Weapon of Blood (8 page)

“That’s why we’re here, Sergeant.”

“That, and the fact that it happened on
our side of the river.”  Tamir chuckled.  “You know the joke; all the devils of
the Nine Hells can rampage south of the river, and they just call the City
Guard.  But if a rich merchant or noble gets so much as a hangnail north of the
river, the Royal Guard will be there with a bandage.”

Norwood cast a withering glare at Tamir. 
“I despise that joke, Sergeant.”

However true it might be, he resented the
implication that the privileged classes received greater consideration from the
duke’s Royal Guard than the lesser got from the less prestigious City Guard.  The
river that forked in the center of Twailin split the city into three pieces.  The
portion north of that split included Hightown, the Bluff District, and the
duke’s palace, which sat right on the promontory overlooking the river’s fork. 
The two southern portions made up the vast majority of the city’s population,
but only about a tenth of its wealth.

“Yes, sir.”  Tamir bit his lip and
scratched more notes.

“Wait for Woefler and have a good look
around, but if the killer was this careful with the body, I doubt you’ll find
much.  If Vonlith let him in, that explains why there are no broken or jimmied
locks.  Tell Woefler to check with the Wizards Guild.  I want to know more
about Vonlith.  I’ll be in my office.  You can both give me your initial
reports there.  Now, find out why this man’s dead.”

“Yes, Captain.”

“And be careful!  Wait for Woefler. 
That’s an order.”

“Don’t worry, Captain.  None of my people
are dumb enough to poke into a wizard’s stuff on their own.”

“Good.  He
should be here soon.”

“Very good, sir.”

Norwood left Tamir
to his business.  He had other things to attend to, one of them his belated
breakfast.  But as he left Vonlith’s opulent townhouse, he noticed a number of
curious neighbors clustered along the street.  Lords and ladies with their
walking sticks and parasols paused to cast concerned glances and whisper behind
their lace handkerchiefs.  The rumors were already spreading.

Lad strode across the courtyard from the
inn to the barn, leaving the aromas of blackbrew and oatcakes in his wake. 
After working out the stiffness in his strained shoulders with some quick
morning exercises in the privacy of their room, and a hearty breakfast, he
considered the chores ahead of him before he headed off to the
Golden
Cockerel
.

He stepped into the quiet barn and
stopped.  Something was wrong.

The sun was up, and the entire inn’s
staff was awake and working.  Tika and Ponce should have been busy with the
barn chores, but they were nowhere in sight.  Closing his eyes, Lad stretched
out his senses: heart beats, shallow steady breathing, the rustle of straw from
his right, a creak of rope overhead.  Two assailants lay in wait for him.  From
their positions, he deduced that they would attack as soon as he ventured
beyond the first horse stall.  He quirked a quick smile, made a discreet noise
to announce his presence, and walked into the trap.

Their timing was good.

Tika leapt from the stall to his right,
vaulting over the railing to launch a flying kick right at Lad’s head.  At the
same moment, his twin brother, Ponce, swung down from an overhead rafter,
leading with the edge of his foot aimed at Lad’s back.  Either attack would
have been a telling blow, painful or even incapacitating, but neither fell
true.

The real trick for Lad was to deflect or
evade the attacks without injuring either of Josie’s nephews.  This was getting
harder as the two young men progressed in their training.  When he started,
they had been fourteen-year-old ruffians, no strangers to street fights and
brawls, but without any true fighting skills.  Now, three years later, they
were dangerous.

Lad spun, ducking low under Tika’s kick
and blocking Ponce’s lashing foot with his forearm—he’d have a bruise there
later.  Ponce released the rope he’d used to swing down, slid under his
brother’s flying kick, and snapped up into a fighting stance.  Tika tucked into
a roll and came up ready.  Lad stood as if waiting on a street corner, relaxed
and casual as they quickly moved to flank him.

“Good morning, Tika.  Good morning,
Ponce.  Did you both sleep well?”

“Wonderfully,” Tika said with a grin.

“Like a baby,” Ponce added, mirroring his
brother’s mirth.

 “Good.”  Lad smiled at their cockiness. 
The two young men loved to banter almost as much as they loved to fight.  They
claimed the non-stop quips set their foes off, taunting them into foolish or
hasty action.  That might be, but it was not a tactic Lad had been taught. 
He’d been made to kill, not to talk about it.  Nevertheless, he indulged them. 
“I hope you had a good breakfast.”

“Wiggen’s oatcakes were delicious.” 
Ponce’s bare foot brushed the hay-strewn floor.

“Sublime in flavor, and so fluffy!  A
delightful meal.”  Tika’s feet were nearly silent, but Lad detected a minute
shifting in his stance.

“Good.  Breakfast is the most important
meal of—”

They struck simultaneously, one high, one
low.  Lad deflected and dodged the flurry of punches, kicks and foot sweeps,
holding his ground and concentrating on their form, their mistakes, and their
successes.  He flexed his abdominal muscles to stave off a blow to his midriff,
grasped Tika’s wrist and twisted.  The youth flipped into a roll to avoid
having his arm wrenched, just as he’d been taught.  Ponce lashed out at the
opening the move provided.  Lad released Tika’s wrist and twisted around the
kick, grasping Ponce’s ankle to flip him onto his back.  He tapped Ponce on the
chest, just hard enough to leave a bruise. 

“—the day.  You’re dead.”

“I’m dead,” Ponce agreed with a grimace.

“Well, I’m not!”  Tika came up from his
roll with the shaft of a pitchfork in his hand.  He’d obviously removed the
tined head earlier and set the shaft aside for easy access.  Now he squared
off, flourishing the staff in preparation.

“You’ve been practicing, Tika.  Good.” 
Lad squared off with him while Ponce propped himself up on one elbow to watch. 
“Remember what I said about weapons, and show me what you’ve learned.”

Tika came in with a spinning attack, the
hardwood shaft whistling through the air.  Lad bent back and let the strike
that would have broken his neck pass just beyond his chin.  But, as he’d hoped,
the staff attack had been a distraction, and Tika’s food lashed out to sweep
Lad’s ankle.  He let it strike true, but flipped with the impact of the blow
and kicked out, striking Tika’s hand on the staff with his other foot. 
Admirably, the youth did not lose his grip, and continued his spin to attack
again, high with the staff and low with his other foot.  Lad evaded both, and
the flourish ended with the two of them in ready fighting stances.

“Very good!  You need to—”

A scant instant before the blow landed,
Lad heard Ponce’s whoosh of breath.  He twisted, but the kick hit him hard in
the back, sending him right into the path of Tika’s staff.

Reflex took over.

Lad’s palm met the staff before it met
with his temple, and he brought his foot around to snap the shaft at its
midpoint.  The broken end spun out of Tika’s hand, and Lad caught it.  He
flipped both ends, caught them and thrust.

“Stop!”

Tika and Ponce froze, the two broken ends
of the staff poised a half-inch from their chests.

“Now you’re both dead.  And you broke the
rules, Ponce.”

“I’m a zombie,” he said with a grin and a
shrug.  “Sorry about the kick.  I thought you’d block it.”

“A good lesson for us both, then.”  Lad
stood and took a deep breath.  His back hurt where Ponce’s foot had struck,
though he didn’t think the rib had cracked.  “But please, both of you, pull
your strikes, even if you think I’m going to dodge or block.  Your training has
progressed to the point that your blows could seriously injure or even kill. 
This is practice, remember.  In a real fight, you strike as hard as you can,
but here...”

“I’m sorry.”  Ponce looked duly abashed.

“Don’t be.  Just remember.”  He gave
Ponce a grin.  “And remember that we only use our skills…when?”

“When someone we love is in danger,” they
recited, nodding respectfully.  “Only strike to defend.  Only kill to prevent a
death.”

“Good!  Now Tika, your staff technique is
excellent, and you remembered what I said about weapons.”

“That they often serve better as
distractions than weapons?  Yes.  And it worked!”

“Yes.”  Lad flipped the broken ends of
the staff and handed them to the twins.  “Now, let’s go through the fight one
step at a time, slowly, and I’ll tell you how it should have gone.”

A half-hour later, Lad heard Wiggen’s
step outside, and turned from watching the twins spar together.  She appeared
at the barn door, Lissa on her hip.

“Yes, Wiggen?”

“The milking and the egging still need to
be done, and the guests are starting to come down, so we’re busy in the
kitchen.  If my valiant warriors can find the time, we humble innkeepers could
use some help.”

The twins immediately backed away from
one another under the weight of her stern gaze.

“Yes, ma’am,” they said in perfect
unison.

Lad just grinned.  “We’re done for now. 
I’ve got to go soon.”  He clapped the two young men on their shoulders.  “I’ll
muck out the stalls for you.”

“Thanks, Lad!”

The twins dashed out, and Lad looked
fondly after them.

“You’re turning them into dangerous
weapons, you know.”

The statement caught Lad off guard.  Is
that what Wiggen thought he was doing?  Creating weapons for use against his enemies? 
Did she think he wanted to wield Tika and Ponce that way?

“No!  I’m not!”  The denial came out with
more vehemence than he intended, and Lissa looked at him with wide, surprised
eyes.

“Lad!”  Wiggen cuddled Lissa close.

“I’m sorry.”  He shook his head.  “I
thought you meant…something else.”  He took a deep, calming breath.  He went to
her and brushed an errant lock of hair away from her face.  “You know why I’m
training Tika and Ponce.  If anything happens to me, they will—”

“Nothing’s going to happen to you!”  Fear
edged Wiggen’s tone.  He knew she didn’t like this topic, but it was something
that had to be said.

“Wiggen, no matter how careful I am,
something
could
happen to me.  Anyone can get hit by a carriage.  But
even so, I can’t be here every day to protect you and the inn.  If something
should happen while I’m away, Tika and Ponce could be the difference between
life and death.  You
know
that.”

“I know.”  Her lips tightened, and her
hand strayed up to the scar on her cheek.  “I know you mean the best for us,
but it’s
you
I worry about—what you do, the people you associate with. 
It scares me, Lad.”

“A little fear is healthy, Wiggen.  You
just can’t let it paralyze you.  You have to be ready.”  He took her hand in
his and pressed it to his lips.  The morning sun through the barn door glinted
off her wedding ring, and he kissed that, too.  “That’s why we agreed that
training Tika and Ponce would be a good thing.  That’s why I taught you how to
use a dagger, and showed everyone what to do if there’s trouble.  You’re safer
now than you’ve ever been.”

“I know.”  Wiggen hitched Lissa up on her
hip and gave him a smile.  “I remember what you told us.  I know being prepared
is important, and I’m less afraid now than I was before you came.  It’s not the
fighting I hate, Lad, it’s the necessity for it.”

“That’s something I can’t change, Wiggen.” 
He brushed Lissa’s hair away from her ear, and the baby smiled and gurgled at
him.  “I would if I could.”

“I know.”  She sighed and smiled.  “I’m
fine, Lad.”

“Good.”  He bent down and kissed her. 
“Now, I’ve got some horse poop to shovel, so if you’ll go back to the kitchen,
I’ll get to work.”