Weapon of Vengeance (Weapon of Flesh Trilogy) (38 page)

Without Mya’s advantages of healing and immunity to
pain, Lad had his hands and feet occupied just keeping steel from his flesh. 
The blademasters were skilled indeed, and faster than any human.  He scored
with a kick, smashing a blademaster’s nose, only to watch it instantly heal.

Magic
!

Lad trapped one thrust between his palms and kicked
aside the other’s sweeping slash.  The sword twisted in his grasp, and Lad
flipped with it, tumbling over the blade with two more lashing kicks.  The
first landed solidly, breaking the man’s jaw and sending teeth flying, but the
second met only air.  The toothless blademaster ducked and pirouetted, passing
the blade behind his back, while trying to wrench it from Lad’s hands.

As the other sword descended toward his wrists, Lad
yanked to bring the two blades together.  The two swords met with a clash.  Lad
delivered a well-placed kick into the chest of the toothless blademaster,
snapping ribs and sending the man crashing into a torture rack.  The injury
would have put a normal opponent out of action, but Lad knew the man would be
back up in seconds.  He would have to kill the other quickly.

Unfortunately, bloody nose had no intention of
letting that happen.  The swordsman wove his weapon in a complex series of
slashes and thrusts that kept Lad from landing a mortal strike.  When toothless
rejoined the fight, neither Lad nor his opponent had managed to do more than
deflect the other’s strikes and mess up their clothing.

Lad cringed at the particular rasp of steel on steel
signifying that Mya’s corset had been penetrated again.  If the blade had
pierced her heart, the next would probably kill him.  He had to trust her, just
as she had to trust him.

Mya’s frilled petticoat brushed the back of his legs
as she spun—
She’s alive, at least
—and he heard the unmistakable clash of
one sword deflecting another.  As he slapped aside two more thrusts, a warm
spray of blood touched the back of his neck, and a disembodied head tumbled
past.  He felt a peculiar surge of relief that it didn’t wear Mya’s silly
little hat.

A twisting foot sweep tripped both of his opponents,
and allowed him a glance toward Mya.  One opponent lay headless on the floor,
and she held both sword and dagger. 
We might just have a—

A flash of blackness took him by surprise.

In that instant, everyone he’d murdered, every guard
and noble the Grandfather had forced him to kill, cried for mercy in his mind. 
Wiggen died in his arms once again, her bewildered face staring up at him in
the rain, tearing his heart from his chest.  The worst moments of his life… 
But Lad had long ago come to grips with the killings; Wiggen’s love had healed
him, absolving him of guilt.  And, oddly, her loss was still so fresh, so raw
in his memory, that he experienced her death every time he closed his eyes. 
Even magic couldn’t break an already broken heart.  He shook off the momentary
disorientation.

Lad’s opponents seemed unaffected, and lunged in
simultaneous attacks.  He intercepted both strikes, slapping one blade aside
and kicking the other blademaster’s wrist away.  A gut-wrenching cry of anguish
shivered up his spine, followed by the rip of steel parting silk, flesh, and
bone.

Mya
!

Lads leapt up and back, lashing out to kick his two
opponents and propel himself backward.  Arching his back, he caught sight of
Mya and her opponent.  Blood sprayed from Mya’s lacerated torso, and an
expression of desolation wracked her features.  Her hands hung limp, weapons
useless, as her opponent’s sword arced toward her upturned face.

“No!”

As he flipped over their heads, Lad clapped his
palms together on the blademaster’s sword, stopping it mere inches from Mya’s
brow.  His momentum jerked the sword back over the blademaster’s head.  When
his feet met the floor again, Lad stood facing the man’s back, the curved sword
locked above their heads, neither willing to relinquish their grasp.

Lad couldn’t see Mya—the blademaster’s broad
shoulders blocked his view—but the clash of steel on steel told him she lived. 
But how long, weakened by so much blood loss?

Hoseph’s voice drew Lad’s gaze.  The Grandmaster
stood well away from the fight, clutching his bloody dagger, disbelief painting
his features.  To his right, familiar tendrils of dark mist slithered forth to
engulf Hoseph.  The priest was fleeing, leaving his master behind.

Coward
…

Lad’s opponent wrenched his sword, drawing him back
to the fight.  Lad tried to trip him, to no avail.  A waft of chill air touched
the back of his neck.

There should be nothing behind me
.

A memory: swirling black mists in Norwood’s hallway
coalescing into a red-robed figure, one hand outstretched and glowing with
death magic…

Hoseph
!

Lad couldn’t release his grip on the sword without
giving the blademaster an opening to cut Mya down, but his feet were free.  The
rustle of robes and scuff of a shoe gave him a target for a backward kick.  His
foot smashed into something solid, and he felt bone splinter with the impact. 
A glance over his shoulder showed the priest tumbling backward over one of the
stone slabs.  He landed with a solid thud, and didn’t get up.

The Grandmaster spat a curse and strode forward, the
bloody kris held before him.

With Lad’s hands locked on the sword above his head,
he couldn’t dodge.  He also couldn’t block or strike the Grandmaster.  Lad had
no defense against that blade.  If he released the blademaster’s weapon, he
would either be cut down or doom Mya to the same fate.  He had to kill the
blademaster before he could evade the Grandmaster, but he needed one hand free
to do that, and grasping a sword one-handed was perilous.

Think like an assassin, Lad
…

Shifting his grip, Lad wrapped his left hand around
the blade.  His opponent sensed the shift and wrenched the sword hard.  Lad
gritted his teeth as the edge cut to the bone, but held his grip.  With his
free hand, he retrieved a tiny vial from under his ridiculous cravat.

Thank you, Enola
…

Lad had brought the toxin for himself—he would never
be a slave again—but now he had a better use.  Putting the glass vial between
his teeth, careful not to bite too hard, he twisted off the cap and stabbed the
envenomed needle into the blademaster’s neck.  As the kris lashed out at him,
he spat out the vial and dodged, releasing his grip on the sword.  The
blademaster jerked hard as he felt his weapon freed.   Agony lanced through Lad’s
hand, and blood rained down as he twisted away from the Grandmaster’s dagger.

The blademaster stumbled, his sword falling from
nerveless fingers as the stonefish toxin stopped his heart.  His mouth gaped
silently, a look of utter astonishment on his face as he pitched forward, dead.

Lad clutched his injured hand to his side as he
whirled around to confront the Grandmaster.

“How dare you!”  The Grandmaster cursed, but then
suddenly stopped, his gaze dropping to the floor.

There, in a splatter of blood beside the dead
blademaster, lay three of Lad’s fingers.  On one of them glittered a circle of
obsidian and gold.

H
ands
clapped onto the sword before Mya’s eyes.

Lad
…

The pall of despair vanished from Mya’s mind as she
watched her angel of deliverance arc overhead.  Her would-be killer’s arms flew
up, and the two men stood struggling over the sword that would have ended her
life.  Blood loss weakened her limbs, but she gripped her stolen blades with
cold fury.  She could gut the blademaster in an instant.

The thump of a boot from behind changed Mya’s
strategy.   Her blades flashed up in a blind crossing parry behind her back. 
Instinct served her well.  Steel met steel, gifting her one more moment of
life.  She spun on her knees and parried another stroke with the quillons of
her dagger, a diagonal slash that reverberated up her arm.

Weakness
… 
I’m alive
…
but for
how long
?  Mya no longer had the advantage of greater strength, but she was
still faster…
maybe
.

The force of the blow sent her careening aside.  She
took the impact on her shoulder, and flung her legs around in a flat arc.  Her
kick swept the legs from under one opponent, but he was already rolling to his
feet by the time Mya regained her stance.

She caught a glimpse of swirling black mists—
Hoseph
!—but
couldn’t look away from the fight.  As she parried four lightning-quick
attacks, the crunch of breaking bones and the thump of a body crashing to the
floor gave her hope.  The Grandmaster’s curses drew a glance from one of her
foes.  Mya lunged, but an intervening blade deflected her stroke.

At the clang of a sword hitting the floor behind
her, the two blademasters shared a glance.  One nodded, and they shifted to
each side.  Instead of looking at Mya, they looked past her.  They were trying
to flank her to reach Lad.

Oh, no you don’t
!  Whirling in a desperate
attempt to engage both of them, she glimpsed Lad.  He stood too far away to
cover her back.  He’d broken their bond of mutual protection.

The blademasters circled her in opposite directions,
forcing her choose.  If she attacked one, the other could attack Lad.  She
couldn’t stop them both.  Suddenly one lunged, demanding all her skill.  The
other turned toward Lad, sword raised.  Two steps would bring his blade down on
Lad’s head, yet the Twailin guildmaster paid his attacker no heed.  His
attention was riveted on the Grandmaster.

What the hell’s he doing
?

“Lad!”  Mya flipped her dagger and threw, but the
blade was deflected even as it left her fingers.

Lad turned, and she saw his mangled hand.  He
wouldn’t last long with an injury like that.  Lunging desperately, Mya tried to
get past her opponent, only to be forced back.  It came down to a contest
between his swordsmanship and her speed.  Her mind scurried frantically for any
way to put that advantage to use, but came up blank.  She was an assassin, not
a swordswoman.

So think like one
!

Mya threw her sword at the blademaster’s head, and
launched herself.  He parried the blade easily, but in doing so brought his
sword high, opening himself to her sprawling body check.  They fell hard, and
Mya quickly rolled away.  She came up with her back pressed against the slab
where Keisha lay.  Beside her glittered the tray of implements that had caused
the thief so much agony.

Mya snatched up a steel spike used to split finger
bones, then flung the rest of the tray into the blademaster’s face.  It would
only delay him for a moment, but a moment was all she needed.  Turning, Mya
hurled the spike with all her strength at the blademaster facing Lad.  It
pierced his skull with a crack, and he fell at Lad’s feet.

Lad gaped at her, his mouth opening to form a word,
but his warning wasn’t necessary.  Mya knew what the move had cost her.  She’d
thrown away all her weapons, and with her back against the blood-soaked slab,
she couldn’t maneuver.

Everybody dies
…

Steel flashed down.

Mya jerked away to keep the blade from cleaving her
skull, but couldn’t evade the stroke entirely.  The razor edge clipped an inch
from her hair before slashing down through her shoulder…her clavicle…into her
chest.  Her left arm went numb.  Blood sprayed from the gaping wound, blinding
her left eye, but she felt no pain, only weakness.  Her mind sparked with one
more gambit.  Grabbing the haft of the sword, she squeezed with all her waning
strength, trapping the blademaster’s hand.  He tried to pull free, but she held
fast.

Her wrappings slithered back together, pulling the
sagging third of her torso back into position.  The wound closed around the
sword in her chest, the bones clicking into place as muscles and sinews
mended.  Her left arm tingled and came to life.  Coughing up bloody froth, she
grinned at her opponent with a monster’s cold triumph.

No fear, no pain, no mercy
…

She had him.

The blademaster reached for the dagger at his belt,
but Mya was faster.  She kicked him in the crotch with every ounce of her
flagging strength. 

The impact lifted him off the floor to the sound of
cracking bones, both her instep and his pelvis.  The shock sent the dagger
clattering away, and his grip on the sword failed.  Mya planted a second kick
in his midriff before he touched the floor, and he folded over, gagging as he
hit the ground.  Before he could recover, she slipped his sword from her chest
and sliced the finely honed edge through his neck.

Done
…

Mya collapsed to her knees, coughing blood and
gasping for breath.  She lacked the strength to lift her head, but managed to
raise her eyes.  Lad stood facing the Grandmaster, the only person they couldn’t
kill.  She coughed again and spat, surveying the death around them, and
wondered if it had all been for nothing.

“Lad!”

He whirled at Mya’s warning, realizing at once his
grave error.  The shock of seeing his guildmaster ring lying on the floor had
clouded his mind with vengeance.  Vengeance for Wiggen, vengeance for his own
creation, vengeance for an empire ruled by terror…  He’d forgotten one of his first
lessons. 
Never get distracted during combat.  Remember
!

His distraction may have cost them their lives.

Mya fought desperately to rejoin him, to no avail. 
Her strength was flagging, and her slashed and bloody dress impeded her
movement.  The blademaster she faced wielded his sword with far greater skill.

Lad focused on his own opponent’s attack.  His
injured hand throbbed, and he couldn’t even make a fist due to his missing
fingers.  He thought desperately for some advantage.  Enola’s vial of poison
lay somewhere in the mire of blood on the floor.  If he could find it, maybe…

From the corner of his eye, Lad spied Mya tackle the
blademaster. 
What’s she
— Another slash snapped his attention back to
the fight.  He cursed himself for glancing away. 
Focus
!  He lashed out
with a kick in an attempt to gain some ground so he could search for the poison
vial.

Metal clattered, and Lad caught a glimpse of a
gleaming shaft flying through the air.  An instant later, it pierced his
opponent’s skull.  As the man fell, Lad stared beyond him…just as steel slashed
down toward Mya.

No
!

The sword sliced through her shoulder into her
chest.  Blood sprayed; the wound looked mortal.  If it had reached her heart…

Lad gaped, stunned. 
Why
?  Mya had sacrificed
herself for him. 
It doesn’t make sense, unless
…  Sudden memories of her
actions, her words, and evasions came to him. 
It can’t be
.

Then Mya reached up to grasp the haft of the sword,
and the horrible wound closed.  Her face shone deathly pale, but the blade had
not reached her heart.  Lad stared in wonder as she dispatched her foe with a
masterful combination of kicks, and a final slash of the blade.  She collapsed
to her knees, coughing blood, but alive. 

She’s alive
…  With that relief, calm settled
over Lad’s mind, and a new imperative took hold.

Vengeance
.

Lad turned to face the most powerful man in the
world: Emperor, Grandmaster, the instrument of so much terror, the ultimate
source of all Lad’s anguish…  He glanced down at his severed fingers and the
ring upon the floor.  He was no longer a slave.

“Don’t touch me!”  Emperor Tynean Tsing II backed
away, the bloody kris held out before him.  “You can’t touch me!”

 “I
can
touch you.”  Lad stepped forward,
grimacing at the pain in his hand, but determined to finish this.  “I can more
than touch you.  I can
kill
you.”

“I’m
emperor
!  You
can’t
kill me! 
I’ll…”  His eyes darted around like two cornered rats.  “I’ve a thousand loyal
guards in the palace!  You’ll never get out of here alive!”

“It doesn’t
matter
if I get out of here
alive, Your Majesty.  What matters is that you
don’t
.”

The Grandmaster’s face paled, and his eyes gleamed
with fear.  This was probably the first time in his life that Tynean Tsing had
been truly afraid.  Lad tried to imagine him as a child, introduced so young to
a world of blood, pain, and murder.  It was something they had in common.  The
difference was, Lad was made not to feel, but Tynean Tsing was made to enjoy
it.

“I understand what you are.”  Lad took another step,
forcing the Grandmaster back until he bumped into a heavy wooden rack.  “They
made you a monster.  They made
me
a monster.”

“Here, take it!”  The emperor thrust out the hand
that bore the Grandmaster’s ring.  “Cut it off and claim it!”

“No.”  The idea of putting on that ring made Lad
want to retch.  “As you said, Your
Majesty
, I’m merely a weapon.  You
can’t bargain with me.  I understand what you are, but I can’t pity you. 
There’s no reprieve for what you’ve done.”

“I can give you
anything
!”  The Grandmaster
sidestepped, bumping into the cage where Norwood hung unconscious.  He looked
back and startled at the captain’s blood-streaked face, then turned back to
Lad.  “Anything you want!”

“Can you take away his pain?” Lad pointed to
Norwood, then gestured to Kiesha.  “Can you send her back to her father, whole
and strong and beautiful?”  His words caught in his throat.  “Can you give
Wiggen
back to me?”

“I didn’t kill your gods-damned wife!”

“But you wielded the weapon that did.”  Lad stepped
within striking distance.  “You think that keeping people in constant terror is
how to rule them.  You’re wrong.”

“What do
you
know?”  The emperor spat in
Lad’s face and lunged.

Lad caught it easily, crushing the Grandmaster’s
hand on the hilt with his one good hand.  “I know enough.  I know love is
stronger than fear.”  He squeezed, and the old man’s eyes widened in pain. 
“And now
you
know fear.”  He brought the dagger up until it stood before
the emperor’s eyes.  “You know the fear of the common man facing an abusive
noble or a sadistic assassin, a man who can’t…fight…back.”