Weapon of Vengeance (Weapon of Flesh Trilogy)

by Jackson, Chris A.

  “The right hand of death.”

  Lad’s words startled Mya as she recalled the phrase he had attributed to Norwood’s would-be assassin. Lad cocked his head inquisitively, inspecting the priest, and she followed his gaze. Though Hoseph’s expression remained mild, his eyes regarded Lad with cold calculation.

  Lad continued, “You killed Baron Patino.”

  “Actually, I killed Baron Patino,” the Grandmaster corrected, sipping his wine with a contemplative air. “Hoseph simply delivered the sentence. And I would have killed that bothersome Captain Norwood as well, if you hadn’t intervened. Which begs the question: why did you intervene?”

  From the undertone of menace, the Grandmaster did not appreciate being thwarted.

  “I was using Captain Norwood as a source of information, Grandmaster. Had I known the attempt on his life was arranged by you, I would have acted differently.” Lad looked back to Hoseph. “How’s your arm?”

  “Quite well, thank you.”

  As a servant placed a luscious filet of beef on Mya’s plate, she noted the ghastly thin wrists below his sleeves. All the servants were just as thin, even skeletal, their eyes deeply sunken in their sockets. Their simple clothing also was not at all what she imagined palace servants would wear. They couldn’t help but overhear guild business, and they certainly knew the Grandmaster’s identity. But why starve them?

  “I can see that you’re concerned about the servants, Mya.”

  Her eyes snapped to his for an instant, then back to her plate. “Yes, Grandmaster.”

  “Don’t be. These are men who have, for one reason or another, incurred my wrath. I’ve spared their lives in exchange for their service. Unlike my blademasters, they still have their tongues, but you needn’t worry about them telling stories. They never leave this area, and never will. They’re already dead to the world, you see. They just haven’t stopped breathing yet.” The Grandmaster raised his wine glass. “But enough of that! I propose a toast to new beginnings, a welcome to my newest guildmaster. And you, too, Master Hunter Mya, of course.”

  Lad and Mya raised their glasses. Mya sipped, though she longed to down the entire glass to steady her nerves. The exquisite vintage cleared her dry mouth with a heady rush of flavors. The food was just as wonderful, but it may as well have been chalk for all that she enjoyed it.

  The emperor ate with relish, the servants attentive to his every move. He spoke between bites and sips of wine. “You have both proven yourselves capable of command, but now you must try to see the larger picture. The Assassins Guild has far-reaching goals, and its leaders must be farsighted. The guild was once like many others; a powerful but simple criminal organization focused on profit. My predecessor envisioned something greater, and recruited a young crown prince into her fold. I was groomed to assume command, to change the guild into something never previously contemplated. And her ploy worked. With my father’s untimely death…”

  The corner of Tynean Tsing’s mouth twitched, leaving Mya no doubt about who had arranged that death. We have something in common. The thought both terrified and intrigued her.

  “…I became the most powerful human in history.”

  “You play both sides of the same coin.” The words tumbled from Mya’s lips of their own volition, but she found herself unable to stop. It was just too perfect. “Law and crime, succor and fear, life and death… You win every toss. It’s…brilliant.”

  “Precisely, Mya.” The Grandmaster raised his glass to her, one silver eyebrow arched in pleased admiration. “You grasp the perfection of our arrangement.”

  To Mya’s surprise, she found herself flushing with pleasure at the recognition, and raised her own glass. As they sipped, their eyes locked, and she realized that her fear had ebbed. She was still nervous, but the terror was gone. This might actually work out.

  “I don’t understand.” Lad’s eyes flicked from Mya to the Grandmaster and back.

  “No, I see that you don’t.” The emperor placed his goblet delicately on the table and steepled his fingers, his mouth set in an aggravated moue. “Understand this, if you can. I’ve created the perfect system of governance. History tells us that empires rise and fall at the whim of the people; when oppressed, they rebel, if given too much freedom, they want more. I have discovered a way to break that cycle. Empowering my nobility with immunity from prosecution devotes them to my cause. They flock to my court, willing to do anything to maintain their status. If that includes paying higher taxes or instituting my edicts in their provinces, so be it. Of course, such free rein for the nobility induces resentment in the lower classes. That’s where the Assassins Guild comes in. They keep the general populace under control, ferreting out and crushing the seeds of rebellion before they sprout. I hold the reins to both the empire and the guild; absolute power and utter control.” He sat back with a self-satisfied smile.

  “I…see.” Lad took a bite of his meal, washed it down with a sip of wine, then looked back at the Grandmaster. “So, you rule by fear. The commoners fear for their lives, and the nobles fear for their privileges.”

  The Grandmaster cocked an eyebrow. “I’m impressed, Lad. You do understand.”

  “But it’s not a permanent arrangement. Fear is a poor motivator, and you won’t live forever.”

  He’s going too far. Mya shot Lad a warning glance, but he wasn’t looking at her.

  “Fear is an excellent motivator!” the Grandmaster insisted, his eyes flinty at Lad’s evident disapproval. “And I will live…long enough. My son has proven inadequate to inherit either of my offices. Once he has produced an heir, he’ll be eliminated, and I’ll take my grandson or granddaughter under my wing and teach them what true power is. The line of Imperial Grandmasters will continue.”

  Mya felt suddenly sick, and Lad voiced the question that she dare not ask. “You would kill your own son?”

  Tyrean Tsing dropped his fork noisily onto his plate, his displeasure clear. “I can see why you think fear is a poor motivator, for you obviously have an impaired sense of what should be feared. I know this isn’t your fault, but a result of the manner of your creation. Saliez wanted a weapon without fear, and he got one.”

  Lad’s face remained neutral, emotionless. “As you say, Grandmaster, I was created with particular restrictions, but I…freed myself to a certain degree. I do feel fear, though not, perhaps, as most people do.”

  “Which is why you weren’t my first choice for guildmaster.” He turned to Mya. “Your Master Hunter understands fear. Don’t you, Mya?”

  “Perfectly, Grandmaster.” She nodded respectfully, keeping her gaze averted.

  His eyes flicked back to Lad. “Which brings up the question of why, exactly, you wear the guildmaster’s ring.”

  “At the time, it seemed the prudent thing to do, Grandmaster.” Lad looked down at his plate, his countenance clouding over. “My…wife had just been murdered, and in my state of mind, I thought only that if I wielded the Twailin guild, I could find her killer.”

  “And how is that going for you?”

  Mya snapped her eyes to the Grandmaster’s, but he was staring at Lad. His tone suggested derision or amusement rather than true concern. He knows something, she realized, and her blood ran cold.

  “Not well.” Lad nonchalantly picked up his wine and sipped, raising his head to stare into the Grandmaster’s eyes.

  Don’t! Mya willed Lad to hear her silent plea. Don’t go there, Lad! Please!

  “I know who the killer is, a thief named Kiesha, but I can’t find her. She was somehow connected with Baron Patino, whom, correct me if I’m wrong, you contracted to secure Mya’s and my safety until she could assume the guildmaster position.”

  The Grandmaster stared right back at Lad. “That is correct.”

  “So, you killed Patino to break the connection between the emperor and the guild.”

  “Also correct.”

  “Did you order Kiesha to assassinate my wife?”

  “I did not.”


  That’s enough! Mya downed her wine in one gulp. Time to stop this before it goes too far.

  Lad’s shoulders slumped, his trembling hand rippling the wine in his goblet. The Grandmaster’s words hung in the air: simple, straightforward, and devastating. Another dead end. Lad put his goblet down so he wouldn’t spill the wine, and raised his eyes once again to the Grandmaster’s face.

  Was he telling the truth? The man’s expression gave away nothing, but Lad didn’t expect it to. Tynean Tsing had lived with secret dual identities most of his life. He could probably lie without the slightest outward sign.

  Mya cleared her throat and spoke up. “If I may, Grandmaster, I’d like to propose a solution to our apparent dilemma.”

  “Our dilemma?” The Grandmaster looked at her curiously. “Please, enlighten me as to what dilemma you think we have.”

  “At the risk of incurring the displeasure of my guildmaster,” she glanced at Lad, “I must say, and I think you’ll agree, that Lad’s not well suited to his new position.”

  Lad glared at Mya, secretly impressed with her calm delivery. Her voice held a tremor of fear, which would placate the Grandmaster, and her tone was clear and precise. Best of all, her body language remained mute: no brushing her hair behind her ear, no rubbing her nose or clicking her fingernails.

  He shook off his disappointment, and resolved to continue their plan. “For not being well suited, I’ve increased guild profits in less than a month!”

  “Yes, by instituting practices that I perfected over the last five years.” Mya turned to present her case to Tynean Tsing. “Grandmaster, while Lad makes a mediocre guildmaster, he remains a superb weapon. His skills in combat are unmatched and, as you can see, he looks harmless. While he certainly kills like an assassin, he doesn’t necessarily think like one.”

  “That is clear.” The Grandmaster’s eyes snapped back and forth between them. “State your proposal, Mya.”

  “Your original intention was to make me Twailin’s guildmaster. You have the ability to grant your own wish. Take Lad’s ring and give it to me. He can return to his position as my bodyguard and personal weapon, to be employed as he was designed for the best interests of the guild,” she paused and shifted her eyes to Lad’s, “instead of his own.”

  Mya’s cool, confident gaze startled Lad. She’s just following the plan. She’s not really intending to enslave me. She wouldn’t. But doubt remained. He was so used to reading her tells, and now there were none.

  “Interesting…” The Grandmaster’s slow smile sent a shiver up Lad’s spine. “I’ll consider this proposal under two conditions, Mya.”

  “It’s not my place to barter, Grandmaster.” Mya looked mildly horrified. “My life is yours to spend. You can command me as you wish.”

  “I’m glad you see it that way.” The smile broadened, and Lad’s worry with it. “First, you will reinstitute standard guild practices with regard to protection racketeering, extortion, and intimidation in Twailin.”

  Horror gripped Lad’s stomach like a vise. Would she actually do that? The devil’s advocate in the back of his mind whispered, Of course she would. How could she not do as he commands?

  Mya tilted her head quizzically. “Of course, Grandmaster, if you command it, but may I ask why? Profits are up significantly, and our competition is foundering. The new system is more productive.”

  “We’ll get to why in a moment.” The Grandmaster’s eyes shifted to Lad. “The next condition is that you, Lad, sign a blood contract. Saliez was remiss in not insisting on that from the start. Without the guildmaster’s ring, you’re too dangerous to be without some kind of control.”

  Lad stifled his impulsive response. There was only one answer he could possibly give, considering the five blademasters in the room. “If you so command, Grandmaster.” He bowed his head in deference, worried that his eyes would reveal his defiance. He had absolutely no intention of signing a blood contract. If he did, he would be nothing more than a slave again. He would never be a father, never have a family.

  “Good.” The Grandmaster dropped his napkin onto his plate and stood. “Come with me.”

  Lad stood, and Mya followed suit. Though she briefly met his glance as they rounded the table, she remained unreadable, immediately averting her eyes. Was she betraying him? Had her plan been a deception from the start? Lad hadn’t thought of the blood contract, but Mya certainly would have.

  They filed out of the room, the emperor and three of his blademasters at the fore, then Lad and Mya followed by two more, and lastly, Hoseph. The hairs prickled on the back of Lad’s neck with the priestly assassin behind him. Hoseph seemed an enigma: more than just an intermediary, and certainly more than just a killer. But Lad couldn’t worry about him right now. He had to concentrate on the Grandmaster…and Mya.

  Lad glanced sidelong at her, wishing he could read her mind. She kept her eyes steadfastly ahead, her hands relaxed at her sides. No tells, no evasions, and no clue about her motives.

  The Grandmaster spoke as they walked. “The primary flaw in your new practices, Mya, is that you fail to understand the true mission of the Assassins Guild. I consider that partially my fault for letting the Twailin guild go so long without a guildmaster. As a mere master, you had no comprehension of our mission, so your error is forgivable.”

  “Thank you for understanding, Grandmaster.”

  Lad chilled to realize that he seemed to be suddenly out of the loop of communication. He might still wear the guildmaster’s ring, but he had essentially been dismissed.

  The Grandmaster stopped at a large double door and worked a key in the lock. Fetid air wafted out as two of the blademasters pulled open the doors. The lighting here was poorer, oil lamps guttering low, but Lad didn’t need it to make out the barred cells that lined the corridor. Urine-soaked straw, stale sweat, and overflowing chamber pots explained the stench.

  “The true mission of the Assassins Guild is control.” The Grandmaster gestured to the cells as they passed. “Much as the empire controls the populace with laws, the Assassins Guild controls it with fear.”

  Sallow faces met Lad’s gaze from within the cells. He wondered why the Grandmaster spoke so freely about the guild in front of the prisoners, until he realized, Their lives are already spent. None of these people would ever leave this place. But unlike the servants, these had no apparent use. Why keep them alive at all?

  The Grandmaster’s voice droned on. “I’m sure that you, Mya, can understand how the interplay of the guild and the empire enhance the efficacy of both.”

  “I understand perfectly, Grandmaster.” Mya did look at Lad then, and her eyes regarded him without a hint of the emotion or sincerity she’d previously shown. “It’s an elegant system.”

  “Thank you.”

  “But what about profits, Grandmaster? They’ll fall if we revert to the old system.”

  “Profits are secondary to control, Mya. The Assassins Guild is not a public service enterprise. It is my weapon, much as Lad was Saliez’s weapon.” Another pair of even larger double doors came into view, these with an intricate dual locking system. The Grandmaster produced two keys and gestured. “Hoseph, if you please.”

  “Yes, Grandmaster.” The priest strode forward and took the proffered key. He and the Grandmaster turned the keys in the two locks, and a heavy mechanism clicked.

  With neither the Grandmaster nor Mya granting him a glance, Lad wondered if he might just walk away. Of course, the blademasters wouldn’t allow him to retreat until permission had been granted by their master, and he wouldn’t do that until Lad signed a blood contract. He was trapped.

  The Grandmaster slipped the keys back into his pocket and looked earnestly at the Mya. “Money is nothing but another form of control, Mya. Guild profits are necessary to provide incentive to our members. To me, they are insignificant. Imperial taxes bring in more revenue in a single month than the Assassins Guild does in ten years. The guild’s sole purpose is control: control through fear. Do you u
nderstand?”

  “I understand,” Mya said.

  “You think you do.” The Grandmaster’s thin smile held all the warmth of a glacier. “Very soon, you will.”

  Chapter XXIII

  Tynean Tsing gestured two blademasters forward while continuing his speech.

  “Control is achieved through discipline. When you give an order or make an offer for advancement…” The Grandmaster’s eyes flashed to hers, and Mya’s heart froze for a moment. “…you must make sure you are obeyed.”

  “Yes, Grandmaster.” Despite her apprehension, Mya marveled at the elegance of the scheme. Controlling the empire both legally and illegally was an unsurpassed coup. She had spent her entire life seeking power as a way to escape fear. Now the Grandmaster was declaring that fear was a means to power. It made a perverted kind of sense. And you’d better get used to it. This is your future, Mya. Your only future…

  “And when you are not obeyed…”

  The blademasters grasped the great bronze rings that hung from the doors and pulled. As the heavy doors swung smoothly outward, the already rank air was defiled by a thick metallic tang so strong that Mya gagged. Lad’s shocked gasp breached her disgust, and she looked into the room.

  Oh, dear gods.

  “…you must deliver punishment.” The Grandmaster strode forward, and they followed into the wide, low-ceilinged room. “Here is where you will learn the true meaning of control.”

  A massive stone pillar centered the circular chamber. To the left and right, lining the curved outer wall, stood various devices with no use other than to deliver agony. A circle of pain… Mya recognized many of the devices from those in the Grandfather’s basement. Over here lay a rack, the gears gleaming and the great wheel well polished. Over there stood a set of stocks, similar to those in the Imperial Plaza, except that the inner edges of the neck and wrist restraints were studded with nails. Right next to her, a solid wooden chair was firmly fastened to the floor, the stout arms tipped with vices that could crush fingers.