Weapon of Fear (23 page)

It’s
got to be Hoseph
…

The
priest had made his move, removing the prince’s sworn protectors to better
access the target.  It was the logical first step in planning an assassination.

 Mya
wracked her brain, assessing what she had learned about the cult of Demia.  How
a priest could be transformed into a power-hungry assassin remained an mystery. 
After all, the Keeper of the Slain was a God of Light.  The faith regarded
death as a gentle, natural experience, not a violent act.  Demia’s followers repudiated
wealth and comfort, and sought no domination over others.

After
she’d read all she could find in the city library, Mya had investigated Demia’s
temple.  As spare in architecture as the religion’s adherents were in their
habits, it radiated a sense of peace.  The priests and acolytes were
soft-spoken and eager to provide testimony to Demia’s solace for those on the
cusp of death.  The true intent of the divine laying on of glowing hands was to
ease a tortured soul on its way.  Hoseph had twisted the act of mercy into
murder.  Had he perverted another of Demia’s blessings to drive the
blademasters to suicide?  Regardless of how he had done it, one thing was
certain; without the blademasters’ protection, the crown prince was a much
easier target.

She
walked away from the posterboard. 
It’s not my fight
. 
I’ve got enough
on my hands
.

All
the way back to the inn, Mya took the pulse of the city.  Word of the
blademasters’ demise spread quickly, and many considered it an ill omen.

“Why
would they abandon the prince?” cried an old woman as she twisted her hands in
misery.  “He’s done nothin’ but good.”

“Good
for us means bad for the nobles.  Bet they’re behind this!” groused another.

Even
the constables on the bridge to the Dreggars Quarter were subdued.  For once,
the familiar sergeant just waved her on without a question or comment to his
corporal.

Mya
barely paid attention as she pondered what this news meant to her.  What would
happen to the Assassins Guild if they succeeded in killing the crown prince?  Would
there be a struggle for succession?  What would the common people do?  Would
there be rebellion, civil war, martial law?  And what about the guild?  Gaining
control would be more difficult amid such strife.

“Got
a coin, lady?”

Mya
looked down at the grimy urchin standing with an outstretched hand.  She hadn’t
noticed Digger sidle up beside her. 
Focus, Mya
! 
Lad’s not watching
over you anymore
.  Digger’s approach meant the urchins were assembled and
hungry.

She
gestured as if the boy’s presence offended her.  “No.  Now scat!”

Digger
scampered away, and Mya continued down the street, making a stop at a bakery,
and another to buy several papayas from a fruit vendor.  Striding on, she glanced
around to make sure no one was watching, then ducked into the abandoned
stable.  Her urchins met her with wide eyes and hungry smiles.

Mya
pulled the loaves of bread out of the bag and placed them on the ragged but
relatively clean scrap of canvas they used as a table.  She handed the papayas
to Digger, who quickly cut them into pieces.  It pleased her to note that they
didn’t attack the food as they had when she first met them, but shared it out
and ate deliberately.  Their cheeks were a bit plumper or, at least, not quite
as sunken.  It was amazing what improvement a few days of decent food made in a
child.

“Wait
a minute!”  Mya realized that she didn’t recognize one of the dirty faces. 
“Who are you?” 

The
girl stopped chewing, her eyes as big as eggs.  She looked no more than seven
or eight, her hair a rat’s nest, the simple shift she wore filthy with grime.

“This
here’s Kit.  She’s…um…”  Nails fell silent and looked down at the dirt floor,
his face red with embarrassment or shame.

Another
mouth to feed
. 
Mya sighed, but realized that the addition also meant another pair of eyes
watching her back.

“All
right, Kit, but if you stay, you earn your keep.  Understand?”

“They
told me the deal.  I knows the score.”  The stern frown on the little girl’s
face looked almost comical.  “I ain’t as young as I look.”

Mya
wondered how many more meals her shrinking supply of coins would buy.  She
distained outright thievery, but she’d soon have to resort to some sort of
larceny to sustain herself until she managed to get the guild—and its
coffers—under her control.  For now, she needed information from her spies.

“So,
has everything been all right around the
Dulcimer
?”

Thumbs
flew up in answer to her question.  That was good; no one had yet found her
hiding place.

“Ya’
heard the big news?” Digger asked with a full mouth.

“About
the blademasters?  Yes.  It’s all over the city.”  She cocked her head and
regarded her little spies.  She hadn’t brought them into her confidence, but it
might be useful to know their opinions of the pulse of the city.  She’d only
been in Tsing a couple of weeks, but they’d lived here their entire short
lives.  “Someone is planning to kill the prince.  What do you think will happen
if they succeed?”

The
urchins exchanged glances then looked to their eldest.

“Real
trouble.”  Digger shook his head.  “Folks think he’s a good’un after he burnt
up all the gallows.  He promised ‘em justice.  They ain’t gonna go back to the
way it was.”

“What
do you mean by ‘real trouble’?”

“More
fires, I expect.  Ain’t enough soldiers or caps in the city to keep it from
happenin’.”  He shrugged and grinned.  “I might just help with the torches.”

“You’d
burn your own home?”

“I
got no home, remember?”

“But
if the whole city goes up in flames…”

“Well,
I don’t think folks’ll burn much south of the river, but I’d bet my left foot
there won’t be a stick standin’ on the north side if they kill that prince.”

Mya
thought about this ill prophesy.  One thing was true enough: nothing could stop
the commoners if they chose to burn the city.  Midtown and the Heights
Districts would be hit hardest.  That meant no nobles or rich merchants, no
business or big factories, no profit to be made for the Assassins Guild.  At
least, not the Assassins Guild she wanted to govern.  The aftermath would be
horrific for the survivors, as well.  The city of Tsing might cease to exist,
and if the city fell and the streets ran with the blood of nobles, would there even
be an empire?

I
could move guild headquarters to Twailin like Lad suggested
.

Mya
rejected the thought; Twailin was too far from the center of the empire.  No, the
Grandmaster must remain in Tsing, which meant that Tsing had to remain intact. 
But that wasn’t the only issue.  She didn’t know why the priest wanted to kill
Arbuckle, but she would bet he was ready to install his own choice for
emperor.  If he gained power over the empire, her efforts to take over the
guild would fail.  There was only one thing to do.

“Whacha
thinkin’?”  Gimp looked at her expectantly.  The urchins had finished eating,
and were all staring at her.

“I’m
thinking that I’ve got to keep the crown prince alive.”  Mya sighed.  “I’ve
just got to figure out how.”

“Kill
them who’s plannin’ it first.”  Digger drew his rusty kitchen knife and
brandished it.  “Way you fight, wouldn’t be hard.”

“I
don’t know everyone involved.”  Mya recalled the names she’d overheard in Lady
T’s sitting room: Seoli, Ingstrom, Graving.  She’d recognize some of the others
by their faces, but didn’t know their names, which would make it difficult to
track them down, especially alone.  “Killing just some of them won’t stop their
plans, and will make the rest more wary.”

Hoseph
has got to be the driving force
behind this
.  Cutting off the head of a snake was one sure way to stop it
from striking.  Unfortunately, getting her hands on a man who could disappear
in a puff of smoke would be like trying to catch a fart on the breeze.  But she
might be able to get some help…

“Anything
going on at Lady T’s?  A handkerchief in her window?”

“Nope. 
She comes and goes in that big carriage of hers, but we can’t follow it.” 
Digger shrugged.  “She’s got guards watchin’, so we can’t ride on the frame,
and it’s too fast to run after.”

“A
fella came to visit late last night, and didn’t leave ’til just before sunup.” 
Nails grinned and nudged Digger.  “I think she’s got a boyfriend.”

“She
got somethin’ to do with this?” Gimp asked.

“Yes,
but she also might be trying to help me…I think.”  Mya wondered if letting the
lady know that she was onto the assassination conspiracy had been a mistake. 
“I don’t know if I can trust her or not.”

Mya
gnawed on her nails and thought, twisting the problem this way and that to
consider all possibilities.  Finally she settled on one potential solution:
If
I can’t stop the assassins, then perhaps I can warn the target
.

She
couldn’t help but laugh at the notion. 
Just warn the crown prince!  Right,
Mya.  Maybe you should attend a court ball to meet him.

“What’s
funny?” Gimp asked.  The urchins were staring at her.

“Nothing. 
I’m just thinking.” 
Thinking that I must be daft!

Getting
in wasn’t the problem.  The ring she wore would open the secret doors into the
dwarf-wrought passage beneath the bluff, and there must be access to the palace
proper from the dungeons.  But the palace was enormous.  She’d need a layout or
floorplan to locate the prince.

Mya
scrabbled through her bag and pulled out her guide book of the city, thumbing
through the pages until she found the section describing the palace.  She
skimmed over the obscure facts that might be fascinating to a tourist—
Two
hundred chamber pots? Really
?—but irrelevant to an intruder.  There were
lovely sketches of the towers and turrets and the stained glass of the Great
Hall, but no diagrams of the interior.  The original structure had been built
centuries ago, dwarf-wrought, the book said, though the labor of both men and
dwarves had been used during periods of expansion or renovation.  The last
major work had been completed about a century ago.

“No
men
who worked on that construction would still be alive, but dwarves…”

“What
about ’em?”

Mya
snapped out of her reverie and looked at Digger.  She’d forgotten where she was
again.  “I need to speak to some dwarves.”

“Well,
good luck with that.  They’re a closed-mouthed lot.”

“Leave
that to me.  I’ve got jobs for the rest of you.  Keep your eyes on the
Tin
Dulcimer
and Lady T’s house.  If anything unusual happens, I want to know
right away.  And ask around to see if you can locate the homes of Duke Seoli,
Duchess Ingstrom, and Chief Magistrate Graving.”  It never hurt to have a
back-up plan in case things went awry, and she might pressure one of them into
betraying their cabal.

Gathering
up her book and bag, Mya ducked out of the stable and headed back to the
library.  She had to learn whatever she could about the palace, then she needed
to find some dwarves who were willing to talk.

D
ee reined in his mount to a walk to
give it a rest while he admired the impressive vista from the crest of
Forendell Pass.  Though the early morning sunlight had burned the fog from the
high mountains, clouds still shrouded the valleys.  A tide of mist flowed like
a waterfall over a high ridge, spilling down into the vale below.  Soaring
peaks tinged with gold surrounded them, islands floating in a lake of fog.  It was
an eerie wilderness to someone city-born and raised, and Dee shivered with a
chill that wasn’t due entirely to the cool air.

Danger
lurked behind the beauty.  Despite the empire’s tenuous peace with the ogre
tribes that roamed this harsh landscape, they’d seen fearful evidence that all
was not well. The skulls atop the grimly painted standards propped along the
roadside were usually animal, sometimes human. Nobody took chances here. 
Caravans aplenty labored through the pass, always escorted by weathered men and
women with crossbows, or mail-clad dwarves hefting axes.  Only the fast
couriers travelled the pass alone, relying on speed for safety.

“Hell
of a view, ain’t it?”  Pax pulled up beside Dee and stretched in his saddle. 
The tough old innkeeper seemed to have settled into his torment with a resigned
stoicism.

“It
is.”  Dee checked his recalcitrant mount as it shifted impatiently.  Despite
its labored breathing from the climb, the shaggy beast wanted to run.  “We must
be nearing the next way inn.”

“Gods
of Light preserve us, I can almost smell the blackbrew.”  Pax gave his mount
its head, and the beast lurched forward with a grunt, hooves pounding the hard
and finally downhill track.

They
descended into the mists.  A little more than a mile on, the road curved around
a bend, then dipped down into a snug dell sheltered by tall pines.  In the
center of a clearing stood a compound girded by a sturdy log palisade and an
iron-bound gate that now stood open.  Within stood a large stone building with
a steep slate roof and smoke trailing from the chimneys.  The horses sprinted
forward with renewed vigor, no doubt envisioning buckets of oats and piles of
sweet hay.

As
they pelted toward the gates, a coach pulled by a matched team of four prancing
horses surged out.

 “Whoa!” 
Dee reined in hard to avoid a collision.  “Gods damn it!  Watch where you’re—”

As
the driver hauled the horses to a stop, Dee blinked in sudden recognition. 
He’d know that carriage and team anywhere; he’d picked them out himself.  But
it was the figure that stepped out of the carriage—the mop of unruly hair,
startling hazel eyes, and impossibly graceful movement—that sent a thrill up
Dee’s spine.

“Lad!” 
Dee cursed silently at his outburst.  The near accident had drawn the eyes of
all in the stable yard, and who knew where Hoseph’s spies might lurk.  To cover
his gaffe, he waved peremptorily at a stable boy and called loudly, “You there,
lad!  Come take our horses.”

Dee
dismounted and shot Paxal a warning glance, but the innkeeper was staring hard
at the carriage, as if something was missing.  He realized what it was. 
Mya! 
Where is she?

“Gentlemen,
I apologize for my driver’s carelessness,” Lad said with a cordial nod.  He
gestured toward the inn, and Dee noticed his left hand swathed in bandages. 
“Please, let me buy you breakfast in amends.”

“Thank
you, sir.  I’m afraid our horses were heading for the barn without much care
for what might be coming the other way.”  Dee hauled his saddlebags off his
horse before the stable boy lead it away.  “We’d welcome the chance to break
our fast.  We left our own way inn rather early this morning.”

It
took all Dee’s restraint to not pepper Lad with questions as the innkeeper led
them to a private back room.

Lad
beat him to the first word as the door closed behind them.  “What are you two
doing here?”

“Looking
for you!  We got word of the Grandmaster’s death, and—”

“Never
mind that!”  Paxal’s fists clenched at his sides.  “Where’s Mya?”

Lad
met the innkeeper’s ire with calm.  “Mya decided to stay in Tsing.”

“Alone?” 
Paxal looked skeptical.  “Why?”

“I
suggested she come back to Twailin, but she said that the Grandmaster belongs
in Tsing.”

“The
Grandmaster
?”  Dee’s gaze shot to Lad’s left hand and the bandage
there.  “Master, please, tell us what happened.”

Lad
reached into a pocket and held out two rings on his open palm, one made for a
master’s finger, the other a guildmaster’s.  “I’m not your master anymore,
Dee.  I’m not in the guild anymore.”

Dee
stared at him in shock.  There was only one way to leave the guild…death.  But then,
Lad had never been a true member of the Assassins Guild.  He had never signed a
blood contract.

“So…Mya
took the Grandmaster's ring?”

“Not
really.  I put it on her finger.”  Lad rubbed his cheek and smiled.  “She
wasn’t happy about it.”

Paxal
growled deep in his throat.  “What’s this Grandmaster’s ring, and why would you
put it on Mya if she didn’t want it?”

“It
means she’s Grandmaster of the Assassins Guild, Pax,” Lad explained.  “It means
she’s
safe
.  No assassin can touch her.”

Paxal
pulled up a chair and sat at the table, his anger apparently quenched by Lad’s
calm explanation. “All right.  Now, all I know about this situation is that Mya
is in Tsing and in trouble.  To help her, I need some details, and your guild’s
secrets can be damned to all Nine Hells.”

Lad
told them all that had transpired in Tsing—their discovery of the Grandmaster’s
identity, his involvement in Wiggen’s death, Kiesha’s torture, and how Lad’s
injury had freed him to kill the Grandmaster—pausing only when a maid delivered
biscuits and blackbrew.  When he’d finished, Dee told him of Hoseph’s visits to
Twailin.

“But
he didn’t look like you described him before.  He was bald, and wore gray
robes.”

“Was
he injured?” Lad asked.

Dee
shook his head.  “He didn’t look hurt, but there’s no mistaking his intentions
toward you and Mya.  He’s out for blood, rallying the whole guild to hunt you
both down.”

“We
figured as much.”  Lad frowned.  “Mya’s spreading the news that I’m dead.  I
hope Hoseph believes it.”

“He
said he wasn’t sure.  If you lay low, maybe he’ll buy it.”  Dee stared at the
two rings Lad had laid on the table during his recitation.  “You should send
Sereth the rings by messenger.  That way, everyone there can truthfully say
that the last they saw of you was when you went off to Tsing.”

“But
what about Mya?”  Paxal looked grim.  “If she’s declaring herself Grandmaster,
then she’s putting herself square in their sights.”

“Yes,
she is, but they can’t touch her.  She intends to take the guild.  Hopefully
she can get the Tsing guildmaster on her side.  It depends on how cozy Lady T
is with Hoseph.”

“What
about the new emperor?” Dee asked.  “Won’t he expect to inherit the Assassins
Guild?”

Lad
shook his head.  “No.  The emperor seemed to despise his own son.  I doubt the
prince knew what his father was.  Tsing’s an ugly place.  The Grandmaster used
the guild to terrorize the populace.  If Mya can take the guild, she’ll put a
stop to that.”

“Unless
someone kills her first.”  Paxal scowled down at his cup.

“She’s
tougher than you think, Paxal.  If anyone can turn the guild around, it’s Mya.”

The
three men sat in silence for a while, sipping their blackbrew.  Finally Dee
threw back the last gulp, sighed gustily, and patted the bulging saddlebags. 
“So, Mas—Lad, how can we help you?  We’ve got money…”

“I’ve
got enough to get back to Twailin.  Save it for Mya.  She’ll need it if she
can’t get Lady T’s support.”

“How
do we
find
Mya?” Paxal asked.  “Tsing’s a big city.”

“I
don’t know.  I left her at an inn called the
Prickly Pair
, just inside
the east gate.  We assumed they’d be looking for us, so she’ll be wary and may
have moved.”  Lad smiled.  “She’ll be glad to see you two.  She’d never admit
it, but she needs friends.  Someone she can trust.”

“Well,
then we better get on the road.”  Paxal downed another mouthful of blackbrew
and stuffed a biscuit into his jacket pocket.  “We’re wastin’ daylight.”

“Pax
is right.”  Dee stood and slung the saddlebags over his shoulder.  “It was a pleasure
working for you, sir.”

Lad
actually laughed aloud, something Dee had never before seen him do.  Standing,
he extended a hand.  “No it wasn’t, Dee.  I was horrible.  You helped me
immeasurably, and I’ll always be grateful.”

In
Lad’s smile, Dee could see that something on this trip had healed his former
master, perhaps finally solving the riddle of his wife’s death, or maybe
freeing himself from the guild.  Whatever the reason, Dee was glad; Lad
deserved some joy in his life.  He wondered if his own trip to Tsing would have
such a happy ending.

“Aye,
been to the palace a few times, I have.  Deliver quarried marble when they feel
like they need a new staircase or balustrade.”  The dwarf quaffed ale and
squinted over the rim of his tankard at Mya.  “Why you want ta know?”

“I’m
writing a guide book.”  Mya pulled from her bag the one she had been using—The
City of Tsing, Heart of the Empire Past and Present—to show the dwarf.  “This
one covers the city pretty well, but has hardly anything on the palace.”

“Why
don’t you ask at the palace?  That seems like the place ta start.” 

Mya
shook her head.  “I want a different perspective, a
dwarven
perspective.  I don’t think your people get enough credit for their work.  I
mean, dwarves
built
the original palace, right?”

“O’course
we did!”  The dwarf puffed up with pride, as had the three previous dwarves she
spoke with.  Hopefully, this one would be able to provide her with some useful
information.  “Did you know that the flagstones were laid over a thousand years
ago?”

Oh,
dear gods, here it comes
. 
Mya withered at the thought of another lesson in fine stonework.  She dare not
be rude, for dwarves were quick to take offense, and if she angered one, she’d
never get another to even say “Hello”.  Instead, she pulled out a small
journal, pretended to scribble notes, and tried to steer the conversation.

“Really? 
That’s fascinating!  But let’s start at the beginning.  Dwarfs designed—” 

“The
beginning!  Well, fact is, dwarves lived in that hill long before Arianus Tsing
plopped his arse in a chair and called it a throne.  Good mining it was once,
and good transport out, what with the river and ocean at hand.”  The dwarf
finished his tankard and waved a thick hand to the bartender for another.

Mya
fished a coin from her dwindling supply and put it on the bar.  “Yes, but—”

“So
Arianus shows up, thinks the hilltop’s just the spot for a castle, and
negotiates with the dwarves.  Dwarves got easy access to stone, iron, copper,
lead, and men got easy access to crops and timber.  Mutual benefit, you see. 
So they make a deal, and live happily ever after!”

“So
the dwarves who lived beneath—”

“Dwarves
still
live beneath the palace, forging, crafting, working on the palace
whenever somethin’ needs doin’, but the good stone’s long played out.”

Mya’s
ears perked up.  Now she was getting somewhere.  “So, there must be dwarves who
know the palace inside out.”

“Oh,
that there are.”  The dwarf accepted his tankard from the bartender and sipped,
thick foam whitening his moustache.  “Know every stone, they do.”

“And
how might I speak to one of these dwarves?  I’d like to get the entire layout
of the palace for my book.”

Silence
prompted Mya to look up from her journal.  The dwarf stared at her with
narrowed eyes and one bushy brow raised, his tankard poised halfway to his
lips.