The Queen's Blade (Book 1)

Chapter 11

Mendal pushed aside the musty curtain and entered the gloomy room in the bowels of the palace, which had once been used as a royal burial chamber. Eight queens were interred within its dusty confines, using all the available floor space, and a new chamber had been designated for later burials. Since then, this room had been all but forgotten, and made an excellent meeting place far from prying eyes and ears. No one ventured down here anymore, not even the cleaners or historians. The undisturbed dust that filmed the floor and tombs testified to that.

Adding his torch to the four that already burnt in wall sconces, he surveyed his collaborators. The four lords seemed ill at ease in each other’s company, more used to being at odds. Lord Mordon scowled at Lord Bellcamp, his dark eyes burning with hate in his thin, saturnine face. He resembled his kin, the ferret, and his quick movements and darting black eyes made his beast easy to recognise. Lord Bellcamp met his glare with pale eyes of icy blue, his thick red brows drawn together. The coldness of his stare betrayed his affinity with sharks, a rare beast for a powerful man.

Beside Bellcamp’s beefy frame, the massive bulk of Lord Durlan strained at the seams of his clothes, and he mopped his face with a lacy linen handkerchief. He frowned at everyone, angered by the humid confines of the underground room, as any man of the boar would be. Lord Javare made up the final member of the quartet, but he ignored them all with equal scorn, a head of noble grey hair redeeming his rather brutish features. His beast was not so easily read, but Mendal found a kindred spirit in this man of snakes. His familiar, a ringed ground snake, had no venom, but could inflict a painful bite.

Mendal drew their attention as he sat on a dusty tomb with no regard for the remains of the ancient queen that rested within it. “So, we are all here,” he observed, shooting each a scathing glance. “And you have managed not to kill each other. Amazing.”

“There is more at stake now,” Lord Javare said.

“Indeed,” Mendal agreed. “All of your futures.”

Lord Bellcamp asked, “How do we know what you claim is true, Mendal? You no longer have the Queen’s confidence.”

“I have spies. Why do you suppose the Prince is still alive? Do you think the Queen requires his entertainment? No, she is negotiating peace with him, and if she succeeds, you will all be ruined.”

“And you,” Lord Durlan said. “Why do we have to come to this stinking hot place?”

“Because there are no spies here,” Mendal retorted, his eyes raking the lord’s portly form.

“So what is the plan?” Lord Mordon asked. “Let us get on with this; I long to quit this company.”

Mendal nodded. “We now know the Queen does not plan to execute Kerrion as we hoped. She keeps him alive for a reason, and I start to suspect that she will send him back to the desert. We cannot allow this. The war must continue, or we all face ruin.”

“But how do we know she talks of peace with him, and, if she does, that he will agree?” Lord Bellcamp enquired. “Perhaps we need do nothing, for nothing will come of it. If he agrees to peace, his people will cast him out and place his brother Lerton on the throne.”

“Not if Lerton’s life is threatened,” Mendal stated. “If the Queen sent Blade with Prince Kerrion, the threat to Lerton’s life would prevent him from overthrowing Kerrion.”

“Why Blade?” Javare asked. “Surely Kerrion has assassins?”

“They are not as good, and besides, what assassin do you know who would kill his own prince? A Cotti assassin would not do the deed, but Blade would delight in killing Lerton. Knowing this, and Blade’s reputation, the mere threat to his life would be sufficient to silence Lerton, who, we hear, is fond of staying alive.”