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Authors: T. Southwell
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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
"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
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