Lost in his thoughts, Blade took little notice of the dark figure that followed him into the city, keeping well behind and ducking out of sight whenever the assassin glanced around. Discounting it as one of Minna's spies, sent to watch over him or spy on him, he paid it no heed. The Queen's warning made him a little more alert than usual, and he kept a wary eye on side streets and alleys. Making his way through the more affluent parts of the city, he headed for a middle class area, where honest merchants lived and plied their trade. It was not as grand as the suburbs where the nobility lived, nor as squalid as the slums on the outskirts of the city.
At his favourite inn, he chose a table in a corner and imbibed several tankards of good ale, relaxing and enjoying the atmosphere. The taproom had a welcoming air to it, with clean rushes on the floor and well-worn, but comfortable furniture. The innkeeper was an honest fellow with a merry disposition, who owned a well-stocked cellar and had a plump wife who cooked a wonderful rabbit stew. Horse brasses adorned the walls, and polished pots hung over a massive fireplace on the far side of the room, where often a sheep carcass turned to provide meat for the hungry patrons.
Just before dusk, Blade started back towards the palace, filled with the warm glow of beer. His time at the inn had calmed him and relaxed his vigilance, for nothing untoward seemed imminent. When a figure strode out of an alley beside him and collided with him, he recoiled with a startled oath. Alarm penetrated his ale-soaked brain when the man gripped his arm and gave it a powerful tug that yanked him off balance and sent him stumbling into the side street. Before he could regain his balance, someone grabbed his arm again and swung him into the wall, knocked the wind out of him and made bright stars dance in his eyes. His knees buckled, and he slid down the wall, too stunned to offer any resistance as boots thudded into him from all sides.
The alcohol in his blood slowed him further, and all he could do was throw up his arms to protect his face as the men kicked him, punching the air from his lungs and bruising his ribs with savage blows. After several minutes, they dragged him upright, twisting his arms behind his back. He shook his head, trying to clear it as he was pushed back against a wall. Blood spattered his chest, running from his nose in a crimson stream, and he wondered dimly if it was broken.
Four brutish men stood around him, their faces wreathed in sneers and gleeful grins. Two held his arms, and a third drew back his fist to punch the assassin in the face. Blade ducked, and the thug's fist slammed into the wall. The man howled, clutching his broken hand as he hopped and cursed foully. Blade struggled to free his arms, but the men held him. The fourth roughneck stepped up and drove his fist into Blade's stomach. The assassin doubled over with a groan, coughing. The man gripped Blade's hair and pulled him upright, punching him in the jaw. The assassin spat blood, jerking his hair from the thug's grip. Before the man could renew his hold, Blade kicked his attacker in the crotch. The thug screamed and collapsed in a tangle of arms and legs, curling into a foetal ball on the cobbles.
The sight of his whimpering comrade apparently angered another of Blade's captors, who swung a fist. The assassin jerked free and ducked, butting the man in the stomach. The thug went down with a grunt, and Blade almost fell on top of him as his legs wobbled. He struggled to free himself from the thug who held his other arm, but the man punched Blade in the side of the face as the assassin lashed out with his free hand. The winded man, seeing the assassin on the brink of escaping, drew a knife and charged. The weapon skittered off Blade's chain mail and impaled his biceps.
Blade grunted and swung on his assailant as he released a dagger from its wrist sheath and let it slide into his hand. With a swift slash, he opened a wound across the man's chest from shoulder to hip. The thug howled and dropped his knife to clutch the wound. The last man whipped an arm around the assassin's neck, and a dagger sank into his hip just below the chain mail. Blade grunted and tried to twist free, but the man's arm tightened, crushing his windpipe. Before his vision darkened, Blade flipped his dagger over, gripped it point down and thrust it into the thug's belly. The man released him with a coughing grunt, doubling over to clutch the wound.
Blade staggered away, one leg dragging from the wound in his hip, shock and alcohol slowing him further. The dark alley swam in and out of focus as he tried to get his bearings. The two thugs who were not bleeding hobbled after him. He tried to increase his pace, his breath hissing through his bruised throat. Before he reached the main street where people might see the struggle and call the Watch, one of his pursuers tackled him, bringing him down hard enough to punch the wind from his lungs, and the dagger clattered away.
The second man pinned his arms and twisted them behind his back, and between them, they dragged him back into the alley. Blade struggled, shouting for help, but they held him fast and bound his hands with coarse rope. A dirty rag was stuffed into his mouth and tied around his head. They dragged him further down the alley, along two dim side streets and down a flight of stone steps into a musty cellar. There he was flung onto a bed of damp straw, and the thugs slammed the door and barred it as they left, enveloping him in darkness.
For a while he twisted and tugged to try to loosen the ropes on his wrists, but to no avail. When his skin grew raw from the chafing, he slumped back on the straw, his wounds throbbing and his head aching. The ropes bound his remaining dagger to his wrist, and he could not free it. The stench of damp and mildew, mixed with something fouler, made him fight the urge to vomit. Inwardly he cursed whoever was responsible for this, and wondered what horrors lay ahead.
Chapter Thirteen
Queen Minna-Satu frowned, picking at her midday meal without appetite. Her sense of foreboding increased by the time-glass, and she had been unable to relax since learning that Blade had not returned after going into the city the previous day. A squad of soldiers had been dispatched to search every inn and brothel, and would return at any moment.
She looked up as Chiana entered and prostrated herself. "What news?"
"None, My Queen. The soldiers are back, but they did not find him."
Minna jumped up, almost upsetting the tray, and strode over to the windows. "He is in trouble, I know it. Those who tried to kill Kerrion have taken him, which means they will attempt the Prince's life again, this time secure in the knowledge that I cannot retaliate. But I could easily hire another assassin, though he may not be as good as Blade. He may fail… yet I am sure they have a better reason than that…" She frowned as a far worse thought struck her. "They plan to torture him, and find out what he knows."
Chiana paled at the suggestion. "What does he know?"
"Too much," Minna retorted. "If he talks, it could ruin everything."
"How?"
The Queen waved a dismissive hand. "I cannot tell you, but if my plans become public now, it would be a disaster."
"I doubt that Blade would reveal them, My Queen."
"So do I. But I will not have him suffer at the hands of traitors and thugs, it is not right." She paused, staring out at the sunny garden. "I have orders for Captain Redgard. The Prince must be returned to the desert at once. He must be escorted by a squad of my best men, those who can be trusted. He must be taken to the pass and released on a horse, unharmed. Is that clear?"
Chiana nodded. "Yes, My Queen."
"See to it, then return to me."