Elaine laid her head on his bare chest. "That will teach you to move quicker when an angry merchant comes at you with his sword."
He grunted in reply, not rising to the bait. Casting a glance around Elaine's tiny room, he saw how much the guildmistress had changed it since the old master's time. The desk was still there, but it had been shunted to one side along the wall, and papers were neatly stacked along one edge, rather than scattered in loosely organised piles. It was not that Elaine ran a tighter ship than Magnus, Lucius knew, just that she brought only the most sensitive documents into this, the guildmaster's office. The majority of her work was conducted elsewhere in the guildhouse.
The rest of the room was strewn with her belongings. Books - lots and lots of books - sat on shelves or were otherwise stacked in tall towers. Two chests contained Elaine's clothes, another her personal weaponry and tools of the thief's trade. It was amazing that she had managed to fit the wide bed into the room at all, and Lucius had never worked out how she had managed to get it up the narrow stairs.
A cloud shifted, and sunlight streamed through both the skylight and the tiny round window set opposite the door, its rays picking out the motes of dust that floated in the air. Movement from Elaine caught his attention, and Lucius stared in half-amazement as she reached under the sheets and produced the Torc of Vocator Majoris. Holding it up, she stared at it, turning it slowly.
"Shouldn't that have gone into the vault?" he asked.
Elaine shrugged. "Perk of being guildmistress. Do you think it really works?"
"Protection from assassins? I don't see how."
She continued to look at it intently, and Lucius supposed she viewed the Pontaine artefact as some sort of challenge. After all, before adopting the mantle of guildmistress, she had been Magnus' master of assassins, and that was an area of guild business she still took a deep interest in. That had been Lucius' greatest source of unease, reconciling the teasing, reflective and indefatigable woman he slept with, to the stone-cold killer he knew her to be.
"Do you have a buyer lined up?" he asked, after she had remained silent for a few moments.
"We'll keep it for a while," Elaine said as she carelessly tossed the torc onto the floor. "Maybe get some of our men to look at it, determine its true potential. There's no hurry."
"Business is getting back to normal," he said, referring to the reformation of the guild from the ashes of the thieves' war.
She turned back to him, tapping her fingers rhythmically on his chest as she thought.
"There is still a long way to go," she said. "The pickpockets are back in operation in the Five Markets and, gradually, the merchants are being brought back into line with their payments - your work with de Lille will help a great deal there."
"Happy to be of service," he said, running a hand down her back.
"We'll have to start from scratch with the longer term projects. I want to get that prostitution ring going - the kids running the pickpocket franchises do well under our care, and I know we can do the same for these women."
"As well as draw in revenue from them," Lucius said.
Elaine raised her eyebrows. "That is the reason we are all here. But I mean what I say - we can provide protection for the girls, set standard rates, invest their shares of the franchise, and give them a chance for a decent future, the same as any of our current members. Overall, they will be better off."
With a fluid motion, Elaine whipped the sheets away from herself, and leapt from the bed. She crossed the small room and went to her desk. Lucius watched her leaf through the pages, taking the opportunity to admire her naked body. Her dark hair fell loose down past her shoulders, and she moved with the easy grace common to all good thieves. Exceptionally well-toned for a woman of her age, her skin was nonetheless criss-crossed with a multitude of scars, a testament to the bloody work she had carried out in the past. Those flaws had never bothered him on a physical level, though they always served as a reminder of what she was capable of; perhaps that was part of the attraction.
They had been sleeping together for several months now, the relationship starting a little after the guild had been put back together. Lucius had still not really worked out why she had chosen him as a partner or, for that matter, why he had accepted.
At least ten years his senior, Elaine was not known for sleeping with other thieves. He might have thought he provided her with mere physical relief, but over the past few weeks they had started talking more in bed after making love, though the conversation tended to revolve around guild activities rather than anything truly personal.
They should have been rivals, of course, for both were aware that Lucius could have easily taken the leadership of the guild after the thieves' war. As it was, Lucius was keen to advance to a position of responsibility, but he had no desire for complete authority. Elaine most certainly did, and what Elaine wanted she tended to get, one way or another.
Still, he had to admit, he liked her. After all, she was an utterly capable warrior, a cold killer, an energetic lover and a superlative guildmistress. He was surprised more thieves had not fallen for her. Then again, perhaps they had and were just intimidated by her manner. There were times when he could well understand that.
"We done?" Lucius asked when he saw Elaine's attention was sinking deeper into her papers.
"We're done," she said, a little distracted, before remembering herself and looking over her shoulder briefly. "Work never stops."
"Too true." Lucius watched Elaine work for several minutes more, rummaging through her paperwork to find the information she sought.
He saw her frown as she looked up from her papers, then cross over to the window. Grasping the latch, she threw it open and looked down at the street below.
"What the hell is going on?" he heard her mutter.
Vaulting from the bed, he joined her, standing behind as his arms encircled her waist. Briefly, he enjoyed the feel of her body up against his, but then he saw what had caught her attention.
The street outside was thronged with a crowd, people streaming past toward the centre of the city. Beggars, merchants, storekeepers, labourers, all pushed past and tripped over one another as they hastened along the street, chatting eagerly with their neighbours.
Turning to glance back at Lucius, Elaine looked at him for answers, but he just shook his head in puzzlement.
The crowd thronged in the Square of True Believers, people jostling for position even as more filed in from the surrounding streets. Children were held close by their parents, lest they become utterly lost in the sea of bodies, while more adventurous onlookers scaled discarded crates, wagons, and statues for a better viewpoint. At the furthest edges of the crowd, where the press of people was lighter, the pickpockets worked, the occasional cry of "thief!" accompanied by quick footsteps and scattering children.
All eyes were on the wooden dais and pulpit that had been constructed in front of the Cathedral. A sudden influx of funds from Vos had driven the completion of the Cathedral, so that its towers now loomed over the square. Rumours abounded that the Cathedral's quick construction had as much to do with a cut in the height of the two towers flanking the massive wooden doors to the nave as it had with more money being made available. The priests of the Final Faith had originally intended the Cathedral to be the tallest structure in the entire city, presiding over even the five towers of the Citadel. However, the lawmakers within Vos had stood their ground, and the message was clear; even the religion of the Final Faith could not be allowed to overshadow the rule of Vos.
A hush fell over the crowd nearest the Cathedral, and it quickly spread over the entire square as the tall metal-bound doors of the massive edifice opened. Only subdued murmurs rippled through multitude as the first figures strode proudly, in two lines, from the innards of the Cathedral.
Resplendent in white tabards bearing the red crossed circle of their Order, the Swords of Dawn put the garrisoned soldiers stationed to police the population of Turnitia to shame. Th
eir armour was of the latest fashion, sporting plates over the normal mail to protect the shoulders, forearms and thighs. Their helmets remained open-faced but were far more intricately crafted, with state-sanctioned prayers inscribed in gold on their tall, flat surfaces, topped by short red plumes. What arrested the attention of most, however, were their wicked-looking weapons, slab-sided halberds, great pole axes that looked as though they could cleave a full grown man in two with a solid blow. These were new weapons in the Vos arsenal and, though untested in open warfare, they had already garnered a fearsome reputation among the citizens of the Empire.
The Swords filed out of the entrance of the Cathedral and down its steps, marching in perfect harmony, the clanking of their armour echoing across the square. Fanning out, the soldiers assembled themselves in two lines either side of the dais, staring implacably out at the crowd, as if daring anyone to make a foolish move.
No one dared. As one, the Swords raised their halberds a few inches above the paved stones and then brought them down in unison, the sound commanding instant silence from the gathered citizens. None stirred as their attention focussed on the open doors of the Cathedral and its dark interior.
A young priest, flanked by two neophytes, walked solemnly from the Cathedral, swinging censers in time with his steps. They were all clothed in the white robes favoured by clergy of the Final Faith, though the priest's clothing was draped in a green stole that denoted his rank. With aching slowness, he paced down the steps and, reaching the dais, handed the censer to one of the neophytes before climbing the pulpit.
Sure he had the attention of everyone, the priest raised his arms, and breathed in deeply before speaking.
"Blessed are you, you who attend the consecration of this great city's cathedral, dedicated to the one, true Final Faith. Your devotion is noted by the Anointed Lord herself, for she has sent her humble representative to us today. Pray silence for the Preacher Divine, Alhmanic."
After stepping down from the pulpit, the priest turned to face the Cathedral and waited, his head bowed.
A minute passed with no movement from within the cavernous interior. The people simply stood, almost entranced as they awaited the most powerful member of the Final Faith to ever visit their city.
There was a collective intake of breath as. The Preacher Divine seemed to materialise out of the Cathedral. One moment there was nothing, and then there he stood, staring imperiously across the square.
The Preacher Divine was old, with thinning white hair above a majestic beard. However, as he started down the steps, it was clear he moved with the quick and easy grace of a man both young and physically fit. Those closest saw that while his skin was hard and weathered, it was barely touched by age. His eyes were clear and roved constantly over the crowd, as if able to pick out infidels with the merest glance.
He walked with a tall gilded staff that he clearly did not need, its metal butt hammering the ground with each step. A large blue stone was mounted at the staff's tip, grasped by silver claws. Dressed in white robes similar to the clergy on the dais, the Preacher Divine also wore a dark red cloak that trailed behind him as he walked, along with metal bracers on his arms and a thick leather tunic of exquisite craftsmanship. He gave the impression that he had fought a battle every step of the way to Turnitia but had not tired in doing the work of the Final Faith.
Mounting the pulpit, the Preacher Divine gazed down on the people - his people now. He nodded approvingly.
"Friends. Oh, my beloved friends. You are welcome here, at the first true house of the Final Faith in the worthy city of Turnitia. You have accepted the inspired leadership of Vos into your lives - now accept the true belief of the Final Faith into your hearts. I am Preacher Divine Alhmanic, and I bring you the blessings of the Anointed Lord and all the benefits that follow."
A few in the crowd cheered, though most merely clapped. He held up a hand again to silence them.
"This city has faced trials and hardships throughout the years. Interference from decadent aristocrats in Pontaine, misguided leaders who told you that safety can only come from that ridiculous idea, independence. Look about yourselves now," Alhmanic said, sweeping an arm over the entire square. "Do you stand alone? Are you not here, now, with your fellow citizens? Does not the merchant rely on the baker to provide the bread on his table? Does not the baker rely on the farmer to provide wheat? And does not the farmer rely on the Vos guard to keep him safe from brigands? We are all bound, one to another. An independent city cannot function any better than a man living on his own in the wilderness."
He paused for a moment to let his words sink in.
"This Cathedral, this magnificent building that will set your city apart from lesser settlements, brings with it a new era for Turnitia, one filled with wealth and prosperity for all decent people. Those of you who toil daily, be it in the docks, warehouses, or your own shops, will gain the full measure of your labours, a just reward for a day's work. For those whom independence and Pontaine ruined, those who are destitute but would willingly work for the betterment of your society, you will have every chance to find the same success as your peers."
The crowd's interest was piqued at the mention of money. It was the same in every city in the world, and Alhmanic had given variations of this speech a hundred times. Identify an enemy or cause for the people's hardships, then promise a better life under the Final Faith. Of course, you had to back up your promises to some extent.
"We have already trained many new stonesmiths, carpenters and other craftsman during the construction of this Cathedral - we did not only pay these men and women a fair wage, but taught them a trade so they can continue to work and to earn for the rest of their lives. And we are doing more; as a part of the Vos Empire, Turnitia is a vital port. This means we need more workers on the docks, more labourers for the warehouses, more taverns and shops for them to spend their hard earned wages, more mentors for their children, more builders for their new homes, and more craftsmen to provide everything they need. Everyone in this city can benefit from our work here."
More cheers rang from the crowd and many reached for him with their hands. Alhmanic nodded magnanimously before continuing.
"New charities are being set up as I speak. Those out of work can draw a stipend, so long as they make themselves available for the new work we are creating. This means no one ever need starve! Physicians are on their way from the Empire, ready to administer their skills to anyone who needs them, for fees anyone can afford - the Final Faith will make up any shortfall! We will also commence building Turnitia's first university within the year. Any hardworking citizen will be able to get an education and better themselves!"
The people before the Divine Preacher were now even more enthusiastic. Offering free money had a way of eliciting such a response, though Alhmanic knew the machinery of the Vos Empire was efficient enough to not only keep the promises he was making, but also claw back the expense through taxes. Not that the people need hear about that now, of course, nor about the nature of work that would be found for them if they wished to avail themselves of the charity of the Empire.
What was important now was the creation of a new enemy. In the end, life probably would get better for most of the people in the city, but they would pay through the nose for it and, as always, it would be the Vos Empire and the Final Faith that benefited the most.
"But my friends, my cherished friends, there are those who will work against us. Those who prey on the weak, the innocent, the hardworking. Liars, thieves and murderers, those who would use deception, crime or sorcery to make themselves rich at the expense of decent people like you. They grow fat as your lives become ever harder. Well, no more!
"Magic, in all its forms, has the potential to bring truly wondrous boons to an entire city, yet its practitioners lock themselves away, intent only on their own wealth. The first Imperial Decree of this new, golden era is that all magic within the city of Turnitia will be regulated. Only those with a licence may practice magic, on
pain of death. This will weed out the miserable tricksters and charlatans that have plagued you for too long."
Alhmanic doubted whether many of the people here had suffered, directly or otherwise, from rogue wizards, but practitioners were such easy targets. By its nature, magic was difficult for most people to understand, and so anyone well versed in its use was always treated with suspicion. After all, what was a simple labourer to make of a man who might be able to read his mind or burn down his house with a mere gesture?
"There is another blight, one that has plagued this city since its formation. Organised crime. From the pickpocket on the street to the thug who extorts decent shop owners for so called protection, from the con man running crooked games in your favourite tavern to assassins who lurk within the shadows, everyone is affected by these malcontents."
For a moment, Alhmanic lowered his voice, forcing the crowd to keep silence in order to catch his words.
"No longer, my friends, no longer. We will not suffer these criminals to make an easy living at your expense. I vow to you, every resource the Empire has here will be used to smash the centre of organised crime, the so-called thieves' guild. And we will do more, my friends, much more. We will also wipe out that nest of traitors, assassins and infidels - the Shadowmages!"
Chapter Four
"I really wouldn't worry about it."
Lucius glanced at Forbeck Torquelle. His mentor was pacing the perimeter of the empty warehouse they used for infrequent training sessions, the master slowly encouraging his pupil in the refinement of the art of the Shadowmage. Forbeck leaned on a cane as he walked, and was dressed in a fine jacket and pantaloons, for all the world like a Pontaine noble, complete with tight, trimmed beard.
Night's Haunting Page 4
