Weapon of Vengeance (Weapon of Flesh Trilogy)

by Jackson, Chris A.

  Tynean Tsing II bore little resemblance to the portrait that hung in Duke Mir’s audience chamber, or the silhouette stamped on every gold crown in the realm. He looked older than those images, older even than his purported sixty-two years. The burdens of the empire had, it seemed, left their mark on the emperor. The crown rested upon a head of immaculately groomed silver hair. Deep lines radiated from his eyes and mouth, clearly showing that this was not a face accustomed to smiling. But he sat straight, his narrow shoulders squared, his wizened hands gripping the arms of the chair with strength. His eyes were keen and ruthless.

  Imperial bodyguards flanked the emperor’s seat, two at each side. Another stood at the foot of the dais, his hand on the hilt of the curved blade at his hip. They all looked enough alike to be brothers: close-cropped hair, weathered skin, steely eyes, garbed in identical surcoats and gleaming mail. Norwood knew the badges on the shoulders their uniforms: blademasters of Koss Godslayer, protectors of the emperors of Tsing for the last five hundred years. They were rumored to feel no pain and know no fear, gifts from their deity for in exchange for pledging their very souls. The rigors of their life-long training shone in the deep scars on their hands and faces, decades of discipline etched in blood. Most horrifically, blademasters had their tongues cut out at an early age. Reading and writing were also banned. There would be no careless words to betray the secrets of either their training or their sovereign.

  To the emperor’s right stood a man identifiable by the circlet of gold adorning his brow. Crown Prince Arbuckle, the emperor’s sole heir. He looked perhaps ten years younger than Norwood, fit and hale, his dark hair barely flecked with white. His lips were pinched tight in what the captain interpreted as irritation. The prince was flanked by his own two bodyguards, as grim, scarred, and expressionless as the emperor’s. The only other person stood with a thick tome balanced open on his hip, a long quill pen poised above the page, undoubtedly the imperial record keeper.

  “Captain Norwood of the Twailin Royal Guard, Your Majesty.” Tennison stepped aside and bowed low.

  “Your Majesty.” Norwood bowed from the waist, and Tamir followed suit.

  “You may rise. We’ve been told that you bear a message for Our ear alone, Captain.” The emperor’s voice, belied his age, resonating with the power of one who knew his words commanded an empire.

  “Yes, Your Majesty.” Norwood straightened. “It is of the highest importance that—”

  The emperor’s raised hand silenced him.

  “We know. A matter of Our own personal safety, and the security of the empire.” His lip curled in a derisive smirk. “Well, We suppose We should hear it, and grant your request for privacy.” The emperor turned to the crown prince. “Leave Us, Arbuckle, and take Our secretary and record keeper with you. Wait in the east audience chamber. We will arrive shortly and take Our next appointment there.”

  “Yes, Your Majesty.” The three men bowed low before departing through the east door, the prince’s bodyguards following at his flanks.

  Norwood felt like a bug under a magnifying lens beneath the gaze of the emperor. For a long moment the sovereign said nothing, but simply stared at the two, resting one elbow on the arm of his simple throne and tapping his chin with a long, slim finger. Norwood fixed his eyes on the emperor’s feet, his hands clasped tight behind his back, his spine ramrod straight. The silence dragged on for what seemed like an hour, but probably spanned less than a minute.

  “So, what exactly have you discovered that is a threat to Our safety, Captain?”

  Norwood’s heart leapt. This was exactly the opening he needed. With no ears besides the emperor’s, he need not fear that the spy would overhear. “Your Majesty, I’ve learned that there is a spy within the palace. A spy with ties to organized crime in Twailin. I fear the spy might—”

  The emperor cut him off with a raised hand.

  “Hold your fears, Captain. We’re quite safe at the moment. Tell Us how you came about this discovery.”

  “I was investigating the murder of a noble in Twailin, Your Majesty. Baron Eusteus Patino was killed approximately three weeks ago, and I—” Another raised hand. Norwood froze. What was the sense in all these interruptions? Why couldn’t the man just listen?

  “You’re sure it was murder?” The emperor leaned forward, suddenly attentive, eyes gleaming. “We were informed by Duke Mir that it was a natural death.”

  “I know, Your Majesty. It was necessary to send a misleading message. I needed an opportunity to investigate Baron Patino without causing a panic. But I’m sure it was murder.”

  “How do you know?”

  “Duke Mir’s mage identified the magic used to kill the baron.”

  “Magic?” The emperor leaned back, his eyes wide. “He found magic?”

  “Yes, Your Majesty, a trace left by the murderer. I trust Master Woefler’s judgment in these things without question. He said the murderer was a priest, and that—”

  “A priest? He could tell you that specifically?”

  “Yes, Your Majesty. He was sure of it.”

  “That’s amazing. We had no idea Woefler was so adept!”

  The emperor’s mocking tone sent a chill up Norwood’s spine. Did the emperor not believe him, or did he doubt Woefler? Did he think this was some kind of fabrication? It was time to set things straight.

  “Your Majesty, he is quite adept. And I know that he was correct. The very day I started my investigation, an assassin tried to murder me, also using magic. I could only assume that this was the same man, so I set a trap. That’s how I know there’s a spy in the palace, Your Majesty! I gave Master Woefler a false message to send to Tsing, detailing when and where I would be conducting my investigation. I left myself open for attack, and the assassin took the bait! I got a good look at him, too. If we find the assassin, we can identify the spy.”

  “How unfortunate.” The emperor sounded disappointed.

  Unfortunate? What the hells…

  “And how does this spy in the palace pertain to Our personal safety, Captain? This assassin attempted to take your life, not Ours, and those attempts occurred in Twailin and Farthane, not here!”

  Norwood fought to remain calm. “The assassin can transport himself with magic, Your Majesty. He escaped me using it.”

  “Captain! Something—”

  Tamir’s urgent whisper was cut off by the emperor’s harsh laugh.

  “And you think that this assassin might pop in here and assassinate Us? Rest assured, Captain, the Imperial Palace is quite secure.”

  Norwood couldn’t believe what he was hearing.

  “Your Majesty, the message was intercepted here! The spy must be someone within your inner cadre, someone close, beyond suspicion. An imperial page, or one of the retinue of wizards. Someone close to you is a traitor! Your safety and the security of the empire are at risk!”

  “The security of this empire is not at risk, Captain!” Tynean Tsing’s tone cut like a razor, as if Norwood’s claim had been a personal affront. “And neither is my safety.”

  “But Your Majesty, the evidence suggests—”

  “Let me tell you what this evidence you think you have suggests, Captain Norwood!” The emperor thrust himself up from his seat and stepped down from his dais, his eyes blazing, his lip curling in a sneer of contempt. His bodyguards moved as he did, keeping him within their protective circle. “It suggests that someone in this palace orchestrated the murder of Baron Patino, as well as the attempts on your life. Your assumption that I am somehow in danger is nothing but conjecture.”

  “But Your Majesty! If someone in the palace—”

  “Captain!” Tamir’s hand closed hard on Norwood’s elbow, his hissed whisper edged with panic. “It was him! He had Patino killed!”

  “Tam! What—”

  “You never mentioned Farthane, but he knew!”

  “You should listen to your sergeant, Captain.” The emperor sneered. “He sees clearly, where you are blinded by duty and loyalty.�
��

  Norwood tried to make the last piece of the puzzle fit. “I was told that that Patino was killed because of his involvement with the Assassins Guild. Your Majesty must have...thwarted an infiltration of the nobility by the Assassins Guild?”

  Tynean Tsing laughed. “Wrong again, Captain. I am the Assassins Guild.”

  “Good Gods of Light…” Norwood’s knees nearly buckled. Of all the possible explanations to the questions whirling through his mind, that was one that he simply could not fathom. “Your Majesty, why?”

  “You dare to question me?” The emperor’s sallow features flushed with anger. “Guards!”

  The imperial bodyguards closed in, swords hissing from their scabbards.

  This is impossible! Norwood stumbled back as Tamir pushed him aside.

  Tamir pulled his ridiculous little contraption from his pocket, flipped the corkscrew out and gripped the body of the tool in his fist with the tiny spiral of steel protruding between his fingers.

  The emperor of Tsing raised one finger and pointed at Tamir. “Kill him.”

  “Tam!”

  Before Norwood could even attempt to intervene, two of the blademasters struck. Steel parted flesh and bone effortlessly. One cleaved Tamir’s wrist, the other cut a furrow from collarbone to crotch. Sergeant Tamir fell back clutching the horrible wound.

  “No!” Norwood dropped to his knees, trying to stem the torrent of blood that poured from his friend’s gaping chest.

  Tamir’s expression registered only surprise. His mouth tried to form a word, but it was drowned by a gout of bloody froth.

  Tam!” Norwood clutched Tamir’s remaining hand, but there was no strength in the man’s grip. Tamir’s eyes lost focus, the flow of his life’s blood ebbing.

  Laughter crackled like shattering glass, harsh and discordant. Norwood lifted his gaze from his friend’s dead eyes. The emperor’s smile turned his stomach, and the captain reached automatically for the hilt that was no longer at his hip. Two swords hovered inches from his face, waiting for a word from the emperor. Norwood had no hope of avenging his friend, even if he’d had a sword, but that didn’t stop him from wanting to kill Tynean Tsing, the very man he had come here to protect.

  “We must admit, Captain, you found your quarry.” The emperor folded his bony hands across his chest, and the lamplight glinted off a gold and obsidian ring on his finger. “You’ll need to answer a few more questions before you die for…let’s say…a treasonous attempt on Our life.”

  “Treason?” Norwood’s bloody hands clenched into fists. “It’s you who’ve committed treason here, not me! You’ve betrayed your oath to this empire! You’re nothing but a—”

  The emperor raised a finger, and a blade descended to Norwood’s throat.

  “Take care, Captain. You must be able to speak in order to tell Us who else is privy to your little discovery. We can’t afford any loose ends. But We do not need you…undamaged.” Tynean Tsing turned toward the room’s other door and called, “Hoseph!”

  Norwood’s would-be assassin entered in a swirl of crimson robes, and the captain knew just how deeply he had been betrayed.

  “Show Captain Norwood Our hospitality, Hoseph. We will be down later to speak with him.” The emperor of Tsing whirled away, followed so closely by three of his bodyguards that they seemed controlled by his thoughts.

  Norwood knelt in Tamir’s blood as the harbinger of his death approached. Weaponless, with two swords at his throat, he had no chance of escape. Hoseph reached out a hand, and black tendrils swirled forth, icy vapors that chilled his skin and froze his soul. The last thing he heard before the world faded around him was the condescending voice of Tynean Tsing II.

  “Thank you for your diligence in the pursuit of Baron Patino’s murderer, Captain. If you hadn’t come all this way, We would have had to go to no end of trouble to kill you.”

  Chapter XXI

  “I’d like to find the sadistic, woman-hating bastard who designed this and make him wear one for a month!” Mya drew the corset laces tighter, and cloth and metal creaked. She tied the knot and took a half-breath, all the restrictive garment would allow, and glanced in the full-length mirror.

  The corset squeezed her meager bust and slim hips into a caricature of femininity. Wearing only the corset, stockings, and ankle-high shoes, she looked like a one of the painted doxies on Red Street, back in Twailin—except for her wrappings, of course.

  With a huff of resignation, Mya pulled her gown from the airing rack. The latest formal fashion was for daringly low décolletage, which Mya’s runic tattoos forbade. Instead, her dress had a flesh-hued backing covered in black lace to give the effect of a low cut without revealing her wrappings. She’d considered going without them, but didn’t want to sweat.

  “Like I need one more thing to make me nervous.” The pending meeting already had her stomach in knots.

  She donned the pettiskirts, then slipped the frothy gown over her head. The side laces tucked cunningly away under her arms, but the garment felt more cumbersome than her comfortable traveling dresses. She tugged the padded bustle into place, and checked herself in the mirror. What she saw took her aback.

  “Damn! Who the hell is that?” Vastly different than her traveling dresses, or even the fancier ones she wore on forays into Twailin’s Hightown district, the gown clung enticingly to her corset-enhanced figure, the skirt draping elegantly to just above the toes of her shoes. The deep-crimson hue accented her hair perfectly. Bemrin’s tailor had done a beautiful job.

  Perching the crowning touch of a ridiculous little hat atop her head, she tried to affix it with the attached ribbons, but her hair was so short, they kept slipping free. With a disgusted sigh, she gave up and sought help.

  In the suite’s main room, Lad stood before a mirror trying to arrange his lacey cravat. If the frown on his face was any indication, his preparations were as trying as hers.

  “Having trouble?

  “Yes. This lace is frustrating. I can’t seem to…” He glanced back at her in the mirror, blinked, and shook his head. “I know more than a hundred knots for climbing ropes and restraining or capturing people, but I can’t…manage…this.”

  “I’ll make you a deal.” She held out the silly hat. “You help me put this thing on properly, and I’ll help you with your tie.” Mya knew no more about tying a cravat than he did, but it would be easier with the knot in front of her, rather than using a mirror and working backwards.

  “Deal.” His expression changed from frustration to curiosity as he turned to look at her more closely. “That dress is…very different. I hardly recognize you.”

  “Neither do I.” Mya strode forward and dropped the hat on the divan. “Here. Let me do that.”

  Lad stood perfectly still as she tied the cravat, fixing it in place with a topaz pin that matched his eyes perfectly. Good choice, Dee. A few tugs and it was done. Even without his jacket, and his unruly hair still askew, he was beautiful. Mya caught herself staring and turned away, reaching for his jacket.

  “Here.” She held it for him as he slipped his arms into the lace-cuffed sleeves. With a quick jerk, it fell into place. Custom tailored to his shape, it fitted him like a glove. Mya smiled and smoothed the wide velvet lapels. “You look perfect.”

  “I feel stupid.” He picked up her hat and looked at it dubiously. “How does this fit on your head?”

  “It doesn’t. It just sits on top. The veil goes in front, and you tie these ribbons into my hair to hold it on.”

  “Oh. Right.”

  Mya turned around and stood still, secretly relishing the sensation of Lad’s fingers in her hair. He cinched the ribbons tight enough to resist a hurricane, and she thanked her runes for blocking the pain. When he was done, she looked in the mirror.

  “I look like I’m going to a funeral.” The distraction of dressing slipped away, and a ball of dread coalesced in Mya’s stomach. Depending on how the Grandmaster reacted, this could very well be her funeral.

  �
��Don’t worry, Mya.”

  “What?” She caught Lad’s eye in the mirror. He looked concerned and…something else, something she couldn’t identify. “I’m not worried.” She brushed her hair back around her ears and rubbed her nose.

  “Yes, you are. I’ve known you long enough to tell when you’re worried.”

  Mya froze. He’s reading me! Gods, all these years he’s been reading my tells? She’d been the one to teach him how to spot people’s inadvertent twitches and habits, and he’d been using it to analyze her. Wishing she knew just what Lad had cued in on, Mya stiffened, hoping to stifle her nervous habits.

  “I told you before: the Grandmaster’s not stupid. He won’t hurt you. You’re too valuable to him.”

  “Let’s hope so. Otherwise our plan’s worthless. But if we play this just right, you’ll be free of the ring and can be a father again.” Mya turned to face him, hoping that he would heed her.

  Lad stepped back, a darkness the like of which she hadn’t seen in days flashing across his face. “Tell me the truth, Mya. Why are you offering to do this for me?”

  Of course, she couldn’t tell him the truth. Instead, she looked him square in the eye and sidestepped the question. “You want a list of all the reasons I owe you my life?”

  Turning her back on him, she stalked to the window. The evening sun blazed across the city as it settled toward the watery horizon, the sky the hue of blood. “Besides, when you consider all the things that led up to it, Wiggen’s death was my fault.”

  “What?”

  “You said so yourself. If the other masters hadn’t tried to use you against me, they wouldn’t have taken Lissa, and if they hadn’t taken her, Wiggen wouldn’t have died.” She turned away from the view and regarded him solemnly. “So I owe you. I took part of your family away, the least I can do is give the rest of it back.”

  “You’re wrong, Mya.” Lad shook his head, but his eyes never left hers.