Sacrifice: The Queen's Blade by T C Southwell Page B

also meant that Blade would have to make additions, lengthening the ordeal that he already could not complete. If he was forced to do his best, however, he was determined to try to win, for nothing would give him more satisfaction now than defeating the Vordan assassin.
    Blade glanced at Chiana, who stood beyond the ring of assassins, her eyes filled with worry. She shouted something, but he could not hear her over the drumming of Swift's feet. He shook his head, and she tried to push through the assassins, but they shoved her back, ignoring her protests. Blade turned his attention to Swift again, watching the assassin's unflagging energy, his skin now sheened with sweat. He moved around the stage, lifting his legs high to crack down on the boards in a flawless rhythm.
    The Vordan assassin changed to a set piece of fast tapping, his feet drumming out the beat with unerring precision. Next he set off on a series of rhythmic stamping steps that sounded rather like a galloping horse, flicking his legs up behind him with each step. He stopped and flicked his legs sideways at knee level, stamping his feet in the ordered cadence of the Dance. Blade sighed and studied the proud faces of Swift's companions, Sting's smug smile filled with admiration. The people beyond watched with avid fascination, clearly having never seen a dance to rival this one. Indeed, the Dance of Death was a wonder to behold, its rigours beyond the ability of any man who had not practised it for many years.
    By now, several minutes had passed, and sweat ran down Swift's gleaming skin. He gasped through an open mouth as he concentrated on the intricate steps. Blade watched closely, for if a misstep was to happen it would be when the dancer grew tired. Swift's performance continued perfectly, and, as he neared the end of the Dance, he spread his arms in a grand egotistical gesture that invited applause.
    Swift executed the final steps and ended with the prescribed leap, falling to one knee with a sweeping gesture. Applause came from the growing crowd, and some coins rattled onto the stage, making Blade smile. Swift's chest heaved as he gasped like a man who had been underwater for too long. His eyes bulged from the strain and the veins in his brow and neck stood out. Clearly the Dance, with his extra steps, taxed him to the point of exhaustion, which was its purpose. Rising to his feet, he turned to Blade, a triumphant grin stretching his features. He bent and pulled off the metal toe and heel caps, throwing them at Blade's feet.
    "Let's see you... do better... old man."
    Blade buckled the steel caps on, his stomach tight with apprehension. Since he had been injured, he had not been able to complete the Dance even in its simplest form, and the memory of the pain that had prevented him burnt like a raw wound in his mind. It seemed unlikely that he would be able to beat Swift, yet his pride dictated that he must try. He stamped to test the metal caps, finding them a good fit despite Swift's larger feet.
    Bending, he hugged his knees to stretch the muscles in the back of his legs, then straightened and shook them to loosen them. He tried to remember the time when he could complete the Dance of Death with greater ease than Swift. Younger days when his legs had been gifted with the eager bounce of youth, when the spring in his step had come naturally and his lightning reflexes had added a strange magic to his Dance. He would have to find that speed one last time, then his dancing days would be done. Closing his eyes, he summoned into his mind a cat's swift grace, reminding himself of his kin, and walked into the centre of the stage.
    With a graceful gesture, he made the first leap and landed lightly, his muscles responding to his inner urgency with a snap that he had thought lost with age. He spun and leapt, keeping one leg stiff before him and landing in a sudden burst of speed that blended the tapping rhythm into a simple tune. This was his talent, which he had