to hang in the air. He performed the
Dance with boundless energy and unmistakable pleasure, using the
entire platform. His boots tapped out an impeccable rhythm, his
high kicks reached above his shoulders and his lofty leaps were
perfectly timed, so his landing continued the rhythm of the
Dance.

The air around
him seemed to crackle with energy, and his lithe grace was such
that Talon could almost see the cat that aided his steps with its
feline suppleness and agility. As he neared the end of the Dance,
Blade sprang high again and lashed out with stiff legs, striking
his boots together with a flash of sparks that was his own
invention, and unrivalled. This time his landing was light and
without flaw, and he made the final bound, fell to one knee and
spread his arms. After a moment of immobility, he stood up and
turned to face the elders.

Talon looked at
Slash, who closed his mouth and swallowed. The elders glanced at
each other, shaking their heads in amazement, and a hush hung over
the throng. Blade gazed around with a puzzled frown, wiping his
brow, then strode to the edge of the platform and leant on a post
to scowl at Slash.

“Tell me that
wasn't good enough to challenge you, and I'll call you a liar!” he
shouted.

Talon chuckled
at Slash's dumbfounded expression. The Dance Master stood up and
mounted the platform, his expression thunderous. For a moment Talon
was afraid that Slash intended to beat Blade with his fists, since
it was painfully obvious that he would not win a Duel against the
youngster. Instead, he stopped before Blade and regarded him with a
frown.

“Who taught you
to dance like that, boy?”

“I did.”

The Master
nodded. “You must have, because none of Talon's other apprentices
have ever danced as well as you.”

“So do you
accept my challenge?”

“I don't have a
choice now. Rest a while, then we'll begin.”

Blade went to
the steps and sat on the topmost one, bowing his head. Sweat ran
down his cheeks and dripped from his chin, despite the cool autumn
air.

Talon took a
water skin over to him. “So, you've been practising, I see.”

Blade accepted
it and took a gulp. “Yes.”

“I'm impressed.
I always knew you were good, but never thought you were that good.
Slash has no hope of beating you, and he knows it, as does everyone
else here tonight. You must have practised a lot.”

“What else have
I to do?”

Talon shrugged.
“There's drinking, I suppose. You're also allowed to have friends
in the Guild.”

“I'm not
interested in friends.”

“You'll have a
lot more work once you win the belt.”

“Good, I
haven't been able to find much.”

Talon eyed the
youth. “You've done better than most your age.”

“Then I'll do
better still, once I have the belt.”

The elder leant
closer. “The Master of the Dance also gets all the most difficult
jobs. You may be an excellent dancer, but how good are you at
assassinations, after only five?”

“Good
enough.”

“Beware, Blade,
you're embarking on a dangerous path. Beating Slash may bring you a
great deal of satisfaction, but becoming the Master at your age and
level of inexperience is fraught with peril.”

Blade shot him
a scathing glance. “I'm touched by your concern, but I'll manage.
More work will give me more experience, and then I'll improve
quickly.”

“Or end up
dead. The belt isn't a prize, it's a status symbol. It means that
you're the best assassin in the Guild, not just the best dancer.
You're not the best assassin by a long shot though, are you?”

“I will
be.”

Talon sighed
and glanced at Slash, who limbered up on the stage. “Sometimes a
master is beaten, like now, but more often they're killed.”

“Are you trying
to talk me out of it?”

“No. This is
your decision. I'm just warning you.”

Blade handed
back the water skin. “I want that belt.”

“Oh, you'll get
it, never fear. I just hope you can deal with the
consequences.”

Blade rose to
his feet and swung away to mount the stage. Talon returned to his
seat, his heart filled with a mixture of pride and trepidation.
None of his previous apprentices had become the Master, and Blade's
status would increase his own. If Blade was killed, however, that,
too, would reflect on him, badly.

Blade faced his
opponent, who retreated to the edge and leant against a post,
gesturing to the stage to indicate that Blade should begin the
Duel. Blade swung away and took a few light, floating steps,
tapping out an unfamiliar rhythm, then leapt high, clicking his
heels behind him. He beat out a complicated tattoo in a buzz and
jumped again, his scissoring legs passing each other with a sharp
crack and a flash of sparks as his metal-shod boots brushed
together. Landing on one leg, he stamped and spun, lashing out in a
double kick, then ended with another stamp.

Slash pushed
himself away from the post and approached the youngster, his eyes
glittering with ire. The high heel-clicking leap did not challenge
his abilities, but he performed the complicated steps slower than
Blade, and, although he managed the scissoring jump, he failed to
brush his boots together and landed a little heavily. He executed
the double kick adequately, then added a sequence of rapid heel-toe
tapping, his feet blurring while he moved around the stage.

Talon smiled,
shaking his head. Never had he seen a Master so outclassed as Slash
was on this night. His attempt to emulate Blade's moves made him
appear clumsy, yet he was an excellent dancer. The young assassin
smiled while he performed Slash's routine faster and with more
flamboyance, then executed a series of whipping spins that carried
him around the stage in graceful bounds, his boots lashing out.
Reaching the far edge of the platform, he switched to a stamping
run, his steel-shod boots rapping on the wood, and ended with a
high spinning leap.

Slash grimaced
and copied him, but his jumps and spins lacked Blade's speed or
height, and the complex routine he added at the end of it did not
challenge the youngster's talent. Blade exceeded him again, added
another high foot-clashing leap, and ended with a rattling buzz of
steps that defied the eye to follow his feet. When he stopped and
turned to Slash, the Dance Master gazed at him with sullen eyes,
and Talon knew that he was beaten. His efforts in no way rivalled
Blade's ability, and to continue would only compound his
humiliation at the young assassin's hands.

Slash unbuckled
the belt and pulled it off, frowning down at the silver-studded
length of black leather. Walking over to the panting youth, he held
it out. Blade looked a little startled, but took it and gazed at
it, a slight smile tugging at his lips. Slash walked off the stage
and pushed his way into the throng, vanishing amongst his peers.
Talon shook himself from his stupor when the most senior elder,
Lance, mounted the stage and turned to address the assembly.

“We have a new
Master of the Dance!” he proclaimed. “Let all of you witness, and
let it be known, the Dance Master of the Jondar Guild of Assassins
in now Blade! He defeats Slash, and his name will shortly be added
to the Roll of Masters. His haunt is...” Lance turned to Blade,
raising his brows.

The youth
hesitated, looking puzzled, then muttered, “The Hangman's
Noose.”

Lance shouted,
“The Hangman's Noose!”

Blade frowned,
clearly wondering why his haunt was being broadcast to the Guild.
Lance turned to him again.

“Will you
accept challengers now?”

Blade shrugged.
“All right.”

“If there's one
amongst you who wishes to challenge the Master of the Dance
tonight, come forward!” Lance cried.

Talon glanced
around at the assembly, most of which also searched for anyone
foolish enough to tender a challenge to the youth who had just
beaten Slash so resoundingly. After a full minute of silence, Lance
turned to Blade and held out his hand for the belt. The young
assassin hesitated before handing it over, and Lance walked behind
him to buckle it on. Blade looked down at the belt and fingered it
with a smile. Lance quit the stage, and the assembled assassins
murmured, some drinking from wine skins.

Blade remained
on the platform for a little longer, admiring the belt, then
descended the steps, where Talon awaited him. The elder thrust out
a hand.

“Well done,
Blade.”

The young
assassin clasped it, smiling. He looked a little stunned, as if he
could not quite believe that he was now the Master of the Dance, a
title to which all assassins aspired. The rest of the elders
approached to shake Blade's hand, and several assassins did so too.
Talon confiscated a wine skin from a young man and handed it to
Blade, who gulped from it.

He wiped his
lips and asked, “Why did Lance tell everyone where my haunt
is?”

“Because, as
Master of the Dance, your haunt must be known to all assassins.
That way, when a client seeks the Master, any one of them can tell
him where to find you. It's an important part of your office now,
to be available for the really difficult assignments that only the
Master should perform. You're required to wear the belt when you're
seeking clients, so they know who they're hiring. You're also
entitled to double or triple your fee, depending on the difficulty
of the assignment. The Master is the best, and also the most
expensive assassin in the city. You'll get the richest clients,
too.”

“What happens
to Slash now?”

Talon shrugged,
glancing around for the former Dance Master, but not finding him.
“He'll change his haunt and go back to being merely an assassin,
like the rest. He'll always benefit from once holding the
title.”

“What other
privileges does the Dance Master receive?”

“Aside from the
financial benefits, the rest of us have to call you by your title
now, and you have a certain amount of influence with the elders.
That's about it, really.”

Blade looked
down at the belt again, rubbing it. “I told you I'd win it.”

“I never
doubted it. Even during your training, you were better and faster
than any I'd seen before. Don't imagine that it makes you
invincible, though. It's just a belt; it doesn't have any magical
properties. I'm glad you've won it, but I hope you make an effort
to survive.”