Weapon of Flesh (Weapon of Flesh Trilogy)

by Jackson, Chris A.

  “I don’t do spells like that!” he complained. “The only spells I know are runes. My magic is cast with pen and ink, not by wiggling my Gods-damned fingers!”

  Lad slipped past the Grandfather’s guard, his fist smashing into the older man’s jaw, shattering the joint, but he paid for the strike with a deep gash to his forearm. The Grandfather spat broken teeth in Lad’s face and grinned, his jaw crackling and knitting as he did. The exchange had been a net loss for Lad, for his arm bled freely, and with each drop of blood he weakened minutely.

  “Then you better figure out a way to make your pen and ink mightier than a sword very quickly,” Mya hissed in the wizard’s ear. “Now!” She turned and pushed him toward his workbench of inks, needles and quills. She took a step and placed the point of her dagger at his back.

  Vonlith cast about the littered table, eyes wide with panic. There was no way out for him but to help Lad and Mya defeat the Grandfather, but if he tried and failed, he would be killed for his betrayal. He snapped a glance at Mya, then another at the two combatants, biting his knuckles in frustration. He was trapped and he knew it; Mya could see it in his eyes.

  Then an idea struck his features as plainly as if it were written there for all to read.

  “Maybe...”

  He snatched up a bottle of ink and a quill. He dipped the quill in the bottle and scrawled several magical letters on the side of the vessel itself, murmuring under his breath as he did so. The bottle suddenly flared to light in his hand, and he turned to Mya and grinned in wide-eyed triumph.

  “This may work!” He looked at the glowing bottle, then at the embattled pair of men. “Or it may kill us all. But even if it does work, it will last only moments.”

  “What is it?”

  “A negation. It will arrest the magic of all runes in this room, but only for a very short while.”

  Her agile mind clicked to the effect the spell would have: Without the magic, Lad would still be a healthy young man in peak condition; the Grandfather would be a healthy old man in peak condition. It was a slim difference, but it was an advantage.

  “Do it!”

  Vonlith nodded, raised the bottle of magically imbued ink before him and poured it in a shimmering arc. The ink fell to form glittering runes of energy that hung in the air. And when the last drop of ink left the bottle and the last letter formed, they exploded into blinding radiance.

  And both Lad and the Grandfather screamed in pain.

  A wave of agony coursed through Lad as the spells that had been a part of his being for most of his life were suddenly held inactive. His vision dimmed, his hearing dampened and his strength melted away like a snowflake on a hot skillet. But the pain passed, and with it his vision cleared. Before him, the Grandfather had fallen to his knees, similarly afflicted.

  “Kill him, Lad! Now!”

  He glanced at Mya, and the blinding light of the glowing runes floating in the air told him what had happened. He flexed his hands, watching his fingers open and close; he felt weak and slow. Then he looked to the Grandfather struggling to his feet, and he could see weakness and more in his opponent’s face. The Grandfather felt old!

  Lad sprang to the attack, his movements a syrupy shadow of his former lightning speed, but he was faster than the Grandfather could counter. The kick struck, not with bone-shattering force as it would have moments before, but hard enough to drive the air from his opponent’s lungs and send him sprawling.

  The Grandfather rolled up grimacing in shock and pain, something he hadn’t felt in a lifetime. He swept his daggers menacingly, but his slashes were slow and ill-timed. Lad smacked them aside and struck again, a spinning back kick that drove his opponent to the floor and sent one dagger clattering away. He pursued with another vicious kick, but the Grandfather rolled with the blow and slashed Lad’s shin. He should have dodged such a clumsy cut easily, but without the magic both of them were moving as if something intangible dragged at every effort. The bone-deep cut hurt horribly, but the Grandfather was struggling just to get to his feet. Lad was winning!

  He advanced again, pushing down the pain, intending to end it quickly, but the Grandfather drew the dagger back and threw, not at Lad, but past him, at the wizard and—

  “Mya!”

  He turned in time to see her step in front of the wizard, her shape dark against the blinding light of the runes. He squinted against the glare as she crumpled to the floor, but he could not tell where the dagger had struck. And the blinding glow of the runes was beginning to dim!

  Lad turned and lunged at the Grandfather, thinking only to end it as quickly as possible. He took a hard blow to his cheekbone, but was inside the older man’s guard now, his fingers clenched around the Grandfather’s throat. Lad’s ears rang with two more hard punches, but he retained his grip. The light from behind him dimmed further, and he could feel the strength seeping back into him. The runes covering his opponent’s skin shimmered as well, but with Lad’s hands around his throat, the Grandfather couldn’t breathe.

  Lad pushed him backward until he sat on the man’s heaving chest, his arms locked, his fingers tightening with every ounce of strength that returned to him. The Grandfather’s blows became frantic, then weak, and finally stopped. The glow from behind him faded completely, and Lad exerted all the force he could muster into his grip until bone cracked and splintered under his grasp. And still he did not let go, fearing that the Grandfather’s magic would heal even a broken neck. He maintained the hold, squeezing every last vestige of life out of the man who had tortured him.

  “Die...” he growled between clenched and bloody teeth. “Die...die...die...”

  Finally, when the flesh split beneath his grasp, and shards of broken bone pierced his straining palms, he relented.

  Lad stood and stumbled back from the corpse of the Grandfather of Assassins. The evil was at an end, it was truly and finally over. But Lad felt as if he had simply committed one more murder.

  “No more killing,” he muttered to himself, looking down at the blood on his hands. He shook his head and turned his back on his former life, on the destiny that would have destroyed him. It was time to make his own destiny.

  “Lad!”

  His attention snapped up at the wizard’s call, and he ran to Mya’s side. She lay on the floor, the hilt of the Grandfather’s dagger protruding from just below her sternum. Her hands were wrapped around the bloody weapon, her face painted with shocked agony. He forced her hands away and tore open her cloak, exposing the dire wound.

  “Lie still, Mya,” he told her, looking to the wizard. “Can you heal this?”

  “I’m no healer! The spells I know of healing would take a week to transcribe.”

  “My...po—” Mya gasped, trying to speak through the blood that welled up in her throat.

  “Quiet, Mya. I’ve got to find a way to heal you before I take the dagger out. It’s in your liver and your stomach. You’ll bleed to death if I take it out without healing!”

  “My...pocket...”

  “What?” His hands rifled through her robes with all the skill of a master pickpocket. He came up with several weapons, a strip of worn red ribbon, twelve pieces of silver and a small glass vial. He held the vial up; it was the same she’d forced him to drink from only hours ago. “Yes!”

  He pulled the stopper and held the rim to her bloody lips.

  “You’ll have to swallow it as I pull the dagger out, Mya. Can you do that? It will hurt.”

  “Do...you...think?” she asked, opening her mouth for him to pour in the potion.

  “Okay. Ready?”

  She nodded.”

  He poured the potion into her mouth and nodded. “Swallow it!”

  As she did, he slipped the blade from her viscera. Mya screamed through clenched lips, but forced the bitter liquid down. Dark blood welled from the gaping wound, but then quickly slowed, and finally stopped. The wound closed completely, leaving a wide pink scar. She gasped a deep breath and coughed.

  “How d
o you feel?” He realized it was a foolish question as soon as he asked it.

  “Like I’ve been knifed in the gut,” she said, forcing herself up to a sitting position. “But better than dead, which is what I would have been. Thank you, Lad. You saved my life.”

  “Thank me by getting us the hell out of here!” he barked, standing and retrieving a towel, a pair of trousers and a shirt from the shelf that held neatly folded stacks of the black garments he’d come to loathe. “We’ve got about an hour before this place is surrounded by guardsmen, and even though we just did them a favor, I don’t think they’ll be inclined to give us a pardon for it.” He began tearing the towel into strips and binding his bleeding shin and forearm.

  “We can get out in Master Vonlith’s wagon,” she said, pushing herself slowly to her feet.

  “You can?” the wizard asked incredulously. “What makes you think I’ll help you escape after this?” He waved a hand at the Grandfather’s corpse in emphasis. “You’ve just killed my employer and cost me a fortune, besides threatening my life!”

  “Because if you don’t,” she growled through clenched teeth, “I’ll tell the entire Assassins’ Guild that you killed their guildmaster!”

  “You wouldn’t!”

  “Try me!”

  “What do you mean, ‘tell the guild?’” Lad asked, pulling a shirt over his head as he rejoined the others. “There isn’t a guild any more. The Grandfather’s dead!”

  “You thought that would destroy the guild?” Mya laughed shortly, shaking her head as she retrieved the items Lad had taken from her pockets. “You’re still a little naive if you did, Lad. The guild will live on, and they’ll appoint another guildmaster. Though this estate will never be used again, now that the duke’s guard knows who lived here.”

  Lad stopped tying his bandages and stared once again at the blood on his hands. He felt as if they would never come clean.

  “So all this was for nothing.”

  “Not for nothing, Lad,” Mya countered, moving to the Grandfather’s body and removing the black and gold ring from his lifeless finger. “In fact, as we’re getting the hell out of here, let me pitch a little something to you that I’ve been planning for a while.”

  “What plan?” Lad asked, suspicious of her motives.

  “Something that will suit us both, and something that might suit the guild as well.”

  “I won’t help you become an even more cruel guildmaster than he was, Mya.”

  “You couldn’t pay me enough for the job, honestly. No, I’ve got something else in mind. The guard is looking for you a lot more than they’re looking for me. I’d think you’d be a little more receptive to a proposition that will let you stay in Twailin where you’ll be close to Wiggen and have some influence in changing the guild into something a little less brutal.”

  “I won’t kill for you,” he stated flatly, folding his arms across his chest in defiance.

  “If things go as I plan, you’ll never have to kill again. I promise.”

  “Your promises have the tendency to leave me manacled to that slab,” he said.

  “Excuse me for interrupting,” Vonlith put in, frowning at them both, “but aren’t we in a hurry to, how did you put it, ‘get the hell out of here’?”

  “Right you are, my good wizard. Right you are.” She pulled her cloak tight around herself and said to Lad, “I’ll explain my plan when were safe. You can take it or leave it.”

  “Fine,” he said, motioning the two of them toward the door. “But know that I do not trust you, Mya. I never will. And while I do not like to kill, I will if I have to.”

  “Then we have something in common. Now come on.”

  The three left the interrogation chamber without looking back.

  Chapter XXX

  Mya nodded to Paxal as she strode into the back room of the Golden Cockerel and smiled to the assembly she had summoned.

  “The news that the Grandfather has been killed has undoubtedly reached all of you by now,” she said, making herself comfortable at the large table where her four peers were already seated. She sipped from the glass of blood-red wine that was set before her, exchanging glances with each of the other masters in turn: Inquisitor, Blade, Alchemist and Enforcer. She was the youngest of the five by a score of years, and she could see the animosity in their eyes.

  “You may have also heard a rumor that I had something to do with his death.” She swirled the wine within her glass, enjoying the play of crimson on crystal, and put it down. She smiled, spreading her hands wide in supplication. “I will not corroborate or deny that rumor, other than to say that I still wear this.” She held up the hand bearing the onyx ring of the Master Hunter. “And that I was present when Saliez met his end.”

  With that she placed a ring of black and gold in the center of the table before her. The eyes of the four other master assassins were drawn to it like moths to a flame, and she could see the avarice in them.

  “And you fancy yourself his successor, is that why you’ve called us here?” That was Master Youtrin, head of the guild enforcers. He flexed his broad, scarred hands, his knuckles popping like corn on the fire.

  “Please don’t be ridiculous, Master Youtrin. I’m far too young to be the guildmaster.” She sighed dramatically. “And, in fact, I’m probably too young to be Master Hunter. But I am.” The last she directed with a flat, hard tone that told them all she expected to keep her vaunted position.

  “So why exactly did you call us here, Mistress Mya?” Mistress Alchemist Neera asked, tapping her long yellowed nails on the table. “Do you wish to nominate one of us for the position?”

  “No. I called you here to propose that we do away with the position of guildmaster, at least for a while.” There was some murmuring, and a few exchanged glances and raised eyebrows. “I believe this would not only be good for us, but for the guild. Saliez squandered the guild’s wealth on personal extravagance, he used the guild’s power to further his own ends, and he delighted in directed cruelty that did nothing to advance the standing, position or power of the guild as a whole. As you may or may not know, Saliez’s grand plan was to pressure Duke Mir into relaxing the trade restrictions with the southern kingdoms. The river trade from Southaven to Twailin would have multiplied tenfold, and with it, the ability of the duke’s agents to thoroughly inspect cargos would have plummeted.”

  “Smuggling? Is that what this was all about?” Mistress Inquisitor Calmarel asked incredulously, sweeping her ebony hair back in a dramatic arc. “That seems so...trite.”

  “No,” Mya said, sipping her wine again while ignoring the woman’s penchant for the dramatic. “Saliez was prepared to ship tons of high quality black lotus into the Empire through this city. He had suppliers, distributors and the traffickers all lined up. It would have brought in tens of thousands in gold every month.”

  “And would have started a war with the Thieves’ Guild,” Neera stated flatly. “They have always controlled the lotus trade within the Empire. Was he prepared for that?”

  Mya looked to the slim figure standing at her elbow and let a predatory smile grace her sensuous lips. “Yes, he was.”

  “Regardless of his plans, proceeding without a leader...” Master Blade Horice shrugged noncommittally, steepling his long, graceful fingers before him. “It seems dangerous. No?”

  “We will lead the guild. We are, together, more powerful, smarter, and more able to govern our own actions and serve the guild than any one man or woman,” Mya said, steel edging her voice. “We would vote on any action that requires the resources of more than our own areas of expertise, or anything that might affect the guild as a whole. We take a simple vow not to contract without at least one other master’s agreement to do so, and we take another not to contract one another. This would not be a vow bound by magic, but one backed by common interest.” She smiled thinly and sipped her wine.

  “Breaking these vows would naturally have to carry a significant penalty.”

  “Is that
what he’s for?” Mistress Calmarel asked accusatively, flicking a manicured nail at the slim figure standing at Mya’s elbow. “To keep us in line?”

  There were more murmurs around the room, some between the masters, and some between the comparably large number of bodyguards each master or mistress boasted. Lad was Mya’s only companion in the room, and she felt utterly safe. The rumors of exactly how the Grandfather died had reached them, just as she intended.

  “No. He is here to keep daggers from sprouting from between my shoulder blades.” She turned and patted Lad’s arm affectionately. He stood rock still, eyes staring forward at nothing, impassive as a statue. “That’s all.”

  “And what of that?” Youtrin growled, gesturing toward the lonely ring lying in the middle of the table. “What do we do with that?”

  There was an extended silence, all of them considering the fact that the wearer of that ring could not be harmed by any of the five masters seated at the table.

  “I think it should be melted down, personally.” Calmarel flexed her own left hand and the polished ring of obsidian on her finger glittered in the lamplight. “It poses too great a risk for the rest of us.”

  “I agree,” Mya said evenly, smiling thinly at them all. “But it’s obvious that none of us trusts the others enough to delegate the task. Keep in mind that while we all cannot harm the bearer, others may. If one of us were to suddenly be seen wearing the ring of the guildmaster...”

  “Fine then. Who do we trust to have it destroyed?” Youtrin glared around the room, his broad brow furrowing.

  “I trust him,” Neera said finally, pointing one ancient crooked finger toward Lad. “There is no deceit in his face. Give him the ring and tell him to destroy it, Mya. He is bound by your command. He will see it done.”

  “Is that acceptable to everyone?” Mya asked, keeping her tone calm despite her racing heart. They still thought Lad was under her control, just as she had hoped.