Weapon of Blood

by Chris A. Jackson

  “More infighting?” He took a bite of scone, chased it with a sip of tea, and dabbed the corner of his mouth with a gold-embroidered napkin.

  “Yes, sir. Two deaths last night.” She placed a single page at his elbow, her elegant, precise handwriting a pleasure to his eyes. “Youtrin and Horice teamed up to try to kill Master Hunter Mya. They failed.”

  “Blades and Enforcers teaming up against Hunters, hmm?” He bit into the scone, savoring the flavors. “Did Sereth say why?”

  “Yes. Mya is ignoring the others, blocking their initiatives and refusing to come to meetings. She’s been doing it for a while, but the situation seems to have reached a head. Youtrin and Horice are taking it personally.”

  “Temper, temper.” He read the detailed report as he finished his scone. “Let that be a lesson to you, my dear. Never let emotion cloud your judgment.”

  “I never do, sir.”

  “Good. Now, what else?

  She placed another report beside his plate. “The Assassins Guild masters, minus Master Hunter Mya, of course, met last night and moved to choose a new guildmaster. They voted to have a new guildmaster’s ring forged, and they’re doing it without informing Mya.”

  “Wait! I thought they were trying to kill Mya.”

  “Only Youtrin and Horice, sir, at the moment, at least.” She shrugged. “Their decision holds whether or not she survived the attempt. The details are in the report.”

  “Interesting.” Hensen thought for a moment about the potential repercussions of this move. The infighting between the Assassins Guild factions had been good for the Thieves Guild, which had exploited the disorganization to advance its own interests throughout the city. A new Assassins Guild guildmaster would be bad for business. “Have they chosen someone yet?”

  “No, sir. They’ll forge the ring first, then choose.”

  “Hmm.” He sipped his tea. “I assume Sereth will keep us apprised of the situation.”

  “Of course, sir. That brings up one more item: news from the Golden Cockerel.” She laid a third report atop the other two. “Master Hunter Mya received a letter from the Grandmaster of the Assassins Guild instructing her to have a new guildmaster’s ring forged and appoint herself guildmaster.”

  Hensen sat up straight. “Interesting indeed!” Reaching for another scone, he stopped, a troublesome thought interrupting his appetite. “I find it a disturbing coincidence that she should receive such a letter the very evening Youtrin and Horice tried to kill her. Any chance our informant at the Cockerel might be playing both sides of the street?”

  “Anything is possible, but it’s not likely, sir. Sereth would probably know if Horice received word of the letter. We have no way to know about Youtrin.”

  “Look into that possibility for me, Kiesha. We can’t have our assets straying.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “So, both Mya and the other masters are forging rings at the same time.” Hensen reached for another scone, then frowned and picked up his tea cup instead. One of the downsides of being the boss, he’d found, was that he didn’t get much meaningful exercise, and his expanding waistline showed it. “Do we know who they contract to craft these things?”

  “No, sir, but the letter from the Grandmaster suggested that they only employ a single person to make the rings.”

  “Well, when he receives two identical orders, I imagine things are going to get even more violent.” This could be very good; all they had to do was step back and watch the Assassins Guild destroy itself. “Kiesha, contact Sereth and find out exactly what those Assassins Guild rings do. I know they provide some kind of magical protection, but I want details. And keep an eye on this situation from all angles. If any of our informants’ findings are contradictory, bring it to my attention immediately.”

  “Of course, sir.”

  “Anything else?”

  “Yes, sir.” She held out an envelope with a gold wax seal. “This came for you specifically, sir. It has a secure seal.”

  Hensen didn’t recognize the seal, a stylized sunburst, but that meant nothing. He made no move to take it. One did not gain his status within the Thieves Guild without learning caution. “Has Master Tinto examined it?”

  “Yes, sir. Just the usual enchantment to ensure that only the intended recipient opens it. No traces of poison or other spells.”

  “All right.” Hensen took the envelope and broke the seal with his eating knife. He opened the letter and a second piece of paper fluttered out—a certified draft from an account with the Twailin Moneylenders Guild. He knew that seal intimately. Licking his lips gleefully, for the sum was considerable, he turned to the letter. As he read, he felt a tickle as the hairs on the back of his neck rose. Chuckling, he waved the letter at Kiesha. “The plot thickens! It appears that someone else has taken interest in Master Hunter Mya. They want to contract our services to protect both her and her bodyguard from harm.”

  “Her bodyguard?” The incredulity in her tone brought his eyes up to hers, and she continued in a more deferential tone. “Sir, that’s…”

  “Unprecedented?”

  “To say the least, sir.” She blinked and shrugged. “By all accounts she needs little protection other than him. Six assassins tried to kill her last night. Two are dead and three injured, and neither she nor the weapon got a scratch.”

  Hensen frowned. “The weapon. That’s the term that Sereth uses for the young man, correct?”

  “Yes, sir. He was trained as a weapon for the former guildmaster, but Mya took him on after Saliez’s death. His name is Lad.”

  “Lad…” Hensen remembered the search that had ensued when this Lad had disappeared five years ago. Mya herself had given him a portrait when she enlisted Hensen’s help. It was still in a drawer somewhere. Such a lovely young man…

  He snapped his attention back to the matter at hand. “So, our solicitor seems to have a card in this game, and he wants Mya to win. Well, for this amount of coin, we’ll play along. He’s paid half up front, the other half to be transferred in one month if the two of them are still alive.” He handed the letter and the draft to Kiesha.

  Her lovely eyes flicked over the note. “Baron Patino?”

  “Nobody I’m familiar with, but there must be some connection to the Assassins Guild. Make it a priority to find out exactly who this person is. And write up a response indicating that we accept the contract.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “Anything else?” Hensen snatched another scone and began the meticulous buttering process. Life was too fleeting to be wasted worrying about one’s waistline, and this game had stimulated his appetite. He loved a challenge. It was what made him such a successful thief.

  “Nothing pressing, sir.”

  “Good. Keep this contract on a need-to-know basis, my dear. Use our best people. Master Hunter Mya is no fool, and neither is her bodyguard, from what Sereth says. If either of them detects our interference, there could be repercussions.”

  “Of course, sir.”

  “Go on then, Kiesha, and do be careful out there.”

  “I always am, sir.” She gave him a stunning smile and turned to go.

  Hensen admired her beauty once more before the door closed behind her. After dabbing marmalade on his scone and pouring more tea, he sat back, intent on savoring the rest of his breakfast.

  Yes, life is far too fleeting…

  Chapter VII

  Captain Norwood’s stomach growled as Tamir and Woefler entered his office. He’d worked through lunchtime, and the two men brought scents of roast lamb, garlic and sautéed onions in with them. He rose from his desk to stretch the kinks out of his backside. He had not been able to escape his chair all morning, and looked forward to hearing about what they had discovered at Vonlith’s.

  The men were a mismatched duo if ever he saw one. Tamir stood tall and beefy, as were most of the Royal Guards, taciturn of face and smartly uniformed. The sergeant towered over the wizard, who darted about like a little dog exploring ever
y new scent. For an important member of the Duke’s court, Woefler was decidedly unassuming. His robes were well-made, but unadorned, his rings and amulets simple. His clean-shaven face didn’t strike Norwood as particularly venerable or wise, but he’d been with the duke for even longer than the captain, and his proficiency was renowned. Unfortunately, Woefler also fancied himself a sleuth. His near-frantic enthusiasm grated against Tamir’s stoic, methodical approach. But as much as Tamir might dislike the notion, the death of a wizard warranted Woefler’s aid.

  “Master Woefler, good to see you. I wish it was under different circumstances.” He waved them to chairs, though he continued to stand, shifting from one foot to the other in a slow rocking motion to ease the pain in his back.

  “Captain Norwood.” The court wizard nodded and grinned, his angular face flushed with pleasure, unusual for the circumstance of a murder investigation, but not for the odd little man. “Good to see you as well, though we do only seem to reacquaint ourselves over dead bodies.”

  “We do at that.” Norwood noted a sour expression on Tamir’s face at the wizard’s greeting. He had probably been listening to Woefler yammer on about the magical whatnots in Vonlith’s home all morning. Stifling a grin, he waited until his visitors were seated, then got right to business. “What news of Master Vonlith? Tam, you first.”

  “It’s probably a safe bet that the victim knew his killer. Though all the windows and the front door were locked, the—”

  “The locks on the doors and windows were reinforced with magic, Captain,” Woefler cut in. “If one were to pick one of the locks or try to force it open, an alarm would sound and the entire house would be sealed by a spell. All of these spells were intact when I arrived, except—”

  Tamir’s voice overrode the wizard’s, and he continued. “—except the servants’ entrance. When we questioned her again, the housekeeper admitted that she’d found it unlocked this morning. She absolutely swears that she locked it on her way out last night.” Tamir consulted his notebook and checked something off with a pencil. “She’s got the only other key besides the one we found in Vonlith’s pocket. But…” The sergeant paused dramatically and grinned at the captain. “…remember the snifter on the table beside Vonlith? We found a matching one on the sideboard that still had a bit of brandy in the bottom. So, you were right about our victim having had a guest.” He made another checkmark in his notebook, and sat back.

  Norwood sank into his chair. “So, Vonlith probably knew his killer, let him in through the servant’s entrance, and they had a drink...”

  “Not a colleague, however. You would receive a colleague at the front door, not the servants’ entrance.”

  Norwood nodded to the wizard; his reasoning made sense. “An acquaintance, then. Someone known, but not a peer.”

  “Someone known well enough to share a glass of brandy with, but not highfalutin enough to rate the front door.” Tamir added.

  “Or someone you didn’t want your neighbors to see, perhaps.” A thin smile spread across Master Woefler’s lips.

  “Or someone who didn’t want to be seen…”

  Quiet suffused the office for a long moment before Norwood waved to Tamir to continue. “What about the body?”

  “The stab wound to the back of the skull was the only injury we found. We’ll cut his head open later to see if there’s anything odd about the death stroke, but I don’t expect to find anything. It seems like a straightforward hit. There were plenty of valuables around, so robbery’s not a likely motive.”

  “Unless the killer was after a specific item that we don’t know about, Sergeant.” Woefler wagged a skinny finger under Tamir’s nose. “One does not recognize an item by its absence if one is not familiar with its presence.”

  “What the hells is that supposed to mean?” The look Tamir gave the wizard could have soured milk.

  “It means, Sergeant Tamir, that something could have been taken. Perhaps something that Master Vonlith kept on his person, an amulet or ring, for instance, that required his death before it could be removed.” Woefler smiled as if proud of his deductive reasoning. “One must not jump to unwarranted conclusions.”

  “Don’t know why a thief would go to all the trouble of putting a knife in the man’s head to take one thing and leave a whole pile of fancy stuff just sitting there.” Tamir shook his head and turned back to Norwood. “Also, the method of the killing suggests a professional assassin, not a thief. My guess is that our victim pissed off the wrong people.”

  “Thanks, Tam. Let me know if anything new turns up.” Norwood turned to the duke’s wizard. “Anything from your perspective that stands out, Master Woefler?”

  “Vonlith was a highly proficient runemage. Invading his home would have been impossible, even for a skilled intruder.” He smiled pleasantly at Tamir. “The magic on the front door and the servant’s entrance is substantial. Entry through either of those portals could only have been gained through use of one of the two existing keys, both of which bore subtle spells that would be recognized by the spells on the locks. Since both of those have been accounted for, the only logical conclusion is that Vonlith did, indeed, let someone in.”

  “We already figured that out,” protested Tamir.

  “But the locks inside the house were quite different. There were no keys to lose for those.” Woefler’s eye gleamed with secret satisfaction.

  Tamir groaned as he cast the wizard a chagrined glance. “Yeah. Unfortunately, you’re right about that.”

  “What about the locks inside the house?” Norwood looked from one man to the other.

  “Those were mage-locked,” Woefler explained, “designed to open only to Vonlith’s touch.”

  “So, if they couldn’t be opened by anyone but Vonlith, how did you open them?”

  “I didn’t say that Vonlith had to open them, Captain,” Woefler said. “I said that opening them required Vonlith’s touch.”

  “So how did you—” The look of disgust on Tamir’s face told Norwood what they must have done. “Oh, you did not!”

  “Yes, sir, we did. Master Woefler insisted that we parade around the house with the corpse, soiled nightshirt and all, touching its finger to every single locked door, cabinet, chest and bin. Like a bloody funeral procession it was.”

  “Well, it worked.” Woefler grinned boyishly and shrugged. “And it was much quicker and more efficient than my trying to unravel every rune-spell. And as you have often said, Captain, time is of the essence in these investigations.”

  “Marvelous.” Norwood rose from his chair and paced the floor, hoping that the Duke didn’t hear of the grim spectacle. “Well, what about Vonlith? What did he do to earn a dagger in the brain?”

  “He’s got some nice stuff.” Tamir shrugged. “We might look into who gets it all if he kicks the bucket.”

  “Have someone track down his next of kin. Start a list of suspects: relatives, or anyone else who might be in line to inherit. I assume he had a will, so let’s get a look at it.” He looked to Woefler again. “What about his guild affiliation?”

  “He paid his dues on time, but was not politically active. His membership was in good standing, and has been for a very long time. Vonlith was quite a lot older than he looked.”

  “Lots of time to make enemies,” Tamir noted.

  Woefler wagged his head equitably. “He had few close friends, but he seemed to be on decent terms with his fellow guild members. I had met him several times socially at the guild lodge, and he was agreeable, though rather reserved. It’s the way some of these fellows get, you know, when they practice in isolation for too long. For myself, well, I prefer—”

  “Master Woefler.” Norwood gently tried to steer the wizard back to the subject at hand. “You said he was a proficient runemage. Proficient enough to make other mages jealous?”

  “Possibly. He’s been practicing rune-magic at a level that I have not seen in many years. He was a specialist, and quite adept.” Woefler made a face halfway between wi
stfulness and jealousy. “It is amazing what you can craft with the right arcane runes. Some of his things…”

  “Like what?”

  “Like a box in his study into which he could place items that he did not wish to be affected by time. It was empty when we found it, so we have no idea what he used it for. He also had a rune-etched knife in his laboratory that would cut through virtually any material, including diamond. Even his bed was magical. The runes inscribed in the headboard ensured calm, dreamless sleep. These things alone are quite valuable, and we still have not completed an inventory.”

  “Don’t forget the wagon,” Tamir put in.

  “Wagon?” Norwood looked at them both again. “What wagon?”

  “Vonlith had a wagon in the stable behind the townhouse.” The wizard laughed heartily. “Your guardsmen were quite surprised to discover that it is a good deal larger on the inside than the outside.”

  “Really?” Norwood’s eyebrows arched. “That would be handy.”

  “Indeed! It was quite impressive.” Woefler looked around the expansive office. “This entire room would have fit nicely inside, with enough additional space to add a large closet. It’s elaborately decorated, resembling a tinker’s wagon more than a wizard’s conveyance, but the decorations are all actually rune inscriptions.”

  Norwood raised an eyebrow. “Did it look like he was getting ready to take a trip?”

  “Again, I have yet to identify and inventory everything, but the wagon contained wizardry implements, not a wardrobe or mundane supplies. His stableman said that he generally used the vehicle for short trips, but had not used it in some time.”

  “Interesting.” Norwood continued to pace. Tamir and Woefler had provided him with many pieces to the puzzle, but he couldn’t yet figure out how they fit together. “Anything else?”

  “Somethin’ about that wagon, sir.” Tamir rubbed his eyes and sighed. “I never seen it before, but something about it seems familiar.”