Weapon of Blood (36 page)

Either way, Lad didn’t care.

Mika had acquired a companion of equal
height, girth and demeanor, and they both stood guard at the door to Mya’s
office.  Mika knocked and opened the door with an expressionless nod.  Inside,
Mya and a half-dozen senior journeymen looked up from the paper-strewn table.

“Lad!”  Mya stared at him unbelievingly. 
“You’re here.”

He bit back an acerbic reply and said, “Yes. 
I’m here, Mya.”

“Good.”  She flashed a little smile and
motioned him forward.  “We’ve made some progress overnight.”  She drew a large
map of Twailin from beneath the pile of papers and laid it on top.  “Have a
look at this.”

“I need to speak with you, Mya.”

“About what?” 

“I’ve learned something you need to
know.”

“What happened?  Did they contact you?”

“I need to speak with you
alone
.”

The Hunters bristled, offended at the
implication that there were secrets between Lad and Mya too sensitive for their
ears.  He ignored them, focusing his attention on Mya.  The suspicion that
flashed across her eyes quickly faded to curiosity.  His years of practiced
naïveté had convinced her that he was incapable of a convincing deception. 
Now, with the vial of Neera’s drug in the palm of his hand, he plotted against
her and she couldn’t see it.

“Take a break.  Gods know we could all
use a moment’s distraction.  I’m starting to see this damn map when my eyes are
closed.”  Mya reached for her blackbrew cup and drained it in one long
swallow.  The Hunters stared at her dubiously, but she waved them off.  “Go on,
get out of here.  Grab a meal, get some sleep, relax for an hour or so.  We’re
not going anywhere yet, not until we have a plan.”

The Hunters filed out, some muttering,
others relieved at the prospect of a break.  Mya reached for the blackbrew pot
and refilled her cup.  When the door closed, the pot clattered back onto the
tray, and she looked at him with clear relief.

“I’m glad you came.”

When performing a sleight of hand, a
distraction is always wise.  Remember!

In this case, the truth seemed the best
distraction.  “I went to them.” 

His admission widened her eyes and
stopped her hand halfway to her cup.  “You did?  When?”

“Last night.”  He rounded the table. 
“You were right.  We needed to know what they wanted from me.  Wiggen and I
took—”

“Wiggen?  You took your
wife
to a
meeting with
them
?”

“She insisted on going.  We took the
wagon to Youtrin’s warehouse.”

“And they were there?  Who was it?  All
of them?”  She cocked an eyebrow at him.

“I knew they’d be watching me, so we
drove slowly on the main streets.  It wasn’t hard to figure out where we were
headed.  And yes, all four of them were there.”

“That was…very clever, Lad.”  Mya reached
for her cup again.  “I wish you had told me.  We could have taken them all
right there.”  She lifted the cup.

Lad stepped closer, so their faces were
only inches apart, his anger flaring, burning away any sympathy he might have
felt for her.  “You’d have gotten Lissa
killed
!”

“All right.”  The cup hovered over the
map.  “I admit, it would’ve been risky, but—”

“That’s why I
didn’t
tell you,
Mya.  They threaten
me
, and instead of trying to help, you see it as an
opportunity to take them out and rid yourself of a problem.”  He grasped her
wrist, and the cup trembled.  “You say family and love are important, but
you’ll never change. You always look for the advantage, but the advantage for
you
,
not anyone else.”

“You’re…”  Mya stopped, her eyes fixed on
his.  He could smell the stale blackbrew on her breath, see the sleepless
nights in the tiny blood vessels in her eyes, feel the tremor of fatigue
through her wrist.  “You’re right, Lad.”

He released his grip.

Mya put down her cup and rubbed her eyes
wearily.

Now!

Although most of Lad’s skills were in
direct confrontation, he’d had some training in administering poisons.  As he
stepped back, he passed his hand over her cup, and the fine white crystals
cascaded down to vanish in the steaming brew.  Before Mya opened her eyes
again, he had capped the vial and slipped it into a pocket.

“I’m…trying, Lad, but I can’t stop the
way I think.  I’ve been doing it too long.  It’s kept me alive.  But you’re
right.  I need to push my thoughts along the right track.  To help you, not
myself.”  Sighing, she dropped into her chair.  “So, what did you learn?  Do
you know where they’re keeping Lissa?”

“No, but she’s alive.  They showed her to
us through a mirror.  She recognized Wiggen.”

“Okay, so what do they want?”

“They want me to kill you.”  Worry flashed
over her face.  “Don’t worry, Mya.  I’m not here to murder you.  I told them I
couldn’t.”

“And they
believed
you?”  Her
voice was incredulous, and her hand trembled as she reached again for the cup.

“I’m not very good at lying, so I
explained that the Grandfather ordered me to never harm you, which is the
truth, and that the magic still binds me to his command, which isn’t.  I
offered to betray you instead.”

Mya lifted the cup to her lips, nodding
in approval as she sipped and swallowed.  “You’re learning to be quite
deceptive, Lad.  So, you offered to betray me.  What do they want you to do?”

“Bring you to them.”  Lad watched her
eyes for any sign that the drug might be working.  Was one sip going to be
enough?  He had to keep her talking, keep her suspicions eased until she fell
asleep.  “They fear you, Mya.  They think you wear the guildmaster’s ring.”

“Ha!  There’s a bit of irony.”  Mya
sipped again and put down the half-empty cup.  “So, you bring me to them,
supposedly subdued.  This could work to our advantage, Lad.  Where and when?” 
She gestured to the map.  “Show me.”

“Here.”  Lad put his finger down in the
center of the courtyard east of Fiveway Fountain.  “Midnight tonight.”

“Tonight?”  She rubbed her eyes again. 
“Damn, that doesn’t give us much time.”  She reached for the cup and downed the
rest of it in one swallow, then squinted at the map.  “That’s Patrice’s
territory.  She owns that whole block.”

“She does?”

“Yes.  Let’s see, they’ll have people in
all the surrounding buildings with crossbows, and probably Blades and Enforcers
spread out over a few blocks as well, but they’ll focus on the courtyard, bring
a bunch of people with them.”  She rubbed her eyes again and yawned. 
“Godsdamnit, I’m tired.  Anyway, we should be able to…um…ambush them from…”

“No, Mya.”

“What?”  Mya looked up at him, and he
could see by her dilating pupils that the drug had taken hold.

“It’s too risky.  You can’t bring your
Hunters in for an ambush.  One mistake and they kill Lissa.”

“Um…okay.  What do you suggest?”

Lad watched her pupils widen with every
word.  Now all he had to do was make sure she didn’t raise an alarm before she
passed out.  He had to distract her for a moment longer.  The truth was
distracting enough, so he kept it up.

 “I think we should do exactly as they
suggested, Mya.  I should bring you to them just like they asked.”

“Wha…what?”  Her eyes cleared, then lost
focus again.  “No…I…”  She sagged in her seat, and he caught her before she hit
the floor.

“It’s all right, Mya,” he whispered into
her fading consciousness.  “It won’t hurt.  You’ve already seen to that.”

Lad took the key from Mya’s pocket before
lifting her in his arms and carrying her to the fireplace.  Inserting the key
into the lock that she thought was her secret, he stood back while the hidden
door opened.  Quietly closing the door behind them, he carried her down the
stairs.  Though he’d never been down here, Lad knew she would have another way
out.  Someone as controlled by fear as Mya was would never allow herself to be
cornered with no escape route.

All he had to do was find it.

Chapter
XXIII

I
t’s like
the heavens are crying
, Wiggen
thought as she looked up into the rain. 
Maybe the gods know what’s going to
happen tonight
.

Lad nudged her out of her thoughts as he
pulled the wagon to a creaky stop.  “We’re here, Wiggen.  It’s time.”  He
vaulted from the seat and went to the back of the wagon.

“I know.”

Though it was only the weight of her
sodden skirts, Wiggen felt as if some heavy force dragged her down, slowing her
motions, delaying the inevitable.  By the time she alighted, Lad had lifted the
canvas-wrapped bundle from the bed of the wagon and hoisted it over his
shoulder.  Wiggen heard a muffled curse and recalled the expression on Mya’s
face when they’d lowered the canvas hood over her head.  She felt a pang of
guilt, but pushed it aside. 
We
have
to do this to get Lissa back
!
That’s all that matters
.

Two men emerged from the shadows of a
narrow alley between adjacent tenements.  Wiggen stiffened in fear.  Sidling
over to Lad, she clutched his free hand in hers.

“Remember what I told you,” he whispered.

“I remember.  I’m ready.”  She felt the
comforting weight of the naked dagger she’d sewn into the folds of her dress,
and hoped her words were true. 
Calm your mind.  Focus on Lissa.  No fear…no
pain…no mercy
.

The tenements joined above the narrow,
dark alley to form a tunnel, and as she and Lad passed between the armed men
and into the gloom, Wiggen felt as if she was being swallowed by some great
beast.  Heavy footsteps echoed as their escort fell in behind them, but she
refused to look back. 
No fear
…

They emerged into a lamp-lit courtyard
with a central well, two scraggly trees, and a few stone benches.  But
something was wrong.  Though it was late, she would expect at least some lights
to be on in the surrounding tenements, but every window was dark.

The cold hand of fear clutched the back
of her neck. 
They want no witnesses
.

The four masters awaited them in front of
the well—Neera, Youtrin, Horice, and Patrice, each flanked by a bodyguard—the
four monsters who had taken her baby.  Unfortunately, the hatred burning in her
for these creatures didn’t make her fear them any less.  And they had not come
alone, for in the gloom outside the lamplight, around the entire periphery of
the courtyard, she perceived a ring of assassins, their hands on sword hilts or
holding crossbows, their eyes fixed on Wiggen and Lad. 
So many
…

Lad squeezed her hand, then released her
as they stopped near the middle of that deadly circle.  He shrugged the burden
off his shoulder, and it landed with a wet thump at his feet, splattering mud
in all directions.  A muffled curse escaped the hood.

“Where’s Lissa?”  Lad’s voice sent a
chill down Wiggen’s spine.  For years she’d associated his voice with love,
comfort, and warmth, but now it raked through the rain as hard and cold as
steel dragging on slate.  Wiggen cringed at how different he was in the company
of these assassins, no longer the loving father and husband she knew so well. 
He was different; like them, he was a killer.

“Show Mya to us first.”  The Master
Inquisitor, Patrice, stepped forward, a rouged harlot sporting a smug smile.

“Fine.”  Lad lifted the canvas-bound Mya
to her knees and tore away the hood.

“Bastard!  You traitorous piece of
shit!”  Mya writhed against her bonds, spittle flying from her lips.  “I’ll
kill
you!  I’ll kill you all!”

Contemptuous laughter clattered through
the rain, but Wiggen could hear true fear in it.  The assassins thought Mya
wore the guildmaster’s ring, and that, if unbound, she could make good her
promise of slaughter.

Mya blinked through the rain, taking in
her surroundings, and her struggles ceased.  “They’ll betray you, Lad.  Once
I’m dead, they’ll kill your daughter.  You
know
you can’t trust them!”

“Oh, and he can trust you?”  Patrice took
another step forward and sneered at her bound colleague.  “A traitor to her own
guild?”

“Enough!”  Neera stepped forward.  “Let’s
finish this business.”  She beckoned to someone behind her.  “Lakhshim, it’s
time to earn your apprenticeship with the Assassins Guild.”  One wizened finger
crooked toward Mya.  “Kill her.”

“Yes, Mistress Neera!”  A swarthy young
man of perhaps fifteen years strode to the fore.  He pulled a long, keen dagger
from his belt, his dark eyes fixed upon Mya.

“No.”  Lad stepped into his path.

Wiggen drew in a gasp through gritted
teeth.  She knew her husband’s preternatural abilities.  She had seen him in
action.  But now, standing amongst these men and women with swords and
crossbows, all sly-eyed assassins ready to murder on command, Lad seemed no
more than a peasant straight from the farm.  Unarmed, his clothing simple, his
feet bare, he appeared vulnerable to anyone who didn’t know what he was.

And apparently, the boy did not know.  He
didn’t stop, but growled at Lad, “Out of my way, you—”

Wiggen didn’t even see Lad move. 
O
ne moment, Lakhshim was striding forward,
knife in hand, ready to kill, and the next moment, his arm was bent at an
impossible angle.  The dagger splashed to the muddy ground as the boy’s scream
tore through the night.  Lad stood exactly where he had, unruffled by his
lightning-fast strike.

“Nobody touches Mya until we see Lissa.”

The boy collapsed to his knees, cradling
his broken arm, his screams echoing off the tenement walls.

“Oh, shut up!”  Horice drew a long
rapier, took one step forward, and lunged.  The tip of the sword pierced the
boy’s skull from back to front as easily as it would a ripe melon.  He twisted
the blade and the body jerked spasmodically.  Yanking the rapier free, Horice
wiped it clean and slipped it back into its scabbard in one easy motion.

Wiggen watched as the boy toppled into a
twitching heap, his blood thickening the mud.  Her whimper seemed loud in the
sudden silence.  They’d not been here five minutes, and already someone was
dead.  Her knees began to shake, and she was thankful they were hidden beneath
her skirts.  Was she wrong to have come?  What could she do among people like
this?  Did they have any hope of getting Lissa back?

“Horice!  That was…”  Neera shook with
apoplectic rage.  “We
needed
him!”

The Master Blade shrugged and scowled,
refusing to meet her caustic glare.  “We couldn’t have him drawing attention.”

“You see, Lad?”  Venom dripped from Mya’s
voice as she struggled against her bonds.  “You see what they’ll do to your
pretty baby?”

“Shut up!”

Every eye in the courtyard turned to Wiggen,
and it took her a moment to realize that it had been her voice crying out.

“Yes, do be quiet, dear Mya.  We have no
intention of betraying Lad.  In fact,” Patrice gestured toward the corner of
the courtyard, and the woman they’d seen in the mirror strode forth, “here is
your precious little bundle of joy, safe and sound.”

“Lissa!”  Wiggen managed one step before
Lad’s grip on her arm restrained her headlong rush into the midst of the
assassins.

“Bring her here,” Lad ordered.  “Close
enough that we can see she’s safe.”

“Go ahead, Kellik.”  Youtrin motioned the
woman forward.  “But be ready.”

To Wiggen’s horror, Kellik drew a long,
curved knife.  She came to within a few steps and propped the fussy babe up for
them to see, then nestled the length of razor-edged steel across Lissa’s chin.

“Lad…”  Wiggen choked on her words.

“Calm, Wiggen,” Lad said, his steady
voice barely loud enough for her to hear.

For an outraged moment she wanted to tear
away from his grasp.  How could he be so calm?  How could he stand to see their
little girl threatened?  She felt like screaming, like fainting.  Then she felt
the hand on her arm trembling like a plucked harp string, and the heat
emanating from his body.  Lad quivered like a tightly wound spring waiting for
violent release.  How he kept himself in check, she didn’t know, but she did
know that, if they wanted to get out of this alive with their daughter, she
couldn’t distract him with imprudent actions.  She had to stick to their plan.

Calm
.  Wiggen tried to breathe deep to still her pounding heart, to rein in
her terror, but the calming techniques Lad had taught her wouldn’t work.  Her
breath caught in her throat, and she began to shake all over.  It had been
easier when the blade had been at her own throat, but Lissa…

“You see?  Safe and sound.”  Patrice
smiled again as she waved a hand toward the baby, but her eyes were cold, and
her voice had taken on a steely ring.  “But now, Lad, you’ve created a problem
for us.  Our deal was your child for the delivery of your master, but you knew
that our intent was to kill her.  By ruining our only available means of
completing the task, you’ve extended your obligation.”

“I didn’t kill him.”  Lad pointed to
Horice and glared.  “He did.”

“What was I supposed to do, pat the idiot
on the shoulder?”

“Quiet, Horice!” Neera snapped.

“You don’t order me!” Horice countered,
his hand drifting to the hilt of his rapier.

Youtrin cracked his huge knuckles. 
“Didn’t I
say
we needed a backup?”

“You see?  They’ll betray you!”  Mya
surged and thrashed against her bonds.

“The baby,” Patrice raised her voice to
be heard, “will remain in our possession, and you will stay here until we can—”

The bickering assaulted Wiggen’s ears
like the roar of a storm wind, but her eyes remained fixed upon the gleaming
knife at Lissa’s throat.  She knew what she had to do, and could delay no
longer.

“Shut up!  All of you!”  Wiggen wrenched
her arm out of Lad’s grasp and wiped the tears and rain from her eyes.  “I’ll
do it!”

“You?”  Patrice sounded skeptical, and Youtrin
actually laughed, but Wiggen had already bent to pick up the dead boy’s fallen
dagger.

“You’ll hand Lissa over when it’s done! 
Say it!”  The blade trembled in her grasp, rain dripping from its tip.

“Of course.  Kill Mya and we’ll hand over
the child.  That’s all we want.”  Patrice’s easy tone and casual smile made her
assurance almost believable.

“Wiggen, I don’t—”

“Shut
up
, Lad!”  She turned on her
husband, the naked blade between them.  “I don’t care!  It’s for Lissa!”

He nodded and stepped back, and Wiggen
glared down at Mya, bound and kneeling like a lamb ready for slaughter.  She
stepped forward, her rain-slicked grip on the dagger’s hilt so hard that her
knuckles shone white.

“Wiggen.  Don’t.”  Mya looked up at her,
her eyes no longer hate-filled, no longer blazing with spite.  “You don’t have
to do this.”

Wiggen considered all the pain this woman
had brought to their family, all the sleepless nights Wiggen had endured
waiting for Lad to come home, wondering if he lay dead in a gutter.  How wonderful
their lives would have been if not for Mya. 
No mercy
…