Blood of the Underworld (24 page)

Foreign guilds eyeing Veldaren with hungry mouths open.

“To the Watcher’s killer,” said one of the members of the Spider Guild as Grayson stepped into the guild’s tavern, the man lifting his glass in a mocking toast. Grayson grinned at him, the look sapping away whatever cheer the man had.

“I stuck my sword through his gut and out his back,” Grayson said. “Perhaps this Watcher of yours is a devil after all. No man lives through that.”

The thief was smart enough to say nothing, only shrug and resume drinking. Still grinning, Grayson looked about the tavern, counting numbers. A pathetic remnant of what they’d been, especially compared to when he and Thren had been working together so many years ago. Hardly a merchant would quake at seeing the ragtag group of fifteen men drinking and bandaging wounds. Thren would recruit like mad to replace his numbers, but it would take time. With so much death and conflict, and so little coin in return, he’d gain only the desperate and delusional.

Now that he thought of it...

He found Thren drinking with a group of four in a far corner. Stealing a drink from the man who had mocked him, Grayson guzzled it down as he walked over to Thren’s table, slamming his empty cup atop the hard wood. Three of them jumped, but not Thren.

“So how goes your night?” Grayson asked, grin spreading.

“As poorly as your ill conceived plan,” Thren said, leaning back and looking as if he had not a care in the world. He couldn’t pull off the image completely, though. Thren was never much of a bluffer, Grayson knew, never had been and never would be. His eyes always gave him away. Too much intensity.

“That so?” Grayson glared down at the man opposite Thren, who glanced at his guild leader.

“Go check and see if any others have made it back, Martin,” Thren said.

Martin shrugged and gave up his seat so Grayson could take it.

“I must say, I thought things would go differently,” Grayson said, his elbows on the table. “With the rioters loosening up the guard, should’ve had easy pickings. Sadly, looks like the looters got the bulk, and we just shed the blood.”

“Blood that shouldn’t have been shed,” Thren said, tilting his head slightly. His eyes narrowed. “You are no master here, no leader. Whatever your influence with the Suns, this is Veldaren, not Mordeina.”

“Don’t remember you forbidding it,” Grayson said, and he laughed at the way Thren twitched. He was furious, he could tell, but something kept him in check. Was it the way the attack had failed? Perhaps, but with his guild suffering such losses, that couldn’t be enough. Had to be something more. Had to be...

“So where were you during all this?” Grayson asked, looking over to the bar and frowning when he realized he would have to fetch a drink himself. “With you at our side, I daresay we still might have broken through with ease. Might have even taken down the Watcher.”

Thren stared him in the eye, not moving, not answering. So smug. It was answer enough.

“Yeah, guess it’s foolish of me to think you’d have helped,” Grayson said, standing. “You couldn’t kill the Watcher all these years, doubt you’d be able to now. Shit, you’d probably take his place if you could.”

It was as direct a challenge he could make without proof. Instead of rattling Thren, it only made him smile.

“You’ve attempted to usurp control of my guild,” Thren said as the thieves on either side of him stood, reaching for their weapons. “You lied about killing the Watcher, and led my men to their deaths in a battle you had no stake in. You are no longer welcome in my home. Go elsewhere, old friend, for you cannot stay here.”

Grayson’s hand drifted to his sword. All about, the tavern had gone deathly quiet. Hopelessly outnumbered, Grayson knew he could not win, not then.

“You fear me a threat, yet cannot run, so you would banish me instead,” he said. “You are a coward. You’ve never had the strength to face an opponent that might defeat you. Keep pretending you are strong. That’s what you did when Marion died. Why not continue?”

Thren was on his feet in a heartbeat, shortswords drawn.

“Say it,” he said, ice in his voice. “Say what you’ve always wanted to say, so I can kill you.”

“Say what?” Grayson asked, purposefully putting his back to Thren and walking for the door. “That you killed my sister? I would if it was true, but it ain’t.”

He stopped at the door, no one with the courage to get in his way. He looked over his shoulder, gave Thren one last smirk.

“She killed herself the day she married you.”

The door slammed shut behind him, and Grayson laughed. It’d been so long, he’d forgotten how great it felt to raise the ire of one so focused and controlled. But his humor hid the scars that Grayson himself had nearly forgotten. His poor Marion, in love with that fool. Now she was dead, and all her sons, as well. All because of Thren.

It would be such a pleasure killing him.

Entertaining the image of him plunging his sword through Thren’s throat, Grayson made his way toward the southern district. He might be late, but that was of little concern to him. The others would not leave. They’d need to hear of how things went. Whistling a tune, he cut through the alleys until he found one in particular, of little note but for the two men already there.

“I thought you wouldn’t show,” Daverik said.

“Why’s that?” asked Grayson.

“Because of how complete your failure was,” said Laerek, tugging at the hem of his priestly robes. Grayson chuckled and shook his head. Laerek was his and Daverik’s liaison from the west, speaking for the nameless man moving the various pieces in the game they currently played. Grayson was unaware of his full reasons, but so long as his Suns got to make their move on the streets of Veldaren, he really couldn’t care less.

“It was neither a failure, nor so complete,” Grayson said, unafraid of Laerek. He was a wisp of a man, thin, his nose long and his tongue sharp. He had no real power, just a glorified messenger for someone who had the gold and influence to bend both the guilds of Mordan and the priests of Karak to his will.

“All the guilds suffered tremendous casualties,” Daverik said. “Victor’s patrols kept them from causing too much chaos. As for Lady Gemcroft’s place, well...”

“Should have been there, Laerek,” Grayson said, crossing his arms and leaning against a wall. “Dead as far as the eye could see. Doesn’t matter that Alyssa still lives. Her mansion is in pieces, and the guilds are no threat to us anymore.”

“Then who is a threat?” Laerek asked.

“The Trifect still is,” Daverik said, and Grayson noted the uncomfortable look on his face as he said it. “That, and Victor. His arrival has...complicated things.”

“Trifect should have been taken care of,” Laerek said. “You assured me your Faceless could kill Alyssa without difficulty.”

“There were complications.”

“Complications?”

Grayson laughed out loud.

“He means that devil woman in the gray cloak. I watched her tear through her enemies like they were straw men. Love to have an hour with her in bed. But so long as she’s guarding Alyssa, I doubt anyone’s killing her.”

Laerek looked to Daverik for confirmation, who nodded.

“She killed two of my Faceless,” he said. “Her name is Zusa. She was once a member of the Faceless herself, years ago.”

“Then she needs to be eliminated,” Laerek said. “If your Faceless cannot handle her, then perhaps I will send our third after her.”

Grayson grunted.

“They’re calling him the Widow now,” he said. “Some sick joke he is. Not sure what you think he’ll accomplish against...”

“Leave that to me,” Laerek snapped.

Grayson shrugged. Laerek had made it clear that there were three key players working together in Veldaren. Two were Grayson and Daverik, but as for the third, he’d never met him, nor even seen his face. He only knew what everyone else knew: he killed members of the Spider Guild, took their eyes, and mocked them in rhymes written in their blood.

“We have more problems to deal with than just Victor and the Trifect,” Daverik said, glancing up and down the alley. “The Ash Guild, for whatever reason, is actively working to protect Victor. The other is the Eschaton Mercenaries. That wizard of theirs kept Victor alive, and their arrival turned the fight against us at the mansion. The Watcher is also in their pay, assuming,” he glanced at Grayson, “that he’s still alive, of course.”

Laerek nodded, palm pressed against his mouth as he thought.

“We have more enemies than allies,” he said at last, looking up. “The guilds and the Trifect will break each other in time. It’s these interlopers that must be dealt with.”

“And how do you plan on doing that?” Grayson asked. “Going up to them and asking nicely to stay out of our way?”

“By hiring the Bloodcrafts. They are already here in Neldar, simply awaiting my orders.”

That earned a surprised look from Grayson.

“You brought them all the way from Mordeina?”

“I did,” Laerek said. “Given the scope of our ambitions, I thought it likely we would need their help in some aspect, especially with how much our plan relies on the abilities of a mudborn thief. The Bloodcrafts come highly regarded, and their success is all but guaranteed.”

Grayson chuckled, pulled his hat tighter on his head so his hands had something to do instead of throttling Laerek for the ‘mudborn’ comment.

“If by success you mean killing their target and everyone remotely related to them, then sure,” he said. “But the Bloodcrafts aren’t exactly subtle.”

“Neither are the Eschaton or the Ash,” Daverik said.

Grayson shrugged. He had a point there. He’d seen the fire unleashed by that yellow bastard’s spells, and pretty much everyone knew of the crater left by Deathmask in the middle of the damn street.

“Continue on as we have,” Laerek said. “Grayson, ready your men. We must prepare this city as Karak has demanded. In this, we cannot fail. Go, and be blessed by the Lion’s protection.”

Grayson didn’t give a shit about the Lion’s protection, but his gold was real enough. He tipped his hat, then trudged off into the night. Laerek said he wanted the city prepared, and somehow that involved plunging it into total chaos. So be it. With the guilds destroyed, and the Trifect weakened, no one would have the strength to stop him. Didn’t matter if Laerek’s secret master wanted Veldaren taken over to worship of Karak, or was planning some sort of war with one of the other three nations. In Mordeina, Grayson had overcome both wars and gods. In Veldaren, he could do the same.

Besides, once the Suns claimed the city, Laerek had an ugly surprise awaiting him if he thought he could still call Grayson ‘mudborn’ and live.

17

V
ictor looked up at his tavern and sighed with relief. He’d left only a token guard, and come morning, he fully expected it to be a burned heap instead of safe and sound. His head ached, and his armor felt like it weighed a thousand pounds, but the night was done, the sun rose above the walls, and at last he might have some rest.

“Get men sleeping in shifts, all that you can,” he told Sef. “We’ll need to be rested for tonight. There’s no guarantee this one will be any better than the last.”

“Course it won’t,” Sef said. Victor thought to reprimand him for the lack of respect, then let it go. They were all exhausted, their nerves shot. Pulling off pieces of his armor, Victor strode into his tavern. Within were around thirty men and women, people given shelter for fear of the guilds. Overnight, it’d been closer to a hundred crammed in there, but most had work to do, and mouths to feed. Cowering all day was just not an option.

A few looked his way, and he nodded to them in return. One in particular, a man with long dark hair, rose from his chair. Several of the guards reached for their weapons, but the man lifted his hands to show he was unarmed.

“A word with Victor,” the man said. “I know things, things you’ll pay much to know, but I speak only to him.”

Two of the guards were on him then, each grabbing an arm. They looked to Victor, seeking confirmation one way or the other. Victor rubbed his eyes and stepped off the stairs to the higher floor. His boots thudded in the crowded tavern.

“Come over here, and tell me your name.”

The guards brought him near. The man bowed low.

“I won’t give you my name, not with so many near,” he said. “But for the past six years, I have served Thren Felhorn and the Spider Guild.”

Victor glanced at the people under his protection, all watching with rapt attention. He frowned.

“Check him thoroughly for weapons,” he told his guards. “Then send him up.”

They saluted, and without another word, Victor climbed the stairs to his room. He’d planned to change completely, but instead only removed his outer armor, leaving on the inner padding despite it stinking of sweat and blood. The washbasin had been filled recently, steam still rising from the top. He washed his hands and face, the warm water feeling divine on his skin. When the door opened, he turned about and leaned against a wall of his room.

“Well, we’re alone,” Victor said, still holding a washcloth. In its folds was a slender dagger, which he kept carefully hidden. “I assume this is when you try to kill me?”