Discover millions of ebooks, audiobooks, and so much more with a free trial

Only $11.99/month after trial. Cancel anytime.

Weapon of Vengeance: Weapon of Flesh Series, #3
Weapon of Vengeance: Weapon of Flesh Series, #3
Weapon of Vengeance: Weapon of Flesh Series, #3
Ebook448 pages6 hours

Weapon of Vengeance: Weapon of Flesh Series, #3

Rating: 0 out of 5 stars

()

Read preview

About this ebook

Book 3 of the Weapon of Flesh Trilogy, Weapon of Vengeance 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 bereft…

Guilt wracked and vengeful, Lad scours Twailin for the killer who destroyed his life. With the Assassins Guild at his beck and call, the search should be straightforward. However, cryptic clues lead to one dead end after another, thwarting his obsession.

Forced to trust a traitor and keep secrets from those closest to him, Lad’s only hope is to find Kiesha, a woman caught between worlds.  Is she a thief, an assassin, or a pawn of the very powers that control the Empire? Unfortunately, Lad’s not the only one hunting her.

When summoned by the Grandmaster, Lad must face hard questions. Dare he continue his investigation and risk the enmity of the man who can spend his life on a whim?  Can he trust Mya’s offer of help, or will she betray him to ensure her own safety?  And the most difficult question: Will vengeance truly bring solace?

LanguageEnglish
PublisherJaxbooks
Release dateJul 27, 2014
ISBN9781939837097
Weapon of Vengeance: Weapon of Flesh Series, #3
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.

Read more from Chris A. Jackson

Related to Weapon of Vengeance

Titles in the series (6)

View More

Related ebooks

Fantasy For You

View More

Related articles

Reviews for Weapon of Vengeance

Rating: 0 out of 5 stars
0 ratings

0 ratings1 review

What did you think?

Tap to rate

Review must be at least 10 words

  • 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."

Book preview

Weapon of Vengeance - Chris A. Jackson

Weapon of Vengeance

Weapon of Flesh Series, Volume 3

Chris A. Jackson

Published by Jaxbooks, 2014.

Dedication

This book is dedicated to all the people who have written a review, sent me a message, posted a response, or walked up to me at a convention just to say thank you.

You motivate me...

––––––––

Thanks again to Noah Stacey for excellent cover art, and to my ever-tolerant wife Anne for her editorial input, and for not bonking me on the head and rolling me into the ocean for perfectly valid reasons.

Weapon of Vengeance

Weapon of Flesh Trilogy

Book 3

Chris A. Jackson

ePub edition

ISBN 978-1939837097

7.16

––––––––

Book 3 of the Weapon of Flesh Trilogy, Weapon of Vengeance 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 bereft...

Guilt wracked and vengeful, Lad scours Twailin for the killer who destroyed his life. With the Assassins Guild at his beck and call, the search should be straightforward. However, cryptic clues lead to one dead end after another, thwarting his obsession.

Forced to trust a traitor and keep secrets from those closest to him, Lad’s only hope is to find Kiesha, a woman caught between worlds.  Is she a thief, an assassin, or a pawn of the very powers that control the Empire? Unfortunately, Lad’s not the only one hunting her.

When summoned by the Grandmaster, Lad must face hard questions. Dare he continue his investigation and risk the enmity of the man who can spend his life on a whim?  Can he trust Mya’s offer of help, or will she betray him to ensure her own safety?  And the most difficult question: Will vengeance truly bring solace?

Copyright Notice

Copyright 2014 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 2014 Jaxbooks

––––––––

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

Want to receive an email about my next book release?

Sign up here: http://eepurl.com/xnrUL

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

Chapter XXVI

Epilogue

Thanks for reading!

About the Author

Novels by Chris A. Jackson

Prelude

C:\Users\Annie\Documents\A Writing stuff\Books in progress\Weapon of Vengeance\ebook\scimitars.jpg

––––––––

Hoseph waited in darkness, as patient as death itself.  Death.  Though most feared it, Hoseph did not.  He knew death, and even embraced it as a tenet of his faith.  Death was his constant companion.

The Right Hand of Death.

He smiled at his little conceit, but there was no denying its aptness in describing his dual roles.  In his devotion to Demia, Keeper of the Slain, Hoseph ushered troubled souls from life to their duly earned hereafter.  In return, Demia conferred upon him her divine gifts.  She had given him much, and he reveled in her cold grace.  His fingers caressed the smooth curves of the small silver skull—her talisman—hidden within the sleeve of his robe, and felt the cool energy awaiting his command.

Hoseph liked to think that his goddess was pleased with his second calling as well.  As the right hand of the Grandmaster of the Assassins Guild, he ushered many souls into Demia’s keeping.  Not personally, as a general rule, but in the performance of his duties: advising, strategizing, and passing on the Grandmaster’s orders.  His role also maintained the guild’s most carefully coveted secret.  Few knew that the Grandmaster of the Assassins Guild and Emperor Tynean Tsing II were the same man. 

A latch clicked, and lamplight scythed through the room as the door swung open.  An elegantly dressed man bearing a lamp entered and closed the door behind him.

Hoseph’s wait was over.

Good evening Baron.

Baron Eusteus Patino started only slightly, not because he didn’t fear death, but because he was ignorant that he stood in its presence.  Patino knew nothing of the Assassins Guild.  He thought his visitor merely the emperor’s messenger, and was used to Hoseph’s unannounced arrivals.  The baron turned toward the shadowed corner where the priest sat, and inclined his head in greeting.

Good evening, Hoseph.  Patino placed the lamp on the sideboard.  The golden light gleamed off the highly polished wood and scattered through the crystal decanters.  I was about to pour myself a brandy.  I’d offer you one, but I recall that you don’t partake.

Your memory is accurate, Baron.  Hoseph stood, the hem of his robes brushing the priceless silk rug beneath his feet.  Baron Patino loved his luxuries and had the means to support his penchant.  But what he loved more was prestige, the honor and esteem that came from a noble title.  And though being a baron was good, being a count would be better.  That yearning for advancement had made it simple for Hoseph to recruit him.  That, and his misguided sense of intrigue.  I received your summons.  Please tell me that the news is good.

The news is excellent.  The lip of the decanter struck a musical note on the edge of the snifter as the baron poured.  He swirled the liquor in the glass, poised his nose above the rim, and inhaled deeply.  Sighing with pleasure, he sipped before continuing.  I received an interim report from Master Hensen.  He withdrew a folded letter from the inside pocket of his smoking jacket and handed it over.  The two people he was contracted to protect are alive and well, and he believes that the most prominent threat to their lives is ended.

"That is excellent news.  The emperor will be pleased."  Hoseph scanned the letter.

Though relieved that Mya and her bodyguard were still alive—he had worried that the unanticipated contact meant bad news—he wondered what had precipitated the early report.  Unfortunately, the letter did not elaborate.  Hoseph longed for details.  What had happened to end the threat?  Patino knew nothing, of course. The baron was nothing but a go-between.  Hoseph needed to go to the source.

He tucked the letter away and bowed to the baron.  You’ve performed admirably, Baron.  Your service to the empire is noted.

Just doing my duty.  Please give His Majesty my warmest regards.  Patino smiled and raised his glass in toast.

Of course.  Hoseph nodded politely; he would certainly give the emperor Patino’s regards.  The baron was a perfect operative: loyal, competent, ignorant, and easy to manipulate with a few words of gratitude from on high.

Retrieving the silver skull from his sleeve, he murmured the invocation that called on Demia’s power.  Tendrils of her divine essence flowed from the talisman, as dark and cold as death itself, to embraced and consumed him.  The baron, the study, the very world faded around him.

Hoseph blinked and opened his eyes onto an ethereal realm of lost souls, banished demons, and vanquished godlings.  This was not a world, plane of existence, or even a place, really.  Wizards, priests, and metaphysicists had hypothesized that it might be the fabric that bound the universe together, and had coined the name sphere of shadows, which Hoseph thought a misnomer.  There were no shadows, for there was no light.  Hoseph perceived his immediate surroundings as veils of vaporous essence, black and gray wisps swirling as if blown by unfelt winds.  There were no sounds, no odors, or even air to breathe.  Only Demia’s grace allowed him to survive here, and to use the sphere as a conduit between points on his own world.

Picturing in his mind the destination he desired, the priest once again invoked his goddess’ power.  The sphere of shadow faded, and Hoseph materialized in a bedroom.  Small and stark, only a few signs of femininity indicated that it was a lady’s room, though nothing hinted at the owner’s true nature.  He quirked a thin smile; this was exactly where he wished to be. 

Unfortunately, Kiesha wasn’t there.

Patience...

Hoseph moved the only available chair to the corner out of view of the door, sat, and let his mind sort through the details he needed from her.

In time he heard voices outside bidding one another good night.  The door opened and Kiesha walked in with a rustle of silk brocade, lace, and ruffles.  Unaware of him, she closed the door and leaned back against it, her knuckles white on the latch.  With a quick, sharp breath and a shake of her head, she took three quick steps to the clothespress, wrenching at the laces of her dress.

Before you disrobe, I would like to speak with you.

Kiesha froze at the sound of his voice, but didn’t turn.  Unlike the baron, she knew he was the emissary of the Grandmaster of Assassins.  She had no idea that Hoseph’s master was also the Emperor of Tsing, of course, and never would.

After a brief hesitation, she resumed working on the laces, her tone impatient.  Speak quickly then.  I’ve been in a corset for twelve hours, and I intend to remove it.

Hoseph regarded Kiesha as she loosened the laces, shrugged the gown off her shoulders, and pushed the voluminous garment down over her hips.  The dress landed in a frothy pile.  She stepped out of it and started on the laces of her corset.  Long ago, Hoseph might have been moved by such a brazen display, but years of devotion to Demia had stripped away such distracting desires.

You can’t embarrass me, child.  I came here for information on the report sent to Baron Patino, and I will have it.

The report?  She turned to face him, her eyes wide with surprise.  Hensen only sent it this morning.  Patino contacted you already?

"Obviously.  I know that Mya and her bodyguard are alive, but I need details. Exactly how was the threat to their lives ended?"

You want details?  Kiesha squirmed out of her corset and heaved a breath as if it was the first she’d taken that day.  A disdainful kick sent the garment skittering across the floor in the general direction of the dresser.  Grabbing a robe from the clothespress, she pulled it on and turned toward him, her blue eyes blazing.   "Fine.  The four other masters are dead.  How’s that for a detail?"

Hoseph frowned.  Defiance?  Kiesha’s reports were usually calm, succinct, and to the point, so her vitriolic response came as a shock.  She was an invaluable operative, perfectly positioned to glean information from the Assassins Guild’s principal rivals.  It would be a pity if she developed a dangerous attitude.

Explain how that occurred, please, he ordered.  From the beginning.

She sighed and sat on the corner of the bed, undoing her coif as she spoke.  I convinced Hensen to assign me to watch over Mya and her bodyguard, as you suggested, and learned that the masters had banded together against her.

Did they discover that she was having a new guildmaster ring crafted?

No.  Kiesha looked annoyed at the interruption.  "They discovered that she never destroyed the previous ring."

She what?

The masters thought she wore it.  That it was protecting her against their assassination attempts.  So they took another route and tried to kill her bodyguard.  I thwarted that attempt.

How?

I killed the assassin they sent after him.  She said it matter-of-factly.  It was close, but he didn’t see me.

Good.

She glared at him.  I thought so too, until the masters decided to turn him against Mya.

And how did they do that?  He’s under her control.

"If you let me explain..."  Kiesha pursed her lips and tossed her hairpins onto her night table.

Please do.  So acerbic.  She was definitely in a mood.  What had provoked her?

The masters learned that he can disobey her.  They wanted him to kill Mya, since he’s signed no blood contract and the ring wouldn’t stop him, but apparently his inherent magic prevented him from killing her outright.

Hoseph huffed a wry laugh.  Yes, Saliez had a restraint worked into the weapon’s magic to prevent it from turning against its master.

Kiesha’s eyes narrowed.  "The weapon’s name is Lad.  The masters kidnapped his daughter and offered to exchange her for Mya.  Unfortunately for them, the plan blew up in their faces."

Hoseph gaped at her.  "His daughter?  Saliez’s weapon has a daughter?"

A family.  Her piercing blue eyes smoldered.  "If I had a way to contact you, I’d have been able to tell you."

Hoseph ignored her snide comment.  He was having enough difficulty accepting the notion of a weapon of magic and flesh having a family.  The animal instinct to procreate, perhaps?

How can that be?

Lad’s apparently...more than we believed him to be.  She looked away, her voice faltering. 

Ahhh, Kiesha, is that the crux of your anxietyHave you developed empathy for this...Lad?  So, did he deliver Mya to them?

Yes.  Kiesha shrugged and met his eyes again.  But it was a ruse.  Her bonds were false.  When the masters tried to double cross him, Lad and Mya attacked. The fight was...  Kiesha swallowed.  I’ve never seen anyone move like that.  I did what I could to protect them.  When it was over, the four masters were dead and their surviving guards had fled.

Hoseph considered the ramifications.  Not entirely bad, actually.  It meant that Mya could start with a clean slate, appointing her own faction masters, and not have to deal with hostile subordinates who would fight her every initiative.

Hoseph chuckled. So, Mya wore the guildmaster’s ring and couldn’t be harmed.

"She didn’t wear it."

What?  How did she survive?

She survived because you told me to keep her alive.  Kiesha’s eyes blazed with indignation for a moment.  "I killed anyone who got close to her.  Lad’s wife wore the ring.  She came to the exchange with Lad.  It was part of the ruse.  She used its protection to get their child away from the fighting."

Hoseph frowned again.  So, the wife wears the guildmaster’s ring?

"She wore it, I said.  Kiesha’s lips pressed into a line.  You made it clear that the Grandmaster wanted Mya to be guildmaster, so I...killed Lad’s wife."

You...  Hoseph stared at Kiesha, and a slow smile spread across his face.  That was very quick thinking.  So, with the ring freed—

"I murdered Lad’s wife right in front of him!"  Kiesha’s anguish spoke volumes.

Curiously, her pain eased Hoseph’s mind.  She wasn’t rebelling, she was just suffering from guilt.  The mystery of her foul mood was solved.

He’s seeking her killer, set on vengeance.

Does he know that it was you?

No.  Kiesha shook her head.  I ran for my life afterward.  He couldn’t know, but my contacts tell me that he’s determined to find out.

Relax, child.  I’m sure Mya won’t let him go careening off on a hunt for his wife’s killer.  Now that she’s guildmaster—

Why do you keep assuming that?  Kiesha’s question was half incredulous, half scornful.  "Lad put on the guildmaster’s ring!  He’s got the entire guild out searching for clues to his wife’s murder."

Hoseph’s thoughts wavered.  That could be a problem.  Did he see you?

"He couldn’t have.  I told you, I ran as soon as...  Kiesha took a shuddering breath and let it out slowly.  There are all sorts of rumors flying around, but they all have one thing in common—Lad is in charge, not Mya.  He’s already appointed four new masters and made changes in the guild’s business practices."

Hoseph listened to Kiesha’s summary of those changes with only half his mind.  With the other half, he considered the situation.  Mya was not guildmaster as he had planned, but still, the situation had promise. The weapon was under control. He had much to consider before reporting to the Grandmaster.

The first priority, however, was to allay Kiesha’s fears. You’ve done well, Kiesha.  He pulled a small satin pouch from a pocket and offered it to her.  With seeming reluctance, the thief reached out, grasped it, and tossed it onto the bed.  The contents rattled like dice, though their facets were valued in carats, not numbers.

I need protection, Kiesha insisted.  If they get too close, I may need to disappear.  If I had a way to contact you...

Hoseph shook his head.  In due time, child.  Don’t worry, and don’t do anything rash.  The Grandmaster will deal with this.  There’s still work to be done.  First, find out where this new guildmaster lives.  Any more information on changes he’s instituting would be helpful.  I’ll check back with you in a few days.  If you need to disappear, I’ll arrange a secure location.

All right.  She sounded calmer.  Not happy, but resigned.

Hoseph flicked the silver skull into his hand and invoked the power of his beloved goddess.  As Demia’s cold grace consumed him, he caught one last glimpse of Kiesha’s eyes, bright with the fear of death.  That was enough, for now, to keep her under his control.

Chapter I

C:\Users\Annie\Documents\A Writing stuff\Books in progress\Weapon of Vengeance\ebook\scimitars.jpg

––––––––

Lad slapped open the door to the butcher shop so hard that it cracked against the wall.  He propelled his charge through the door, reigning in his boiling blood to keep from hurting the man.  The fellow had been through enough already.

Hey!  The proprietor looked up with a glare, then swallowed his reproof and lowered his gaze back to his work.  He knew better than to interfere with people who came into his shop bearing the marks of recent violence.

Lad ignored the butcher’s mutters and propelled his battered charge around the long counter and down a hall.  A man with a cleaver at his hip stood before the door at the hall’s end, huge arms crossed over a barrel chest, biceps straining the fabric of his shirt.  A typical Enforcer.  The thug grinned as they approached, eying Lad as if deciding how many pieces to tear him into.

The misconception was common.  With a lithe, wiry build, nondescript clothing, and no weapons, Lad knew that many underestimated him.  Generally he took pains to avoid conflict, but right now he wasn’t in the mood for explanations.  He nodded toward the door.  Open it.

I don’t know who you are, bucko, but you don’t just come into this shop and—

Lad thrust his fist out faster than the Enforcer could even reach for his cleaver.  With exquisite precision, he stopped the blow an inch from the man’s nose.  The ring on Lad’s finger—obsidian woven with gold—widened the thug’s eyes and closed his mouth. Lad bridled his urge for violence. The man was just doing his job.  It wasn’t his fault that he didn’t yet recognize the new master of the Twailin Assassins Guild. 

Now you know who I am.  Lad lowered his hand and nodded again at the door.  Open it.

Yes, Master.  The thug opened the door and stepped aside.

The room wasn’t what one would expect in the back of a butcher shop.  One side was furnished for pleasure, a well-appointed sitting area with a luxurious rug, a plush divan and low table adjacent to a mahogany bar crowded with decanters, bottles, and an array of cut-crystal glasses. The other side of the room was all business, with a broad desk of dark oak littered with papers faced by two leather-upholstered chairs.

Behind the desk sat a man who obviously believed in mixing business and pleasure. Dressed in a sharp, brushed-wool jacket and waistcoat with gold buttons, he appeared the epitome of a successful businessman.  The provocatively dressed girl on his lap spoiled that image.  The perturbation on his face at the unexpected visitors transformed to shock, and he surged to his feet, spilling the girl to the floor and her drink into his lap. 

Master!  Tiny silver rods chimed at his wrist as Jingles brushed the liquid from his trousers and hauled the girl to her feet.  Sorry about that.  Just havin’ a little bit of fun, you know.  He patted the girl on the rump as he nudged her toward the room’s other door.  Off with you now, Celia.  We’ll talk later.  Ah...keep up the good work.

Lad watched the girl go.  She couldn’t have been more than sixteen years old, but the seductive smile she tossed his way suggested that she was already well-versed in her profession. Undoubtedly a portion of her earnings found their way into Assassin Guild coffers, though it looked as if Jingles might be taking his share in trade.  What his Master Enforcer did for fun didn’t concern Lad.  He had a more important matter on his mind.

Do you know this man?  Lad released his charge’s collar.  The man stumbled, looking as if he wished he were anywhere but here.  He squinted out of his one good eye—the other was purple and swollen shut—and dabbed at his bloody split lip with a sodden handkerchief.  One whole side of his face was a massive contusion.

Can’t say as I do offhand, but...  Jingles rounded the desk, still brushing at his damp crotch as he examined the fellow’s face.  Look the other way so I can see you without that bruise.

The man complied.

Come to think of it, yes, I think I do know him.  Runs a bookstore off Briar Rose Avenue.

A st-stationers, the man corrected.  Th-the Binder’s Bin Stationers.

Right!  Quebeck’s his name!  Jingles grinned as if he’d just solved a puzzle, but sobered when he saw Lad’s grim expression.  What happened to him?

He was beaten and threatened, and his shop was tossed.  Lad’s anger rose again.  "I ordered an end to this violence!  Tell me, Jingles, did you order this?"

"I did not, Master.  Jingles looked suddenly frightened.  I’ve followed your orders to the letter, I swear on my life!"

"An appropriate oath.  Your life is exactly what it’ll cost you if I find out you’re lying.  Lad turned to the trembling shopkeeper.  Did you know the ones who beat you?"

I n-never saw them before today, sir.  They weren’t the ones who usually came by...before.  He swallowed and wrung the handkerchief in his hands.  A drop of blood fell to the expensive rug.  Please, sirs, they told me to be quiet about it.  I don’t want any trouble.  They...they said they’d burn...

Nobody’s going to hurt you, Master Quebeck, but we need answers to make sure that whoever did this won’t come back.  Lad clenched his jaw.  The poor man was terrified.  Lad had come upon him sweeping up glass from the shop’s broken front window, in tears as he plucked pieces of fine parchment from the muddy gutter.  He hadn’t wanted to accompany Lad, but the guildmaster had insisted. This was Jingles’ territory, so the Master Enforcer would have to answer for it.  Lad hoped the violence was the Thieves Guild moving in on their territory, though he dreaded that it wasn’t.  Jingles’ denial seemed sincere, but Lad was determined to get to the bottom of the matter.  This is Master Jarred.  He’s going to ask you some questions.

I’ll answer as best I can, sir.  The shopkeeper’s voice still trembled, despite Lad’s assurances. 

Jingles eyed Quebeck critically.  Can you describe who beat you?  How many, what they wore.  Did they use names?

No names, sir.  Th-there were two of them. A man and a woman, though she was as tall and big as he.  Quebeck glanced at Lad, then back to Jingles.  She had red hair tied back in a long braid, and a scar on the bridge of her nose.  The man was a Morrgrey.  Dark, of course, and wore a green felt hat with a cock’s feather."

Lad saw the answer in Jingle’s face even before he asked, Do you know these two?

I do, Master.  The Master Enforcer’s hand twitched and the silver bars jingled.  The man’s named Korlak, and the woman’s Gerti Yance.  They’re ours.

Ours...  Lad’s knuckles popped as he clenched his fists.  Forcing himself to take a deep, calming breath, he turned back to Quebeck.  How much damage was done to your shop?

Um, maybe twenty crowns worth, including lost inventory, and it’ll be a couple of days ’til I can open back up.

And how much cash did they take from you?

Just what was in the cash box.  Maybe fifteen crowns.

Lad told Jingles, Give him fifty crowns.

The Master Enforcer didn’t even quibble.  He went right to his desk, opened a drawer, and counted out the sum.  Dropping it into a leather pouch, he handed it over to the man with the assurance, I’ll make sure this doesn’t happen again.

Lad even believed him.

You can go now, Master Quebeck.  Lad nudged him toward the door.  Thank you.  When the door had closed, he fixed Jingles with an even stare and said, Who are Korlak and Yance?

Enforcers, sir, assigned to Molsen’s area, near Eastgate.

Take me to them.

Now, Master?

Now.

Yes, sir.  Jingles  went to his desk, pulled two daggers from a drawer, and put them in boot sheaths.  He snatched up a walking stick and drew forth the gleaming sword that was attached to the polished gold handle.  Snapping it back into place, he turned to Lad and nodded.  Ready, Master.

Good.  Lad noted Jingles’ fine clothes, and considered his own simple shirt and pants.  His shoes bore no shine, and he wore no weapons.  Anyone looking at the two of them would think Jingles a moneyed gentleman and Lad his servant.  That suited Lad just fine.  Where are we going?

"Molsen’s got them watching over a gambling house called Lucky Bones."

I know it.  There weren’t many places in Twailin that Lad didn’t know.

Business usually starts to pick up this time of day, so they should both be there.

Let’s go, then.

Jingles seemed to consider his next words before speaking.  If you tell me what you want done, Master, I’ll see to it.  There’s no reason you need to—

"There is a reason I need to see to this, Jingles.  I want to know why it happened, and make sure it doesn’t happen again!"

As you say, Master.  I’ll tan Molsen’s hide if I find out he knew anything about this, but these two might just be poachers, not acting on orders.  It’s your call, of course.

"Yes, it is my call."

Lad followed Jingles out the back door and around to the street, stopping abruptly as the Master Enforcer hailed a passing hackney.  He generally walked wherever he went, but one look at Jingles’ shiny, hard-soled boots told him that there was no way the man could walk to Eastgate.  Lad didn’t like coaches, but after a week as guildmaster, he had discovered a lot of things he didn’t like that he was having to get used to.  Going to bed every night without Wiggen at his side was the hardest.

As the coach pulled up, a woman in a simple dress hurried past and, for an instant, he saw Wiggen: her walk, her hair, her scent...  He blinked, and the vision was gone.

Gone...  She’s gone...  Lad followed Jingles into the coach and took a seat.

Clenching his hands at his sides, he forced down the urge to lash out, to vent the rage and frustration that continually threatened to overwhelm him.  One by one, he flexed and relaxed each muscle in his body, an exercise he had been taught long ago to imbue calm.  It didn’t work, just as his morning exercises and meditation no longer brought the peace of mind they once had.  Nothing helped.  Everywhere he looked he saw her.  Every scent and sight reminded him of the life they’d shared at the Tap and Kettle.  He looked out the window at the passing city, searching for something, anything to keep his mind active, busy, away from dwelling on his empty bed, the smell of Wiggen’s hair as he lay down beside her, one arm over her, the warmth of her body against him...

Wiggen...

Here we are!

Jingles’ announcement snapped Lad from his reverie, and the guildmaster’s blood chilled.  He recognized Eastgate Street outside, but remembered nothing of the trip.  How long?  He considered the distance; fifteen or twenty minutes, at least.

Not again!  Lad kept his face composed despite his mounting apprehension.  He’d been trained from birth to be attentive to his surroundings at every waking moment, and it had saved his life many times.  Since Wiggen’s death, lapses like this, transient periods lost in thought, were becoming frequent. 

Jingles opened the coach door and stepped out.  Lad forced himself to focus on the here and now as he followed.  They stood in front of the Lucky Bones public house.  A broad sign—a pair of dice coming up double eights—pointed the way down the stairs to the drinking and gambling establishment tucked into the basement of a shoe factory. 

The manager’s name’s Lyghter.  She’s a hard case, but runs a good business.  She’s been one of our...clients for a long time now.  Jingles flipped a half-crown to the coachman, and turned to Lad, jingling his bracelet nervously.  "Master, if Korlak and Yance are poachers, they might try to bolt.  A visit from me wouldn’t startle them, but if I’m with someone, it might.  Maybe I should go first?"

Lad nodded.  I don’t want to disrupt business.  Go ahead.

Jingles looked relieved.  Descending the stairs, he pushed aside the heavy iron-bound door and entered.  Smoke wafted out, along with the sound of clattering dice and amused chatter.

Lad looked up at the empty windows of the shoe factory.  It was nearing the dinner hour, and work had ceased for the day.  Foot traffic was brisk, and two others entered the pub. Lad followed them in.  His eyes instantly pierced the dark, smoky atmosphere, and he scanned the room.  It was still early, so the place wasn’t very busy yet.  About a score of patrons played cards, threw dice, or drank at the bar.  Lad drew no attention, looking more like a cobbler than a killer.

Jingles was sauntering toward the bar, jauntily swinging his walking stick.  The two Enforcers, Korlak and Yance, were watching Jingles, but didn’t look upset.  Lad moved to a table near the door where patrons were throwing dice, watching the pair as he listened to Jingles hail the one-eyed matron behind the bar.  Lad focused, and had no trouble picking out their words over the noise.

Evening, Lyghter!

Trouble, Jingles?

No, just need to speak to my people.  Some privacy would be appreciated.

Fine.  She tossed him a key.  Last door down the hall.

Thank you.  This won’t take long.  Jingles strolled over to his two Enforcers.  I’ve got a change in your work assignment.  Come with me.

Though Korlak and Yance exchanged wary glances, Jingles’ casual manner seemed to put them at ease, and they followed him down the hall to the last door.  When the door closed behind them, Lad moved.  He was down the hall and through the door in a moment.  As the latch clicked behind him, the two Enforcers turned at the intrusion.

What the hell?  Korlak’s hand dropped to the big knife at his belt.

Shut your mouths and listen up! Jingles snapped.  The tip of his walking stick flicked out as quick as a striking snake, hovering an inch from the Morrgrey’s nose.  This is your new guildmaster.  Show some respect!

Lad saw fearful recognition in their eyes; they had obviously heard about him.  They both took a step back, and Korlak’s hand moved away from his weapon.  Not that it would have done him any good if he had tried use it.  Their blood contracts prevented them from even attempting to harm either Lad or Jingles.

What’s this about? Yance’s wary expression suggested that she already had a good idea.

This is about a broken window, a beaten shopkeeper, a threat of arson, treason, and fifteen gold crowns.  Lad stepped up and examined them carefully, though he had to crane his neck to look them in the eye.  As Quebeck said, Yance stood as tall as Korlak, and the Morrgrey was not a small man.

Lad read their guilt in the pulses pounding at their throats and the sweat beading on their brows.  He could smell the rank odors of rage and fear, see the desperation in their darting eyes as they searched for an escape.

Did Molsen order you to toss that shop, threaten and beat Quebeck?

No, Korlak said, and Yance shot him a glare.

Good, the truth.  The next answer, Lad knew, would not come so easily.  I’m going to ask you some questions, and you’re going to keep telling me the truth.

Why?  The defiance in Yance’s voice surprised Lad as much as the puzzling question.

"Why am

Enjoying the preview?
Page 1 of 1