‘I have no quill or ink,’ Mandel said, for it was obvious he had no choice in this.
In one swift movement the assassin pulled something from his sleeve and stabbed forward. Mandel gave a yelp as it pierced the flesh of his forearm. Then the assassin held the object out before him. It was a long thin needle of metal, one end tapered like a quill and now thickly coated with Mandel’s blood.
With a shaking hand Mandel took the metal implement and signed his name on the parchment, noting his own mark was just as spidery as the rest. Once it was done, the assassin took the parchment and quill from him and secured them within his tunic.
‘This will not be forgotten,’ said the scarred killer. ‘Any betrayal will not be forgiven.’ Mandel nodded compliantly before the assassin said, ‘Turn around.’
Without a word, Mandel obeyed.
He stared at the wood of his front door for what seemed an age. At any moment he expected the assassin to stab him in the back or slit his throat, but no such killing blow was struck. When he found the courage to turn around, the assassin was gone.
Shaking at the knees, Mandel opened his front door, allowing the light of the sun to bathe him, feeling the relief well up inside. He stepped out onto the courtyard, stood amongst the corpses of his bodyguard, and noticed the lute he still held in his hand.
A lot of good it had done him.
He let it fall to the ground with a discordant clang. Then he picked up the fallen blade of one of his guards.
He needed to find his equerry, Dahlen.
Mandel would enjoy teaching him the meaning of loyalty …
TWENTY-SIX
Kaira watched as Merrick collapsed on his bunk, still fully clothed. She had been furious. She was still furious, but now wasn’t the time to sort that out. Merrick began to snore as she donned her armour and strapped her blade to her side.
She had asked Statton and Waldin to stay on duty when it had been hers and Merrick’s to carry out. Though Merrick would be of no use she could at least allow one of them some respite. If Garret found out what had happened there would be the hells to pay and no mistake. But Kaira would face any consequences as she faced all things — head on. It had been more important that she find Merrick, to stop him sliding back to his old ways. There was a good man, somewhere in there, but he was prone to bouts of self-pity. Kaira had saved him once, but did not know how often she could keep doing it.
She rushed from the barracks and through the corridors of Skyhelm. By now the queen would be in her bedchamber and with luck Kaira would be able to relieve Waldin or Statton before anyone was the wiser. At this time of night the corridors of the palace were deserted, yet she had a feeling of disquiet. Was it her guilt? She felt as though the ancient tapestries and the grim portraits of kings long dead were looking down at her in judgement. Was she ashamed that she had abandoned her post to find Merrick?
Kaira made her way towards the reliquary, just beneath the upper chambers. On opening the door she saw a sight that made her heart almost stop. Two Sentinels lay on the ground, their helms stoved in. Neither was moving.
She drew her sword and moved forward, suddenly startled to see Chancellor Durket crouched in a corner. Tears streaked his face and he bit down hard on his knuckles as though desperate to suppress his sobs.
Kaira opened her mouth to ask what had occurred, but cursed herself instead as she heard a movement in the shadows to her left. She barely had time to dodge out of the way as the attacker struck.
Kaira ducked the blow and staggered back into the centre of the chamber. Focusing with difficulty in the dim torchlight she could make out four men surrounding her. They wore tunics of red, their faces expressionless, but she still knew their intent. They wanted her dead.
These foreign bodyguards might be unarmed, but they were clearly dangerous: the fallen Sentinels were testament to that, and Kaira had no time to wonder why they had suddenly turned on the knights of Skyhelm. Two rushed her at once and the fighting began.
Kaira’s sword swept in low and swift, hacking off a leg at the knee but as the red-clad bodyguard fell she was hit from the side. Despite the armour she wore from neck to foot the strike still shuddered through her entire body as she was knocked aside. There was little time to recover before another warrior leapt at her. Kaira rolled to the left, towards where Durket cowered, as her attacker’s foot came down, smashing into the tiled floor and sending shards flying.
Chancellor Durket let out a yelp and scrambled some distance away from the combat, as quickly as his waddling frame would allow.
In an instant Kaira was on her feet, with another assailant rushing towards her. She swung high, but he ducked, impossibly fast, and hit her in the gut. There was a dull thud as her breastplate bent inwards and she was flung back. She lost her footing, falling to one knee, the air driven from her lungs. Whilst on the ground she had just enough time to note the first of Dravos’ bodyguards was crawling silently across the chamber in search of his severed leg, before the other three were on her.
She kicked out at one, sending him sprawling back, then rolled aside. Before she could rise to her feet another blow to her shoulder sent her reeling. On instinct she turned, guessing the third assailant would be coming at her. It paid off, and her sword struck out, piercing his tunic and entering his chest through the ribcage. The warrior stared at her silently, no sign of pain or emotion. Then he grasped her sword by the hilt and pulled it from her grasp as he fell dead.
The last two bodyguards gave her no respite, running in once more as she stood unarmed. Kaira knew well the fighting arts, but whether she would be a match for these devils was another matter.
One struck in with a sequence of lightning fast punches. It was all Kaira could do to duck and dodge them. She twisted away, but found herself backed up against a pillar. The second guard came from nowhere, his arm moving almost too fast to see. Kaira danced out of range just in time, and the warrior’s fist smashed into the pillar, cracking the masonry.
Kaira brought her armoured foot down against his knee, driving him to the ground, then twisted her fingers in his hair and smashed his head into the pillar twice in quick succession. It was enough to drop him, but Kaira scarcely had a chance to revel in her victory before the final guard struck in with a flat palmed strike. His blow deflected off her gorget, catching her cheek and sending her off balance. It was like being hit with a warhammer, and only by the grace of Vorena did it not take her head off her shoulders.
She staggered, raising her arms to parry a kick which knocked her backwards. Her foot hit something and she stumbled, falling on her backside. She just had time to register she had tripped over one of the prone Sentinels, before the last warrior leapt at her, his foot aimed for the kill.
Kaira reached out, her hand grasping one of the fallen blades, then she rolled, swinging the sword round in an arc as she rose, praying silently that her aim was true.
The body hit the ground with a thump as its head bounced across the reliquary floor.
Kaira took a breath, surveying the scene of carnage, before walking purposefully to the last of the bodyguards, who had by now reached his severed leg and was staring at it with mute fixation.
Her execution blow was swift and final.
‘Impressive,’ said a voice, though it sounded far from impressed.
Kaira turned to see Azai Dravos standing at the edge of the chamber. On her knees at his side was Queen Janessa and Kaira tightened her grip on the sword held at her side.
‘What is the meaning of this?’ she demanded as she took a step towards him. ‘Have you gone mad? That is the queen of the Free States.’
Azai Dravos glanced down at Janessa and smiled. ‘Not anymore,’ he said. ‘Now she is my queen.’