Weapon of Fear (37 page)

“Duveau?” 
Arbuckle couldn’t believe it, didn’t want to believe it.  The archmage was the
most accomplished wizard in the empire.  How could anyone defend against
someone of that power?

The
answer to that question was simple, something Arbuckle had learned from
innumerable history books.  It was the reason the Imperial Retinue of Wizards had
been assembled in the first place: Fight magic with magic.

Martial
your allies, keep them close
…

Arbuckle
went to his desk and penned a note.  To martial his allies, he had to be sure
exactly who they were.  The list of people he trusted implicitly was very short
indeed.

Dee
bolted awake at Knock’s bellow.  A pearly glow filled the room.

Hoseph!

The
glow disappeared with the sound of a meaty crack, then a crash and gasp as
someone hit the wall.

Dee
lunged, struggling to free himself from the sheets and reach the crossbow
propped against the night table.  As his hand closed on the weapon’s stock, his
foot caught in the sheet and he tumbled to the floor.

“Pax!”

  Cursing
his clumsiness, Dee fought to his feet and aimed the crossbow at the crumpled
bundle of dark cloaks against the wall.  Then Knock stepped in his way, her
club raised high.  Before the blow fell or Dee could tell the girl to move, a
pulse of deeper darkness slammed through him.

Moirin
died in his arms…  His father shouted in rage, his belt lashing…  Mother’s
bloody split lip…  Cruel laughter as his dagger misses the target…

Every
dark moment of Dee’s life—ridicule, loss, failure— crushed his soul.  His knees
folded, and he pitched forward onto the bed.  The stock of the crossbow smacked
him in the mouth, and the familiar tang of blood touched his tongue.

Knock’s
anguished wail shivered the air, drawing his gaze.  The girl dropped her club
and fell to her knees.  Her eyes swam with horrors unknown.  Dee dared not
guess what haunted the poor girl so; his own humiliations were bad enough.

From
amidst a rumpled pile of robes, Hoseph struggled to his feet.  The pearly glow
flared again, and the priest reached down for Knock.

No
.

Dee
squeezed the crossbow’s trigger.

The
bolt vanished into the dark robes, and Hoseph staggered back, gasping.  The
glow vanished from his hand, plunging the room into darkness.  Dee’s despair
eased, allowing him to fumble for another bolt.  Recalling how Hoseph blinked
in behind Sereth, he flung himself back against the wall, his hands working
mechanically, cocking and fitting the bolt in the crossbow by touch.  He
shouldered the weapon and scanned the darkness, his fingers trembling on the
trigger, waiting for that pearly glow.

Nothing. 
No light, no sound save Knock’s soft sobbing and the thunder of footsteps
outside in the hall.

“Dee?” 
A key rattled in the door’s lock.

Dee
lowered his crossbow as lamplight swept in.  Paxal stood there with several
urchins.  Some stared at him, others stared at Knock curled in a fetal ball on
the floor, sobbing and rocking back and forth.  Gimp stared at something beside
the bed, out of Dee’s sight.

“Oh,
no.”  Dee vaulted over the bed.    Tiny lay there as still as a stone.  Dee touched
the skinny chest, probed the side of the thin neck, but felt no pulse.  The
boy’s heart had stopped. 
Hoseph…
  “Gods take that sonofabitch and send
him to the hottest hell there is!”

“He
dead
?”  Gimp jostled her friend’s shoulder to no effect.

“Knock!” 
Kit rushed in and wrapped her arms around her friend’s heaving shoulders.

More
urchins arrived, feet pounding on the wooden floors.  Pax handed his lamp to
Nestor.  “Dee!  What happened?”

“Hoseph.” 
Dee stood, his teeth clenched so hard he could feel his pounding heart between
them.  “Knock saved my life, but Tiny must have been in the way.  Is everyone
else okay?”

Paxal
looked around.  “Everyone’s here but Mya.  She’s still out.”

“I
was just in the kitchen with Twigs havin’ a bite.”  Nestor stared down at Tiny
in horror.  “We didn’t see nothin’.”

“How’d
he get up here without us hearin’?”  Twigs gripped his sticks so hard his
knuckles turned white.  “Doors are still locked  closed.”

“He
must have used magic to get in.  I’ve seen him do it before.”  Dee rose and
went to where Hoseph had stood and reached to turn up his bedside lamp.  “Knock
tagged him with her club, but then he did…something.  Some spell or curse that
knocked both of us flat.  He was going to kill Knock, and I…”  Kneeling, he
felt around, found a wet spot.  Dabbing it with a finger, he examined it in the
lamplight and confirmed his suspicion.  Blood.  “Yes, I put a crossbow bolt
into him, but he got away.”

“I’m
thinkin’
we
got away.”  Paxal’s frown made him look old.  He knelt
beside Gimp and lay a hand on little Tiny.  “Or most of us did.”

I
n the Sphere of Shadow, he felt no
pain.  Of course, that made returning to the real world a dread, for Hoseph
knew there would be pain aplenty waiting for him.  His arm was broken, and the
assassin’s shot had struck him in the side of his hip, the iron head lodged in
bone.  Neither injury would kill him right away, and Demia’s grace would heal
his wounds in time, but the bolt would have to be removed.

Where
to go
?

Could
he trust anyone?  The authorities were still searching for him, and there would
be questions at any temple in the city.  What about another city?  There would
still be questions, surely, but at least his likeness wasn’t pinned to the
posterboards empire-wide…yet.  Then there was the matter of trust; someone was
going to have to cut the bolt out of his hip.  Who did he trust to hold that
knife?

Lady
T
?

Did
he trust her to cut the bolt from his hip?  He had botched her perfect setup. 
The guildmaster might just pull the bolt and stick it in his heart for failing
to kill Mya.

No. 
Hoseph dared trust no one but himself.  That left him only one option.

Pain
snatched the breath from his lungs as he returned to the real world, safe in
the guild archive.  His right arm hung limp, the bone broken just below his
shoulder, but he could still flex his fingers.  Rest and Demia’s grace would
suffice to heal it, but he couldn’t wait for the pain to ease before he tended
to his other, more serious wound.

The
crossbow bolt had struck him in the left side, and putting weight on that leg
sent agony lancing through his hip.  Struggling to keep from screaming with
every movement, he lit a lamp and eased himself down onto the chair at the
desk.  Here, the tools he used to prepare scrolls for inscription lay gleaming
and awaiting his need.

The
scissors intended to trim fine vellum worked equally well to cut his robe from
around the crossbow bolt.  Hoseph gritted his teeth, careful not to bump the
bolt as he worked or move his broken arm.  Once the bloody material was cut
free, a cleaning rag wiped away the blood.

Gingerly,
Hoseph probed the wound.  The shaft protruded from  his flesh just above of the
hip joint.  The bleeding wasn’t bad, thank Demia, but the head of the bolt had
lodged in bone.  Just touching the shaft felt like a knife being twisted in his
hip.  And he couldn’t just pull it out; if the head was barbed, it would snare
muscle and skin.  It had to be cut free.  Hoseph uttered a prayer for strength,
and felt Demia’s grace steady his hand and still his fears.

I
must do this
.

He
picked up his razor from his kit and checked its edge.  It was made for
shaving, not for parting flesh, but it would do.  Next he placed a roll blank
vellum between his teeth.  It wasn’t likely that anyone would hear his screams,
but he couldn’t take any risks.  Biting down hard, he positioned the razor’s
edge where the bolt’s shaft met his skin.

With
a deep breath and another prayer to Demia, he pressed the blade into his flesh.

His
scream didn’t quite escape the vellum, and the soft material saved his teeth. 
When the edge of the razor met bone, he dropped the blade and plunged his
fingers into the bleeding wound, probing for the head of the bolt.  Dark blood
flowed freely, slickening his fingers, but he could feel the barbed head.  His
incision had freed it of tissue, but the tip was buried deep in bone.  Gripping
the steel head as best he could, he pulled, but his fingers slipped and the
shaft remained lodged in place.

Dizziness
threatened to overwhelm him, darkness edging into his vision. 
No!  Please,
Demia!  Give me strength! 
If he fainted and fell out of his chair, the
bolt might break and he would be even worse off.  He should have lain on his
pallet to do this, but couldn’t move now.

His
vision cleared, but still, he couldn’t get a grip on the bolt to pull it free. 
He’d have to use both hands.

Moving
his broken arm sent more pain lancing through him, but he was able to grip the
shaft.  Slowly, careful not to break it off, he levered the bolt back and
forth.  Every movement elicited agonizing stabs through his arm and leg. 
Closing his eyes against the torture and biting down to stifle his screams, he
pried the bolt’s iron head free from bone and flung the bloody shaft aside.

Yes
!

The
agony eased to mere pain, and he could breathe again, he could think.  Hoseph
clapped the bloody rag onto the wound to staunch the bleeding and let the roll
of vellum fall from his mouth.

Rest
now
. 
I need
rest
. 
That’s all
.  The priest pushed himself up out of the chair
and took a step toward his bedroll.  Standing, however, turned out to be a bad
idea.  Darkness swam up from the floor to overwhelm him.  For a moment, Hoseph
wondered how this could be; he hadn’t invoked Demia’s talisman.  He felt
himself falling, but not into the Sphere of Shadow.  His bedroll felt as hard
as stone when he hit, but his mind was already spinning away into a black pit
of oblivion.

Mya
tapped the Gnome on the shoulder when they crossed into Midtown.  “I don’t need
to go back across the river.  Follow me, and I’ll get you your money, then you
can you take this thing off my neck.”

“Eh?” 
He squinted up at her.  “You live north of the river now?”

“Yes.” 
Mya grinned down at him.  A few hours ago, his knowing where she lived would
have bothered her, but he’d done right by her, kept their bargain, helped her
warn the prince.  “You followed me to the
Tin Dulcimer
, didn’t you?” 

“Aye.” 
He grinned back.  “Ye said to check into yer claims.  I was just bein’
careful.”

“So
follow me now, and I’ll get your money.”

“Ye
can keep yer money.”  He muttered a word in gnomish and the metal encircling
her neck expanded.

Surprised,
Mya slipped the ring over her head and handed it to him. “Thanks, but I’ll pay
you what we agreed on.  Nothing personal, but I don’t like to owe anyone
favors.”

“Ye
don’t owe me nothin’.”  The Gnome shrugged.  “Ye already paid plenty by savin’
that blue blood’s life.”

A
thief who doesn’t want money
… 
Mya couldn’t deny that she could use the funds herself, so she didn’t push it. 
“Have it your way, as long as were even.”

“We’re
even.”

She
started to turn away, but paused.  “You’re not so bad for a thief, Gnome.”

“Me
name’s Torghen.”  He muttered another word and put the now-tiny ring into a
pocket.  “And ye ain’t so bad either, fer a murderer.”

“Thanks,
Torghen.”

“Think
nothin’ of it.  Let me know if ye need anthin’ lifted for ye.  I get thirty
percent of appraised value, and I do the appraisin’.”

“I
will.”  Mya didn’t think she’d ever need anything stolen, but one never knew.

She
turned and walked away.  When she looked back, Torghen was gone.  She wondered
if he’d follow her home, and realized that it didn’t really matter.  She’d
already trusted him with her life.

Mya
only detoured twice on the way home to circumvent patrols of caps.  Fatigue and
grime from the dusty passages in the palace seemed to have invaded her bones,
but she felt good.  Maybe she’d saved the prince’s life.  She turned her key in
the back door, dreaming of a bath and a bed.  Inside, however, she found Dee
standing in the hall with a loaded crossbow in his hands, the weapon not quite
pointed at the door.

Her
stomach lurched at the expression on his face.  “What happened?”

“Hoseph
came to kill you while you were out.”  He motioned her toward the common room. 
“You should sit down for this.”

Dread
hollowed her stomach as she followed Dee into the common room.  Pax and the
urchins sat all around, loaded crossbows in hand, faces like headstones, grim
and cold.  She looked from one to the next and did a quick count.  They were
short one urchin.  The dread opened into a pit of despair.

“Who…” 

Paxal
nodded to a small, blanket-wrapped bundle.  “Tiny got in his way.”

“Tiny? 
No!”  Mya dropped to her knees beside the bundle, her hands shaking as she
reached out.

“Mya,
don’t.”  Dee put a hand on her arm.  “He’s gone.  There’s nothing you can do.”

Brushing
the bundle with her fingertips, she envisioned the little boy and his crooked
smile as he offered her food.  Then what Paxal said came to her. 
In the way
… 

She’d
ordered the urchins to watch over the adults as they slept.  Her order had cost
Tiny his life.  Mya had seen an inordinate amount of death for her years, and
dealt no small amount of it herself.  She’d even seen dead children before. 
But never had she caused a child’s death.  The pit of despair within her filled
with guilt, overflowed, and spilled into her soul.

“It
wasn’t your fault, Mya.”  Dee’s hand closed on her arm.

“It
was.”  Standing, she brushed off his touch and the tears that had sprung to her
eyes.  “He was coming after me.”

“You
don’t’ know that,” Paxal said.  “He could’ve been after Dee for kickin’ his ass
in Twailin.”

“He
was
trying to kill me.”  Dee shrugged and took a step back from her. 
“He was in my room.”

Not
likely…
  Hoseph
might kill Dee if he recognized him, but he had been here for Mya.  But none of
that mattered.  Tiny was dead, and it was her fault.  She’d accept the
responsibility.

“Tell
me what happened.  I want details, Dee.”

“I
was sleeping in the third-floor, back-corner room when Knock’s shout woke me. 
Hoseph was right beside the bed.”  Dee swallowed and cleared his throat.  “His
hand was glowing, but Knock smacked him with her stick.  Before I could get a
shot at him, he…cast a spell that knocked us both down.  It felt like…like my
mind had been kicked in the gut.”

“Like
every bad thing that had ever happened to you happened again all at once.”  Mya
gut clenched as she remembered that feeling.

“Yes,
exactly that.”  Dee continued.  “Hoseph got up and reached for Knock, and I
managed to put a crossbow bolt into him.  I don’t think I killed him, but I hit
him.  There was blood on the rug.  He vanished before I could reload, and…then
we found Tiny.  He was on the floor beside the bed.  That’s just about it.”

Mya’s
mind raced.  Hoseph knew where she lived.  He must have followed her from the
teahouse yesterday.  But if so, why hadn’t he attacked her last night?  It
didn’t matter.  He’d come here to kill her, and all he’d managed to do was
murder a little boy.

A
sudden thought tweaked her mind.  Might the priest have learned where she lived
from someone else?  Torghen?  If the gnome had betrayed her, Hoseph would have
known she was out tonight…  Why would he attack?  She looked back at Dee. 
Was
he here to kill Dee?
  Had he planned to destroy her support system by
killing her allies? 
By killing Tiny?
  No.  She had no way to know why
he’d chosen this night to attack, but she felt sure that she’d led him here,
and he’d come to kill her.  It was her fault.

There
was only one thing to do.

“Pack
everything up.  We’re out of here first thing in the morning.”  She started for
the stairs.  “Pax, I’ll need you to find—”

“We
ain’t leavin’.”

“What?” 
She turned back.  “Who said that?”

“I
did, ma’am.” Digger frowned and shook his head.  “We never had no place like
this before, and we ain’t gonna let nobody run us out.”

“You
don’t understand, Digger.  It’s not safe here.  We’ve got to leave.  If we
don’t, Hoseph will come back and one of you might get in his way again.  I
won’t let that happen.”  She looked from face to face, but none of the urchins
moved.