Veliana looked to her guildleader, who was deep in thought. It was almost as if she could watch the idea growing in his mind, taking shape, every potential reaction sifting through a spider web of end results.
“You have the Ash Guild’s approval,” he said suddenly, as if snapping from a daze. “Will you deliver the letters tonight?”
“I will.”
“Then go do it. I only have one request: leave your father to me.”
Haern paused, and his eyes glanced away.
“Very well,” he said when he looked back. “You stand to make a fortune, Deathmask. That is why I trust you. But remember, the same deal applies to you as well.”
If her guildmaster was upset by the threat, he didn’t show it.
“Save your energy for those who will give you the most trouble.”
When the Watcher was gone, Veliana spun on Deathmask, shoving a finger into his face.
“I can understand him wanting to perform this madness, but you?”
Deathmask winked at her with his red eye.
“If he succeeds, he succeeds. If he fails, we lose nothing. Besides, Veliana, what else does this plan need but some theatrics? The Watcher’s plan is insane, and most likely he’ll get himself killed … but I won’t stop him. He already frightens the lower members of the thief guilds. If he lives he’ll become a terror to them, the only real chance of keeping this agreement in order long enough for us to benefit.”
“Why Thren?” asked Mier.
“Why us?” asked Nien.
“Because,” Deathmask said, turning to the twins with his smile nearly ear-to-ear, “if Thren accepts, or dies horribly, the rest of the guilds will fall like dominoes. You wouldn’t think I’d leave the most important part of the entire plan to someone else, would you?”
Not since the hunger riots preceding the Bloody Kensgold had Gerand Crold seen the people of the city so furious. As advisor to the king he had listened to the many complaints about guards, fires, and theft, and the overall demands for compensation. He’d sat in his uncomfortable chair, a ledger before him, and denied every single one. The line of petitioners seemed endless, and that was with the castle guards filtering out some of the more unkempt individuals.
Once the sun had finally set, Gerand spoke to the king, whispering lies in his ears about how the people still respected him. Finally free to retreat to his chambers, where a full bottle of wine awaited him as per his orders to his servants, Gerand let out a sigh as he passed through the stone hallway.
“Fucking thieves,” he muttered as he shut the door. The past five years had filled his head with gray hair, and his marriage had plummeted into occasional nights with his wife, but mostly him sleeping in the castle, her in their home. Removing the cork, he poured a glass and toasted the empty room.
“To you, Alyssa,” he said. “For destroying in two days everything I built in five years.”
“To Alyssa,” someone whispered, their breath upon his neck.
Gerand nearly choked on his wine. He spun, torn between diving for a weapon and falling to his knees to beg for his life. The last time a thief had sneaked into his room, it’d been Thren Felhorn and a female companion. They’d threatened his wife to make him fulfill certain desires of theirs. The first thought that ran through his mind as he saw a man cloaked in gray was that they’d have to kidnap someone better if they wanted him to obey this time.
“Thren?” he said, startled by the sight. It looked like Thren, only much younger. Gerand had a sudden fear that the man was immortal, immune to time, and determined to haunt him for all his life. As a wolfish grin spread across the intruder’s face, he choked down such irrational thoughts. This wasn’t Thren. The hair was the wrong color.
“No,” said the man. “Close, though. I am the Watcher. Perhaps you have heard of me?”
“I have, though I’ve wondered if you were actually real.” Gerand chuckled. “I guess this should count as proof?”
The Watcher snatched the glass from his hand and drank the remaining half. As he smacked his lips he tossed Gerand a scroll.
“Read it,” he commanded.
Gerand did, his eyes growing wider with each sentence.
“You want the credit for the idea to go to the king?” he asked when finished. “But why?”
“The more involved the better,” said the Watcher. He leaned against the wall, just beside the door. Even if Gerand managed to call the guards, and not die doing so, the man would still get the jump on them. “Besides, I need someone neutral in all this, someone both sides view as on their side. You’ve accepted bribes from both the thieves and the Trifect. Both will think you’ll be in their pocket once the smoke clears.”
“But Edwin will never agree. He’s terrified someone will poison his tea or put shards of metal into his bread. By the gods, he thinks every shadow in his bedroom is a man poised with razor wire.”
“He has something more real to fear, and we both know it. Veldaren is furious. You’ve failed to protect its people, and this time it’s gone too far. Fires have burned down a quarter of the city. Innocent men and women died at the hands of mercenaries, and they come here finding no justice, no empathy. They have no one to turn to, no one to trust. Do you remember the riots five years ago? They will make those look downright orderly.”
Gerand nodded. He’d seen the anger simmering in the many waiting in his line. They’d certainly not left in a better mood after talking to him, either. Getting King Vaelor to agree would involve marginal effort at best. Once Gerand played on his fears, then offered him the deal as a way to come out a hero, he’d agree in a heartbeat. Gerand glanced down at the parchment in his hand, still trying to determine the loophole, the underhanded secret hidden beneath the words.
“What do you gain from this?” he dared ask.
“We all want a legacy,” the Watcher said. “This will be mine. The arrangement will rely on you, once everything is in order. Can you enforce it?”
Those words, of a stranger demanding enforcement, sparked a memory, and coupled with seeing such a familiar face, Gerand couldn’t keep his tongue still, keep the question unasked. Years ago Gerand had tried to capture Thren’s son, Aaron, and had even used the king’s old advisor, Robert Haern, to aid him in the task. Time had dulled his memory, and no doubt the child had grown, but still…
“You have to be Thren’s kin,” he said. “His long-lost son, Aaron, perhaps?”
The Watcher pulled his hood lower over his face, and his mood seemed to sour.
“I would keep such thoughts to yourself, friend. They are dangerous.”
Gerand felt his blood chill.
“Of course, of course. I guess it is no matter. But can you pull this off? A bluff won’t work with either side.”
“I have lived on the streets, hunting them like dogs. Every single guild has initiated me into their order without knowing it. I know where they live, where they hide. Few can challenge my skill, and none my determination. I will kill them, all of them, if I must. Make the king listen to you.”
He stood and put a hand on the door.
“I’ve already delivered the rest of the messages. They’ll bring their answers to you. Come tomorrow I’ll check here first, to see who is safe and who must be dealt with.”
“I understand.”
As the door opened, Gerand couldn’t hold in a chuckle. The Watcher stopped, as if he suspected a trap.
“No, it’s not that,” he said as the man closed the door. “I just found it humorous, is all. A long time ago your father came to me, threatening my wife to help him escalate his conflict. Yet now you come here seeking to end it. This time the apple fell far from the tree, didn’t it?”
This seemed to put a smile on the Watcher’s face.
“Good night, advisor. Do your part, and trust me to do mine.”
He vanished out the door. Gerand plopped down onto his bed, and now that he was alone he felt his hands start to shake, his nerves finally getting the better of him. I
t seemed, despite the guards and walls, those with enough skill could still reach him. Perhaps the king’s jumping at shadows wasn’t so irrational after all…
“Where’s that damn wine?” he asked. Seeing the bottle, he held it by the neck and drank straight from it. Given what he was about to go through the following day and night, he’d need all the courage he could get.
CHAPTER 27
Delysia stumbled upon him getting ready as night fast approached.
“Where are you going?” she asked.
He’d shared Senke’s room, but the other rogue had gone out to spend a night relaxing in the taverns.
“I’ve got some business to take care of,” Haern said. Brug’s trunk of weapons lay open before him, and he slid several daggers into his belt, plus another into a pocket of his boot.
“My brother did some digging,” Delysia said, crossing her arms underneath her breasts. “And he says the mercenaries won’t be going out again tonight. So what is it you’re planning? For once the night might be peaceful.”
Haern felt a half-smile tug at the corner of his mouth.
“The nights are never peaceful here. Quiet, perhaps, but killing can be silent work when done right. Never mind that, though. Promise me you’ll stay inside. Things are about to get very dangerous.”
She put a hand on his arm. “For you as well?”
He shrugged. “Can’t help it. I have a chance to do something great, Delysia, something real.”
“Will you kill?”
He rolled his eyes. “This isn’t the same.”
“Then what is it?”
“Safety,” he said. “For all of us. My father wants a legacy, and I’ll deny him it. What he started I’ll end, or I’ll die trying.”
“You don’t have to do this alone,” she said. “Let us help. Let me help.”
“You lost enough because of me. I won’t risk the life you’ve rebuilt here.”
“Who said you had a choice?”
He winked at her.
“Where I’m going tonight, I don’t think a priest or priestess has ever been. Good night, Del.”
He took her hand, kissed it, and then left.
The trip to the castle wasn’t long, though scaling the outer wall, sneaking past the guards, climbing up to one of the higher windows, and then stealthily descending to Gerand’s room took more time than he would have preferred. Probably should have made the advisor meet him at the front gates, he thought. Would have saved him the hassle.
When he slipped inside, Gerand looked ready for him. He smiled at Haern’s entrance, but Haern saw the way his eyes darted about, and how the edges of his smile quivered. The man was nervous, but Haern didn’t think it was because he’d set a trap. No doubt he felt the eyes of every guild upon him, plus the anger of the Trifect.
“What were their responses?” Haern asked, having no time to waste.
“I’ve received an answer from everyone but the Ash Guild and Laurie Keenan. With him down in Angelport, there’s no way he might give an answer, and no keeper of his estate here would dare agree to something like this without confirmation.”
“Don’t worry about the Ash Guild. I have their answer. Laurie will fall in line when the other two Trifect leaders agree. Tell me, have any said yes?”
“The Wolf Guild will, but only if Thren agrees as well. If the Spider Guild doesn’t fall in line, though, they’ll deny ever saying so.”
“Is that it?”
Gerand licked his lips. “The Serpent Guild’s man said they’d rather kiss the asses of a thousand corpses than the Trifect’s. The Hawks fired an arrow over our wall, a cloth tied to the shaft with the word Never written in blood upon it. Leon Connington’s advisor sent a letter saying they were open to negotiations, but not under such conditions. Lady Gemcroft’s response was cryptic. I received a letter from her saying you’d have to kill her, while her advisor came by later insisting she might change her mind given time. As for the Spider Guild…”
He gestured to a package waiting beside his bed. Haern opened it to find a severed head, eyes and mouth sewn shut.
“Who is it?” he asked, frowning.
“Look closer.”
He did, saw the gray hair, thin nose, and most noticeably the fresh cut running from the head’s left eye to its ear. Haern glanced back at the advisor and saw a similar, albeit faded, scar on his face. He felt a pang of guilt, and he wondered who the poor guy had been.
“Intimidation,” Haern said. “Don’t fall for it. I won’t let them get to you.”
“How?” asked Gerand, exasperated. “There are five guilds, and three leaders of the Trifect. Three of the guilds, and two of the Trifect, have denied you. Can you kill them all? I might be better off having you killed instead, and letting them fight amongst themselves.”
Haern narrowed his eyes, and the advisor immediately retracted his comment.
“Forgive me, I’m stressed, and have had more to drink than I probably should. How will I know if you succeed?”
“They’ll come tell you,” Haern said, turning to leave. “Oh, and escort me out, will you? I don’t have time to mess around with your guards.”
“Sure,” said Gerand. “Why not? A king’s advisor and an assassin, side-by-side as friends. I’ve suffered through stranger.”
They walked through the halls toward the castle’s exit, and several times Gerand had to calm soldiers who saw Haern’s cloaks and sabers and immediately assumed the worst. At the giant doors Gerand grabbed his arm and pulled him close.
“Be careful whom you kill first,” he said. “If you fail, but still strike down the leaders of either side, you will unbalance everything. You must succeed in this, Watcher.”
“If I unbalance things, at least you’ll finally have a winner,” Haern said, grinning. “And I don’t plan on dying. I’ll visit you come the morning. I promise.”
He flew down the streets, his legs pumping. His eyes darted every which way, knowing that the guilds would be prepared for his arrival. For the longest time he’d only been a phantom to them, but now they’d heard his promise. This was their chance. Deathmask had asked him if he was insane. Perhaps he was. But at least Deathmask had also seemed to understand. If he was going to try, why not try for the impossible?
He decided the first ones to visit would be the Hawks. They were no friends of the Spider Guild, and their recent conflict with both them and the mercenaries had surely devastated their numbers. Their leader, Kadish Vel, was a sensible enough man, a bit of a gambler. If Haern could convince him to give the treaty a chance, especially as a way to diminish Thren’s danger, then he should be able to win over the guild’s cooperation without having to kill its leader.
The Hawk Guild’s headquarters had shifted several times, but even after Thren’s attack they’d refused to move from their current tavern. No doubt Kadish was tired of running. They’d emptied out during the mercenaries’ rampage, but with the night turning quiet he felt certain they’d return. With the strange threat of the Watcher hanging over them all, they’d want to be where they felt safe, where they recognized every face, knew every shadow, every entrance. If he was lucky they had thought his offer a bluff, or even an opportunistic lie of the king, an attempt to save face before his furious populace. Still, their eyes would be open even if they doubted. Nothing that night would be easy. If he had to open up with a stealthy kill, he would, conversation be damned. Dead bodies spoke clearer than anything else in the world of thieves. He’d given them their warning.
Two men stood at the entrance, obviously on the lookout. The one on the left looked bored, as if he’d drawn the short straw that night. The other was older and more aware. Haern drifted along on the left, hunched over, limping, and muttering to himself as if he’d had too much to drink. Neither Hawk gave him a second glance. Once out of their sight Haern walked closer, a hand leaning against the tavern as if he needed it for balance. Upon reaching the back he saw a door, most certainly locked and barred. He tested it just to m
ake sure. No lock, but it was barred. A veritable army of feral cats lurked about, and one hissed at his presence as it hunkered down over a scrap of fat.
“You’re right,” Haern whispered to the feline. “I should wait my turn, shouldn’t I?”
The alley was thin, dark, and full of places to hide. Ten minutes later he heard a thud from the other side of the door, and then it creaked open.
“Enjoy,” said a burly man, chucking a bucket of what seemed to be a mixture of vomit and woodchips. The mess splattered onto the stone, and in leaped the cats, there to hiss and growl while they searched for something edible. When the man’s back was turned, Haern stepped from his hiding spot, jumped into the opening, and flung his arms around his neck. A quick jerk and he fell, his scream muffled by Haern’s palm.
“Sleep well,” he whispered, slipping inside.
Haern stepped inside a storeroom, cramped and occupied almost entirely by the two shelves on either side. The man he’d knocked out wasn’t the barkeep, one of the few things that might allow him to remain hidden. Already he heard the raucous drinkers at the front, and they would not have tolerated any sort of absence from the one supplying their liquor. Judging from the man’s size and duty Haern had taken out a heavyhand, someone to deal with those who got out of line. Haern chuckled. Now that was someone who would not be missed by the crowd.
He ducked underneath the lowest shelf, peered out the inner door, and was rewarded with the sight of a pair of hairy legs as the barkeep scratched at a scab near his ankle. Rows of bottles stretched before him. He was behind the bar. From his time inside before, Haern knew there’d be a locked door to the right of the bar, blocking off a staircase that led into the lower quarters that the Hawks had enlarged and adopted as their own. Question was, how did he get inside?
As he pressed his back against the wall, an idea came to him. He waited a moment to see if the barkeep noticed the movement, then pressed his elbows against the wall. There was no plaster or paint, just a thin piece of wood. Bracing with his feet, he pressed inward, hoping the laughter and singing might drown out the noise. He pressed harder, every muscle in his legs taut, and then the board gave. Wincing at the noise, he pushed it all the way in until it snapped in half. He worked an arm through, then his head, and finally the rest of his body. When he fell out the other side, he was behind the locked door and inside the small staircase leading to a second door.
A Dance of Blades (Shadowdance 2) Page 29
