“Not one hundred percent, no. But I’ve dealt with enough bounty hunters over the years to have a fair idea how they think. If I’m wrong, we’ll have a message waiting for us at the inn with demands for your surrender in exchange for Brigid’s life. That’s the only place they can be sure to contact us. I’ll bet my gold to your copper that doesn’t happen. There’s one thing I am certain about.”
“Oh, yeah?”
“If you don’t get your head on straight, Brigid doesn’t have a chance.”
Silas was right about that. Try as he might, Yaz couldn’t focus like he needed to. He had to get his emotions under control.
“Keep watch for a few minutes,” Yaz said.
Yaz closed his eyes and entered his mental library. Much like his thoughts, the room was in chaos. Panic ran around with its arms flailing. Love sprawled on a sofa sobbing. Fear crouched in a corner and trembled. Smaller emotions wandered around in a daze, not sure what to do.
One by one, Yaz grabbed them by the scruff of the neck and dragged them to the closet. Love fought the hardest, but he finally slammed the door and imagined a bar holding it shut. Until Brigid was safe, he only needed one emotion.
He found it in the darkest part of his mind trying to smash down the door that sometimes was there and sometimes wasn’t. Wrath towered over Yaz, huge, black, and shapeless, an avatar of death. That’s what Yaz would become, death to anyone that tried to keep him from Brigid.
They were all going to die.
Something leaked out of the crack at the bottom of the door and joined with Wrath’s shifting form. Yaz had no time to worry about that. He looked up at the giant. “I need your help.”
“You won’t like it.” Wrath’s voice was as deep and cold as a frozen lake.
“I have to save her.” Yaz opened his arms wide. “Nothing else matters.”
Wrath embraced him and filled Yaz to the brim with cold certainty. A mass of black ice covered the door holding back his other emotions. With the cold came a plan.
Not a nice plan. Not the sort of plan Brigid would approve of. But a plan that might see her set free and both of them clear of the bounties on their heads.
Yaz opened his eyes and stared at Silas. “I’m ready.”
The wizard took a step back and ran into the wall. “Are you okay?”
“I’m considerably better than the Scriveners guild master is going to be when I see him. My mind is clear. I know what I need to do.”
“Great, but you sound… different.”
Yaz shrugged. How he sounded didn’t matter. “Can you use that same spell to confirm Brigid is in the guild house?”
“Sure, that’s easy enough. If she is, what then?”
“Then we convince the master to let her go.”
“I doubt it will be that easy.”
“Do not underestimate my powers of persuasion. Come on.”
Silas and Yaz stood in another dark alley two blocks from the Scriveners guild house. This one was cleaner than the one near the slave pens, though not by much. The guild house was in the merchant district which catered to a richer clientele.
Yaz hadn’t said a word the entire half-mile walk and it left Silas unnerved. The look in his young friend’s eyes when he came out of that meditative state earlier had sent a chill down Silas’s spine. It made his reaction when he killed the man that betrayed his village seem mild in comparison. There wasn’t a hint of pity in those eyes. For the guild master’s sake, Silas hoped he was a reasonable man. If he didn’t let Brigid go, Silas shuddered to think what Yaz might do.
“Is she in there?” Yaz asked.
“Give me a minute.”
Silas took a breath, let it out slowly, and murmured the words to his spell. When he closed his eyes, he could still see clearly. His gaze flew up and over the buildings separating them from the guild. A pair of guards stood by the front door, but of course his magical eyes were invisible to them.
He flew into a richly appointed waiting room and looked around. Two merchants in silk robes waited for someone, each clutching a sheaf of paper. There was nothing useful here.
Beyond the waiting room a set of stairs went to the second floor. It was doubtful they’d keep a prisoner up there, but a quick look couldn’t hurt. He flew up and down the hall but found nothing but offices. The last one he checked held a middle-aged man with salt-and-pepper hair dressed in the finest red silk robe Silas had ever seen. He had to be the guild master.
When he had the man’s face memorized, Silas flew on. Back downstairs he found another set of steps, this one leading to the basement. His hopes were much higher as he flew down. The first room he reached held shelf after shelf of ledgers. The second room had more supplies and a locked iron chest, most likely the guild treasury.
The last room was behind a locked door. Inside he found Brigid chained to a floor joist. Someone had put a nasty bruise on her right cheek, but otherwise she looked okay. Her presence confirmed, Silas ended the spell and found himself in the alley beside Yaz who hadn’t moved an inch.
“She’s there. Alive if a little worse for wear.”
“How much worse?” Yaz asked.
“Bumps and bruises, nothing serious. I got a look at the guild master. He’s about what you’d expect, rich and arrogant.”
Yaz nodded once.
“What now?”
“Now we find somewhere we can see the guild house and wait.”
And so they did. They sat in a little coffee house across the street from the guild. Hour after hour Yaz stared at the front door. He didn’t eat, didn’t drink, seldom blinked. His whole being was focused on that door. People came and went until a little before dark when the guild master himself emerged.
“That’s him,” Silas said.
Yaz stood and headed for the exit. Silas threw a handful of silver scales on the table and hastened to follow.
“We can’t just snatch him off the street,” Silas said.
“I’m not planning to snatch him off the street,” Yaz said without looking back. He was keeping a safe distance behind the guild master at least.
“What are we going to do then?”
“Find out where he lives. Hopefully he has a large, loving family that he thinks the world of.”
Silas stopped asking questions. The truth was he didn’t really want to know any more.
Yaz had forced himself to sleep only with the greatest of efforts and the knowledge that he needed to be at his best tomorrow. He and Silas had tracked the guild master to a stunning house in the wealthy district. Made of brick and standing three stories tall, the house probably cost more than the average man made in ten lifetimes. Its value didn’t interest Yaz. What did interest him was the blond girl of perhaps fifteen years who greeted the man upon his arrival and the older but still-attractive woman behind her. The moment he saw those two hug the guild master, Yaz knew his plan would work.
Somewhere inside there was a tiny part of him that knew what he planned to do tomorrow was a horrible thing. Maybe even evil. But the bulk of him, the part that fully embraced his wrath, didn’t care if he had to murder the entire city to get Brigid back. He loved her and she was all he had left. If this failed, Yaz didn’t know what he’d do. He feared something inside him might break. And if it did…
He shook his head and rolled out of bed. No way would he fail to free Brigid. Yaz refused to even consider the possibility. Light was pouring in through the room’s sole window. He looked over at her empty bed where Brigid had slept the night before and the rage blazed brighter.
First food then they’d head across town to the guild master’s house. Yaz doubted the man got going at first light, but hopefully he’d be gone by the time they arrived. He grabbed the pack of supplies he’d put together last night and went to wake Silas.
An hour later he and the wizard were once again positioned across from the house. They’d traded their disguises for normal clothes.
Foot traffic was light but steady, mainly servants judging
by their clothes. A few gave them looks, but no one could meet Yaz’s gaze for more than a second.
“What are you going to do?” Silas asked for the tenth time.
“Take hostages. It’ll be a simple trade. His family for Brigid.”
“What if he refuses?” Silas asked.
“Then they die and he dies and everyone between me and Brigid dies until she’s free or I’m dead.”
Silas’s gulp was audible, but he stopped asking questions which was all that interested Yaz. When the streets finally emptied for as far as he could see in either direction, Yaz dashed across the street and up the short flight of steps to the guild master’s porch. He rapped on the door with his staff.
Half a minute later the door opened a fraction and a stern man’s face appeared in the gap. “Can I—”
Yaz smashed him in the face with his staff and shoved the door open, sending the man sprawling into the foyer. He was dressed in a servant’s black uniform and his nose bled and bent off to one side.
“What do you think—”
Yaz kicked him in the side of the head and he fell silent, dead or unconscious, Yaz didn’t care. Silas slammed the door behind them.
“Jens?” a woman’s voice called from deeper in the house. “Who was it?”
The wife stepped into the foyer. She wore a simple red dressing gown and slippers. She looked from Yaz to Jens and back again. “Who are you?” she asked in a soft voice.
“Your husband has something precious to me,” Yaz said. “Now I have something precious to him. Where’s your daughter?”
Her mouth worked but no sound came out.
Yaz crossed the room and stopped so their noses almost touched. “I’m going to make this simple for you. Do what I say and you might live through this day, assuming your husband loves you. Make my life difficult and I promise you’ll regret the day you were born. Understand?”
She nodded, her face as white as a sheet.
“Excellent. Your daughter?”
“Upstairs with her tutor.”
“Servants?”
“Jens, two maids, and the cook.”
“Good.” That was fewer servants than Yaz feared. “You’re doing very well. I assume you have a formal dining room.”
“Of course, back the way I came.”
“Lead the way. Silas, if you’d watch the door so no one gets out, I’d appreciate it.”
“Sure, no sweat.” Silas sounded only a fraction less nervous than the wife.
Yaz followed her into a huge dining room with a long maple table with seats for twenty people and a crystal chandelier overhead. A large fireplace and mantle with crystal lamps on either end that matched the chandelier dominated the far wall. On the left-hand wall was a doorway beyond which came the sound of humming. That had to be the cook.
“Call her,” Yaz said, nodding toward the doorway.
“Clara’s a good girl,” the wife said. “Please don’t hurt her.”
“If she behaves, she’ll be fine. If not…” Yaz shrugged. The servants were irrelevant to him save for how they impacted his plans.
“Clara. Come here a moment,” the wife said.
“Yes, Mrs. Saint.”
The moment he heard footsteps, Yaz shifted to stand beside the doorway. The instant a stout woman in black and white appeared, he rested the butt of his staff on the back of her neck.
“Sit.” Yaz used pressure from the staff to guide her into an empty chair.
“What’s going on?” Clara asked.
“Shut up and sit still,” Yaz said. “Or I’ll smash your head in.”
Clara swallowed audibly but made no other sound.
“Where are the other servants?” Yaz asked.
“Cleaning somewhere,” Mrs. Saint said. “I don’t know exactly.”
“Call them, your daughter and the tutor as well.”
“Please.” Mrs. Saint gave him a pleading look. “Whatever your problem with my husband, surely it can be worked out some other way.”
Yaz pointed the tip of his staff at her. “It can’t. I only need you and your daughter alive. If I have to give you an order twice again, I’ll crack your cook’s skull open like an egg. Do we understand each other?”
Mrs. Saint nodded.
“Splendid. Now call them.”
“Nicole, Jaques, Sara, Nell! Could you all come to the dining room for a minute? There’s something we need to discuss.”
Two voices immediately said, “Coming, ma’am.”
A third female voice said, “We’re right in the middle of poetry. Can’t it wait?”
“No, dear, something important has come up. You need to come down right now.”
Yaz nodded. “Very good. Keep this up and you might live to have a nice dinner with your husband tonight.”
A pair of girls probably not more than sixteen dressed in uniforms identical to the cook’s arrived first, bobbed a curtsy to Mrs. Saint, and said, “What is it, ma’am?”
“Just have a seat, girls. Everything will be explained when Nicole and Jaques arrive.”
When they sat beside the cook, the girls noticed Yaz for the first time. Their eyes grew wide, but when he touched his finger to his lips they nodded. Such obedient servants. They must have been well trained.
A heavy tread announced the arrival of Nicole and her tutor from a different door. Those two spotted Yaz at once. The daughter was like a younger version of her mother, pretty in a red dress with gold earrings dangling and a matching necklace. The tutor dressed in a formal gray tunic and trousers. He carried a leather satchel over his shoulder but no weapon.
“Who is this person?” Nicole asked as she glared at Yaz like he was a turd left on the carpet.
“He knows your father,” Mrs. Saint said. “Sit down, both of you.”
“Beside your mother, please. That’s everyone?” Yaz asked.
Mrs. Saint nodded and took her seat at the head of the table with Nicole on her left. “So what happens now?”
“Now you stay still and quiet. I’ll do what I need to and be on my way. If everything goes well with your husband, you’ll be free in a few hours. Silas! We’re ready. Bring the butler with you, please.”
“On my way,” the wizard said.
Yaz shrugged off his pack and pulled out a handful of precut lengths of rope.
The moment he saw them Jaques leapt to his feet. “What are you about? I’m not going to sit here and be tied up.”
Silas chose that moment to come in, dragging the butler behind him.
Yaz gave the unconscious man a meaningful look. “There are other options.”
Jaques settled back into his chair, a little paler than a moment before. Yaz handed some of the rope to Silas.
“Everyone put your arms on the arms of the chair and stay still.” Yaz went to Mrs. Saint first and tied her to her chair.
Silas started with the cook and they worked their way around the table until everyone had been secured. That was phase one, now for phase two.
Yaz took the lamps from the mantle and unscrewed the tops, exposing the full reservoirs of oil. The first one he splashed all around the room, being sure to soak each of the prisoners. Next, he took a ball of twine from his pack. He unrolled and cut a length for the mother and daughter then set them to soaking in the second oil reservoir.
“Where might I find a pair of candles?” Yaz asked. “The tall, slender ones that last a few hours.”
When no one spoke, he shouted, “Where!”
“The kitchen,” Clara said, her voice trembling. “Top cupboard on the left as you face the stove.”
“Thank you.” Yaz found the candles where she said along with a flint and steel. There was one more thing he had to do before starting the countdown.
Yaz drew his dagger and advanced on Mrs. Saint. She struggled as he approached, but Yaz had tied the ropes tight.
“This will hurt less if you stop twitching.” Yaz put the edge of his spare dagger against her ring finger and neatly severed it. Igno
ring her scream, Yaz put the digit and ring on the table. “There, that should convince him of our sincerity. Then again maybe we should take the daughter’s ear along with an earring.”
As Yaz considered this option Silas said, “Just the earring along with the finger should be enough, don’t you think?”
“I suppose.” Yaz grabbed Nicole’s left earring and ripped it out of her ear before tossing it beside her mother’s finger. “Good.”
Now to set the countdown running. Yaz tied an oil-soaked string to the mother and daughter before carefully lighting a candle and setting it on the table. He tied the other ends of the strings to the candle three-quarters of the way down. Next, he tied a longer length of string to the candle and ran it to the door. If anyone opened it too wide, the string would yank the candle into Mrs. Saint’s oil-soaked lap.
Yaz snapped his fingers. “I almost forgot. If Jens should wake up early, we don’t want him stumbling around.”
Yaz quickly bound the butler where he lay on the floor. That done, he collected his evidence and he and Silas left, closing the door gently behind them. Closed but not locked. If some idiot just barged in they might well set the place ablaze early. But how could they lock the door without the key?
Yaz glared at the lock and something black appeared around it. It looked like the stuff soaking into Wrath from under the sealed door in his mind. Why did it appear now?
Because he wanted the door to lock!
Yaz concentrated on that thought and the tendrils oozed into the keyhole. A moment later a click indicated their success.
“How did you do that?” Silas asked.
“I have no idea. And we don’t have to figure it out now. The clock is ticking.”
Chapter 15
The walk from the Saint’s house to the Scriveners Guild headquarters couldn’t have been more than a tenth of a mile, yet it felt like the longest trip of Yaz’s life. The city streets were mostly a blur. In his mental library Wrath was screaming that they should have killed everyone at the house and only claimed they were still alive. Everyone that took Brigid from him needed to die. Keeping Wrath under control was straining his mind. And Yaz didn’t even want to think about that black energy that came out of him to lock the door.
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