Weapon of Fear

by Chris A. Jackson

  The last lines of the note made his blood run cold.

  High Priest Hoseph is their ringleader. He seeks to regain the power he lost with the death of your father. They plan to employ Archmage Duveau to kill you. We don’t know how or when, but the attempt will be before you are crowned emperor.

  “Duveau?” Arbuckle couldn’t believe it, didn’t want to believe it. The archmage was the most accomplished wizard in the empire. How could anyone defend against someone of that power?

  The answer to that question was simple, something Arbuckle had learned from innumerable history books. It was the reason the Imperial Retinue of Wizards had been assembled in the first place: Fight magic with magic.

  Martial your allies, keep them close…

  Arbuckle went to his desk and penned a note. To martial his allies, he had to be sure exactly who they were. The list of people he trusted implicitly was very short indeed.

  Dee bolted awake at Knock’s bellow. A pearly glow filled the room.

  Hoseph!

  The glow disappeared with the sound of a meaty crack, then a crash and gasp as someone hit the wall.

  Dee lunged, struggling to free himself from the sheets and reach the crossbow propped against the night table. As his hand closed on the weapon’s stock, his foot caught in the sheet and he tumbled to the floor.

  “Pax!”

  Cursing his clumsiness, Dee fought to his feet and aimed the crossbow at the crumpled bundle of dark cloaks against the wall. Then Knock stepped in his way, her club raised high. Before the blow fell or Dee could tell the girl to move, a pulse of deeper darkness slammed through him.

  Moirin died in his arms… His father shouted in rage, his belt lashing… Mother’s bloody split lip… Cruel laughter as his dagger misses the target…

  Every dark moment of Dee’s life—ridicule, loss, failure— crushed his soul. His knees folded, and he pitched forward onto the bed. The stock of the crossbow smacked him in the mouth, and the familiar tang of blood touched his tongue.

  Knock’s anguished wail shivered the air, drawing his gaze. The girl dropped her club and fell to her knees. Her eyes swam with horrors unknown. Dee dared not guess what haunted the poor girl so; his own humiliations were bad enough.

  From amidst a rumpled pile of robes, Hoseph struggled to his feet. The pearly glow flared again, and the priest reached down for Knock.

  No.

  Dee squeezed the crossbow’s trigger.

  The bolt vanished into the dark robes, and Hoseph staggered back, gasping. The glow vanished from his hand, plunging the room into darkness. Dee’s despair eased, allowing him to fumble for another bolt. Recalling how Hoseph blinked in behind Sereth, he flung himself back against the wall, his hands working mechanically, cocking and fitting the bolt in the crossbow by touch. He shouldered the weapon and scanned the darkness, his fingers trembling on the trigger, waiting for that pearly glow.

  Nothing. No light, no sound save Knock’s soft sobbing and the thunder of footsteps outside in the hall.

  “Dee?” A key rattled in the door’s lock.

  Dee lowered his crossbow as lamplight swept in. Paxal stood there with several urchins. Some stared at him, others stared at Knock curled in a fetal ball on the floor, sobbing and rocking back and forth. Gimp stared at something beside the bed, out of Dee’s sight.

  “Oh, no.” Dee vaulted over the bed. Tiny lay there as still as a stone. Dee touched the skinny chest, probed the side of the thin neck, but felt no pulse. The boy’s heart had stopped. Hoseph… “Gods take that sonofabitch and send him to the hottest hell there is!”

  “He dead?” Gimp jostled her friend’s shoulder to no effect.

  “Knock!” Kit rushed in and wrapped her arms around her friend’s heaving shoulders.

  More urchins arrived, feet pounding on the wooden floors. Pax handed his lamp to Nestor. “Dee! What happened?”

  “Hoseph.” Dee stood, his teeth clenched so hard he could feel his pounding heart between them. “Knock saved my life, but Tiny must have been in the way. Is everyone else okay?”

  Paxal looked around. “Everyone’s here but Mya. She’s still out.”

  “I was just in the kitchen with Twigs havin’ a bite.” Nestor stared down at Tiny in horror. “We didn’t see nothin’.”

  “How’d he get up here without us hearin’?” Twigs gripped his sticks so hard his knuckles turned white. “Doors are still locked closed.”

  “He must have used magic to get in. I’ve seen him do it before.” Dee rose and went to where Hoseph had stood and reached to turn up his bedside lamp. “Knock tagged him with her club, but then he did…something. Some spell or curse that knocked both of us flat. He was going to kill Knock, and I…” Kneeling, he felt around, found a wet spot. Dabbing it with a finger, he examined it in the lamplight and confirmed his suspicion. Blood. “Yes, I put a crossbow bolt into him, but he got away.”

  “I’m thinkin’ we got away.” Paxal’s frown made him look old. He knelt beside Gimp and lay a hand on little Tiny. “Or most of us did.”

  Chapter XXIII

  In the Sphere of Shadow, he felt no pain. Of course, that made returning to the real world a dread, for Hoseph knew there would be pain aplenty waiting for him. His arm was broken, and the assassin’s shot had struck him in the side of his hip, the iron head lodged in bone. Neither injury would kill him right away, and Demia’s grace would heal his wounds in time, but the bolt would have to be removed.

  Where to go?

  Could he trust anyone? The authorities were still searching for him, and there would be questions at any temple in the city. What about another city? There would still be questions, surely, but at least his likeness wasn’t pinned to the posterboards empire-wide…yet. Then there was the matter of trust; someone was going to have to cut the bolt out of his hip. Who did he trust to hold that knife?

  Lady T?

  Did he trust her to cut the bolt from his hip? He had botched her perfect setup. The guildmaster might just pull the bolt and stick it in his heart for failing to kill Mya.

  No. Hoseph dared trust no one but himself. That left him only one option.

  Pain snatched the breath from his lungs as he returned to the real world, safe in the guild archive. His right arm hung limp, the bone broken just below his shoulder, but he could still flex his fingers. Rest and Demia’s grace would suffice to heal it, but he couldn’t wait for the pain to ease before he tended to his other, more serious wound.

  The crossbow bolt had struck him in the left side, and putting weight on that leg sent agony lancing through his hip. Struggling to keep from screaming with every movement, he lit a lamp and eased himself down onto the chair at the desk. Here, the tools he used to prepare scrolls for inscription lay gleaming and awaiting his need.

  The scissors intended to trim fine vellum worked equally well to cut his robe from around the crossbow bolt. Hoseph gritted his teeth, careful not to bump the bolt as he worked or move his broken arm. Once the bloody material was cut free, a cleaning rag wiped away the blood.

  Gingerly, Hoseph probed the wound. The shaft protruded from his flesh just above of the hip joint. The bleeding wasn’t bad, thank Demia, but the head of the bolt had lodged in bone. Just touching the shaft felt like a knife being twisted in his hip. And he couldn’t just pull it out; if the head was barbed, it would snare muscle and skin. It had to be cut free. Hoseph uttered a prayer for strength, and felt Demia’s grace steady his hand and still his fears.

  I must do this.

  He picked up his razor from his kit and checked its edge. It was made for shaving, not for parting flesh, but it would do. Next he placed a roll blank vellum between his teeth. It wasn’t likely that anyone would hear his screams, but he couldn’t take any risks. Biting down hard, he positioned the razor’s edge where the bolt’s shaft met his skin.

  With a deep breath and another prayer to Demia, he pressed the blade into his flesh.

  His scream didn’t quite escape the vellum, and the soft materi
al saved his teeth. When the edge of the razor met bone, he dropped the blade and plunged his fingers into the bleeding wound, probing for the head of the bolt. Dark blood flowed freely, slickening his fingers, but he could feel the barbed head. His incision had freed it of tissue, but the tip was buried deep in bone. Gripping the steel head as best he could, he pulled, but his fingers slipped and the shaft remained lodged in place.

  Dizziness threatened to overwhelm him, darkness edging into his vision. No! Please, Demia! Give me strength! If he fainted and fell out of his chair, the bolt might break and he would be even worse off. He should have lain on his pallet to do this, but couldn’t move now.

  His vision cleared, but still, he couldn’t get a grip on the bolt to pull it free. He’d have to use both hands.

  Moving his broken arm sent more pain lancing through him, but he was able to grip the shaft. Slowly, careful not to break it off, he levered the bolt back and forth. Every movement elicited agonizing stabs through his arm and leg. Closing his eyes against the torture and biting down to stifle his screams, he pried the bolt’s iron head free from bone and flung the bloody shaft aside.

  Yes!

  The agony eased to mere pain, and he could breathe again, he could think. Hoseph clapped the bloody rag onto the wound to staunch the bleeding and let the roll of vellum fall from his mouth.

  Rest now. I need rest. That’s all. The priest pushed himself up out of the chair and took a step toward his bedroll. Standing, however, turned out to be a bad idea. Darkness swam up from the floor to overwhelm him. For a moment, Hoseph wondered how this could be; he hadn’t invoked Demia’s talisman. He felt himself falling, but not into the Sphere of Shadow. His bedroll felt as hard as stone when he hit, but his mind was already spinning away into a black pit of oblivion.

  Mya tapped the Gnome on the shoulder when they crossed into Midtown. “I don’t need to go back across the river. Follow me, and I’ll get you your money, then you can you take this thing off my neck.”

  “Eh?” He squinted up at her. “You live north of the river now?”

  “Yes.” Mya grinned down at him. A few hours ago, his knowing where she lived would have bothered her, but he’d done right by her, kept their bargain, helped her warn the prince. “You followed me to the Tin Dulcimer, didn’t you?”

  “Aye.” He grinned back. “Ye said to check into yer claims. I was just bein’ careful.”

  “So follow me now, and I’ll get your money.”

  “Ye can keep yer money.” He muttered a word in gnomish and the metal encircling her neck expanded.

  Surprised, Mya slipped the ring over her head and handed it to him. “Thanks, but I’ll pay you what we agreed on. Nothing personal, but I don’t like to owe anyone favors.”

  “Ye don’t owe me nothin’.” The Gnome shrugged. “Ye already paid plenty by savin’ that blue blood’s life.”

  A thief who doesn’t want money… Mya couldn’t deny that she could use the funds herself, so she didn’t push it. “Have it your way, as long as were even.”

  “We’re even.”

  She started to turn away, but paused. “You’re not so bad for a thief, Gnome.”

  “Me name’s Torghen.” He muttered another word and put the now-tiny ring into a pocket. “And ye ain’t so bad either, fer a murderer.”

  “Thanks, Torghen.”

  “Think nothin’ of it. Let me know if ye need anthin’ lifted for ye. I get thirty percent of appraised value, and I do the appraisin’.”

  “I will.” Mya didn’t think she’d ever need anything stolen, but one never knew.

  She turned and walked away. When she looked back, Torghen was gone. She wondered if he’d follow her home, and realized that it didn’t really matter. She’d already trusted him with her life.

  Mya only detoured twice on the way home to circumvent patrols of caps. Fatigue and grime from the dusty passages in the palace seemed to have invaded her bones, but she felt good. Maybe she’d saved the prince’s life. She turned her key in the back door, dreaming of a bath and a bed. Inside, however, she found Dee standing in the hall with a loaded crossbow in his hands, the weapon not quite pointed at the door.

  Her stomach lurched at the expression on his face. “What happened?”

  “Hoseph came to kill you while you were out.” He motioned her toward the common room. “You should sit down for this.”

  Dread hollowed her stomach as she followed Dee into the common room. Pax and the urchins sat all around, loaded crossbows in hand, faces like headstones, grim and cold. She looked from one to the next and did a quick count. They were short one urchin. The dread opened into a pit of despair.

  “Who…”

  Paxal nodded to a small, blanket-wrapped bundle. “Tiny got in his way.”

  “Tiny? No!” Mya dropped to her knees beside the bundle, her hands shaking as she reached out.

  “Mya, don’t.” Dee put a hand on her arm. “He’s gone. There’s nothing you can do.”

  Brushing the bundle with her fingertips, she envisioned the little boy and his crooked smile as he offered her food. Then what Paxal said came to her. In the way…

  She’d ordered the urchins to watch over the adults as they slept. Her order had cost Tiny his life. Mya had seen an inordinate amount of death for her years, and dealt no small amount of it herself. She’d even seen dead children before. But never had she caused a child’s death. The pit of despair within her filled with guilt, overflowed, and spilled into her soul.

  “It wasn’t your fault, Mya.” Dee’s hand closed on her arm.

  “It was.” Standing, she brushed off his touch and the tears that had sprung to her eyes. “He was coming after me.”

  “You don’t’ know that,” Paxal said. “He could’ve been after Dee for kickin’ his ass in Twailin.”

  “He was trying to kill me.” Dee shrugged and took a step back from her. “He was in my room.”

  Not likely… Hoseph might kill Dee if he recognized him, but he had been here for Mya. But none of that mattered. Tiny was dead, and it was her fault. She’d accept the responsibility.

  “Tell me what happened. I want details, Dee.”

  “I was sleeping in the third-floor, back-corner room when Knock’s shout woke me. Hoseph was right beside the bed.” Dee swallowed and cleared his throat. “His hand was glowing, but Knock smacked him with her stick. Before I could get a shot at him, he…cast a spell that knocked us both down. It felt like…like my mind had been kicked in the gut.”

  “Like every bad thing that had ever happened to you happened again all at once.” Mya gut clenched as she remembered that feeling.

  “Yes, exactly that.” Dee continued. “Hoseph got up and reached for Knock, and I managed to put a crossbow bolt into him. I don’t think I killed him, but I hit him. There was blood on the rug. He vanished before I could reload, and…then we found Tiny. He was on the floor beside the bed. That’s just about it.”

  Mya’s mind raced. Hoseph knew where she lived. He must have followed her from the teahouse yesterday. But if so, why hadn’t he attacked her last night? It didn’t matter. He’d come here to kill her, and all he’d managed to do was murder a little boy.

  A sudden thought tweaked her mind. Might the priest have learned where she lived from someone else? Torghen? If the gnome had betrayed her, Hoseph would have known she was out tonight… Why would he attack? She looked back at Dee. Was he here to kill Dee? Had he planned to destroy her support system by killing her allies? By killing Tiny? No. She had no way to know why he’d chosen this night to attack, but she felt sure that she’d led him here, and he’d come to kill her. It was her fault.

  There was only one thing to do.

  “Pack everything up. We’re out of here first thing in the morning.” She started for the stairs. “Pax, I’ll need you to find—”

  “We ain’t leavin’.”

  “What?” She turned back. “Who said that?”

  “I did, ma’am.” Digger frowned and shook his head. �
��We never had no place like this before, and we ain’t gonna let nobody run us out.”

  “You don’t understand, Digger. It’s not safe here. We’ve got to leave. If we don’t, Hoseph will come back and one of you might get in his way again. I won’t let that happen.” She looked from face to face, but none of the urchins moved.

  “That’s what I was going to tell you.” Dee dropped into a chair. “I thought we should leave, too, but they all said no.”

  “This isn’t up for a vote! We’re leaving!”

  “There ain’t nothin’ to say he won’t find that place, too. What we gonna do if he does, just run to another?” Digger shook his head. “Nope. Ain’t gonna happen.”

  Mya stared at them in open-mouthed shock. In five years as Master Hunter, never had a subordinate refused an order. Now she was being contravened by a bunch of kids. “We can’t stay! It’s too dangerous!”

  “Everything’s dangerous, Miss Mya.” Gimp bit her lip, looking to her friends, then back to Mya. “You can’t run from it. You gotta face it. You gotta fight it.”

  “Right. That’s why we’re a gang. We fight.” Digger drew his knife, a real dagger this, not a rusty kitchen knife, and buried the tip in the table top. “We don’t run when some rat kills one of us. We kill him right back!”

  “Knock!” Knock slapped her stick into her hand with a loud pop.

  “You can’t fight Hoseph!” Mya bit back the desperation honing her temper. Yelling at them wouldn’t help. “He can blink in anywhere now that he knows where we live.”

  Dee shook his head. “Not anywhere, I think. He was in my room, and the door was still locked, but I don’t think he can just materialize anywhere he wants. The first time he came to Lad’s house, he knocked on the front door. The second time, he appeared in the front hall. I think he has to see where he wants to pop in at least once. Maybe he saw my room through the drapes.”

  “All the more reason we should leave. He’s been in here, and can pop in any time he wants.” Mya raked their faces with a glare. “We can’t fight that!”