Weapon of Vengeance (Weapon of Flesh Trilogy) (33 page)

Norwood’s drooping eyes shot wide when the door
finally opened and Commander Ithross clattered back into the room.  The
surprise on the guardsman’s face brought Norwood to his feet, his back stabbing
him from so long in the uncomfortable chair.

The commander was accompanied by a slim fellow
wearing dress doublet, breeches and hose, and carrying a ledger under his arm. 
Behind them came a tall, broad-shouldered man dressed like a cross between a
high lord and a court jester.  His clothes were beyond flamboyant—yellow tunic,
lavender hose, bright red shoes, even a peacock feather tucked behind one ear. 
The riot of color strangely complemented his ebony skin.

“Captain Norwood,” said Ithross, gesturing to his
companions, “this is Master Tennison, the emperor’s secretary, and Master
Keyfur, of the Imperial Retinue of Wizards.”

Norwood nodded politely, wondering if he had just
been introduced to the spy.  Both the secretary and the mage would be well
placed to intercept messages, and likely possessed the means to contract a
magical assassin to do his dirty work.

The little ferret of a secretary looked at him
dubiously and said, “For some unfathomable reason, His Majesty has granted you
a brief audience.  The emperor’s schedule is very full, but there is a gap in
approximately ten minutes, assuming his current appointment doesn’t run
overtime.”

“Excellent!”  Norwood tugged his wrinkled jacket
straight, eager to complete his mission.  “Let’s go.”

“Not quite yet, Captain.  Before I escort you into
the imperial presence, you must submit to a simple security measure.”

“Very well.  What measure is that, Master Tennison?”

“A magical measure.”  Tennison gestured to the
wizard.  “Master Keyfur, would you please tell the captain what’s involved?”

“Certainly.”  The wizard’s voice rumbled low, as
melodious as an opera singer’s.  Plucking the feather from behind his ear, he
waved it in a lazy circle.  “A simple spell, really, to ensure that you are who
you say you are, and that you’re not here under false pretenses.”

“A truth spell?”  Norwood tried to remain calm.  He
would rather pet a crocodile than allow Keyfur to cast a spell on him.

“Yes.  Are you familiar with them?”

“Yes.  I’ve seen Duke Mir’s mage, Master Woefler,
use them.”  There were two types that Norwood knew of, one that compelled the
person to speak the truth, and the other that simply informed the wizard if the
person was lying.  “I can’t allow a compulsion spell to be cast upon me.  The
news I have is for the emperor’s ears only.”

“Not to worry, Captain.  This spell will be of the
less-invasive variety.”  Keyfur waved the feather in an elaborate pattern.  “I
simply cast the spell and ask a few questions.  If you lie, I’ll know.”

“Fine.  Cast it.”  There was no alternative.  He had
to submit or he would never see the emperor.

“I already have, Captain.”  Keyfur grinned.

Norwood swallowed uneasily.  He hadn’t felt a
thing.  “Then ask your questions.”

“Have you told the truth about the reason you seek
an audience with the emperor?”

“Yes.”

“Do you plan any violence or subterfuge here in the
palace?”

“No.”

“Are you in any way armed?”

“I have no weapons, if that’s what you’re asking.”

“Very good.”  Keyfur turned to Tamir.  “And you,
Sergeant, do you plan any violence or subterfuge here in the Palace.”

“Not unless someone tries to harm my captain, sir.”

Keyfur smiled.  “A fair answer, and true enough.  Do
you bear any weapons?”

“Well, I got this here contraption that has a
corkscrew, a pair of scissors, a toothpick, a nail file, a fish scaler, and a
little thingy that’ll trim your nose hairs.  But it ain’t got no blade, so it’s
not rightly a weapon.  If you don’t count this, then no, I’ve got nothing but my
fists.”

Norwood nearly burst out laughing at the tiny
folding tool that Tamir had picked up in his search for the maker of the black
darts, but his sergeant looked serious, as did the guard commander.

“Let’s see that,” Commander Ithross ordered, and
Tamir handed the little device over.  After a brief examination, the commander
snorted a laugh and handed it back.  “It’s nothing.”

Keyfur smiled, tucked the feather back behind his
ear, and turned to Tennison.  “They speak the truth.”

“Good.”  Tennison nodded to Norwood.  “You and your
sergeant will come with me, Captain.”

“Very good.”  Norwood’s stomach clenched; it wasn’t
every day that one met the emperor face to face.  “Lead on.”

To the captain’s surprise, no guards followed as he
and Tamir trailed the secretary through another labyrinth of hallways.  He
wondered about the lack of security until they turned a corner.  This corridor,
much wider and higher than any they’d seen, was hung with crystal chandeliers
and papered resplendently in blue and gold.  Coats of arms hung at regular
intervals on both walls, and beneath each stood an imperial guard, rigidly at
attention, eyes fixed straight ahead.  There must have been fifty of them. 
Certainly such an expenditure of manpower could ensure the safety of one man. 
Was Norwood being ridiculous to assume a spy could get anywhere near the
emperor?

No
, he realized with a jolt. 
The
spy must be someone above suspicion
. 
Someone who could walk right past
these guards
.

The secretary’s shoes clicked on the polished marble
as he led them down the corridor…right past the guards.

Norwood glanced at Tennison. 
Maybe
…

Tamir tugged at his captain’s sleeve, darted his
eyes toward the secretary, and raised an eyebrow.  Norwood shrugged, reassured
that they both had the same suspicion.

The emperor’s secretary stopped before a pair of
heavy double doors.  Turning to Norwood and Tamir, he instructed, “You will
remain at least five strides from His Majesty.  You will bow from the waist and
remain bowed until called upon to speak.  You will not speak out of turn.  When
so ordered, you will answer questions succinctly, and not deviate or expound.” 
His nose rose in the air, and his lips thinned.  “These few minutes of the
emperor’s time are more valuable than the both of you, so you will keep your
answers
short
!  Is that clear?”

“Perfectly clear.”  Norwood stared into Tennison’s
eyes, searching for some hint of treason, but saw only pompous indignation and
duty.

“Wait here.”  The secretary twisted the door’s
golden handle and slipped through the gap with the stealth of a burglar.

Voices rose from behind the closed door, but Norwood
couldn’t make out any words.  He tucked his hands behind his back and tried to
calm his nerves. 

“You think it’s him, sir?” Tamir whispered.

“I…don’t think so,” he whispered back, wary of the
guards only twenty feet to each side.  “Keep your wits sharp, Sergeant.  While
I say speak with the emperor, I want you watching for reactions from his
retainers.  If something strikes you as suspicious, sing out.”

“Yes, sir.”

They didn’t have long to wait.  The door opened, and
Master Tennison beckoned them in.

Norwood was surprised at the austerity of the room’s
décor.  Walls of muted hues of blue and gold were broken only by two doors in
the room’s back corners.  Overhead, a simple chandelier supported
bright-burning lamps.  Upon a low dais rested a simple upholstered armchair,
the imperial sovereign upon its cushioned seat.

Tynean Tsing II bore little resemblance to the
portrait that hung in Duke Mir’s audience chamber, or the silhouette stamped on
every gold crown in the realm.  He looked older than those images, older even
than his purported sixty-two years.  The burdens of the empire had, it seemed,
left their mark on the emperor.  The crown rested upon a head of immaculately
groomed silver hair.  Deep lines radiated from his eyes and mouth, clearly
showing that this was not a face accustomed to smiling.  But he sat straight,
his narrow shoulders squared, his wizened hands gripping the arms of the chair
with strength.  His eyes were keen and ruthless.

Imperial bodyguards flanked the emperor’s seat, two
at each side.  Another stood at the foot of the dais, his hand on the hilt of
the curved blade at his hip.  They all looked enough alike to be brothers:
close-cropped hair, weathered skin, steely eyes, garbed in identical surcoats
and gleaming mail. Norwood knew the badges on the shoulders their uniforms: blademasters
of Koss Godslayer, protectors of the emperors of Tsing for the last five
hundred years.  They were rumored to feel no pain and know no fear, gifts from
their deity for in exchange for pledging their very souls.  The rigors of their
life-long training shone in the deep scars on their hands and faces, decades of
discipline etched in blood.  Most horrifically, blademasters had their tongues
cut out at an early age.  Reading and writing were also banned.  There would be
no careless words to betray the secrets of either their training or their
sovereign.

To the emperor’s right stood a man identifiable by
the circlet of gold adorning his brow.  Crown Prince Arbuckle, the emperor’s
sole heir.  He looked perhaps ten years younger than Norwood, fit and hale, his
dark hair barely flecked with white.  His lips were pinched tight in what the
captain interpreted as irritation.  The prince was flanked by his own two
bodyguards, as grim, scarred, and expressionless as the emperor’s.  The only
other person stood with a thick tome balanced open on his hip, a long quill pen
poised above the page, undoubtedly the imperial record keeper.

“Captain Norwood of the Twailin Royal Guard, Your
Majesty.”  Tennison stepped aside and bowed low.

“Your Majesty.”  Norwood bowed from the waist, and
Tamir followed suit.

“You may rise.  We’ve been told that you bear a
message for Our ear alone, Captain.”  The emperor’s voice, belied his age,
resonating with the power of one who knew his words commanded an empire.

“Yes, Your Majesty.”  Norwood straightened.  “It is
of the highest importance that—” 

The emperor’s raised hand silenced him.

“We know.  A matter of Our own personal safety, and
the security of the empire.”  His lip curled in a derisive smirk.  “Well, We
suppose We should hear it, and grant your request for privacy.”  The emperor
turned to the crown prince.  “Leave Us, Arbuckle, and take Our secretary and
record keeper with you.  Wait in the east audience chamber.  We will arrive
shortly and take Our next appointment there.”

“Yes, Your Majesty.”  The three men bowed low before
departing through the east door, the prince’s bodyguards following at his
flanks.

Norwood felt like a bug under a magnifying lens
beneath the gaze of the emperor.  For a long moment the sovereign said nothing,
but simply stared at the two, resting one elbow on the arm of his simple throne
and tapping his chin with a long, slim finger.  Norwood fixed his eyes on the
emperor’s feet, his hands clasped tight behind his back, his spine ramrod
straight.  The silence dragged on for what seemed like an hour, but probably
spanned less than a minute.

“So, what exactly have you discovered that is a
threat to Our safety, Captain?”

Norwood’s heart leapt.  This was exactly the opening
he needed.  With no ears besides the emperor’s, he need not fear that the spy
would overhear.  “Your Majesty, I’ve learned that there is a spy within the
palace.  A spy with ties to organized crime in Twailin.  I fear the spy might—”

The emperor cut him off with a raised hand.

“Hold your fears, Captain.  We’re quite safe at the
moment.  Tell Us how you came about this discovery.”

“I was investigating the murder of a noble in
Twailin, Your Majesty.  Baron Eusteus Patino was killed approximately three
weeks ago, and I—”  Another raised hand.  Norwood froze.  What was the sense in
all these interruptions?  Why couldn’t the man just listen?

“You’re sure it was murder?”  The emperor leaned
forward, suddenly attentive, eyes gleaming.  “We were informed by Duke Mir that
it was a natural death.”

“I know, Your Majesty.  It was necessary to send a
misleading message.  I needed an opportunity to investigate Baron Patino
without causing a panic.  But I’m sure it was murder.”

“How do you know?”

“Duke Mir’s mage identified the magic used to kill
the baron.”

“Magic?”  The emperor leaned back, his eyes wide. 
“He found magic?”

“Yes, Your Majesty, a trace left by the murderer.  I
trust Master Woefler’s judgment in these things without question.  He said the
murderer was a priest, and that—”

“A priest?  He could tell you that specifically?”

“Yes, Your Majesty.  He was sure of it.”

“That’s amazing.  We had no
idea
Woefler was
so adept!”

The emperor’s mocking tone sent a chill up Norwood’s
spine.  Did the emperor not believe him, or did he doubt Woefler?  Did he think
this was some kind of fabrication?  It was time to set things straight.