Weapon of Blood (5 page)

She read the note.

Master Hunter Mya Ewlet

Twailin Assassins Guild

The increasing lack of cooperation within the Twailin Guild has
resulted in an overall decline of revenues and a loss of guild influence in the
region over the last six half-year cycles.  This is unacceptable.  Your own
division, however, has not shown the same decline as others.  Considering your
success against the failures of your peers, and despite your youth, you show
great promise.

Therefore, I am honoring you with the appointment to the position of
Guildmaster of the Twailin Assassins Guild. 

Since the previous guildmaster’s ring was destroyed after the death of
its owner, it is my wish that you contract the services of the guild crafter of
magical implements in Twailin to forge a new guildmaster’s ring.  Upon its
completion, don the ring, then convene a meeting of the other masters and show
them this letter.  From that day forward you will assume all the duties and
responsibilities of Guildmaster of the Twailin Assassins Guild.

Sincerely,

Grandmaster

“Holy shit,” she muttered as she re-read
the note.

She shivered from a chill that the fire
at her back had no power to dispel, quivering the paper in her hands so badly
that she could barely focus on the elegant script.  The illegible signature
seemed to squirm as if it would writhe out of the page and bite her.  Her
office, so snug and secure only a moment ago, now felt claustrophobic, as if
the walls were closing in around her.  She couldn’t breathe.  Couldn’t think.

“Something wrong, Miss Mya?”

Mya started and jerked her head up to
look at Dee.  She had completely forgotten that he was still here.  She drew
the parchment down into her lap, below the table’s edge.  Had he seen the
Grandmaster’s crest?

“No.  Nothing wrong, Dee.”  She swallowed
the lump in her throat.  “Just a surprise, is all.  Nothing important.”

Godsdamned guildmaster
…  Her mind spun so fast she felt nauseous.  It was
one thing to fight with her fellow masters against appointing a new
guildmaster.  But the Grandmaster…  No one but the guildmasters of each city
and his secret cabal of representatives even knew who he was, but he wielded
ultimate power in the guild.  As nicely as the note was phrased, this wasn’t a
request; the Grandmaster expected her to assume the post.

You’re a slave
…

No!

Impulsively, Mya crumpled the note and
pitched it into the fire.  The fine parchment ignited instantly, and she
watched it burn.  She snatched up her tankard and gulped her wine.  The drink
warmed a path to her stomach, but did little to calm her suddenly singing
nerves.

“Will you want to draft a reply?”

Dee’s question snapped her out of her
daze, and she forcibly focused her thoughts.  “No.”

All her life, Mya had relied on her quick
mind.  Now that mind, the mind of a trained Hunter and master assassin, whirred
into motion.  Like flipping through a deck of cards, relationships, causes,
effects, dangers, and threats flashed by.  Little more than an hour ago she’d
survived the most organized and well-executed attempt on her life to date.  Was
it coincidence that she received a letter appointing her guildmaster that very
night?  If the other masters knew, they might take one last shot at her,
knowing that once she wore the guildmaster’s ring, she would be immune to
attacks from anyone in the Twailin guild.  She shook her head.  The letter had
been magically sealed; nobody could have read it.  Nobody even knew she had
received it except—  Mya’s eyes flicked up to her assistant.

“That’s all for tonight, Dee.  Write up
those responses we discussed, and I’ll sign them in the morning.”

“Very good, Miss Mya.”

She watched as he gathered his things,
surreptitiously casting worried glances at both her and the fire.

Worried about me, or about my reaction
to the letter
?

Mya trusted her people, and Dee more than
most, but news of this sort would be worth a lot to her enemies.  She swallowed
another gulp of the fortified wine and forced her voice into calm, sure tones.

“Goodnight, Dee.  I’ll see you first
thing in the morning.”

“Goodnight, Miss Mya.”  He looked
relieved to see her acting normally again, gave her a casual smile, and left
the room.

“Damn it!  Suspecting Dee?  You’re being
paranoid, Mya.”  But some niggling internal whisperer asked,
But are you
being paranoid enough?
  She sat back and sipped her wine, trying to force
coherence into the whirl of suspicion in her mind.

Forge a new guildmaster’s ring
…

Mya held up her hand, gazing at the
master’s ring on her finger, reflected firelight dancing red on the polished
obsidian.  Each ring cost a small fortune to enchant, for they did more than
seal letters and detect magical traps.  Much more.  Hers not only made it
impossible for any of her Hunters to attack her, but also foiled any attempt to
spy on or locate her using magic.  But the ring’s true power lay not in what it
did for her, but what it did to her.

The magic of her ring bound her to the
guild; she could neither leave, nor remove the ring.  Lad had been right all
those years ago.  She had been a slave.  The enchantments wouldn’t even allow
her to hack off her finger to release herself from its grip.  And under the
Grandfather’s domination, she had learned what that slavery meant.  Mya
remembered the cold stone slab beneath her, the chill of the Grandfather’s
blades.  The drug he had given her blunted the pain, but the real horror had
been the elation on his face as he peeled her flesh from living bone.

My life was his to spend…

Ripples danced on the surface of her wine
as she raised the cup to her lips.

…until Lad saved me.

Now, without a guildmaster, she was, to a
certain extent, free.  If she donned a guildmaster’s ring and learned the
identity of the Grandmaster, the shackles upon her soul would tighten again.

“Miss Mya?”

“Yes?”  Her eyes snapped open, but it was
just Paxal.

“Dee said you were finished, but…”  His
eyes settled onto her half-full plate.  “Was the mutton not to your taste?”

“It was fine, Pax.  I’m just not very
hungry tonight.  That’s all.”  She forced a smile, finished her wine in one
long swallow, and stood.  “The wine was especially nice.  Thank you.”

“My pleasure, Miss.”  He piled everything
on the tray.  “Anything else tonight?  Another cup of wine?”

“No wine, thank you, Pax, but…”  Her mind
spun ahead.  She could trust Paxal, and he was subtle, a fixture everyone took
for granted.  “…a couple of favors.”

“Name it, Miss.”

“First, when the fire burns down, empty
the ashes and scatter them in the rain.  Do it yourself.”  Magic could do
amazing things, and the last thing she wanted was for that letter to be
resurrected from the ashes.

“I’ll see to it personally.”

“Good.”  She bit her lip. 
Yes, he’s
the one to do this.
  “Also, I need to know if Dee leaves the inn tonight. 
Let me know first thing in the morning, before he comes in with the letters.”

“Of course, Miss.”  Not a hint of
trepidation or worry, just simple, honest obedience.

Perfect.

“Thanks, Pax.”  She gave him a nod, and
he left with the tray.

Mya paced the length of the room, looking
into the dying flames of the fire with each pass, her mind a whirl of
thoughts. 
Godsdamned guildmaster
…
  Why me? I’m too young!  I’m more
successful because the other masters need my help more than I need theirs.  The
Grandmaster has to know that!
  Stopping before the fire, she leaned against
the hearth and stared into the flames.  The heat on her face matched the heat
that rose in her blood. 
Is this some ploy?  Do the other masters already
know?  Is that why Horice tried to kill me tonight?
   She knew she’d find
no answers in the fire, but the mesmerizing dance of orange, yellow, blue and
crimson drew her mind like a moth to the light. 
Godsdamned guildmaster
…

“Stop it, Mya!  You’ll start talking to
yourself next!”

Tearing her eyes away from the flames,
she withdrew an ornate, three-sided brass key suspended on a chain around her
neck, and inserted it into a depression in the third stone on the left of the
hearth arch.  Silently, the concealed door beside the fireplace swung open.

She stepped through the door, pushing it
closed behind her and re-locking it.  Although locks in a building full of
assassins seemed superfluous, she felt assured by this one.  The lock had three
sets of tumblers, very difficult to pick, and only one other key to the door
existed.  It hung on a chain around Paxal’s neck, which someone would have to
break before the barkeep would give it up.  Then, even if they had the key, an
intruder would have to find the concealed lock, which looked like just another
crack in the well-worn stone hearth.  Finally, the door was set with a magical
alarm to give her warning should some fool manage to break in.  More likely,
they’d be drawn to the little room that opened off of her office; a rumpled
cot, small dresser, and a few personal items made this an apt decoy for her
living quarters.

In reality, Mya lived underground.

Glow crystals set in silver sconces
brightened to light her way down the stone steps to her apartments.  Paxal had
suggested she renovate the disused wine cellar, pointing out that it would be
more secure than any above-ground dwelling.  As Master Hunter, money flowed to
her like water down a rain spout.  She had spared no expense, hiring a foreign
dwarven craftsman and paying him a fortune to ensure his silence.  Here, hidden
and surrounded by a veritable army of her Hunters, she felt safe.

At least, safe enough to sleep at night.

The stair emptied into a small living
area paneled with wood and furnished with two comfortable chairs, a couch and
an expansive rolltop desk.  Her stocking-clad feet whispered across fine silk
rugs.  The hearth was cold, the firewood laid out, but unlit.

Knowing no fire could banish the chill
she felt in her bones, she strode over to the map of Twailin that hung on the
wall behind the desk.  Pins crowded the map, each denoting an operation, their
heads colored to indicate whose: green for her Hunters, blue for the other
guild factions, yellow for non-guild.  Picking up a red-headed pin, she drove
it into the map where tonight’s attack had occurred.

Mya backed up until her knees hit the
edge of the couch, and sat.  She squinted at the map, a mass of green centered
on the
Golden Cockerel
, winding out through the city like the roots of a
tree.  Yellow pins—the Thieves Guild mostly—encroached on the patchy blue
areas, less so when it neared her own.  Red pins scattered across the city like
drops of blood.  She examined the map, looking for patterns, openings,
weaknesses.  Such analysis usually helped her focus her thoughts, but not
tonight.  She fidgeted, her mind skipping from the assassination attempt, to
the other masters, to Dee, to the letter, to the Grandmaster…  Lurching up from
her seat, she paced around the room, perused the bookshelf that took up another
entire wall, considered pouring herself a nightcap from one of the decanters on
the sideboard.

This place was her refuge, her safe harbor,
but tonight it felt like a cage.

You’re a slave
…

Mya shuddered when she realized how true
Lad’s words had been.  She had always been a slave.  She had spent her life
trying to be safe, to be free from the things that could hurt her.

Memories
…  The stunning shock of a slap, blood in her mouth,
shouting, ridicule, pain…  More pain than any physical trauma could induce…pain
that no child should endure.

“Mommy please, don’t—”

“Don’t call me that, you little rat! 
I should have rooted you out with a twig before you were born!”

Then, seeking safety, she had become a
slave to the sadistic whims of the Grandfather.  And now, scratching and
clawing to keep what little freedom she imagined she had, she got that
godsdamned letter.  She found herself twisting the ring on her finger.  In her
youth, she had thought the ring would bring her power, and that power would
keep her safe.

She had been wrong.

The only thing the ring on her finger had
brought her was more slavery, more pain, more fear. She didn’t know the Grandmaster,
had no idea what being his direct underling would mean, and didn’t want to find
out.  Lad had delivered her from her slavery by killing the Grandfather, and
she wasn’t about to put herself back under that kind of yoke.

Lad
…

Mya went to a heavy oak door tucked away
in the corner.  Flinging it open, she stepped into her training room.  Her eyes
swept around the mirror-lined walls, the weapon racks, the smooth hardwood
floor, and her heart slowed, the imagined bonds of slavery slipping away.