Queen of all the Knowing World Page 12

  ‘Learning how to fight is one thing: but many things can go wrong in an actual fight.’

  He hung his head miserably.

  ‘You…you thought – no you sensed – you would lose against that wild buisoar, didn’t you?’ Seeing his sadness, she recalled his poorly conducted fight against the beast. ‘But why? You had the intelligence of a man on your side.’

  ‘Yes; the intelligence. And also the more restricting emotions.’

  ‘Restricting?

  ‘You said it yourself, Desri: I was fighting against a wild buisoar. As a man, I’ve lost that sense of aggression, gained compassion. I didn’t want to kill him.’

  Desri grinned happily, tenderly touched the side of his face.

  ‘And that is no bad thing!’

  He laughed.

  ‘Hah, so is that why, at last, I’ve been allowed to see you naked? You never allowed me to see you like this when I was a man!’

  She joined in his laughter.

  ‘The whole world was allowed to see me naked today!’

  As his huge hands held her by the waist, he frowned, puzzled.

  ‘What’s wrong?’ she asked anxiously, glancing down towards where he was perplexedly staring.

  He felt along her lower rib as delicately as he could.

  ‘It just feels…feels as if your rib has been carved.’

  *

  Chapter 24

  1,000 Years Earlier

  So, she had been tricked into performing an assassination for the queen.

  Imp shrugged off this new information.

  She would have happily killed Krag anyway. And now the queen herself would also pay for the hurt she had unnecessarily brought into Imp’s life.

  Five lords would be no protection against an assassin as well trained as Imp. They would have spent a lifetime of training in the martial arts, but lords always retained at least a hint of that impossible-to-eradicate arrogance that would always be their undoing.

  The queen would be the most dangerous person there, undoubtedly.

  The queen would have to die first.

  That way, even if the courtiers managed to surprise her with abilities she hadn’t expected, she would have completed her mission.

  In her head, she was fetching more wine, more food. She was an attendant, fulfilling her role of keeping the queen and her courtiers well supplied with their luxuries.

  Her main concern was keeping the food dry in this dreadful, pouring rain.

  The travelling carriage was large, with a rear rather than side doors. A door approached by simple steps.

  Imp knocked on the door, stepped inside without being given permission to enter. She already had a sword in one hand, a throwing knife in the other, a second knife held in readiness between her teeth.

  This would be quick and easy.

  She had no fear.

  She was prepared to die.

  *

  Chapter 24

  1,000 Years Later

  Now it was Desri who frowned in bewilderment.

  ‘How could my rib possibly be carved?’

  As Cranden moved his own delicately probing hand away from her waist, Desri dropped her own hand there, pressing hard against the flesh to feel the rib lying beneath.

  As she felt the carving of the rib, her puzzlement only grew.

  ‘How is that possible?’

  With her other hand, she quickly felt the rib on the other side of her body. This one felt like any rib she had ever seen, whether that of a butchered animal, of the bones revealed on a starving beggar.

  ‘It could just be some defect I was born with…’

  She didn’t say it with any certainty, doubting her own reasoning.

  Similarly, Cranden shook his head doubtfully.

  ‘While coming back from the Blue-table Pass, someone I trust told me of a tribe that still lives as we did millennia ago, called the Bone Carvers. They–’

  ‘I knew I’d find you here.’

  The boy was well camouflaged, wearing simple green and brown clothes and boots made for the silent stalking of animals. He should never have been able to get this close, however: both Desri and Cranden had let their guard down, too intent on their joy of finding each other safe.

  ‘Neilif?’

  Desri recognised him despite the mud and animal dung he had smeared everywhere about him. She recognised him, too, despite the warping of his face by the strain of keeping the arrow notched in his powerful hunting bow.

  The arrow was pointed directly at Cranden’s eye. And Desri had no doubt that Neilif could hit it: she Knew he could, because he was allowing her to read his knowledge of how to ensure his arrow sank deep into his chosen target.

  Even Barane couldn’t compete against Neilif when it came to hunting with the bow. And now, suddenly, Desri understood the reasons for the boy’s success.

  He had been following her out here for ages, originally because he felt sure she was meeting a lover. Although shocked and surprised by what he had eventually uncovered, he had watched and learned along with Desri as Cranden had taught her all his own skills. Ironically, he had managed to turn those abilities against them, using the skills divulged by Cranden to remain undetected within the forest as he watched them together.

  ‘I’ve seen you many times in action, Desri,’ Neilif deliberately thought now, deliberately allowing her to feel his sense of humiliation. ‘You could have easily beaten me; but you always held back, didn’t you?’

  With a slight nod of his head to one side, he indicated that he wanted Desri and Cranden to separate.

  ‘Stand away from him, Desri,’ he said. ‘I’ll protect you.’

  Rather than moving away, Desri stood closer towards Cranden, standing between him and Neilif. Cranden was far too tall, however, for her to have any hope of protecting the eye the arrow was aimed at. And Cranden refused to bow low, refused to hide behind her.

  He placed his great hands before her, affording her a far greater protection than her entire body was offering him.

  ‘No, no, Neilif!’ Desri pleaded. ‘You don’t understand: he’s my friend.’

  In fact, Desri couldn’t understand why she had to say this. If Neilif had been watching them, he would be well aware that Cranden meant her no harm. Was he simply saying this as a means of confusing Cranden – a means of showing Cranden he was the ‘beast’ a girl had to be protected from?

  That, Desri realised, was something Neilif wasn’t letting her Know.

  ‘A friend?’ he sneered. ‘I think he’s more than friend, don’t you, Desri?’

  ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘I’ve watched you, remember? I’ve been sickened by what I’ve seen. Sickened by you, Desri!’

  His voice was quivering, yet – thankfully – his grip on the notched arrow still remained firm.

  ‘That’s why you showed no interest in me!’

  ‘You’ve got it all wrong, Neilif–’

  ‘Has he?’

  It was the first time that Cranden had spoken. Now, when he did, his voice – his now fully opened mind – was full of misery, of understanding of the truth of the situation between him and Desri.

  Obviously, she would prefer this handsome, wealthy boy over him. He had just been there to help train her, to help prepare her for her vengeance over Barane.

  And, suddenly, Desri realised that she was the one to blame for Cranden’s sense of hopelessness, not Neilif.

  Hadn’t she always specifically hidden from him any affection she’d felt whenever they were together?

  Hadn’t she (if she were being honest with herself, for a change) always been – like Neilif – sickened whenever she’d found herself admitting to any growing feelings for him?

  And she had done this time and time again, despite reading quite clearly his own deep love for her.

  Now, he wanted to die: and he wanted to die at the hands of this boy he presumed was more worthy to be her lover.

  ‘No, no! Please, Cranden!’ She pleadi
ngly looked up into his saddened face. ‘You’ve got it all wrong too–’

  Was it a movement she detected out of the corner of her eye? Was it an instinctive sense of what was about to happen?

  No matter how many times she would try to accurately recall this situation, Desri would never really know.

  The arrow missed Cranden’s eye, flying instead just off by his ear.

  Neilif crumpled to the ground, the small dagger Desri had thrown perfectly splitting his throat.

  Cranden stared quizzically at this dagger that had appeared to come from nowhere.

  ‘I’d lightly glued it amongst my hair at the back,’ Desri explained blankly, shocked by her own swift, instinctive action. Shocked by the resulting death of this young boy. ‘Just to make sure I’d beat Barane somehow.’

  *

  Chapter 25

  1,000 Years Earlier

  As she slipped in through the door into the large carriage, Imp had already prepared herself to swiftly take in the situation.

  First, determine where the queen was seated – then kill her.

  The execution was, surprisingly, rarely the second thing on a list of things to do during an assassination.

  There were usually other aspects of the situation you had to determine before acting.

  For this mission, however, the two actions were more than enough.

  As for the rest of what followed – she would trust to her instincts.

  Her instincts were briefly obliterated within the literal blink of an eye; for she was abruptly blinded by the brightest, most painful flash of light she had ever experienced. It not only temporarily blinded her, but also completely disorientated her.

  She had to keep moving, throw herself aside so she didn’t make an easy target. She realised this quicker than most would have in her situation, but it wasn’t quick enough. Her arms were tightly grabbed on either side. She found herself being forced into a swift sprint, in readiness to slam her hard against the far wall.

  She tried to use her opponents’ own force against them, jerking back, swinging her arms together: but they were expecting this, countered for it.

  She slammed against the wall, thrown there with such terrific force that it knocked the wind out of her. Before she had a chance to recover, her assailants were on her again, jabbing her hard with rigid fingers against the points of her body that – under this abrupt, insistent pressure – instantly began to weaken her, to weaken her resistance.

  At the same time, prepared loops of cord were slipped around her ankles, around wrists swiftly brought together behind her back. There was even a slightly looser loop for her neck, the rope connecting it to her bound wrists so short she had to crane her neck back to stop herself from choking.

  These were no lords!

  These were assassins!

  *

  Chapter 25

  1,000 Years Later

  Desri was seated on Cranden’s great, humped back, and reasonably cushioned by the harness he had specially made for her (as Desri had long suspected, he had spent ages training his huge paws to act like hands, including painfully breaking and reforming their bones a number of times). She could have fooled herself into thinking she was flying as they effortlessly flowed through the forest at remarkable speed.

  She weighed hardly anything, he told her.

  All she had to do was watch out for any low branches that he hadn’t anticipated might strike her as he ducked out of their way. He only had to stop every now and again to slake his thirst in a stream. He seemed to require little sleep, and surprisingly little food. He had managed so far to survive only on the few provisions (he effortlessly carried these too, having slipped them into a pouch on the harness) they’d brought with them when they’d fled the underground home.

  The first part of their journey had been the most dangerous, when they’d had to remain aware at all time that they might stumble across any one of the vast numbers of people out hunting Cranden. As soon as Neilif’s body had been discovered, of course, that hunt had also become a hunt for Desri, no one being fool enough to think a buisoar would resort to using a throwing knife.

  Fortunately for Desri, it had taken a while for the searchers to discover the body, even with all their dogs. Neilif had, of course, originally headed off in a completely different direction to everyone else. What’s more, Cranden had buried Neilif’s body, buried it deep within their now deserted home when he brought it all crashing down around the honourably laid-out corpse. Neilif’s clothes, although a little large for her, had been perfect for Desri, even the boots fitting after the addition of a bit of padding.

  Desri and Cranden had travelled throughout each day, and for most of the night. They had put an immense distance between them and the Academy.

  Still, though, they remained well within the borders of the queen’s vast empire. And they would remain within it despite weeks of travel, even at the ridiculously unbelievable rate they were managing.

  Cranden knew of somewhere they could stay for a while.

  Provided it was still there.

  Provided his friend was still alive.

  They only talked when they rested, when they knew for sure it was safe to do so. And then only in whispers, their hearing and minds attuned to anything going on around them.

  ‘Why would the queen want me dead?’ Desri wondered out loud one night, having pondered this question for a while now and found she was unable to arrive at any answer. ‘I mean, before I killed Neilif. She expected me to lose against Barane – to die!’

  Cranden shrugged his massive shoulders.

  ‘Who ever really knows what the queen wants or desires?’

  ‘I saw her that day when you left for war; how far did she travel with you?’

  Cranden noticed the scepticism in her voice, her glowering expression.

  ‘All the way there, surprisingly,’ he answered. ‘I saw her at one point in the very midst of a battle, when everything was so chaotic it was impossible to tell who was fighting who.’

  Once again, Desri scowled sceptically.

  ‘And, although I realise you don’t want to hear this; everyone who saw her that day said she looked – amazing! Anyone who saw her was stirred on to fight all the harder: even when it had become obvious we were losing.’

  ‘So, what happened, then? When you were losing. She must have fled: otherwise, how is she still here? Still alive?’

  ‘As far as I could tell, she was fighting up until I lost my life. Yes, she must have escaped somehow: but how, I’ve no idea!’

  ‘My father; he thought she was a witch.’

  Cranden chuckled bitterly.

  ‘If only! Then, maybe, we might have won that battle, rather than getting wiped out to just about the last man.’

  ‘Obviously, not the last woman.’

  ‘Desri, I saw her on a number of days: and she fought better than any man I’ve ever seen. She was this amazing blaze of light on the battlefield: her still remarkably white yet increasingly blood-spattered armour. Her fluttering red banner, rising above her like a great flame. And, later, when she discarded her helmet: that mass of red hair!’

  ‘Wait a minute!’ Desri laughed. ‘This sounds like you’re in love with her!’

  ‘In those days, yes: I tell you, we all were.’

  What passed for a mischievous grin flooded across his huge face. He was pleased that Desri seemed to have briefly displayed a hint of jealously in what was supposedly a throwaway comment. Before he could make more of it, however, there was a heavy scuffling of bushes nearby that caused them both to instantly fall silent.

  There was too much unnecessary noise for it to be an animal: none would be so careless, so foolish. Not even a buisoar, which had nothing to fear.

  They both ducked lower into the overgrown hollow they had chosen to rest in. The noises of bushes breaking, the bizarre heavy snorting, was all drawing slowly nearer.

  It was a woman. A woman acting incredibly strangely, lashing out wildly a
t the surrounding bushes as if deliberately attempting to break them, to make as much noise as possible. She snorted and growled too, a poor attempt at imitating a buisoar’s naturally groaning complaints.

  Desri and Cranden exchanged curious, puzzled glances: a woman who had lost her mind? A woman who, bizzarely, thought she was a beast?

  The woman stopped her wild thrashing, her odd snorting. She raised her head, her nose, as a buisoar would sniff at the air when scenting either prey or trouble.

  She snorted again, happily now – and began heading directly towards Cranden.

  *

  Chapter 26

  1,000 Years Earlier

  ‘Sorry for the rough treatment: but we just couldn’t let you kill a client now, could we?’

  Imp recognised the voice. It wasn’t just an assassin: it was the assassin, one of the three who had first interrogated her on her reasons for joining the Assembly.

  ‘Well, not until they’ve paid us, at least.’

  It was another voice she recognised. Recognised, too, the black humour.

  She was roughly spun around. She had already smelt the burnt magnesium of the flares that had briefly blinded her. As she had guessed, too, everyone in the room had blindfolds, these now loosened and hanging low around their necks.

  What she hadn’t expected, of course, was that she recognised every man there. She had seen them all at the Assembly, the five most major players amongst the assassins.

  It had all been a well-sprung trap. The queen hadn’t foolishly let her guard down, allowing Imp to Know her: Imp herself had been the fool, dropping her guard and allowing all this to happen. No doubt exactly as the queen had planned.

  The queen wasn’t even here to gloat. She had already left, perhaps leaving the assassins to complete the less savoury elements of removing her.

  ‘May I ask why?’ Imp asked. ‘Why use me to remove Lord Krag, and then remove me too?’

  ‘Oh, Lord Krag was a difficult target.’

  ‘One that required not only a highly skilled operative, but one who was also expendable,’ one of the other assassins continued.

  They were taking it in turns to speak, as they had on Imp’s first meeting with them.