Weapon of Blood (35 page)

“Kellik!  Move into the view of the
mirror and show our guests your charge,” Patrice commanded.

A thickset woman clad in leathers moved
into view, and in her arms she held a bundle of swaddling blankets.  She smiled
and tilted the bundle up.

“Lissa!”  Wiggen surged toward the
mirror, but Lad kept a grip on her hand and pulled her back.

“How do we know this is real?”  He
struggled to keep his eyes on the assassins instead of the squirming image of
his daughter in the mirror.  “It could be an illusion, a magical lie.”

“Feel free to speak to her,” Patrice
offered, waving toward the mirror.  “Doubtless she knows her own parents.  She
can see and hear us as well as we see and hear her.”

This time, Lad allowed Wiggen to pull him
to the mirror.

“Lissa?  Lissa, baby.  Momma’s here.” 
Wiggen choked with emotion.

The woman in the mirror held the babe up,
and Lissa’s little face came instantly alight with joy.  She reached out her
pudgy hands and emitted a squeal of delight.

“Oh, Lissa…”  Wiggen reached her free
hand toward the image of their daughter.  Her fingertips brushed the glass, and
the image immediately faded to a mundane reflection.  Wiggen gasped and turned
to glare at Patrice.  “Bring her back!”

“We’ve given you a glimpse of your
daughter as a token of our good faith.  Now we will discuss the terms of our
agreement, what you will do for us in exchange for the safe return of your
child.”

“Agreement?”  Lad gave her a withering
glare.  “You
say
you’ll return my daughter, but how can I trust you to
keep your word?”

“What choice do you have?” the inquisitor
countered, taking her seat.  “The only thing you need to trust is that we
will
kill your child if you don’t do as we ask.  You need not trust us, only obey
us.”

“And if I refuse?”

“Then your child is dead.”

“And you with her.”

“And Lissa will be no less dead,” Patrice
said, using Lad’s own logic against him.

Lad gritted his teeth.  This was going
all wrong!  He had hoped to walk out of here with his daughter in his arms and
the knowledge that the masters could never, ever hurt them again.  That,
however, was not to be.

“Lad!”  Wiggen’s free hand grasped the sleeve
of his shirt.  “It’s
Lissa
!  You have to do as they say!”

He looked into his wife’s eyes and saw
the same pain that he felt.  They had planned to agree to the masters’ demands
as a ruse until they could determine what to do, but plans were one thing, reality
another.

“What do you want?”

“We want you to kill Mya.”

“Why not do it yourself?”

“Don’t be coy.  You know we can’t attack
someone wearing the guildmaster’s ring.  But
you
can, because you never
signed a blood contract.”

They think Mya wears the ring!
  Lad failed to mask his surprise.

Patrice smiled triumphantly.  “Yes, we
know the ring was not destroyed, just as we know you are not wholly bound by
her orders.  So kill her, and we will give you Lissa.”

“I
can’t
.”  Lad put everything he
had into the lie, hoping they would believe him.  His expertise was in physical
conflict.  Mya was the expert in deceit.

“Why not?” demanded Horice.  Patrice shot
him a glare at his outburst.

“The magic in me prevents it.  The
Grandfather ordered me to never harm her.”  The last part was true, even if the
first wasn’t.  Lad hoped that no spy had witnessed his fight with Mya in the
courtyard of the
Tap and Kettle
.  “Mya’s hold over me is not as strong
as the Grandfather’s was, but his original commands still bind me; I can’t harm
her.”

To his astonishment, Horice turned to his
bodyguard and asked, “Is that true, Sereth?”

“Mya
was
assigned to tend the
weapon, sir.  The Grandfather had to have granted her protection.”  The
bodyguard’s eyes shifted to Lad for an instant, then back.  “He killed Master
Targus.  He would have killed Mya if he wasn’t commanded not to.”

“Then we have a problem.”  Patrice
exchanged glances with her three colleagues, then turned back to Lad.  “And
your child’s life hangs in the balance.  What a pity.”

“I think we can get around this,” Neera
said, her voice a harsh rasp.  “You say you can’t harm Mya, as commanded by the
Grandfather, but…” her eyes glinted deep in their sockets, “did he ever command
you not to
betray
her?”

Lad blinked.  They were handing him a way
out, though they didn’t seem to realize it.  In fact, from their surreptitious
glances and tiny nods, this seemed to be an agreed-upon alternative.  He
answered immediately and truthfully.  “No, he didn’t.”

Neera reached inside her cloak and pulled
forth a tiny crystal tube.  She placed it on the table and pushed it toward him
with a vile yellow fingernail.

“Put the entire contents in her wine or
blackbrew.  It will induce unconsciousness, but will not harm or kill her.  Bring
her to us in bondage, and we will exchange your daughter for her.”

Lad cocked his head as he picked up the
vial, wary of some sly deception.  “If you’re lying, and this is actually
poison, I won’t be able to give it to her.  The magic in me will prevent it.” 
Dead, Mya would be of no use in bargaining for Lissa.  They would have what
they wanted from him with no incentive to return her.  In fact, by keeping her,
they would continue to control him.

“I’m telling you the truth,” Neera said
with a wizened smile.

Lad slipped the vial into a pocket; he
had little choice.  “Where and when?”

“Tomorrow night,” Patrice said with a
smile of satisfaction.  “You know the courtyard behind the tenements east of
Fiveway Fountain in West Crescent?”

“Yes.”

“Midnight.”

“All right.”  He squeezed Wiggen’s hand,
and they walked back out into the rain.

Chapter
XXII

A
silver coin
clattered onto the desk top.  “For the night.”

The innkeeper looked up from his ledger
at Sereth, and then at the giggling doxy on his arm.  “Two for the whole
night.  We’re a respectable establishment.”

“Fine.”  Sereth knew he was being
fleeced, but also knew that this was one of the few inns free from Assassins
Guild eyes, and the coins would keep the man’s mouth shut.  He flipped another
silver crown onto the table.  “The sheets better be clean.”

“Third floor, last door on the left.” 
The innkeeper took the money and handed over a key.  “And keep the noise down.”

“Right.”  Sereth snatched up the key and
pulled his companion toward the stairs.  “Come on!”

She giggled and stumbled drunkenly. 
“Whoa, there!  What’s your rush, love?  We’ve got all night!”

“I want to get my money’s worth.”

“All right, all right.  Just keep your
codpiece fixed.”

She stumbled a few more times on their
way to the third floor, and teetered unsteadily as he worked the key in the
lock.  When he closed the door behind them, however, locking it and throwing
the bolt for good measure, her pretenses fell away.

“Did you find out where they’re keeping
the baby?”  Kiesha went to the night table and took up a towel to dry her
dripping hair.  They’d both been drenched by the rain, but Sereth at least had
a cloak.  She was wet to the skin.  It was her own fault.  Kiesha had insisted
on meeting away from Hensen’s house.  Though she said it was for his own
safety, he was pretty sure that his last late-night visit had scared the master
thief.  He’d let his temper get the better of him, and he was paying for it;
banning him from the house also kept him from seeing his wife.

“No.  The masters are keeping it under
wraps.  They’re afraid that Lad might take one of us to question.  They’ve
assigned a team of journeymen to watch over her, but only that team and the
masters know where.  The only one of the team I know for sure is an Enforcer
named Kellik.”  The inn’s tiny room was stifling and malodorous.  Sereth went
to the window, opened the shutter, and lifted the frame for a little fresh
air.  “The masters are staying together at Youtrin’s warehouse, surrounded by
an army of bodyguards.  They’re running scared.”

“They
should
be scared of him.”

“Don’t I know it,” Sereth murmured.  He
remembered the string of impossible murders the Grandfather had orchestrated. 
The whole city knew of them, though Sereth was one of the few who knew who had
committed them.  The weapon…Lad.  And the masters had taken his child.  Sereth
knew too well that feeling of helplessness, and the rage that accompanied it. 
He turned toward Kiesha.  “When he and his wife walked into that—”

“He brought his
wife
to meet with
the masters of the Assassins Guild?”  The thief stared at him in disbelief.

“Yes.  And that didn’t stop him from
threatening to kill them all if they didn’t let him see his daughter.”  Sereth
remembered thinking that Horice would shit his pants when that happened.

“Does he honestly believe that if he
kills Mya, they’ll hand his daughter back?”

Kiesha had finished drying her hair, and
was now dabbing the water from her neck and décolletage.  Her disguise as a
low-priced prostitute was remarkably accurate, right down to ragged stockings
and cheap shoes.  A far cry from the glamorous gowns he’d seen her wearing at
Hensen’s.  The sodden dress clung like a second skin to the curves of her body,
the curves he’d seen revealed only a few days before.  He opened the window a
little more as the air in the room suddenly seemed even closer.

“I have no idea what he believes, but I
don’t think he’s that stupid.”  He watched as Kiesha pulled back the coverlet
and held the lamp low to inspect the sheets.  Surprisingly, they looked clean. 
“And he’s not going to kill Mya for them.”

She put down the lamp and gave him a
curious look.  “He’s not?”

“He says he can’t, that the magic
constrains his actions.  The Grandfather ordered him not to hurt Mya, and the
command still restrains him.”

“Interesting.”  She sat on the bed and
began unlacing her shoes.  “So, if he can’t kill Mya, what did they order him
to do?”

“Drug her and bring her to them.  She’s
wearing the guildmaster’s ring, so they’re going to use someone outside the
guild to do the deed.  Someone stupid enough to believe he’ll get more than ten
inches of steel in his back when it’s done.”

“That must be a short list of
potentials.”  She finished with her second shoe and kicked them off into the
corner.  “When and where?”

Sereth swallowed hard.  This was the
moment he’d been both waiting for and dreading.  Firming his resolve, he said,
“I’ll tell you after you release my wife.”

“What?”  An incredulous smirk spread
across her face, as if she thought he was joking.

He wasn’t.

“You heard me.  I want her back.  Now.”

“That’s not in our best interest,
Sereth.”

“I don’t care about your best interest,
Kiesha.  I want my wife back.”

“And you think one little bit of
information is worth us losing you as a spy?”  She laughed and pulled off her
tattered stockings, draping them over the nightstand.  “You’re delusional.”

His hand went to the dagger in his
sleeve—one flick of the wrist, and he could bury it in her eye—but he knew she
considered him no serious threat.  If she died, so would his wife.  She’d
called his bluff, but he’d be damned if he’d play her games.

“Fine, then.  Find them yourself.” 
Sereth strode toward the door, but before he could reach the latch, she was
past him, quick as a cat.

Kiesha leaned her back against the door
and smiled.  “Oh, come on, Sereth.  You can’t give up so easily.”  Without
taking her eyes from his, she began unlacing the strings of her bodice. 
“Hensen won’t let your wife go, but surely there’s
something
else you
want that I can give you.”

His mind spun.  “What are you doing?”

“I’m
negotiating
, Sereth.”  She
slipped her arms out of the sleeves of the dress, then pushed the sodden
clothing down to her hips.  “Besides, it’s pouring outside, and neither of our
masters expect us back before morning.”

“Not interested.”  Sereth turned away,
hating the tremor in his voice.  “I’m married, remember?”

“That’s all right, Sereth.  I know you’re
married.  In fact, I talk to your wife regularly.”  He heard the wet fabric of
her dress hit the floor and swallowed hard.  “She’s lonely, you know.”

“She’d be a lot less lonely if you talked
Hensen into letting her go.”  He glanced over his shoulder to see her hanging
the dress on the coatrack beside the door.  Her pale, moist skin glowed in the
lamp light, the muscles beneath long and lithe.  Sereth looked away.  His wife
wasn’t the only one who was lonely. 
Three years
…

“He won’t do that, Sereth, and you know
perfectly well why.”  He felt her approach, but refused to turn around. 
“You’re
much
too valuable to him.”  Her hands reached over his shoulders
to unclasp his cloak.  “You’ve performed very well, and he’s not about to let
you go.”

“So, is that what you’re doing?  Rewarding
me for good behavior?”

“Is there something wrong with showing a
little gratitude?”  Her hands came around again and began to work on the
buttons of his shirt.

“Yes, there’s something wrong with it.” 
Sereth grasped her wrists, but she pressed herself against his back, her damp skin
cool through the cloth of his shirt.  He felt her shiver. 
It’s been so long
… 
“Does your master pay
all
of his informants with your favors?”

Kiesha stiffened against his back for a
moment before easing in again, but when she spoke, her voice sounded strained. 
“No, Sereth.  This was my idea.”

“Why?”

“Because I want to.”

“But I don’t.”

“Yes, you do.”

“No, I don’t.  My wife—”

“Your wife is safe and healthy.”  She
pressed closer now, her breath warm in his ear.  “And she will never,
ever
know.”

Sereth’s knees weakened and he closed his
eyes.  “She may never know, but I will.”

“Yes, you will.”  She kissed the back of
his neck.  “Take a little pleasure in your work, Sereth.  If you don’t, it’ll
kill you.”

No
!

Sereth released Kiesha’s wrists and
turned to face her, glaring into her sultry gaze.  If she and Hensen thought
they could manipulate him this way, they were dead wrong.  He loved his wife,
and he wouldn’t betray her for a quick tumble.

“Tomorrow night at midnight.  A tenement
courtyard in West Crescent, east of Fiveway Fountain.”  Gripping her shoulders
hard, Sereth shoved Kiesha onto the bed.  By the time she recovered, he’d flung
open the window, slipped out into the rain, and descended to the street.  He
was a block away before he realized that he’d forgotten his cloak.

The
Golden Cockerel
buzzed like a
hornet’s nest struck with a well-aimed stone.  The pretense of a simple
drinking and gambling house had been cast aside; no pub was this busy so early
in the morning.  Stern-looking men and women came and went, their hands on
prominently displayed weapons, and their eyes scrutinizing every passing cart,
carriage, and pedestrian.

Lad mounted the steps with barely a
glance at the two dour sentries stationed at the door.  They knew him and,
although their glares were hard, they let him pass without a word.  He wondered
for a moment why they didn’t try to stop him, until he realized that Mya hadn’t
told anyone about their fight. 
No one knows about her magic.  She’s kept it
secret
.  Well, in a few minutes, her secrets wouldn’t matter.

The door swung open easily at his touch,
and the woman stationed inside took her hand away from the dagger beneath her
apron.  Lad ignored her and crossed the busy common room.  Though he kept his gaze
straight ahead, he felt the eyes of the Hunters following him, and heard their
whispers.  Some blamed him for the war with other guild factions, resenting the
vulnerability—his family—that the other masters had exploited.  Most of them,
however, despite Mya’s claim that assassins didn’t have families, had someone
they held dear somewhere.  And if this could happen to Lad, it could happen to
them.