Weapon of Fear (42 page)

A gurgling
sound came from beneath the smoldering coverlet at her feet.  Mya pulled back
the blanket and cringed.  The woman’s face was a mass of blackened blisters,
and sooty blood oozed from her shriveled lips.

“Aside
from this lot, you mean?”  Paxal fired a crossbow point blank into one
twitching figure, and reached for another bolt.  Reloading, he aimed it at the
intruder at Mya’s feet and gave her a questioning look.

Mya
looked down at the smoldering wreckage that used to be a woman.  A memory surfaced—Kiesha,
tortured and bleeding.  Lad had shown his wife’s killer mercy, how could she do
any less?  A crossbow bolt would be a kindness.  Nodding at Pax, she winced as
he fired, ending the woman’s torment. 
Mercy
… 

Mya
looked to the other trespassers.  They were all dead save one.  The man lay
face down, his legs scorched by fire, but he was breathing.  “Leave that one,
Pax.  I want to ask him some questions.”

“Ask
him how he wants to die.”

Mya
looked up, startled by the cold malice in Dee’s voice and the bloodlust in his
narrowed eyes.  He’d never struck her as bloodthirsty, but he seemed to have no
problem killing in defense of their home.  She held up a restraining hand.  “I
want to know what faction he works for, so I can visit his boss.” 

Several
strings protruded from the man’s torso, and frothy pink blood bubbled from his
mouth and nose.  Mya wondered if he could even speak.  Stepping over a corpse,
she reached down, gripped the man’s shoulder, and rolled him over.

She
jerked at the crack of a crossbow. 
Who did Paxal shoot now?

“Mya!”

At
Dee’s shout, she looked down.  A triangle of feathers stood out from her
shirt.  It took a second for her to realize that it was the fletching of a
crossbow bolt buried deep in her abdomen.

“Son
of a—”  Mya stood up.  A peculiar tugging in her gut sent a wave of nausea
washing over her.  She felt no pain, but thought she might puke.

Reaching
back, she felt the barbed head protruding from her back.  This bolt would only
come out the way it went in.  Mya gripped the head and jerked, felt the length
of the bolt pass through her.  Another wave of nausea and some dizziness washed
over her.  She wavered on her feet, and felt Dee’s hand on her shoulder.

“You’re…” 
He swallowed hard, his eyes fixed on the bloody bolt in her hand.  “Are you all
right?”

Paxal
was at her side then, his eyes wide and shining.  “Mya!  Oh, dear Gods of
Light!”

“It’s
okay, Pax.  I’m fine.  Really.  I’ll explain later.”  Mya glared down at her
attacker’s blood-flecked lips, twisted in a grotesque semblance of a smile. 
“Well, that answered one question.”  Flipping the crossbow bolt in her hand,
she thrust the bloody point through his eye.  The corpse twitched, then
stilled. 

“He
wasn’t guild.”  Dee nodded to the ring on Mya’s finger.

“Exactly.” 
Mya thought she should be relieved.  “At least this means that Lady T didn’t
send them.”

“Miss
Mya?”

Mya
looked up.  Her urchins were staring at her, some aghast, some grinning.  She
tried to smile reassuringly.  “You all did well.  We’ll clean this up in the
morning.  For now, wrap the corpses in blankets.  We’ll move down to the second
floor.”

Turning
to Dee, Mya clapped him on the shoulder.  “Nice shot, by the way.”

“Thanks.” 
Dee tried to smile, but it didn’t reach his eyes.  He glanced down at the spot
where she’d been shot, then away.

Mya’s
stomach flipped.  She’d let down her guard and told Dee her secret, and now he
had seen for himself what the magic inscribed in her skin could do.  It didn’t
take much to guess what he was thinking. 
Monster
…

“Might
make an assassin out of him after all.”  Paxal grinned and turned to the
urchins.  “All right, you little heroes.  You heard her.  Go grab some blankets
and let’s get downstairs.  I need some sleep tonight.”

A
rbuckle tensed as the door to the
small audience chamber opened.  Lately, every time a door opened, he’d
half-expected Duveau to walk through and kill him.  Now, the day before he was
due to be crowned emperor, he was still breathing, but thought he might die of
heart failure from the strain.  He turned from the view of the gardens and saw
that it was only Tennison.

Still
alive…

His
secretary bowed politely.  “They’re here, milord.”

The
prince checked his preparations one last time.  There seemed an inordinate
number of guards in the room, and two glowering knights as well.  Such an
imposing security presence might put off his visitors, but if anyone in the
empire understood the need for protection, it was Duke Mir.  Besides, the
clandestine invitation to the duke and his mage, Master Woefler, would have
told Mir that this was not a usual greeting for a visiting provincial duke. 
Princes didn’t invite wizards to tea.

“You’re
sure about this, Master Keyfur?”  The meeting had been the wizard’s idea, but
Arbuckle didn’t know Mir well.  He’d only met the man once, more than a decade
ago.  Mir’s entourage had arrived only the day before, and Keyfur had informed
him that the duke had brought his mage along as a precaution for the dangerous
trip over the mountains.  Then he’d proposed the idea to ask Mir for help.

“Not
sure
, milord.”  Keyfur’s voice came from thin air only a step away.  Arbuckle
was just learning to not let the mage’s invisible presence unnerve him.  “But
of all the provincial dukes, Mir opposed your late father’s policies most
vehemently.  If any will support you, he seems most likely.  And Master Woefler
is a
highly
proficient mage.”

“But
he knows Duveau.”

“Only
through correspondence, as far as I’m aware.”

It
seemed strange to put so much trust into people he barely knew, but with his
own court conspiring to kill him, strangers might be safer than close
associates.

“Very
well.”  Arbuckle faced the door and nodded.  “Tennison, show them in.”

“Yes,
milord.”  His secretary opened the door and admitted Duke Mir and Master
Woefler.

The
two approached and bowed low.  Mir looked much older than Arbuckle remembered. His
wizard, on the other hand, looked rather mischievous, with a wide, boyish
smile.  The prince hoped Keyfur hadn’t overestimated the mage’s skills.

Mir
straightened.  “Milord Prince Arbuckle.  You’re looking well.”

“I
am well, thank you.  I hope your trip wasn’t too arduous.”

“It
was lengthy, but comfortable, milord.”

 “I’ve
arranged tea for us.”  The prince gestured to a small table set with tea.  “I’m
afraid you’ve missed most of the balls and dinners leading up to the
coronation, but I felt the need to greet you personally.”

“Thoughtful
of you, milord, but, if I might ask, why have you invited Master Woefler to
this?”  Mir glance at his mage.  “Do you seek some magical consultation?”

“As
a matter of fact, yes.”  He gestured again to the table.  “Please.”

“Of
course, milord.”

The
three of them sat, and Tennison poured their tea with surprising alacrity for a
secretary.

“You’ll
pardon my secretary serving us, but what we need to speak of here is not for
the ears of servants.”

“I
surmised as much.”  Mir looked grave as he poured cream into his tea.  “We’ve
heard of the attempts on your life, milord.  I daresay I was most elated to see
you well upon our arrival.”

“Were
you?”  Arbuckle watched Mir closely, but the man seemed sincere.

“I
was
,
milord.”  Mir sipped his tea, meeting Arbuckle’s gaze with frankness.  “You
know that I’ve opposed your father’s policies for years.  Your messages and
edicts were the most welcome correspondence I’ve received from Tsing in
decades.  I’ve prayed to all the Gods of Light for deliverance, and it seems I
have an unknown assassin to thank for it.”

The
guards stirred around them at the audacious comment, but Arbuckle couldn’t
suppress a smile.  No one plotting against him would say such a thing. 
Keyfur’s assessment seemed to be spot on.

“My
father was a monster.”  Arbuckle dropped a cube of sugar into his tea and
stirred it.  “My reason for asking you here is in hopes that you might be able
to help me live long enough to expunge his legacy from this empire.  I’ve
received information that revealed a plot to—”

“Milord,
if I may interrupt.”  Woefler raised a forestalling hand.

“Yes?” 
Arbuckle tensed again and regarded the man, slim and angular, not young, but
not old either.  His face looked much younger than his hands, in fact, and that
face looked suddenly worried.  “Is there a problem?”

“I
don’t know exactly, milord, but you seem to have taken pains to keep this
meeting confidential, and I’m concerned that we may be under some kind of
magical surveillance.  I don’t know what’s afoot, but there’s magic about or
I’m no wizard.”

Arbuckle
stiffened.  For a moment, he didn’t know what to do.  Had Woefler detected some
kind of spying spell, or had Keyfur’s magic simply alerted him to the presence
of another wizard?

“Milord.” 
The whisper sounded right in Arbuckle’s ear, so close he could feel Keyfur’s
breath on the nape of his neck.  “I should reveal myself to avoid any misunderstanding.”

“Yes.” 
He nodded to Woefler.  “Yes, there is magic about.  Master Keyfur, if you
please.”

The
wizard blinked into view at Arbuckle’s left shoulder.  The only person who
started at the sudden appearance was Duke Mir.

“Good
gods!”  The duke nearly dropped his tea cup.

“Please
be at ease, my good duke.  Master Keyfur is here to secure my safety.

“Master
Keyfur.”  Woefler nodded to the wizard in greeting.  His boyish smile beamed
for a moment, then dropped into a look of consternation.  “But why are
you
acting as the prince’s magical security instead of the archmage.”

“Because,
if the information I’ve received is accurate, the next attempt on my life will
come
from my archmage.”  Arbuckle tried to sip his tea, but found his hand shaking. 
“Master Duveau has been named specifically as the assassin, recruited somehow
by a conspiracy of high nobles and magistrates.”

“That’s…” 
Woefler looked utterly stunned.  “Pardon me, milord, but that’s not good at
all.”

Duke
Mir simply turned pale.

“Yes…” 
Arbuckle put his cup down.  He felt nauseous.  “If the attack doesn’t come
tonight or tomorrow morning, it will come during the coronation.  It’s supposed
to occur before I’m crowned emperor, and the ceremony is the only time Duveau
will be in my presence.  He hasn’t even asked for an audience so far.”

“This
is dire indeed, milord.  Duveau is…a formidable wizard.”  Woefler looked grave.

“Do
you know him well?” Arbuckle asked.

“Only
by reputation, milord, but he
is
archmage.  That means a great deal!”

“So
Master Keyfur has told me.”  Arbuckle leveled a stare at his visitors. 
“Frankly, we’ve made all the preparations we can, but still feel inadequate to
the task of defeating him.  I asked you here for your help.  You, Duke, to
allow your mage to aid me, and you, Master Woefler, because you’re less likely
to have been swayed into this conspiracy than any of the other members of my
retinue of wizards.  Master Keyfur speaks highly of your abilities.”

“Of
course you have my permission, milord.”  Mir looked to Woefler, then fixed
Arbuckle with a stony gaze.  “Anything you need that is mine to provide, be it
my mage or my life, I’ll give.”

The
man’s vow struck Arbuckle deeply.  It felt good to have someone unreservedly on
his side.  He took a deep breath and let it out.  “Thank you.  So, I’m asking
for some sound strategy that will foil the plot or some magical aid to thwart
or destroy Duveau when he strikes.”

“Postpone
the coronation.”  Mir looked at Arbuckle imploringly.  “Gods, milord, have him
sent away!  Have one of your men put a
dagger
in his heart!  Even
archmages can be killed, they say.”

“I
can’t postpone the coronation without causing major strife to the empire. 
There are laws my father enacted that must be changed, and I’ve been thwarted
by my own nobility in every attempt to do so.”  Arbuckle frowned and dropped
his napkin onto his plate.  “As for dismissing him or having him killed… 
Though I trust the information I received to a certain degree, I’ll not spend a
man’s life on another’s word without hard evidence.  If I try to dismiss him,
and he
is
intending to kill me, he’ll know I’ve learned of the plot.  I
doubt he’ll go quietly.  He would lose everything and gain nothing.  If
confronted, he could very easily make every effort to kill me regardless of who
gets in his way.  Hundreds could be killed.”

“Pardon
me, milord, but won’t hundreds die if he strikes at the coronation?”  Mir
looked ill.

“
Will
he resort to physical attacks?” Woefler asked.  “I don’t know the archmage’s forte’,
but there are many ways to kill a man with magic.  Some are quite subtle.”

“Master
Keyfur knows his capabilities, and the two of you should speak privately of
specifics, but we believe that if he tries to kill me, the attack will be
direct and physical.  We hope to thwart him and limit the damage.”  Arbuckle
looked to Woefler.  “What we really need is some means to immobilize, distract,
or kill him quickly.”

“I
certainly can’t stand against him directly, milord.”  Woefler twitched his
lips.  “But I have something that
should
distract him.  Master Keyfur
and I should speak of this.”

“Yes,
we should.”  Keyfur looked intrigued.  “Milord, if I can protect you for a
time, and Master Woefler can distract Duveau, we may give the guards an
opportunity to kill him.”

“Well,
that’s something.”  Arbuckle looked at Keyfur.  “We don’t have much time to
plan.  Master Woefler, please speak with Master Keyfur.”

“Milord.” 
Woefler stood, and he and Keyfur strolled away from the table, conversing in
hushed tones.

“I
wish there was more we could do, milord.”  Mir shook his head.  “Captain
Norwood said some very good things about you when he returned.  I see that his
assessment of you was accurate.  You’re not your father’s son in anything but
blood.”

“No,
I’m not.”  Arbuckle tried to smile.  “I trust the captain’s well.”

“Yes,
save for a bit of a limp, and that damned
dog
of his that won’t leave
his side.”  Mir laughed shortly.  “It crapped a pile the size of a dinner plate
in my garden the last time the captain visited.”

Arbuckle
laughed.  He couldn’t remember the last time he’d laughed.  “I’m glad he’s
well.”  The prince rose from his seat and gestured for Mir to remain.  “Please,
enjoy the tea.  I’m afraid I’ve lost my appetite.”

“Milord.” 
Mir stood and bowed.  “Thank you for your confidence.  We should speak after
the coronation, if you would.  I think we have much in common with regard to
our theories of governance.”

“I’d
like that.”  Arbuckle thought that he could probably learn a lot about
statecraft from Mir, things that his father never deigned to tell him.  He left
the room with his guards cordoned around him, heartened that he had formidable
allies willing to give their all to save his life.

“Why
did I let you talk me into this?” Mya cursed under her breath as Dee tightened
the laces girding the bodice of her new dress.

“Because
I’m right.”  Finishing the laces, he retrieved the hat and wig she would wear
with the gown.  “If the prince is still breathing in the morning, then the
assassination attempt has
got
to happen during the coronation.”

“True,
but that doesn’t mean I have to like it.”  Mya glared at herself in the mirror
as Dee fitted the wig on her head.  She didn’t care for the gown’s bright
purple color, but trusted Dee’s judgment in this more than her own.  With the
blonde wig and a matching hat and veil, it worked.  Black lace sleeves and neck
over a flesh-colored sheath covered her wrappings.  “Attending this coronation
without any weapons will be like going to battle wearing nothing but my
scanties.”