The Lich Without a Soul Vessel

Tina didn't understand. Evan wasn't interested in explaining yet. He went to the saddles on their racks and examined them carefully until he found what he was looking for: several thin needles, the color of old bruises, worked into the leather where a hand would naturally grip.

The picture assembled itself. The stable hand had finished feeding the horses, reached for a saddle as part of his routine, felt a brief sting he barely registered, and walked several steps before the poison reached his blood. He'd been incidental. He wasn't the target.

Tina saw the needles and understood. The color left her face.

Evan had kept his reaction off his face, but he was genuinely angry, which was unusual for him. He was a lich and not particularly vulnerable to contact poisons, but Tina wasn't. If they had ridden out that morning as planned, it would have been her.

He set the saddle back carefully.

"We're going back to the room," he said.

Tina followed without questions, watching him with an expression she'd never directed at him before.

At the door to his room he stopped. Something on the air. He held it for a moment, then looked at the plants arranged on the landing — new flowers since yesterday, a variety he recognized from the Liya Demon Forest. The fragrance was pleasant and the plant itself was harmless, but when its stems were broken, the sap mixed into the air and produced a subtle slowing of reflexes. Not poison. Just a fraction less sharp than you would otherwise be. It was called spirit-ease grass.

The stems on the landing were intact. The ones inside would be broken.

"Stay here," he told Tina. "Don't come in regardless of what you hear."

She drew her saber and stood ready without comment.

He closed his mouth and held his breath, and touched the door with the end of the sword-cane.

The door swung open. A snake came out with it — magical breed, the kind that led with a venom-mist before it struck. It raised its head and Evan's cane found its vulnerable point before the spray came. The snake went limp.

He stepped into the room. The sword came clear of the cane and a blade of light appeared, and simultaneously a throwing knife crossed the air from somewhere ahead of him, blue-edged. He deflected it and held his ground rather than pursuing, reading the room, and then drove backward with a thrust.

"How did you see me?" The voice came from behind him, disbelieving.

When he turned, a man in dark clothing was already folding — the blade had found its mark. A dagger had dropped from the man's hand.

"Why wouldn't I?" Evan stepped back rather than forward and watched. He could see the man's jaw working and knew what was coming. "Don't bother. The needle won't reach me."

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The man looked at him with the particular exhaustion of someone who has run out of options. The blood was already spreading beneath him. He managed one more breath and then stopped.

Evan looked around the room. The plant was behind the door, stems broken, just as he'd expected. He left the room and closed the door.

"We're going to the Silver Hand's office."

Tina fell in beside him. "What just happened?"

"Two-stage trap. The saddle needles were stage one. When those were discovered, stage two was the room." He explained it as they went down the stairs. At the desk he told the clerk there was a body upstairs that needed handling and left without waiting for the man's color to return.

The clerk found the innkeeper. The innkeeper's color did not return quickly. Two deaths in one day, the second a professional assassin killed in his own establishment — this was not good for business, or health, or anything. He sent for the constable.

The constable came, looked at the body, and told his men to bring Evan and Tina in for questioning. His men explained that they were not enthusiastic about arresting someone who had just killed a Silver Hand operative in a locked room. The constable thought about it and went to the governor instead.

Governor Thompson listened to the full account and asked one question: "You want to borrow my knights to arrest him?"

"If possible, my lord."

"No." Thompson thought for a moment. "Actually, I'd like to meet this Evan Wang. Leave it alone for now. These organizations — the Silver Hand, the Harpist Guild, Blood Rose Teresa — they've been running their businesses in my city long enough. Let them sort themselves out. It might be educational." He smiled without warmth. "Keep watching."

The constable understood the governor's position, which was that a situation where underground organizations were killing each other was preferable to a situation where he had to deal with them directly. He withdrew his people and sent one man to observe.

Evan and Tina walked to the Silver Hand's office. The sign outside said Chiron Trading Company.

"You've been training for a few days," Evan said, before they went in. "Today you're going to see blood. Are you ready?"

Tina's face was pale, but her chin came up. "Yes."

"A fighter who hasn't drawn blood isn't a fighter yet. I won't force you — but if you can't do this, put the saber away. You won't need it." He said it without cruelty. In this world, with these particular complications following them, sentiment was going to get her killed more reliably than anything else.

"I'm ready," she said, and meant it in the way people mean things when they're not entirely sure but have decided.

Evan kicked the door open.

The inside of the office was quiet. One man was half-asleep at the counter. The crash of the door brought him upright, and before he'd finished orienting himself, three men with greatswords had poured out of the inner room.

"Who are you? You don't walk into the Silver Hand."

"You tried to kill me twice," Evan said pleasantly. "Did you think I'd wait for a third?"

His blade was already out. He moved — one of the three raised his sword and Evan's wrist turned in the last instant, redirecting from the throat to the sword hand. The blade found its mark through the grip before the block could form. The man cried out and dropped his weapon.

Evan left him and stepped aside. "Tina. He's yours."

She startled — and then her body answered the training before her mind finished deciding. The stroke came down. The man raised his arm instinctively and the blade took the limb at the forearm, blood spraying, and he screamed. The sword came back on momentum and instinct, tracking inward, and she stepped into it the way she'd been shown, the point going into his abdomen. Her wrist turned. She stepped back. The blade came free.

The man's second sound ended before it finished.

Tina stood with blood on her hands and looked at what she'd done. Her breathing was controlled. Her face was still pale, but she wasn't shaking.