gone in a few moments. Kerrion stared at him with wide, incredulous eyes.
'You are a man!'
'Surely you jest?' Blade said. 'Did you really still think me a woman?'
'You certainly…” The Prince shook his head. 'My father will hunt you down, no matter where you go.'
'Your father is dead.'
Kerrion gaped at him. 'You killed him.'
'With a great deal of pleasure. As for being hunted down, will your men find you in the Queen's palace, do you think?'
'My brother will send men to rescue me.'
'Your brother will be happy to let you rot in the Queen's prison. Now be quiet.'
Blade dressed in his own clothes and stuffed the whore's disguise into the pack, then tied it on the Prince's back, ignoring Kerrion's glare. Shouldering the other pack, he picked up the leash and dragged his captive from the cave.
Avoiding the guarded pass to the west, Blade set off along a narrow goat trail that led over the mountains to the east, a route he had known about since childhood. The Prince stumbled after him, laden like a packhorse with the bulk of the baggage.
As the first hint of dawn coloured the sky with pale pink and yellow, Blade led his prize down into the foothills on the far side of the mountains. In the distance, Queen Minna-Satu's army slumbered against the backdrop of the grasslands, a sprawling cluster of dull green tents flying the blue and gold banners of the Jashimari. One carried the Queen's emblem, a rampant golden cat on a blue background; the others bore the emblems of the various lords whose troops fought for the Queen.
Herds of sheep, goats, cattle and horses grazed around it, dozing in the dawn glow. Blade wondered why the soldiers still used tents after so many centuries of war, but the ruins that dotted the fields gave him his answer. Every so often, the Cotti broke through the fortified pass and came boiling onto these lush meadows, at which time, all structures were demolished and burnt. Some permanent buildings were in evidence, but little more than sheds. One sprouted the long poles that held dream silk in the wind, and Blade scowled at it. He hated the hissing silk more than most, and it seemed to be everywhere. The clergy took their power even to the soldiers of the Queen's army.
Blade led Kerrion to the clump of stunted bloodwood trees where he had hidden the horses. His haste did not diminish, even now, and he tied the packs to the animals and boosted the Prince into the saddle of one before mounting the other. Turning away from the mountains, he urged his horse into a canter, leading the Prince's mount.
Within a few time-glasses, he was certain, the Cotti would mount a fierce attack on the pass, and he wanted to be far away when they did. To his credit, the Prince did not complain about the stiff pace Blade set all day, for although he slowed the horses to a walk several times, he did not stop until sunset. The beasts were war steeds, tall and strong, bred for their stamina and spirit. He had been surprised to be given such highly trained animals, having expected dull-eyed work horses. Their ease of handling pleased him, for the assassin was no horseman, and had little liking for the animals.
By the time Blade stopped, Kerrion sagged, his face pale and drawn, the pain of his wound and bonds clearly debilitating him. Blade tethered the horses in a wood beside a stream, letting them cool before he watered them. He pulled the Prince down and dumped him on the ground, then went to the stream to wash off the dye and paint. Kerrion stared at him when he returned, apparently surprised by the transformation. Blade pulled a length of chain from a pack and tied it around the Prince's waist, leaving the ends free. He undid the thong that bound Kerrion's hands and started to fasten the chains to his wrists.
The Prince's lunge surprised the assassin and sent him sprawling onto his back. Kerrion straddled him, forced him back when he struggled to rise and blocked the blows Blade aimed at his head. Before the assassin could change tactics, the Prince grabbed Blade's wrists and flung his weight against them, pinning them to the ground. Blade's whipcord strength was no match for the Prince's husky build and weight, since he was half a head taller and proportionally larger. Blade relaxed and scowled up at his former captive.
'Well, that was easy,' Kerrion sneered, looking triumphant. 'Not much of a fighter, are you?'
'I am not a brutish warrior, no.'
'You are not even a real man! No man has cheeks as smooth as a girl's. You were better suited to your previous costume.'
Blade frowned, but reined his temper with an effort. 'You obviously have not noticed that you have created a situation from which you now have no way out, a particularly foolish move, I would say.'
The Prince considered the situation. So long as he held the assassin's wrists, Blade was helpless, but, as he had pointed out, Kerrion could do nothing further without releasing him. For a brief period of stalemate they glared at each other, then Kerrion did the only thing he could, and released one of Blade's wrists to smash his fist into the assassin's chin, knocking his head sideways. Blade's vision darkened, and he went limp, his eyes closed. The Prince smiled and released his other wrist to sit back.
In a flash, the assassin jerked his arms up, the edges of his stiff hands striking the Prince on either side of his neck. Kerrion’s eyes rolled up as he keeled over, unconscious. Blade pushed him away and sat up, brushing leaves from his hair. Swiftly he fastened the chains around Kerrion's wrists, making any further attempts at escape impossible. Allowing himself the satisfaction of kicking the Prince in the gut, Blade set about lighting a fire and setting up camp.
By the time Kerrion woke, Blade had watered the horses and unsaddled them, heated water for tea and set a pot of stew on the fire to cook. The Prince groaned and clutched his gut, then tried to rub his neck. Finding his hands bound, he sat up and scowled at his captor.
Blade eyed him from across the fire. 'Try anything like that again, and you will have more than a sore gut and neck to worry about. The Queen wants you alive, but she did not specify in what condition.'
Kerrion coughed and bent awkwardly to rub his throat. 'Could I have some water?'
'Certainly.' Blade tossed him a water skin.
'You fight unfairly.'
'Life is unfair, and that is the school that taught me. I do what is necessary to survive.'
'What does your queen want with me?'
'She does not confide in me. I am not her advisor.'
Kerrion looked bitter. 'I expect she wants to execute me publicly, thereby raising the morale of her soldiers and people, strengthening them in the war. The death of my father will also aid her cause, for it puts my younger brother, who is inexperienced in the art of war, on the throne.'
'If she executes you, it will not be for that reason. The Queen wishes to end the war.'
Kerrion snorted. 'She will never win it.'
'She does not want to win. Only to find peace.'
'By killing my father and kidnapping me? That will make my people hate her even more.'
Blade shrugged, disinterested. 'I do not know her plans, but she is no fool.'
'She is a woman.'
The assassin's eyes narrowed. 'She is the Queen of the Jashimari, and if you show her any disrespect, I shall make you suffer for it.'
'I will never crawl on my belly and lick her feet like you do, half man.'
'I will see to it that you do.'
They scowled at each other, then Blade returned to stirring the stew.
Kerrion's eyes drifted to the pot, and he swallowed, clearly hungry after a day without food. Blade dished up two bowls and handed one to the Prince, leaving him to eat awkwardly with his chained hands. After the meal, the assassin relaxed against an ironbark tree and sipped his tea, studying his captive. Kerrion did not resemble his father at all, other than his bronze skin and pale blond hair. Shandor's eyes had been a murky brown, his skin coarse and brows thick and wiry. Kerrion's fine dark brows knotted above clear eyes of a peculiar tawny gold, the colour of the desert sand. Though his features were strong, he lacked his father's brutish looks, and owned a countenance considerably more handsome than the average man.
Kerrion fidgeted and fretted, rubbing his wrists were the chains chafed them. He drank more water and scowled at the assassin.
