Weapon of Vengeance (Weapon of Flesh Trilogy)

by Jackson, Chris A.

  No pain… Not human…

  The blademaster with the broken leg was up—the protruding bone vanishing back into the recently pulped flesh as he slashed.

  We’re in trouble… Their healing would make disabling strikes useless. Lethal strikes…

  As two blades came at her, Mya knew that she couldn’t block both. Realization struck like lightning as she assessed the angles. If she dodged either one, Lad would take a sword in the back. There was no choice to make.

  Steel grated against steel as the reverse-thrust pierced Mya’s corset, plunging through her flesh and emerging from her back. No pain… Gritting her teeth against the madness of allowing herself to be impaled, Mya clapped one hand over the sword’s guard to prevent the blademaster from twisting it and severing her spine. A chop to his wrist with her free hand broke his grip, and a whirling kick deflected the other blade before it could cleave her skull.

  As Mya pirouetted, she drew the blade from her viscera, cold steel slipping through her organs. Lad was still unmarked. He slapped aside thrusts and slashes, keeping his two opponents at bay with flashing kicks. His jacket was slashed, but she saw no blood.

  Thank the gods.

  Mya completed her spin, slashing out with her stolen sword to deflect the predicted attack from the blademaster with the bloody knee. Steel rang, and the stroke passed harmlessly aside. Her other opponent, now swordless, had drawn two daggers, his broken arm also miraculously healed. He raised one dagger to deflect the arc of her slash, while thrusting the other low, inhumanly fast. Fortunately, Mya wasn’t merely human. Altering the sweep of her blade, she intersected the man’s wrist. Hand and dagger tumbled away in a spray of blood. She deliberately took the dagger thrust, though dangerously close to her heart—Not used to fighting monsters, are you?—and sliced her sword back across his neck. With one hand gone and the other trapped by his own thrust, he couldn’t parry.

  The blademaster’s head tumbled away in a crimson fountain.

  Heal that! she thought, wrenching the dagger from her chest to deflect yet another sword thrust. Three to go! A sudden thought occurred to her; something didn’t add up.

  Hoseph…

  Mya twisted to catch a glimpse of the priest. He was still on his feet. Maybe he healed… With his crimson robes, she couldn’t see any blood, but something silver glinted in his hand. She flipped her dagger, and cocked back her hand to throw.

  Blackness pulsed through the room, dimming Mya’s vision and gripping her heart in a vice of despair. Every shred of shame, every regret and horror she’d ever known, vomited forth in a flood of self-loathing. An anguished cry escaped her lips, and she missed a parry. Steel sliced through silk, flesh, and bone, like shears cutting fine linen. Weakness and despair folded her knees as a crimson fountain spouted from her breast.

  Mya watched helplessly as the keen edge of a sword descended toward her face.

  Without Mya’s advantages of healing and immunity to pain, Lad had his hands and feet occupied just keeping steel from his flesh. The blademasters were skilled indeed, and faster than any human. He scored with a kick, smashing a blademaster’s nose, only to watch it instantly heal.

  Magic!

  Lad trapped one thrust between his palms and kicked aside the other’s sweeping slash. The sword twisted in his grasp, and Lad flipped with it, tumbling over the blade with two more lashing kicks. The first landed solidly, breaking the man’s jaw and sending teeth flying, but the second met only air. The toothless blademaster ducked and pirouetted, passing the blade behind his back, while trying to wrench it from Lad’s hands.

  As the other sword descended toward his wrists, Lad yanked to bring the two blades together. The two swords met with a clash. Lad delivered a well-placed kick into the chest of the toothless blademaster, snapping ribs and sending the man crashing into a torture rack. The injury would have put a normal opponent out of action, but Lad knew the man would be back up in seconds. He would have to kill the other quickly.

  Unfortunately, bloody nose had no intention of letting that happen. The swordsman wove his weapon in a complex series of slashes and thrusts that kept Lad from landing a mortal strike. When toothless rejoined the fight, neither Lad nor his opponent had managed to do more than deflect the other’s strikes and mess up their clothing.

  Lad cringed at the particular rasp of steel on steel signifying that Mya’s corset had been penetrated again. If the blade had pierced her heart, the next would probably kill him. He had to trust her, just as she had to trust him.

  Mya’s frilled petticoat brushed the back of his legs as she spun—She’s alive, at least—and he heard the unmistakable clash of one sword deflecting another. As he slapped aside two more thrusts, a warm spray of blood touched the back of his neck, and a disembodied head tumbled past. He felt a peculiar surge of relief that it didn’t wear Mya’s silly little hat.

  A twisting foot sweep tripped both of his opponents, and allowed him a glance toward Mya. One opponent lay headless on the floor, and she held both sword and dagger. We might just have a—

  A flash of blackness took him by surprise.

  In that instant, everyone he’d murdered, every guard and noble the Grandfather had forced him to kill, cried for mercy in his mind. Wiggen died in his arms once again, her bewildered face staring up at him in the rain, tearing his heart from his chest. The worst moments of his life… But Lad had long ago come to grips with the killings; Wiggen’s love had healed him, absolving him of guilt. And, oddly, her loss was still so fresh, so raw in his memory, that he experienced her death every time he closed his eyes. Even magic couldn’t break an already broken heart. He shook off the momentary disorientation.

  Lad’s opponents seemed unaffected, and lunged in simultaneous attacks. He intercepted both strikes, slapping one blade aside and kicking the other blademaster’s wrist away. A gut-wrenching cry of anguish shivered up his spine, followed by the rip of steel parting silk, flesh, and bone.

  Mya!

  Lads leapt up and back, lashing out to kick his two opponents and propel himself backward. Arching his back, he caught sight of Mya and her opponent. Blood sprayed from Mya’s lacerated torso, and an expression of desolation wracked her features. Her hands hung limp, weapons useless, as her opponent’s sword arced toward her upturned face.

  “No!”

  As he flipped over their heads, Lad clapped his palms together on the blademaster’s sword, stopping it mere inches from Mya’s brow. His momentum jerked the sword back over the blademaster’s head. When his feet met the floor again, Lad stood facing the man’s back, the curved sword locked above their heads, neither willing to relinquish their grasp.

  Lad couldn’t see Mya—the blademaster’s broad shoulders blocked his view—but the clash of steel on steel told him she lived. But how long, weakened by so much blood loss?

  Hoseph’s voice drew Lad’s gaze. The Grandmaster stood well away from the fight, clutching his bloody dagger, disbelief painting his features. To his right, familiar tendrils of dark mist slithered forth to engulf Hoseph. The priest was fleeing, leaving his master behind.

  Coward…

  Lad’s opponent wrenched his sword, drawing him back to the fight. Lad tried to trip him, to no avail. A waft of chill air touched the back of his neck.

  There should be nothing behind me.

  A memory: swirling black mists in Norwood’s hallway coalescing into a red-robed figure, one hand outstretched and glowing with death magic…

  Hoseph!

  Lad couldn’t release his grip on the sword without giving the blademaster an opening to cut Mya down, but his feet were free. The rustle of robes and scuff of a shoe gave him a target for a backward kick. His foot smashed into something solid, and he felt bone splinter with the impact. A glance over his shoulder showed the priest tumbling backward over one of the stone slabs. He landed with a solid thud, and didn’t get up.

  The Grandmaster spat a curse and strode forward, the bloody kris held before him.

  With Lad
’s hands locked on the sword above his head, he couldn’t dodge. He also couldn’t block or strike the Grandmaster. Lad had no defense against that blade. If he released the blademaster’s weapon, he would either be cut down or doom Mya to the same fate. He had to kill the blademaster before he could evade the Grandmaster, but he needed one hand free to do that, and grasping a sword one-handed was perilous.

  Think like an assassin, Lad…

  Shifting his grip, Lad wrapped his left hand around the blade. His opponent sensed the shift and wrenched the sword hard. Lad gritted his teeth as the edge cut to the bone, but held his grip. With his free hand, he retrieved a tiny vial from under his ridiculous cravat.

  Thank you, Enola…

  Lad had brought the toxin for himself—he would never be a slave again—but now he had a better use. Putting the glass vial between his teeth, careful not to bite too hard, he twisted off the cap and stabbed the envenomed needle into the blademaster’s neck. As the kris lashed out at him, he spat out the vial and dodged, releasing his grip on the sword. The blademaster jerked hard as he felt his weapon freed. Agony lanced through Lad’s hand, and blood rained down as he twisted away from the Grandmaster’s dagger.

  The blademaster stumbled, his sword falling from nerveless fingers as the stonefish toxin stopped his heart. His mouth gaped silently, a look of utter astonishment on his face as he pitched forward, dead.

  Lad clutched his injured hand to his side as he whirled around to confront the Grandmaster.

  “How dare you!” The Grandmaster cursed, but then suddenly stopped, his gaze dropping to the floor.

  There, in a splatter of blood beside the dead blademaster, lay three of Lad’s fingers. On one of them glittered a circle of obsidian and gold.

  Chapter XXV

  Hands clapped onto the sword before Mya’s eyes.

  Lad…

  The pall of despair vanished from Mya’s mind as she watched her angel of deliverance arc overhead. Her would-be killer’s arms flew up, and the two men stood struggling over the sword that would have ended her life. Blood loss weakened her limbs, but she gripped her stolen blades with cold fury. She could gut the blademaster in an instant.

  The thump of a boot from behind changed Mya’s strategy. Her blades flashed up in a blind crossing parry behind her back. Instinct served her well. Steel met steel, gifting her one more moment of life. She spun on her knees and parried another stroke with the quillons of her dagger, a diagonal slash that reverberated up her arm.

  Weakness… I’m alive…but for how long? Mya no longer had the advantage of greater strength, but she was still faster…maybe.

  The force of the blow sent her careening aside. She took the impact on her shoulder, and flung her legs around in a flat arc. Her kick swept the legs from under one opponent, but he was already rolling to his feet by the time Mya regained her stance.

  She caught a glimpse of swirling black mists—Hoseph!—but couldn’t look away from the fight. As she parried four lightning-quick attacks, the crunch of breaking bones and the thump of a body crashing to the floor gave her hope. The Grandmaster’s curses drew a glance from one of her foes. Mya lunged, but an intervening blade deflected her stroke.

  At the clang of a sword hitting the floor behind her, the two blademasters shared a glance. One nodded, and they shifted to each side. Instead of looking at Mya, they looked past her. They were trying to flank her to reach Lad.

  Oh, no you don’t! Whirling in a desperate attempt to engage both of them, she glimpsed Lad. He stood too far away to cover her back. He’d broken their bond of mutual protection.

  The blademasters circled her in opposite directions, forcing her choose. If she attacked one, the other could attack Lad. She couldn’t stop them both. Suddenly one lunged, demanding all her skill. The other turned toward Lad, sword raised. Two steps would bring his blade down on Lad’s head, yet the Twailin guildmaster paid his attacker no heed. His attention was riveted on the Grandmaster.

  What the hell’s he doing?

  “Lad!” Mya flipped her dagger and threw, but the blade was deflected even as it left her fingers.

  Lad turned, and she saw his mangled hand. He wouldn’t last long with an injury like that. Lunging desperately, Mya tried to get past her opponent, only to be forced back. It came down to a contest between his swordsmanship and her speed. Her mind scurried frantically for any way to put that advantage to use, but came up blank. She was an assassin, not a swordswoman.

  So think like one!

  Mya threw her sword at the blademaster’s head, and launched herself. He parried the blade easily, but in doing so brought his sword high, opening himself to her sprawling body check. They fell hard, and Mya quickly rolled away. She came up with her back pressed against the slab where Keisha lay. Beside her glittered the tray of implements that had caused the thief so much agony.

  Mya snatched up a steel spike used to split finger bones, then flung the rest of the tray into the blademaster’s face. It would only delay him for a moment, but a moment was all she needed. Turning, Mya hurled the spike with all her strength at the blademaster facing Lad. It pierced his skull with a crack, and he fell at Lad’s feet.

  Lad gaped at her, his mouth opening to form a word, but his warning wasn’t necessary. Mya knew what the move had cost her. She’d thrown away all her weapons, and with her back against the blood-soaked slab, she couldn’t maneuver.

  Everybody dies…

  Steel flashed down.

  Mya jerked away to keep the blade from cleaving her skull, but couldn’t evade the stroke entirely. The razor edge clipped an inch from her hair before slashing down through her shoulder…her clavicle…into her chest. Her left arm went numb. Blood sprayed from the gaping wound, blinding her left eye, but she felt no pain, only weakness. Her mind sparked with one more gambit. Grabbing the haft of the sword, she squeezed with all her waning strength, trapping the blademaster’s hand. He tried to pull free, but she held fast.

  Her wrappings slithered back together, pulling the sagging third of her torso back into position. The wound closed around the sword in her chest, the bones clicking into place as muscles and sinews mended. Her left arm tingled and came to life. Coughing up bloody froth, she grinned at her opponent with a monster’s cold triumph.

  No fear, no pain, no mercy…

  She had him.

  The blademaster reached for the dagger at his belt, but Mya was faster. She kicked him in the crotch with every ounce of her flagging strength.

  The impact lifted him off the floor to the sound of cracking bones, both her instep and his pelvis. The shock sent the dagger clattering away, and his grip on the sword failed. Mya planted a second kick in his midriff before he touched the floor, and he folded over, gagging as he hit the ground. Before he could recover, she slipped his sword from her chest and sliced the finely honed edge through his neck.

  Done…

  Mya collapsed to her knees, coughing blood and gasping for breath. She lacked the strength to lift her head, but managed to raise her eyes. Lad stood facing the Grandmaster, the only person they couldn’t kill. She coughed again and spat, surveying the death around them, and wondered if it had all been for nothing.

  “Lad!”

  He whirled at Mya’s warning, realizing at once his grave error. The shock of seeing his guildmaster ring lying on the floor had clouded his mind with vengeance. Vengeance for Wiggen, vengeance for his own creation, vengeance for an empire ruled by terror… He’d forgotten one of his first lessons. Never get distracted during combat. Remember!

  His distraction may have cost them their lives.

  Mya fought desperately to rejoin him, to no avail. Her strength was flagging, and her slashed and bloody dress impeded her movement. The blademaster she faced wielded his sword with far greater skill.

  Lad focused on his own opponent’s attack. His injured hand throbbed, and he couldn’t even make a fist due to his missing fingers. He thought desperately for some advantage. Enola’s vial of poison lay som
ewhere in the mire of blood on the floor. If he could find it, maybe…

  From the corner of his eye, Lad spied Mya tackle the blademaster. What’s she— Another slash snapped his attention back to the fight. He cursed himself for glancing away. Focus! He lashed out with a kick in an attempt to gain some ground so he could search for the poison vial.

  Metal clattered, and Lad caught a glimpse of a gleaming shaft flying through the air. An instant later, it pierced his opponent’s skull. As the man fell, Lad stared beyond him…just as steel slashed down toward Mya.

  No!

  The sword sliced through her shoulder into her chest. Blood sprayed; the wound looked mortal. If it had reached her heart…

  Lad gaped, stunned. Why? Mya had sacrificed herself for him. It doesn’t make sense, unless… Sudden memories of her actions, her words, and evasions came to him. It can’t be.

  Then Mya reached up to grasp the haft of the sword, and the horrible wound closed. Her face shone deathly pale, but the blade had not reached her heart. Lad stared in wonder as she dispatched her foe with a masterful combination of kicks, and a final slash of the blade. She collapsed to her knees, coughing blood, but alive.

  She’s alive… With that relief, calm settled over Lad’s mind, and a new imperative took hold.

  Vengeance.

  Lad turned to face the most powerful man in the world: Emperor, Grandmaster, the instrument of so much terror, the ultimate source of all Lad’s anguish… He glanced down at his severed fingers and the ring upon the floor. He was no longer a slave.

  “Don’t touch me!” Emperor Tynean Tsing II backed away, the bloody kris held out before him. “You can’t touch me!”

  “I can touch you.” Lad stepped forward, grimacing at the pain in his hand, but determined to finish this. “I can more than touch you. I can kill you.”

  “I’m emperor! You can’t kill me! I’ll…” His eyes darted around like two cornered rats. “I’ve a thousand loyal guards in the palace! You’ll never get out of here alive!”