Death's Reckoning

by Will Molinar

  “Get me some food and some wine, the good kind. I’ll be in the dining hall.”

  She scampered off to the back to relay his order.

  That’s right, bitch, move your little ass.

  Another section garnered his attention. It was a roped off collection of tables in the back room, and he found Marko and some of his toughs lounging around, enjoying a night off from the arena. Others still worked the crowd there, but where Jerrod went, Marko and his best went. Jerrod had ordered it that way.

  The shorter, stocky man glanced up and watched Jerrod walk over. “Sir.”

  Jerrod asked him and the others if there was anything of interest going on in town, but there wasn’t much to tell. Not much Jerrod didn’t already know about.

  “Same grumblings about the guild and city council as before, sir,” Marko said. The brawny man rolled his neck until it popped. “I think they are having some war over who will run the guild. They’re all still waiting for a regent to come and take Lord Falston’s place. But I have a feeling that won’t happen until all this trouble is over.”

  Jerrod looked at him askance. “How the hell does a fuck like you know all this?” He asked him.

  “Well, sir, I know someone in the Royal Guard. A man I grew up with in Logansport is a sergeant. We talk some times. I give him inside information for the arena, what fighters are looking strong, how they match and so on. And he gives me information.”

  Jerrod grunted. Made sense. He hadn’t noticed that Marko was much more intelligent than he led on. Jerrod would have to keep an eye on the man. A person like that had ambitions of their own. It wouldn’t have been smart to keep his guard down. Paranoia was a welcomed bedfellow in their business.

  “The city council is moving on though, sir,” Marko said. “They are clearing away a lot of people. I’ve heard Lord Oliver Damour is gonna be put in place as the Lord Regent, with Cassius and the others running him from behind. They don’t care what the king says. They wanna run this city the way they wanna run it.”

  “No shit,” Jerrod said and heaved a sigh, rubbing his eyes. In the betting tents his position was covered, even more so in the arena, but out on the street the council might come for him as they were going after Muldor.

  Letting Castellan take the fall for the Janisberg attack was the first step. Using Muldor and Jerrod for scapegoats was the next. They’d ostracized him from the tents, but he’d busted back in. He was the highest ranking member of the loose affiliation of assassins in Murder Haven, but that didn’t mean they didn’t hunt their own from time to time. Whoever paid made the rules. He thought of Delios, and the idea of the man coming after him because of some order by Cassius was not a pleasant one. When your life was paid for, everyone was on equal footing.

  “They want to hang some of the dock masters,” Marko said. “I can’t figure which ones because it changes every day.” He laughed. “The whole thing’s a mess, sir.”

  “Damn fine thing to be mixed up with,” Jerrod said and felt drunk.

  Marko looked at him with real concern in his eyes, and Jerrod almost laughed at the absurdity of it all. “We’re fine here, sir, all set up. No one can touch us here.”

  “For now,” Jerrod said and regretted saying it. It was a sign of weakness to show fear, and he didn’t want Marko or anyone else to know what was in his mind. He rubbed his face and felt the harsh stubble. Reassurance flooded through him.

  Maybe he was being too paranoid. Maybe they were fine. But, it was time to take action. Sitting around wondering meant you were about to die. That was how it worked in this city. It wasn’t going to happen to Jerrod. He did things to people they didn’t like; not the other way around.

  “Get some men,” he said to Marko. “Lots of ‘em. It’s time to make some moves, bubba.”

  Marko all but jumped out of his seat. “Yes sir!”

  Jerrod left to go get some men of his own. The assassin’s guild as secretive and informal as it was still allowed for a secure form of communication. It was the only way it could’ve worked. He went to the eastside of town, towards the exit point of the city’s limits that led to his cabin.

  It was a dreary patch of land. A dry trail headed into a small cleft of woods where his cabin lay. All the land around Sea Haven was of a much higher elevation than the city itself, and the run-off from the rains drained not only into the sea, but into the town’s environs as if it were the dumping ground for the whole continent. Everything spilled into Murder Haven at some point, trading goods, political strife, ancient evils, war, pestilence. All manner of elements mixed together and fermented until it made a bastion of whatever one wished to find.

  Jerrod found a rock, a rather large one about the size of a man’s torso. It stuck in the mud off the side of the trail. It looked heavy, but the weight was deceiving as it was in fact a large goethite, hollowed out with crystal innards forming the center.

  He pried it up with his sword and plopped it over and on its opposite side. To a casual observer, it was not much to notice except perhaps curiosity as to the disturbed ground and wetness on the top of the rock where it had touched the ground. But to Jerrod or any of his ilk, it meant it was time to meet up. He stabbed the ground, making groves in an intricate pattern then kicked some dirt over it.

  The response time was random, but a call was never unanswered. In the cuts Jerrod had asked for a specific person, and a specific time and place. Later the next day he waited in that spot, standing in a darkened alleyway near the shipping yards. Dusk settled in around him, and a blessed relative silence reigned. Unusual these days because of the blaster fools rebuilding the city’s armada. The noise must be infuriating during the day for anyone that lived nearby.

  The majority of the work was completed, but men still dragged supplies across the ground and put them on board the almost completed ships. These dock slugs would do anything for a copper or two. Fools. They broke their backs for nothing. It was always better to scam and steal. It was so much more money for your time, regardless of the personal risks, than to slave away on some physical labor job. It was better to have some guts and take risks.

  The master assassin waited an hour in that alleyway, shooing away a few vagrants that approached him for a handout. Anyone stupid enough got a fist to the mouth, and Jerrod had a few more cuts on his scarred knuckles. A minute after he pushed away the latest idiot, an associate came trotting up to him in the alley.

  It wasn’t the assassin requested, and that made him wary. The thin, black garbed man hesitated, looking back and forth across the opening. He spotted Jerrod and made a quick message in their sign language that they should go to another location.

  Jerrod hesitated to move, signing back why, and the man repeated his urgings, more insistent. Not a man to take unnecessary risks, Jerrod signed back for the man to follow him, and that was that.

  The other assassin capitulated. Soon, the two of them were a few blocks away and face to face in another alley. The other man was named Thulsa, a skinny little fellow no one would look twice at in a crowd.

  Jerrod stared at him. “So what is the problem? And where is Delios? I asked for him to come here.”

  “Delios is busy.” Thulsa looked around fast as if he expected someone to jump out of the alleyway and attack them from the shadows. “There’s been some talk about some impending war between factions. He’s dealing with his end.”

  Jerrod curled his lip. “What are you on about? Assassins have no factions. We don’t even have an official guild, you git.”

  “Not us. The thieves. They are reforming in this city, and there is a northern guild that is seeking revenge for a man named Turner. He was the head of Sea Haven’s thieves’ guild if you remember. They know about his murder, and they don’t like that the thieves in this city are working with merchants.

  “They want to kill whoever murdered Turner as a sign of good faith, and Delios is meeting with them. He’ll have that contract when they figure out who did it.”

  Jerrod’s bl
ood went cold because the man that killed Turner was standing in his boots that very second. If Delios and the other assassins didn’t know already, they would find out sooner or later. He was culpable, under Castellan’s orders of course, but that wouldn’t matter, and they would kill him.

  “I don’t give a rat’s ass that he’s busy,” Jerrod said and felt a flash of anger amidst his fear. “I’ve got some contracts here to finish.”

  Thulsa listened with interest while Jerrod explained what he wanted to happen. “Easy enough, but why? Killing city officials is not all that lucrative. I’d rather set upon some land owners.”

  “Don’t worry about why, you. Get two groups together, wait for my signal. That’s all you need to know.”

  Thulsa nodded. “I understand. Does this have to do with the contract on the guild master?”

  Jerrod hid his surprise. He should have heard about Muldor’s bounty sooner, but he had been so busy with Zandor and his nonsense.

  “No,” he said. “Don’t worry about that. Get your two teams together and set it up for two nights from now.”

  “Your team?”

  “I have them. We’ll go in with three triads, my back-up’ll be in place the day before. Details will be provided later but simple protocol. Understood?”

  “Understood. I hear the arena’s been good to you the last few days. That ogre is quite a sight.”

  “Yeah, yeah. You’ll get a bonus for this one. Go take care of what you need to.”

  “I’ll take care of it.”

  He ran off into the darkness and disappeared. Jerrod decided it was necessary to keep a closer eye on everyone involved. Things were happening behind his back, and that was not good. Not one bit.

  * * * * *

  They found the man named Drake. It took three days to locate the mercenary general, very fast to Muldor’s eyes, and another day and a half to convince him to meet in Sea Haven under the cover of stealth and secrecy.

  The Guild Master missed his office. The derelict building lacked a cozy atmosphere, Styles and Walter—another runner promoted to co-conspirator—and they made sure no break-ins occurred. It would have been unheard only weeks ago, but since he was no longer using it day-to-day, and common thievery was rising, it was better safe than sorry.

  People asked about him all over the docks, and this only helped their cause. It gave notice to the enemy that Muldor was both valuable and well-liked by the common people. It would give him and his side leverage when they came at last to meet with Cassius and the rest of the council.

  They had Tomlinson on their side, and once they demonstrated the power of the market and what it meant to the city’s income, they would be in a position to demand whatever they wanted. The Guild would reign supreme; or at least run their business as they saw fit.

  While he waited with Becket and a few of his assistants in an old boarding home near the northern part of the city, Muldor began to understand the inciting allure of power. They could’ve taken over the city if they wanted. They controlled the port, the influx of wealth and goods that everyone in town relied upon, where almost ninety percent of the population got its money, either by direct or indirect means. Thus they had the greatest influence over the government.

  If The Guild imposed an embargo, the city of Sea Haven was finished. The entire continent relied on them. The king would be furious, other cities would send envoys and then armies to force them to open, but in the meantime the city would fall into ruin. It was all in Muldor’s hands.

  Incredible. Perhaps Castellan felt this way or even realized the simple yet powerful influence wielded Maybe that was where he went wrong, maybe the full implications had eluded him. Muldor was less ambitious but it trickled into his mind, the sheer weight of responsibility gaping before him. He could swing the balance of the future one way or another.

  It was all up to him.

  “What’s taking so long?” Becket said his pacing making Muldor nervous and anxious. The man, intelligent and accomplished though he was, was still inexperienced in these matters. Muldor wondered how long until he turned into Crocker, the miserable old miser, bent on making others miserable.

  “Calm yourself, Master Becket,” Muldor said. “Dock Master Lawson will bring him here. They must take their time so as to belie suspicion from our enemies, and we must be patient.”

  Becket sighed but settled down.

  Time passed. It seemed an eternity, but perhaps an hour later, a knock came at the door, followed by a long pause then another two knocks. They changed signals every two days, and this particular sequence was the current, correct one. One of Becket’s aides went to the door and in walked three people.

  One was Gunnar Lawson, and the young Dock Master was full of piss and vinegar. He smiled at Muldor and nodded to Becket. His vibrant yet dark seeded energy was palpable. Lawson turned and indicated the other two men.

  “I brought him, Muldor; wasn’t that hard to find.”

  “For someone with money, I am very easy to find,” Drake said. He was a man of medium height and solid build, with a black goatee and short hair heading to gray. His manner was professional as he waved to the tall, husky man wearing armor. “This is Migel, he travels with me.”

  Muldor didn’t waste time because they didn’t have any. He indicated that everyone should sit, and they huddled around a dusky desk and pulled some chairs off the wall.

  “We need two things from you, Master Drake,” he said. “First, is your presence in front of the ruling council of this city, to testify against one of its members, the City Watch Commander, a man named Raul. Second, we need an assurance of threat from you.”

  Drake inclined his head in confusion. “Care to explain what that means? An assurance of threat?”

  “Yes, a show of force but not a literal one. This city was capacitated with and almost overrun with mercenaries not too long ago. There were thousands present, as you well know. You were one of the few commanders working in direct association with the former Guild Master, Castellan du Sol. The after effect of this occupation is one of omnipresent fear. People still believe the threat of invasion looms.”

  “How much time is there? If you wish to rehire a band of mercenaries of that number, I will need a month, maybe more.”

  “As I said, this is not a literal threat. I need only that your presence makes the testimony we need to condemn an enemy to us and to act as a deterrent.”

  “You want me to lie.”

  “Indeed. But it is a safe assumption that the full show of force will not be needed. We require only the appearance of force to persuade the council to honor our demands. That should be sufficient.”

  “Pardon me, but you don’t sound all that certain of your plan.”

  Muldor’s smile was grim. “To achieve success one must often take risks. I’m sure a man like you understands this.”

  “Well said.”

  They spoke of other details, but Drake was game. The man liked it; Muldor could tell. Swaying political powers has become a bit of a hobby for the mercenary. He wondered what this man’s background was, what the course of his life had been to bring him to this point. But those questions would remain unanswered for the time being. They had others things to do.

  Their first stop was the police precinct. Muldor had no clear idea where the Sea Haven police stood. There were rumors of course, that they stood with council because their house and the council chambers shared the same block, but there were conflicting reports that Cubbins was missing amid others things.

  Muldor felt misgivings about going there considering the strong rebuff from Cubbins before, but he realized what they had to do. The fact of the matter was, they had to have police backing to go after Raul. The City Watch worked hand-in-hand with the police, and the police captain would be forced to listen to reason once Drake testified. Then they would march on city hall and force Cassius to drop the charges against Muldor and put the proper people to blame. It was simple.

  Muldor kept his disguise on t
ight and felt the eyes of every single person on the street as their group headed towards the administration section of town. The police house was busy. Several officers dragged in thieves, men and women in chains. Since the Thieves Guild was defunct, the practice of stealing was outlawed in any and all quarters of town, and many were paying the price.

  The Guild Master eyed a few them and recognized some faces. He was certain Anders was safe, still recovering from his grievous wound, and that Delora stayed close to his side. But, there she was! He cursed to himself watching her strung together with a few others of their band, an unwitting victim to the new police crackdown on thievery.

  She glared at her captors, but there was nothing anyone could do. Muldor hoped Cutter would fulfill his promise to resurrect the guild and get these people out of their predicament. At the moment, it wasn’t Muldor’s concern. He moved his group forward but let Becket speak for them.

  The Dock Master approached the desk sergeant and then returned a few moments later.

  “Dillon won’t see us because he’s busy. There was some tragedy they’re dealing with now. He wouldn’t go into specifics. But we might be done here. I don’t know what else we can do.”

  Muldor pushed him aside. “This way, gentlemen. We will not be denied.”

  He walked straight for the cell areas that led to the upstairs offices, and the rest followed him. Lawson’s fiery temper energized him. Becket’s reluctance was a dull drag on his heels. Drake came behind them with Migel at his side.

  The desk sergeant yelled something to them as they reached the door, but Muldor wasn’t listening. There was no time to be bothered with trifles.

  The cells were crowded with prisoners, thieves, murderers, and thugs alike. Several officers watched them walk down the aisle, but they had their own issues to deal with, including fighting with some irate inmates that were yelling and stamping their feet in protest. The air was charged with anger and hate.