The Queen's assassin

Chapter Fifteen

Rik looked up at the painting on the wall of the Palace library. It showed Terrarch knights doing battle with Elder World horrors that looked like monstrous worms. Books lined the walls. Scrolls filled niches. Ladders were needed to reach the upper bookshelves. From the point of view of his former profession the books here were worth a fortune. Someday he hoped he might have a chance to work his way through them.

Asea sat down at a reading desk. He and Karim stood over her. “Watch the door, Karim,” Asea said. “Do not let anyone enter unless they come from Lord Azaar himself.”

“As you wish, mistress,” said Karim. He left the room as quietly as he had entered it. Asea spoke the words of a warding spell. The sounds from outside became flat and distant in the now familiar way.

“I think it’s time that you and I talked about some things, Rik.”

“And what would those things be?”

“I think I have solved a murder.”

“I thought the death of Lord Elakar had you baffled.”

“No. I suspect I know who committed it. I suspect I know who killed your mother. I suspect I know who killed the Old Queen Amarielle.”

Rik looked at her opened mouthed. “You have come to a lot of conclusions very quickly. If you know who killed Lord Elakar, don’t you think you should tell Captain Quinal and the High Command?”

“I don’t. This is a matter I wish to resolve myself.” There was something in the way she said it that chilled Rik’s blood. At that moment, she looked every bit the arch-demon that Tamara claimed she was. He forced his voice to calmness.

“Who killed my mother?”

“The same Terrarch who was responsible for the death of Amarielle.”

“And Lord Elakar?”

“No — that was someone else.”

“Now you have me confused.”

“Lord Malkior was present in Sorrow during the period your mother was killed. He was part of an embassy from Sardea. There were more killings — or should I say ritual sacrifices — during the embassy’s visit. They stopped when it left.”

“Why was nothing done?”

“The Queen and her Parliament did not want war with the Dark Empire just then. What could be done? It might have been coincidence or an attempt to discredit the embassy.”

“They did not want war just then?”

“More preparations were needed. Our army needed to be built up.”

“This war has been a long time coming, Milady.”

“There’s no need to sound so disapproving. Our forces had been allowed to run down in the long peace following the Treaty of Oslande. We could not afford a war with both Valon and Sardea which is what would have happened then.”

“You are saying that the Chancellor of Sardea is a black sorcerer and a multiple murderer,” he said.

“I’m rather afraid the former Chancellor is.”

“And you came to this conclusion when you saw Lord Elakar’s body.”

“I have suspected something like it for awhile.”

“For how long?”

“Since I started investigating your history, Rik. Since I found out that the Shadowblood are still with us.”

He looked at her. A lot of things started to make sense. “That is why you have kept me with you.”

“One reason. The other is, and you are welcome to disbelieve me, that I am genuinely fond of you and grateful to you too.”

“What makes you think Malkior killed my mother?”

“It’s circumstantial, Rik. He is the only member of the embassy old enough to remember Al’Terra. There were others who could have the training in sorcery, but he’s the only one old enough to be an Al’Terran Shadowblood.”

“That is not evidence that would stand up in a court of law.”

“You can see why I do not want to tell Captain Quinal. There is another reason. Take a look at that picture. Take a look at the central figure.”

“The tall knight with the glowing sword?”

“Yes. Does he remind you of anybody, Rik?”

There was something familiar about that central figure. He heard something clink on the table behind him. When he turned around he saw a small beauty mirror there. Asea held it up to him, reflective surface facing in his direction.

“No,” he said.

“Yes.”

He looked into the mirror, fascinated as if it were a snake. There was a resemblance.

“The knight in the picture is Lord Malkior. This painting was commissioned to celebrate his triumph over the Deep Lords at the Battle of Pelagia in the year 189 of the Conquest.”

“That was nearly 800 years ago,” Rik realised that he was pointing out the obvious but he could think of nothing else to say. “You are saying I am his son.”

“I believe that to be the case.”

“What makes you think that he killed the Old Queen?”

“He was there. He was in a position to do it, if he had the powers of a Shadowblood.”

“If…”

“There are many other things that can be explained if he is, Rik. Old defeats and old betrayals. The Princes of Shadow were always suspiciously well informed about our plans on Al’Terra. Many traitors were found, but not all of them, it seems.”

“Anything else? It still seems a very slender theory to me.”

“To me, too. But I have waited for almost five centuries to put this together, Rik, and this is the closest I have ever come. I think Lord Malkior killed Queen Amarielle. He certainly benefited from her death. He became Empress Arachne’s closest councillor.”

Rik did not like the intensity in her voice. There was a trace of madness there, of insane obsession. He reminded himself that this woman was more than two thousand years old, and she had brooded on this thing for centuries. That could twist a mind in ways he simply could not comprehend. Perhaps she was not insane. Perhaps this was simply the way of ancient Terrarchs. That was a frightening thought.

“But you are not certain…”

“No. Rik. All I have is a theory. But like all good theories it is subject to verification.”

“How?”

“There is a family resemblance between you and Tamara. Even Lieutenant Sardec spotted it the other night.”

Rik shuddered. “Sardec?”

“Yes, even the good Lieutenant saw a resemblance.”

Rik felt a little sick. Asea continued as if she had not noticed.

“Lord Elakar was killed shortly after she arrived. By a Shadowblood. I am certain.”

“It might be Lord Jaderac. Or one of their entourage.”

“It might be. But none of them fit my theory. She does.”

“You said you were going to test your theory.” Rik could see where this was leading and he did not like it in the slightest.

“I am going to take her into my custody.”

“Do you have the power? She is an Ambassador.”

“There have been many kidnappings and assassinations recently, Rik. This will be one more.”

“Kidnapping or assassination?”

“Most likely both. She cannot be freed once she knows who we are.”

“We?”

“I doubt Her Majesty would approve of what we are about to do. I doubt our army commanders would either. So it will have to be us, and a couple of your old friends from the regiment. You know the two I mean.”

“Weasel and the Barbarian?”

“Yes. They will keep their mouths shut. There is still the matter of the forbidden books you stole from the Prophet Zarahel. The Inquisition would not make life easy for them if they found out.”

“That is a business I have had cause to regret,” said Rik softly.

“Meddling with forbidden knowledge always gives you that, Rik. Trust me, I know.” Her voice was soft and dangerous. Nonetheless, Rik felt compelled to oppose her will.

“This is madness. What if we are caught? Three humans trying to kidnap a Terrarch noblewoman? It would be the stake for us, after torture.”

“Then you had better not be caught.” She held his gaze easily, and he found he could not meet her burning stare nor match her implacable will. She was utterly serious about this and she did not care who got hurt if they got in her way.

“Why?”

“Why what?”

“Why are you doing this? Why are you so driven?”

“Because Amarielle was my friend, as well as my Queen, and I failed her, and I am still Terrarch enough to want revenge. Because I am sick of being beaten by the minions of Shadow. Because if I am right and the Shadowblood are here, more than the lives of a few people are at stake.”

Her words chilled him. He looked at her silently. She seemed to feel the need to convince him because she went on. “Look at what’s happening, Rik. Look at what you have seen with your own eyes. Ancient cults summoning demon gods. Obscene sorcery of the sort that created the Nerghul. The Imperium shattered by civil war. It’s starting to look like the last days of Al’Terra all over again.”

“Why not tell the authorities this? Why not let people know?”

She paused for a moment, as if considering saying something. When she spoke, he was convinced that she had been about to say something different and then stopped. “I have told people my suspicions, Rik. Azaar shares them. So does Queen Arielle. But at the moment, all they are is suspicions, and now is not the time to make them public.”

“Why?”

“For one thing, people would think it was merely black propaganda against the Sardeans. For another, the humans…” Her voice faltered in uncharacteristic uncertainty.

“If humans started to suspect that Terrarchs were in league with the Princes of Shadow, there would be revolution,” Rik said.

“At the very least it would undermine the fabric of our society at the very time when we needed to be united. You can see why I need to be certain, and why I need to deal with this quietly if I can. I want to know exactly how far the rot has spread.”

“What will you do to her when we capture Tamara?”

“I will make her talk.”

“She will be able to resist your sorcery if she is a Shadowblood.”

“There are other ways than sorcery to make people talk.”

Rik knew exactly what those methods were.

“Bloody cold tonight,” said Weasel. They sat huddled in the front of a cart in a roadway on the street of the Palace in which Jaderac and Tamara dwelled. It was a large place, brilliantly lit, disturbingly close to the Grand Cemetery. The wind was cold. A mixture of rain and snow filled the air and reflected the sorcerous street-lights on the cobbles. Rik pulled his cloak tight around him but still he felt chilled right through to the bone.

“You call this cold,” said the Barbarian. “You’ve obviously never been in the Northlands.”

“And I hope never to go there,” said Weasel.

Worry gnawed at Rik. He worried about the effect of the damp on the pistols in his belt. He worried about whether Tamara had spotted them as they had spied on her for the past week and would somehow be prepared for them. He worried about what he was going to do when he faced her, what would happen when she talked to Asea. There were things that they had done, and deeds they had discussed that he would not care for his patron to know about.

He considered whether Tamara should have an accident before she could talk to the sorceress. His pistols could easily go off accidentally. The truesilver bullet in one of them would kill her whether she was a Shadowblood or not. That might be for the best, certainly from his point of view. He was not sure he could do it.

Asea might be wrong about Tamara. She was planning to have her abducted and killed just to test a theory. Rik was surprised that he could still be shocked by something like that. He considered himself cold-blooded but Asea was being cold-blooded on a scale that he would never aspire to. He supposed she had her reasons. Tamara might be able to inform them about a conspiracy that threatened their entire world.

But, if Asea was right, Tamara was his half-sister. It ought to mean something but he did not really care about that. He had not known her before Morven. They had not grown up together. She was a stranger who had come of age with every privilege the Dark Empire could provide while he had scrambled to survive on the streets of Sorrow.

Tamara had already admitted that she had conspired to have him killed. Surely he would be within his rights to kill her. He pushed the idea aside. He wanted to know what Tamara had to say and whether Asea was right about her father. His father too, perhaps, although he was not quite prepared to take that on faith.

A lot of strange threads of his strange life were being blown on this night’s cold winds. A family he had never known he possessed had appeared, and turned out to be on the other side in the war he was fighting. Perhaps his father had killed the mother he had never known. It all seemed sick and mad and dangerous. Would it not be better if he simply ran off into the night to find a place to hide and bury himself?

He knew he could not. He wanted the matter resolved, to find out the secrets of his past, no matter how dark they might prove. And he wanted, if he could, to avenge himself on the people who had made his life so miserable. More than that, he wanted, in his own strange way, to see justice done.

Terrarchs like Malkior and Tamara were above the laws that applied to mortals like him. Or at least they thought they were. They planned murder and they killed and they got away with it. There was no way someone like him could bring them to justice. Normally. Just this once, he might be able to do it. If Asea was right, if this was not all just some mad fantasy of her sorceress’s brain, or part of some intricate inhuman scheme that he would never be able to understand.

“Think they’ll be here soon?” asked the Barbarian.

“I don’t know. The ball must be over by now,” said Rik.

“What are you going to do with the gold?” the Barbarian asked. Asea had promised them gold if this went well.

“Spend it on beer, cards and girls,” said Weasel. He was squinting into the gloom. Some figures still moved in the street despite the cold and the wet. What errands would keep them abroad at this time and in this weather, Rik wondered? Fears niggled at him along with the worries and doubts.

Tamara was a sorceress. She had proven that back in Morven with the spells she had used to disguise herself. If she was a Shadowblood she would have other tricks up her sleeve. The strange magic she had used to murder Lord Elakar could just as easily be used against the three of them.

If she was a Shadowblood.

His hand fumbled for the amulet Asea had given him, seeking reassurance that it was still there. It was woven round with the most potent warding charms, would protect them against the most powerful spells, or so Asea claimed. But Lord Elakar had been protected by wards and that had not saved him. Perhaps Tamara knew some way of bypassing these charms as well.

He heard the neighing of destriers in the distance, and the clatter of wheels on cobblestones. The sound came from the right direction. This could be the coach returning from the ball.

“Get ready, lads,” he told the others. The Barbarian raised his two blades affirmatively. Weasel took the cover partially off his long-barrelled rifle. The hood of the cart provided cover from the rain. The Barbarian tugged the reins and it rolled out into the street blocking the way forward. There was the sound of a coach coming to a halt and a driver shouting; “Out of the way oafs! How dare you block the path of the High Lady Tamara — it’ll be the stocks for you if don’t get a shift on and out of our way.”

Rik looked at Weasel. “Time to get this show on the road,” he said.

The Barbarian got down from the cart and walked towards the coach. Rik joined him. The coachmen kept shouting at them.

“Meaning no offence to her Ladyship,” said Rik, “but our cart’s wheel is broken. It’ll take us some time to move her.”

The coachmen continued to heap insults on them, and Rik saw a head look out the coach window and then get drawn swiftly back inside. It was very definitely Tamara.

The two coachmen climbed down. One had a club. The other had a pistol. Rik felt a small trickle of fear pass up his spine. It would only take one shot to end his life, and that shot might well be lodged within the weapon. In battle he could run towards men firing on him, but it was an entirely different proposition on a cold night when the law might be set upon you at any moment.

Why was that, he wondered? It was not like the actual situation was any more dangerous.

He clutched his own pistols beneath his cloak, reminding himself that the one in his right held the truesilver bullet. That might be a mistake he now thought. It looked like he would have to use the normal pistol first. It was funny how things like that so rarely occurred to you when you were making plans.

Two more coachmen climbed down from the rear. One of them held a lantern and a small pistol. The other a blunderbuss, a trumpet-barrelled weapon loaded with nails and shot. It would make a big mess of anyone it hit even if the range was not great. The man with the lantern moved to the window of the coach and said something to the passengers within. Rik thought he heard both a male voice and a female voice but he was not sure. It might just have been the servant speaking.

Asea’s sources had assured them that Lord Jaderac usually went about his own business at night while Tamara attended the balls and parties, but it would be just his bad luck if the noble had decided to accompany the girl home this evening. Rik had a bad feeling about this turn of events. They were already outnumbered and Jaderac was a formidable warrior as well as a deadly sorcerer.

Looking at the bright side, Rik had a score to settle with Jaderac for sending the Nerghul after him. Now might be the time to pay that bill off in full. Assuming he got the chance. He tried one of the breathing exercises Asea has taught him for sorcery, and the tension flowed out of him. His muscles felt loose and relaxed. If violence erupted he was as ready for it as he was ever going to be.

“Halt right there,” said the man with the blunderbuss. “Don’t come any closer if you value your life.”

Briefly Rik wondered if something had given them away, then he realised that the servant was simply being cautious. It was night and the streets were relatively empty in this part of the city.

It was time to make the decision. Go through with the original plan and snatch Tamara or back off. His body seemed to make the choice for him, long before he could think through the possibilities consciously. He nodded at the same time as he stuck his left pistol hand forward from under his cloak and opened fire.

Some dark god answered his prayer. The weapon did not misfire. The man with the blunderbuss fell over, a bloom of blood appearing on his breast. The man with the pistol fell a moment later, a victim of Weasel’s sharpshooting. Almost simultaneously the Barbarian erupted into action, springing forward like a sabre-tooth, striking the leading coachman. His blade went into the man’s chest silver and came out red. The last servant took one look at what was going on and turned and ran. Rik did not blame him.

Upset by the smell of blood the destriers pranced. The Barbarian grabbed them by the reins and tried to gentle them. Rik stepped to the running board of the coach, leapt up, pulled the door open and thrust his pistol in.

“Stand and deliver,” he said.

“Please, don’t hurt me,” said Tamara, every inch the picture of the frightened noblewoman. Rik was suspicious. He knew what a good actor she was.

“If you do what you are told, Milady, you won’t be hurt. Step out of the coach.”

Tamara nodded and moved towards him. She seemed clumsy in her thick skirts, and appeared to stumble. He had been expecting something like this but even so the speed and ferocity of her blow almost took him by surprise. Fingers spread wide, nails like talons, she lashed out at his face. Even prepared as he was, he had barely time to avoid the strike, leaping backwards from the running board into the street. He could feel the wound she had given him sting.

“That was most unwise, Milady,” he said.

“I don’t think so, Rik,” she said. “You see my coachmen gave me time to prepare for you. There is poison on my nails.”

Rik was not surprised that she knew who he was. Tamara was observant and she was a mistress of disguise. He doubted she would have any difficulty seeing through his ruse.

“Really,” he said. Was the wound tingling? Did he feel a little dizzy? “Will your nails stop a bullet?”

“Cosmetics are a good way of hiding drugs,” she said conversationally. “Face powders can contain many interesting alchemicals. Just be grateful I don’t want you dead. There are still things we need to discuss.”

He noticed there were needles in her hand now, long ones, that looked like crocheting hooks but which he guessed were a lot sharper. Even in the bad light he could tell there was a white powder on them as well. Perhaps she was serious. And perhaps they had made a serious mistake. She was not defending herself with sorcery. She was prepared to use something else.

“Having some trouble with a chit of girl, Halfbreed,” said the Barbarian. “Let me show you how it’s done.”

He moved in front of Rik, an action for which one second later he was profoundly glad. He heard the Barbarian grunt in surprise. Rik stepped to one side to get a clearer shot and saw that the big man and the Terrarch noble were exchanging blows with eye blurring speed. The Barbarian was awesomely fast and strong and yet Tamara appeared to have him on the defensive. A less skilled close combat fighter would have already been impaled on the poisoned needles.

He raised the pistol. His fingers felt numb. Tamara noticed his action and threw one of the needles at him. It buried itself in his arm. The pain put him off his shot and the truesilver bullet tore through the night above her head. Smiling she turned and gestured with her fingers. Lights exploded in the air in front of the Barbarian’s face. Somehow he managed to avoid having the needle stab through his jugular vein. Instead it buried itself in his neck.

“Bitch,” he grunted. Tamara withdrew the needle and stepped back for a moment. She paused as if listening to something. There was a roar from the middle distance. Somehow warned she almost managed to avoid the shot. It took her in the shoulder, spun her around and sent her collapsing to the ground.

Rik shook his head and tried to gather his wits. Weasel had opened fire, he realised, as the numbness moved up his arm and through his forehead. He had definitely been poisoned. His arm hung limply by his side. There was not a lot he could do. Tamara was moving again, starting to pick herself up. He reeled over to her and aimed a kick. She blocked the blow with her left hand and despite the heavy dress dragging in the wet managed to rotate her body below him and kick his leg. He dropped to the ground, even as she rose, turning her head. Rik looked in the direction she did and saw Weasel raise his long-barrelled rifle once more. Tamara sprang into the mouth of the alley. Blood dripped from the wound in her shoulder.

Weasel came running up and looked at the two of them. “This is not going too well,” he said.

“Do tell,” said the Barbarian. “Would never have noticed if you had not told me.” His voice was slurred and weakening. Weasel bent and touched the ground. His fingers came up red. He touched them to his lips and then looked at the trail of blood.

“Look after the big man,” he said to Rik. “I’ll get the girl. She can’t have gone far and she’s bleeding like a stuck pig.”

Somehow Rik got across and managed to tie a bandage over the wound in the Barbarian’s neck. A moment later, he felt the hairs on the back of his neck rise, and the oddest sensation flowed through his mind. He thought he felt something coming from the back of the alley. He heard a shrieking, tearing noise that he was sure was not audible to anybody else. Sorcery, he thought.

Weasel was gone for so long that Rik was starting to worry. Eventually he came back out of the alley.

“Did you get her?” he asked. Weasel shook his head.

“Damnedest thing,” he said. “The alley is a dead end. Nothing there but a wall and trash pile.. It’s like she’s vanished into the thin air. All I could see was a patch of shadows, that crawled and gave me the creeps.”

If it was enough to frighten Weasel it must be really something. Rik tried to fight the dizziness and reeled to his feet. “Best show me it,” he said.

“Are you mad? We’d best get out of here before the law comes. This has been hanging work tonight, if we’re caught for it.”

“No, I want to see.” Rik staggered down to the end of the alley and saw at once what Weasel meant. There was something at the end of the alley, a patch of shadow that whispered and shimmered. At first he thought it was a side-effect of the poison but something about it set his teeth on edge. He recognised this thing at the very core of his being, even if he was not sure what it was.

He reached out and touched it. His fingers tingled and vanished. His fingertips felt very cold. He withdrew them to make sure they were all right.

The thing continued to fade until there was no longer even a whisper of its presence. What was going on here, he wondered? Then a wave of dizziness swept over him, and he tumbled forward into darkness.