Weapon of Fear

by Chris A. Jackson

  “I disagree. We need to know that Tessifus will be our pawn before we eliminate Arbuckle. If we don’t, we’ll be right back where we started. As presumptive heir, he’ll be harder to get to, his sons protected by blademasters and imperial guards. Take them today.”

  “All right, I’ll arrange the abductions.” The lady pressed the tip of the blade against the edge of her vanity until it clicked back into hiding, then slipped the shoe onto her foot. “Do we send him one of them in pieces to make our point?”

  “I don’t think so. At least, not yet, but warn the duke not to go to the authorities.” He continued pacing, his mind racing ahead. “Separate them and treat them well; one of them will be our next Grandmaster. We have to choose the right one, but that can wait until after we remove Arbuckle.”

  “Killing the crown prince isn’t as easy as that.” Lady T pursed her lips and applied lip rouge. “Setting it up properly will take time, and Arbuckle can do a lot of damage before he dies. If he gets enough nobles to back him—”

  “He won’t. I’ll see to that. Contact your operative inside the palace and start the ball rolling.”

  “If the prince dies there’ll be unrest.” She reached for a dark eye pencil. “The commoners won’t be easily subdued, now that they think they’ve got rights.”

  “You worry too much about that, Tara. With the military on one side of the river and the Assassin’s Guild on the other, they’ll have no safe haven. I’ll work on making sure the provincial dukes will oppose Arbuckle, and you work on killing him.”

  “Have you contacted the other guildmasters yet?”

  “Yes. Everyone’s on board except Twailin. I’m meeting with their interim guildmaster today.”

  “And they have no problem with you presuming to order them around?”

  Hoseph smiled at her sarcasm. “They’re not as obstinate as you.” He clutched Demia’s talisman and concentrated on Lad’s townhouse in Twailin. He had a feeling this was all going to work out perfectly.

  Chapter VI

  Dee peered out the parlor window onto the busy street. Carriages trundled down the cobblestoned street, and gentry strolled the sidewalks. No robed acolytes in sight. No Hoseph.

  “Stop fidgeting, Dee.” Sereth leaned against the fireplace mantel as if he hadn’t a care in the world, arms folded, his head tilted as if listening to a quiet strain of music.

  “I’m not fidgeting. I’m watching.” In truth, Dee was nervous, and resented the ease with which the Master Blade perceived his apprehension. Though Hoseph was late, more troubling to Dee was that he had no idea what Sereth was going to do. The Blade had been tight-lipped since his arrival, his face passive. He had even sent Dee to fetch a pot of blackbrew and pastries, as if they awaited a friend and not some killer priest who lusted for their master’s blood.

  What if Hoseph offers Sereth the guildmaster position, and he accepts? Dee’s stomach roiled as he unobtrusively checked the dagger inside his jacket. He wasn’t much of a killer, but anyone who could appear from nowhere and kill with a touch made him nervous. Why isn’t Sereth nervous?

  “Dee.” Sereth nodded toward the open parlor door.

  Dee turned to see a darkening of the air in the foyer. The shadow thickened into a black cloud that coalesced into a man. He’d already seen Hoseph’s vaporous departure once, but gaped no less at his arrival. Could he pop in anywhere? Dee glanced at Sereth, but the Blade still leaned casually with arms folded.

  Hoseph looked around with a flash of annoyance before he caught sight of them. He strode into the parlor, eyes on Sereth. “You must be Master Blade Sereth.”

  Sereth nodded once in acknowledgement. “And you’re Hoseph, I presume.”

  “Yes.” Hoseph flicked a glance in Dee’s direction. “Has he told you why I’ve come?”

  “He told me some, but frankly it’s pretty unbelievable.” Sereth waved Hoseph to a seat on one side of the low table and took the opposite chair. “I’d like to hear from you exactly what happened and what you expect of me.”

  Hoseph smiled without humor. “What happened is that Guildmaster Lad and Master Hunter Mya murdered the Grandmaster.”

  Sereth’s brow knitted. “Dee gave me that much, but I’m afraid I don’t see how it could be true. Both Lad and Mya wore rings.” He raised his left hand, where a band of obsidian encircled his smallest finger. “They could no sooner attack the Grandmaster, than I could.”

  “Nevertheless, they killed the Grandmaster and five of his bodyguards.”

  “Only five bodyguards?” The Master Blade looked surprised. “Didn’t you know about Lad?”

  Hoseph waved dismissively. “Of course we knew about Lad. Mya, however, was a surprise. What can you tell me about her? She’s obviously enhanced in some way. Does she possess some talisman? What’s her weakness?”

  “She’s fond of sweet rolls.” Dee said it before he could stop himself.

  Hoseph cast Dee a scathing glance.

  “Don’t mind him.” Sereth chuckled and waved dismissively, setting off another alarm in Dee’s head. He’d never seen Sereth laugh. “Dee’s not very bright, but he does know everyone’s favorite noshes, and makes great blackbrew.”

  Dee’s face burned. Something wasn’t right with the way Sereth was pandering to this priest. Dee left the window and approached Sereth and Hoseph, bending to pour them each a cup of blackbrew. The steamy aroma gave him an idea. If I throw hot blackbrew in Hoseph’s face…

  “Tell me about Mya,” Hoseph insisted. “What’s her background and training? Where might she go to ground if she were on the run?”

  Sereth barked a laugh. “She looks great in a tight pair of pants, but that’s really all I know about her. Hunters aren’t like real assassins. They’re better at looking up addresses than doing the actual dirty work that’s the lifeblood of this guild. I tell you what. I’ll ask around and see what her people can tell me about her.”

  Dee hesitated, the pot of blackbrew heavy in his hand. What the hells is he talking about? Sereth knew that the Hunters were intrinsic to the success of the guild. And as for information about Mya, Dee knew more about her than anyone. So why would he…

  You idiot! Realization struck, and he put the pot down. He’s plying Hoseph for information.

  Ashamed that he had mistrusted the Master Blade, Dee proffered the tray of pastries to the priest with an insipid smile.

  Hoseph ignored him and focused on Sereth. “Good! We’ve got to hunt these traitors down and eliminate them.”

  “So…you don’t know where they are now?”

  “If I knew that, they’d already be dead!” The priest looked annoyed.

  Sereth shrugged as he picked up his cup of blackbrew. “Anything you can tell me will help in my search.”

  “Mya is still in Tsing, but Lad may already be dead. If true, that’s half of our problem solved, but I think it’s safer to assume that he’s still alive. If he returns to Twailin, kill him.”

  Dee struggled to hold the tray steady at the news. Lad dead? Sereth lowered his eyes to his steaming cup and sipped. When the Master Blade spoke again, his tone was no longer deferential, but sharp.

  “Let me get this straight. Lad and Mya allegedly killed the Grandmaster—“

  “There’s nothing alleged about it. They killed him.”

  “So you say.”

  Hoseph’s eyes narrowed. “No, I know it to be fact. I was there!”

  “Then you should have no problem telling me how they managed it.”

  “I didn’t witness the actual killing. I left to get help. That’s not important!” Hoseph’s face flushed. “All you need to know is what I’ve already told you. Lad and Mya killed the Grandmaster, which makes them traitors to this guild! The sentence for treason is death.”

  Sereth leaned back in his chair and crossed his arms as he stared at the priest. “You keep saying that, but you have no proof. Let me tell you what I think happened. For some reason, you didn’t want Lad to discover the truth behind his wife’
s murder, so you killed Baron Patino, then tried to kill Lad’s informant. Now you’re trying to pin blame for the Grandmaster’s death on Lad and Mya. Maybe you killed your master. I notice you don’t wear a ring…”

  “You’ve been digging into matters beyond your ken, Master Blade Sereth.” Hoseph’s sneer belied his seeming sincerity. “You asked what I expect from you. I expect you to follow orders. I expect you to kill Lad.”

  “On whose authority?”

  “What?” The priest’s eyes bulged, his jaw trembling at Sereth’s simple question.

  “On whose authority are you ordering me to hunt down my own guildmaster?”

  “As the Grandmaster’s representative I—”

  “You are nothing.” Sereth’s interruption dropped Hoseph’s jaw. “You’re a dead man’s assistant! You giving me orders is no different from Dee giving me orders if Lad was indeed dead. I don’t take orders from assistants!”

  “The Grandmaster—”

  “—is dead. Which makes you the right hand of no one.” Sereth smiled, but there was no humor in it. “I owe allegiance to only two people: my guildmaster and the Grandmaster. According to you, the Grandmaster is dead, so until there’s a new one appointed, I take orders only from Lad.”

  Dee watched Hoseph closely, shifting his grip on the pastry tray to use it as a shield. According to Lad, the priest could kill with a touch.

  “You…traitor!” Hoseph bolted up from his seat, one clenched fist glowing with a pearly light.

  Sereth’s piercing whistle startled both Dee and the priest. Before Hoseph could move, assassins appeared from behind draperies, cabinets and closed doors, crossbows leveled at the priest’s chest. Closer at hand, two daggers slipped from Sereth’s sleeves, ready to fly into the priest’s throat. Dee stepped back from the field of fire in case Sereth gave the order.

  Hoseph seethed with impotent rage. “You’ve betrayed your guild, all of you! Your lives are forfeit!”

  “Our lives are our guildmaster’s to spend, not yours! You’re not even an assassin! Go back to wherever you came from and try to sell your story, but you have no authority here.”

  “You will die for this!” With the same flick of the hand and flash of silver Dee had noticed before, Hoseph dissolved in a cloud of swirling black smoke.

  Dee dropped the tray with a clatter and leaned back against the sideboard, heaving a deep breath to steady his knees. Assistants didn’t often have to deal with killer priests.

  “I guess I just kicked the hornet’s nest, didn’t I?” Sereth slid his daggers back into the sheaths hidden in his sleeves. “That’s one way to—”

  A shadow coalesced behind Sereth, and from it emerged an enraged Hoseph, glowing hand extended. As he reached for the back of the unsuspecting Blade’s neck, Dee lunged. “Sereth!”

  The Master Blade twisted, but Dee slammed into Hoseph before he could bestow the lethal touch. They landed hard, and Dee rolled away from priest’s deadly grasp. Crossbows fired, but the dark mist had already writhed forth. Bolts pierced the dissipating cloud, but only thudded into the floor where Hoseph had been.

  “Dee!” Sereth grabbed him by the arm and heaved him up. “You all right?”

  “Well, I’m not dead, anyway.” He winced at the pain in his shoulder where he’d hit the floor.

  “Thanks for keeping him off of me.” Sereth patted Dee’s jacket right where the assistant’s blade was concealed. “You might try a dagger next time.”

  “I’d have missed.” Dee straightened his coat.

  Sereth snapped his fingers, and his Blades fanned out. “Stay sharp. He could appear anywhere. If he does, don’t wait for an order, just skewer him.”

  “You sent me for blackbrew to place your Blades, didn’t you?”

  The corner of the Master Blade’s mouth twitched. “I couldn’t afford to have you give them away. You’re not as good at hiding your emotions as you think you are. But forget that. Send runners to the other masters. Tell them everything. I’m putting the whole guild on alert. Anyone with families should see to their safety.”

  “Your wife?”

  “Jinny’s already in a safe house.” Sereth looked grim. “I thought this might go badly.”

  “What about Lad and Mya? Do you think Lad’s really dead?”

  Sereth shook his head. “I don’t know what or who could kill Lad, but we’ll assume he’s alive until we learn otherwise. The problem is, Hoseph has the rest of the guild hunting them, so they’ll be on the run. How do we find them?”

  “Lad will go to his family.” Dee knew that as well as he knew anything. He’d watched Lad stare out from his balcony toward the Westmarket district where the Tap and Kettle stood, where his daughter, Lissa, lived with her grandparents and uncles. “He’ll want to protect them.”

  Sereth nodded. “Jingles has standing orders to watch over them. I’ll have him double the guard and they can warn Lad if he shows up. The problem will be getting get word to Mya. Hoseph said she was in Tsing. It’s a big city.”

  “You want to help Mya?”

  Sereth looked surprised. “Of course. Why would you think I wouldn’t?”

  “The guild factions have been…estranged for years. It wasn’t too long ago that your master was trying to kill Mya.”

  Sereth shook his head firmly. “Horice was an idiot. Lad was right about one thing; working together is the only way to get things done. So if Mya has a problem, we all have a problem. I think Hoseph made that abundantly clear.”

  Dee smiled, grateful that Mya wasn’t to be tossed to the wolves, then sobered when he considered the situation. “Why would she stay in Tsing?”

  “I don’t know.” Sereth chewed his lip, then his eyes widened. “If they did kill the Grandmaster…you don’t suppose she took the ring, do you?”

  “I…don’t know.” Dee’s mind spun anew.

  “Well, we’ve got to send someone to find her, if for no other reason than to find out what really happened. I still don’t understand how they could kill the Grandmaster. Get a good horse and pack light; you’ll want to travel fast.”

  “Me?” Dee swallowed hard. “I’m…not much of an assassin.”

  “You signed a blood contract, so you’re an assassin. What’s more, you’re a Hunter, so you know how to find information and people. You also worked for Mya for years, and know her better than anyone. Besides, did you think I was asking? Until Lad’s back, I’m Twailin’s guildmaster, and I’m ordering you to go.”

  “Um…of course, sir.”

  “Good. Now send those runners, then make arrangements for your trip. I want you on the road tomorrow morning.” Sereth whirled away, barking out commands to his Blades.

  Dee hurried out of the parlor, his mind flicking through the tasks he needed to accomplish before his trip. If he was to have any chance of finding Mya in Tsing, there was one person he needed to talk to.

  “Milord! This is unprecedented!”

  “No it’s not, Chief Magistrate. Read your history.” Arbuckle scrawled his signature on the last of the edicts he’d had drawn up. Pressing the imperial signet ring to the bottom of the parchment, he felt a slight tingle as its weak magic impressed an indelible seal on the paper, ratifying its authenticity. This ring was the only one of his father’s that he consented to wear. “The Articles of the Foundation grant the senior noble final judgment in all cases and the right to pardon those convicted of crimes. Effective immediately, I’ll review all judgments and sentences.”

  “That makes a mockery of the judiciary!” Graving clenched his hands at his sides, quivering in rage.

  “The mockery is what currently passes as justice in this realm!” Arbuckle stifled his temper. “I may not be able to change the laws yet, but I can nullify unfair judgments on a case-by-case basis.”

  The chief magistrate rocked back on his heels, seeming to gather his resolve and gird his temper. “Milord Prince, I’m sure you have more important things to do with your time than review commoner court cases. With the re
cent unrest, there are hundreds!”

  “Only hundreds?” Arbuckle handed the signed edict to Tennison with a wry smile. “Then it’s not as bad as I feared. And what better use of my time than assuring that justice is served for all my subjects?”

  “But the law—”

  “The law is draconian and abusive!” He bit back his tirade. There was no point in it. “But as you pointed out, I can’t change it yet. The Articles of the Foundation do, however, allow me to pass final judgment.”

  “I know the Articles, milord!” Graving’s face flushed from crimson to almost purple.

  “Good! Perhaps you’ll start instituting them.” Arbuckle clenched his teeth to avoid saying something he would later regret. “I won’t argue about this. You’re dismissed, Chief Magistrate Graving.”

  “You can’t dismiss me!” Graving sputtered. “Only the emperor can appoint or dismiss magistrates!”

  “I didn’t mean permanently.” Arbuckle smiled with an utter lack of amity. “Not yet, anyway. I meant that I have much to do, so you may leave now.”

  Quivering with rage, the chief magistrate whirled and stalked out of the audience chamber. The crown prince ignored the insult; no commoner would dare present their back to a monarch. No matter. I’m not emperor yet. As the tension of the encounter waned, Arbuckle longed to close his eyes and lay his head to the table. He had spent half the night poring through tomes of law and history, rooting out precedents for the changes he wanted to make. Unfortunately, there was still work to be done.

  “What next, Tennison?”

  “Your missive to the provincial dukes, Milord Prince.” The secretary handed over another sheet of parchment.

  “Good. I’d like this to get out right away. Please summon Archmage Duveau while I read it through.”

  “Yes, Milord Prince.”

  Arbuckle had drafted the missive that morning, then given it to Tennison to be copied fair and embellished with the requisite official flourishes. It laid out the essence of his edicts and instructed the dukes to review all judgments levied by their magistrates to ensure evenhanded justice. It also required them to submit to Arbuckle reports enumerating the number of cases, the judgements, and sentences. His orders wouldn’t be popular, but they were necessary. He read it through twice and was approving it with his signet ring when Tennison returned.