The Queen's Blade Prequel I - Conash: Dead Son (5 page)

Conash's mother
stirred a stew in the warm kitchen, his father was still with the
herd, and Kyran hoed the vegetable patch. Ryana and Shinda played
with dolls outside the front door, and Alenstra washed pots while
Orcal ran around the kitchen with a toy bird, making flapping
noises and getting under his mother's feet.

Misha turned
with a smile when Conash came in. “Hello, baby boy. Did you have a
nice ride?”

“Yes,
Mama.”

She cocked her
head. “Good. Can Mama have a hug?”

Conash embraced
her, kissing her cheek. She never called him by his name, and he
knew why. One day he would have a proper name, and then perhaps she
would use it.

Misha tousled
his hair. “Go and wash your hands; it's almost suppertime.”

Conash braided
a belt of ribbons and bells for Shinda's eighth birthday. Orcal had
carved a tiny horse for her, and dyed it red and yellow like her
sorrel filly. Six-year-old Ryana had made a hair clip with their
father's help and decorated it with her humming bird's bright
feathers. Alenstra, almost grown at fourteen, had sewn a frilly
dress for her tomboy sister, and Rykar, now sixteen, had bought her
a silver necklace with the coppers he had earned doing chores.

A tenday had
passed since Conash had swum in the lake on the other side of the
gorge, and he was convinced that the Cotti soldiers had not
followed him. He longed to tell his father, but could not bring
himself to admit his blunder. Papa would be disappointed, perhaps
even angry, and Mama would weep. He did not want his mother to cry;
he loved them, and could not bear to bring them grief.

Conash glanced
at Rivan, who lay in the shade of a puffwood tree. He smiled as the
cat swatted a fly, his tail twitching. Today was Conash's day to
tend the goats, and he had just returned from the high pasture
where they grazed. Orcal cleaned the shed, and Rykar hoed weeds in
the vegetable patch with Jarren. Shinda and Ryana had gone with his
mother to the stream to wash clothes, so he was enjoying the peace
and quiet. The verdant land slumbered in the late summer sun's warm
rays, and the distant sound of goat bells came from the slopes all
around, where each family's herd nibbled the velvet grass.

A hawk's scream
shattered the peace, and Rivan sat up as if someone had stuck a pin
in him, his ears swivelling. Conash glanced up at the bird that
hovered like a cross in the sky, wondering what had upset Keal,
Alenstra's familiar. The bird stooped, plummeting to earth like a
comet, then spread his wings at the last moment and glided to perch
on the fence. He screamed again, his crest raised, and Conash
glanced at Rivan. The cat's ears swivelled and his nose twitched as
he sniffed the breeze. Curious, Conash sent him an enquiring
thought, surprised when he received an urgent image in reply.
Danger
.

Conash tucked
the belt into his pocket and stood up, peering down the path that
led to the stream. Had something happened to his mother and
sisters? Rivan was unsure, but Keal took flight, heading for the
vegetable garden. Conash ran after him, arriving as his father and
Rykar dropped their hoes and ran towards the house. Jarren grabbed
Conash's arm and dragged him along so fast that his feet barely
touched the ground.

“What is it,
Papa?” Conash cried, alarmed.

“Cotti!”

Conash's
stomach knotted with dread, and he glanced down the valley at the
village. Beyond it, something moved through the fields, a mass of
yellow and blue, glinting with silver. Faint plumes of smoke rose
beyond it, and running figures fled the village in its path.
Reaching the house, his father released him and turned to
Rykar.

“Go and fetch
your mother and sisters. Run!”

Rykar sprinted
down the path towards the stream, and Conash gripped his father's
coat, staring at the approaching horde.

“What do we
do?”

His father
shook his head. “Pray that the border garrison reaches us before
they do. Someone will have alerted them by now.”

“We could hide
in the Deep Forest.”

“They'll hunt
us down like deer.” Jarren gripped Conash's shoulders. “It'll be
all right. They won't kill us; we're just farmers. They'll steal,
that's all. We'll be safe. Now go and fetch Orcal.”

Conash dashed
to the goat shed, his heart hammering. The Cotti army approached at
a gallop, spreading out to burn and loot. Some chased fleeing
villagers, but still more continued to advance. There seemed to be
an endless river of them, more men than he had ever seen before.
The thunder of hooves reached him, mingled with distant screams. As
he dragged Orcal from the goat shed, he knew that they were going
to die. His father was wrong, or had only been trying to comfort a
frightened boy. When they reached the house, Rykar arrived with the
panting women. Ryana wept and clung to her mother's skirts. Shinda
held her hand, ignoring her familiar's whinnying and cavorting as
Cavat tried to persuade her to climb on her back and flee. Shinda
was the only one who had a chance to escape, but she would not
leave her family.

Misha
approached Conash and hugged him. “Be strong, my baby boy. Nothing
can harm you. You're blessed. You're my special son.”

Conash clung to
her, tears burning his eyes. She kissed his brow, released him and
stood up, holding his hand.

Jarren went to
the shed and emerged with two pitchforks, handing one to Rykar.
They exchanged a meaningful glance, alike in temperament though not
in animal kin or looks. Conash longed to run, but watched the Cotti
advance with a lump of terror in his throat. He clung to his
mother's hand, which gripped his so tightly that it hurt. Rivan
crouched at his side, glancing up at him with a look of fearful
confusion. The cat's urging thrummed in the boy's mind.
Flee
flee flee flee.
Conash would not leave his family any more than
Shinda. He shook his head at the cat. It seemed to take only
minutes for the Cotti to reach the farm, and a group of five split
from the rest.

Alenstra ran
into the house and emerged with a kitchen knife, her eyes bright
with defiance. The bronze-skinned soldiers cantered around the
dwelling, shot burning arrows into the thatch and set it ablaze,
driving the family from the shelter of its walls. Jarren lunged at
a rider with his pitchfork, forcing the man to rein his horse
aside. Misha lifted Ryana onto her hip and clutched Shinda to her
skirts, watching the circling men with wide, terrified eyes. She
looked at Conash, a slight smile curling her lips.

“Be brave, my
boy,” she murmured. “You can't die. You were born dead, in a river
of blood. I have it from the priestess. You'll survive, you hear
me? You'll live, no matter what. I love you.”

“I love you,
Mama,” he whispered.

Rykar stabbed a
soldier's horse, making it rear with a squeal. Another Cotti
trotted up behind the youth and raised his sword. Conash's warning
yell made Rykar spin around, only to receive the weapon in his
throat even as his father tried to fling himself in between.
Conash's scream mingled with his mother's and Alenstra's. Rykar
fell, clutching his neck. A wolf's agonised howl rent the air, and
Rykar's familiar attacked in a frenzy of grief and pain. The men
impaled him upon a spear and sliced off his head.

Jarren charged
the Cotti, pitchfork lowered. He stabbed a soldier's horse, and the
animal fell, thrashing. Two men jumped down, and one hurled a
spear. Jarren fell to his knees, clutching the shaft that spiked
his gut.

Conash backed
away, the sickly stench of blood twisting his stomach. Jarren
collapsed when the soldier yanked the spear out, clasping the
wound. Misha ran to him with Ryana clutched to her breast and
Shinda clinging to her skirt. The Cotti laughed and jeered,
allowing her reach him before one plunged his sword into her back.
She slumped over Jarren, and Ryana fell into his blood with a
shriek. Shinda screamed and tried to pull her sister away, but
Ryana clung to her mother. Conash cried out, frozen with shock.

Alenstra
struggled with a beefy soldier who tried to sling her over his
shoulder. She stabbed him, and he struck her down with a savage
backhand blow. A man grabbed Orcal and shoved him to another. A
Cotti headed for Conash, his eyes gleaming. As the boy turned to
run, Rivan leapt at the soldier and raked his face with razor
claws. The Cotti roared and smashed the feline aside, blood oozing
from his cheeks. He tried to stab the cat, but Rivan dodged and
leapt at him again.

“Rivan!” Conash
yelled as another soldier chopped at the cat, slicing a shallow
gash in his flank.

“Rivan!”

Agony shot
through the boy, and his knees buckled. Rivan's scream mingled with
his when the soldier thrust his sword into the cat's gut. Warm
entrails spilt onto the grass, and the cat writhed, biting himself
in his agony. Conash thrashed as the pain ripped through him,
clutching his belly. The Cotti laughed, and one kicked Rivan.
Conash scrambled to his feet and charged with a shriek of rage,
beat the soldiers with his fists and shouted until his voice broke.
A soldier stepped forward and slit the cat's throat.

Chapter Three

Hot sand sifted
past the opening of a tent. Conash opened his eyes, struggling
against the intense lethargy that tried to drag him back into
midnight folds. A howling pit filled his chest where his heart had
been, alive with screams and blood. The emptiness consumed him, and
he fell into it. His mouth was dry and sticky, glued together, but
he forced it open and drew in a shuddering breath.

“Rivan!”

His shout was a
broken, husky thing, cracked and hissing through a dry throat.
Tears burnt his eyes, and a sob racked him.

“Rivan! Mama!
Papa!”

A shadow
blocked the tent flap, and a hard hand cuffed his cheek.

“Be quiet,
boy!” a rough voice said.

“Rivan!”

“I said be
quiet!”

A boot thudded
into Conash's gut, and he curled up, clutching it. Metal cuffs dug
into his wrists, and chains dragged across the sandy floor. He
became aware of others around him, and soft weeping and sniffling.
Raising his head, he gazed at the boys who were chained to him. Ten
of them, bruised and battered, their eyes cowed and their faces
twisted with misery. How long had he been unconscious? His stomach
hurt, it was so empty. The shadow moved away, closing the tent flap
behind him.

“Rivan,” he
whispered.

“Hush,” the boy
beside him said. “He'll come back and beat you.”

Conash's heart
ached with a fierce pain that ate into him like acid, gnawing at
his insides. Rivan was dead. Mama and Papa were dead. Raising
trembling arms, he wound the chain around his neck and tugged,
tightening it. He coughed, choking. A boy tried to pull the chain
away, and Conash fought him. He wanted to die. That was all that
mattered. He had to follow Rivan into the darkness, where he sensed
the cat's lingering presence, soft and warm, calling to him with
purring chirps. It had been a dream, for days now.

Rivan had been
with him, curled around him, his presence fending off the world's
hurts and hardships. It had been a death dream, bridging the gap
between the living and the spirit world. Rivan had rubbed his
silken length against Conash, patted him with gentle paws, and
gazed at him with golden eyes. So much love had flowed out of the
cat's presence that it had surrounded him in a warm glow. His
familiar had protected him, comforted him, and filled him with his
sorrow. Then had come the wrench, breaking the bond. Rivan's
presence had faded away, taking with it his love and warmth.

Rivan was gone,
and part of Conash had died with him. The boy sobbed, striving to
reach that dark veil again, where Rivan's spirit remained, a
distant light, beckoning to him. A faraway valley filled with
radiance where he yearned to go, where Rivan paced the velvet
grass, waiting. Conash pulled on the chain, and the blood pounded
in his head. Darkness swept him away like chaff before a cold wind,
and Rivan's soft presence returned. A warm tongue caressed his hand
and silken fur brushed against him.

A slap jerked
him from the darkness, and he gasped. The chain had been removed
and his hands were bound behind his back. A man with golden skin
and a shaven head squatted in front of him, regarding him with hard
brown eyes.

“So, you're
Bereft, are you? Tough luck, boy. Get used to it.”

The man left
Conash to weep and struggle against the ropes until his wrists grew
raw. The central pole, to which he was tied, swayed as he writhed.
He screamed until his throat burnt and his voice died to a whisper,
steeped in the most exquisite misery. His whimpers subsided, and a
blanket of desolation enfolded him, cushioning him from the
unbridled grief with layers of melancholy.

The man thrust
aside the tent flap and dragged him upright. A rough palm cracked
across his cheek. Conash opened his eyes to glare at the
stranger.

“Snap out of
it, boy. Find a spine. You're a weak little thing, aren't you?
Cowardly, like all Jashimari.”

The man had a
lean, tough face, leathery skin and dark eyes that glinted under
thick blond brows. Biting his tongue to summon a little moisture
into his mouth, Conash spat at the Cotti.

The officer
slapped him again, knocking him down, then straightened and wiped
his cheek. “Good. Hate me. That's fine. What do I care? You'll
learn to, soon enough.”

Conash kicked
him in the shin, but his bare foot bounced off the soldier's
grieve, bruising his toes. The man chuckled and shook his head.

“Pathetic.”

As soon as the
soldier left, the melancholy surged back, permeating Conash. He
rolled onto his back and stared into space, remembering Rivan's
scream and blood oozing through the cat's black fur. His father
clutched his dead wife with trembling, bloody hands, his eyes full
of despair when he looked at Conash and breathed his last, bubbling
breath. Blood ran from his mother's back, and Ryana lifted red
hands and wailed, her face crumpled. Shinda's wide, frightened
eyes. Alenstra's anguished scream. Rivan's choked growl as the
sword had slid across his throat and a crimson pool spread around
him. Blood tainted the air, soaked into the grass, ran over his
father's body, trickled down Ryana's arms, oozed from Rivan's torn
belly.