Weapon of Flesh (45 page)

“We could slip out of town on a barge, couldn’t we?  Head down the river to Southaven?  The Grandfather can’t reach
that
far.”

“I don’t know how far Southaven is, but getting out of the city on a barge would be dangerous.  The Grandfather has men on the docks.  He is deeply involved in trade.  I think that might have been part of the reason he was pressuring the Duke.  Something to do with trade on the river.”

“Well, there are other ways out of the city.  He can’t watch every gate all the time.”

“Yes he can, Wiggen, and he will.  We might be able to spot his watchers, but the only way to keep them from telling the Grandfather of our passage would be to kill them.”  His expression grew grave.  “I do not want to kill anyone I do not have to kill.”

“I don’t want you to kill anyone at all,” she agreed, but she could see that there was more to what he’d said.  The muscles of his jaw clenched and relaxed rhythmically, as if he were chewing on an idea that had formed and couldn’t be swallowed.

Then, as if a light had been kindled in her mind, she knew what he was thinking.

“You want to kill him... the Grandfather.  Lad, I don’t think --”

“It may be the only way we can stay alive and free, Wiggen.”

“It’s more than that,” she said flatly, seeing something in his eyes that she had hoped never to see.  “You hate him.”

“I...  don’t know.”  His brow furrowed in thought.  “I don’t know what hate feels like.”

“Hate feels like...”  She struggled for an analogy.  “If you feel angry whenever you think of someone, like you want to hurt them, that’s hate.”

“Then yes, Wiggen.  For what he did to me, that he had me made and what he made me do, I hate him, but that is not the only reason I want him dead.”

“It’s revenge, Lad.  I understand you want to get back at him for hurting you, but--”

“No.  Not for hurting me.  Not just that.”  He stopped then, and his gaze slid away from hers, down to the floor between them.  “It’s... more than that.”

“What, Lad?  What more?” she pleaded, wanting more than anything to understand him.

“He
made
me, Wiggen.  You must understand how that makes me feel, now that I
can
feel.”

“No, I don’t understand.  I can’t imagine it.  But I
do
know what it’s like to be helpless, and tortured and left for dead.  Killing him won’t make that feeling go away, Lad.”

“I was told my whole life that all my work, all my training, was for one purpose.  I was told that I had a destiny, a reason for living.  You can understand that, can’t you Wiggen?”

“I suppose,” she said, trying to imagine it.  “You only knew what they told you, so you believed it.”

“Yes, and it was the truth, Wiggen.  I did have a destiny: I was destined to be the perfect killer:  unthinking, unfeeling, without any reason to believe that what I was doing was wrong.  I would have been content, except...”

“Except for me,” she finished for him.  “I told you killing was bad.”

“Yes, Wiggen, and for that I owe you more than I can ever give you back.  You opened my eyes before I was made into something evil.  You saved me from it.”

“Yes!  And now we’re free!”  She didn’t understand the conflict in him.  It was all behind them.  All they had to do was escape.

“And the Grandfather is free to have another such as me... constructed.”

“But that would take years, Lad.  He couldn’t wait that long.”

“It took years to have me made.  I do not think time is something that the Grandfather worries about.  He is old, but he is not aged.  His skin is wrinkled, but his body moves with more grace and power than anyone I’ve ever seen.  Even the trainers my master paid to instruct me didn’t have his...”  She could see him searching vainly for the word, the one term that really described the Grandfather.  He failed.  “I think he would wait another twenty years for the perfect weapon.”

“And we will be far away and have children of our own by then, Lad,” she said, pleading with him not to take such a dangerous course.  “Why risk it?”

“How could I not risk it, Wiggen?” he asked, his eyes searching her face, his mouth quirking into that innocent smile she loved more every time she saw it.  He reached out to her, the tips of his fingers brushing aside a lock of hair that had fallen across her face.  “How could I live, and love, and feel all these things, knowing that another like me was being made, blind to the evil he was being made for?”

“But they’re
killers
, Lad!”  She shook her head in denial, pushing his hand away, angry that he would risk all they had gained for something so intangible.  “How can you even think it?”

“I can think it because I am a killer, too, Wiggen.”

His voice changed with that, it had become dangerous and cold.  She shivered beneath her blanket despite the day’s warmth.

“I will remain a killer until the Grandfather of Assassins is dead.  He holds the secret to what I am.  He holds a power over me, even without the magic.”  Lad held up one hand; all but the palm was pocked with rows of blisters.  “I cannot allow him to do this to someone else, even someone I don’t know.  His evil will go on forever if someone doesn’t stop it.”

“But why you?  Why do you have to be the one?  Why not tell the guard?  Tell the Duke!  Let them kill him!”

“Would they believe me, Wiggen, after all the things I have done?”  He shook his head and reached out to brush away a tear that had found its way to her chin.  “No one believes a murderer.”

“But it’s not fair!” she cried, clutching his hand and pressing her lips to his palm.  “I just got you back, and now you’re leaving me!  They’ll kill you, and I’ll be alone, and I won’t even be able to go home!”

“They will not kill me, Wiggen,” he assured her, taking her face in his hands and forcing her to look him in the eye.  “I was made to be better than they are.  I have bested their best before.”

“They
caught
you before!”

“Yes, by treachery after I had beaten them.  That was Mya.  I know her now, and I will be ready for her tricks.  Only the Grandfather poses a real threat.  I must not give him the opportunity to fight.”

She didn’t like any of it, least of all this treacherous woman whom Lad thought he knew.  She did not sound the type that could be second-guessed so easily.  No, it was far too dangerous.  He’d been stolen from her once.  Now she had him back, and he was going off to risk his life.  She couldn’t lose him again.  She glared at him, angry and hurt, but also knowing that he was right.  Whether she liked it or not, he had to do it… for himself.  He had to do it to be free. 

“Do you have to go now?” she asked, grasping at his wrists, trying in vain to hold back her tears.

“No.  Not until dark.”

“Until dark, then,” she said, pulling him to her until their lips met, the salt of her tears mingling with the kiss.  “You’re
mine
until dark.”

Mya woke to the aroma of eggs, sausage, fresh bread and blackbrew.  At first, she thought it was a wonderfully vivid dream, but when her eyes opened and spied the full tray inches from her nose, she bolted upright in surprise.

“Careful,” the Grandfather said, holding the tray perfectly balanced before her, “you’ll spill the blackbrew.”

She stared at him in shock.  He sat on the edge of her bed, black robes clean and pressed, his wizened features calm and faintly amused.  He held the tray an inch above the bed so that her sudden awakening hadn’t tossed the whole thing onto the floor.

“Grandfather!”  She sat back against the headboard, trying to banish the sleep from her mind while clutching the covers to her breast.  His mild manner unnerved her more than if he’d woken her with the tip of one of his daggers at her throat.  “You’re back!”

“Yes, Mya.  I am back.”  He put the tray down carefully on her lap, and poured blackbrew for her.  It was already lightened exactly the way she liked it.  “I did not know how lengthy my little fact-finding mission would be.  I had thought to be back in but a few hours.”

She accepted the cup from his rock-steady hand, still trying to blink the sleep from her eyes.  The sun was coming through a slit in the drapes at a very steep angle; it was close to noon.  “What facts did you seek to find?” she asked, sipping the blackbrew carefully.

“I must admit that I suspected you had betrayed me.”

Mya ran the warm blackbrew over her tongue, wondering if some subtle poison lurked there for her to swallow.  But he could have killed her easily enough as she slept.

“The sudden and seemingly inexplicable disappearance of my weapon, the fact that his other targets were not eliminated, and my belief that the magic that bound him was inviolate, led me to conclude that you had altered my commands and told the weapon to take the girl and flee.”  He inclined his head in a stiff bow, a gesture she could tell he was unaccustomed to performing.  “I erred in my judgment of you, Mya.  You have my sincerest apologies.”

He
was apologizing to
her
?  Now she was
really
unnerved.

Mya had absolutely no idea how to respond.  There was more to this than a simple ‘sorry for thinking you had betrayed me.’  He had no reason to apologize for judging her harshly or falsely; her life was his to spend.  He would only put himself in this position if he needed something from her, something that she could provide only if she trusted that he wouldn’t betray her loyalty.  But what?  She had very little doubt that her belated breakfast would not be finished before she knew exactly what he wanted from her.

“I live to serve you, Grandfather,” she said with a minute shrug.  “You may judge me as you wish.  It is not my place to forgive the actions of one such as yourself.”

“Very politic, as always, Mya,” he said with a tight smile, one that did not match his apologetic manner.  “That, I believe, is why I have come to find you so valuable.  You never stop thinking, even when you know your life is in danger.”

“Thank you, Grandfather.”

“In answer to your original query, I sought magical assistance in divining the circumstances of my weapon’s disappearance.”  He gave a shrug, as if he had finally decided just how much to tell her.  “As I said, I thought you had betrayed me.  I found this not to be the case, which meant the weapon’s magical bonds had been circumvented some other way.  I had been told that the magic that bound my weapon was inviolate.  It would appear that Corillian exaggerated in his assessment of the potency of his own enchantments.  An expert in this area of magic has informed me that any binding magic may be broken given the correct circumstances and a sufficiently strong force of will.”

“So you believe that the spells that held your weapon have been broken?”  She had very little doubt of it, having seen the power of Lad’s will first hand. 

“That is what I believe, Mya.  My weapon is free.  Exactly how many of the other enchantments that infused his body failed when the binding spell was broken, we cannot know until he is captured.  Then the wizard I have contracted can --”

“You think to get him
back
?” she asked incredulously, spilling hot blackbrew on the tray.

“That is my wish, Mya,” he said after a short, strained pause.  “Once he is in my possession the spells of binding can be recast.  I believe you are the one with the proper talents to capture him for me.” 

“Excuse my frankness, Grandfather, but why do you think Lad will come within twenty leagues of here?”  The luscious breakfast that had been so mouthwatering moments ago had lost its enticement.  Her appetite was gone.

“Oh come now, Mya, be truthful with me.  You know my weapon far better than I, and even I know that he hates me more than he loves his own life, even if he is too emotionally crippled to understand it.”  He stole a piece of sausage from the tray in Mya’s lap and bit off a quarter of its length.  “He will come for me, and soon, if I am any judge of human character.  You think he will not?”

“I think he will come for the both of us, Grandfather,” she admitted, pushing the tray away a few inches.  “He may despise me even more than you.  I also think there’s precious little either you or I can do to keep him from killing us if he’s set his mind to do so.”

“I beg to differ on that point, my dear,” he said, taking another bite of sausage and smiling at her as he chewed and swallowed.  “I think you underestimate both your and my capabilities.  You defeated him before—not with brawn, but with cunning deception.  That, coupled with my own talents for stealth and martial conflict, should be sufficient for the task.  All we need do is devise a trap that will render him unconscious without damaging him.”

“He will not be fooled so easily this time, Grandfather.  He learns very quickly.  I did not tell you of the fighting forms I commanded him to show me.  He took six of the classic martial styles and melded them into one form.  It is the most complete form of martial combat I have ever seen.”  She paused, fixing his ancient eyes with her own.  “He did this on his own, Sir, without instruction, without being taught how.  He is more than a weapon, Grandfather; he is a thinking, analyzing, learning weapon.”