Blood of the Underworld twb-1

by David Dalglish

  Victor took a step closer, put a hand on Antonil’s shoulder.

  “Let them try.”

  He pulled away from the Guard Captain, then motioned Sef over.

  “Everything he requests, fulfill to the best of your abilities,” he said. “I must return to my room, and ensure no specters lurk in its corners. Oh, and Antonil…”

  Victor sighed, tried to see things from the other’s perspective. His grin faded, and he let some of his honest worry shine through.

  “I know I might die doing this,” he said. “But when? How long? Because each day we do this, the sun shines that much brighter upon Veldaren. Succeed or fail…I’ll have done something.”

  “What drives you, Victor?” Antonil asked as Victor put his back to him and walked down the street. “What madness would have you risk so much for so little?”

  Victor waved goodbye, and did not answer. Unguarded, he walked down the street, but he never felt alone. His men were everywhere, always watching, always searching. They saluted as they passed him by, and each time, he smiled back. Just a small smile and a meeting of the eyes. He wanted each to think he’d put special interest in them, watching closely for signs of greatness. For the most part, it was true. And when he received that night’s report, listing the dead under his command, he’d recognize every name, remember every face. Steeling himself against the pain did little to help.

  King Edwin had not offered them a place to stay, just as Victor had expected. The man was a coward, and Victor was lucky enough to have the King go along with his plan, however distantly. But the castle was not a safe place anyway. It was too big, too grandiose, with all the windows, high ceilings, and lengthy halls filled with a million shadows. For most of his men, they’d be staying in inns scattered about the town. Victor had carefully chosen his home, though, and secured it before ever going to Edwin. Eyes watched him from rooftops, but it didn’t matter if they saw where he slept. The constant surveillance only showed how frightened they were of him.

  “Evening,” Victor said to the two men stationed before the entrance of what would be his home for the foreseeable future. It had once been a tavern, shuttered for months until Victor bought it. Every single window was boarded up. All doors were nailed shut, and then bricked. There was but one entrance, and it was to be guarded at all times. Upon his arrival, he’d filled its stores with food and drink, carefully packed away. He would search no food for glass, require no taster for poison. Everything watched, everything controlled, just as he liked.

  The outside soldiers banged on the door a few times, then called out Victor’s name. Moments later, it was unbarred and opened by the interior guards. Victor nodded, pleased with their attention to detail, and then stepped inside. The interior was dimly lit, and while it had a vacant feel, it was still being meticulously cleaned. Servants moved about, and upon seeing him, they quickly bowed and asked if he had any needs.

  “Wine, if possible,” he said, unbuckling his sword. “And something light to eat. Bring it to my room when ready.”

  The servants bowed again. Victor climbed the stairs as they hurried into the kitchen. Another of his precautions: the servants were all male, and had been in his service before coming to Veldaren. They stayed within the tavern, leaving only when they must. He’d even implemented rules with the guards that all servants were to strip naked, hand over their clothes, and then redress once on the other side of the door. A severe measure, but he could not be too careful. The fate of the entire city rested on his survival. He couldn’t risk a servant accepting a hefty bribe.

  His room was sparse, his only luxury a bookshelf full of carefully bound writings. The mixture was eclectic, from philosophers to kings to children’s fables. He drifted his fingers over the spines, pondering what to read that night, when he heard the door close behind him.

  “Well, aren’t you a careful bastard?”

  Victor’s heart caught in his throat. He’d tossed his sword onto the bed upon entering, and he thought to leap for it. Instead, he turned, and stood proud and tall while confronting his no-doubt murderer.

  “Not careful enough,” he said, meeting his intruder’s eyes. He was a dark-skinned man, with darker hair that grew down to his shoulders. His gray clothes were clearly that of the guilds, but more noticeable were his eyes. One was a deep brown, the other a bloody red.

  “Have you come to kill me, thief?” he asked.

  The intruder chuckled.

  “I could, but that wouldn’t be interesting, would it? Allow me to introduce myself. I am Deathmask, leader of the Ash Guild, and I’ve come with a proposal.”

  Victor felt his muscles relax, but only a little. The intruder didn’t seem particularly dangerous, and he carried no visible weapons. He leaned with his back against the door, his arms crossed over his chest.

  “A proposal?” he asked, thinking to stall. He took a single step toward the man, shifting himself closer to his weapon.

  “Two proposals, actually,” Deathmask said. “First proposal is that you don’t do anything stupid like calling for guards, or grabbing that sword of yours. Once I hear an answer to that one, we can move on to proposal number two.”

  Victor felt his heart skip a beat, and he stepped away from the bed, toward his bookcase.

  “So be it,” he said, clenching his fists at his sides. “I am listening.”

  “Excellent. Now, to make sure we both understand each other…you do know who I am, right?”

  Victor nodded. He’d done extensive research on the various guilds before coming to Veldaren, learning what he could about their leaders, their habits, vices, and weaknesses. As for the Ash Guild…

  “You’re the one guild that made the least sense,” Victor said. “Run by a man called eccentric at best, insane at worst. Four years ago you usurped control from Garrick Lowe, killing or disbanding nearly the entire guild. Estimates vary, but all claimed you now have less than ten members. One man suggested there were only four of you, but that is ridiculous.”

  “Is it?” Deathmask asked, grinning. “No, that’s true. There are just the four of us. Smaller than the rest of the guilds, sure, but I’ve found having a few dangerous, intelligent people is far better than a guild full of mouthbreathers.”

  Victor’s mind clicked, and he shook his head in disbelief.

  “And easier to split the rather handsome sum the Trifect pays for protection, correct?”

  Deathmask shrugged.

  “That, too.”

  Victor shifted closer to his weapon, then relaxed. If Deathmask hadn’t killed him yet, he wasn’t going to…at least, not until he had an answer to his proposition.

  “Why are you here?” Victor asked.

  “I could ask the same of you,” Deathmask said, tapping his fingers together. “A long-vanished lord returns with a miniature army, with the sole aim to clear out the guilds? Preposterous. But I do not care, because that is not how I operate, Victor. Why you do what you do is irrelevant to me. All that matters is that things go as I desire, and right now…I’d like to help you.”

  “Help me?” Victor lifted an eyebrow. “How?”

  “I can give you names, locations, shipping dates…or I could bring you bodies. Either is fine with me.”

  Victor shook his head.

  “This won’t protect you, Deathmask. I offer no clemency, not to anyone. I will not accept the help of the very criminals I have come to eradicate.”

  “You mistake me,” Deathmask said, stepping closer. A fire burned bright in his mismatched eyes. “I seek no pardon, no clemency, for I won’t need it. Tell me, of all the men who wilted before your inquisition, how many have spoken my name? How many pointed their finger at the Ash Guild? Have we drugs, or slaves, or bribes?”

  Victor had not studied the entire lists, but he’d gone over them as the day wore on, and listened in on several confessions. Try as he might, he could think of nothing, and told Deathmask so.

  “Exactly,” said the thief. “And you will find nothing. I am
your ally in this, not your enemy. Let me help you. Long as you abide by the law, and the agreements we have signed, your little game here will not affect me, not adversely. The destruction of the other guilds is something that would greatly amuse me, though.”

  His words were honey, but his eyes were death. Victor shook his head.

  “You may pretend, you may feign innocence, but I am no fool. You are murderers, thieves, butchers. I will not taint all that I do with your presence. Not if I am to succeed.”

  “I’m a dangerous man to have as an enemy, Victor.”

  Victor stood tall and spread his shoulders wide, as if daring the man to strike.

  “Kill me, then,” he said. “I’ll die eventually, but it won’t be as a hypocrite.”

  They stared, matching wills, but then Deathmask broke into a smile.

  “You fascinate me,” he said. “You won’t die tonight, not by me, anyway.” He turned to the corner of the room, put his hand against it. Shadows swelled, thickening as if into a liquid. The guildmaster looked back. His smile had hardened. “Those who loudest profess the law tend to have the greatest crimes to hide. I wonder just what secrets you have buried deep in the dark soil.”

  The darkness swelled, began to swirl. With a mocking bow, Deathmask vanished through it. Just like that, the portal was gone, and Victor was alone in his room. He took a step toward the wall and ran his fingers across it. It was cool to the touch, as if a frost had settled over it. He struck it twice, unable to help himself.

  “Magic,” he whispered. All his planning, all his care, meant nothing to a man who could walk through walls. And if Deathmask could do so, then others could, as well. How long until the Spiders or Serpents obtained a scroll to appear directly below his bed while he slept? He needed defenses, those of the arcane kind. Sleep could wait until it was safe. Grabbing his sword off his bed, he reached for the door, only to have someone knock from the other side. He jumped, then felt his neck blush. Deathmask’s visit had unnerved him more greatly than he thought.

  “Yes?” he asked, flinging it open. The waiting soldier took a step back, surprised by how quickly Victor had come.

  “Milord,” said the soldier. “There’s something we feel you should see.”

  Victor thought to ask, then just shook his head. It didn’t matter what it was; he’d need to handle it in person, anyway. These first few days were the most fragile. Nothing could be left to chance.

  “Lead on,” he said.

  5

  Haern rushed across the rooftops, and he was not alone. In the moonlight he saw many others in the distance, scrambling to and fro to avoid the roads. Most fled before his arrival, for they recognized his presence above all others. He was their watcher, their punisher, their executioner. Victor might be a new enemy, but they still understood who was the deadlier threat.

  Reaching the temple to Ashhur, Haern stopped, and atop a two-story building he sat on his knees. The building was rented to large families forced to share such meager rooms. From within, he heard a child crying. He prayed it might soon have food. As the moonlight dimmed from thick clouds slowly spreading across the sky, he heard a distant rumble. Rain. Pulling his hood tighter over his head, Haern chuckled. Of course it was raining. The perfect capstone to a long, terrible day. Pausing for a rest, he watched the streets. His brow furrowed when he saw a group of Victor’s men rushing north. They appeared frightened.

  His knees cracked as he stood, and he let out a groan. Night after night of stalking the rooftops was taking its toll. He feared one day he wouldn’t be able to walk without a heavy stoop. Haern thought to follow the men, then changed his mind. The alley they’d appeared from led into Spider territory, and by the flickering light, he saw more torches within. The patrols had found something, but what? And more importantly, how willing would they be to share the discovery with him?

  He dropped to the ground, drew his sabers, and then ran. He felt better with the hilts in his hands, cold and hard. In a fair fight, he knew of few that might challenge him, and even if overwhelmed, it was Haern who tended to come out unscathed. At the alley entrance he peered inside, saw three more soldiers standing around, torches in hand. Haern decided not to risk a scene just yet. Retreating back a space, he climbed the wall of the nearby home.

  From the rooftops he heard them talking.

  “What in blazes you think it means?”

  “Means nothing, that’s what I’ve been saying. Just nonsense.”

  “Can’t be nonsense. You don’t go to this much trouble for nonsense. It’s a message.”

  Haern’s stomach hardened. He desperately hoped he was wrong, but when he peered over the edge of the building, he saw he was not. A man lay dead on his back between the three. By his cloak and dress, he was a member of the Spider Guild. When Haern looked to the wall, he saw the message written in blood, this time smaller, more hurried.

  tongue of gold, eyes of silver

  run, run little spider

  from the widow’s quiver

  The three soldiers were still discussing the rhyme when Haern crouched closer to the edge.

  “Widow, eh?” the tallest of the three said. “Who’s that?”

  “Black widow, that’s what I say,” said another, a red-haired man with a heavily scarred face. When the other two scoffed, he pressed on. “This guy’s a Spider, right? Think about it. They go out to some whore, only it ain’t a regular whore. It’s a black widow. And after she’s done buggering him, well…”

  He curled two of his fingers and pretended to stab them into his neck. The three all laughed. It was nervous, forced. They were trying to make light of the corpse before them, to dismiss the mystery.

  “And this?” asked the tall man, jamming a thumb toward the wall.

  The redhead shrugged.

  “Whore fancies herself a poet?”

  They laughed again, this time far too loudly. Haern was tempted to startle them, show them how unsafe they were, but he had no need. A loud voice called them to attention, and they jumped. Haern’s eyes narrowed as he saw Lord Victor enter the alley with an escort of soldiers.

  “What is the meaning of this?” Victor asked, approaching the corpse. The men shrugged.

  “Just a dead thief,” said the third. “But this one’s a bit odd. Thought you should see. Liam, open his mouth and show him.”

  The redhead knelt, grabbed the dead thief’s mouth, and pulled it open. The gold on his tongue sparkled in the torchlight. Victor muttered a curse.

  “Not just this,” said the tall man. “The wall, too. Looks like the killer left her name.”

  “Her?” asked Victor.

  “Or him,” the man corrected. “Guess we can’t judge the tastes of a dead man, can we?”

  Victor looked to the wall. Haern watched as the man’s grip on his hilt tightened with each line.

  “Is this a hit between thieves?” Victor asked.

  “That’d be my guess,” said one of the soldiers.

  “And a foul guess it is,” Haern said, his voice startling many into reaching for their weapons. He ignored them. “Check his eyes.”

  As a couple swore, Victor leaned down, and his hand brushed over the face. Seeing the silver for eyes, Victor shook his head and frowned.

  “Leave us,” he said. At first Haern went to go, then realized he spoke to his own soldiers.

  “Milord,” said Liam, “are you sure…”

  “That’s an order.”

  The protest died. The men funneled out to the main street, leaving Victor alone in the alley. Haern put a hand on the rooftop’s edge and swung himself to the ground. He landed silently, not even his cloak making a rustle. Victor stood over the body, and he let out a sigh.

  “What is this?” he asked. “You know this city. Tell me.”

  “I’m not sure I should help you,” Haern said.

  “Forget your stubborn pride,” Victor said, glaring at him. “A man died. I want to know how, and why.”

  Haern looked to the dead th
ief, saw the silver glinting in his eyes.

  “I don’t know,” he said. “Twice now I have seen this…arrangement, along with the rhyme on the wall.” He knelt beside the corpse and lifted it up. Finding what he wanted, he gestured so Victor might see, as well: a tiny bolt embedded in the back of the man’s neck.

  “Poison?” Victor asked. Haern nodded, glad the man could make the connection.

  “Quick, silent, hard to stop,” Haern said. “I’m not sure it’s what kills them, though. Look.”

  He pulled away the silver and gestured into the hollow eye cavities. One was filled with more blood than the other, and contained a puncture wound leading in to the brain.

  “So whoever it is paralyzes them, tortures them, and then kills them?” Victor asked.

  “Appears so,” Haern said. “Easy enough to understand, but then you have this…”

  He gestured to the coins, the writing.

  “You said it being a rival guild is a foolish idea,” Victor said. “Why is that?”

  “Because a guild would either claim it, or destroy any evidence to avoid retribution. This is neither. This is mockery, or a riddle, or vengeance for a blood feud. Whatever it is, it isn’t normal, and it isn’t a guild. One, maybe two men working together.”

  “Or women,” Victor said, glancing at the rhyme.

  Haern stood, and he backed away from the lord. The shadows of his hood protected his face, so that only his eyes shone out. Most wilted under his stare, but this Victor was unafraid, and met them without flinching.

  “Watcher,” Victor said. “I’ve wanted to meet you since I stepped foot in Veldaren. Forgive my boast before the King earlier. I know what you’ve done, and it is truly impressive. But your way is doomed to fail, and that is why I have come. You can’t control them any longer.”

  “They fear me,” Haern said, shaking his head at the foolish noble. “That is why I can control them. What can you do? What terror can you inspire with a few scrolls, judges, and soldiers?”

  Victor pulled the gold coins out from the corpse’s mouth, then stared into the vacant eyes.