David Dalglish - A Dance of Shadows

“Speaking of scum, did you catch those responsible for the attack on your scribes?”

Victor crossed his arms and leaned back in his seat. His clear blue eyes bore into Tarlak, and Tarlak could sense the inner debate.

“Not as many as I would like,” Victor said, sighing. “The Hawk Guild was responsible, that I know for sure. Guesses run from about thirty to forty that set up the ambush. We killed at least twenty… well, twenty died, I should say. My men can only account for seven. The Watcher took out the rest.”

“He does tend to do that,” Tarlak said, chuckling.

“If I’m not mistaken, he is a member of your mercenaries, is he not?”

Tarlak lifted an eyebrow.

“Aye, he is. Considering hiring him? Doesn’t come cheap, but of course we’re relying on future payments already. What’s a little more debt between friends?”

“I just hope to know if I can consider him a friend in the first place,” Victor insisted.

“Money tends to make such matters irrelevant.”

At Victor’s glare, Tarlak raised his hands and quickly apologized. “Forgive me, I tend to joke when I should grovel. If you’re wondering what the Watcher thinks of you, I’d say right now he doesn’t know. Just between you and me, I think you’re a respectable-enough guy, but the Watcher tends to be a bit more distrusting.”

Victor nodded, waved at the servants. Accepting a drink, he downed half. Tarlak shifted in his seat, wondered what troubled the lord so much he’d decided he needed alcohol after all.

“One of my scribes died in the attack,” Victor said, his voice softer. He wiped a few drops from his chin with his fingers. “Good man, a friend. Several other innocent men and women died, having committed the crime of being in the wrong place at the wrong time. I’ve relocated all our interrogations to inside the castle, with King Edwin’s permission. But things are souring already. My men must travel in larger and larger packs, lest they fall into similar ambushes. Only ten men went to the judges today, and they even freed one of the ten. Whatever tight mouths I thought people had, they’ve grown only tighter.”

“You walked into a nest of hornets and started swatting,” Tarlak said. “Surely you can’t be surprised that they’ve begun stinging back.”

Victor let out a halfhearted chuckle.

“I’m not surprised. No, what troubles me is that my men are afraid. The people we drag in here are afraid. The king is afraid. Everyone is afraid, so I can’t be, yet I’m as terrified as any. How did it get so terrible here? How could an entire city live its life full of fear?”

Tarlak tapped his empty mug.

“This here’s a start. But when your eyes are shut tight enough, you can convince yourself you’re safe from anything. It’s only when bold, brash outsiders come in braying and waving swords around that everyone remembers just how terrible the guilds can be, and how cruel a bedmate we’ve made.”

“Indeed,” said Victor, motioning for another drink. “Cruel, cold, and ruthless. But you know what frightens everyone most? The Spider Guild has yet to act. All the others-the Hawks, the Serpents, even the Ash-they’re nothing compared to Thren Felhorn. The rumors I hear treat him like the reaper man, a monster from a child’s fable.”

“He started a war that lasted ten years,” Tarlak said, feeling his mood grow somber. “And the only reason it ended was because he allowed it. Thren is the one you need to watch for most. He’s getting old, but that won’t matter. Long as he’s alive, he’ll be a danger. And if you’re hoping someone will turn on him, mention where he lives or some illegal Violet he’s smuggled in…” He laughed. “It won’t happen. Unless you want to abandon this charade of law and order and declare full war on the guilds, you won’t find him, won’t send him to the executioner’s ax. Not unless you kill him trying to kill you.”

Victor frowned. His face hardened, as if the blood beneath his skin were turning to stone. Tarlak shifted, wondering what it was he’d said that angered him so.

“It is no charade,” Victor said. “With every breath of mine, I’ll tear them down, cast them from the shadows and into the light. But I won’t let them drag me down with them. I won’t become like them. That is why I must adhere to the law. I must be stronger, smarter, better prepared. The first day was too easy, and I grew soft.”

He looked to Tarlak, and the earnest desperation was clear in his eyes.

“That is why I need you,” he said. “Why I need the Watcher. I need you to trust me, to help me. I’ve looked into your dealings, Tarlak, and those of your mercenaries. You’ve helped others even when they couldn’t pay. You’ve refused any assassinations, even when the Watcher could do them with ease. You have a sense of right and wrong, just like I do. You know they must be stopped. Please, help me.”

Tarlak stood, smoothed out his robes.

“I must be going,” he said. “Thank you for the drink, and the company. I’ll consider your request, but I wouldn’t hold your breath. You want my trust; so far you have it. What you don’t have is my approval. I’m not convinced you’ll make Veldaren a better place. The guilds were growing lazy, their numbers starting to dwindle. Already they were turning on each other, killing more and more.”

“All it’d take is the Watcher’s death,” Victor said, shaking his head. “The Trifect fears the guilds, and the guilds fear the Watcher’s wrath. Remove that fear, and their greed resurfaces, voracious and starving. Whatever growing pains I create are a thousand times better than the chaos that was certain to happen otherwise.”

“Perhaps so.” Tarlak bowed low. “I’ll escort myself home, if you don’t mind.”

Victor gave him a sly smile.

“Headache gone?”

“Never felt better. Must be some amazing ale you have.”

“Must be.”

Victor stood, offered his hand. Tarlak looked at it as if it were a trap, then accepted it.

“Just give me a chance,” Victor said. “I’ll prove myself to you, to everyone in Veldaren.”

“I’d be careful of that,” Tarlak said, putting his pointy yellow hat back on. “The more the underworld sees who you are, and believes you’re here to do what you say, the more frightened they’ll be.”

“Good,” Victor said. “Let them be afraid.”

“They fear the Watcher, they fear Deathmask, and they fear Thren Felhorn. Should your name one day be among theirs, I’ll treat you to drinks at my tower.”

Tarlak left, ignoring the cold glares from the guards at the door. While heading down the street, he stopped and turned back to observe his handiwork on the walls and think on the man hiding within.

“Crazy bastard,” Tarlak muttered, shaking his head. “What in the world are you thinking?”

He headed back, feeling terribly annoyed. Worse, he wasn’t sure if it was at Lord Victor’s insanity, or his own for helping the man in his impossible quest.

Time was not on his side, but Peb felt confident he could finish quickly. Not that he’d brag about that to anyone else, or even admit it. But with such a daring mission approaching, Peb needed some release, otherwise he’d be a nervous wreck throughout. After Alan had told Thren everything that had happened at the castle attack, their guildmaster had fallen deathly quiet, talking to no one for a full hour. When he exited his study, his plan was simple, and his mind set.

Victor Kane died tonight.

“Like it’ll be that easy,” Peb muttered to himself as he headed toward the darkest alleys of Veldaren. He was in too much of a hurry to watch his surroundings, but he feared no attack, not so deep in the heart of their own territory. A few coins rattled in his pocket, just enough to pay for what he needed. He usually had his pick of the women, given how weak he looked, how unthreatening. The whores talked, Peb knew that. They knew he needed just a touch, just a kiss, and that he’d never hurt them, not like some of the others who needed to punch or beat someone weaker to get themselves off.