Weapon of Blood

by Chris A. Jackson

  “Right.” Norwood dropped the dart into the bottle. “But have Woefler check the poison to make sure. Keep an eye out for any more.” He examined the body and noted the lack of other injuries. “Pay particular attention to the bodies that aren’t hacked up.”

  “Yes, sir.” Tamir pocketed the evidence bottle and continued his work.

  “Too many questions,” Norwood muttered, scowling down as if he could get the answers from the dead man’s eyes.

  Kiesha placed the matte-black metal tube snugly into its velvet-lined case, and ran her fingers over the neat row of black darts, each tucked into its own recessed nook. A half-dozen nooks were empty; the night had been eventful. She frowned.

  So much death…

  Pulling a dart from its nook, she pressed her fingertip against the hollowed point. She barely felt the tip pierce her skin. Blood welled from her finger, and she licked the crimson drop with a flick of her tongue. The dart she’d picked wasn’t envenomed, of course.

  Maybe it should be.

  A knock at the door startled her. She hadn’t heard footsteps, but in this house that wasn’t unusual. She reinserted the dart into its nook, closed the case, and turned to the door.

  “Come in.”

  The latch turned and Hensen walked in, resplendent as always, his embroidered jacket fairly glowing in the lamplight. That he was still dressed meant he’d waited up to learn the outcome of the evening’s events, and Kiesha’s heart dropped. She’d hoped to put off her report until morning. She was wet, cold, and…disheartened. The physical discomforts she could ignore, but rarely had a job affected her thus. All she wanted right now was a warm bath, a large brandy, and the oblivion of sleep.

  “I didn’t hear you come in.”

  She shrugged. “You taught me well. I’ll have a detailed report for you in the morning, sir, but—”

  “I want the highlights now. Are Mya and Lad still alive?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “And the other masters?”

  “All dead, sir.”

  “Ahhh!” One of Hensen’s plucked eyebrows arched, and Kiesha wondered vaguely if she should warn him about wrinkling his brow. “The confusion of succession should provide us with a unique opportunity to further advance our interests into Assassins Guild territory. How were the Hunters able to overcome all the other factions?”

  Kiesha sighed before answering. She really didn’t want to go into details tonight.

  “They didn’t, sir. Mya and Lad killed the masters, and many of their underlings as well. Lad had delivered her in bondage, but it was a ruse. They fought together. I killed a few assassins whom I believed might harm our charges. The rest fled.”

  “They killed how many?” Hensen’s tone was part curiosity, part skepticism. Kiesha didn’t blame him. If she hadn’t seen it, she wouldn’t believe it herself.

  “I didn’t count, sir. Two dozen at least.”

  “What?”

  “Mya is…” She hesitated, wondering how to tell him what she’d seen. This was why she preferred written reports; it gave her time to think things through. “She’s not what we thought, sir. She moved like Lad. As fast and as deadly as he is, but with one exception: every wound she took healed instantly.”

  “Magic! Gods, she must have some kind of magical enhancement. The guildmaster’s ring doesn’t bestow that kind of power.”

  “No, sir, but, in fact, Mya wasn’t wearing the ring.”

  “What?” Hensen couldn’t hide his surprise. “Sereth told us she did!”

  Kiesha wished he would just go away and leave her in peace. This was not how she wanted to tell the story, piecemeal in response to his peppered questions. She was too tired to organize her thoughts.

  “Sereth told us what the masters thought, but they were wrong. As it turned out, Lad’s wife, Wiggen, actually wore the ring. She used it to protect herself and the baby.”

  “What do you mean, ‘wore it’? She doesn’t any longer? How can that be?”

  He doesn’t miss a trick, Kiesha thought bitterly.

  “She’s dead, sir. The battle had just ended when a figure ran out of the tunnel right below me. I thought she was another assassin.” She paused and gave him a regretful look. “I reacted prematurely.”

  Hensen stared at her, and Kiesha was unnerved by the hint of fear in his eyes.

  “Did Lad see you?”

  “No, sir! I left immediately. All the other assassins were already dead or had fled. If he saw me…”

  “He would have killed you.” He sighed and shook his head. “We’re in a very delicate position here, Kiesha. You did well to ensure that Mya and Lad weren’t killed—at least we’ve earned our full contract—but you were careless. If Lad tries to find out who killed his wife... Well, we must ensure that he doesn’t.”

  “I’m sorry, Father.”

  Hensen stiffened as if he’d been knifed. He slammed shut the door and strode over to Kiesha, the muscles of his jaw writhing under the skin. “I told you never to call me that! You don’t know who’s listening, even here!”

  “I…I’m sorry. It slipped.” She fixed her eyes on his shoes, properly abashed. “It won’t happen again, sir.”

  “See that it doesn’t!” He raised his hand and she flinched, expecting a blow. Instead, he took her chin between his thumb and forefinger, and tilted her eyes up to his. “If they find out you’re my daughter, they’ll use you to get to me, just as the Assassins Guild used Lad’s daughter to get to him. Weapons of blood are the deadliest of all, my dear. Do you understand?”

  “I understand, sir.”

  “Good. Get some sleep. We’ll talk in the morning.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  As the door shut behind him, Kiesha sank down on her bed. Hensen would never know her lie. She’d known exactly who had dashed out of that tunnel. In fact, she’d been waiting for Wiggen to expose herself. With the ring on Wiggen’s finger, no one else could be appointed Twailin guildmaster. She was sure the Grandmaster would be pleased with her decision.

  Her decision to kill an innocent woman.

  In the silence of her bedroom, Kiesha clapped her hands to her ears. More than the blood and the horrific deaths she had witnessed tonight, more even than killing Wiggen, one thing wracked her. It had chased her across the rooftops as she fled through the streets of Twailin, and pursued her into her home. It still rang in her mind. She wondered if she’d ever be free of Lad’s heart-wrenching howl of grief as he mourned his dead wife.

  The morning sun glinted off the slab of polished marble that marked Wiggen’s grave, and blossoms from the overhanging plum tree garnished the mound of newly overturned earth. A sparrow sang out the end of the rainy season, and Lad cocked his head to listen.

  Wiggen so loved the birds.

  They had buried Wiggen in the little plot behind the inn, out of sight of the main courtyard. She was not alone; her mother, brother, and Forbish’s father all lay here. His wife would forever be surrounded by the family she cherished. The priest they’d paid to say the blessing was long gone, but those who loved Wiggen remained, silent and thoughtful, devastated by her loss.

  Fathers, lovers, friends, cousins…

  Forbish stood at the head of the grave, his arm tight around Josie’s shoulder. They both wept openly. The twins stood like sentries on either side of the fresh mound, their cheeks streaked with tears.

  At the foot of the grave, Lissa fussed in Lad’s arms, and he rocked her, murmuring meaningless words of comfort. Meaningless, because nothing could comfort a child who would never know her mother. For Lad, also, there was no comfort, no peace, no solace…no Wiggen. He felt as empty as a hollow gourd, lifeless and cold. The only heat within him was the smoldering hatred for the people who had killed his wife.

  I’ll find them and I’ll kill them. All of them. No mercy…

  Lissa wiggled again, snuggling her warm body against his chest, her tiny fist clenched in the laces of his shirt. As he hugged her closer, the guildmaster’s ring glin
ted on his finger. He’d donned the ring in a moment of grief and rage, determined to avenge his wife’s death. However, for that moment, he had forgotten that he was also a father.

  Lad looked down into Lissa’s eyes and he realized that he wasn’t completely empty. His heart ached with love for his daughter, ached with the pain of what he must do. He caressed the smooth skin of her plump cheek, and she smiled up at him. Wiggen’s smile, his eyes, a wisp of hair the color of honey… Remember!

  His heart broke anew.

  The killer within him had been released, and there was no way to put it back. Not until he had avenged Wiggen’s death. And a killer could not be a father. Lad strode to the head of the grave and placed Lissa into her grandfather’s arms.

  “Please…take care of her.” His voice caught on the lump in his throat, and his eyes burned as he brushed Lissa’s gossamer hair with his fingertips. He resisted the urge to snatch her back and run to where no one would ever find them. “I can’t be her father anymore.”

  “What?” Forbish’s face, already red from crying, now flushed darker. “You’re leaving her? Us? Just like that?”

  “I’m sorry.” Lad had repeated those words countless times in the past two days, but he knew it would never be enough. This was all his fault. The family had said time and again that they didn’t blame him, that they loved him, and maybe it was true, but it didn’t change the facts. “I can’t stay here. It’s too dangerous for Lissa…for all of you.”

  “You’re going after them, aren’t you?” Tika asked, his voice thick with pent-up rage.

  “We could help you!” Ponce offered, wiping away his tears.

  “No. You have to stay here. Be Lissa’s uncles. Protect her. Protect the family.” He fixed them with a meaningful stare. “Do that for me. Please.”

  The twins nodded and looked down.

  “I’ll send money by courier,” he told Forbish, but the innkeeper shook his head.

  “I don’t want money, Lad. I want you to stay and be a father to Lissa. She needs you!”

  “I know, but I can’t…do what I have to do and be her father at the same time.” Lad looked at his daughter again, and the lump in his throat threatened to overwhelm him. He swallowed it and shook his head. “Maybe someday when this is all over I’ll be able to come back, but not until it’s done.”

  Josie burst into tears. Forbish just stared at him.

  “I’m sorry.” He knew his sorrow would never be enough.

  Lad wrenched himself away from his daughter, his family, everything in the world that he loved. Quickly, so as not to lose his courage, he strode through the inn gates, out into the city. His ill-healed leg and shoulder stabbed him with every step, but he refused to let the pain show in his gait. It was only right that the pain of his wounds embodied the pain of his soul.

  No pain…no fear…no mercy…

  Four rings of purest obsidian lay upon the table in the back room of the Golden Cockerel. Before each ring stood a senior journeyman, one from each of the four masterless factions: Inquisitors, Blades, Enforcers, and Alchemists. Mya stood at the end of the table, the only remaining master. She fingered her own ring behind her back as she gauged each of her soon-to-be peers. They cast more than a few nervous glances at her, which was understandable. Rumors about her were flying through the guild. Her secret was out. She dismissed their interest and shifted her gaze to the man behind the table.

  Lad sat in Mya’s chair, a sheaf of papers before him. He eyed the potential masters, his pupils shimmering in the lamplight, hard and pitiless.

  He’s changed, she thought. So different.

  “Journeyman Alchemist Enola, pick up the ring before you,” he ordered.

  “Yes, Master.” The trembling woman stepped forward and picked up the ring.

  No trouble there, Mya thought. She’s been terrified of Neera for so long, she’s the perfect slave already.

  “You’re now Master Alchemist Enola. Put on the ring.”

  “Thank you, Master.” She slipped the ring onto her finger and backed up a step.

  “According to our sources, Neera’s body has not been identified, so you’ll take over her apothecary shop, posing as her niece. Your aunt has been called away, and you’re running her business for her until she returns. When news of her death arrives in a few months, you’ll inherit the business.” He lifted a stack of papers from the pile and dropped it before her. “All the documentation you need is there. Do you have any questions?”

  “No, Master.” She picked up the papers and tucked them under her arm.

  “Good.” He turned to the next in line.

  The new Master Inquisitor, a young dandy named Bemrin, was known for his glib tongue and persuasive manner. He had quickly climbed the ranks to become Patrice’s second-in-command. He accepted his ring with a bow, a grin, and a flourish, none of which seemed to impress Lad in the slightest.

  Cocky bastard, Mya thought. Thinks he can charm the spots off a leopard. He’ll learn soon enough.

  “You’ll have to open your own place, since Patrice’s body was identified and her businesses confiscated by the Duke. We’ll buy them back through intermediaries as they become available. For now, we’ve purchased an inn in West Crescent that you’ll use as your base of operations.” Lad dropped another pile of papers in front of Bemrin. “The Laughing Fox. Do you know it?”

  “Of course, Master.”

  “Good. Journeyman Sereth.” Lad turned his eyes to the Journeyman Blade. Sereth returned the stare with barely discernible trepidation. “You were Horice’s bodyguard.”

  “I was, Master.”

  “Yet, when I attacked him, you didn’t move to intervene. Why?”

  “Honestly, Master, you struck so fast I couldn’t intervene. Afterward, I saw no use in giving up my life in an ineffective attempt to avenge Horice’s death. My job wasn’t revenge.” Sereth shrugged. “Besides, Horice was an idiot.”

  Mya raised an eyebrow at that. The truth, she thought. That’s an original approach.

  Lad cocked an eyebrow as if considering the Blade’s words. “If my life was in danger, would you risk yours to save it?”

  “I’m not sworn to protect you, Master, only to serve you. By guild law, my life is yours to spend. If you order me to fall on my sword, I’ll do it, right here, right now. If you order me to step between you and something lethal, the answer is the same. But, frankly, I don’t see how I can protect you better than you can protect yourself.”

  Again Lad paused, but he finally seemed satisfied. “Pick up your ring.”

  “Thank you, Master.”

  Curious… Mya thought, noting that Sereth slipped the ring onto the smallest finger of his left hand, foregoing the traditional position on the third finger of the left hand, though he wore no other ring there.

  “You’ll have to open your own base of operations, Sereth. Horice was well known. The guild will fund any reasonable expense. Is there a problem with that?”

  “None, Master.”

  “Good.” Lad turned to the last of the four, none other than Jingles Jarred. “Jarred, you’re familiar with my former place of residence, are you not?”

  “I am, Master.” The Enforcer’s wrist twitched and a musical chime sounded.

  “Do you think you can enforce a secure area around the Tap and Kettle?”

  “Secure from what, Master?”

  “From everything. You’ll let no racketeers, thugs, or thieves from our or any other organization near the inn.”

  “I can do that, Master. I can’t keep the Royal Guard off their doorstep, but I can keep ’em safe from the likes of us.”

  “Make sure you do. Take up your ring and put it on.”

  “Thank you, Master.” Jingles snatched up the ring and thrust it on his finger, as if afraid Lad might rescind the order if he delayed.

  Another cocky bastard, Mya thought, but one who knows how to follow orders.

  “All right, then. You’re all the masters of your factions.” Lad p
laced his palms on the table and pushed himself up from the chair. “I’m your new guildmaster. I’ll be unlike your previous one, if any of you remember the Grandfather.”

  Mya saw Sereth and Jingles twitch. They both had known the Grandfather all too well.

  “I’m also going to make some drastic changes in the way this guild operates.”

  The new masters shifted uncomfortably at the pronouncement. Mya fought to remain still, wondering what changes were in store. Lad hadn’t spoken with her of his plans, keeping her at arm’s length as he established his control over the guild.

  “As of today, we’re doing away with our protection racketeering. It’s brutal, inefficient, and fosters too much animosity. Costs in bribes to the City Guard nearly exceed revenues, and hatred from the general populace hurts profits elsewhere. Instead, we’ll provide real protection from the Thieves Guild racketeers who’ve been trying to move into our territories.”

  “Will we charge for the protection, Master?” Jingles asked, obviously taken aback by the orders.

  “If the business is in our territory, no. If we’re approached by a business outside our territory, we’ll negotiate rates. Is there a problem, Jingles?”

  “No problem, Master, but it’ll hurt revenues.”

  “What we lose in protection monies should be made up with increased revenues from our other businesses. When business owners feel safe, they feel free to expand. Prostitution, gambling, information gathering, hunting, and contract killings will all continue as before, but everything will be approved by me personally. The distribution of black lotus and other illicit substances are controlled by the Thieves Guild, and we will not be pushing into those areas. If they try to take over or shake down businesses in our territories, we’ll respond appropriately, but again, those responses will be approved by me and me alone. Is that understood?”

  The masters all nodded and muttered, “Yes, Master.”

  “Good. One last item.” Lad paused and fixed them all with a hard, cold stare that shivered Mya’s spine. “You’ll cooperate between divisions, or I’ll find new masters to replace you. Is that clear?”