His words hung in the air. When she spoke, her tone didn’t seem quite so hard.
“I spread word of Aaron Felhorn’s death after that night. I did it to hurt your father, but I’d be lying if I denied doing it for you as well. Aaron was dead, and it seemed true enough. What was the name you spoke to me that night? Something plain…”
“Haern.”
“That’s right. Is that who you are now? Haern the Watcher? I find it hard to believe you’re that same boy who spared my life. Do you know how many friends of mine you’ve killed? How many associates? You’re still Thren’s son, aren’t you? Perhaps you should adopt your old name, Aaron.”
“I am not!” he shouted.
In the corner, the dark-haired man laughed.
“Such ferocity. Well, there’s no doubt you’re skilled, and Vel here was lucky enough to get the jump on you after you were injured. Seems to corroborate everything we’ve heard about you, other than the demon blood. I’d sense that if it were the case. Still, your father cavorting with a succubus is an amusing thought.”
Haern shifted in his bonds.
“What is it you want from me?” he asked.
“Before I tell you that, I want you to understand just how powerless you currently are. I could kill you right here, that’s obvious enough. But I could also tell your father you’re still alive. How beautiful a game that would be, watching him tear the city apart house by house until he found where you hid. My curiosity is almost high enough to see what exactly he’d do. Would he greet you with open arms, or a dagger? Perhaps both?”
Haern glared. The man saw this and laughed again.
“Still, I’m in this for the coin and power, not the curiosity. I have a proposition for you, Aaron. Sorry, Watcher. Or would you prefer Haern? So many names, I find myself at a loss.”
“Haern is fine.”
“Very well then, Haern, my name is Deathmask, and I have a request of you. This is something I cannot do on my own, nor with just Veliana’s help. But you…you have no loyalties, no weaknesses, no aspirations other than killing. So my request is simple, really: help me end this war between the guilds and the Trifect.”
This time it was Haern’s turn to laugh.
“I’ve slaughtered hundreds of you thieves, and even with my help, the Trifect has sat on its hands and failed to do what needed to be done. Last night was a start, but it won’t work, we both know it. It’ll just anger them further. The retaliation will be terrible, if it hasn’t happened already. What could I possibly do?”
“Your name carries weight, believe it or not,” Deathmask continued. “Though really I should say your reputation does. Every thief fears the night when the mark he goes to rob turns out to be you. Even the guildleaders are frightened of you, except for perhaps Thren. A rampage of dragons wouldn’t make him soil his pants. But you have to understand something. All of these thieves, these underworld rogues, they’ve been trained since birth to survive. That’s all they know. They’ll claw and grab everything they can on their way up, but deep down, they just want to live, and live well. If you threaten that, you can turn them to your side.”
“No guildmaster would step down at my threat,” Haern said. “You’re a fool. They’d rather die than forfeit their wealth.”
“And that’s the other thing you must understand,” Deathmask said, grinning. “They have no honor, no code. They want wealth, and they want to live, but they won’t live without wealth, not when they’ve at last obtained it. So you must threaten their lives while at the same time offering them a chance to keep everything they’ve gathered. It can work. I know it.”
Haern leaned back in his chair, still not convinced.
“What is your plan?” he asked.
“Do you know how much the Trifect pays to employ those mercenaries? How much money they lose year in and year out from Thren burning their goods, from Kadish slaughtering their help, from Garrick looting their wares? They’re going bankrupt fighting this war, but they can’t stop, they can’t make peace, for Thren won’t let them. No one wants this to continue. Before the guild wars, everyone made a tidy profit and hardly anyone died. We had a system. But Thren took offense, and the Trifect overstepped their bounds. A fair mistake by both, but now everyone’s too stubborn to stop. Tell me, Haern, do you understand how protection money works?”
“I’m the son of Thren Felhorn,” he said, as if that should explain everything.
“Good. My plan is very simple; we take half of what the Trifect is paying for mercenaries, as well as losing annually from our destructive ways, and then accept it as protection money.”
“Protection for what?”
“The Trifect, their lands, and their possessions. We split the money evenly among the guilds. This way everyone gains, and the Trifect not only stops having us burn down their shit, but we even protect it!”
“It’d never work, you have to know that. Even if they agreed, it’d fall apart in months, if not sooner. Someone will get greedy. Someone will turn on another. I expected something cleverer.”
“As if your five years of trying to singlehandedly conquer the thief guilds has worked out so much better,” Deathmask said. “But you’re right; it would fall apart…unless we had an enforcer.”
Haern remained quiet for a long time.
“Untie me,” he said at last.
“Will you try to kill me?” Deathmask asked.
“Such little trust for someone who wants me to work for him.”
The man shrugged. “Fair enough. Cut him loose, Vel.”
She did so, reluctantly. Haern stood and stretched his muscles, grimacing as his back popped. His arm also ached like mad, the muscles there definitely torn. He glanced about the dim cellar, then turned his attention to Deathmask.
“Tell me everything,” he said.
“We’ll let every member of the Trifect, and every thief guildmaster, know the terms. Let them also know, in no uncertain language, that if they refuse they’ll die. After that, we’ll broker a few meetings, get everyone in one room, and make them agree to these conditions. Anyone who tries to make a fuss, we send you after them. How does that sound?”
“Insane,” Haern said. He looked for his swords, saw neither. “Were you not out last night? The blood clogs the gutters. They’ll never agree, not to anything. You’re delusional, Deathmask.”
“If you don’t accept,” Veliana said, stepping in front of the stairs leading upward to daylight, “then we’ll have no choice. You’ll have no one to blame but yourself.”
“For what?”
“We’ll tell your father of your new name, and of who you really are. How long do you think your little crusade against us will last once he knows? Right now he sees you as a nuisance, a ghost to keep his men on their toes and to cull the weak from his guild. But for Aaron Felhorn to turn against his own flesh and blood…”
Haern stood before her, staring eye to eye. Even wounded and exhausted, he would not back down.
“Do it, then,” he said. “But ask yourself who will find who first…my father finding me, or me finding you? Move aside. Now.”
She tilted her head so she could see Deathmask, who must have made some sort of approving gesture.
“Very well. It was good to see you, Aaron.”
He stepped out into the street, winced at the daylight, and then hurried away. With nowhere else to go, he headed for Senke and the mercenaries, hoping he might reach there without any other strange women attacking him.
*
“Do you think he’ll change his mind?” Veliana asked once he was gone. Deathmask shrugged.
“Depends on what you mean. Over what I just offered? No. But I never expected him to.”
Veliana raised an eyebrow. “Care to fill me in?”
“Of course. Haern will never put his heart behind a plan I created. It needs to be his own, one he feels will be his legacy. We need his pride involved, otherwise he’ll be ineffective and dangerous. I’ve planted the idea, though. H
e knows many of us desire peace, and that he can be a key part of it all.”
She sat down on the pile of cushions that had been her bed since Deathmask took her away from the Ash Guild. “Are you serious about the protection money?”
“Of course,” Deathmask said. “Why wouldn’t I be? And why else would I turn the Spider Guild against the Ash?”
Everything clicked into place, and Veliana’s mouth dropped.
“You hope to destroy the Ash Guild, tear it down to nothing but yourself.”
“Not quite,” Deathmask said. “You’ll be there, as well as two or three others who have the skill to endure the bloodshed to come. When the Trifect distributes whatever wealth is decided upon, we’ll get a fair share. But while some will spread that gold through a hundred or so men, well, we Ash will have just a small handful…”
“Then this was your plan all along? But you couldn’t possibly have expected the Watcher to aid you.”
Deathmask chuckled. “No. I thought that I’d be the one who must threaten and kill the various guildleaders. But why risk my own life when Haern might do it for me, and potentially better?”
Veliana rubbed her temples, trying to think. Everything she and James Beren had created, it’d been dwindling since Thren killed James, but they’d still held onto shards of it. Might it all vanish? All those recruits, those friends she’d made over the years…dead or gone? Could she let him do this, destroy the legacy of the Ash Guild forever?
“You’ll ruin everything I’ve worked for,” she said quietly.
“I’ll give the Ash Guild a legacy all of Dezrel will one day learn. I don’t expect it to be easy. We’ll have to kill a lot, yes. But if we succeed, think of all that wealth, that respect. We fill every other guild with the fear of retaliation. We’ll never need to guard, only attack. Those who turn against us will meet death, every single one. Once that reputation takes hold, we’ll be gods in this city.”
“You’re a lunatic.”
He smiled. “Perhaps. But oh what fun it’ll be in the attempt. Are you getting scared on me, Vel? Aspire to greatness, and damn all others. Garrick took your guild. Help me take it back, and mold it into something never seen before in the history of Dezrel.”
She still wasn’t sure, but she’d not let Deathmask know.
“What of the Spider Guild?” she asked. “Weren’t you to meet with Thren?”
Deathmask’s eyes twinkled, and his grin pulled wider. Despite it, she thought she sensed fear hiding behind the guise.
“Come with me,” he said. “Hopefully we haven’t missed the show. I discovered something when in Garrick’s audience, and I’ve rethought what Thren’s reaction to our masquerade will be.”
They removed their cloaks and dressed in drab colors that showed no affiliation. Veliana kept a hood low over her face to hide her scar. Given the cold wind of the morning, no one would think the hood odd. Deathmask led the way, taking a winding path back to the Ash guildhouse. Before they were even halfway there, Veliana could already see the smoke rising.
“What happened?” she asked.
“Careful,” he said, hugging the wall and peering around every turn. “We might have a few more enemies now. Do you remember when the Hawks tried to ambush you, the attempt I broke up? Garrick didn’t do anything, did he?”
“No,” she said. “But what does that—?”
“The Spider Guild attacked the Hawks barely a day later. Why do you think that, Veliana? Why do you think Garrick suddenly grew testicles and dared challenge your hidden control?”
The realization hit her like a battering ram.
“No. That cow-sucking shit-eating motherfucker. I’ll kill him. It’ll hopefully take days, but I’ll kill him.”
“Assuming he’s still alive,” Deathmask said as he led them into an apartment. They climbed the stairs, stopped at a door on the higher floor, and knocked. When no one answered, Veliana kicked it in. The room was disheveled, what little was left. By all accounts, the occupants appeared to have either fled or died. From the small window they could see the guildhouse. Deathmask looked first, then backed away so Veliana might see. The guildhouse was in flames. It had already collapsed on its supports, black smoke billowing. Surrounding it was a circle of thieves wearing the cloaks and colors of the Spider.
While she watched, a man crawled from the wreckage, and even from their distance he looked badly burned. One of the Spiders shot him with an arrow before he could rise to his feet.
“Unbelievable,” Deathmask said as he took a second look. “An army of mercenaries descends upon us, and without hesitation he massacres a fellow guild, all for a single act of betrayal.”
“Thren is not one to hesitate.”
Deathmask muttered and flopped down onto the poorly stuffed bed.
“We need to establish control of the guild, and now, Veliana. I’d hoped for a bit of backstabbing between the two, a thinning of members, but this…Thren’s viciousness is astounding. We must take over before the guild disbands completely, and the rest of the city moves in on our territory. At least the mercenaries will keep them from doing so for a while. As for Thren…if there’s to be any chance of peace, he’ll need to be dealt with, one way or another. Tell me, where will the remainder of the guild flee now this place has burned?”
“The old house,” she said. “Below the Split Pig Inn. We expanded their cellars and paid handsomely to do so. They should still be empty, and the owner was a crusty old dog that won’t be intimidated by sellswords.”
“Then that’s where we’ll go,” he said, retying his mask over his face. “Let them see you alive, let them hear my demands of obedience. As of now, the Ash Guild is under my control.”
“And if Garrick still lives?”
Deathmask flashed her a smile, all pretense of fear gone.
“Then you get your revenge, assuming you’re strong enough to take it.”
She patted her daggers. “I’ll be fine. Follow me, and keep your eyes open. The last thing I want to do is die before my steel tastes Garrick’s blood.”
19
Ghost woke when the sun shone bright on his face. He stirred, rubbed his eyes, and then forced them open. Midday, he guessed. His stomach rumbled, and his head pounded from the night before. He felt he could sleep another four hours or so, but his body would have to endure. Still, he wasn’t in too much of a hurry. He had a name, after all, a place to search and question. Not much harm in grabbing a bite to eat.
Once he left his room at the shabby inn, he swung by the main market in the center of town, buying a thick slice of bread smothered with butter and honey. While he ate, he sat by a fountain in the center and listened to the idle talk as men and women passed by. The overwhelming sensation was not fear, as he’d expected. It was anger. More surprising was how it wasn’t directed at the guilds, or even the Trifect. They directed it at the king.
Stupid dogs, he thought as he ate. You’ve lived under this chaos for so long it’s become normal to you. The Trifect and the guilds will war, and you see this as acceptable, but only if the king protects you. Last night destroyed your apathy. Last night saw your blood joining the others. So you rage, but only to your protector. Damn king. Should have put this nonsense to rest years ago.
Still fairly new to Veldaren, Ghost knew only a little of the king, but what he’d gleaned wasn’t flattering. As he listened to men swear against their liege’s honor, and women insinuate he’d been born without his manhood, it seemed obvious that his cowardly indifference could no longer last. But whose side would it fall upon, the guilds’ or the Trifect’s? Logic seemed to place him as a puppet of the Trifect, but Ghost was unsure. Which one would he fear more? If the man were a true coward, he’d fear the enemy he couldn’t keep out with gates and walls, the enemy that’d fill his drink with poison and lay a dagger under his pillow while he slept.
Meal finished, he drank from the fountain and then headed to the mercenaries’ headquarters. Not surprisingly, it was crowded with both the r
ich and the poor. They were pleading their cases, demanding compensation for damages done in the chaotic night. The old keeper, Bill Trett, shouted the same phrase over and over, as if come the fiftieth time it might sink in.
“Take all complaints to Alyssa Gemcroft’s estate. She has promised to accept full responsibility. I’m sorry if your house burned down, or someone died, but please, take all complaints to Alyssa Gemcroft’s estate. She has promised…”
Ghost slammed a massive fist against the door, the sound thunderous in the small room. The crowd, about twenty in all, jumped and turned.
“Enough!” he roared. “Get your asses out of here, and go to Gemcroft’s with your problems.”
He kept his muscular arm pressed against the door, holding it open. The stance also revealed the weapons at his hips. He glared, letting them see he had no desire to argue. A few filed out, while the rest looked about, as if trying to decide just how serious he was. Only a few carried weapons, and he doubted they were proficient with them.
“I’m letting go of the door,” he said, his voice lowering in volume but not in depth. “When it shuts, I kill everyone in here not a member of the mercenary guild. That clear?”
He let go. A wiry man in silks lunged for it, sticking his hand in the way. The rest followed him, until only a thankful Bill remained.
“What the Abyss happened last night?” the older man asked. “I expected several of them to jump the counter and attack me.”
“Frightened sheep,” Ghost said. “Let Gemcroft handle them. No reason for you to put up with their bleating.”
“I doubt you’ve come here to be my savior,” Bill said, sitting down and smoothing his hair. He pulled out a bottle from a drawer and took a deep swig. “So what is it you need?”
“A small group of mercenaries, led by one named Tarlak. Do you know them?”
Bill raised an eyebrow. “I do, but only because they’ve caused me a bit of trouble. Tarlak Eschaton, leader of the Eschaton Mercenaries. Refused to join our guild or pay dues. The last representative I sent to forcefully request they join came back as a toad.”
A Dance of Blades, (Shadowdance Trilogy, Book 2) Page 21
