The Queen's assassin

Chapter Five

Sardec sat at the table and scribbled another figure on the parchment before him. It was hard writing with his left hand. His script lacked the flowing grace with which he had once formed his letters with his right hand, but he was determined to master writing once more. It was a necessary skill for an officer in the Queen's Army.

The lists in front of him made for depressing reading. A lot of new soldiers had been transferred in, and all of them needed a place to stay and food and pay. His company had lost fewer men than he had feared in the siege of Halim, particularly compared to the disastrous excursion into Deep Achenar, but nonetheless fatalities had occurred. A lot of the deaths had been among the newer men, but some of those who had followed him into the buried city of the Spider God were gone as well. It was a soldier's lot to die for the Queen when duty called for it, but Sardec was surprised how much it pained him to see the names on the parchment. Those men had been in his care and every death felt like a failure.

They were only humans, he told himself. They would have died in a few years anyway. Somehow that made it worse. Perhaps they would get their reward in the lesser heaven but Sardec was finding it harder and harder to believe. There had been no concept of a lesser heaven until the Terrarchs had encountered humanity. Only then had the Prophets started talking about one. It seemed more of a political necessity than a religious truth. He was spending too much time around Lady Asea. Some of her ancient cynicism was rubbing off on him.

He scratched his forehead with the back of the hook, and let out a long sigh. At least the company had been assigned a decent place to dwell, an old fortified mansion on the edge of the poorer quarter near the market square. It had taken some string-pulling to get such a pleasant, defensible place in the overcrowded city but he had managed it. His stock was high with headquarters after the battle of the Abelen Ford, and his credit was good too with those he had needed to bribe.

He had seen that his soldiers were well-billeted and their dependents seemed to have found places nearby. The merchants who followed the army had already found them, and despite Sardec's warning the troops were already selling their loot for pennies on the crown, and using the proceeds to buy booze and food at inflated prices.

He could understand that — when you might be dead by the end of summer what was the purpose of saving? You might as well have a good time now. Sardec was not like that though — the treasures he had found were catalogued and crated, ready to be shipped back to the family estate. His father had been right; war could be profitable if you knew what you were about.

He looked over at Rena, and was surprised at how beautiful he found her. She sat on the bed they shared in the rooms he had taken, running the silver brush he had gifted her with through her thick glossy black hair.

Who had that brush once belonged to, Sardec wondered? Some Terrarch noblewoman? Some rich merchant's wife? It did not matter now. It was hers and her obvious delight in its possession had been recompense enough to Sardec for the small increment of gain it had cost him to give it to her.

She saw he was looking at her and gave him a bright smile. It made his heart leap. There were times when Sardec wished he was able to tell her how much her beauty affected him, but somehow he could never quite break through the reserve he felt he should maintain around a human. He told himself he was being ridiculous. The woman had felt his weight upon her in the heat of passion. To think of maintaining reserve after that was merely foolish, and yet… And yet, he never quite could bring himself to talk about it to her.

She came over and stroked his cheek. There was a tenderness in the gesture that touched him, even as he felt he should repel it. After all, no human was supposed to do such a thing without permission. He forced himself to let out a long breath, to relax.

"What are you thinking?" she asked.

Now was the moment, he thought. Tell her that she is lovely, and she gladdens your heart in a way nothing ever has before and most likely nothing ever will again. "Nothing," he said.

"Are you thinking of the dead," she said, looking at the list. He knew she could not read, but he had told her what the paperwork was for.

"I was," he said.

"It was not your fault. They were soldiers. It was a battle." He wished he had not shared his doubts with her, but he had been a little drunk, and a little depressed, and he could not talk about his fears and inadequacies with his fellow officers. They were Terrarchs and they were already too inclined to mock him for being a cripple, for having a human lover, for any number of things. He did not want to give them any more ammunition for their contempt.

"I know. I know, and yet…"

"You are a good man," she said, sounding almost as if it came as a surprise to her.

"I am not a man, Rena. I am a Terrarch." She recoiled a little, as if fearing she had offended him. He could not quite get used to that fear in her. He would never hurt her. Yet he knew her fear was well-founded. Some Terrarchs would have had her horsewhipped for making such a suggestion. Not that long ago, she could have been put to death for it. This world was a cruel place for humans, he thought. He looked at his missing hand. It could be a cruel place for Terrarchs too.

He reached out with his good hand and drew her to him. Her lips met his. She led him slowly to the bed.

Rik parried Karim's blow and riposted. The southerner blocked the attack easily. He looked calm and fresh and not the slightest discomposed. Rik's shirt was soaked with sweat, his breath came in laboured gasps, and his hand shook from fatigue. They had been practising for an hour and it was beginning to tell on Rik. Karim was garbed all in black, and a scarf obscured the lower portion of his face. He showed no sign of any fatigue. He was barely breathing heavily.

Karim's return blow sent the sword spinning from his hand. "Your mind was elsewhere, Master Rik," he said.

"You are right," Rik admitted. He had found it best to be honest about such things with Karim. The southerner was an expert judge of his state of mind, at least when it came to the crossing of blades. He glanced around the courtyard of the Palace. A number of Terrarch officers watched them, a few Terrarch ladies as well.

"You can’t afford to be distracted when swords are involved, Master Rik. If this had been a real fight you would have been a dead man."

"That would be true of any real fight I had with you, Karim."

"True, Master Rik. For the moment at least — but you are young, you are quick and you have a great deal of promise. Already you are better than many men with a blade. Someday I hope you will be a master."

"You are very kind to say so, Karim."

"Forgive me for contradicting you, but kindness is not part of my nature. Truthfulness is. I would not say such a thing if it was not true. Some men are natural killers — you are one of them. It is as if you were born to wield a sword. I suspect you would be good with almost any weapon you picked up, and better than good with those you practiced with."

Rik frowned. He thought of what Asea had told him of his Shadowblood heritage, that he was a born assassin from a line of born assassins. She supposed his ancestors to be a clan of beings created by a Prince of Shadow to be his personal killers. She wanted him to be hers. He supposed he already was. Of course, she was prepared to pay him well for this. She was already doing so, but her patronage was dangerous. Just being a Shadowblood was punishable by death, if you were discovered. It was yet another thing that gave her enormous leverage over him.

"I am glad you think so," he said.

"I know so," said Karim. There was even a hint of warmth in his normally chill voice. Rik decided to ask the Southerner the question that had been on his mind for a while.

"How did you come to Lady Asea's service — if you don't mind me asking?"

"I do not. The Lady told me you would ask me this, and she told me I should answer you if I wished."

"Do you wish?"

"It is a tale for another time," said Karim. "But someday I will tell you."

Rik noticed that a tall, heavily built man had entered the courtyard. He was dressed as an engineer, and he had a set of rolled up plans underneath his arms. He looked around politely and waited to be recognised. He was a human with the dark swarthy features of a Mazarean. His beard and moustache were imperfectly dyed. None of the Terrarchs present paid him any attention so he hailed a servant.

"Benjario has business with Lady Asea," the man said in a self-important voice. Rik felt his interest being piqued. The big man had been around to see Asea several times before, always clutching masses of rolled up parchment, inscribed with diagrams and odd notations. At first he had suspected sorcery, but now he wondered if it might not be something different. Benjario was a name he had heard before. He was the madman who believed that one day all men would be able to fly. What possible business could he have with Asea?

Rik decided that he would make a point of finding out in the not too distant future, but right now he had an appointment to meet with Weasel and the Barbarian. He wanted to see them both for old times’ sake and to find out what they were up to. If anybody could give him some idea of what was going on in this city, they could.

The Foragers were not billeted among palaces but in an older part of the city, the ancient part that predated the construction of the Imperial capital. It had been built when humans still ruled the world and by-passed by the slum clearances that had made way for the new mansions of the Terrarch aristocracy. The tenements surrounding Rik were high, the streets narrow. The whole area was squalid and crowded and full of uniformed men, and those who could always be counted on to appear in their wake: camp followers, whores, moneylenders, merchants of the sleazier sorts, card-sharps, pawnbrokers, beggars and minstrels.

The smell was the familiar one of Rik's childhood, a mixture of human and animal dung, unwashed bodies, food cooking on street braziers, cheap perfume, incense and wood-smoke. The raucous calls of vendors and bar-girls cut through the hubbub of barter and chatter. He smiled. He felt like he was coming home. No one paid him the slightest attention for he had changed out of his Terrarch finery and back into his old green tunic and a set of patched brown britches. He did not want to attract the attention of every pick-pocket and street-robber in the quarter. He carried only enough money for the evening's entertainment. He had left his sword behind, relying on the bayonet thrust in his belt and the knife in a hidden sheath in his sleeve for protection.

He paused occasionally to haggle with a street vendor for outrageously over-priced skewers of food that tasted like cat when he bit into it. It wasn't the food he was interested in. He talked mostly just to get a feel for the area and directions to the Foragers’ billet. This turned out to be a massive old mansion that had probably belonged to some merchant. Sardec, or whoever had picked it, had chosen it with an eye to defence. The place was walled and built round a courtyard. Its single arched entranceway could be barred shut and easily defended, always an important consideration when rioting was a strong possibility.

As he approached it, he saw a woman and his mouth went dry. It was Rena, the girl who he had gone with in Redtower what felt like a lifetime ago, and who had betrayed him to go off with Sardec. She was better dressed these days, but her lush beauty still affected him as strongly as ever. He fought down the urge to duck into a side alley and kept moving. He was damned if he was going to hide from her.

She carried a woven shopping basket and the same two girls who had accompanied her to the camp at Morven were with her now. No woman would walk these streets alone at this time of day. He noticed that Toadface and Handsome Jan were with them, chatting with the girls. Either they had been assigned to watch them, or were interested in the lasses, or both. Toadface looked over at Rik. Surprise showed on his ugly pock-marked face and he strolled over with the girls in tow.

"I didn't expect to see you here," he said. "Or dressed like that. Decided that you've had enough of hob-nobbing with high born and run off to be a soldier?"

"Something like that. I've come to see Weasel and the Barbarian."

Handsome Jan admired his own profile in a fragment of mirror, pointing out the fineness of his cheek to one of the girls. She seemed to agree with him.

"Hello, Rik," said Rena. Her voice was low and husky. She watched him cautiously. Their last meeting had been none too friendly. He looked at her and cursed himself mentally. Why did his mouth feel dry? Why was his heart hammering loudly against his ribs? She should not have this power over him, but she did.

"Hello," he said.

"You're looking well." Banality seemed to be the only basis of conversation here.

"So are you."

The two other girls looked at him with something like wonder. They had not shown anything like it the last time he had encountered them. "We heard that you rescued the Queen and destroyed the Serpent Tower," one of them said. Her voice sounded quite squeaky. Her eyes were wide. She seemed to be expecting him to perform another of these prodigies at any moment.

"We heard you are going to be knighted by the Queen or made a Duke or something."

Handsome Jan glared at him. He never liked not being the centre of attention. Rena did not say anything.

"That would be up to Her Serenity," he said, and cursed himself for sounding like a pompous ass. He felt suddenly unbalanced surrounded by these people from his old life, having just come from the new.

"We are honoured that you still choose to slum with us," said Handsome Jan. Yes, definitely jealous.

"Don't be a wanker," said Rik.

"I'm not the one who is a wanker," said Handsome Jan. Rik wondered if he wanted to start a fight. He had not been prepared for this sort of reception. "I'm not the one who is the fancy boy of a Terrarch noblewoman either."

"You're just jealous because I've achieved your highest ambition in life." Rik could see that the shaft had hit home from Jan's expression. Was that really it?

He noticed that Rena was glaring at them both now. What was she jealous about? She was hardly in a position to judge Rik. She was the one who had taken up with a Terrarch noble first. Then he noticed that most of her glare was aimed at Jan. His remarks had offended her as well. Not surprisingly, when he considered her circumstances. He guessed she must be living with Sardec.

"I heard you got an invitation to the coronation," said Toadface. He licked his lips, long tongue flickering out almost to his nose.

"I have," he said, because he knew it would annoy Handsome Jan, and he was pissed off with him. "I'll be seated right beside the Lady Asea."

Rena gave him an appraising look, a cold one. Perhaps he had been boasting to annoy her too. He was not the penniless soldier boy he had been when they first met. He was someone in the world. That was the theory at least. At moments like this, he felt just as much an impostor as he did when confronting the Terrarch nobility. He wondered if he was ever going to be at ease in this world and decided it was unlikely.

"I'm off to see Weasel and the big man," he said. Just to be flashy he gave them the most courtly bow Asea's Master of Protocol had taught him, directing it mainly at Rena. A moment later he was striding down the street to the Forager's new barracks. He badly needed a drink.

"My kind of place," said the Barbarian, surveying the Nag's Head with a proprietorial air. He rubbed his huge hands together and then scratched the bald crown of his head. It certainly was his kind of place, Rik thought. He doubted he had ever seen uglier whores or tasted rougher vodka, but at least the beer was strong and the music not too loud. Over in the corner a sad faced woman played Wanderlander tunes on a violin while a waif who might have been her daughter sang soft words. It was not like back home in Talorea. She would have been booted out of a tavern like this in Sorrow. The Kharadreans seemed to have a melancholy streak to their temperament. Rik supposed that they had a lot to be melancholy about.

Weasel nodded. "Good game going on in the back. They're keeping a seat warm for me."

"I hope that big girl over there will keep her seat warm for me, if you know what I mean," said the Barbarian, elbowing Rik in the ribs, just in case he had not spotted the innuendo.

"How is life at the Palace?" Weasel asked.

"Getting enough?" The Barbarian leered. Rik ignored him.

"It's fine but a bit dull."

"That why you decided to give the Nag's Head your custom?" Weasel asked. Rik was getting a bit sick of his old comrades being suspicious of him.

"No, I thought I would find out what was going on with you."

"We're honoured," said the Barbarian.

"Don't you start! I got enough of the sarcasm from Handsome Jan."

"What do you expect, Halfbreed," said Weasel. He looked serious for a moment. He was capable of seriousness when he wanted to be, and was far smarter than the Barbarian. There were times when Rik suspected that Weasel was smarter than he was. "You're a Terrarch now."

"You think so?"

"As far as most of the lads are concerned, yes. They hear all these stories — breaking into the Serpent Tower, rescuing Princesses, shagging witches, and it makes them nervous."

"How about you?"

"The only thing that makes me nervous is when the Barbarian here starts thinking."

"I'm glad to hear it. We've cut a few throats together."

All three of them looked warily about. They had done much more than that in their time. They had committed acts that would get them burned at the stake if the Inquisition ever learned about them. The Barbarian laughed. "Time for a meat pie," he said. "They're really good here. Hot and juicy, just the way I like them."

Weasel and Rik looked at each other and silently mouthed the words they both knew he was going to say. "Just the way I like my women."

"Better watch out — I hear that some strange ingredients been finding their way into those pies."

"Just stories," said the Barbarian. He downed a full glass of vodka in one and bellowed for another. "Doubt anybody is collecting corpses for pies. The ghouls are beating them to it."

Rik shot him a look. As a child, Rik had thought ghouls the most terrifying creatures imaginable. Tales of the monsters had always circled the orphanage. A vivid image sprang immediately from those days, of a creature horribly lean with grey mould-blotched flesh, sharp-toothed, eyes burning with an unspeakable hunger. And the worst thing was that you could become one. It was a disease that could be transmitted by their bite. "What’s that?"

"You'd better get out of the Palace a bit more, Halfbreed," said Weasel. "Parts of the city are over-run with the corpse-eating bastards. The Quartermaster says we're going to be going on a ghoul hunt soon."

“There are so many of them?”

“I don’t imagine they are running through the Palace gardens, but packs of them are haunting the graveyards.”

"Why do you think that is?" said Rik. "Way I always heard it, you get to be a ghoul by eating the flesh of dead men. It’s not like we besieged Halim long enough for mass starvation to break out."

"Maybe you should ask your girlfriend. She would know."

"Maybe I will."

"Let me know if you find out anything interesting. It might be worth something to the right people." Weasel paused for a moment considering. "That's if you're still interested in our sort of money."

Rik was. Not because he needed the money, he realised, but because he needed the connection to his old friends and the life they represented. You never knew when you might need to disappear back into the mass of humanity.

“What’s new with the Quartermaster?”

“He’s keeping his hand in. See that fat guy with the handlebar moustaches over there?”

“The one with all the bodyguards? Black hair — looks dyed.”

“The very same. His name is Uri. He’s big in the local gangs. We’ve been doing some business on the black market with him.”

“For the Quartermaster?”

“Aye. He tells us some interesting stuff sometimes, when he wants to. The sort of stuff it might be useful to your Lady A and her cronies, if you catch my meaning.”

“Want to introduce us?”

“If you like, only I hope you’ve still got a head for vodka, because those lads like to drink.”

“Somehow I will survive.”

“Let’s go over and say hello then. One word of warning.” Weasel looked serious.

“What’s that?”

“Be careful what you say about corpses. Uri and his boys deal in them?”

“Bodysnatchers?” It was a business that Rik disliked; selling fresh corpses for dissection to medical students, or as subjects for the strange experiments of necromancers. Such people were often not too picky about how they got their raw materials.

“The same. Aside from that they are good blokes,” said Weasel. “And they like a game of cards.”

“Let’s have a word with them then and maybe play a few hands.”

“I won’t be joining you,” said the Barbarian. He gestured at a couple of plump bar-girls who were waving at him. “It looks like my luck is in.”

“He won’t be saying that in the morning,” said Weasel shouldering his way through the crowd.