Weapon of Fear
Page 42
Many nobles had been injured in the panic, but all were slated to recover. Indeed, most had managed to attend the coronation and reception and regale their peers with stories exaggerated by the free-flowing wine. Arbuckle knew the cost could have been a lot higher. Thanks to an intrepid few, he was alive and finally emperor. Now it was up to him to fulfill his promises to his people.
Baris came help him get ready for bed. “Sleepy, Your Majesty?”
“Exhausted.” The emperor rose and loosened his doublet. “I can’t remember when I’ve been more spent.”
“We, Your Majesty.” At Arbuckle’s raised eyebrows, his valet explained, “Your Majesty must use the royal ‘We’ when referring to himself.”
“I must…er…We must?”
“Yes, Majesty.” Baris smiled as he accepted his master’s doublet. “It’s tradition.”
“Well, We mustn’t break tradition!” Arbuckle chuckled and allowed Baris help him doff his shirt and pants and don his nightshirt. “Is there any tradition that states the new emperor can’t have a nightcap?”
“None whatsoever, Majesty.”
“Well, We’re glad of that!” Arbuckle poured himself a whiskey and placed it on his night table. Climbing into bed, he picked up the book he’d been trying to read for more than a month. With everything that had happened, he’d lost his place. Sighing, he flipped to page one and started anew. This is how an evening should be spent, with a good book and an easy-sipping whiskey.
A knock sounded at the door.
The emperor looked up from his reading, and Baris looked up from his tidying. “Who could it be at this time of night?”
Arbuckle shivered as he realized that it was one month ago to the day, while reading this very book, when a late-night knock on his door had set recent events in motion.
“It must be important, Majesty. Word was left to not disturb you.”
“Best answer it, then.” The emperor put down his whiskey and book as Baris went to the door.
It opened to reveal a glowering Captain Ithross. “Pardon, Your Majesty, but I just received dire news that I thought you would want to know.”
Arbuckle’s mind flashed through a hundred possible sources of bad news. “What’s happened?”
“There’s been a murder. Baroness Monjhi was killed in her carriage this evening on her way home.”
“Oh, gods! Who…”
“Her bodyguard witnessed the attack and reported that it was High Priest Hoseph, your late father’s spiritual advisor, who committed the murder.”
“Hoseph!” Arbuckle’s stomach clenched. “Gods damn that man to the Nine Hells!”
“Yes, milor—er, Your Majesty.” Ithross looked miserable. “The constabulary’s been notified, but we’ve been seeking him for a month with no luck.”
“Well, keep looking.” Arbuckle reached for his whiskey and downed it in one long swallow. “Damn it! The baroness was a fine and noble woman. He killed her because she saved my life! There’s no doubt of it!”
“It seems likely, Majesty.”
The pieces fit together in Arbuckle’s mind. “Hoseph could have been behind the other attempts on my life as well!”
“It’s possible, Majesty. He was involved in this…guild of assassins, after all, according to Captain Norwood, and named in the warning you received as ringleader of the conspiracy.”
“Yes. Thank you for bringing me word, Captain. We’ve got to consider this carefully. I— We want a full investigation.” Arbuckle dismissed him with a nod.
“Of course, Majesty.” Ithross ducked out, and Baris went with him.
Arbuckle got up and poured himself another whiskey. He knew he wouldn’t be able to sleep after the news. Standing at the window, he sipped the smooth liquor and looked out over the city—his city, his empire—and wondered how many assassins were out there.
My father used to be one of them.
“Is anyone ever safe in this world?” Emperor Tynean Tsing III downed his whiskey and went to bed. He lay awake a very long time, wondering if he would ever be free of his father’s legacy.
In the end, he knew it didn’t matter.
It was time to make a legacy of his own.
Epilogue
Hoseph materialized in the soothing darkness of his refuge, staggered, and collapsed to his knees. Pain pulsed in his head, and waves of dizziness threatened to empty his stomach. Closing his eyes, he waited until the pain and nausea eased, then struggled to his feet. His knees trembled, but held him.
One more task…then I can rest.
He called on Demia’s grace, and light flared and wavered in his trembling hand. The tiny skull hung from his sleeve on its chain, reflecting the pearly glow. He’d used the talisman extensively this afternoon, and paid the price. Necessary… I can rest later. He examined the silver skull, lurid in the flickering flame, and wondered, Is it killing me?
I fear not Death for she is my ally. She will claim me in the end, and I will stand at Demia’s side. The ancient mantra calmed him, but he still had work to do in this world, and that work required him to travel through the Sphere of Shadow.
He’d waited for Duveau to bring word of Arbuckle’s death, but the archmage never arrived. At the palace, he knew by the celebrations that something had gone dreadfully wrong. When he spotted Duchess Ingstrom’s carriage leaving early, he went to her home to await word.
It arrived in the form of a livid Duchess.
“What in the Nine Hells does Lady T mean by ordering her bodyguard to save Arbuckle’s life?”
“Bodyguard? What bodyguard?”
“The skinny woman who can leap around like a court acrobat! Moirin or something from Twailin, she said her name was! She killed Duveau!”
It took little imagination to realize who this bodyguard must be. Mya!
Hoseph had gone back to the palace to wait for the traitorous Twailin guildmaster to leave, and followed her carriage. When he materialized beside her, She’d tried to explain, but he was through listening to her lies. She’d paid for her treason with her soul and her ring. Next, Hoseph had visited each and every master of the Tsing guild to decry Lady T’s betrayal and promise his support in the coming conflict. They had all eagerly eyed the guildmaster’s ring he proffered as the promised prize for killing Mya.
Mya…
She had foiled him again and again, destroyed his elegant system of power, pushed him to the brink of collapse.
Never again… Hoseph lurched to his desk and started gathering his things. One more thing to do tonight before I can rest…
Into his spare cloak he piled a few essential items: his razor, personal effects, writing tools and parchment, and several priceless tomes from the guild archives. So few possessions for one who will shape an empire. He tied it tight and lay the bundle down in the center of the floor.
Demia’s high priest gazed around the repository of dusty books and myriad scrolls. For decades he had preserved the guild’s history here, plotted the future. No more.
No choice…
Hoseph lifted the lamp from the desk and removed the brass cap on the filling spout. With a flick of his wrist, he dashed oil onto the shelves of bone-dry vellum. In his conversations with the masters he had finally understood what must be done. He couldn’t kill Mya himself, not with pain and fatigue plaguing him every time he traversed the Sphere of Shadow. He had to use the guild, but Mya wore the Grandmasters ring, so no guild-bound assassin could touch her. There was only one solution.
They’ll be guild-bound no more.
Dropping the empty lamp, Hoseph plucked a match from the desk drawer. Flame blossomed in his hand with a flick of his thumbnail. He walked around the small room, touching the match here and there until the fire roared and smoke whirled.
Finally, Hoseph picked up his bundle and flicked the silver skull into his hand. How ironic it would be if this one time Demia’s talisman failed him. He would burn here, consumed by his own cleverness.
He spoke the invocation, and
the mists formed around him.
Thank you, sweet Demia…
Hoseph watched the blood contracts blazing and burning as the shadows consumed him. The guild assassins were free from constraint.
It was open season, and Mya was the game of choice.
Thanks for reading!
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Continue the Adventure
In the race to gain control of the Assassins Guild, can Mya avoid losing her very soul to the murderous priest Hoseph?
Look for Weapon of Pain, due out Summer 2016.
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About the Authors
Chris was born and raised in Oregon, Anne in Massachusetts. They met at graduate school in Texas, and have been together ever since. They have been gaming together since 1985, sailing together since 1988, married since 1989, and writing together off and on throughout their relationship. Most astonishingly, they have not killed each other, or even tried to, at any time during the creation or editing of any of their stories…although it was close a few times. The couple has been sailing and writing full time aboard their beloved sailboat, Mr. Mac, since 2009. They return to the US every summer for conventions, so check out jaxbooks.com for updates and events. They are always happy to sign copies of their books and talk to fans.
Preview Chris and Anne’s novels, download audiobooks, and read the writing blog at jaxbooks.com. Follow their cruising adventures at www.sailmrmac.blogspot.com.
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Novels by Chris A. Jackson and Anne L. McMillen-Jackson
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From Privateer Press
Blood & Iron (ebook novella)
From The Ed Greenwood Group
Dragon Dreams (November 2015)
Check them all out at
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