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Weapon of Blood: Weapon of Flesh Series, #2
Weapon of Blood: Weapon of Flesh Series, #2
Weapon of Blood: Weapon of Flesh Series, #2
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Weapon of Blood: Weapon of Flesh Series, #2

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About this ebook

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…

LanguageEnglish
PublisherJaxbooks
Release dateJun 29, 2013
ISBN9781939837073
Weapon of Blood: Weapon of Flesh Series, #2
Author

Chris A. Jackson

Chris was born and raised in Oregon, Anne in Massachusetts. They met at graduate school in Texas, and have been together ever since. They have been gaming together since 1985, sailing together since 1988, married since 1989, and writing together off and on throughout their relationship. Most astonishingly, they have not killed each other, or even tried to, at any time during the creation or editing of any of their stories…although it was close a few times. The couple has been sailing and writing full time aboard their beloved sailboat, Mr. Mac, since 2009. They return to the US every summer for conventions, so check out jaxbooks.com for updates and events. They are always happy to sign copies of their books and talk to fans. Preview Chris and Anne’s novels, download audiobooks, and read the writing blog at jaxbooks.com.  Follow their cruising adventures at www.sailmrmac.blogspot.com.

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  • Rating: 5 out of 5 stars
    5/5
    Weapon of Flesh: Accessible, Well-designed Dark Fantasy: The back-cover blurb is concise and has no spoilers, and captures the book well (copied/pasted below). This book is saturated with oppression, violence, and murder but none of that is gratuitous. Like his assassin characters, author Chris A. Jackson balances several tight-rope acts: (a) have the protagonist, Lad, commit evil acts while being innocent at heart; (b) present the coming of age of three characters with burgeoning romance without being cheesy; (c) dole out humor (mostly through Lad's dialogue) while shedding blood; (d) present mature themes of identity and life-purpose with an easy-to-read style (suitable for YA or adult audiences). Each chapter blends into the next with a carefully scripted, enjoyable plot with just the right amount of tension. All the main characters (Lad, Mya, Wiggin) grow while establishing strong character motivations. There are five more in the series and this is solid introduction. Before I jump into #2 Weapon of Blood, I will read Chris A. Jackson's Deathmask since I already have the paperback and I'm a sucker for necromancers.Most (if not all) are illustrated by Noah Stacey: Weapon of Flesh (Weapon of Flesh, #1) by Chris A. Jackson Weapon of Blood (Weapon of Flesh, #2) by Chris A. Jackson Weapon of Vengeance (Weapon of Flesh, #3) by Chris A. Jackson Weapon of Fear (Weapon of Flesh, #4) by Chris A. Jackson Weapon of Pain (Weapon of Flesh, #5) by Chris A. Jackson Weapon of Mercy (Weapon of Flesh, #6) by Chris A. JacksonWeapon of Flesh Series#1 Weapon of Flesh 2005 #2 Weapon of Blood 2013#3 Weapon of Vengeance 2014#4 Weapon of Fear 2015 *#5 Weapon of Pain 2016 *#6 Weapon of Mercy 2017 *(* with Anne L. McMillen-Jackson)Back Cover Blurb to Weapon of Flesh:"Forged from flesh… and magic. Made to kill… but not to feel.He was made for one purpose: To be the most efficient killer, the most lethal assassin the world had ever seen. But something has gone wrong with the plan.The Master is gone… The weapon is free… And in a dangerous world, a weapon does what a weapon is made to do. Or does he?Without even a name, the weapon chooses one: Lad. And so the weapon begins to become a person… All he has been told is that his destiny awaits him, so he seeks it out, though he knows not what that destiny is.But the one who paid for the weapon to be forged awaits his prize…impatiently. The Grandfather of Assassins has invested nearly two decades and a fortune in his perfect weapon, and when it does not arrive on time, he begins to search. His hunters are seeking Lad, and Lad is seeking his destiny.There is only one problem: No one thought a weapon of flesh would fall in love."
  • Rating: 5 out of 5 stars
    5/5
    This book had me far too emotionally invested. Lad and Wiggen are too much

Book preview

Weapon of Blood - Chris A. Jackson

Weapon of Blood

Weapon of Flesh Series, Volume 2

Chris A. Jackson

Published by Jaxbooks, 2013.

WoB e-book Title page.jpg

Dedication

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This novel is dedicated to all the fans who would not stop 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

––––––––

ePub edition

ISBN 978-1939837073

7.16

––––––––

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 Notice

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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Find more books by Chris A. Jackson at jaxbooks.com

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Table of Contents

Dedication

Copyright Notice

Prelude

Chapter I

Chapter II

Chapter III

Chapter IV

Chapter V

Chapter VI

Chapter VII

Chapter VIII

Chapter IX

Chapter X

Chapter XI

Chapter XII

Chapter XIII

Chapter XIV

Chapter XV

Chapter XVI

Chapter XVII

Chapter XVIII

Chapter XIX

Chapter XX

Chapter XXI

Chapter XXII

Chapter XXIII

Chapter XXIV

Chapter XXV

Epilogue

Thanks for reading!

About the Author

Novels by Chris A. Jackson

Prelude

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Murder 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 ambitious 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.

Chapter I

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Sereth stood at his master’s elbow, hands clasped casually behind his back, fingers resting on the hilts of the daggers in his sleeves.  Watch nothing, see everything, he thought, letting his vision slip into the attentive blankness that would best observe, even while appearing bored and inattentive.

He had plenty to keep his attention occupied.

The room itself was unremarkable, a wood-paneled office in the back of a brothel.  The room’s occupants, however, were among the most dangerous people in all of Twailin, master assassins and their bodyguards, the best of the best, or worst of the worst, depending on one’s point of view.

Four of the five masters of the Twailin Assassins Guild were present for the meeting.  Master Alchemist Neera sat stiffly, her rich robes drawn around her like armor. The eldest of the four, she seemed so frail that her ancient bones might shatter in a stiff breeze, her wrinkled skin dissolve to dust and blow away.  Sereth knew better than to gauge her by her appearance.  The alchemist wielded more magic than any other member of the Twailin guild.  Her concoctions could heal, harm, kill or, rumor suggested, revive from the very brink of death.  Her bodyguard, a slim fellow Sereth knew only by reputation, preferred envenomed darts, and rarely missed his target.

Master Enforcer Youtrin filled his seat like a side of beef fills a butcher’s case.  Huge hands, knuckles scarred by a thousand beatings, lay clasped on the table’s varnished surface.  He might not be the sharpest dagger in the arsenal, but in a fight, he could receive and deal more hurt than any other two men in the room.  A bodyguard seemed redundant, but he had one nonetheless, a huge brute with arms like tree trunks.  His jutting lower jaw and olive-drab skin bespoke of ogre blood, but his eyes were sharp and cunning.

The newest member of the council, Master Inquisitor Patrice, lounged in her seat, clad in a comfortable array of silks and satins.  She owned this particular brothel and a half dozen more like it, but Sereth knew that her greatest talents were not in the bedroom.  She could flay the secrets from a person’s mind like flesh from bone, and knew more about pain than Sereth ever wanted to learn.  In his nightmares, he lay upon her table, his secrets laid bare as his skin peeled away.

Sereth repressed a shiver and focused on the Inquisitor’s bodyguard.  She was dressed like a trollop, but Sereth knew her vicious reputation, and did not allow the swell of pale flesh revealed by her loose bodice to distract him.

Sereth’s own master, Horice, was head of the Blades faction, and probably the best swordsman in the city.  That skill had served him well, clearing the path to the position he now held.  Even so, he was not without adversaries, and not all attacks could be met with a blade, especially in this company.

Adversaries...  The notion almost brought an ironic smile to Sereth’s lips.

These three masters were supposed to be Horice’s allies—had been allies not too long ago—but relations between the factions had become more than strained. Knowing an adversary’s strengths and weaknesses kept you alive in this business.  And while Sereth didn’t know everything about these people, he knew enough.  He supposed that they knew a great deal about him as well, but was certain they did not know everything.

If they did, he would be dead, or worse, strapped to Patrice’s table.

A faint cry of passion drifted down from the rooms above, evidence of the quality services being offered.  Everyone pretended not to hear, but like salt in a pot of water nearing a boil, the disruption served as a catalyst to action.

I’m not waiting any longer! Horice punctuated his remark with a fist to the tabletop.  That insolent upstart has kept us waiting long enough.  I move we convene the meeting without her.

Seconded.  Neera’s voice rasped from her withered throat, a consequence of age or a lifetime of inhaling the fumes of her noxious trade.  Her fingernails, yellowed from the powders and acids of countless concoctions, tapped the table in an impatient staccato.  Mya must have been delayed with other business.

She’s ignoring us!  Horice hammered the table again for emphasis.  She’s the one who suggested this council instead of appointing a new guildmaster, and she doesn’t even attend the meetings!  It’s insulting!

The insolence of youth.  Patrice flicked one manicured hand in a dismissive gesture.  Though the youngest master present, she was near twice the age of the absent Master Hunter Mya.

She may be young, but she is skilled.  Her defenses are formidable and her revenge swift.  Neera’s wizened lips curved into a cruel smile directed at the Master Inquisitor.  As your predecessor learned.

Patrice’s eyes shot daggers, but she didn’t reply.  Everyone in the room knew how the former Master Inquisitor had fallen; Mya’s retaliation for an attempt on her life.  The attempt wasn’t the problem, but Patrice’s predecessor had made the fatal mistake of leaving a trail that the Master Hunter could trace back to her.

"We’ll see how skilled she is."  Youtrin’s scarred face stretched into a smug smile as he leaned back in his creaking chair.

Shut up! Horice fired a dirty look at the Master Enforcer.

Idiot, Sereth thought, then revised his assessment.  Twice idiot!  Once for agreeing to help Youtrin kill Mya, and again for opening your mouth about it among the other masters.  Of course he knew what they were planning. It would have been difficult not to know, since he spent nearly every waking hour in Horice’s shadow.  And though they might not agree on much else, Horice and Youtrin shared a dislike of the young Master Hunter.  Mya’s dismissal of their condescending council had fostered that dislike, and it wasn’t improved by her unconventional practices.

Not another one!  Patrice’s glossy lips tilted in a disapproving frown.  Don’t you two ever get tired of trying to kill everyone who insults your fragile egos?

"What I’m tired of is listening to you tell me what I should and shouldn’t do!"  Horice’s hand shifted to the hilt of the rapier at his hip, and Sereth stiffened.  Though the hilt was below the table, the movement of Horice’s shoulder brought Patrice’s bodyguard’s attention to bear.  Sereth gauged the angles between them. Though fetching, the deep V of her décolletage made an apt target.

Neera raised a wrinkled hand.  Enough of this bickering!  I call this meeting to order.  I suggested that we meet to discuss this very issue.

Good!  Youtrin sat up in his chair, his brutish features intent.  It’s about time we did something about that insolent whelp!

You misunderstand me, Master Youtrin.  Eyes like pools of acid fixed the Master Enforcer with a pitiless gaze.  I speak of our continued inability to cooperate.  This intra-guild squabbling makes us weak, and the Thieves Guild is pressing at every chink in our armor.

That’s the truth!  A couple of my boys were roughed up on their rounds just yesterday.  Youtrin cracked his knuckles, a sound like popping corn.  Our protection racket lost two more clients!  Damned thieves undercut our rates, and they don’t bluff about enforcing their new territory.

"It’s not their territory; it’s territory they stole from you! Horice corrected.  They’re pushing everywhere.  It’s got to stop!"

"So you two are diverting resources to attack a master in our own guild instead of focusing on the real enemy!  That makes sense!"  Patrice’s sneer of contempt earned her a glare from the Master Blade.

"Slapping down that contemptuous little bitch isn’t a matter of business, it’s a matter of principle.  She disrespects us, all of us."

"I disagree, Horice.  It is a matter of business. Neera’s calm tone juxtaposed his acerbic one, though Sereth could see her jaw muscles tense through her thin skin.  Resources allocated to one effort are necessarily diverted from others.  We fight each other, so we have fewer resources to combat our true enemies.  We must cooperate, or we will fall.  We’ve lost a tenth of our territory south of the river in the last year, and revenues reflect that loss.  Our lost income has surpassed the gains we enjoyed from not having to support a guildmaster."

How can we cooperate when one of our own masters won’t even come to council meetings? Youtrin protested.  She refuses to lend her Hunters where they’re needed, and won’t even discuss issues that impact our operations.  She’s the one who suggested we could do without a guildmaster!

Yes, she did, and if you remember, it worked. Unfortunately, differences of opinion and refusals to compromise led to disagreements and this current lack of cooperation.  Neera’s tone had hardened, and her eyes flicked to all the others in turn, accusative and piercing.  The visit from the Grandmaster’s representative to collect last quarter’s revenues was not pleasant.  She grilled me for a full hour about this situation, and I assume you all experienced the same.  If this continues, we’ll face sanction by the Grandmaster.

Sanction? Patrice’s eyes widened. That word meant only one thing within the guild.  Kill us for squabbling?  He wouldn’t dare!

The Grandmaster has the authority to take any action he deems fit, Neera reminded her.  "Our goal should be to make sure he does not see the necessity to replace us.  We must cooperate!"

And how do you propose we do that when we can’t even make the youngest and most inexperienced of this council attend a meeting?  Horice shifted in his seat, and every bodyguard in the room tensed.

"This meeting is not about Master Hunter Mya! Neera’s lips constricted into a shriveled moue.  Her revenues are the highest among the guild factions.  Instead of denouncing her youth and inexperience, perhaps you should consider emulating her success!"

Success?  She runs her Hunters like a band of peasants for hire!  She takes contracts that do nothing to further the influence of the guild!  She’s even performed services for the thrice-damned Royal Guard!  Horice was in full rant mode now, and even the sternest glare from Neera could not quell his ire.  "Sure, she makes more money than the rest of us!  We’re specialists, and Hunters are generalists, which means she suffers least from the lack of cooperation.  She refuses to cooperate, thwarts us at every turn, and it makes her look good!  She doesn’t follow the tenants of the council she suggested we form!  She votes against every initiative this council puts forth, all for her own gain!  She’s reckless and greedy!"

And what does she do with her gains? Youtrin put in, feeding off of Horice’s temper.  She isn’t even maintaining the image of her position as a master!  She lives in that hovel of a pub!

Enough!  Neera’s tone stifled their rants like a snuffed candle.  None of us are following the rules we all agreed to five years ago, Horice.  I see only two options to help this situation, cooperate or appoint a new guildmaster.

Fine!  I move that we vote to pick a new leader of the Twailin Assassins Guild right now.

"Another vote?"  Patrice slumped in her seat, obviously disgusted.

Seconded! Youtrin said.

Neera’s eyes narrowed and her jaw muscles bunched and writhed until Sereth thought her teeth might shatter.  There had been numerous such votes, and none had passed.  The Master Alchemist always sided with Mya on this issue, and Patrice generally voted with Neera.  Horice and Youtrin voted together as if joined at the hip.  With Mya absent, the likely result was a stalemate.

Very well.  A quorum is present.  All in favor of appointing a new guildmaster.

Horice and Youtrin raised their hands; no surprise there.  The corner of Neera’s mouth twitched in the hint of a smile.

All opposed?  Neera raised her hand and looked to Patrice, but the Master Inquisitor did not raise her hand.  Patrice?

The Inquisitor looked at her, then away.  I abstain.

Sereth cocked an eyebrow in surprise.  This was a switch.  Patrice wasn’t exactly thwarting the Master Alchemist, but she wasn’t supporting her either.  Likewise, she wasn’t supporting Horice and Youtrin.  What the hells is she up to?

The vote is two to one, Neera!  The motion carries!  We select a new guildmaster!

I nominate Master Alchemist Neera.  Patrice glanced back to the older woman and smiled, then faltered when the Alchemist’s lips remained pressed in a thin, hard line of displeasure.

Sereth squinted in confusion.  What just happened here?  But before he could fathom a plausible reason for the Patrice’s actions or Neera’s response, the Master Alchemist huffed and continued.

"Before we entertain nominations, we need a new guildmaster’s ring."

Sereth shuddered.  He remembered the previous guildmaster’s ring all too well.  Prior to becoming Horice’s bodyguard, he had served as the Grandfather’s assistant.  The other journeymen had envied him for his position at the luxurious estate, currying the favor of the guildmaster.  What they hadn’t known was that every dawn he had wondered if he would survive until dusk.  The Grandfather had taken lives at a whim, and tolerated no misstep or annoyance.  Obsidian woven with gold and enchanted with powerful magics, the guildmaster’s ring ensured the wearer’s safety from all others in the Twailin Assassins Guild, just as the masters’ rings protected their wearers from those within their factions.  The rings were magically bound to the blood contracts that all assassins signed when they were accepted into the guild.

We’ll all share equally in the ring’s cost.

Agreed, but...  Youtrin’s thick brow furrowed, as if thinking too deeply pained him.  I move that we don’t inform Mya of this until after the new guildmaster is in place.  She didn’t help us make this decision; I see no reason to inform her until it’s done.

Seconded!  Horice flashed a wide grin and gave Youtrin a nod of approval.  At the least, it will prevent her from squawking about it until after the fact.

All in favor?

Surprisingly, in this if nothing else, all four masters agreed.

They fear Mya, Sereth thought, then amended his supposition, or her weapon.

Very well.  I’ll contract a mage to forge the ring and contact you when it’s finished.  Neera raked the room with a sardonic glare.  "Do try not to kill one another until it’s done.  Any more business for the council?"

There was none.

Very well.  This meeting is adjourned.

The masters stood, and their bodyguards moved to usher them out.  Patrice and Neera disappeared through the door that led to the common room of the brothel, cheerful chatter and laughter reaching Sereth’s ear’s until the door shut behind them.  Youtrin and Horice both turned toward the exit through the back hall to the alley where their carriages waited.  Sereth took his time plucking his master’s cloak from the rack beside the door and draping it over the man’s shoulders.  As he’d hoped, the Enforcers preceded them out the door.  Despite the apparent camaraderie between Horice and Youtrin, he didn’t trust the thugs as far as he could throw them.  By the time the Blades reached the outer door, Youtrin’s carriage had already pulled away into the rain-soaked darkness.

Bloody rain!  Horice drew up the hood of his weather cloak as he squinted out the door.  My bones ache with this blasted weather!

Yes, Master.

Springtime in Twailin was a wet affair.  Moist air rolled across the lowlands from the western ocean before slamming into the towering bluffs to the east, the high, steep walls of the ancient crater that contained the Bitter Sea.  The result was rain.  For three months, only shreds of pale sun eked through the constant covering of clouds, and the heavens opened up daily.  It was not a cold rain—the lowlands were far enough south that the weather rarely, if ever, warranted a heavy cloak—but the constant dank weather chilled the soul.  When summer finally arrived, the blistering heat was a welcome change.

As the carriage pulled to a stop in the alley, Horice started to step out into the rain, but Sereth put a restraining hand on his arm.

Garrote weather, Master.  Best let me check.

Right.  Thank you, Sereth.  Don’t know what I was thinking.

Sereth looked up and down the alley, then stepped out into the rain and turned to check above the doorway.  He was well-acquainted with the advantages of garrote weather, having used them himself.  The constant hiss of rain on cobbles and the roar of deluges from downspouts prevented a mark from hearing an assassin’s approach, and a heavy rain aided concealment.  On the other hand, a downpour could ruin the trajectory of an arrow or bolt, darts or shuriken.  Consequently, springtime was the season for close work, and garrote, dagger, and cudgel were the weapons of choice.

Tonight nothing lurked in the shadows above the door.  Sereth crouched to peer under the carriage.  Nothing.  Lastly, he opened the carriage door and checked inside.

Clear, Master.

Very good.  Horice hurried across the gap and boarded, shaking the rain from his cloak as Sereth

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