Weapon of Fear Read Online Free Page A

spattered gore underfoot.
    The
healer stepped aside, bowing low.  “Milord Prince.”
     “What
are you doing here, Master Corvecosi?” Arbuckle couldn’t take his eyes from his
father’s body, the bony hand clutching the dagger that had been thrust up
beneath his chin into his brain.  He tried to feel pity or sorrow, but all he
could think was that the old man’s cold eyes would never again stare
disdainfully, his lips wouldn’t twist into a sneer, his harsh voice wouldn’t
chide and berate, the hands would never again torture...  He realized with a
start that Corvecosi was speaking.
    “…summoned
to examine the scene and lend my expertise, perhaps to determine exactly what
occurred here.”
    “What
have you determined so far?”
    “I
can unequivocally say that your father did not, as it may appear, take his own
life.  His hand gripping the dagger was very nearly crushed.  Something very
strong grasped His Majesty’s hand and thrust the blade that ended his life.”
    “I
see.”
    “I
have just begun examining the scene, Milord Prince, but I have already noted a
few peculiarities.”
    “More
peculiar than five dead blademasters?”  Arbuckle stared at the carnage again. 
“How many assassins does it take to kill five blademasters?”
    Ithross
mistook the rhetorical question for an inquiry.  “Milord Prince, we’ve been
told that there were two assassins.”
    “Two?” 
Arbuckle couldn’t imagine anyone capable of such a feat.  “How in the Nine
Hells could two assassins overcome five blademasters?”
    “We
don’t know, milord.  The only person who saw the fight has…vanished.”
    Arbuckle
stared at Ithross.  “ Vanished ?  What do you mean?  Who saw this happen?”
    “Master
Hoseph was apparently here when the attack started.  He escaped to summon help,
though he bore injuries of his own.  I was about to question him further, with
Archmage Duveau’s aid, when he…”— Ithross looked uncomfortable—“vanished.”
    “Vanished. 
You mean he actually, magically vanished?  I thought the palace was
warded to prevent that.”
    “According
to Archmage Duveau, the dungeons are not included in the wards.”
    “Why
not?”
    “We
don’t know, Milord Prince.”
    Arbuckle
shook his head in stunned silence.  Mysterious assassins, dead blademasters,
vanishing priests…what next ?  “What else is peculiar, Master Corvecosi?”
    The
dark man gestured to the blood pooled beneath the hanging cage.  “I at first
assumed that this blood was from the emperor, being so close to his body.  Upon
closer examination, however, it appears that someone was recently restrained in
this device.”  He touched one of the gruesome screws. “This blood is fresh, yet
there is no corpse here bearing wounds so inflicted.”
    “A
rescue?”  Arbuckle’s mind whirled.  “What prisoner would precipitate such a
rescue?”
    The
healer shrugged.  “That is an interesting theory.”  He strode to one of the
corpses, apparently unfazed by all the blood.  “And here, this man, unlike all
the others, has barely a mark on him.”  Kneeling, he pressed a plump hand to
the blademaster’s brow and muttered under his breath.  “Yes, as I suspected, he
was killed with a lethal toxin.”
    “Toxin?” 
Arbuckle knew from his reading that poisoned weapons were commonly used in some
cultures.  “You’re sure?”
    “I’m
quite sure, milord.”  He rose and nodded his head absently.  “Quite sure.”
    Arbuckle
had no reason to doubt him.  He had always liked Corvecosi, one of the few
imperial attendants not stifled by formality or unduly cowed by the late
emperor’s imperious attitude.  As a boy, the prince had appreciated the man’s
quiet bedside manner, his cool hand on a fevered forehead, gentle words, and
the sense of peace that followed his visits.  Evidently, there was more to the
healer’s art than mere knowledge of illness.
    “Continue
your examinations, Master Corvecosi.  I want to