Weapon of Blood
Authors: Chris A. Jackson
Tags: #Literature & Fiction, #Genre Fiction, #Action & Adventure, #Science Fiction & Fantasy, #Fantasy, #Urban, #Paranormal & Urban
This novel is dedicated to all the fans who would not
st
op pestering me for a sequel to
Weapon of Flesh
.
Without your support, this book would never have been
written.
Special thanks to Noah Stacey, once again, for the
wonderful cover art, and to my wife, Anne, for her editorial input and tolerance
of all of my foibles.
Weapon of Blood
Weapon of Flesh Trilogy
Book 2
Chris A. Jackson
Kindle edition
7.1.13
The sequel to the award-winning
Weapon of Flesh
,
Weapon of Blood
continues the story of Lad, a man crafted of magic and
flesh to be the most lethal assassin the world has ever known.
A weapon becomes a person.
The Grandfather is dead, and Lad is free to live his
life as he chooses…as long as he chooses the Assassins Guild, of course.
Lad’s job is to protect Master Hunter Mya, a difficult
proposition with a guild war brewing and death waiting around every corner.
Envious rivals plot to eliminate Mya, even as the Assassins Guild Grandmaster
seeks to promote her.
Lad’s solace is his loving family. But the blessings
of love and friendship vie with the despair of fear and doubt. And so much
gained means that much more to lose.
Suspicion and betrayal abound as the Assassins Guild
factions strive for supremacy. Even Mya harbors secrets so deep that she will
kill to prevent them from being revealed. Lad does not know who to trust, but
that is not the worst of it.
For, unbeknownst to Lad, he is no longer the only weapon
of flesh…
Copyright 2013 Chris A. Jackson
All rights reserved.
No part of this book may be reproduced, stored in a
retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means—electronic,
mechanical, photocopy, recording, or otherwise, except for brief quotations in
printed reviews—without prior permission from the author.
Cover Image Copyright 2013 Jaxbooks
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Table of Contents
M
urder weighed
heavily on the noble’s mind as he strolled through the beautiful gardens. Of
course, as Grandmaster of the all the Assassins Guilds in the Empire of Tsing, murder
was always on his mind. Death was his business. He took pleasure in his work,
but more and more often that pleasure was tainted by unpleasantness.
Today’s unpleasantness took the form of a
garden party at the Imperial Palace. Dozens of overdressed courtiers strolled
and chatted, strutting like peacocks dressed in plumage of silk and satin,
frilled lace and powdered wigs.
More like a flock of carrion crows
attending a corpse, cawing and flapping for a piece of the emperor’s attention
. He hid his sneer of contempt behind a placid smile
and strolled on. They thought themselves superior, clever, truly
noble
,
but he knew their secrets. He knew all their secrets, and their petty
intrigues bored him, their blatant pandering a constant ache he could not ease,
a rotten tooth he could not pull.
Politics.
Yet, as much as it disgusted him, he had
to live the lie. He had to wear a mask of propriety to maintain his image and
hide the assassin within.
A flash of darker color among the pastel
hues drew the noble’s eye. A man wound his way through the crowd, his simple crimson
robe cinched with a silver chain around his waist, incongruous against the
courtiers’ finery. The golden feather embroidered on the breast of his robe marked
the man as a high priest of Demia, Keeper of the Slain, but he stood out from
the gaudy courtiers in more than just his dress and calling. His fluid, purposeful
steps and serious bearing gave him the look of a hawk amidst the peacocks. Sidelong
glances and whispers followed in his wake. This priest of the death goddess
disconcerted the courtiers, as if a shadow walked among them. They turned
away, feigning disinterest, and gave him a wide berth.
A thrill of intrigue tickled the
Grandmaster’s stomach, heightening his senses and cutting through his boredom,
for even though the priestly garb was no disguise, he knew what else this
visitor was. He gestured, and the man smoothly shifted his trajectory, matching
the noble’s casual stride as he turned and made his way deep into the maze of flowering
shrubs and groomed hedges, away from the inane banter and courtly laughter. Two
bodyguards followed at a discreet distance, but he wasn’t concerned with them
overhearing the conversation. As blademaster monks of Kos Godslayer, they were
constrained by spells of obedience, and had their tongues cut out to prevent
unintentional slips.
When they were out of earshot, the man in
crimson bowed and said, “Grandmaster, I bear news from Twailin.”
He sighed.
Twailin again
. The
subject of Twailin was beginning to irritate him. The news was never good.
“So, what news from our recalcitrant
brothers and sisters, Hoseph?” He paused before a delicate topiary of jasmine
and bent to inhale the heady aroma.
“The situation worsens, Grandmaster. They
still have not appointed a guildmaster, the factions squabble amongst
themselves like a gaggle of geese over breadcrumbs, and the Thieves Guild is
moving in on their territories. Revenues continue to fall.”
“A pity.” The Grandmaster strolled over
to a rose bush. Dew glinted on a spider web strung between two of the stems,
and he smiled as he compared its complex architecture with his own situation. He
was the spider, his network of Inquisitors the strands, feeding him information
from assassins guilds in every city of the empire and beyond. When they told
of something tasty, he pulled it in and feasted. Hoseph was his primary
intermediary, his conduit to that web of information. The Grandmaster knew the
players in this game as well as he knew the court fawners, though he did not
know all of their secrets. Assassins were more circumspect.
Drawing a short, hooked knife from a fold
of his robes, he snicked a blossom free from the bush with one deft stroke.
The glistening petals shone dark and vibrant, the hue of fresh-spilled venous
blood, and the aroma filled his head with a cloud of sweet remembrance.
Father’s funeral…roses atop his
casket…the satisfaction of putting that pretentious prig deep underground
.
He thought about the dilemma as he
methodically cut the thorns from the stem with quick twists of the blade, not
unlike the motion he would use to sever a selected tendon to access the nerve
beneath. Though he had been groomed from a tender age for the ultimate
position of authority, as Grandmaster he rarely got the opportunity to practice
the assassin’s disciplines. He had a real knack and love for inquisition,
however, even if his efforts were more recreational than professional.
“It’s been five years since Saliez’s death,
and still we’re feeling the repercussions. I’d hoped their attempts to operate
without a guildmaster would not disrupt business, but that doesn’t seem to be
the case.”
“Initial financial gains without the
expenditures of a guildmaster’s tithe were promising. Saliez
was
rather
extravagant.”
Hoseph’s placating tone narrowed his master’s
eyes.
“Don’t patronize!” He sliced the last
thorn from the rose and brought the blossom to his nose. A deep breath, a slow
exhale, and his ire eased. “Saliez may have been extravagant, and even egomaniacal,
but at least he was ambitious and led with purpose. This intra-guild
squabbling is detrimental. Tell them that they must appoint a new guildmaster
from within their own ranks within two months, or I’ll send them one.”
“It
would
be best if someone
familiar with Twailin filled that post, Grandmaster, but if you place someone
of our own choosing in that position, it will work to your advantage.” Hoseph’s
tone bespoke volumes, but he danced around the point as if it would burn him,
and the Grandmaster fumed.
“People give me obsequious double talk
all day long, Hoseph. If you wish to retain your position, speak plainly!” He
inhaled the rose’s heady aroma and leveled a stare straight into the man’s eyes.
“You obviously have someone in mind.”
“Yes, Grandmaster. But the masters of
the other factions may not agree with my choice.”
“You need only concern yourself with
my
opinion, Hoseph. I don’t give a bent copper for what these masters think! They
may be skilled and powerful in their own little worlds, but the Assassins Guild
is vast, and I’m the one who makes the decisions that benefit us all. Now, who
do you think would best fit our needs in that post?”
Hoseph’s face remained inscrutable, but
his stance tensed under his master’s rebuke. He cleared his throat before
continuing. “Master Hunter Mya is ambitions and skilled, though young. Her
revenues are higher than any of the other factions. She has potential.”
Muscles writhed beneath the skin of the
Grandmaster’s jaw. “She was also involved in Saliez’s death, wasn’t she?”
“She
did
tell her fellow masters that
she was there when Saliez died, but she wore a master’s ring, so she couldn’t
have killed him.” Hoseph swallowed and shrugged. “If you remember, the Royal
Guard invaded Saliez’s estate, so we had no way to find out
how
Saliez was
killed. Mya managed to escape with his weapon.”
“Yes. Saliez’s weapon.” The human
weapon had managed to kill targets directly under the protection of the Twailin
Royal Guard, an unprecedented feat. “She wields it still, does she not?”
“Yes, Grandmaster. She had been assigned
by Saliez to its care, and after his death, she was the only one able to
control it. She uses it as her personal bodyguard.” Hoseph’s mouth twisted
into a smile. “It’s kept her alive in spite of some serious attempts on her
life from her fellow masters.”
“The squabbling has gone that far?”
“Yes, Grandmaster. And she’s returned
the favor. You remember the report of the Master Inquisitor’s death two years
ago. That was rumored to be Mya’s doing.”
“Hmm…indeed.” He dropped the rose to the
groomed turf and crushed the delicate blossom under his boot. “She’s
dangerous. That weapon is the only creature in the Assassins Guild capable of harming
me, and you think I should promote her to guildmaster?”
Hoseph tilted his head and pursed his
mouth before answering. “Saliez promoted her to Master Hunter over many older
and more experienced guild members. That suggests great trust. While it’s
true that the weapon has signed no blood contract, and is therefore not
constrained from killing a wearer of a master’s, guildmaster’s or even the Grandmaster’s
ring, I think the key to controlling it is to control Mya. Elevate her to guildmaster
and you put her securely in your debt, which might persuade her to wield her
weapon at your command.”
The Grandmaster’s eyes narrowed. Yes,
the thought had merit. Saliez’s…
Mya’s
weapon was an asset to be used
properly, not wasted as a bodyguard. His trained mind skipped ahead to
consider all the possibilities, plans, and plots that could benefit from the
use of such a weapon, as well as the risks and opportunities for betrayal. The
scales of risk versus potential gain tipped in his favor.
“Very well, make the offer, but make it directly
to Mya.”
“Yes, Grandmaster.”
“Also, we must protect our investment. Instruct
her to have a new ring forged, but insist that she doesn’t tell the other
masters about it until she actually wears the ring. If they learn of my offer
before she has that protection, they’ll go after her.”
“Of course, Grandmaster.”
“But we can’t be sure the other masters
don’t have spies in her camp. If she dies, the weapon will be without a
master. He’ll run. I want Mya protected from the other masters until she
wears the guildmaster’s ring.”
“She
is
protected, Grandmaster.
The weapon—”
“Protect him, also.”
“Protect the
weapon
? By all
accounts, it’s virtually invulnerable.”
“
He
is human, and mortal, and as
such, he must have weaknesses. The masters of the Twailin guild might be able
to find those weaknesses and exploit them.”
“I…suppose that’s possible.”
“And be subtle. Use resources outside
the guild, someone familiar with Twailin. See to it.” He waved dismissively.
“I will, Grandmaster.” Hoseph bowed,
took two steps back, and turned to go.
The Grandmaster smiled. He had spun a
new strand for his web. His mind whirled with potential uses for the weapon
once he had Mya under his thumb.
