Weapon of Fear (44 page)

Mya
stepped out of the carriage into the inner court of the Imperial Palace, and
another world.  Never had she seen such grandeur, such a cacophony of color,
light, and noise.  A thousand people flowed like a river of rainbows,
resplendent in colorful gowns and doublets.  A low murmur of constant chatter
dampened the occasional higher exclamation of wonder and delight.  Perfumes and
powders filled the air, cloying her senses and making her eyes water.  Around
the throng of courtiers, imperial guards stood like statues carved of marble,
resplendent in spotless white dress uniforms.  Servants in imperial blue and
gold helped the guests from their carriages and guided them into the flow in an
orderly fashion.

Don’t
stare, Mya! 
Reining
in her awe, she scanned to evaluate her surroundings on a more professional
level.  Guards with gleaming halberds edged the immense courtyard.  More stood
atop the inner wall armed with bows.  A few knights and squires stood at the
gate and flanked the towering doors to the palace proper, gleaming in burnished
armor.  Of the nobles involved in the conspiracy, she saw nothing.  Fingertips
brushed her shoulder, and Mya suppressed the reflex to knock them away.

“Put
your hand on my arm.  That tells everyone we’re related.”  Lady T held her arm
out and smiled graciously.  “And try not to gawk, my dear.  People will think
you’re provincial.”

“I
am
provincial.”  Mya fluttered her lace fan and tried to look overwhelmed, which
wasn’t difficult.

“Just
don’t embarrass me.”  Their carriage rumbled away, and they joined the flow of
color, noise, and fragrance.

“Lady
T!”  A woman hurried up to greet Mya’s escort with a fingertip embrace and
kisses that didn’t come anywhere near to touching skin.  “You look
lovely
! 
And who’s your guest?  I thought you were bringing your new beau!”

“This
is my niece Moirin, from Twailin.”  Lady T presented her with little aplomb,
her face set in a neutral mien.  “Please forgive her rather stunned
expression.  It’s her first time to the city, let
alone
the palace. 
Moirin, this is Countess Grenfield.”

“Milady.” 
Mya curtsied and beamed as if thrilled to meet the woman.

“A
lovely
gown.”  The countess scrutinized Mya’s dress.  “Unusual, with all that lace. 
Is that the latest style in Twailin?”

“No,
I had it made here.”  Mya made a show of turning.  “I thought modesty best in
the presence of our new emperor.”

“No
doubt.”  Countess Grenfield sneered and thrust out her daring décolletage
before nodding to Lady T.  “Tara.”

“Countess.” 
Lady T curtsied, and the countess moved on.

“If
your shoulder had been any colder, the countess would have frozen to the
cobblestones,” Mya whispered.

“Politics,
my dear.  The countess may out rank me, but she has nothing I need.  If I
gushed, it would seem suspicious.  If you intend to remain in Tsing, you would
do well to remember that.”

Mya
glanced sidelong.  “Don’t have many friends, do you?”

“Lady
T!”

“Baron
Remson!  Lovely to see you!”  Lady T beamed and curtsied to a dashing man in a
crimson and gold doublet.

“You’re
looking especially beautiful today.”  The baron kissed Lady T’s hand, then
turned to Mya.  “And who’s this lovely creature?

“Let
me present my dear niece, Moirin.”  Tara nudged Mya forward, glowing with
well-feigned adoration.  “She’s hoping to catch the new emperor’s eye, of
course.  Her first foray into nobility is proving rather overwhelming.”

“Well,
she certainly caught
my
eye!  Delighted!”  The baron lingered over Mya’s
hand, eying her like a wolf deciding which portions of a lamb might taste best.

“I’m
honored, milord.”  Mya curtsied and tried to look demure.

“Will
you be in Tsing long, Miss Moirin?  I would
love
to take you to an
amusing little restaurant I recently discovered.”

“Oh,
I don’t—”

“She
would be
honored
!” Lady T gushed.  “Please send your card to my house,
Baron, and we can arrange the details.”

“I
will.”  He smiled to them both, perfect white teeth flashing before he turned
away.

Mya
dug her fingers into Lady T’s arm.  “What in the Nine Hells are you doing?”

“I’m
introducing you to society,” the lady said.  “If you’re my niece, it’s expected
for me to present you as a marriageable prospect. 
You’re
the one who
insisted on accompanying me, so you’ll have to play the part.”

A
continuous parade of carriages deposited more and more overdressed nobility,
until the enormous courtyard began to feel crowded.  Finally, the entire throng
moved like a rising tide toward the towering open doors of the palace.

Mya
smiled and curtsied as required, but never stopped scanning the crowd for the
assassination conspirators.  She would only recognize a few of them, but if
they saw her with Lady T, there might be problems later.  Soon, the crowd was
too thick for her to scrutinize every face, which was both frustrating and
comforting.  If she couldn’t spot them, they couldn’t spot her.

As
they approached the doors, and the crowd narrowed to a single file, Lady T
suddenly turned to her with a worried expression and whispered, “Are you
armed?”

“No,
but—”  Before she could ask why she wanted to know, they reached the door and
were greeted by a tall woman in a tight red gown.

“Lady
Monjhi!  How nice to see you.”  The woman touched the guildmaster gently on the
arm in greeting.  “And who is this lovely young lady?”

“Mistress
Jeffreys, this is my niece, Moirin, from Twailin.”

“Such
a pretty young lady.”  The woman brushed Mya’s cheek with one warm hand. 
“Welcome, Moirin.  This must be a big day for you.”

“Oh,
yes!  I’m very excited.”  Mya couldn’t recall ever being touched like that, but
the woman seemed so sincerely delighted to see them, she didn’t find it
untoward.  It seemed almost motherly.

“Lovely,
truly lovely!”  Mistress Jeffreys waved them on and greeted the next guests in
line.

“Well,
that
was close.”  Lady T eyed Mya with a cocked eyebrow.  “Stepping out
of line would have been…awkward.”

“What
do you—”  Mya glanced back to see the woman greeting each and every guest with
a casual touch.  Lady T’s question and the woman’s curious manner clicked into
place.  “She’s
frisking
everyone?”

“Magically,
yes.  She’s one of the Imperial Retinue.”

Thank
you, Dee
.  His
instincts had been spot on, as usual.

They
passed through the foyer and an adjoining antechamber, both so grandiosely
decorated that Mya found herself gaping once again.  The sketches in her tour
book didn’t even start to convey the grandeur.  “Will there be seats or pews in
the Great Hall?”

“Not
with this many guests.  It’ll be standing room only, I’m afraid.”  She looked
askance at Mya.  “Do your feet hurt already?”

“No,
I just want to be as close to the front as possible.”

“You
and everyone else, my dear.”  Lady T smiled and exchanged pleasantries with yet
another acquaintance.

Mya
fidgeted as they shuffled forward.  They’d never get through to the front of
the hall at this rate.  She leaned in close and whispered, “We need to get
farther forward.”

“Through
all these people?  You’re dreaming.”

“Work
along the
edge
!”  Mya couldn’t believe she had to tell the Tsing
Guildmaster how to work her way through a crowd.  “What faction were you before
you made guildmaster, anyway?  Alchemy?”

Lady
T’s eyes narrowed disdainfully. “Inquisition.”

“I
should have guessed.” 
She’d get along great with Bemrin.
  Mya had
always considered the Master Inquisitor of the Twailin guild a pretentious
fop.  He and Lady T seemed to be cut from the same bolt of cloth.  She pushed
her way along the fringe of the crowd, dragging Lady T with her.

When
they finally entered the cavernous Great Hall, Mya caught her breath once
again.  A jousting tournament could have been held in the room with floor space
to spare.  Two rows of columns marched the length of the chamber, fluted at top
and bottom and inscribed with runes and symbols the like of which she had never
seen.  The columns soared a hundred feet to a ceiling of mosaic porcelain tiles
that glittered in the blazing light of myriad chandeliers and sconces.

At
the far end, above and behind a gilded dais, a balcony seemed to float before
the legendary stained glass windows, which in turn soared almost to the
ceiling.  Sunlight ignited the glass and threw colors into the room that
rivaled even the assembling crowd.  Mya caught glimpses of the dais through the
throng, a golden throne and small side tables at the back flanked by intricate
scrollwork of gold and gems, all lit with glow crystals.

Torghen
would faint dead away…

Mya
and Lady T worked their way along the right-hand side of the room, then angled
in toward the center, apologizing and excusing themselves as they displaced
indignant nobles.  When they could progress no further, Mya snugged up against
one of the pillars, resting her back against the cool stone as she focused on
where the coronation would take place.

Imperial
guards stood at rigid attention along the walls and balcony, and knights in
gleaming armor ringed the dais.  High priests of the six Gods of Light lined up
before the gilded steps, ready to bestow their blessings upon the new emperor. 
Mya cringed when she noticed the crimson-robed high priest of Demia, instantly
reminded of Hoseph.  Could he have infiltrated, posing as the high priest he
once was?

No,
he’s not that stupid
.

She
whispered a silent prayer that the priests would have a chance to perform their
duty today.

“It’s
something, isn’t it?”  Lady T had to lean in close to Mya’s ear to be heard
over the buzz of excited conversations, her voice vibrant with something Mya
couldn’t quite put a finger on: ambition, awe, or maybe even reverence?

“It
is.”  Mya couldn’t disagree, but saw the opportunity to make a point.  “Wouldn’t
you rather have someone
sane
on that throne, or in charge of your guild
for that matter?”

“Our
guildmaster
wasn’t
insane.”  Lady T glowered at her.  “He was…unusual,
but invaluable.  He empowered our guild as it never had been before.”

“He
perverted
the guild into something it was never meant to be.  I saw what
he did to a young woman who had displeased him, Tara.  He flayed her alive, and
enjoyed
it.”  She eyed the woman critically.  If she had been an
Inquisitor, perhaps she had the same predilections. “Tell me you don’t think
that’s vile.”

“There’s
an intoxicating power in the dominion over others, Mya.  Eliciting an utter
surrender is a heady thing.  You may not understand it, but it exists.”  Her
eyes glinted.  “And that power can be addictive.”

Mya
couldn’t restrain a look of disgust.

“Provincial
and
naïve...”  If Lady T hadn’t been born with a noble’s air of
superiority, she certainly had adopted one.  “Did you know there are people who
derive sexual pleasure from the infliction of pain, and those who derive it
from having pain inflicted upon themselves?”

“No,
I didn’t.”  Mya swallowed.  “Torture for pleasure is abhorrent.”

“Even
if the one being tortured submits willingly?”

“Perhaps
not then, but the Grandmaster’s subjects were
not
willing.”  She stared
into the lady’s eyes.  “Have you ever lain on a slab and felt a finger probing
for the most sensitive spot to cut, knowing that the pain would come, and that
there was nothing you could do to stop it?  I’ve endured the blades of a
sadist.  I watched the gleam in his eyes as he cut me open.  Have you?”

“No.” 
Lady T wrenched her gaze away.  “But he made me watch him do it to others. 
He…instructed me in inquisition.”

“And
that’s why you feared him.  You knew you could end up under his knife.”  And
that was why Tara had become his guildmaster.  He knew he could control her
through fear, just as he controlled the rest of the empire.

“Yes.”

“That’s
one thing that will never happen to you if you work for me, Tara.”  Mya met the
guildmaster’s renewed gaze openly.  “If I ever kill you, you’ll never know what
hit you, and you won’t feel the pain.”

“That’s
such a
comforting
thought.”  Lady T’s whisper dripped sarcasm.

“After
working for your last Grandmaster, it
should
be.”

Tara
pursed her lips.  “Perhaps I could—”

A
fanfare of trumpets split the air, reverberating through the room and cutting
off all conversation.  The time for talking was over.

The
coronation of Tynean Tsing III had begun.

A
rbuckle started at the peal of
trumpets.  The stout shot of whiskey had set his mind wandering to the few
truly joyous memories of his youth: chasing butterflies through the palace
gardens…a favored book with pictures of dragons…listening to stories of knights
in armor slaying evil ogres…  The fanfare shattered his pleasant recollections
and jolted him back to the real world and his duty to the empire.

“Milord,
it’s time.”

“Of
course, Tennison.”  Arbuckle watched his secretary bow and join the line of
senior palace staff filing into the Great Hall.

Verul
bowed and said, “I look forward to many years of recording your words, milord,”
then quickly followed Tennison.

“Thank
you.”  Arbuckle swallowed a lump in his throat at the loss of the two men’s
company.  The servants had become his closest confidants, friends, even, in the
last few weeks.  Something he’d never truly had before.

Another
peal of trumpets, more prolonged and elaborate this time, announced his entry. 
Checking his accoutrements, Arbuckle nodded to the knights in the fore. 
“Gentlemen and ladies, let’s be at this.”

“Yes,
milord!”  They ushered him forward.

“Are
you still with me, Keyfur?” Arbuckle whispered just before stepping through the
door.

A
hand rested on his shoulder for a moment, comforting in its solidity.  “Yes,
milord.”

“Crown
Prince Arbuckle, Heir to the Throne and the Empire of Tsing!”  The herald’s
voice reverberated throughout the hall.

The
prince entered to a rumble of polite applause from the assembled crowd.  The
knights surrounding the dais snapped to attention and saluted, and the high
priests and priestesses bowed.  As Arbuckle mounted the steps, his guards
peeled away and took up their stations.  Only the emperor-to-be continued to
the highest platform, where he could be viewed by all.

An
easy target
.

Turning
at the prescribed spot in the center of the dais, Arbuckle swept the room with
his gaze.  To his left stood the senior palace staff, Tennison and Verul among
a half dozen others.  Some he knew by name, others only by sight, but all
glowed with pride.

To
his right stood the Imperial Retinue of Wizards.

It
struck him as odd to see Keyfur’s simulacrum standing among the other wizards,
attentive and smiling, when he knew the man actually stood at his side. 
Arbuckle made certain his gaze didn’t linger overlong on Duveau.  He wondered
how many of the mages’ smiles were sincere.  Duveau’s seemed so.  Not for the
first time, the prince wondered if the warning he’d received was genuine or
some elaborate fabrication to discredit his archmage.

Arbuckle
looked down the length of the Great Hall at the assembled peers of the realm. 
The nobles and courtiers were draped in a veritable rainbow of hues, the
jewelry dangling from their ears, necks, and fingers enough wealth to finance
several wars.  The provincial dukes sat in their elevated balconies.  He caught
sight of the Twailin contingent.  Duke Mir appeared uneasy, in stark contrast
to the mage Woefler, who smiled and bobbed his head to the excited chattering
of the duchess.  All eyes were fixed on Arbuckle, but not all gleamed with the
disdain he had come to expect from his nobility.  Maybe, once he wore the crown
and they saw the good he intended to do, some would actually look on him with
love, or at least respect.

High
Priestess Arranal of the temple of Eos All-Father, stepped to the fore of the
high clerics.  The last of the crowd’s murmurs withered beneath her
incongruously deep-pitched voice as she recited the opening benediction.  Her
words recalled the glories of the empire past and extolled the promise of
things to come.  She might have been enumerating the ceiling tiles for all
Arbuckle noticed.  His gaze flicked here and there, always coming back to
glimpse Duveau from the corner of his eye.

I
must survive this day!

The
mantra sounded hollow now, lost in the vast space of the Great Hall.  Sweat
trickled down his neck into the cowl of his mantle, and his stomach growled,
soured by nothing but blackbrew and single-malt whiskey.  Though attended by
dozens of guards, Arbuckle had never felt so alone.

I’m
not alone.  Keyfur is with me.

“Why
isn’t he doing something?” he whispered, trying not to move his mouth as he
spoke.

“Patience,
milord.”  The whispered words hung in thin air inches from his ear.  “If the
moment
does
come, remember to touch no metal, nor any stone that’s not dwarf-wrought.”

Arbuckle
waited, trembling with dread anticipation.

Arranal
raised her hands, and her voice thundered in praise of her deity.  “All Hail
Eos!  Father of All!”  The very flagstones beneath their feet seemed to echo
her blessing, trembling with divine power.

Or
is it my knees shaking?

The
crowd stood enthralled, their eyes gleaming and their mouths agape as they
gazed upon the priestess.  Their rapture turned to apprehension, then horror,
when Arranal staggered, her face ashen, and the towering stained-glass windows
behind them rattled in their casements.

Not
my knees…  Duveau!

Arbuckle
couldn’t help it; he turned to look at Duveau, and his heart leapt to his
throat.  The archmage stood with one hand pressed against a great stone pillar,
his eyes glazed over slate gray.

“Gods
of Light protect us!” Arbuckle hissed.  “You said he
couldn’t
bring the
palace down!”

“He
can’t
, milord!” Keyfur insisted.  “Perhaps he’s communicating with the
bedrock beneath, but even Duveau can’t manipulate dwarf-wrought stonework.”

Keyfur’s
assurance was less than comforting.  Arbuckle’s mind screamed for him to flee,
but his feet remained rooted. 
Don’t move!
  He had to trust Keyfur. 
If
you move, you’re dead!

Keyfur’s
airy whisper of a spell touched his ear, and a breeze cooled the prince’s
neck.  The air shimmered around him, muting the panicked exclamations of the
crowd.

Don’t
move!

Arbuckle
gritted his teeth against his rising panic as the dais around him erupted into
a storm of chaos and blood.

At
the first fanfare, Mya realized that she’d made a grave tactical error.

“I
should have worn higher heels!”

Amongst
the tall lords and ladies, she couldn’t see the dais very well.  She caught
only glimpses of people moving, robed figures taking position before the dais,
armored knights gleaming in their metal skins, the golden throne at the back of
the platform reflecting the light of the lamps, and the glittering
accoutrements of the ceremony awaiting use beside it.

“Which
one’s Duveau?” she hissed to Lady T.

“The
retinue is lining up to the left.  He’s in the fore, wearing silver robes.”

“Why
didn’t you tell me he’d be on that side?”  Mya cursed under her breath.  This
is what came from not casing a target properly.  She was on the far side of the
room from the wizard.  How was she going to get through the crowd?

“How
was I to know which side they’d be on?”

Mya
and Lady T exchanged glares as a second peal of trumpets rang out, and more
figures entered from the right hand corner of the room.  Knights, guards, and
among them, the crown prince, resplendent in full royal frippery.  She rose on
tiptoe and glimpsed a silver-clad figure on the far side of the dais.

Duveau… 
Why in the name of
the gods didn’t the prince have him dismissed or arrested?  Had he not believed
her warning?  Had he not made any preparations to safeguard against the wizard?

The
prince’s entourage took station, and the emperor-to-be stepped up on the dais
alone.

Either
he didn’t believe my note, or he’s a complete idiot exposing himself like that.

Mya
forced down her apprehension.  She’d vowed only to intervene if the prince’s
defenses proved inadequate, and the massed knights and Imperial Guard seemed like
more than enough might to protect one man from one wizard.  Still, he looked
horribly exposed up there.

As
the high priestess of Eos started her benediction, Mya tried to pick out a path
to reach the archmage, just in case.  If violence erupted, she would have to
keep from being swept away with the panicked crowd.  The pillar at her back
served that purpose, but to reach Duveau, she’d have to get through the crowd
and a mass of knights and guards quickly.  That seemed impossible.

As
the high priestess raised her arms and her voice, Mya felt the floor tremble
beneath her feet.  A murmur of worry swept through the crowd, people looking
around for the source of the tremor.

This
is it…

Every
nerve in Mya’s body sang.  Her hand itched to grab a spear from one of the
guards and throw it through the traitorous wizard, but she knew that would be
worse than useless.  She’d never hit him from so far away, and the guards would
think she was attacking the prince.  She’d be cut down.

Bide… 
Wait for it…  You’re the last resort, Mya.  The prince isn’t a fool.  He’ll be
ready.

With
a horrific screech, the golden throne, gilded accoutrements, and every bit of
metal on or around the dais rose up like a bizarre living thing, twisting and
forming into jagged implements of death.

“Holy…”

The
crowd around her erupted in panic, their shrieks and screams rivaling that of
the twisted metal that lanced inward from all directions at the seemingly
unprotected prince.  Rainbow light flared around the would-be sovereign, and a
second man flickered into being before him, arms outstretched, colorful robes
fluttering in a cyclone of wind.  The storm of metal struck, and a
scintillating sphere of light arced and flickered, deflecting the deadly
onslaught.

Maybe
he’s prepared after all
…

Mya
braced herself against the pillar at her back, thrusting aside panicked nobles
and courtiers as they fled in terror.  She caught a glimpse of the Imperial
Retinue just as a massive plate of gold sheared through the line of wizards
standing beside Duveau.  Five of them fell in a welter of blood, the tall woman
in the red dress who had greeted Mya and touched her cheek cut cleanly in
half.  One, however, a flamboyantly dressed mage who looked like a mirror image
of the one protecting Arbuckle, flew apart into a swarm of brilliantly colored
butterflies.

What
the hell?
  Mya had
no time to wonder what had happened.

Shouts
and screams clashed against the walls, and arms and elbows smashed against her,
threatening to tear her away from the pillar.  She fought against that tide,
trying to see through the mayhem.  She heard Lady T shriek a curse, and glanced
back to see her huddling behind the pillar out of the chaotic flow.

Mya
turned back.  Through the thinning throng, she could finally see.

Knights
and guards whirled with drawn weapons.  The once-gilded dais had been stripped
bare of metal, the gold flowing like a living thing, lashing out against the
scintillating shield that protected the prince.  Within the sphere, the
wizard’s hands glowed with rainbow light.

Three
armored knights near the far end of the dais charged the archmage, but a flick
of Duveau’s hand sent two of them flying aside like ragdolls.  The closest
screamed in agony as his breastplate crumpled inward, splintering ribs and
pulping organs.  The dead knight didn’t fall, however, but turned and lunged at
the prince like a bloody marionette.  His puppet-corpse smashed into the
rainbow barrier and flew apart, fragmenting into a swirling storm of bloody
metal and meat that clashed against the sphere again and again.

Most
of the rest of the knights fared no better, lurching and stumbling as their
armor crinkled and peeled away.  Pieces of metal flew up to attack the prince,
the knights, and the guards.  A few protectors seemed unaffected by Duveau’s
magic.  Three knights formed up around their prince, fending off the onslaught
of animated metal as best they could.  One’s sword shattered into wooden
splinters as the man tried to parry a sweeping golden blade.