Weapon of Fear (Weapon of Flesh Trilogy II Book 1)

by Chris A. Jackson

  “We’ll have ta go in together, but I want some insurance that yer not gonna just murder the man, then me as well.”

  Mya squinted down at his inscrutable face. He’d clearly thought this through, and she knew this wouldn’t be a trifling point. “What kind of insurance?”

  “This kind.” He pulled a small metal ring from a pocket. It looked like a cheap steel bracelet.

  “What’s that?”

  “My insurance.” He whispered a word with the guttural intonation of his mother tongue, and the ring expanded in radius. Pulling a stout shaft of hardwood from a nearby bin, he looped the ring over it and spoke another word. The ring constricted to fit snugly around the post.

  “Ye wear this around yer neck, see.” He tapped it with a finger. “Won’t hurt ye unless I want it to.”

  Mya swallowed. “And if I betray you…”

  Holding the shaft upright, he said another word in gnomish, and the metal ring suddenly constricted, sheering off the top of the post. He caught the end before it hit the floor and put it on a shelf, then proffered the shaft in his hand. Atop it sat the metal ring, now barely large enough to fit a pin through.

  Mya swallowed. She doubted even her magical tattoos could save her from the constricting metal ring. “That’s asking me to trust you a lot.”

  “Aye, but no more’n I’m trustin’ ye.” He nodded to her skirts. “Ye don’t move like a thief, but I don’t doubt fer a second that ye could put one ’o them daggers in my eye before I could blink it.”

  “Even before you could kill me with that thing.” She nodded to the ring in his hand. “So, that won’t save your life.”

  “No, but it’d take yers right enough.” He shrugged and pocketed the ring. “And if I don’t come home, me wife says that word.”

  “You’re married?”

  “Aye?” He squinted at her. “What of it?”

  “Just surprised.”

  “Why?”

  “Because loved ones can be used against you. They’re a liability.”

  “Fer killers, maybe. Not so much fer burglars.” He shrugged again. “Ye gotta trust someone eventually.”

  Mya thought about that. Who did she really trust? The list was depressingly short: Lad, Dee, Paxal, and to a lesser extent, Sereth. The other Twailin Masters even less. She trusted her urchins not to stab her in the back, but not enough to confide her deep, dark secrets. Trusting this gnome with her life grated against her innate paranoia, but she couldn’t think of a motive for him to murder her out of hand, and with his lack of love for the Assassins Guild, there seemed little chance of him conspiring with someone to kill her.

  He put the ring in his pocket. “Ye in or not?”

  Mya had little choice. “Fine. We go in together. I can get us into the dungeons, but I’m not going to tell you how yet.”

  “The dungeons?” His face scrunched into a mass of wrinkles. “Why couldn’t ye have a nice tunnel into the loo?”

  “Blame the dwarves who built the place. Is that a problem?”

  “Not really.”

  “Good. Now, how do we find the prince?”

  “Aye, well, there’s only two or three places he could be sleepin’.”

  “And we’re just going to walk in?”

  “Nay, lass!” He squinted at her and winked. “We’re gonna use one of the secret passages, but I’m not gonna tell you where they are.”

  Mya really shouldn’t have been surprised. If there was a secret passage into the palace, there were probably more within. “When?”

  “Ye busy tonight?”

  “I am now.” She couldn’t suppress a grin.

  “Meet me here an hour before midnight, and dress proper.” He nodded to her hard shoes. “No toe pinchers.”

  “I’ll be here.”

  Hoseph paced the roof of the Tsing Library, fingering the tiny silver skull that hung within his sleeve and wondering if he’d been betrayed. He’d picked this spot as a place the archmage would undoubtedly know of and could easily access, and where they wouldn’t be seen. The Library was one of the tallest buildings in the Heights District, it’s wide, flat roof visible only from the distant palace walls and a few lofty temple spires.

  But Duveau was late.

  He reviewed all the reasons Duchess Ingstrom could have to betray him. She might barter Hoseph’s life in exchange for a provincial rulership or even an empress’ crown on her daughter’s head.

  Motivation indeed…and Archmage Duveau could be the one they send to take me.

  If there was one person in the empire who could subdue Hoseph with little trouble, it was Duveau. Hoseph could vanish in a moment, but he didn’t know what magic the archmage could wield. He’d seen what the wizard had done to the seemingly impenetrable door to the imperial dungeons.

  Hoseph paced, clenching his talisman and considering his own level of paranoia—Too much, or not enough?—when suddenly Archmage Duveau emerged from one of the ornate merlons that girded the rooftop. The priest remembered what it had felt like to travel through the dungeon stone and shivered.

  Mild surprise registered on the wizard’s face. The note hadn’t specified who he was meeting here.

  Hoseph nodded respectfully. “Archmage Duveau.”

  “Master Hoseph.” The archmage remained where he was, regarding his host with a blank mien. “Forgive my tardiness, but one cannot be too careful.”

  “I understand completely. Rest assured, I mean you no harm.”

  “You’ll forgive me if I don’t take your words as…gospel. You’re implicated in the emperor’s death, you know.”

  “Yes, and the notion is utterly preposterous.” Hoseph stifled his irritation. “I had no motive, no means, and couldn’t have fought His Majesty’s blademasters. If I had killed the emperor, why would I call for help? Also, I was injured.”

  “Yet you fled.”

  “Yes, to avoid answering questions under your compulsion. I know things that can’t be divulged.”

  “I see.” Duveau pursed his lips. “Your note stated that you had an offer to make. Make it.”

  “You’re familiar with the legendary runemage, Corillian, I assume.”

  Duveau’s eyes widened with interest. “I was not familiar with Corillian, I knew him personally. An brilliant runemage. He personally taught me the rudiments of rune magic. Unfortunately, before we could proceed farther, he sought seclusion. No one I know has heard from him in years. It was rumored that he was dead, but the rumors were never confirmed.”

  “He is dead.” Hoseph smiled without mirth. He’d gauged the Archmage correctly. The fish was circling the bait. “And I know where he sought seclusion.”

  “Krakengul Keep?” The wide eyes narrowed as interest evolved into avarice.

  “Yes.” Hoseph had gauged the archmage correctly.

  “How did you learn that? Many have sought his refuge and failed.”

  “An associate of mine did business with Corillian. When our people found his body, we contracted a mage to identify him, then backtrack to his keep. The structure was completely sealed in an impenetrable magical field, but he reported its location to us.”

  “What was this mage’s name?” Duveau’s demanding tone and stiff body language spoke volumes. He wanted the secrets of the runemage. He wanted them very badly.

  The fish taken the hook. Now to set it.

  “That doesn’t matter. The mage is dead. But I know where the keep is. I’ve seen it. It’s quite…impressive.” On the Grandmaster’s orders, Hoseph had ventured to Krakengul Keep to confirm the mage’s report. Perched on the rim of the vast caldera of the Bitter Sea, it was indeed impressive…and impenetrable. Once the mage had been killed, only Saliez, the Grandmaster, and Hoseph had been privy to the location. As the only survivor, Hoseph saw no reason not to barter this valuable information for the good of the guild.

  Duveau frowned. “And what do you want from me for this knowledge?”

  Avarice tinged with suspicion, Hoseph decided. Now to see
exactly how badly Duveau wanted the magic of his dead associate. He fingered Demia’s talisman, ready to flee if the conversation took a dangerous turn. “I want you to assassinate Prince Arbuckle.”

  Duveau snorted in disbelief, then sobered. “Good gods, you’re serious!”

  “I am.” Hoseph raised a forestalling hand. He had to persuade Duveau that his motives weren’t simple revenge or the lust for power. Since the wizard could discern truth through magic, Hoseph chose his words carefully. “Please, hear me out. During Tynean Tsing II’s reign we had order. He was the only emperor in history to have control over his own empire, not this chaos that Arbuckle is inciting. I intend to reestablish that order and control.”

  “How? By putting Duke Tessifus on the throne?”

  “Initially, but his reign will be short. We are currently…preparing his youngest son to assume the position of emperor.”

  “We?” Suspicion blossomed again. Duveau might be the most powerful mage in the land, but he could no more hide his moods than he could sprout wings and fly. “Who is ‘we’?”

  “A secret organization to which our former emperor belonged, and which I now administer in his stead.” True enough, though he wouldn’t dare say that in front of Lady T. “This organization was one of the ways he kept order.”

  “And you plan to reinstate this organization’s control of the empire by placing a person you have…prepared upon the throne.” Duveau was no fool. He knew a power grab when he heard one, but Hoseph had more persuasive points to make.

  “I plan to place on the throne capable of proper ruling. Arbuckle is unfit. He murdered a member of his own nobility for an offense that’s been condoned in this empire for decades. He gives commoners free reign to pillage and seek vengeance upon those who rule them. He invites anarchy. I offer order.” Once I’m in control…

  Duveau pursed his lips again, pausing long before he continued. “I care little for politics, Master Hoseph, but I do care about my own welfare. I’ve been archmage for decades, and I don’t wish to lose that position.”

  “And Arbuckle has been treating you like peasant labor! Do you think anything will change once he’s crowned?”

  “Probably not, but there is a certain prestige in the position.”

  “And if I promised you the position back in twenty years or so?”

  Duveau scoffed again. “You think any emperor would allow the man who committed regicide to assume the post of imperial archmage?”

  “Oh, come now. I may only be a humble priest, but I’m not unacquainted with magic. After mastering the secrets of the legendary Corillian, you can forge yourself an entirely new body. Age means nothing to a runemage of that caliber, and flesh is malleable.” He paused, considering the man once again. Duveau was a brilliant wizard, but he seemed to lack the ability to look into his own future. That made him vulnerable to manipulation. I could use a man like him. “If you remove Arbuckle for us, I’ll take you to Krakengul Keep. It’s mysteries should occupy you until our new emperor is established, then you return wearing a new face, maybe Corillian’s, and assume the role of archmage. You stand to gain a great deal, and lose nothing in the long run.”

  “In the long run…” Duveau scowled. “Twenty years of exile and a death sentence on my head are not trivial sacrifices.”

  “Twenty years of studying the secrets of rune magic is hardly exile. You know as well as I do that the death sentence is meaningless. Who in this empire could deliver that sentence?”

  Duveau considered again, his brow furrowing in thought. “And when would this assassination occur?”

  Yes! Hoseph bridled his elation. “Before he’s crowned. As emperor, Arbuckle can change laws without approval of the nobility, and may even change the line of succession. If he revokes Duke Tessifus’ title, our preparations will be for naught. We leave the details up to you, but we prefer there be witnesses to the assassination.”

  “Why?”

  “Because, if people see you kill the prince, there’s no guilt to be laid elsewhere.” Namely on me.

  “You’ve thought this through quite thoroughly.”

  “Yes, I have.” Hoseph did smile then, allowing himself the pleasure of a job well done. “It’s what I do best.”

  Chapter XXI

  The tunnel under the river came as a surprise. The Gnome had led Mya through a locked cellar door behind a cobbler’s shop, then a concealed panel in the cluttered basement. Two flights of steps and a long narrow tunnel that sloped down for a quarter of a mile, then up again, put them in the basement of an ironmonger’s shop. He closed the concealed door and motioned her toward an exit onto the street. A glance around confirmed they were somewhere in Midtown.

  “That was handy.” Mya fingered the steel band around her neck as he relocked the door. Was it her imagination, or was the damn thing getting tighter? At least the rest of her clothes were comfortable: trousers and shirt, soft boots and daggers, her trappings of old.

  “Bridges mean caps, and we don’t need anyone seein’ us.” He looked up at her, his pupils large in the dark. “Where to?”

  She’d withheld the location of the secret entrance into the palace as a last safety measure. He, in turn, had refused to give her any information about the secret passages within the palace. Trust still ran thin between them.

  “Vin’ ju’ Tsing. Do you know it?”

  “Sure. Hoity-toity wine shop up Hightown.” He wrinkled his nose as if he found affluence distasteful.

  “I’ll follow you.”

  “Aye. Try not to make so much noise, ay? Don’t they teach you how to walk in assassin school?”

  “Evidently not to your standards.” The jab stung a little. Lad had never complained about her lack of stealth. “Go ahead. I’ll try not to trip.”

  “Humph.” The gnome started off at a quick pace considering his short legs, as quiet as a mouse.

  Mya matched his pace with no trouble, trying her best to stay quiet. It was near midnight, so they shouldn’t meet too many late night wanderers, but stealth seemed prudent. They’d covered a dozen blocks before she caught the sound of a constable patrol.

  “Ssst!”

  “What?” The Gnome turned with an irritable look on his face, but then, he looked perpetually irritable.

  “Constables.” She tapped her ear and pointed ahead and to the right. “Two, maybe three blocks.”

  He cocked his hear and listened. She could discern the tromping of boots and jingle of armor clearly over the occasional clink and clatter from apartments, the skitter of a rats, and their own breathing and heartbeats. To the gnome’s credit, he didn’t doubt her, but just kept listening. Finally, he nodded and motioned down an alley to the right. She followed him around the noisy patrol. After they were past, he stopped again and looked up at her.

  “Ye got good ears fer a human.”

  “Who said I was human?” She flashed him a predatory grin. Let the little git chew on that one.

  He snorted quietly. “Well, ye certainly smell human enough. Come on.”

  “I don’t smell!” She followed, muttering curses under her breath.

  When they finally reached Vin’ ju’ Tsing, they found another obstacle. Four guards patrolled outside the building. Mya had cased the shop it earlier that day, and only saw two. Evidently someone was being careful about uninvited nighttime visitors. Other affluent business had posted guards, so this wasn’t unusual. However, the guild owned this shop. The guards might have been hired to keep commoners from pillaging, or they could have been sent by Lady T to prevent Mya from sneaking into the palace. Regardless, they had to bypass them.

  The Gnome tapped her arm and pointed around the side of the building. She followed, placing her feet where he trod and keeping her breathing slow and quiet. They hunkered in the shadows on the darker side of the building, watching the nearest guard walk to and fro. Mya counted; for twelve seconds his back was turned away from the corner where the building abutted the face of the bluff.

  “Secon
d floor window?” she whispered an inch from the gnome’s ear.

  “Can ye make it up there quiet?”

  “Yes.” She’d already picked out a path that used the rock face as well as the building. If Lad could do it, so could she. “But the window’s closed, maybe locked.”

  “Let me go first and get the window. Once it’s open, wait fer him to make a pass, then come up when he turns away again.”

  “Right.” Mya saw no reason not to let the burglar burgle. She hadn’t brought him along for his witty repartee.

  When the guard next turned, the Gnome slipped away. He moved like a wraith. Her eyes picked him out of the shadows easily enough, but she doubted that the guard would have seen him if he’d been looking right at him. The gnome climbed the wall like a spider, hands and feet finding purchase where she wouldn’t have guessed they could. When the guard turned back, the thief hunkered where the building and rock face met, as still as stone.

  The guard turned again, and the Gnome worked his way over to the window, clinging to the building like a bug climbing a pane of glass. She squinted, and saw that he wore some kind of climbing devices on his hands and feet, though she hadn’t seen him put the things on. Beneath the window, he removed one of the climbers and tucked it in a belt pouch, then fiddled at the window. It opened silently, and he slipped inside.

  Mya waited for the guard to turn his back, then moved.

  Her dash and leap took her only halfway to the height of the window, but she used her momentum to propel herself up the rough stone of the bluff before bounding back to land on the window sill. Not quite as silent as the gnome, but quicker by far. She slipped inside before the guard made half his circuit.

  The Gnome stared at her from the dark of the room, his eyes wide. He pointed to the window, and mimed closing it. She complied, working the latch silently.

  “Maybe ye ain’t human after all,” he whispered as she turned back. “How’d ye make that jump?”

  “Magic. Let’s go.” She’d be damned if she would explain her abilities to him. Lad was the only living person in the world who knew about her runic tattoos, and she intended to keep it that way. “First floor, back of the shop, there’s a door into the aging cavern.”