“Thank me by mixing up your attacks and remembering that a sword has only one purpose in this world, to end a life. Death is permanent, Lord Barrington, and not all those we fight will fight with honor.”
“Yes, sir!”
Sereth waited until the door closed behind his student before secreting his various blades in their covert sheaths. He preferred daggers and stealth to the rapier he was forced to wear. Noting the smile on his assistant’s face, he scowled. “And you, Lem, will not tell a soul what I’m teaching these young dandies. Is that clear?”
“Yes, Master.” The smile dropped. “Perfectly clear.”
“Good. Lock up before you leave.”
The young man nodded and got to work cleaning up the studio. Relatively new to the Assassins Guild, Lem showed promise. Already expert with a dagger, he was a quick learner, and Sereth was training him to fence.
As Horice trained me…
Sereth let himself out into the twilight and headed down the street. Though his mind raced with the myriad details he had to attend to as Master Blade, he couldn’t help but compare the sweetly scented air of Barleycorn Heights to the musky atmosphere of his own neighborhood. He’d leased a house near his business to keep up appearances, but he still called his tiny flat in the Docks District home.
Home… For the past two years, his home had seemed empty without Jinny, but he couldn’t make himself leave the only place he’d ever been happy.
“Up for a little evening fun, milord?” A slim blonde woman sidled up to him and pinched his ass. “A knee trembler to whet your appetite for dinner, or perhaps for the missus?”
Sereth sighed at the reminder of his enforced celibacy. He had thought that streetwalkers would be discouraged in the city’s finer neighborhoods, but it seemed that even the proprieties of upper class couldn’t stem the laws of supply and demand. Each evening, young men and women plied their trade, seeking those with the desire for company and the means to pay. Sereth qualified on both counts, but he had no desire for the company of a prostitute.
“No, thank you.” He made to push her away, but she grasped his hand with surprising strength.
“Come on, love. I’ll give you a little discount.” She leaned in, her chin on his shoulder, her voice a sultry whisper. “We need to talk, Sereth.”
He glared at Kiesha in sudden recognition. That he hadn’t penetrated her disguise right off perturbed him; his mind had been elsewhere. Maybe I should take on one of my Blades as a bodyguard, he considered, but quickly quashed the idea. If someone discovered his covert meetings with a Thieves Guild operative, his life wouldn’t be worth spit, even if he was Master Blade.
Master Blade… Sereth’s mind spun with the possibilities his new position might provide. Narrowing his eyes, he nodded to the narrow gap between two tall brick buildings. “There, in the close.”
“Perfect!” Kiesha giggled girlishly and pulled him into the shadowed passage.
Though flames already flickered in the street lamps, their light didn’t penetrate this niche where even sunlight rarely ventured. The walls loomed so close that Sereth could reach out and touch them both without extending his arms fully. In fashionable Barleycorn Heights, respectable folks didn’t frequent such narrow alleys.
All the better. Neither of us is respectable.
Ten strides in, he wrenched Kiesha to a stop, grabbed her shoulders, and pinned her against the rough brick wall. “What do you want?” He hadn’t seen her in a week, and had been torn between relief at being left alone, and worry for Jinny.
“Careful there, milord.” The thief grasped his jacket and pulled him close. “Whispers only.” Then, in a normal tone, “What’ll it be, love? A little of this?” She groped his crotch, and he slapped her hand away.
“Stop it!” He wasn’t about to play her lurid games. Her previous failed attempt to seduce him should have told her that.
“Now, Sereth, is that any way to treat an old friend?” Kiesha arched her back until her breasts strained against the thin fabric of her bodice, and lifted one long leg, planting her foot against the opposite wall. With a smile, she rubbed her inner thigh against his hip. “I congratulate you on your promotion, Master Blade. I’m impressed.”
“How did you find out about that?”
“Aside from your new jewelry, you mean?” She laughed and writhed against him. “I have eyes everywhere, love.”
Sereth wasn’t sure what to make of that statement. Was she lying? Lots of people wore rings, and the master’s ring was nothing unusual, just a black band. It discomforted him to think she was spying on him that closely.
Kiesha wasn’t done. She hitched up her skirts and pulled him even closer. “You need to play the game, love, and I need to know what’s been happening inside your new circle of friends.” She pouted at his scowl, and ground herself against him. “You need to relax a little, Sereth. Why can’t we both get what we want?”
He pushed her away, at least far enough that he couldn’t feel her rubbing up against him. “What I want is my wife,” he said between clenched teeth.
“Oh, your dear wife is just fine, but you’ve got to play this game properly, or bad things might start to happen to her.” She fumbled with his belt buckle. “I know you know how to play. Your wife’s very lonely, you see, and we talk a lot about you.”
“Don’t lie to me. Stop that!” His hands closed on her wrists hard enough to bruise. “I’m not doing this anymore, Kiesha, and I want Jinny back.”
“Don’t be ridiculous.” All amusement vanished from Kiesha’s voice, but she still kept up her pretense, writhing against him in mock passion. “Your new jewelry doesn’t negate our arrangement. Now, tell me how things are progressing under your new guildmaster.”
Sereth thought he detected a hint of desperation in her voice, but it might just have been his own fury building. “No. I told you: I’m not doing this anymore, and I want my wife back!”
“Maybe when all Nine Hells get snow!” Kiesha laughed and thrust herself against him again. “Hensen’s not about to give up his best source of information, especially now that you’re climbing the ranks!”
Sereth’s vision blurred for a moment as his temper flared. Releasing her, he flicked his wrist and filled his hand with steel. The slim blade fairly glowed against her throat. “Let me ask you this, then: how would Hensen like it if I sent his pretty assistant back to him in pieces?”
“He wouldn’t.” Kiesha glanced down at the dagger and shrugged, apparently undaunted by his threat. “In fact, he’d probably return your dear Jinny to you in the same condition.”
Sereth longed to slit her throat, but he knew she was telling him the truth. Never could he risk harm to his precious Jinny. Neither, however, could he back down this time. “You tell Hensen I want her back. Now! I’m not playing this game anymore! I’m done!”
“And if he says no?” Her eyebrow arched and her lips pouted sardonically as she moved her hips against him. “What are you going to do? Stick me with your sword?”
“You just don’t get it, do you?” Sereth knocked her leg down with a backhanded slap and sheathed his dagger. “I don’t care anymore, Kiesha. I get my wife back immediately or I send my Blades for her, and everybody in that house dies!”
“And you think Lad won’t find out?”
“I said, I don’t care!”
“He’d kill you.” Uncertainty tinged Kiesha’s voice that Sereth had never heard before.
Good! He smiled grimly at her. “You’re right, Kiesha. Lad would kill me. But not before I tell him who kidnapped my wife to pressure me into spying. And trust me, even if you escape my Blades, you won’t escape Lad.”
Sereth turned and walked away, out of the alley and down the street. He half hoped Kiesha would come after him, but she didn’t. Night fell as he strode out of Barleycorn Heights toward the seedier parts of the city, all the while wondering if his threat had been idle.
No, he finally convinced himself, it wasn’t. He’d had enough of
this game.
Chapter III
For a woman who had once willingly submitted to torture under the Grandfather’s hands, walking the streets of Twailin without a bodyguard should have been a simple thing. Mya was in no real danger, of course. The magic of her runes hummed under her skin, her constant companion, her only companion.
They keep me safe, she reminded herself, clenching her fists to keep from scratching. She wasn’t sure if the sensation was real or imagined, but it never let her forget that she was a monster, a monster of her own making.
Mya couldn’t shake the notion that everyone knew, that every eye on the street peered at her tattoos through her soft silk shirt, linen pants, and dark wrappings. Ridiculous, of course. The common people of Twailin had no reason to suspect that a monster walked among them. The rumors about her, she hoped, were confined to the Assassins Guild, and no one but Lad knew about her enchanted tattoos.
Lad…
Mya had walked these neighborhoods with him for five years. Without his reassuring presence at her side, she felt conspicuous, naked, and vulnerable. She hated it.
“Evening, Miss Mya. Got a table for you, and Pica’s got a nice leg of lamb on the spit.” The hawker outside an eatery she favored smiled and tipped his cap, waving a hand toward the street-side tables.
Glancing wistfully at the diners sitting there enjoying an early evening meal, conversation, or just a peaceful glass of wine, she shook her head. “No thanks, Dondy. Still working. Maybe later.”
“Very good, Miss Mya.”
Dondy knew what she was. Not that she was a monster, of course, but that she was a master in the Assassins Guild. And still he smiled at her. Most of the folks in her territory sported smiles these days. The tension in the atmosphere had eased, as if the last of the torrential spring rains had washed away all the fear and foreboding. The war among the guild factions was over. The unwonted violence had ended, and people could conduct their business without looking over their shoulders.
Of all the guild’s territories, hers was the least affected by Lad’s recent changes. Mya had done away with her protection rackets years ago at Lad’s request. So now, while the other guild masters were frantically trying to adjust, her operation hummed along with few changes. Her Hunters did their jobs, fulfilled their contracts, and went about guild business like well-oiled clockwork.
Which reminds me…
She quickened her pace. The shop she planned to visit closed precisely at the top of the hour. This would be her last stop for the day, and so far nobody had been able to tell her anything about the poisoned dart that killed Wiggen. Her fingers caressed the smooth glass vial in her pocket, and she wondered how Lad would take the bad news. She wondered about Lad a lot lately.
He’d been her friend once, or at least the closest thing she had to a friend. She had hoped for a more intimate relationship, but he had made it quite clear that they would never be more than friends. Now, they were much less than friends. The Lad she loved was dead. This new Lad terrified her.
Wiggen’s death had bent him far past the breaking point. He was colder, quieter, more withdrawn than ever she had seen him. She sometimes overheard her people whispering about their new guildmaster as an emotionless weapon. Mya knew better; she’d watched him suppress outward displays of emotion for years. Now, she could feel his pain radiating through that armor, see his anger roiling beneath the surface, ready to explode. She hoped she wasn’t around when he finally erupted because there was nothing she could do to save herself if he decided to end her life. She couldn’t lift a finger against him.
If only he hadn’t put on that damned ring.
She wondered for the millionth time since that dreadful night what would have happened if he hadn’t put it on. Would she have taken up the ring and donned it herself, as the grandmaster had bid her to? Or would she have faded into the background and let the Twailin guild destroy itself as assassin fought assassin for mastery? Mya shook her head. The questions were moot; Lad had put on the ring, and he now wielded the guild. Not everyone liked the way he was doing things, but they feared him enough to forestall open rebellion…for now.
Mya turned onto Mullet Avenue and hurried along the riverfront, squinting as the late afternoon sun reflected off the water into her eyes. She almost wished for a gray, rainy day to match her mood.
The man you loved is dead, so just get over it. Your mother is dead. The Grandfather is dead. The other masters are all dead! You have no one to fear but Lad, and if you do your job and forget that you loved the man he used to be, you might survive.
She clenched her fists in her pockets, and once again felt the glass vial. A sudden thought struck her. That Lad trusted her with the dart—the only evidence they had to aid their search for Wiggen’s killer—demonstrated a certain degree of confidence that she hadn’t expected, given their recent estrangement. Maybe he wasn’t totally lost to her. They would never be lovers, but perhaps they could be friends again.
If he would just let me help him… Against her better judgment, Mya’s heart rose. Lad’s not dead, he’s just in pain. Like an injured dog, he snaps even at a helping hand. He needs me and he knows it. But how could she get beyond the gnashing teeth to help him?
An off-key twitter from a bedraggled clockwork canary overhead told Mya two things: it was the top of the hour, and she had reached her destination. She pushed open the shop’s door to find the old dwarf shopkeeper reaching with a key to lock it for the night.
“Good evening, Crumly.”
“Miss Mya!” The craggy old face scrunched as he squinted up at her through his spectacles. Crumly—Crumulus was his real name, but he’d gone by Crumly for longer than Mya had drawn breath—was nearly blind, and his once-strong shoulders were hunched with rheumatism, but he still made fine clocks, and knew more about mechanical devices than most people had forgotten. “I was just lockin’ up!”
“I won’t take two seconds of your time.” Stepping into the shop, she held the glass vial close to his eyes. “Have you ever seen anything like this before?”
Crumly squinted into the vial for less time than Mya expected he would need before saying, “Oh, aye. I seen one just like it only yesterday!”
“You did?” Her heart skipped a beat. “Where?”
“Right in this very shop. Fellow by the name of Tamir showed me one and asked the very same question you just did.”
“Really?” That was interesting. Who else had acquired one of the darts, and from where? And why were they interested in finding the owner? Mya pocketed the vial and smiled down at him. “And what, may I ask, did this Tamir look like?”
“Aside from wearin’ the duke’s own crest on his shoulder and sergeant’s bars on his collar, you mean?” He emitted a snort that did his prodigious nose credit. “You tall folk all look alike to me, I’m afraid.”
“A royal guardsman, eh?” That was interesting indeed. Her plans for the evening flew out the window in an instant, not that sitting in the Golden Cockerel eating a solo dinner while going over her correspondence held much allure in the first place. She might not have found the dart’s maker, but she’d found something she could bring to Lad. Crumly was notoriously stingy with information, but she knew his weakness.
“I tell you what, Crumly, I just passed the Prancing Pig, and Dondy told me that they’ve got lamb on the spit. How about I buy you dinner and a cup of wine, and we have a little chat about this Tamir.”
“Well, I was headed home to the missus…” The dwarf frowned and fingered his whiskers.
“Two cups of wine, and whatever they’ve got for sweets after.”
“Done!” The dwarf grinned and held up his key. “The wife’s a miserable cook anyway. Just let me lock up.”
“It feels good to get out of the house, doesn’t it, my dear?”
“Yes, sir.” Kiesha lied well, and long practice had taught her not to be contrary when her father wanted her to simply smile and agree.
Hensen wore her like a corsage,
an adornment to his own splendor. He wanted her to accompany him to dinner, so she went, though she despised associating with him in public.
Matching her stride to his, she maintained a pleasant expression as they strolled along the upscale avenues of the Hightown District. The truth was, she’d been out all day, hurrying throughout the city in an endless quest for information, and her feet hurt. She wondered if he knew…or cared. Had he chosen to walk as some type of subtle punishment? Of course, that she had been on her feet all day wouldn’t matter to him; other people’s comfort didn’t enter into his decision-making process. Hensen only cared about Hensen.
“It’s a beautiful evening.”
“Yes, the spring rains have finally ceased.” He sighed and strolled on. “Now we only have the sweltering heat of summer, the dreary fog of autumn, and the chill drizzle of winter to endure before next year’s deluge. I sometimes think that the gods torture us intentionally.”
“I often think that very thing as well, sir.” Why else would they give her a father like him?
“Well, I suppose we should be thankful for what we have.”
They turned onto View Street, a promenade along the edge of the bluff overlooking the sprawling city south of the river’s fork. Others of Twailin’s upper crust strolled along, displaying their elegant clothing and elaborate coifs, pausing here and there to admire each other even more than the splendid view. Their numbers had increased the last few days as people started to feel safer. Even though the years of escalating violence had never really spilled into Hightown, the nobles and wealthy who lived there felt the pressure. The subsequent week of peace, not to mention the beautiful weather, had brought people out in droves.
Kiesha casually analyzed the passersby as she’d been trained to do. Despite their carefree airs, the strollers were not leaving their security to chance. At least one and often two bodyguards trailed discreetly behind each couple or group.
I wonder how many of their hired guards are Assassins Guild? Quite a few bore that distinct look of professionalism with a hint of underlying violence. One bit of information she had picked up today was that Sereth had begun hiring out his Blades to the very people whose businesses they’d been fleecing for decades. Perhaps he was hiring his people to nobles and gentry as well. She found the strategy brilliantly ironic; the Assassins Guild was profiting by protecting against the violence they had originally incited. Sereth’s a genius…
Weapon of Vengeance (Weapon of Flesh Trilogy) Page 4
