Weapon of Blood

by Chris A. Jackson

  “Nothing to fret about, Miss Mya.” He shrugged, his round face utterly placid. “Every kettle’s got to blow off a little steam now and then.”

  She chuckled. “Seriously, though, I appreciate your devotion. You know that.”

  “I know, Miss Mya.” He shifted, obviously uncomfortable with her praise. “You want the mirrors replaced?”

  “I don’t think so, Pax. Having that many mirrors was making me vain. The one in the bathing chamber’s enough for now.”

  “Very good, then.” He turned to go. “I’ll send Dee in.”

  “Thanks.” She shook her head in calm wonder. If only I had a hundred of him.

  Mya was well into her breakfast and second cup of blackbrew when a knock announced Dee’s arrival. As usual, he bore a stack of correspondence, though he looked more rested today.

  Maybe Moirin found someone else.

  The report from the team she’d assigned to keep an eye on Captain Norwood lay on top of the stack of papers. She read eagerly, interested to see if Norwood had made any progress in the search for Vonlith’s killer, though she certainly wasn’t going to tell Lad everything she learned.

  Damn him anyway! He had driven her crazy yesterday with his ceaseless questions about the runemage. It made her want to slit Norwood’s throat for visiting the Tap and Kettle and bringing Vonlith’s death to Lad’s attention.

  Reading the report, however, she was encouraged at how mundane the captain’s routine had been yesterday. The day-crew noted the times at which he left his home, arrived at work, ate lunch with two colleagues at a nearby eatery, including the benign subjects of their conversation, and so on. She scanned the list of his afternoon meetings. Though she didn’t have eyes inside the captain’s office, and couldn’t know who he spoke with or what they discussed, nothing hinted that the Royal Guard was anything but in the dark about the murder.

  Mya flipped to the next page, the night-crew’s report. The captain had arrived home at dusk. A light in a front second-story window had stayed on until nearly midnight, followed by one in the third-story rear windows, which was shortly after doused.

  The next few lines brought her up short.

  Just before dawn, Norwood had come out of his front door fully dressed and stood in the street, looking up at a square hole in the wall under the eaves above the highest center window. The other houses in the row all had louvered grates in the same spot. None of her Hunters had noticed the missing grate the evening before. Though his coach arrived at the usual hour, Norwood had delayed going to his office at the Royal Guard headquarters until after workmen had arrived to replace the missing grate with iron bars.

  Godsdamnit! Fury rose in Mya, and she fought to maintain a disinterested mien in front of Dee. Someone had visited Norwood last night, and evaded her Hunters in doing so.

  Lad… It had to be.

  She couldn’t think of anyone else capable of such a feat, but even he wouldn’t be dumb enough to threaten Norwood, would he? Or—she felt a chill on the back of her neck—did he have another motive for a late night visit? If Lad suspected her of killing Vonlith, would he give her name to Norwood?

  Her own words came back to her: There is no one in the world who wouldn’t betray someone with the right incentive, my friend.

  What might induce him to betray her? Had he already? The questions made her mind spin. She tossed the report negligently to the table and addressed Dee calmly.

  “Draft a response to Journeyman Toki assigned to watch Captain Norwood. Continue surveillance and report everything, I repeat, everything that occurs. And tell her, good work.”

  “Got it.” Dee’s pen scratched across the parchment like a cockroach on a hot skillet. “That’s all?”

  “For now.” She took a sip of blackbrew and reached for the next letter, but her mind lingered on the question in her mind.

  Has he betrayed me? I’ve got to keep an eye on him.

  That wouldn’t be an easy task without him detecting her. But more than that, she somehow felt that she was wrong to suspect him. He had risked his life to save hers many times these last five years.

  He doesn’t trust me. He admitted as much.

  Mya buried her worries by attacking both the pile of correspondence and her breakfast with a vengeance, but try as she might, she couldn’t shake the fear that her friend—her best friend—might have betrayed her.

  “It’s useless.” Neera’s voice shook with rage as she dropped a beautifully wrought ring of obsidian and gold onto the table. “The spells to enchant the new guildmaster’s ring have failed.”

  Every eye in the room stared at the ring. Sereth remembered an identical one on the hand of the Grandfather, and he didn’t like the fear that memory evoked in him. Neera’s anger was met with confusion, disbelief and contempt from her fellow masters.

  “I don’t understand.” Horice had never tried to hide his dislike for Neera, and the disdain in his voice now showed it. “You told us that forging the new ring would take several weeks. It’s only been four days, and now you’re telling us it doesn’t work?”

  “That’s exactly what I’m telling you, Horice.” Neera’s lip lifted from her potion-stained teeth in a contemptuous sneer. “Crafting the physical ring took three days. Casting the enchantments would have taken several weeks more. However, the very first spell Master Ronquin attempted to cast on the ring failed.”

  “So you’re saying that the wizard who has been forging guild rings for sixty years, with no difficulty whatsoever, suddenly finds himself incompetent?”

  “No, Horice. I am saying that the enchantment failed because, as you know, the Twailin guildmaster’s ring, like all our rings, is unique. The enchantments are very specific, and can only function in one place at a time. This ensures that copies cannot be made to render someone outside the guild invulnerable to our assassins.”

  “So the original guildmaster’s ring…” Patrice’s voice trailed off, and Sereth watched understanding dawn on the masters’ faces.

  “…was never destroyed!” The back of Horice’s neck flushed red with rage. “Mya lied to us!”

  “Not only that, but she wears the guildmaster’s ring.” Neera pulled her lustrous robes close about her, a cocoon of shimmering satin, and sat down. “The enchantments only function when the ring surrounds living flesh, and enchanting a new ring would only be impeded by a functioning original, so she must wear it. The question is: what do we do now?”

  “Kill the traitorous bitch, of course.”

  Sereth struggled to keep from rolling his eyes. Horice’s solution to every problem was to kill someone. He didn’t have a subtle bone in his body. The other masters didn’t bother hiding their reactions to the Master Blade’s suggestion.

  “As your recent failure exemplifies, killing Mya is not as easy as you make it sound, Horice.”

  “At least now we know why our team failed,” he countered with a glare at the Master Alchemist. “No Twailin guild assassin can attack Mya if she’s wearing the guildmaster’s ring.”

  “But our people did attack her!” Youtrin insisted. “Just because your Blades got themselves killed…”

  Horice’s hand drifted to the hilt of his rapier, and Sereth prepared himself. If his master did something stupid, he had no recourse but to try to save his life.

  “Stop it!” Patrice’s command caught everyone by surprise. Usually the least vocal of the masters, her comely features were now set in hard lines. “We need to deal in facts, not emotions. First, you have all said that you watched Mya command her bodyguard to destroy the old guildmaster’s ring, and that this man was magically compelled to obey. Is this correct?”

  The three nodded, and Patrice continued.

  “Second, a new ring cannot be enchanted because the old one was not destroyed and is presumably on someone’s finger. How can we explain the discrepancy?”

  “Mya is nothing if not cunning.” The contempt in Neera’s tone had mutated into a kind of twisted admiration. She drew a ragged
breath and coughed. Her face went suddenly ashen, and she gestured to her bodyguard as she continued. “She was the one who suggested we do without a guildmaster, and at our behest she commanded her bodyguard to destroy the ring.” Her bodyguard took up one of the two bottles of wine that Youtrin had provided, drew the cork, and filled her glass. “We didn’t see it destroyed, but foolishly assumed the task had been done when she produced a lump of melted gold and shattered obsidian.” Neera’s hand hovered over the wine for a moment, and a silvery powder drifted from her fingers into the crimson pool. Her hand trembled as she stirred the mixture with one claw-like fingernail and lifted the glass to sip. Color flushed to her wan features and her next breath came easier. “All she had to do was countermand the order after we had left, and take the ring for herself.”

  “All right. Next: at the last meeting she attended, Mya wore her master’s ring. Can she wear both her master’s ring and the guildmaster’s ring at the same time?”

  “Donning the guildmaster’s ring would allow her to remove her master’s ring, but it would not force her to do so,” Neera said.

  “All right,” Patrice concluded after a moment’s thought. “Why don’t we go to the Grandmaster? We explain what’s happened, and have him deal with Mya. If necessary, he could send an outside team to kill her. They wouldn’t be bound by the Twailin guildmaster’s ring.”

  “Are you crazy? Admit to the Grandmaster that we’ve been duped by a stripling girl! He’d likely have us all killed for incompetence!”

  Patrice blinked at the three incredulous stares directed at her from her fellow masters. Even Sereth agreed with Horice on this one. Though if the Grandmaster did kill them all, I’d be in the running for Master Blade. And with the Blades behind me, Hensen would have to—

  “Enlisting the Grandmaster’s aid in this situation would not be a safe course of action.” Neera finished her wine and put the glass firmly down, her tremor banished by either the potion or her own resolve. “We must take care of this ourselves.”

  “So, we kill her. But since she’s wearing the ring—”

  “She’s not wearing the ring!” Youtrin rattled the bottles and glasses with a slap of his huge hand to the table top. “The ring prevents attack from any Twailin guildmember. An archer can’t shoot, a swordsman can’t thrust, a poisoner can’t even put lethal toxins into food or drink. The ring won’t let them even try. But our people attacked. They might have failed, but they did attack. She doesn’t wear the ring.”

  “Youtrin.” Horice put his hands flat on the table and stared at the Master Enforcer. “Did you even talk with the survivors of that attack?”

  “Yes, I did! Mya killed two Blades assigned to a flanking attack, and her bodyguard took out three of the others. One escaped. So what?”

  “The four on the frontal attack were ordered to draw her bodyguard out so the other two could get a clear shot at Mya. They attacked him, not her. None of them actually saw what happened with Mya. The only ones who attacked her were the two Blades who are now dead.”

  “What are you saying?” Suspicion put sting into Youtrin’s question.

  “I’m saying that Mya is not a Blade! Hells, she’s only been a Hunter for barely ten years! There is no way she could get the drop on two of my best people before they could even mark her. Their weapons were poisoned; if they’d so much as scratched her, she’d be dead. No, the only way she could have killed them is if they just stood there like lambs waiting for the slaughter, which is exactly what would have happened if she wore the ring.”

  “So, I think we can all agree that Mya is wearing the guildmaster’s ring. And that it will be a serious hindrance to killing her.”

  Youtrin sagged back in his chair at Patrice’s proclamation, nodding reluctantly. “Even if she wasn’t wearing the ring, we’d still have to get past her bodyguard, and he’s godsdamned unstoppable!”

  “That’s not entirely true.” Neera leaned forward, and her years seemed to melt away with her eagerness. “He has been bested before. Horice, you should remember!”

  Horice sat up suddenly, as if the memory stung him. “Yes! Mya took some of my best Blades with her to capture him. I had forgotten.”

  Neera smiled slyly. “Yes, and it was poison that subdued him, or rather, a very potent drug, was it not?”

  Horice craned his neck around to look at Sereth. “You saw Mya bring the weapon to Saliez, didn’t you?”

  Sereth’s blood ran cold as the masters all turned toward him. The last thing he wanted was to be the center of attention. He walked a razor’s edge between life and death every day, knowing that if his reports to the Thieves Guild were discovered, he would find himself manacled to Patrice’s interrogation slab before he could draw another breath. But that fear had become such an integral part of his life that he had no difficulty answering in a calm, even tone.

  “Yes, Master, I saw them, but only in passing. The weapon was unconscious. The rumor was that she wore a needle ring, and tricked him into shaking her hand.”

  “Yes, I heard the same rumor.” Youtrin’s thick brow knitted in thought.

  “Wily bitch,” Horice muttered.

  “Perhaps we should learn from her cunning.” Patrice’s plucked eyebrows arched with a thoughtful look. “We’ve tried approaching him head-on, and he’s met violence with violence. We cannot beat him that way. A successful attack would have to be subtle. If we could lure him in somehow, get someone close who he didn’t suspect.”

  “How?” Horice looked at her dubiously. “He suspects everyone. It’s his job.”

  “But he acts outside his job on occasion.”

  “He does?”

  “Yes.” Patrice pursed her sensuous lips and tapped them with a glossy fingernail. “And he shows compassion. I had wondered about this earlier, but was unsure what it meant. He saved one of my people from a lethal fall the other day.”

  “He what?” Yotrin’s eyes widened in blatant disbelief.

  “I occasionally have people try to follow him. Without the cooperation of Hunters or Blades, I’ve been trying to train my people in the skills of stealth and pursuit. They’ve been getting rather good, actually, and one young man shows amazing promise. He was following Mya’s weapon the other night, and miscalculated a leap. The weapon intervened and saved his life. He even told him to be more careful.”

  “Unbelievable!” Horice leaned back in his seat and shook his head.

  “But his compassion might give us a means to lure him in.” Patrice looked to Neera with a raised eyebrow.

  Neera’s rheumy eyes swept around the table. “If we work together, we might have a chance.”

  “We may not be able to kill the snake, but we can pull her fangs.” Horice chuckled at his symbolism. “Then we can bring in an outsider to deal with Mya.”

  “Agreed!” Youtrin stood and reached for the unopened bottle of wine. Wrenching the cork free, he filled the four glasses. “I move that we cooperate to eliminate Mya’s bodyguard, and then her. We’ll take the ring from her dead body and elect a new leader.”

  The masters all stood and raised their glasses.

  “Agreed,” they each said in turn, and the crystal chimed as the glasses touched.

  Sereth watched the four drink to their plan while reviewing the meeting in his head and mentally preparing his report. More fighting within the guild. Hensen will appreciate this. He felt an uncharacteristic surge of hope. Maybe it will even give me the leverage to get out from under his thumb.

  Hensen admired the elegant drape of the cloth swatch in his hand, ran his fingers over the lovely silver embroidery in the black brocade, then frowned. Black was just so…dark. He let the swatch fall to the table and picked up another; gold, this one, with highlights in an elegant floral pattern. Too gaudy. It fell from his fingers atop the others he’d rejected. Decorating is such a chore.

  A knock at the door interrupted his scrutiny of the fabrics.

  “Yes?” He turned as his butler, a tall and utterly boring fell
ow, peered into the room. “What is it? I’m busy.”

  “My apologies, sir.” His eyes widened when he saw what Hensen was busy with, and he stammered, “A...uh…visitor, sir. A man.”

  “At this hour?” Hensen picked up a swatch of red brocade and draped it over Kiesha’s bare shoulder. A nice contrast with her pale skin. “Does this man have a name?”

  “Sereth, sir. He seemed eager to see you.”

  “Sereth?” His eyes flicked up to Kiesha’s, but she stood perfectly still, just as he’d ordered her to. With a considering look, Hensen said, “Show him up, Terrence, but make sure he’s unarmed.”

  “Yes, sir.” The butler left.

  “Sir, I don’t think—”

  “Hush!” He glanced up to Kiesha’s lovely blue eyes. Perhaps something in a blue… Perusing the vast array of swatches, he found a nice blue pattern with gold accents. “You should never admit to not thinking, Kiesha. One might think you vapid.”

  “Yes, sir.” She stared straight ahead as he held the swatch against her skin.

  Kiesha wore only a sheer chemise, and the rays of the morning sun shone through the fabric as clearly as they shone through the window behind her. Shifting to place the swatch against her other shoulder, Hensen’s feet brushed the dull gray dress she had worn when she came in with her morning report. Wrinkling his nose—That rag would offend anyone with the least sense of taste!—he kicked the dress out of the way. Being decorated like a piece of furniture had seemed punishment enough for her offense of his senses, but it would be even better to have Sereth witness her humiliation.

  “Do you like the blue?”

  “Yes, sir.” Kiesha hadn’t even glanced at it.

  “Hmph.” Hensen dropped the swatch back with the others as another knock sounded at the door. “Come in!”