Ganthorpe waited patiently at his glass-topped table, sipping a glass of wine despite the early hour. The sun shone brightly through the many windows, casting much light into the room. As of late he almost always dined in this room—a smallish one located at the rear of the main hall and out of earshot of the rest of the dining room—and asked for it specifically. It was why he chose the Steel Dragon to conduct his meetings.
A moment later, he saw the woman appear from around the corner. She was shown and then escorted to his table, her dark hair bobbing up and down with each step she took. As she neared, her green eyes fell over him, seeming to look him over until he locked his own blue orbs with hers. She was dressed in a finely made, but rather short, gown of the finest and thinnest fabrics Ganthorpe had ever seen. The dress was a deep green that accentuated her eyes and the fabric hung loosely on her shapely figure.
“Can we speak freely?” she whispered to him, after she sat comfortably in her chair, noticing that the tables on either side of them were occupied. She held herself with a confidence that few owned.
“They are with me,” he winked back at her, keeping his voice low. “So, if you can speak freely in front of me, then you can in front of them, too,” he added in a derisive sort of way. She gave him a sharp look, followed by another filled with annoyance at that last comment.
“My apologies,” Ganthorpe grumbled, curbing his sarcasm.
“This is obviously about our girl,” Marielle stated more than asked, shaking her long, dark hair and crossing her legs beneath the table. Ganthorpe could not help but admire the woman’s shapely limbs beneath the clear glass of the table top as the skirt parted very high on her thigh, revealing much to him. He was not sure if she was flirting with him. He rubbed his goatee nervously. Perhaps it was the wine, he thought, admiring her beauty nonetheless.
Ganthorpe waved a hand to the servant, who immediately placed a plate of fried duck eggs and bread, as well as a mix of fresh berries, in front of the woman. Her eyes never left Ganthorpe’s own as she placed a berry into her mouth and chewed it, smacking her wet lips. Marielle smiled at Ganthorpe’s wandering eyes and flushed face, obviously amused at the thought that she was in charge of the conversation at this time. She broke the stare and glanced at the men seated at the tables around them, noting that they kept an eye on her and Ganthorpe, sneaking furtive glances their way on occasion.
“Our conversation falls on many ears,” she whispered to him, sipping a small mug of water.
“They are all faithful servants and would die for me if necessary,” he reassured her, reiterating their fealty to him. “Do not concern yourself with them.” He returned to sipping his own goblet of wine and took a tear on a small piece of bread, waiting for the questions that he was sure would come. But none followed as Marielle daintily arranged herself and began to eat her eggs and bread with a sure hunger, looking up in between bites and waiting for him to continue his explanation.
“I need something from you,” he began anew after a moment of silence. She looked at him quizzically and swallowed the last of her bread, dabbing gently at the corners of her mouth with a napkin.
“What is this about, Ganthorpe? I thought this meeting had something to do with Rose?” she asked blatantly.
“It is… I mean, it does,” he corrected, still smiling and holding her gaze. “But first, I must take you to see something, once you are done your meal of course.” Marielle surveyed the room and observed that the men at the other tables were still eyeing them.
“Are you in some kind of trouble?” she asked him in a hushed and somewhat concerned tone.
He held back a laugh. “Not in the slightest,” he replied, attempting to stifle his amusement so as not to disrespect her. “As a matter of fact, things could not be better. I told you these men work for me. Come with me, I will enlighten you further. Shall we?”
He stood and bade her to follow him, gesturing with a hand toward the other men around them. They all stood and followed the two of them out of the Steel Dragon and into the streets of the Entertainment District. Most of them went their own separate ways, but two particular men shadowed them at a safe distance as Ganthorpe and Marielle proceeded into the main courtyard of Oakhaven. They continued along, passing through the Manufacturing District and finally into the Warehousing District along the docks that bordered the River Divide and the shores of the North Gulf.
“Where are you taking me?” she asked, clearly uncertain as to what this could possibly have to do with Rose.
“Bear with me,” Ganthorpe answered. “All will become clear and you are in no danger, I assure you, so please relax and enjoy the sights of this lovely daybreak.”
On they went, a quiet concern still etched on her face, until finally they stopped in front of a building on the main throughway in the Warehousing District. Several men were working there and Ganthorpe caught their eye. Then they entered the building. Crates, cartons, boxes and barrels littered the floor of the warehouse, forming a maze of a walkway.
On they went, Marielle following blindly behind him, not uttering a word. If she was frightened, one would never know it.
They walked past an empty room, moving down and through to another one where huddled workers nodded to Ganthorpe once more, a clear and wordless salute. He continued into an office, approaching a bookcase at the rear of the room. He looked at Marielle and winked. He reached above him and pulled forward a book that appeared to be anchored to the bookcase—a lever, she realized with a slightly startled look.
“Who is this man of mystery who enters my brothel almost nightly and that I seemingly know nothing about?” she asked as she heard the clear sound of gears moving from behind the bookcase. The wall seemed to rotate ever so slightly. “I knew Ganthorpe to be connected in the Commons, but I had no idea that he had this kind of influence here,” she said in mock surprise. “You must be quite high up on the food chain of Oakhaven’s underbelly,” she remarked, watching the wall come to a stop. It had shifted, moving outward on the left and inward on the right, as if rotating on a pin at the center. It was not unlike a door—albeit a rather large one— pivoting and opening just enough for a person to fit through, one at a time.
“Come,” he instructed, choosing not to make mention on her commentary. She nodded and they advanced down a set of steps into a basement that was lit intermittently with lanterns and a few torches mounted on brackets upon the walls. “Where is the natural light stemming from? And is that the taste and smell of salt in the air too?”
“Aye. We are quite near the docks along the North Gulf.”
Inside the vast space were many people milling about, talking quietly to each other. “As a matter of fact, we are directly under the warehouse in a clandestine office that I like to show only to the most trust-worthy of clientele.”
“These men and women come from all walks of life—street thugs, beggars, footpads and,” he gestured toward a few dressed in the highest quality of clothing anyone had ever seen, “officials from Oakhaven that are under my employ.”
Ganthorpe allowed her to take it all in for a moment, dusting off his clothing, and then he marched down a hall and into another office. It was extremely well furnished and lit by some kind of magical light source on the supremely well-crafted desk and chair.
“To what end is all of this? And why am I here?”
“Sit, please” he offered, as he took a seat behind his desk, gesturing for her to take a seat in one of the pair of cushioned chairs facing directly across from him.
“What exactly is this all about, Ganthorpe?” she asked again, truly puzzled and a bit out of sorts. “And…who are you, really?”
“First things first. I have organized, and now command, a guild of thieves here in Oakhaven,” he began to explain. “Most of it is not coincidental, but rather it is planned.”
“So, you control all of the pickpockets, cutpurses and killers in the city?” she asked incredulously, standing and pacing about the room. “You?
Ganthorpe Randolph?”
“Not all of them… yet. And not the killers, no. I abhor violence, but excuse it if necessity dictates, and cannot stay my own hand if and when that necessity rears its ugly head,” he added. “I am entitled to a percentage of anything taken or pilfered in this city, you understand?”
“How can you despise that which you instigate?” she asked judgmentally.
“Instigate?” he asked, almost sounding insulted by her perception of all he had accomplished. This was not a thing he had taken lightly and he needed her to understand it. “Thievery is a skill, my dear. It requires many talents and skills which most people do not possess. And yes, it may occasionally require the capacity to silence a tongue if necessary, but as I have said already, it is truly a last resort,” he added in a slightly intimidating tone. “And that is few and far between. My people are trained not to be seen. They are the shadows in the streets that creep along the walls and are as quiet as the night breeze. As I have said and will continue to say, I do not employ murderers. These folks are merely thieves and rogues, possessed of fine talents.”
“Some enjoy bleeding the silly merchants,” called a chilling and high pitched voice from the shadows. Marielle flinched at that and it seemed to Ganthorpe as if her heart had skipped a beat. It was a woman’s voice that penetrated the darkness and caused Marielle to hug herself as goose pimples covered her bare arms. Out of the shadows stepped a fit woman in tight black leather with blue eyes that were as cold as ice and raven black hair the same color of her leather garments that fell past her shoulders. “Only the ones that deserve it, though,” she added through a forced smile as she moved to stand behind Ganthorpe. Marielle looked as uncomfortable as he’d ever seen her as she locked eyes with the woman.
“You are not helping, Saphirra,” Ganthorpe admonished openly to the woman. Silence followed for a bit again before he spoke. “Marielle, I have a purpose for Rose.”
“And?” Marielle asked, waiting to hear his proposal. She sat and crossed her legs once more, feigning an air of indifference before this obviously callous woman that Ganthorpe almost believed, had not noticed her initial reaction. It was a very convincing front, nonetheless. Still, he had to respect her efforts and truly did so.
“I am willing to purchase Rose from you,” he stated. “She has certain…qualities…that I find useful.”
Saphirra snickered at that comment.
“What do you mean? Purchase her?” Marielle asked, truly not comprehending to what he was alluding.
“She has been stealing from the merchants in the Trade District for months now. She is quite good, but my agents have detected her on more than one occasion and warned her to stop. She does not,” he went on, shifting in his chair. “I have two choices now. She either joins me in my endeavor….”
“Or?” Marielle asked concernedly, already knowing the end of that statement.
“She becomes food for the sharks,” Saphirra answered plainly, placing a poisonous stare upon Marielle, meant to threaten her.
Marielle’s face went through a series of twists and turns that Ganthorpe reasoned was her deciphering what was best for Rose under the circumstances. She obviously cared a great deal for the young woman and was currently under duress about the whole subject.
“You see, I own the underworld of Oakhaven,” Ganthorpe explained, pulling the half-elven woman from her reverie. “And soon enough, when I become the Assistant Mayor, I will own the entire town. If I were you, I’d keep that in mind when I decided who I wanted watching my back. I know you have your own muscle in this town, but with me backing you, it would be greater still and would put you in a much stronger position.”
“I see.” She stood and paced the floor fretfully. It was a thinly veiled threat he’d made, they both knew, but it brought up a good point. She could always use help in the right places.
“You will take care of her,” Marielle told him. It was not a question.
“Of course,” Ganthorpe promised, that haughty and confident smile that she had become used to was planted firmly on his face.
“Very well,” she said. “Can someone escort me back to my establishment?”
“Of course,” Ganthorpe stated again, standing and indicating for her to follow him. Marielle did so. He watched intently as he felt the cold, hard eyes of Saphirra staring after Marielle as she walked out of the room and into the hall beyond. That was something of concern that he may have to address sooner than later with this bloodthirsty rogue. But not now…soon enough, he considered as his thoughts turned to Rose and he was truly excited to begin her training.
Rose did not take the news well at first, realizing that she would not see Marielle all that often in the weeks and months to come. She hugged the woman and walked out of the brothel the next day to a mix of sobs and hushed whispers, as Ganthorpe noted the cruel, hushed smiles upon the faces of Sabrina and Felicity, the two girls she’d spoken of on more than one occasion.
She did, however, spend some time understanding, studying and applying the very special talent she’d somehow discovered of traversing the shadow realm, which was how they referred to it. She and Ganthorpe practiced it a few more times shortly after Rose became a member of the Thieves’ Guild. At first it was something that she did not understand wholly, until Ganthorpe and she reasoned it out one fateful night. They spent several weeks further exploring what her abilities were, practicing how the young woman could travel through the realm of shadow at will. It was yet another surprise Ganthorpe had stumbled upon that shone good fortune upon him and his recent decisions.
Over the next few months, Ganthorpe instructed Rose alongside his best thieves, adding to the already potent repertoire she’d built on her own, to become an incredible asset. She had a unique mixture of shrewd intellect, instinctual survival skills and raw talent, along with her newly-discovered shadow walking ability.
Ganthorpe showed her the routes to and from the Warehousing District, both above and below the city, and made her memorize them. She paid special attention to the series of subterranean conduits, formerly a series of mine shafts and caverns that were known only to a very select few. Even most of the city officials did not know of their existence, and those who did were either dead or necessary pawns in Ganthorpe’s game of politics.
The Master of Thieves spent time with Rose daily, teaching her the ways of the rogue and this seemed to add to the already accordant chemistry they’d shared before. The two of them were together most of the time, and it was quite evident to anyone witnessing their interactions, that they were more than friends. Anyone that witnessed the two of them together for more than a few moments was aware of this—including Saphirra.
Seeing Rose and Ganthorpe together bothered her more than a little as she and Ganthorpe had spent the past few years as lovers off and on. And now, with Rose in the picture, Ganthorpe openly shunned her advances, giving in to her wiles only on his terms, when the two of them were alone. With that hard realization staring back at her in the mirror that night ,and before carrying out her task as laid out for her by Ganthorpe, she felt it was time to make a few ‘changes’ to her given plan.
“Spending a lot of time with that one,” Saphirra observed one morning, when Ganthorpe arrived at his office and took a seat at his desk in one of the many homes he owned in Oakhaven. He waved a hand dismissively and scowled at her.
She smiled, this being exactly the response she’d anticipated and she felt it further bolstered her decision. She’d completed his mission, surveying the merchant named Bronn, a new player in the game of less-than-lawful deeds and he was also a possible threat to Ganthorpe’s carefully fashioned organization. He was also trying to conduct a bit of illicit business behind Ganthorpe’s back, even after being warned that this was, at the very least, frowned upon. Saphirra had pushed the instructions given her a little further though, and deliberately attempted to up the ante in an
attempt to overthrow the current leadership—and spitefully so.
“What does that mean, exactly?” he asked, removing his eyes from hers and staring blankly at a day-old report he’d received from his agents and spies on the streets about the city’s goings-on.
“I think you know exactly what I mean,” she answered, smiling at him and looking like the cat that swallowed the canary.
“Stop with the games…what news?” he asked, looking up at her again with an irritated expression.
“It went off without a hitch,” she said, producing a pair of exotic looking daggers with vicious curves to them and runes etched into the pommels. The daggers were clearly affected by some kind of magic and mirrored the length of a short sword. “And he had these,” she added, waving the weapons about before sheathing them.
“What? How did you—”
“Let’s just say that he won’t be needing them anymore,” Saphirra said, nodding to a figure that hid in the shadows, as silent as a shadow himself. The figure moved so noiselessly toward Ganthorpe that he had no idea that he was ambushed until it was too late. Only then did Ganthorpe realize that he had overlooked a few details upon entering—namely that the guards normally posted at his door were missing and that most of the lanterns that lit his office were dimmed. He of course, thought nothing much of it. He scolded himself for not paying more attention to the details presented as his face twisted in anger.
“Any idea what you want me to do with this?” Saphirra teased as she tossed a sack onto the desk. It was barely open, but thick with dried crimson, and Ganthorpe could see the top of a head peeking out the top until he realized it was Bronn’s.
“You have crossed a line, my dear,” he said as calmly as he could, while his unknown assailant held a sharp blade against his throat. “You were told to collect information—not body parts!—from the target.” He tried hard to maintain an air of authority and Saphirra laughed at that poor performance.
“You are the one that has crossed the line!” she shrieked in an uncharacteristic manner. Then calm washed over her contorted features as she took a deep breath.
Ganthorpe discerned that she was obviously flustered.
“I don’t think you will be giving me orders anymore,” she observed, matter-of-factly, to the apparently helpless man.
Ganthorpe wondered what exactly she was going to do with him. He had a way out, he recalled, risky though it was. Months prior, he had had the exterior of his chair and desk fitted with a row of tiny, poisoned darts for just such an occasion. Each of his offices was outfitted this way, for Ganthorpe did not like to take any chances. The darts, five of them in each section as he recalled, were very small and loaded on top of tightly wound springs. They were hidden beneath the leathers of the chair along the arms and top back as well as the front and back edges of his desk for just such an occasion. In this particular case, they would shoot up and into the body of anyone leaning over his chair, such as his unseen assailant was doing currently.
Ganthorpe assumed it was a man behind him based on numerous facts: the callous fingers, the strength of the hold and the sheer size of the hand on his head. The man would be dead or badly wounded if he pressed the mechanism under his seat twice in succession or tapped the lever on the top of the chair’s base—either trigger would do it. Ganthorpe had settled on two pushes as the activation method to avoid any accidental firings. Of course that would launch all of them on the chair, but it had not been quite perfected yet. He clicked it once in preparation and waited. He was curious to see what Saphirra had to say. He would certainly have to silence her now as their relationship had irrevocably changed with her betrayal. He was extremely disappointed with the woman, given their professional and personal history.
He was fighting the mix of emotions when he saw her…
Rose!
He depressed the button a second time, thus launching the darts into the portions of the man’s arm and chest that leaned upon the chair. He quickly held the man’s now-numb arm from accidentally slicing his jugular and waited longer. The assailant’s hold on his neck loosened as expected as he succumbed to the poison on the tips of the barbs as they penetrated his flesh. It happened so fast that the victim didn’t even notice the pinch in his arm until it was far too late. Ganthorpe remained seated as he heard the body slump to the floor behind him while watching a figure—that of a young woman—approach from the shadows.
Saphirra must have sensed an attacker approaching, or perhaps she had seen Ganthorpe’s eyes unintentionally betraying Rose’s presence. She instinctively rolled to the side, away from Ganthorpe’s desk and toward a more open area of the room. She tumbled forward quickly and came to her feet just as Rose attempted to land a thrust that would have wounded but not killed her.
“Clever bitch!” Saphirra cried, turning to see the red-headed young woman emerge from the shadows of the room.
“It is a shame that one so young has to die,” she intoned calmly, removing those long, vicious daggers from the makeshift sheaths on her belt. She brandished them threateningly at Rose, not even noticing that Ganthorpe’s attacker was down, nor that Ganthorpe himself merely sat in his chair of his own free will, staring at the two women about to engage in a death duel. He felt a slight twinge of anxiety as his emotions got the better of him but wanted to see what the two of them were made of, and so he did not move to act.
Rose held a pair of daggers as well, one in each hand. She too was skilled in the martial arts of close combat. Although she’d only been exposed to a few months of instruction under the Shadowhands trainers, she had a very instinctual and predatory way about her when she fought. Ganthorpe had recognized that immediately during their first training session, and had predicted that such ability would certainly be useful—especially now when she faced the incredibly dangerous Saphirra.
Saphirra was mystified as to where Rose had appeared from. She was sure she had checked the room thoroughly before springing the ambush on Ganthorpe. But no matter, she thought. The girl must have been hiding behind a secret door of which she was unaware. That thought, though, angered the woman even more as she now believed that Ganthorpe shared secrets with Rose that he had never revealed to her.
With that overwhelming jealousy guiding her actions, Saphirra lunged for Rose, a wicked dagger in each hand waving to and fro. She slashed back and forth, left to right, and then in reverse, attempting to throw the young woman off balance with her veteran maneuver.
Rose backed away instinctively, managing to parry that second series of slashing moves by guiding her opponent’s strike wide with her left hand. Rose continued her counterattack, punching Saphirra’s right forearm with her right fist, the pommel of the dagger in her hand reinforcing the strength of the blow. This sent a wave of pain along Saphirra’s forearm as she noticeably winced. It angered her.
Saphirra shook off the discomfort and continued her rotation of the jagged and exceptionally long blades, slashing and slicing, gaining speed as she continued her attacks. This was not lost on Rose, who fearfully backed away again and was quickly on the defensive. Saphirra only then realized that a potent magic must be aiding the dagger attacks since the sheer speed of her assault was inhumanly quick. It sent her shoulders to aching with the relentless fury of thrusts and swipes.
Saphirra, in quick succession, landed first a right slash that cut Rose under her left breast, then a left slash that sliced in further and slightly deeper along Rose’s ribs, where blood surfaced immediately through her leathers.
Saphirra paused a second to meet Ganthorpe’s gaze. She also took note that he remained seated at his desk and that her accomplice lay unconscious or worse on the floor behind his desk.
“Men,” she spat, with a twinge of spiteful hatred in her voice. “They are all useless, it seems.”
She managed a mocking smile at Ganthorpe. She was not sure why he was still sitting there, but could
not give it any further thought as she meant to press her assault. She charged forward once more, attacking the adolescent girl faster and faster, again and again. Rose fell back under the swiftness and ferocity of the assault but managed to parry and dodge several of the blows. But the speed at which the attacks came was more than she could handle and she received many superficial lacerations on her arms and upper torso. Try as she might, she was unable to completely evade the older and more experienced woman’s ever-hastening strikes.
“Are you frightened of me, girl?” Saphirra asked as she paused her assault.
“No!” barked Rose in response, pure anger welling up inside her.
“You should be,” warned Saphirra in an even and threatening tone as she advanced yet again on Rose, daggers held out before her.
“Use the shadows!” called Ganthorpe, interrupting the steady dance of death that Saphirra was presenting as a show to him, toying with the girl he favored. As the onslaught paused for a few heartbeats, Rose shot him a look that inferred that she’d already attempted that. He returned a confused, and then concerned look, as he understood that she must have tried it already. Saphirra had Rose on her heels and was toying with her as a cat did with the mouse.
Ganthorpe gave her one last command before deciding to join the fight.
“Concentrate,” he said sternly to Rose.
Rose had been fighting on instinct, she realized suddenly during the brief respite as Saphirra once more gazed wickedly toward Ganthorpe, seeming to mock him. It was time to shift the tide of battle in her favor, she decided. So this time, when Saphirra came at her again, Rose simply rolled back, submerging herself in the shadows of the room’s peripheries. Once inside the shadow realm, she ran to where Saphirra stood and then stepped out of the shadows directly behind her. She lunged, but to her surprise, Saphirra managed to avoid most of the brunt of her thrust, which wounded her superficially along the left side of her back. However, on top of grazing her, Rose did also manage a solid kick to the inside of her left knee, bending it to the side, and obviously straining the tender ligaments and tendons within, as the older woman howled in agony.
Rose disappeared into the shadows once more. She repeated the action, emerging from the realm of shadows and melting back, over and over again, scoring many shallow and superficial wounds to Saphirra’s flesh. She knew she could not slow Saphirra’s attacks, which were clearly augmented in power and swiftness by the magical daggers, but she could impede her by striking at her base. And so she focused on assaulting her opponent’s legs.
Sensing the weakness in her that the young rogue had exposed, Saphirra immediately responded to reclaim her advantage. She hastily unsheathed another dagger, one that was weighted specifically for throwing, and flung it at Ganthorpe. The man instinctively recoiled backward and fell over the unconscious form of his prone and former assailant. Suddenly, Saphirra rushed toward him and hovered over him, dagger held expertly to the side of his neck, ready to rip straight through the soft flesh.
“You can stop your tricks now, little Rose,” instructed the woman, jerking her head to the side to shake free her tangled hair from in front of her eyes. In so doing she revealed a deadly set of blue eyes that regarded the room with great care, darting back and forth.
“If you are behind me, know that you will not kill me before I can drive this blade’s edge all the way through your lover’s neck! I will bleed him like a pig if need be,” she threatened to the empty air, letting the warning dangle as she worked Ganthorpe back to his feet. She stood behind him, waiting for a response.
“You certainly are a thorn in my side, young lady,” she finally remarked as Rose presented herself, emerging from a shadow in front of the pair.
“Here I am,” Rose acknowledged, arms held out wide in a display of submission.
“You can put the blade down now, Saphirra,” Ganthorpe boldly expressed to her in a commanding tone, attempting to assert himself despite his considerably inferior position. “You cannot kill me.”
This seemed to shock Saphirra momentarily.
She suddenly bore an expression of disbelief, her expression indicating to Rose that Ganthorpe was not taking the scenario seriously and that he might regard her as less than a threat.
Ganthorpe was pushing her patience. Saphirra could not hide her contempt and almost plunged the blade through his neck in anger, but held it still. Oh, how little he truly knew about her plans and designs. She had set into motion a devious campaign during the past year, gathering names and arranging meetings with the most elite killers in all of Wothlondia. While under the employ of Ganthorpe and the Thieves’ Guild, Saphirra began to realize a certain and undeniable fact.
She enjoyed killing.
And all she wanted to do was add to the stakes of their game and reap the rewards that came with them. She wanted to leave Ganthorpe’s organization and develop one of her own. An organization of Assassins—not thieves—and, moreover, one where her word was the absolute law.
In this moment of silent reflection, as Saphirra allowed her mind to wander, Ganthorpe reacted. In one swift motion, he simultaneously grabbed both her elbow and her wrist with either hand, thus securing the arm that held the dagger to his throat and preventing it from penetrating his skin. He shoved the arm up and ducked underneath it, all in the same motion. The Master of Thieves moved so fast that neither Rose nor Saphirra registered what was happening as it unfolded before them. Ganthorpe, for whatever reason, was a great deal faster than he’d ever shown before.
Saphirra filed that fact away for later consideration. Ganthorpe was full of surprises, she admitted, only beginning to scratch the surface of this man’s secrets.
Rose suddenly emerged from within the shadows again, appearing beside Ganthorpe. Saphirra only had a heartbeat with which to react. She removed the second dagger from its scabbard and drove it toward Ganthorpe’s exposed back. But, before she could connect with his flesh, a blade emerged from the darkness, biting into her own forearm, and causing her to drop her enchanted blade, all the while biting back a yelp against the biting pain of that vicious thrust.
Saphirra swung her now free left arm, which Ganthorpe had released upon seeing her drop the first dagger, and attempted a wild punch at Rose, trying to make her pay for her interference here. Rose ducked beneath the poorly and angrily swung assault and drove her hand up and into her jaw, causing Saphirra to see stars as she fell backwards. She felt the sharp pain of something striking her head as the blackness continued to flood her vision and thoughts, until they claimed her completely.
When she awoke, several hours later, her hands and legs were bound behind her, and a piece of cloth had been stuffed into her mouth. A damp sensation chilling her to the bone, Saphirra squirmed and her eyes widened in surprise. Directly in front of her stood Ganthorpe, hands on his hips, staring straight into her eyes which registered first shock, then anger and finally dread, realizing her helplessness.
“I assume that I can remove your gag without fear of you shouting or otherwise making a scene?” Ganthorpe asked in a demanding way. She nodded, never removing her gaze from his icy stare as her fear turned to open confusion. Ganthorpe must have read this plainly as he offered an explanation.
“I am willing to let you live, despite your distinctly dissimilar intentions for me,” he announced.
Saphirra was beginning to recognize their surroundings. They were below the docks, along the shores of the North Gulf where many victims were sent out to sea—many victims that she herself had claimed!—never to be seen or heard from again. She panicked suddenly and her heart hammered in her chest as she recognized the form of her associate, whose name she could not even recall, and who was also bound and gagged, lying on a raft. That tiny vessel would certainly not last very long in the rough waves once the current pulled it out of the North Gulf and into the High Sea and beyond. It was a very frightening and unnerving
scene that filled her thoughts. The High Sea was full of pirates, sharks, troglodytes and worse.
“I would very much like to understand why exactly you betrayed me, and what is in it for you?” Ganthorpe asked her, mercifully pulling her thoughts from her morbid reverie.
“I have my own agenda that includes not so much working against you, but perhaps…with you,” she informed him, in an attempt to entice the man’s attention and tug at the strings of his curiosity.
“And what exactly is this proposition?”
“I am proposing to organize my own guild. A Guild of Assassins,” she explained simply. “One that will work in harmony with you and your own organization.” She continued, outlining her plan. “I have set things in motion, including ties and promises to some very significant people. I will give you generous discounts and anything else you may want or need!”
At that moment, Rose came into view from behind a support beam that held up the pier along the ocean’s edge, near the raft that was ready to be shoved out to sea. The man who lay upon it now was wide-eyed with fear, his arms and legs tied uncomfortably behind his back as he looked from one to the other to the other again.
“Are you seriously considering this?” Rose said, openly questioning Ganthorpe, a truly puzzled look upon her face.
“Ah, you brought the thorn along,” Saphirra said, dripping with sarcasm and nodding toward Rose.
“Are you giving me your word that no harm will befall me, or my organization, and that you will never again interfere in my affairs?” Ganthorpe asked Saphirra, ignoring all of their comments for the moment.
“Aye,” Saphirra promised, looking from Ganthorpe to Rose and back to Ganthorpe and finally upon her associate again. “My word.”
“Very well,” Ganthorpe remarked as he withdrew a dagger and moved to stand above Saphirra. She shuddered for a heartbeat and even closed her eyes tight, not knowing if he would kill her or not. He cut the bonds on her wrists and then ankles. As he bent over her, she kissed him on the lips and then quickly scanned the expression of Rose to gauge her reaction and smiling a wicked grin.
“That was uncalled for,” Ganthorpe disapproved, backing away from the newly dubbed assassin. He looked to Rose, who clearly objected to the whole thing—that expression was unhittable. Then the Master of Thieves headed toward the man on the raft, one of his newer recruits who’d evidently been lured into servitude by Saphirra with money and perhaps even more, if he knew her well enough.
“Allow me,” offered Saphirra, with a shameless smirk planted on her face. “I will take care of this one—free of charge,” she added, winking at Ganthorpe.
“Very well,” Ganthorpe agreed. He began to walk away from her, out toward the southernmost section beneath the pier that would lead them back to the pier above.
“Where are my daggers?” Saphirra called to Ganthorpe.
“I honestly don’t know,” Ganthorpe lied, smiling at Rose, who looked down at her belt beneath her jacket, where the twin magical daggers were hidden from Saphirra’s sight.
“No matter,” shrugged Saphirra, turning to face her failure of an accomplice as she shoved him out into the water.
The two thieves never looked back, but they were sure they heard the sound of muffled screams a moment later as they eventually faded away completely.
“How are things going, thorny one?” called a voice from behind her as she sat at a desk in her room, pulling a brush through her thick, auburn hair.
She turned to regard Ganthorpe, once more visiting her room in the middle of the night. She was not surprised.
“Thorny?” she echoed cynically.
“You don’t see it?” he asked with a chuckle.
“Of course, I understand the reference,” she said, in a caustic tone. “I may be young, but I am not without a bit of wisdom. And this is an obvious joke, is it not?”
“Or is it thorn-e?” he added, rubbing his goatee thoughtfully. “Yes, that is what I shall put on your papers of guardianship.”
“You are adopting me?” she asked with a quality of hesitation.
“No, not I—I refer to your phony legal papers that I have had forged to show that a set of fabricated guardians have adopted you,” he responded. “I will be adding a last name to them.”
“Won’t Augustus be looking into this?” she asked as a sneer crossed her face at the mere mention of his name.
“He will not be bothering you—or anyone else for that matter—ever again,” Ganthorpe declared with conviction, scratching his goatee and smirking. “Suffice to say that I have already made use of Saphirra’s generous offer. And I did it for you.” She smiled and held the grin on her face for a long time as she pulled the brush through her hair over and over. Finally, she looked up at him as he patiently stood and watched her intently.
“So, yes, the papers?” Rose asked, reverting to the initial topic.
“They will add layers to your already heavy set of credentials that Marielle will supply the orphanage—and its new head.”
Ganthorpe grinned as he stood and removed a red rose from beneath his jacket. He had clearly arranged for one of his own men to occupy the role of director at the orphanage, or at the very least, had that person on his payroll, Rose thought as she studied the man’s bright blue eyes and eye-catching smile. He was certainly charming and incredibly handsome, she admitted to herself.
“A thorny rose for my Rose Thorne,” he said in a straight-laced manner, handing the flower to the young woman. “It is suitable, don’t you think?”
“Of course,” she replied graciously, accepting the rose and staring at it closely. After a moment, she turned around and smiled, hiding her face from him. Then, she lay on the bed and stared up at him, locking stares with his huge blue eyes that at the moment were full of elation.
“It is a good lesson to remember for both of us, eh?”
“And what is that?”
“That something can be both full of beauty and yet hold a hidden, deadly side at the same time.”
“Story of my life,” Ganthorpe sighed under his breath, as he climbed into bed after her.
Wothlondia Rising: The Anthology Page 2
