broadened the subject matter of his constant chatter. Valda went on to enumerate Lerton's concubines, compare their charms and the number of children they had borne him, then started to talk about their families and pedigrees or lack of them.
Unable to stand it any longer, Blade snarled, 'Damn it, be quiet! Lerton's dead, and I don't care about his bloody concubines!'
Valda gaped at the assassin, granting Blade a short respite. All too soon, however, he recovered and demanded, 'When? How did he die? Why didn't you tell me this before?'
'For this very reason, I suspect,' Blade growled.
'You must tell me! I have a right to know, he was my prince. He should have been King, not that snivelling weakling, Kerrion. Lerton was the one with visions and plans. He took after his father, the great King Shandor. How was he killed? A riding accident? Lerton was ever one for riding spirited horses, he was -'
'One of his concubines stuck a knife in him, I heard,' Blade drawled.
'Impossible!' Valda shouted. 'They wouldn't dare, and he would strangle them for even trying! Don't lie to me, it's not a jest!'
Blade shrugged. 'All right, he slipped in some dung and broke his neck.'
'Don't insult Prince Lerton! He was the best of the princes! He was a great warrior, a strong man! Tell me the truth!'
Blade sighed. 'I don't know, nor do I care. Perhaps one of his enemies killed him, or maybe his mother did what she should have done at his birth and drowned him. Just be quiet.'
'No! You know what happened, I demand that you tell me!'
'I've just said I don't know. I heard that he was dead, that's all.'
Valda scowled at the assassin, and, for almost half a time-glass, Blade thought he had finally silenced the spy's grumbling. He hoped that the man would retreat into gloomy introspection, which was why he had informed him of Lerton's demise. Blade sensed the spy's eyes boring into him. The Cotti's scrutiny made him uneasy, and he shot the man a hard glance. Valda's mouth was set in a grim line, and the assassin glimpsed a flash of pure hatred in the man's eyes. Then it vanished, and his face became oddly expressionless. Blade turned to study the spy, becoming wary. For all that Valda was a well paid informant, he was also a Cotti, and perhaps a little too clever. Although it had achieved the desired result, he now regretted telling Valda of Lerton's death.
Blade looked ahead again, shrugging off his misgivings. Of course the spy hated him. He was Jashimari, and he had just insulted Valda's favourite prince. It did not mean that Valda suspected him of anything. Nevertheless, he was on his guard. As far as he knew, Valda was unarmed, although he now wished that he was certain of that. For the next time-glass, only the thudding of the horses' feet and the occasional raucous comment from Valda's familiar broke the silence in which they travelled.
Valda broke the quiet by muttering, 'I'm tired, I'll let my horse walk for a while. You go on ahead, I'll catch up.'
Blade shot him another suspicious glance, but had no objection to this idea. The further he was from the spy, the better. Valda reined his horse in and fell behind as Blade continued at a trot. He gazed ahead at the mountains that beckoned to him, filled with the promise of green grass and cool mists. By dusk he would reach them, and quit this accursed desert, hopefully forever.
Something struck him in the back, punching the air from his lungs with a coughing grunt. The force of the impact propelled him forwards, the world tilted as his limbs lost their strength and he slid from the saddle. Sand hit him in the face, and everything went black.
