That night, he again selected a wooded grove in which to make camp, then pulled the Prince from his horse and yanked the hood off with unnecessary force. Kerrion emerged angry and dishevelled, glancing around before unleashing his pent-up vitriol.
"If I am returned to my people, assassin, I shall see to it that you are hunted down and executed in the worst possible way."
"I sincerely doubt that," Blade muttered.
"I have plenty of spies amongst your people, men loyal to my crown, who would gladly avenge my ill treatment at your hands."
"I meant that I doubt you will ever be returned to your people."
Kerrion watched the assassin set up camp. "The Cotti will not want my younger brother on the throne, and, even if he does not wish it, those loyal to me will do everything in their power to see that I am released."
Blade broke a handful of twigs and set them on the tiny flames. He looked up to study the Prince, his mouth set in a grim line. "You think my treatment of you is bad, yet you have no idea of the cruelty of your men."
"If your queen fell into the hands of my soldiers, I am sure she would be treated with every courtesy."
"And I am sure she would not."
"What would you know of my men, anyway? At least I do not neuter them."
Blade let the twigs fall into the fire and stood up. Drawing a dagger, he dragged the Prince to his feet and pushed his face close to the royal visage. Kerrion met his gaze unflinching, although his tension revealed his inner qualms at the intense hatred that the assassin knew blazed his eyes. Blade pressed the dagger to the Prince's throat, drawing a drop of blood.
"If you do not learn to hold your flapping tongue, I will cut it out."
They glowered at each other, then Blade gave the Prince a push that sent him sprawling and turned away to continue making camp.
Queen Minna-Satu looked up from the report she was reading when Chiana entered the room. The chief advisor rose from her prostration and said, "The man I sent to find out about the assassin has returned, My Queen."
Minna put aside the papers. "Good, bring him in."
Chiana opened the doors to admit Mendal, who stalked closer before prostrating himself. The Queen allowed him to rise, and he shot a hard look at Chiana.
"I must protest, My Queen, at my treatment. I am no spy to be sent amongst the scum of your city in search of rumours concerning the unsavoury characters who dwell there."
Minna-Satu smiled, delighted to find her old enemy so misused. Mendal had always annoyed her with his snide remarks and overt contempt for almost everybody. "And yet if no use is to be found for you, Mendal, what will become of you? I find you eminently qualified for the task, since you regularly frequent those establishments."
"I protest! You have been told lies, My Queen; I do not mingle with the trash who dwell in the gutters."
"Come now, not everyone who knows you lies about you, do they, Mendal? And you surely did not have to stoop quite so low?"
"Almost! And this flagrant insult to my character is intolerable. I would know who has slandered me so vilely behind my back."
Minna glanced at Chiana. "Very well, I shall order my chief advisor to make up a list for your perusal."
Chiana giggled behind her hand, and Mendal glanced at her suspiciously.
Minna controlled her expression and folded her hands. "Give your report."
"A list?" Mendal frowned, realising that his protests were no longer finding a friendly ear, and, in truth, never had. Under the Queen's glacial eyes, he groped amongst his snakeskin robes and pulled out a crumpled paper, tucking the green adder away when it emerged, hissing angrily at the intrusion. He cleared his throat and smoothed the paper.
"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."