Blood of the Underworld (17 page)

A
ntonil surveyed what was left of the bodies and shook his head.

“What’s that put the death total at?” he asked Sergan, his most trusted friend. The man was a ruffian in soldier’s armor, big features, dirty hair, and an even bigger axe across his back. He was a good man, though, disciplined, and always willing to tell Antonil the truth no matter how little he wanted to hear it.

“Not the best at numbers,” Sergan said, turning to spit. “Think we’re getting beyond what I can count. About fifteen or so of Victor’s men in and about his home. Twenty gray cloaks in there with them. Three or four on the way to here, and now this...”

Sergan gestured to the crater in the street, the corpses scattered about, some killed by fire, some maimed by heavy, blunt blows.

“What you think? Fifteen? Eighteen?”

“Lord Victor was a fool to think they’d let him go unpunished,” Antonil said. “Which of these bodies do you think is him?”

Sergan squinted at a few nearby, frowned.

“Not seeing any wearing fancy enough clothes. Might still be alive and cowering under a rock somewhere, though I doubt it’ll mean shit. His fool’s quest is over. Once he’s done wiping his ass, he’ll take the first wagon out of Veldaren, I guarantee it. Question is, what do we do? Pretty obvious the Spider Guild is the one responsible for all this. Think we could have the King declare them all under arrest?”

“Perhaps, if we wanted to send them all into hiding and make all our lives miserable for the next ten years. Who killed the Spider Guild, though? Don’t see any of Victor’s guards having made it this far.”

“I don’t know, but whoever it was was doing us a service.”

Antonil let out a grim laugh.

“Don’t let Thren hear you say that. I’d hate to have to find myself a new trainer for the guard.”

More city guards arrived from the castle, wheeling a cart behind them. At Sergan’s orders, they began loading up the dead and shifting aside the larger stones to reopen the road for travel. They’d been at it for hours, all to clean up the mess the attack had caused and clear away the rubble and the dead. The sun was rising above the city wall, reminding Antonil how tired he was, and how long a day he had ahead of him.

Antonil watched his soldiers work with a pall cast over his mood. He’d known this was coming. It seemed everyone but Victor had known it. But expecting it and actually seeing the anger and power of the underworld rise up to strike were two different things. And lest they risk all-out warfare on the streets, Antonil could do nothing about it. It used to be that the easy money made the guilds soft, but no longer. The Watcher had been the one to keep the more troublesome in line, but this was beyond him. Perhaps it was beyond them all.

“Something bothering you, beyond the obvious?” Sergan asked, coming back over from the crater.

“If necessary, we could raise an army to battle off kingdoms, perhaps even the wrath of the elves,” Antonil said. “Yet we are so powerless against these thieves. How? Why?”

“Once the worm gets in the apple, it’s near impossible to get out,” Sergan said, smacking Antonil on the shoulder. “Our walls don’t work against this enemy. They’ve got boundaries, no diplomats, no castles to take or crops to burn. Just men, sticky fingers, and a frightening amount of daggers. Much as I’d like to have every one of them thieves stretched out before me in an open battlefield, they ain’t that stupid. So we’ll do what we can, with what we’ve got to work with.”

“They’re killing everyone who talks to Victor’s men,” Antonil said, revealing what had weighed most heavy on his heart.

“Thought you were posting guards?”

“It isn’t enough. It never seems to be enough. My numbers are stretched thin as it is.”

Sergan shrugged.

“You’ll think of something. You always do. And besides, weren’t you listening? Victor’s going to be halfway to Ker by this afternoon, and all the way to Mordeina by nightfall. There won’t be any more witnesses to protect. In a few days, it’ll all die down to the quiet little insanity we’ve learned to live with lately.”

“Forgive me, Sergan, but I have my doubts.”

The weathered man raised an eyebrow, spat again.

“Why’s that?”

In answer, Antonil pointed to where Lord Victor approached with a large retinue of his men, their armor gleaming in the morning light. Antonil bowed at his arrival, and Victor responded in kind.

“Good to see you safe and well,” Antonil said.

“I’m surprised myself,” Victor said before gesturing to his men. “Whatever help you need, my men are here to offer it. Much of this is my fault, and I won’t leave you to clean it up alone. Once it’s done, we can resume the investigations.”

Antonil managed to hide the surprise from his face and voice, but only because of a lifetime of discipline.

“You’re still to remain in Veldaren?”

Victor clapped Antonil on the shoulder.

“I don’t scare that easily. We’ll use more caution, of course, take things a bit slower now that we know what lengths they will go to.”

Antonil had Sergan dole out orders, then asked Victor if he’d join him for a moment so they could talk privately.

“Something wrong?” Victor asked as they put their backs to their men and walked.

“It’s the men and women you’ve been bringing in to testify,” Antonil began. “I’ve tried posting guards, but many go into hiding, and even the ones I do protect have been killed. Often my guards die, as well.”

Victor nodded while listening, and Antonil saw the hidden anger and frustration.

“Casualties of war, captain,” the lord said, but he couldn’t quite keep the dismissive tone from wavering.

“Your war, not theirs.”

Victor sighed.

“What do you want me to do, Antonil? I won’t leave, not after all this. Would you have me render their deaths pointless?”

“I’d have there be no deaths at all. Conduct these talks in secret. Give shelter among your soldiers for those who request it. Once we’ve weakened the guilds, these measures won’t be necessary, but until then...”

“Enough,” Victor said, his sharp tone startling Antonil. The guard captain watched as Victor turned away for a moment and stared at the crater in the street and the bodies being loaded onto the cart.

“I thought I was prepared,” Victor said, his voice softening. “I thought I could bear the burden. And I still will, Antonil. I will bear it. But it is far heavier than I ever imagined.”

“It will get worse before it gets better,” Antonil said.

“I know,” Victor said, turning back to him. “I will do what I can to hide the identity of those we bring in, whatever good it will do. Your king has already agreed to let me use his castle, so I will question everyone there. As for those in fear for their lives...”

He gestured down the street, where work had already begun in repairing the wall of Victor’s repurposed tavern.

“There are many rooms within, as well as space on the floor. Bring them there, until there is no room left.”

“Will it be safe?” Antonil asked, thinking of the attack only hours prior.

“From the outside, yes,” Victor said. “I can promise you that. But inside...I don’t know. I invite assassins in with every man I give shelter. I pray you understand the risk I take, and hope I never have reason to regret it.”

“I’ll have my men keep an eye on your place, as well,” Antonil said. “My liege would have me work with you, help you in any way I can. Just ask, Victor, and I will, so long as it protects this city and the people in it.”

Victor offered his hand, and Antonil clasped it.

“I would have us friends rather than enemies,” Victor said. “But tonight has done me well. I know how strong we must be to succeed. Trust me. Last night will not happen again.”

Antonil nodded, wished the man well. Still, when he left to join Sergan, he did so with a heavy heart. Something about the way Victor had said that made the hair on the back of his neck itch. Victor’s response to near death and failure was not to doubt, but to harden his resolve. What could he do to the thief guilds that would be any worse than what he did now?

“What do we do with the dead Spiders?” Sergan asked at his arrival. “Hold them for a day at the castle, let family members come and see if they recognize them?”

Antonil chewed on his lower lip.

“Bury them all in a common grave, not a name given for any,” he said. “They’re enemies of the peace, enemies of our king. They deserve no better.”

“Might piss ‘em off.”

Antonil laughed, and he waved his arms at the wreckage about them.

“Any worse than they are now? Bury them, and forget them. We have a lot of work to do, and not anywhere near enough time to do it.”

N
athaniel hovered around his mother the early part of the morning, but her mind was clearly elsewhere. His attempts at talking to her always ended abruptly, her answers terse and distracted. Henris, the scribe sitting beside her, seemed more important, his questions given more thought. Terrance was also there, looking nervous and incredibly young next to the wrinkled old scribe. He didn’t speak much, only when the scribe directly asked him something. Nathaniel tried being more persistent, until Alyssa looked up from the table in her study and snapped at him.

“Must I make up tasks so I might have a moment of peace?”

Nathaniel flinched, but he’d listened to Lord Gandrem’s words closely, and knew such childish fits were not becoming of him. He grabbed his stump of a right arm, just a small chunk of bone and skin coming down from his shoulder. Nervous, he drummed his fingers atop the bone like he did when he needed to distract himself. Alyssa saw this and immediately softened.

“Come here, Nathan,” she said.

He walked closer and leaned his head against his mother’s stomach as she wrapped her arms about him.

“You’ve endured troubled times before,” she said. “This is one of them. I haven’t forgotten you, though. Tonight, I’ll fetch us a bard, and pay him to dazzle us with a dozen songs. We’ll listen together, and you can tell me which is your favorite. You’d like that, wouldn’t you?”

He nodded, and she kissed his forehead.

“Go play,” she said. “Otherwise I’ll have John find you something to do.”

“He’ll just make me practice with my sword,” he said. “He knows it gets heavy.”

“That just means you need to practice more, until it feels like a part of your arm.”

“Milady, may I ask the source of these imports?” Henris asked, pointing to one of what seemed like a thousand pieces of parchment. Alyssa turned back to the man, and Nathaniel knew that was his sign to leave. He wanted to stay, to stomp his foot and demand attention, but he imagined the way John would react should he hear about such a display.

“Yes, mother,” Nathaniel said, even though he doubted she heard him. At least her promise about the bard was exciting. He loved listening to their stories, most of them anyway. Some dwelt on lords and ladies, and who was in love with whom. They bored him to tears. The ones about dragons, paladins, orcs, wolf-men, and other creatures of the Vile Wedge...those were the ones that kept him up far past his bedtime, wide-eyed in the lap of his mother. He especially loved hearing of the war between the gods, back during the creation of the world.

Nathaniel left the study, left the adults to argue and bicker about money and paper, as John had once put it. Part of him felt sad knowing that that was the fate awaiting him when he got older, not charging into battle on a horse like he dreamed. His missing arm alone ruined any chance of that. No, he’d bicker with old men and women, count coins until the moon was high, and trade things he did not have for things he would never see.

So much better the life the bards sang about.

While on his way to see Lord Gandrem, Nathaniel passed by the door to his grandmother’s room. She must have seen him, for he heard her call his name. Rolling his eyes, Nathaniel turned around. He always felt awkward in his grandmother’s presence. He didn’t know her, had barely even heard of her until her sudden arrival, yet he was expected to act as if she were close family. It left him confused, unsure of how to act. That, and the way she looked at him, her eyes always watery even if she wasn’t crying, made his stomach twist.

“Yes, grandmother?” he asked, stepping into her room, which had been a guest bedroom mere weeks before. His grandmother lay in the center of the bed, as she often did. Alyssa had said she had gone through many trials, and was left weak because of it. But she didn’t seem weak to Nathaniel. Instead, she seemed like a coiled spring, wound up and unable to move.

“Please, just Melody,” she said, shifting to the side so she might put her feet off the bed. “Though it warms my heart to hear you say the word grandmother.”

“Yes ma’am.”

She laughed as if this amused her, though he’d purposefully chosen not to call her Melody.

“You look upset, dear,” she said. “Is your mother still busy with that worm of Victor’s?”

Despite himself, he cracked a smile, thinking of Henris’s scrunched in face.

“He doesn’t look like a worm. He looks like one of the gophers groundskeeper Willis hates.”

To his relief, Melody laughed instead of getting upset for him saying such a thing.