Weapon of Blood

by Chris A. Jackson

  “Well, that’s not a stretch of imagination. Most of the murders in Twailin can be traced back to the guild one way or another. But why mention me, and why would he ask you about it?”

  “Norwood thinks the murdered man, some wizard, had something to do with the Grandfather.” She shook her head as if it would help dredge up the details of the conversation from her sleep-deprived mind. “He wanted to know if I had ever heard of him, but I hadn’t.”

  Cold fingers of worry gripped the back of Lad’s neck. He only knew of two wizards who had associated directly with the Grandfather. One had been his Master, and he was long dead. The other… “What was the wizard’s name?”

  “Vonlith. Was that who…” She waved her hand toward his chest, indicating the runes hidden beneath his shirt.

  “Yes.”

  Vonlith dead.

  Lad’s mind spun. He touched his chest, rubbing the cloth of his shirt over the dark tattoos that Vonlith had etched there, the runes that would have once again enslaved him to the Grandfather. His feelings about Vonlith were conflicted, to say the least. The only reason the wizard hadn’t completed his task was that Mya had helped Lad kill the Grandfather. He seethed a bit, then took a couple of deep breaths to calm himself, remembering that Vonlith had only been doing his job, the same way that the assassins who attacked Mya, or the stalkers who tried to follow him home, were only doing their jobs. Besides, if not for Vonlith dispelling the power of the Grandfather’s tattooed runes, Lad would never have been able to defeat the guildmaster. His help had not been altruistic by any means—rather to keep Mya’s dagger out of his throat—but Vonlith had cast the spell, and then provided them a means of escape in his wagon.

  “Lad?” Wiggen squeezed his arm, and he realized that she and Forbish were staring at him. “Are you okay?”

  “I’m fine.” He force a smile he didn’t feel. “Yes, he’s the one who gave me my tattoos, under orders from the Grandfather. He also saved my life…”

  “He saved your life?” Forbish looked dubious.

  Wiggen sat tight-lipped. Lad had told her most of what had happened that day, though he had never mentioned Vonlith by name, and she had kept her promise not to tell anyone, even her father.

  Lad cracked a wry smile. “Only because Mya threatened to kill him if he didn’t, but that doesn’t matter.” His mind skipped ahead to the real issue: who would kill Vonlith and why? He hadn’t heard anything of the man in five years, but the wizard was one of two people who knew he’d killed Saliez. To murder a highly skilled wizard was a dangerous and rare undertaking. Someone must have wanted him dead very badly. “Did Norwood say how Vonlith died?”

  “No. He only said it was murder. He’s trying to find out who did it, and found out that Vonlith was working for the Grandfather. Since I was the one who told him about the Grandfather in the first place, he thought I might know what Vonlith was doing for him. I’d never heard of Vonlith and told him so, but as it turns out he had a pretty good idea…” Her voice trailed off, and she twisted a strand of her hair in agitation.

  “Well, I’d like to know who killed Vonlith, too,” Lad admitted. He handed Lissa over to Wiggen. “We better get to work. Don’t worry about this. I’ll look into it.”

  “It doesn’t have anything to do with you.” Wiggen put her cup down and propped the baby on her hip, giving him an admonishing look. “Why should you have to find out who killed him?”

  “I’m just interested, that’s all. I’m sure it has nothing to do with me, and it’s probably not related to the Grandfather either.”

  “What if someone found out how Saliez died and is getting revenge?” He hated to hear the worry in Wiggen’s voice.

  “I doubt that’s the case. It’s been five years, after all, but I want to make sure, and I know who to ask for help.”

  “Mya?” Wiggen’s eyes had narrowed, her voice scornful. She didn’t like Mya, even though she had never met the Master Hunter. She understood that Lad had given his word to protect the woman, but she resented the danger it put him in.

  “She was the only other person there when the Grandfather died.” He gave her an easy smile, sure of his reasoning. “If someone’s out for revenge, Mya will find out who it is.” Not because she wants to help me, but because it’s in her best interest, he thought, careful not to voice this opinion aloud.

  “And she’s also supposed to keep the Royal Guard away from us. Why don’t you remind her about that?”

  “I will. She has people who can get information from the Royal Guard, and she’s spread a few rumors over the years to reinforce the notion that I’m dead, but something like this is probably a bit beyond her influence.” Lad recognized the irony in defending Mya against charges that he, himself, had considered only a short while ago.

  “Just be careful, Lad. I don’t trust her.”

  “I’m always careful, Wiggen. You know that.” He kissed her on the cheek and Lissa on the forehead. “I’ve got too much to lose not to be careful.”

  Mya ascended the stairs from her apartment, the cool air of the passage a sharp contrast to the warm hand clasped in her own. Unlocking the door at the top, she guided her guest into her office. He stumbled at the top step, and she reached back, quick as a striking snake, to steady him.

  “I’m sorry. I should have told you—”

  “No matter, milady.” He smiled and squeezed her hand.

  His was a nice smile, a very nice smile, and his hands… A warm shiver ran up Mya’s spine as she recalled his fingers on her skin, teasing her with their feather-light touch. And that had just been the start. His patience, kindness, and consummate skill had proven him worthy of his reputation.

  “Here. There’s a chair for you, two steps.” She led him to her chair, lamenting the loss of his touch as he released her hand, while at the same moment relishing the renewal of her solitude. “Wait here. I’ll fetch your mistress.”

  “Thank you.”

  His voice touched her ears like stone-washed silk. The whispers, pleas, and promises of the night echoed in her mind, and she shivered again. Closing the door to her apartments, she strode to the door to the common room and opened it. Mika stood there like a monolith, arms crossed, face impassive. It was frightfully early, and yet he there he was. Does he never leave that spot? she wondered.

  “Madam Jondeleth should be in the common room, Mika. Please fetch her.”

  “Yes, Miss Mya.”

  The door thudded closed, and Mya walked back to the young man seated complacently in her chair. His milky white eyes stared unseeingly past her, but the pale motes did not detract from his beauty. What did were the marks upon the flawless skin of his neck, marks that matched her teeth perfectly. She cringed when she considered the other marks she had left on him in the throes of her passion. She had nearly injured him badly before coming to her senses and reining in her enthusiasm, yet not one complaint or one admonishment had issued from his beautiful lips.

  Mya went to him and lifted his collar to cover the marks, then combed her fingers through his tousled hair, smoothing it down. She remembered that hair between her fingers, her cries, his, and pulled her hand away. The long sleeve of her robe slipped up her forearm, exposing her lattice of tattooed runes; she had not yet donned her wrappings. Memories of his hands caressing her rune-etched skin flooded through her. For the first time she had exposed her secret to someone, and it was to a blind prostitute.

  “Thank you.” Again, that voice…

  Gods, what’s wrong with me?

  The knock at the door sent her hand reaching for the dagger normally at her hip. Banishing the reflex, she straightened her robe and said, “Come in.”

  The door opened and Mika ushered Madam Jondeleth into the room. The woman had been quite a beauty in her youth, and still dressed like a courtesan, even though long past the age where she could ply that trade. Now she specialized in the supply side of the business, providing experts in the arts of physical pleasure to wealthy clients throughout Twailin,
including royalty, clergy, and magistrates. Needless to say, she was accustomed to being discreet when it came to her clientele, a desire that Mya had emphasized. Mistress Jondeleth had only winked knowingly, a manner that set Mya’s teeth on edge.

  “Good morning, Mistress Mya. How was your evening?”

  “Good morning.” Mya hesitated, unsure of what to say about this type of transaction. She glanced at the young man. Gods, I don’t even know his name! It felt so impersonal to discuss his performance while he sat right there, but Madam Jondeleth waited with an expectant smile. “He was fine. Very good.”

  Her own words struck her like a kick in the stomach. She felt like she should have said something more, or nothing at all.

  “Good. I’m glad you found him pleasing.” The woman snapped her fingers several times in quick succession. The young man rose to follow the sound to where his employer held out her arm. Mya found the gesture insulting, as if the woman was summoning a pet. “If you wish his services again, please do not hesitate to call on me.”

  “I will.” When all Nine Hells freeze over, she thought, clenching her fists until her nails bit into her palms. There was no pain, of course, but she felt the oozing blood slicken her grip.

  The woman nodded, smiled, and turned to go. The young man followed dutifully, his hand resting lightly on the madam’s arm. His blind eyes swept past Mya, and a sweet, secret smile touched his lips. Mya felt suddenly as if she owed him something beyond the gold she had paid for his services, some personal acknowledgement.

  “I…” She stopped herself, but too late. Madam Jondeleth turned back, a question in her eyes. “I’ll call on you again soon.”

  “Very good.” The madam nodded again, and they left, Mika pulling the door closed behind them.

  Mya breathed a sigh of relief, looked down at her bloody palms and wiped them clean on her robe. The tiny wounds were already closed. What the hells is wrong with me? I go so far as to pay for someone’s company, then can’t wait to be alone again. Anger and unease boiled up in equal portions. Fumbling with the key, she opened the door to her apartments and strode through, slamming it closed without relocking it. If someone skilled or stupid enough to get past Mika chose this moment to try to kill her, let them come. She’d welcome a fight.

  I just need a bath, maybe some exercise. Yes… That’ll set me right.

  She hurried through her living room to her bedroom, and stopped short. The disheveled bed glared at her like a disapproving matron, condemnation plain in the rumpled sheets, the torn pillowcase, the dampness of sweat and blood on the coverlet. Mya had had few lovers in her life, and none for the past five years. No one had come close to giving her the physical pleasure that last night had provided, and still, she felt like she’d betrayed someone.

  Sex and love are different, my friend… The words she had said to Lad felt like a slap in the face.

  Lad! It would have been so easy for them to ease their tension together, so natural. Last night she had closed her eyes, imagining that it was Lad who caressed her. His refusal of her offer had hit her harder than she imagined it could, but she should have known better. He was completely besotted with that scar-faced tavern wench. How could he love someone like her, someone so weak?

  Angry with Lad and angrier with herself, Mya turned away from the bed. She tore off her robe and flung it toward the clothes press on her way to the bathing room. The warmth of the thick stone walls greeted her like a welcome embrace. She’d spent a good bit of coin on this room, a refuge that nobody could invade. Simple magic warmed the floor and walls, and the water from the spigot high on the wall always came out at precisely the temperature she desired, whether she wanted a hot bath, a tepid rinse or a bracingly chilly deluge.

  Scalding, she thought, turning the tap on full.

  Water just short of boiling poured forth.

  Steam billowed as Mya stepped under the torrent. Looking down, she watched blisters bubble up on her skin, but she felt no pain. The blisters healed, and rose again. Grabbing soap and a brush, Mya scrubbed her tattooed flesh, washing away every vestige of the previous night’s lovemaking.

  No, it wasn’t lovemaking, it was sex, straightforward, simple sex. Nothing to be ashamed about! She scrubbed harder, wishing for the absent pain, anything to clear her mind of these plaguing thoughts.

  When she finally felt clean, she closed the tap, grabbed a towel and scrubbed herself dry. Her blistered flesh healed once more, instantly and painlessly, resuming its seamless, scarless luster of dark runes. She cast the towel aside and strode through her bedroom without a glance at the incriminating bed, through the living room and into the training room.

  On the floor in the corner lay her wrappings, her armor against prying eyes.

  Mya held one end of the supple cloth against her ankle and began wrapping it up her leg, overlapping each successive layer. The cloth felt good against her skin, smooth and comforting. Her anonymity in physical form, it kept her secret from the rest of the world. With this simple layer of cloth, she looked normal, helpless, vulnerable—until someone tried to hurt her.

  Halfway up one leg, she glanced up into one of the mirrors that lined the walls. She stopped and stared as her flesh writhed with magic, her beautiful gifts…

  If you’re so beautiful, why hide? Why pay a blind man to pleasure you?

  Mya cursed at the nagging voice. She knew why. She had to keep her secret safe from her enemies.

  Is that the only reason?

  She stared into the mirror, barely recognizing herself, black tattoos against pale flesh, more magic than human. Who was she? What was she? Memories flashed into her mind of the Grandfather as he disrobed in his dreadful torture chamber, the dark, ancient runes revealed on his flesh as he prepared to fight Lad. Another memory, lying on his table as his blades sliced through her flesh, screaming as he laughed, realizing what he truly was. She had loathed the Grandfather, his domination over her and her fear of him. Now she had made herself into his likeness, his offspring.

  Monster…

  Mya stared at her tattoos. Before today they had always seemed to dance to unheard music before her eyes, they now writhed across her flesh like snakes. Lad had freed her from the Grandfather’s slavery, and she had wrapped herself in her own dark chains. She would never have an honest lover, never be touched by someone who was not paid to pleasure her. She had thought being alone would make her safe, that relationships would only make her vulnerable. And Lad, the only man who had any chance of understanding her, any chance of being an honest lover, had spurned her.

  With a surge of self-loathing, Mya lashed out. Her fist impacted the mirror, shattering her image into a thousand shards. Another mirror, another image, and her foot smashed it to splinters. Again and again she struck, spun, struck once more. Glass showered the floor, stained crimson beneath her feet. The wrappings trailed behind her, fluttering like a murder of crows in her wake as she spun and lashed out at herself, destroying every image, every semblance of what she was.

  What she had made herself.

  Monster…

  Finally she slowed, and then stopped, gazing around. The room lay in ruins, blood spattered in decorative arcs where she had lacerated herself in her self-destruction. The black wrappings trailed away in a knotted tangle. Mya stood at the center, surrounded by splintered fragments of herself.

  “What am I?” she whispered as she watched the cuts on her hands and feet heal painlessly.

  “You’re strong,” she declared, though the timidity of her voice belied her words. “You’re fast. You’re deadly. You’re safe!” Her last words boomed through the room, echoing off of the naked stone. Slowly, deliberately, she pulled the wrappings—her armor of anonymity—to her.

  Untangling the knots and twists, she wrapped the cloth tightly around her limbs, her torso, her loins. Splinters of glass glittered like diamonds on the dark fabric, but she ignored them. Tighter, she wrapped and wrapped, ignoring the painless prick of broken glass, ignoring the blood that
seeped through, until she was covered in her blanket of painless pain.

  Blood, but no pain.

  Mya lifted a large shard of mirror and looked at herself. A mote in the reflection caught her attention. Tears, clean and pure, tracked down her cheeks. She wiped them away with the edge of the shard, ignoring the wetness that flowed in the wake of the razor-edged glass.

  This is what she was; blood and pain that could never be felt. This was what she had made herself into.

  Monster…

  Chapter XI

  The morning sounds of the Golden Cockerel’s common room faded behind Lad as he approached the door to Mya’s office. Ahead, Mika stood like a granite statue at his post, a head taller than Lad and weighing twice as much. The two men had never spoken much, even though they had the same job: protect Mya. They nodded to one another, and Mika knocked upon, then opened, the door to the back room.

  “Lad.” Mya, eyebrows raised, stopped her fork halfway to her mouth, then lowered it to the plate with her half-eaten breakfast. “You’re early.”

  “Yes. I need to speak with you.” He glanced at Mya’s assistant, Dee, who sat patiently across the table from her with a pen poised above a piece of parchment, then back to Mya. “In private.”

  Mya’s eyes narrowed and her mouth twitched into an expression that Lad couldn’t quite interpret, though after five years of watching her, he had become quite adept at reading her moods. Worried, startled, tense, upset? Why? He brought his vigilance up a notch.

  His request to speak to her in private shouldn’t have worried her. He had been in her office often enough, usually when she had a meeting with some nefarious sort and wanted protection. Today he needed to speak with her privately, before they started their rounds. It wouldn’t do to have a curious shopkeeper or passerby overhear this discussion.

  So why is she worried?

  “All right.” She made a shooing motion at Dee. “Go have a blackbrew. We’ll finish this when I’m done with Lad.”