His personal guard had also neglected to search for him, or to even notice his absence. He had walked to a village, where he spent two tendays recovering from his ordeal before returning to his father's palace. At sixteen, he had started his training in armed combat, and his years amongst the soldiers had been rife with strange accidents and odd mistakes by seasoned warriors. He had emerged battle-scarred and tempered by several brushes with death, which had left him wary and suspicious. Upon his return to his father's court, he had employed a food taster, and three had succumbed to poison over the years.
Kerrion sighed as he pondered the strange fact that he had probably been safer in the Jashimari Queen's palace than he was in his own.
Blade halted his horse and gazed at the village nestled in a muddy hollow amid rolling hills covered with giant bloodwood trees. The gloomy aspect did little to lighten his mood, just as shifting his seat did little to relieve the smarting of his posterior from a tenday of almost constant contact with a saddle. Autumn winds had stripped most of the red-gold leaves from the trees and turned them dingy brown, matching the mud that clogged the streets and the houses built from undressed timber. The scene had little to recommend it, even the people who waddled through the sucking mire wore grey or brown clothes. Put together with the haze of smoke that hung about the place and the yapping of half-starved dogs, it struck him as a singularly unhealthy spot.
Blade turned to Lirek, who sat poker-faced on a broad bay horse beside him. "This is the Queen's reward? Does she wish me dead?"
Lirek smiled. "The town's not so good, but your estate is far better."
"You've been here before?"
The bodyguard shrugged. "I've passed through it."
Blade surveyed the scene once more. "What keeps these people here? What do they live on? I see no cultivation."
"These are miners. Your estate has one of the richest gold mines in the country."
"Gold." Blade pulled a face. "As if we haven't got enough of it."
"It pays the bills."
The assassin glanced back at the mud-splattered company who sat stony-faced on their steeds behind him. He had quickly deduced the advantage of riding in the front, and, after two muddy days in the middle of the company, had assumed the lead. The young squad leader rode behind him, his finery somewhat soiled from the day's ride, an eager look in his eyes. Blade turned away and nudged his horse forward. He disliked eager-to-please people, and was unused to the fawning of lesser men.
As he and his men emerged from the forest, some of the peasants cast disinterested glances in their direction, but few paused for more than a moment before going on about their business. Here, in the heart of Jashimari, the war seemed unreal, and the intrusion of a squad of strange soldiers aroused no suspicions. Unlike the border town in which Blade had been raised, where the goatherds had doubled as lookouts and every stranger had been regarded with suspicion. He found their apathy depressing, and their smugness galled him when he thought of all the men who had died to keep these dull people safe.
The company trudged through the muddy streets to the far side of the village, where the forest drew back on either side to reveal a tract of cleared land covered with soggy grass and a few animals. The road divided into two, one winding away into the forest, the other leading to an imposing keep of grey and black stone. Set against a backdrop of dark, bare trees, it brooded beneath a sullen grey sky, summing up Blade's mood.
"How suitable," he muttered.
"My Lord?" Lirek enquired, looking perplexed.
"It suits me, don't you think?"
Lirek shrugged. "If you say so."
Blade kicked his horse into a canter, his bodyguard and the troops following. The tall wooden gates stood open, allowing the cavalcade to clatter into the castle's courtyard unchallenged. Blade swung down from the tall black charger with a soft groan, rubbing his offended hind parts. Shock-haired grooms ran up to take the horses, gaping at the new arrivals.
Blade glanced around for someone more intelligent, and spotted a brown-clad man hurrying towards him. His animal kin was so easily recognisable that Blade was hard put not to smile. The man's hook-nosed face poked forward on a wrinkled neck, his bald pate gleamed in the dull light, and small brown eyes glared from under heavy lids. His movements, while giving the appearance of haste, had a ponderous quality about them, and Blade awaited his arrival with interest.
"Who are you, sir, to ride in here unannounced?" the man demanded. "My Lord, were he here, would not approve."
Blade smiled, switching to the high-born speech that nobles used. "Indeed. And who might your lord be?"
The man drew himself up. "Lord Conash, holder of the Queen's favour, esteemed advisor and confidant of our illustrious matriarch and slayer of the despised King Shandor of the Cotti."
"He sounds like quite a man," Blade commented.
"He is indeed! He would be here to tell you this himself, if he was not so utterly indispensable to the Queen that she insists on keeping him at her side."
"Ah, well, maybe he has other attributes that she requires," Blade remarked, starting to enjoy himself.
"How dare you?" the retainer spluttered. "How dare you insult My Lord and the Queen herself?"
"Did I? Is it so insulting to be chosen by the Queen, or for the Queen to choose from amongst her esteemed lords?"
The man's face reddened and his eyes bulged as he wrestled with this conundrum. "My Lord Conash is… he would not… could not…" He waved an arm. "I do not have to explain myself to you, sir. Suffice it to say that such a thing could not happen."
Blade raised a brow and glanced at Lirek. "News does travel fast." Lirek opened his mouth, but Blade held up a hand and addressed the retainer. "Tell me, my good man, do you know your lord well?"
"Well?" The man looked puzzled. "Not exactly."
"Truth be told, you do not know him at all, do you?"
"Well, not personally, no."
"By reputation only, then?"
The retainer nodded. "That's right."
Blade started to pull off his gloves, one finger at a time. "So you do not know what he looks like, do you?"
"No."
"Nor do you know his signature."
"No."
Blade finished removing one glove and started on the other. "So if you were to receive a letter, signed by him, you would not know if it was indeed his signature, would you?"
"Of course I would!" the man protested, clearly outraged by this impossible assumption.
"How?"
"I know a noble's hand. I can tell a lord's signature from some peasant's forgery."
"Ah." Blade folded his gloves, concentrating on the task to keep from laughing.
"What's this all about, anyway?" the retainer demanded. "What right have you to question me? You have not even told me who you are. And all these soldiers!" He glanced around. "You can't stay here, we can't feed this many men, and besides, you have no permission from Lord Conash."
Blade smiled. "I do not need permission from Lord Conash. I am he."
The man's eyes widened, and he stepped back with a gasp. Confusion wrinkled his brow, then suspicion dawned. "So say you!"
Blade sighed, tiring of the game. "What, do I not look like a lord, even in such finery?" He glanced down at his black, silver-studded tunic. "Do I need to bring the Queen here to vouch for me? But then, you might doubt her identity, too."