David Dalglish - A Dance of Shadows

Still laughing, he put his back to Daverik and strolled into the dark streets of Veldaren.

Gods damn it, he thought, what a wonderful, wonderful night.

Victor looked upon his tavern and sighed with relief. He’d left only a token guard, and he’d fully expected it to be a burned heap come morning instead of safe and sound. His head ached, and his armor felt as if it weighed a thousand pounds, but the night was done, the sun had risen 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 wasn’t 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 a lot 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 leading to the upper 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 his 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 its stinking of sweat and blood. The washbasin had been recently filled, steam rising from the top. He washed his hands and face, the warm water feeling divine on his skin. The water was a brown mixture by the time he was done, and his door opened.

“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?”

“Not at all,” said the man as the guards shut the door behind him. “Killing isn’t something I’m good at. Talking, really, and listening. That’s what I do. My name’s Alan. Pleasure to meet you at last, Victor. You’ve caused quite a stir.”

Victor chuckled. “I think others have caused greater. It wasn’t my men who stormed Lady Gemcroft’s mansion last night. No, I do believe that was you.”

Alan shrugged. “I wasn’t there myself. Told you, killing ain’t my thing.”

Victor didn’t care if the man had been or not, and given how badly his bed was crying out for him, he had no desire to argue.

“Why are you here, Alan?” he asked. “My time is short, and my temper shorter. Speak your mind, and then begone.”

Victor noticed Alan held a copper coin, kept it turning between his thumb and forefinger. A nervous tic, perhaps?

“I don’t know what you’ve been hoping to accomplish,” Alan said, “but I doubt last night was it. If Thren rallies the guilds, we’re looking at another war. That’s something I don’t want, and, truth be told, most people don’t want. But so long as everyone’s scared of Thren, well, he’ll bend people his way eventually. A few rants, a few murders, and everyone will be foaming at the mouth. He’s good at that.”

“Make your point, thief,” Victor said, still holding the dagger tight.

“My point? Fill my pockets with enough silver, and I’ll tell you where he is. Not just him, either. The entire guild. Everyone knows the Spider Guild is responsible for the attack on Alyssa’s. You want to stop this now, before it gets out of hand? Then pay up, and make your move.”

Victor frowned, tried to think through his exhaustion. The man was right… the Spider Guild was widely being blamed for the attack, and there didn’t exist a parchment long enough to list all of Thren’s crimes. He’d not made any significant move on Thren yet because he’d wanted to weaken his guild first. Letting them think he’d take only small-timers in a doomed crusade had bought him precious time to slowly whittle away at their strength. But now things had come to a head, and blood soaked the streets. When he first marched into the city, he’d sworn to never work with any thief, but with such possible gain for so little…

“Can you promise he’ll be there?” Victor asked.

“You know I can’t,” Alan said. “But there’s a good chance. You got the guts to take it?”

Victor felt his pride being challenged. The copper coin spun faster between Alan’s fingers.

“I’ll pay you thirty silver now, thirty after we verify…”

“No,” Alan said, shaking his head. “All now, or nothing. To be honest, Victor, I don’t trust you to let me be after you have what you need. You pay me, I talk, and then we never see each other again.”

“And what prevents me from imprisoning you now, and torturing the information out of you?”

Alan smirked. “Because that’d take far too much time. Thren’ll be on the move, and if he hears you’ve got someone from his guild being interrogated, he’ll move that much faster. Besides, if you think you can make me sell you Thren by tossing me in a cell, well, you’re a damn fool. Pay me, or watch Veldaren burn.”

Victor rubbed the stubble growing on his face, then pushed a knuckle against his lips. At last he moved to the door, walking past Alan. If there was to be any attack, it would be now, but Alan just let him by. After a knock, the door opened, and the guard peered in.

“Bring me a bag of silver,” Victor told him. “Sixty pieces, now hurry.”

The guard snapped to attention. When the door shut again, Victor turned to the thief.

“Now what?” he asked.

“Isn’t it obvious?” Alan said. “We wait.”

And they did. Victor walked to his bed and set down the cloth and dagger. Alan paced before him, trying not to look nervous but seeming so anyway. Victor watched him at all times, still not trusting him. It burned his gut to pay for information that should have been given freely, but times were growing desperate.

Another knock, and then a guard entered holding a brown leather bag. Victor took it, then tossed it over to Alan.

“There,” he said. “Now talk.”

“Corner of Iron and Wheat,” Alan said. “It’s made to look like an inn-the Thirsty Mule. Everyone should be there, recovering from last night’s debacle. Now be a man of your word, and let me pass.”

Victor sat down on his bed, stretched his arms out at his sides.

“Go,” he said. “But before you do… how do I know you don’t lie?”

A faint smile tugged at the side of Alan’s mouth.

“There’s easier ways to make money than this, Victor. Safer, too. Go to the Thirsty Mule. You won’t be disappointed.”

Victor chuckled. His hand slipped inside the washcloth, grabbing the hilt of the dagger. With a burst of speed he caught Alan flat-footed, slamming him with his shoulder. Together they rammed against the door, the tip of Victor’s dagger pressing against the thief’s throat. Guards cried out from the other side, but Victor called them off with a word.