David Dalglish - A Dance of Shadows

“If necessary, we could raise an army to battle off kingdoms, perhaps even the wrath of the elves,” Antonil said. “Yet we are 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 no 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 heavily 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.”

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

The weathered man raised an eyebrow, spit 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 soldiers 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 keep 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 along the barren street. It’d still be half an hour before they’d reopen it to foot traffic, and the solitude allowed Antonil to speak his mind.

“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 with them.”

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 his 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 to repair 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 and woman 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. “Just ask, Victor, and I will help you, so long as it protects this city and the people in it.”

“What of your king?”

Antonil felt the corner of his mouth twitch, the closest to a smile he’d allow. “What of him?”

Victor offered his hand, and Antonil clasped it. “I would have us be 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 spoken his vow made the hair on the back of his neck itch. After near death and failure, Victor didn’t show doubt, but instead hardened his resolve. Yet what could he do to the thief guilds that would be any worse than what he already 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.”

Nathaniel hovered around his mother in 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 to be given more thought. Terrance was also there, looking nervous and incredibly young next to the wrinkled old scribe. He didn’t speak much, and 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 to gain a moment of peace?”

Nathaniel flinched, but he’d listened to Lord Gandrem’s words closely, and knew childish fits were not becoming to 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 as 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 when he finishes you can tell me which was 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.”