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

by Chris A. Jackson

  Screaming, Mya gripped her daggers so hard she felt the sinews and bones of her hands cracking and popping under the strain. She pressed herself to her feet. Lurching for the door, she tripped over Nails, curled and sobbing on the floor, and slammed into the doorjamb. The impact rattled her teeth—No pain—and she blinked as a wave of hot air washed against her face.

  Fire… The sight of flames outside the door burned away the lingering despair. A human shape writhed in the inferno. Was it Hoseph? No, the screams were a woman’s. Others hung limp, taut strings of catgut piercing their bodies. One hulking man slashed with a knife, trying to fight free. Hoseph must have materialized his assassins right in the midst of their web. Spiders indeed. Hoseph was nowhere to be seen.

  Damn! She spun, but no killer priest lurked behind her. But the fire…

  “FIRE!” Mya grasped the bucket of wet sand beside her door and flung the contents onto the burning woman. The flames dimmed, but still spread along the floor. Oil… They brought oil to burn us out.

  Paxal strove through the maze of strings with another sand bucket, but slowly. Dee emerged from his door, his face pale and sheened with sweat, but his eyes clear and determined. He leveled a crossbow at the assassins and fired. The bolt caught the big man in the chest and he went down with a guttural cry.

  But the fire…

  “Dee, get your fire bucket!” Mya whirled back into her room and jerked the coverlet from the bed. “Nails! Gimp! Keep an eye out for Hoseph! Everyone watch your backs!”

  Mya dashed into the hall, cutting through strings with lightning strokes of her dagger. Leaping over the assassin Dee had shot, she barreled into the burning woman, wrapping the blanket around her to keep the flames from spreading. Together they crashed to the floor. Using the edges of the blanket, she patted out as much of the fire as she could reach. She felt the heat on her hands, the skin blistering and healing before her eyes. No pain…

  Wet sand spattered across the floor, smothering more of the flames. Then Dee and Paxal were there with blankets, dousing the last remnants of the fire. Mya levered herself up and surveyed the damage. Smoke filled the corridor, and their maze of strings hung in tatters.

  “Anyone hurt?” She raked her gaze down the length of the hall. Everyone was accounted for, and all shook their heads to her question. She heaved a sigh of relief and coughed as the acrid smoke filled her lungs.

  A gurgling sound came from beneath the smoldering coverlet at her feet. Mya pulled back the blanket and cringed. The woman’s face was a mass of blackened blisters, and sooty blood oozed from her shriveled lips.

  “Aside from this lot, you mean?” Paxal fired a crossbow point blank into one twitching figure, and reached for another bolt. Reloading, he aimed it at the intruder at Mya’s feet and gave her a questioning look.

  Mya looked down at the smoldering wreckage that used to be a woman. A memory surfaced—Kiesha, tortured and bleeding. Lad had shown his wife’s killer mercy, how could she do any less? A crossbow bolt would be a kindness. Nodding at Pax, she winced as he fired, ending the woman’s torment. Mercy…

  Mya looked to the other trespassers. They were all dead save one. The man lay face down, his legs scorched by fire, but he was breathing. “Leave that one, Pax. I want to ask him some questions.”

  “Ask him how he wants to die.”

  Mya looked up, startled by the cold malice in Dee’s voice and the bloodlust in his narrowed eyes. He’d never struck her as bloodthirsty, but he seemed to have no problem killing in defense of their home. She held up a restraining hand. “I want to know what faction he works for, so I can visit his boss.”

  Several strings protruded from the man’s torso, and frothy pink blood bubbled from his mouth and nose. Mya wondered if he could even speak. Stepping over a corpse, she reached down, gripped the man’s shoulder, and rolled him over.

  She jerked at the crack of a crossbow. Who did Paxal shoot now?

  “Mya!”

  At Dee’s shout, she looked down. A triangle of feathers stood out from her shirt. It took a second for her to realize that it was the fletching of a crossbow bolt buried deep in her abdomen.

  “Son of a—” Mya stood up. A peculiar tugging in her gut sent a wave of nausea washing over her. She felt no pain, but thought she might puke.

  Reaching back, she felt the barbed head protruding from her back. This bolt would only come out the way it went in. Mya gripped the head and jerked, felt the length of the bolt pass through her. Another wave of nausea and some dizziness washed over her. She wavered on her feet, and felt Dee’s hand on her shoulder.

  “You’re…” He swallowed hard, his eyes fixed on the bloody bolt in her hand. “Are you all right?”

  Paxal was at her side then, his eyes wide and shining. “Mya! Oh, dear Gods of Light!”

  “It’s okay, Pax. I’m fine. Really. I’ll explain later.” Mya glared down at her attacker’s blood-flecked lips, twisted in a grotesque semblance of a smile. “Well, that answered one question.” Flipping the crossbow bolt in her hand, she thrust the bloody point through his eye. The corpse twitched, then stilled.

  “He wasn’t guild.” Dee nodded to the ring on Mya’s finger.

  “Exactly.” Mya thought she should be relieved. “At least this means that Lady T didn’t send them.”

  “Miss Mya?”

  Mya looked up. Her urchins were staring at her, some aghast, some grinning. She tried to smile reassuringly. “You all did well. We’ll clean this up in the morning. For now, wrap the corpses in blankets. We’ll move down to the second floor.”

  Turning to Dee, Mya clapped him on the shoulder. “Nice shot, by the way.”

  “Thanks.” Dee tried to smile, but it didn’t reach his eyes. He glanced down at the spot where she’d been shot, then away.

  Mya’s stomach flipped. She’d let down her guard and told Dee her secret, and now he had seen for himself what the magic inscribed in her skin could do. It didn’t take much to guess what he was thinking. Monster…

  “Might make an assassin out of him after all.” Paxal grinned and turned to the urchins. “All right, you little heroes. You heard her. Go grab some blankets and let’s get downstairs. I need some sleep tonight.”

  Chapter XXVI

  Arbuckle tensed as the door to the small audience chamber opened. Lately, every time a door opened, he’d half-expected Duveau to walk through and kill him. Now, the day before he was due to be crowned emperor, he was still breathing, but thought he might die of heart failure from the strain. He turned from the view of the gardens and saw that it was only Tennison.

  Still alive…

  His secretary bowed politely. “They’re here, milord.”

  The prince checked his preparations one last time. There seemed an inordinate number of guards in the room, and two glowering knights as well. Such an imposing security presence might put off his visitors, but if anyone in the empire understood the need for protection, it was Duke Mir. Besides, the clandestine invitation to the duke and his mage, Master Woefler, would have told Mir that this was not a usual greeting for a visiting provincial duke. Princes didn’t invite wizards to tea.

  “You’re sure about this, Master Keyfur?” The meeting had been the wizard’s idea, but Arbuckle didn’t know Mir well. He’d only met the man once, more than a decade ago. Mir’s entourage had arrived only the day before, and Keyfur had informed him that the duke had brought his mage along as a precaution for the dangerous trip over the mountains. Then he’d proposed the idea to ask Mir for help.

  “Not sure, milord.” Keyfur’s voice came from thin air only a step away. Arbuckle was just learning to not let the mage’s invisible presence unnerve him. “But of all the provincial dukes, Mir opposed your late father’s policies most vehemently. If any will support you, he seems most likely. And Master Woefler is a highly proficient mage.”

  “But he knows Duveau.”

  “Only through correspondence, as far as I’m aware.”

  It seemed strange to put s
o much trust into people he barely knew, but with his own court conspiring to kill him, strangers might be safer than close associates.

  “Very well.” Arbuckle faced the door and nodded. “Tennison, show them in.”

  “Yes, milord.” His secretary opened the door and admitted Duke Mir and Master Woefler.

  The two approached and bowed low. Mir looked much older than Arbuckle remembered. His wizard, on the other hand, looked rather mischievous, with a wide, boyish smile. The prince hoped Keyfur hadn’t overestimated the mage’s skills.

  Mir straightened. “Milord Prince Arbuckle. You’re looking well.”

  “I am well, thank you. I hope your trip wasn’t too arduous.”

  “It was lengthy, but comfortable, milord.”

  “I’ve arranged tea for us.” The prince gestured to a small table set with tea. “I’m afraid you’ve missed most of the balls and dinners leading up to the coronation, but I felt the need to greet you personally.”

  “Thoughtful of you, milord, but, if I might ask, why have you invited Master Woefler to this?” Mir glance at his mage. “Do you seek some magical consultation?”

  “As a matter of fact, yes.” He gestured again to the table. “Please.”

  “Of course, milord.”

  The three of them sat, and Tennison poured their tea with surprising alacrity for a secretary.

  “You’ll pardon my secretary serving us, but what we need to speak of here is not for the ears of servants.”

  “I surmised as much.” Mir looked grave as he poured cream into his tea. “We’ve heard of the attempts on your life, milord. I daresay I was most elated to see you well upon our arrival.”

  “Were you?” Arbuckle watched Mir closely, but the man seemed sincere.

  “I was, milord.” Mir sipped his tea, meeting Arbuckle’s gaze with frankness. “You know that I’ve opposed your father’s policies for years. Your messages and edicts were the most welcome correspondence I’ve received from Tsing in decades. I’ve prayed to all the Gods of Light for deliverance, and it seems I have an unknown assassin to thank for it.”

  The guards stirred around them at the audacious comment, but Arbuckle couldn’t suppress a smile. No one plotting against him would say such a thing. Keyfur’s assessment seemed to be spot on.

  “My father was a monster.” Arbuckle dropped a cube of sugar into his tea and stirred it. “My reason for asking you here is in hopes that you might be able to help me live long enough to expunge his legacy from this empire. I’ve received information that revealed a plot to—”

  “Milord, if I may interrupt.” Woefler raised a forestalling hand.

  “Yes?” Arbuckle tensed again and regarded the man, slim and angular, not young, but not old either. His face looked much younger than his hands, in fact, and that face looked suddenly worried. “Is there a problem?”

  “I don’t know exactly, milord, but you seem to have taken pains to keep this meeting confidential, and I’m concerned that we may be under some kind of magical surveillance. I don’t know what’s afoot, but there’s magic about or I’m no wizard.”

  Arbuckle stiffened. For a moment, he didn’t know what to do. Had Woefler detected some kind of spying spell, or had Keyfur’s magic simply alerted him to the presence of another wizard?

  “Milord.” The whisper sounded right in Arbuckle’s ear, so close he could feel Keyfur’s breath on the nape of his neck. “I should reveal myself to avoid any misunderstanding.”

  “Yes.” He nodded to Woefler. “Yes, there is magic about. Master Keyfur, if you please.”

  The wizard blinked into view at Arbuckle’s left shoulder. The only person who started at the sudden appearance was Duke Mir.

  “Good gods!” The duke nearly dropped his tea cup.

  “Please be at ease, my good duke. Master Keyfur is here to secure my safety.

  “Master Keyfur.” Woefler nodded to the wizard in greeting. His boyish smile beamed for a moment, then dropped into a look of consternation. “But why are you acting as the prince’s magical security instead of the archmage.”

  “Because, if the information I’ve received is accurate, the next attempt on my life will come from my archmage.” Arbuckle tried to sip his tea, but found his hand shaking. “Master Duveau has been named specifically as the assassin, recruited somehow by a conspiracy of high nobles and magistrates.”

  “That’s…” Woefler looked utterly stunned. “Pardon me, milord, but that’s not good at all.”

  Duke Mir simply turned pale.

  “Yes…” Arbuckle put his cup down. He felt nauseous. “If the attack doesn’t come tonight or tomorrow morning, it will come during the coronation. It’s supposed to occur before I’m crowned emperor, and the ceremony is the only time Duveau will be in my presence. He hasn’t even asked for an audience so far.”

  “This is dire indeed, milord. Duveau is…a formidable wizard.” Woefler looked grave.

  “Do you know him well?” Arbuckle asked.

  “Only by reputation, milord, but he is archmage. That means a great deal!”

  “So Master Keyfur has told me.” Arbuckle leveled a stare at his visitors. “Frankly, we’ve made all the preparations we can, but still feel inadequate to the task of defeating him. I asked you here for your help. You, Duke, to allow your mage to aid me, and you, Master Woefler, because you’re less likely to have been swayed into this conspiracy than any of the other members of my retinue of wizards. Master Keyfur speaks highly of your abilities.”

  “Of course you have my permission, milord.” Mir looked to Woefler, then fixed Arbuckle with a stony gaze. “Anything you need that is mine to provide, be it my mage or my life, I’ll give.”

  The man’s vow struck Arbuckle deeply. It felt good to have someone unreservedly on his side. He took a deep breath and let it out. “Thank you. So, I’m asking for some sound strategy that will foil the plot or some magical aid to thwart or destroy Duveau when he strikes.”

  “Postpone the coronation.” Mir looked at Arbuckle imploringly. “Gods, milord, have him sent away! Have one of your men put a dagger in his heart! Even archmages can be killed, they say.”

  “I can’t postpone the coronation without causing major strife to the empire. There are laws my father enacted that must be changed, and I’ve been thwarted by my own nobility in every attempt to do so.” Arbuckle frowned and dropped his napkin onto his plate. “As for dismissing him or having him killed… Though I trust the information I received to a certain degree, I’ll not spend a man’s life on another’s word without hard evidence. If I try to dismiss him, and he is intending to kill me, he’ll know I’ve learned of the plot. I doubt he’ll go quietly. He would lose everything and gain nothing. If confronted, he could very easily make every effort to kill me regardless of who gets in his way. Hundreds could be killed.”

  “Pardon me, milord, but won’t hundreds die if he strikes at the coronation?” Mir looked ill.

  “Will he resort to physical attacks?” Woefler asked. “I don’t know the archmage’s forte’, but there are many ways to kill a man with magic. Some are quite subtle.”

  “Master Keyfur knows his capabilities, and the two of you should speak privately of specifics, but we believe that if he tries to kill me, the attack will be direct and physical. We hope to thwart him and limit the damage.” Arbuckle looked to Woefler. “What we really need is some means to immobilize, distract, or kill him quickly.”

  “I certainly can’t stand against him directly, milord.” Woefler twitched his lips. “But I have something that should distract him. Master Keyfur and I should speak of this.”

  “Yes, we should.” Keyfur looked intrigued. “Milord, if I can protect you for a time, and Master Woefler can distract Duveau, we may give the guards an opportunity to kill him.”

  “Well, that’s something.” Arbuckle looked at Keyfur. “We don’t have much time to plan. Master Woefler, please speak with Master Keyfur.”

  “Milord.” Woefler stood, and he and Keyfur str
olled away from the table, conversing in hushed tones.

  “I wish there was more we could do, milord.” Mir shook his head. “Captain Norwood said some very good things about you when he returned. I see that his assessment of you was accurate. You’re not your father’s son in anything but blood.”

  “No, I’m not.” Arbuckle tried to smile. “I trust the captain’s well.”

  “Yes, save for a bit of a limp, and that damned dog of his that won’t leave his side.” Mir laughed shortly. “It crapped a pile the size of a dinner plate in my garden the last time the captain visited.”

  Arbuckle laughed. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d laughed. “I’m glad he’s well.” The prince rose from his seat and gestured for Mir to remain. “Please, enjoy the tea. I’m afraid I’ve lost my appetite.”

  “Milord.” Mir stood and bowed. “Thank you for your confidence. We should speak after the coronation, if you would. I think we have much in common with regard to our theories of governance.”

  “I’d like that.” Arbuckle thought that he could probably learn a lot about statecraft from Mir, things that his father never deigned to tell him. He left the room with his guards cordoned around him, heartened that he had formidable allies willing to give their all to save his life.

  “Why did I let you talk me into this?” Mya cursed under her breath as Dee tightened the laces girding the bodice of her new dress.

  “Because I’m right.” Finishing the laces, he retrieved the hat and wig she would wear with the gown. “If the prince is still breathing in the morning, then the assassination attempt has got to happen during the coronation.”

  “True, but that doesn’t mean I have to like it.” Mya glared at herself in the mirror as Dee fitted the wig on her head. She didn’t care for the gown’s bright purple color, but trusted Dee’s judgment in this more than her own. With the blonde wig and a matching hat and veil, it worked. Black lace sleeves and neck over a flesh-colored sheath covered her wrappings. “Attending this coronation without any weapons will be like going to battle wearing nothing but my scanties.”