Weapon of Flesh (46 page)

“Which is all the more reason to get him back under my control.”  He stood from the bed and reached into the folds of his robe.  “I am unused to asking for help, Mya.  I am used to commanding it.  Yet I know you will serve me better if you trust that I no longer doubt your loyalty.  To that end, I have a gift for you.”

He withdrew his hand from his robes and held it out to her.  On his palm was a ring of purest obsidian, as black as the depths of the Abyss.  Mya knew what it was.  She had coveted it for most of her life.  It was a Master’s Ring. 

“Take it,” he said, his voice like bloodstained silk.

Desire for power was something that had driven Mya since the day she’d left home.  More than half her life had been spent in the pursuit of this single token, this one symbol that would give her all the power she’d ever longed for.  To have it bestowed upon her at such a tender age was unprecedented.  The guild would never allow it.

But the Grandfather
was
the guild.  His word was law.

She just stared at it.

“Grandfather, I --”

“Take it!”

She lifted the tiny thing from his palm.  It felt heavy, more of a burden than it should have been for its size.  She looked at it closely, having seen only one before.  There were five of the rings in existence, which meant...

“It belonged to your erstwhile master, Targus.  Put it on.”

Targus...  Visions of his death swam in the ring’s burnished surface. 

Now, as her life’s goal rested in her palm, she thought it more akin to a link of black chain than that vaunted symbol of power.  It would bind her to the Grandfather forever, but she had seen how that loyalty had been repaid.  The Grandfather could have saved Targus with a single word, but that word had been withheld at a sadistic whim.  She knew she would fare no better in the end.

The power she’d sought was an illusion, a lure, a seduction into slavery.

“Put it on!”

The lure had worked.  She was trapped.  She’d come too far to refuse the last link in the chain that would bind her forever.

She slipped the ring onto the third finger of her left hand, and felt it size itself to fit her.  It could never be removed, lest her heart ceased to beat.  The rings of the master assassins were said to have other powers as well.  She knew some of the rumors, and hoped most of them were only that.

He held up his own left hand, showing her his own ring.  His was obsidian woven with gold.  “We are now bonded, Mya; I to you, and you to me.  Loyalty will be repaid with trust, service with reward, and folly with death.  I have already informed the Guild of your new position.  You are now Master Hunter Mya.  Anyone who flouts your authority will answer to me, and that will be a very brief conversation indeed.”  He bowed to her then, and turned to go.

“Grandfather,” she said, stopping him in his tracks.  He turned and regarded her with veiled amusement.

“Yes?”

“It will be tonight.  Lad will come for us tonight.”

“So soon?”  One snowy eyebrow cocked at her, questioning.

“I know him.  He will come tonight.”

“Then we should be ready for him, don’t you think?”

“We will be ready, Grandfather.”

“Good.”  He left her room, the door closing with a definitive click.

“Or we will be dead by morning,” she finished, leaving the comforting folds of her bed to face the task that she knew in her heart would end in her own death, one way or the other.

Chapter
XXVI

S
he woke to the feather-light touch of his fingers running through her hair and the whisper of her name from his lips.

“Wiggen...”

For a moment she thought it a dream, the sound and touch mixing with the sweet memory of their lovemaking.  She was warm and comfortable lying like this, his body curled against her back, fitting like two spoons in a velvet case.  She didn’t want to wake up, didn’t want the dream to end, but she knew it must.

“Wiggen.”  His fingers brushed through her hair again, soft and tender.  “It’s time.”

“No,” she mumbled, snuggling back against his warmth.  His skin was like a furnace against her back.

“Yes, Wiggen.  I have to go.”

“I don’t want you to go.”  She clenched her eyes closed, wishing she were dreaming.

“I know.  I don’t want to go, but...”

“But you have to.”  She turned until she could see his face in the dim light, inches from her own.  She could see the battle raging behind those luminous eyes, and she knew there was only one way for that conflict to end.  “I know.”

He kissed her and rose from their bed, the fading light of dusk from the high windows playing over his form as he donned his black silks.  She sat up as he finished, knowing this could be the last time she ever saw him and wondering if there was anything she could say to make him stay.  She knew there wasn’t.

“When will you be back?” she asked, pulling her blankets closer.  This wasn’t an attempt at modesty, for they knew every inch of one another now; she was already feeling alone, and the blanket still smelled of him and held his warmth.  The closer she held it, the longer she could stave off the feeling of being left alone.

“I should be back by morning.  Midmorning at the latest.”  He cinched the drawstring of his trousers tight and looked around.  He was taking nothing with him; he needed nothing.

“What should I do if you don’t come back?”  Saying it almost broke her heart, but she wanted to know what he wanted.  If Lad died, there was nothing left for her.  She wanted to do as he wished; nothing else would matter.

“If I do not come back before highsun tomorrow, go to the inn.  The Duke will have men there, and you should be safe.”  He shrugged, smiled, and added, “Tell them everything I’ve told you about the Grandfather.  His estate is near the river in the north of Barleycorn Heights.  It is walled and has a single tower higher than any in the district.  It’s easy to find.”

“Should I tell them about you?”

“It will not matter.  If you want to tell them, then yes, but the Grandfather is the one who controls the Assassin’s Guild.  I never knew why he wanted those nobles dead, but he’s the one they want.  If they kill him, there will be no more nobles murdered.”

“I’ll tell them,” she said, pushing herself to her feet.  “Now, let me hold you one more time before you go.”

“Come here.”  He took her in his arms then, burying his face in the nape of her neck.  They stood clutching one another for a long time, neither wanting to let go.  Then, finally, he whispered, “Wiggen...”

“I know.”

“I love you.”

“I know.  I love you, too.”  She released him then, and wiped the tears from her eyes with the corner of her blanket.  “Please promise me, Lad.  Be careful.  Come back to me.”

“There is nothing I want more in the world than to be with you, Wiggen.  I will come back to you if I can.  I promise.”

That was all she could ask of him.

She pulled him close one last time and kissed him.  When their lips parted, she said, “Go now, before I do something silly like break down bawling and beg you to stay.”

“I
will
come back to you, Wiggen,” he said, squeezing her hands once more before turning to dash down the steps.

Wiggen sat down in her blankets, pulling them close.  She listened for his passage through the furnace and the vent, but she heard nothing.  He was already moving as if his life depended on it, utterly silent, invisible and lethal as death itself.

“Good,” she said to herself, drawing the blankets closer and breathing deeply of his scent.  “Maybe he
will
come back to me.”

Captain Norwood leaned back in the chair, his feet on the wide stone hearth, the warmth of the fire baking through the hard leather soles of his boots.  The tankard in his lap was almost empty and it was not his first.  Forbish’s tale had taken more than one tankard of ale to swallow, and he still was having trouble believing it.

“And you say the boy knew nothing of why he’d been given this magic.”  He’d heard the same story a dozen times, but he kept repeating it, hoping for some clue.

“He was as witless to his own purpose as he was to everything else, Captain, I swear it.”  The innkeeper sipped his own tankard.  “Whoever made him the way he was wanted him ignorant.  He didn’t even know what a family was.  He asked Wiggen if her being my daughter was the same as two people being friends.  If he didn’t know right from wrong, he’d follow orders without question, kill anyone they wanted.”

“And when he fought, when those thugs threatened you, you said you saw him heal a wound that would have killed a man.”  Once again, it wasn’t a question as much as a statement waiting for corroboration.

“He had a knife through his back and almost out his stomach, and all he did was pull it out, without so much as a twitch mind you, and slit the bastard’s throat with it.”  Forbish drained his tankard and reached for the pitcher.  That also had not been their first.  “In less time than it takes one side of an oat cake to brown, he was healed.”

“Incredible.”  Norwood finished his tankard and held it out to be filled again.

“I wouldn’t have believed it myself if I hadn’t seen it.”  He poured the Captain’s tankard full, and then emptied the pitcher into his own.  “There’s more magic than flesh to that boy, I tell you, but he saved Wiggen and me from those thugs.”

“And you’re sure he’s the one committing these murders.”

“From what you described, how these people were killed and how nobody could stand against him... it’s got to be Lad.  That and the timing.  I mean, the first murder was right after he vanished.”

“It does sound like too much to be coincidence.”  He paused, sipped and stared into the flames for a while before he said, “Magic...  It had to be.  Why didn’t I trust my instincts?”

“I’m no wizard, but I’ve never heard of magic being used like that.  That’s probably exactly why they had Lad made the way he is.  I mean, you could look at him, see him walking right down the street, and he just looks like a scrawny kid.  But the way he moved... so fast you couldn’t see it.  Whoever made him sure knew what they were doing.”  He leaned forward and looked at the Captain until the man met his eyes.  “That’s the person you want, Captain.  Lad was just the weapon, the killer’s the one who’s controlling him.  If he’s still controlling him.”

“That’s not likely to go very far with the Duke, Forbish.  He wants the killer, not some wizard.  If this boy killed my men and those nobles, he’s the one who’s got to answer for it.”

“But he’s spelled!  It’d be like...  like a man puts a viper in another man’s bed, and the snake bites this fellow and he dies.  You don’t arrest the
snake
, do you?”

“Just because the boy didn’t know right from wrong doesn’t make him innocent.”

“He
knew
killing was wrong, Captain!  He knew because my Wiggen told him it was wrong.  Wiggen’s the only reason those last two nobles aren’t dead.  Whatever happened when he took Wiggen out of that cell must have set him free.  Lad wouldn’t have killed on his own, not if someone just told him to.  There
had
to be some kind of a charm or spell that made him do it.”