'The assassin known as Blade also goes by the name of Conash of the Cats. He was born in the frontier town of Goat's Rest, and began his life as a goatherd.' Mendal smirked. 'His family was wiped out in the Rout of Ashtolon, and he vanished for five years. He has a maternal aunt who lives in Jonaway, and several cousins there.' The advisor coughed, glancing at the Queen. Normally she would not have listened to such detail, but she was rapt.
Mendal continued, 'He became an assassin at the age of eighteen, unusually young, so I am told. He earned the title of Master of the Dance only a year later, and has held it ever since. He is also known as the Silent Slayer and the Invisible Assassin. The tally of his trade varies greatly, some say two hundred men, others tell me more than four hundred. Apparently he is credited with the assassination of Lord Rothwayer, paid for by his rival Lord Mordon, but no one knows for certain, other than that Lord Rothwayer was killed with a dagger in the distinctive fashion of the Invisible Assassin.'
'What fashion is that?' Minna asked.
Mendal raised his left arm and gestured to his flank. 'A dagger through the heart, under the arm.'
'Is he a good assassin, then?'
'Good?' Mendal sniggered. 'Few can claim more than a hundred kills, My Queen, and even fewer live to see thirty. The Invisible Assassin is said to be nine and twenty years of age.'
'I see. What else?'
Mendal waved the paper. 'Details, nothing more.'
'Tell me.'
'He came from a large family, two brothers and three sisters, all dead now. His father's name was Jarren, his mother Misha, and his aunt is called Perin. His village was utterly wiped out in the raid that killed them… um…' Mendal paused, clearly struggling to read his untidy scrawl.
'Why is he called the Invisible Assassin?'
He glanced up. 'Well, because no one ever sees him, My Queen.'
'But all assassins sneak about. It is how they do their job.'
'But in his case, it is more than that.' Mendal gestured with the paper. 'Take the case of Lord Rothwayer, who was killed in his bedroom with a guard at every door and window. The lord, as usual, came home with a whore, and the girl left a time-glass or so later. No one entered the room after that, and all the guards swore to it, yet Lord Rothwayer was found dead in his bed the next morning.'
'Very strange. Anything else?'
Mendal looked surprised. 'Just gossip.'
'Indulge me, I am bored this morning.'
'Well, there is a story of one escapade in which he was hired by one large and powerful merchant family to kill the patriarch of another. He performed the task, but the seven brothers of the man he killed, knowing who their enemies were, took vengeance on the family that had hired him. They lay in wait for the assassin, and when he came to collect his payment, they beat him to within an inch of his life. In truth, he should have died, and they left him for dead on the street. Soon after this, he vanished, and reappeared several moons later, healthy again.'
'And no one knows who saved him, or why?'
'No, My Queen.'
'What of his character? What sort of man is he?'
Mendal chuckled. 'Why, he is a killer. Cold-blooded, unfeeling and merciless.'
'This is your opinion?'
'Of course, it stands to reason. Anyway, no one knows him well enough to speak of his personality, but his deeds say it for him, do they not?'
'Yet he must have at least one friend, who saved him from death and nursed him back to health.'
Mendal inclined his head. 'It would seem so, My Queen. Then again, perhaps whoever did it was seeking a reward, for assassins are often quite rich.'
'Perhaps,' she allowed. 'You have done well, Mendal, I am pleased. You may go.'
The advisor prostrated himself and left, and Chiana awaited orders. The Queen rose and went to stare out of the window at the sunny garden.
'It seems that I have indeed chosen the right man for this task,' she murmured.
'Yes, My Queen.'
'Almost a moon phase has passed, and we have heard nothing. Why does he not send a message?'
'Perhaps he cannot.'
'Yes, I suppose so. If he fails, I shall…' She sighed. 'So much depends on his success. All my plans.'
'I am sure he will succeed, My Queen. If his reputation is as fearsome as Mendal describes, he must.'
'Yes, yes, I agree, provided the tales Mendal passed on to me were not exaggerations.'
'Even if they are, they must be based on some amazing facts.'
Kerrion watched the assassin cut dried meat into a pot to prepare a stew. The last three days had passed relatively peacefully, since he had stopped goading the grey-eyed man, and, although his situation was still intolerable, it had improved slightly since then. The assassin had barely spoken two words, going about his business as if the Prince did not exist.
'Have you a name?' Kerrion asked, tired of the silence.
'Everyone has.'
'What is it?'
The assassin glanced at him. 'Blade.'
'Suitable for a man so fond of his dagger.'
'I thought so.'
Kerrion pondered. 'Have you ever met your Queen?'
'Yes.'
'What is she like?'
Blade looked impatient, slicing the meat with flashing strokes of the razor-sharp weapon. 'She is a queen. I do not know her that well.'
'Is she proud? Disdainful? Did she make you grovel?'
'She did not make me do anything,' Blade retorted. 'I showed my respect, nothing more.'
'How long before we reach the palace, or castle?'
'About two tendays.'
Kerrion eyed his captor. 'You know, whatever she is paying you, I can better, if you take me back.'
Blade shot him a contemptuous glance. 'I am not for sale.'
'Come, man, everyone has their price. I daresay yours is high, but name it. Lands, riches, titles, anything you wish, I can give you.'
'The Cotti have nothing I want, even if I had a price, which I do not.'
Kerrion shook his head. 'Why else would you risk your life? I am sure she is paying you handsomely.'
'So she is, but I would have done it simply for the pleasure of killing your father.'
Blade glanced at the Prince, who stared into the newly lighted fire, his expression unreadable. How hard it must be, the assassin mused, to spend time in the company of the man who had slain your father. This was undoubtedly Kerrion's first taste of grief, yet he seemed to forget that his father was dead until Blade reminded him. It must be a difficult thing to accept when he had seen no body, and no tangible proof of his father's demise.
As if reading his thoughts, Kerrion looked up. 'My father and I were not close. I am the eldest of sixteen sons, and not his favourite. I have always believed that he brought me with him on his campaigns in the hope that I would be killed, for my younger brother is his choice for successor.'
Blade concentrated on chopping meat into the pot, remembering all too well his own father's death. The sprawled body before their cottage, a spear protruding obscenely from his belly, the blood staining the ground.
His mind flew back to the time before that, when his father's gentle smiles, rough pats and warm embraces for his second son had filled Blade's world with joy. He recalled his two brothers' horseplay, mud fights, tree climbing, skinned knees and swimming in a lake. He remembered his soft-eyed sisters with their hair tied up in long tails, like a pony's, and their bright smiles when they picked flowers in the fields and giggled as they rolled down the warm, sun-drenched grassy slopes. Then his mother would call them in for supper, scold them for their dirty clothes, wash their scrapes and scrub them pink in the tub before the fire. His mother's warm embraces had been
