Weapon of Blood

by Chris A. Jackson

  A tiny silver bell chimed next to Hensen’s bed. His hand silenced it before it could ring a second time. The last thing he wanted was to disturb his bedmate; the poor fellow was simply exhausted. He pulled the cord that rang the bell on the other end to tell his assistant that he was awake, and slipped out of bed. Pulling on a robe, he shrugged the kinks out of his neck and shoulders. He was tired, but not exhausted, not by far. In fact, he felt good. His assistant knew to ring the bell only when something dire was afoot. Like a dog salivating at the scent of roasted meat, Hensen’s nerves sang at the sound of that bell, banishing his desire for bed and sleep like nothing else.

  Hensen’s companion rolled over in his sleep, the white silk sheet clinging to his lithe, young body. Hensen bit his lip. So beautiful… He suppressed the desire to tug the sheet down just a tiny bit more, and eased away from the bed. He slipped out of his bedchamber without a sound. He was, after all, a thief at heart, if not one in practice much anymore.

  Kiesha stood at the bottom of the third floor stairs, also garbed in a robe. Her tousled hair and sleepy eyes were a far cry from her tidy daytime appearance, but no less beautiful. Unfortunately, if her mien of annoyance was any indication, she didn’t share his appreciation of late-night intrigue. But business was business; she wouldn’t have woken him for something trivial.

  “What’s happened?”

  “I’m sorry to wake you, sir, but Sereth is here. He insists on speaking with you personally. He wouldn’t let me take a message.”

  “Very well. It must be important then. Lead on.”

  He followed her down to the first-floor parlor. Before Kiesha could open the ornate door, Hensen laid a hand on her forearm. “You disarmed him, didn’t you?” A silk robe gave no protection, and all of a sudden he felt frightfully vulnerable.

  Annoyance flashed in her eyes before she nodded. “Of course, sir.”

  “Of course you did. Proceed.”

  She swung open the door to reveal Sereth standing in the middle of the room, his boots muddying the priceless western rug. Overcoming his annoyance, Hensen ran his gaze over the spy, noting the subtle marks and creases where a sword and daggers were usually carried: at his side, in his boots, even strapped to his forearms. The man was a walking armory, and no doubt adept with every weapon he carried.

  “Good evening, Sereth.” Hensen strode past the spy to the sideboard and pulled out two snifters. From a crystal decanter, he poured a measure of brandy into each, then offered one to the assassin. “Here. You look like you could use a drink.”

  Sereth’s jaw muscled tightened, his eyes narrowing at the snifter. “I didn’t come here to socialize. I came here to tell you that things are coming to a head. The masters finally got Mya to attend a meeting, and forced a vote to forge a new guildmaster’s ring. They hoped to scare her into destroying the old ring, rather than admit that she didn’t actually have it destroyed years ago.”

  Hensen placed one of the snifters back onto the sideboard and swirled the other in his hand. He sniffed the heady bouquet, then sipped, letting the brandy’s slow burn ease the fire of his flaring temper. When a master extended hospitality to an underling, the offer should at least be acknowledged with gratitude. He and Sereth were not friends, of course, but snubbing his act of generosity was blatantly rude. The slight made him angry, and when Hensen was angry, he was petulant.

  “That’s it? You woke me for that?”

  “You told me to report immediately on any plots against Mya or her weapon. And no, that’s not all. The masters offered to support Mya’s bid for guildmaster, but she turned them down.”

  “She turned it down?” Sereth might be insubordinate, but his information was too intriguing to ignore. The Grandmaster offers her the position of guildmaster, her fellow masters say they’ll support her, and she still turns it down? What sort of woman was she? Everything she did surprised him, which of course, made her interesting. “Did she say why?”

  “She’s convinced that appointing a new guildmaster would make them all slaves. They held the vote, but it deadlocked. But during the discussion, Master Inquisitor Patrice noticed something; Mya gave her weapon an order, and he disobeyed. No one thought he could do that. The masters think that if he can disobey, he might be able to do more. They’re looking for some way to pressure him.”

  Hensen silently forgave Sereth his insolence. So, Lad is his own man. He’s not unconditionally bound to Mya. What a revelation! All kinds of benefits might be derived from this new situation; it merited careful consideration. But first, he had to keep Lad alive. “How do they intend to pressure him, and what do they intend to pressure him to do?”

  “They’ve discovered where he lives, so they’ve got people looking into his personal life. As to what they want him to do; kill Mya, probably.”

  “Do you think he can? Surely the magic prevents him from killing his master. She’s the one who captured him. She bound him to a life of slavery! If it didn’t, he’d have killed her years ago.”

  “They don’t know how the magic controls him, or what motivates his actions.”

  Oh, but I do! Hensen thought, remembering Master Forbish’s scar-faced daughter with the plump baby on her hip. “Interesting, indeed.”

  “What are you going to do?”

  Hensen’s eyes snapped to Sereth’s. Why would he think Hensen would tell him his plans? Surely he’s not playing double agent.

  Raising his snifter in a toast, he smiled and said, “I’m going to sip brandy and think for a while, Sereth. You ought to try it some time. Now please go. Don’t worry, we’ll tell your wife you send her your love.”

  Sereth stiffened, then whirled away. Hensen watched him wrench open the door and stomp across the hall, Kiesha hurrying after him.

  Dismissing Sereth from his thoughts, he paced for a while, enjoying the brandy and the ideas rambling around in his head. Once again, the sense of danger had brought his mind to razor sharpness. He ignored Kiesha when she returned from escorting their guest out. He paced and sipped and thought, until finally his thoughts congealed into a plan. Then he turned to her and smiled.

  “Orders, sir?”

  “Contact our operative at the Golden Cockerel. See if she can discover anything else about the Master Hunter’s reluctance to take the guildmaster position.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  Hensen sipped his brandy, then noticed that she was still staring at him.

  “Was there something else?”

  “Sir, it’s not my place, but this contract concerns me. How do we protect both Mya and Lad if the other masters set them against one another?”

  “Yes, that is a paradox, isn’t it? Frankly, I’m not sure we can, but we must be poised to try if need be.” He shrugged. “And we must be prepared to cut our losses.”

  “Should we send a letter to Baron Patino?”

  “No.” He finished his brandy. “No, we might not like the answer. Better to apologize after the fact, I think. We’ll see how this plays out.”

  “And if it comes down to saving one or the other of them?” she asked.

  That was the real question, wasn’t it? Lad or Mya? Forget Baron Patino, Hensen thought, which one would be more valuable to my plans? Mya, from all accounts, was a brilliant strategist and competent master who would undoubtedly strengthen the Assassins Guild, whatever her position. Lad, on the other hand, was apparently more than just a weapon. Who knew what he might do if his master was killed.

  Such a lovely young man…and what a thief he would make!

  Hensen decided. “If Lad chooses to kill Mya, do nothing. If Mya makes an obvious attempt on Lad’s life, one that you think might actually succeed, kill her. But remember, his skills far exceed hers, so don’t expose yourself unnecessarily.”

  “Yes, sir.” Kiesha paused, her features thoughtful. “And the contract?”

  “If the two come into conflict, we’ll explain exactly what occurred and demand half of the final payment. It only seems right, since we will have fulf
illed half of the contract.”

  “Do you think he’ll pay it?”

  “No, but since he may have eyes in our own organization, honesty, in this case, seems the best policy.”

  An involuntary snort of laughter, quite unladylike, escaped her. “Pardon me, sir, but that’s a hell of a thing to hear you say.”

  “Yes, well, this is a hell of a situation.” He waved her away and turned back to the sideboard for another brandy. It was going to be a long, thoughtful night, and despite his slumbering companion upstairs, Hensen could not imagine going back to bed.

  Chapter XIX

  We’ve got to figure out who was running Moirin.”

  Mya fought through the cobwebs in her mind, trying to stay focused. Lack of sleep weighed heavily on her. She had spent all of last night going through records with Dee, then grilling Paxal and several of her Hunters on everything they could remember about Moirin. Unfortunately, she had learned precious little. The night before had been just as sleepless. Every time she’d closed her eyes she’d pictured Lad and Wiggen making love, so she’d trained for hours in the hope that exhaustion would bring sleep. Unfortunately, her tattooed runes kept physical exhaustion at bay, but did nothing to relieve mental fatigue. She felt like she was being held together by nothing but blackbrew and magic.

  “What about Dee?” Lad asked.

  “Sleeping, finally. He was fine until I started asking him about Moirin, then he started shaking and saying he was sorry. He must have really been head over heels for her. I had Paxal slip him a sleeping tonic with a shot of whiskey and post someone to watch over him. I just hope when he wakes up, he’s back to normal.”

  “You drugged him?” Lad cast a skeptical glance, but she just shrugged. She was too tired and too grateful he was here to argue.

  Much to Mya’s relief, Lad had arrived at his customary mid-morning hour. She had filled him in on the night’s events as they made their usual rounds to the businesses under her purview, attempting to appear as if nothing untoward had occurred. She’d been bouncing ideas off of him in hopes that his fresher outlook might induce some answers. So far, it wasn’t working.

  “There’s got to be some kind of connection here. It can’t be coincidence.” She ticked items off on her fingers. “Horice mounts an attack on us that’s better organized, manned, and executed than any previous one. Moirin is reading my letters and spying on me through Dee. The masters all but hand me a guildmaster ring on a platter. Someone tries to murder you, and someone else saves your life. Not to mention that people have apparently been chasing you every night for years. How does it all relate?”

  “One or more of the other masters could be behind all of it, except for someone saving my life. I don’t see how keeping me alive would benefit any of them.” Lad squinted up at the burgeoning clouds. The rains had not yet begun, but the deluge was coming. Yesterday’s sunny weather had passed. “And let’s not forget Vonlith’s murder.”

  Mya rubbed her eyes. She knew Vonlith’s death had no place in the equation, and she was sick of him yammering on about it. “Forget Vonlith! It has nothing to do with this!” She brushed her hair back and tried to think.

  Lad stopped dead in the street and stared at her. When he spoke, his voice was hard and cold. “What aren’t you telling me?”

  Mya’s heart pounded, and she knew that Lad could hear it, interpret its significance. How could he know? Did Norwood tell him something to make him suspect me?

  “What do you mean?” She could never tell Lad that truth. Her murder of the runemage could well be the last straw. He’d leave…with the ring. And despite her threats to have him followed, he could easily kill anyone she sent. The crowds ebbed and flowed around them as people hurried to complete their errands before the rain started. “We can’t talk here. Come on.”

  Three steps on she realized he wasn’t following, but standing like a statue amongst the bustling humanity. Mya had to tell him her something.

  If he wants a secret, I’ll give him one!

  “I haven’t told anyone, but...” Mya stepped close and pitched her voice as low as she could, knowing he could hear her over the commotion of the busy street. “Last week I received a letter from the Grandmaster. Moirin had to have read it. That letter may very well have started this whole thing. It was an offer, Lad. He told me to forge a new guildmaster’s ring and claim it for myself.”

  Whatever Lad was expecting to hear, that wasn’t it. His eyes widened in shock. “Really?”

  “Really.” She rubbed her eyes again. “I burned it.”

  “Why?”

  She glared at him for a moment. “Because I don’t want to be guildmaster!”

  “You don’t?” Confusion furrowed his brow. “But it would protect you from the other masters. They couldn’t touch you. You’d be safe.”

  Mya just stared at him. “Being guildmaster wouldn’t protect me from the Grandmaster; it would put me directly under his thumb! Did you think I was blowing smoke yesterday when I turned down Patrice’s offer?” Her mind reeled. Did Lad really not understand her at all? Did he think all she wanted was power? A guildmaster’s ring only put her that much closer to becoming the person she had abhorred most in the world, the Grandfather.

  You’re already halfway there, Mya, a little voice in her mind mocked as she pictured the runes lacing her flesh.

  “If Patrice was running Moirin, she might have backed you because she knew the Grandmaster already made you the offer.”

  Mya shook her head. At least his mind is off Vonlith!

  “Assigning a spy like Moirin to use sex to get close to my assistant would be Patrice’s style, but it doesn’t fit. She didn’t back me until I convinced her that I really didn’t want a new guildmaster. If any of the other masters actually knew that the Grandmaster sent that letter, they would have blocked any notion of forging a new ring. And none of this gets us any closer to finding out who saved your life.”

  Lad looked thoughtful. “The Grandmaster… Why wouldn’t he just tell everyone that you’re the new boss?”

  “I don’t know.” The cobwebs were reasserting themselves in Mya’s brain. She wished she could just not think for a while, lie down and sleep.

  “How long does it take to forge a guildmaster’s ring?”

  “A while, I guess. Weeks. Why?”

  “Because until it was forged, you’d be vulnerable.”

  The flame of an idea burned away all the cobwebs. “That’s it! The letter said to forge a new ring, and then show the masters the letter! He must know that we’re at each other’s throats. He wanted to protect me, and the best way to protect me is to protect you! Lad, you’re a genius!”

  “Miss Mya!”

  Lad whirled to scan the surrounding crowd, buildings, and rooftops, but Mya recognized the voice, and tapped his arm. “It’s all right, Lad. Just a messenger.”

  A girl ran up, one hand clutching her side, her breath coming in gasps. She’d obviously been running hard.

  “Miss Mya! Urgent message…” She held out a folded note.

  Mya glanced over the short message, and felt like she’d been kicked in the gut. Gods, no… She crumpled the paper and looked into Lad’s pale eyes. Not his family.

  “What, Mya?” From his tone, she knew he could see the horror on her face. “What’s happened?”

  “There’s trouble at the Tap and Kettle.” She watched his pupils dilate, the tiny blood vessels around his eyes pulse red. His skin flushed with sudden heat, palpable from two feet away.

  “Wiggen!”

  “Lad! Wait!” She may as well have tried to stop the rain that had begun to patter down on the warm cobblestones. He was already gone, dashing through the crowd faster than any human being should be able to run.

  “Forbish!”

  Wiggen’s hands were deep in pie dough when Josie’s cry came from the common room. The urgency in her stepmother’s tone brought her eyes up to her father’s in a flash of worry. Forbish put down his rolling pin and gave her a
tense smile.

  “Probably just—”

  Josie burst into the kitchen, her face red. “Trouble, Forbish. There’s a bunch of bravos in the courtyard.”

  “By the gods, I’ll—” Forbish took up his biggest cleaver, but Wiggen was already past him.

  “No, Father. I’ll go. Remember what Lad told us to do if something like this happened. Bolt the kitchen door and stay here.” She nodded to the crib in the taproom off the kitchen where Lissa was finally napping. “Watch over Lissa. Josie, get the customers and the help upstairs, then close and bar the common room shutters.”

  “Be careful, Wiggen! What if they’re…”

  She didn’t hear the rest; she was already across the common room to the front door, her heart pounding in her throat. Tika stood there, one hand holding open the heavy oak door, the other grasping the two hardwood staves that they kept propped by the coatrack. Past him, in the courtyard, she could see Ponce standing with his back to a coach. Four big men wielding swords surrounded him. Wiggen stopped short, blinded by a vision from the past: men with swords and knives, blood and screams, her brother Tam dead on these very front steps…

  Not this time!

  “Go, Tika! Help Ponce, then both of you get back in here. I’ve got the door!” Wiggin reached though the hanging cloaks to the back of the coatrack and found the sheathed dagger that hung there. Wrapping her fingers around the cold hilt, she tucked her hand and the weapon under her apron.

  “Right.” Tika grinned maliciously and strode across the porch, a staff grasped casually in each hand. “Is there a problem, gentlemen?”

  Wiggen braced herself in the doorway and watched two of the men turn at Tika’s question. The other two kept Ponce backed up against the coach at sword point. The driver of the coach stayed in his seat, hands on the reins, staring at the spectacle with wide eyes.

  “Flippin’ right there’s a problem.” The apparent leader of the men flourished his blade and squared off at the bottom of the stairs. “Unpaid taxes.”