"Here, have something to eat, you will need your strength for later."
Blade took the meat with a smile and bit into it, wary of the grease that might remove the dye from his chin if he wiped it, as well as the berry juice on his lips. The King grinned and drained his ale, patting the assassin's head. Blade was forced to sit at Shandor's feet and chew the cold meat, enduring the monarch's lecherous pawing. To speed things up, he cast many seductive looks at Shandor, until the King could bear it no longer and stood up, stretched, and belched.
When King Shandor pulled Blade to his feet, the assassin bent his knees a little, lest he appear too tall for a woman. Shandor placed an arm about Blade's waist and leered at his officers, who laughed and called encouragement. The assassin allowed the King to lead him to the tent, and only once had to avoid the big man's hands when he reached for his wrist where a dagger was strapped.
Inside the tent, the King fumbled with his tunic and nodded at the cot. "Get on the bed and take off your clothes." He giggled. "Or take them off first, whichever you prefer, my sweet."
Blade smiled. "Sire, there is no hurry. Let me help you."
Shandor staggered as he struggled with the thongs that bound his tunic. "An excellent idea, you help me, and I shall help you."
Blade stepped closer and released a dagger. The weapon slid into his hand, cold and deadly. The deed had to be done swiftly and without sound, but he was determined to deliver a message with the killing stroke. He undid the ties that bound the King's tunic and slid his hands under it as Shandor groped for his water-bag bosom. With the dagger poised between the fourth and fifth ribs under the King's armpit, Blade leant close and whispered in his ear.
"This is a gift from Queen Minna-Satu."
Shandor stiffened, and his eyes bulged as he opened his mouth to bellow. Blade rammed the dagger in. Blood oozed from the wound, and the bellow of outrage and alarm died to a whimper in the King's throat. For a few seconds Shandor stood, swaying, staring at Blade with bulging eyes, his lips trembling as he fought to draw breath. His heart had stopped the moment it had been pierced, however, and no sound issued from the King's mouth.
The assassin's smile became chilling as Shandor's knees buckled and his eyes glazed, his limbs twitching in the grotesque manner of all dying men. Blade supported him as he sagged, lowering him onto the bed. He lifted the corpse's legs onto it and arranged it so anyone who looked in would think the King asleep. Right now, he needed to buy time, for the Prince still sat by the fire. Once he had arranged the body and pulled the sheet up to its chin, he settled on the bed to wait. If anyone looked in, the scene was a cosy one, and completely innocent.
The waiting ate at his nerves, and Blade disliked lying beside the cooling corpse. He would have preferred to leave through the back of the tent, but this was the safest place to hide until the Prince retired. He listened to the men talking around the fire, willing them to go to bed. When the conversation ebbed, he crept to the tent flap to peer out.
Most of the officers had left, but the Prince still stared into the flames. Blade cursed and returned to the cot, settling down to wait once more. The wig itched terribly, and he allowed himself the luxury of scratching it, but that only made it worse. As the time dragged on, he checked his attire again and ensured that no blood soiled his hands. If there was one thing that he had learnt from his life as an assassin, it was to master the art of limitless patience.
Chapter Four
By the time the Prince left the fire, the King's body was cold. As Kerrion entered the next tent, Blade scanned the area within the dying fire's light. Two soldiers lay sprawled nearby, apparently asleep, one guard leant on his spear, yawning. Blade pulled up the cloak's hood and crept from the tent while the guard's back was turned, crossed the sand to the Prince's tent and pushed aside the flap. As he slipped inside, Kerrion looked up from his task of undressing and glared at the intruder.
"What, has my father failed to satisfy you, whore?"
Blade smiled, walking closer with a slow seductive gait. "The King snores. May I not stay with you?"
"No, get out." He turned away.
The assassin was a mere two strides from his quarry, and inched closer so the Prince would barely notice that the gap between them grew less. Blade lifted slender, be-ringed hands in a graceful female gesture. "May I help you to disrobe, mighty Prince?"
Kerrion swung towards him, startled by his sudden proximity. Blade released a dagger, its cold hilt filling his palm. Before the Prince could protest, he slid the weapon under the thongs that bound Kerrion's tunic, parting them, and the tip of the blade came to rest at the Prince's throat.
"One sound, and you die."
Kerrion froze as a drop of blood oozed from the tip of the weapon, his Adam's apple bobbing.
Blade nodded. "Good. Now, put your right arm around my shoulders."
The Prince obeyed, moving stiffly as the dagger pricked him.
"That's it," Blade murmured. "You and I are going for a walk, and if you make a sound, or disobey me, you will die instantly, understand?"
Kerrion nodded.
Blade scanned the tent, his eyes coming to rest on a big golden bird asleep on a perch in the corner. A desert eagle, female, judging by the black stripes on her tail feathers. He turned to the Prince.
"If your familiar attacks, you will both die."
"She is asleep," Kerrion croaked.
"Be silent! You live or die at my whim, remember that."
Blade gazed coldly into the Prince's terrified eyes as he searched Kerrion's clothes for weapons. Finding none, he allowed himself a slight smile. He slid his left arm around the Prince's waist, then transferred the dagger to it in a brief embrace that brought his face inches from Kerrion's. Once again, he found the place between the fourth and fifth ribs under the Prince's armpit and pressed the point of the dagger to it until Kerrion flinched.
Blade murmured, "If I push this blade in, you will die so quickly that you will have no time to shout or struggle. You will drop dead in your tracks, and no one will save you. I am an assassin, Prince Kerrion, and skilled at my trade. Obey me, and you will live. Try to get free or call your men, and you will die. Is that clear?"
Prince Kerrion nodded, frowning. The shock of his predicament was wearing off, which was bad, and Blade hoped that he did not find his courage too soon.
"You will not get away with this," Kerrion muttered.
"Be silent!" Blade jabbed the dagger deeper, making the Prince wince again. "You speak when I tell you to, not before. Now, we are going to walk out of this camp, and it is up to you to make sure we are not stopped. Your life is in your hands. If a guard becomes suspicious, you will die before I do. So the choice is yours. My Queen wants you alive, but if she cannot have you, you must die."
Kerrion nodded again, impotent anger in his eyes. He clearly knew that Blade could kill him with a jerk of his wrist. The assassin smiled and turned his captive towards the tent flap, using the dagger as a goad. Its painful jabs forced the Prince to walk with him, clasped together like lovers strolling in the moonlight. To add to the illusion, the assassin kept the pace unhurried, and they wandered through the sleeping camp. By the time they reached the outskirts, Blade's wrist was stiff from holding the dagger poised, and the Prince sagged from the pain.
Here sentries patrolled, scanning the desert for any sign of the enemy. One stepped out from behind a tent ahead, and Blade leant closer to whisper, "Your life is in your hands."
The soldier started in surprise at the sight of the Prince strolling in the arms of a whore, and peered at them as if to make sure his eyes did not deceive him. "Your Highness?"