David Dalglish - A Dance of Shadows

“You don’t trust someone to give everything, to sweat and bleed for others,” Victor said. “You are a sad, bitter man if that is true. But if you don’t trust that, then what of vengeance, Gerand? Is that something you can trust?”

“Perhaps.”

“Then know that what I do, I do for the honor of my parents. I do to avenge my childhood. The crimes these guilds have committed against me are loathsome, and if you have looked into me as you say, then you know what they did to my parents. It should never have happened, never, and I will do whatever it takes to break every person involved and lay their corpses before the memory of my mother and father.”

Victor crossed his arms, and he felt like one awaiting judgment.

“So tell me,” he said. “Am I still a madman?”

Gerand chuckled. “Perhaps, but if you are, you’re a madman I can understand. I will give you the advance you requested, plus half over. But I want you to remember something, Victor. If you are wise, you’ll listen well. If you accomplish what you desire, if you keep breaking the guilds one by one, then I’ll make sure your men remain paid, in secret, and quietly, so none will know of His Majesty’s involvement. But if you fail, then I’ll suddenly discover how you attempted to defraud the castle, and lied about your wealth in the vain hope of having our treasury pay for your ill-conceived crusade. In short, either they hang, or you do. Have I made myself clear?”

Victor swallowed down both saliva and his pride, then nodded. “I do,” he said.

Gerand waved a dismissive hand. “Good. Now go. I’ll send the gold sometime in the next few days, once it’s clear this peace will actually last.”

Victor stood and bowed to the adviser. “You are most gracious,” he said, each word like a bee sting on his tongue.

“You can hate me if you wish, but you shouldn’t,” Gerand said, sensing his frustration. “I’m your friend in this. I have no love for these guilds either. They’ve threatened my life plenty, even in this very room. But my friendship extends only so far as your usefulness. I have faith in you, and hope that you’re the right madman to create something good in Veldaren. Besides, with the Watcher dead, someone needs to inspire fear in the hearts of thieves.”

Victor chuckled. “He’s not dead,” he said.

Gerand shrugged. “Then we’ll have two madmen spilling the blood of the underworld instead of one. Try to get along.”

They had the bar to themselves, just as Carson Bloodcraft preferred. He sat facing the door, his back to the wall. No one would sneak up on him. A fool might try to prevent his exit, thinking him trapped, but such a fool was no threat to him. Just an inconvenience at best. Given how young the night was, the tavern should have been teeming with activity, but some coins and a few simple words had changed that.

“I think we might have underestimated our foes,” Carson said, pushing powder into his long-stemmed pipe. It was the finest leaf available in Mordeina, and he’d brought it with him all the way across the continent to Veldaren.

“Just their tenacity for survival,” said Nora Bloodcraft, his wife. She sat opposite him, trusting him to alert her to any threat. Unlike his short dark hair, she had beautiful blond hair tied into a tight ponytail that ran across her neck, down her chest, and to her waist. They both wore crimson coats made of the finest leather and then stained to identify their mercenary band. Nora, seeing his pipe full, leaned forward and snapped her fingers. The leaf smoldered and began to smoke. Leaning back, Carson drew in a long breath and sighed.

“Need to ration this better,” he said, looking down at his pouch. He’d used too much on the trip over. Last thing he needed was to go bartering for whatever shit they grew in Neldar. “And perhaps you’re right. The Ash Guild presents no greater threat than we thought, but their ability to survive is admirable. They seem to lack any pride or honor, at least when it comes to fleeing a fight.”

“What does pride or honor matter?” asked Joanna, their only daughter. She had just celebrated her seventeenth birthday, and while she had her mother’s blond hair, she kept it cut short around the neck. She too wore a long red coat, and sat to the side of the two of them, able to keep an eye on the door leading down to the cellar. “Pride and honor would only get the Ash Guild killed. They’re smarter than that.”

“It’s our own fault for trusting that weasel Laerek,” said Percy Bloodcraft, carrying four drinks from the barkeep, who stood behind the bar, skin pale, hands shaking. They’d told him only once to leave them be, and made it clear what might happen if he did not. The chubby fellow kept glancing at the door, where the bodies of two men lay, both having been foolish enough to ignore the Bloodcrafts’ request for privacy. One had bled out from a gash running from belly to throat. The other’s face was a charred husk, with faint flecks of white bone showing.

Percy sat beside Joanna, put down the drinks, and then leaned back in his chair. He had no biological relation to the other three, but like all members of the Bloodcraft Mercenaries since their creation, Percy had been adopted into the family once his skills had proven suitable. He looked like nothing but bone and hair, but he was fast. Hidden in the folds of his crimson coat were dozens of knives of all sizes, and he could make each one fly like a bird on the wind. His hair was a soft brown, the only thing beautiful about him.

“We’re new to this city,” Carson said, ignoring the drink set before him. “We must make do with the information we are given.”

“Sure thing, Father, but wouldn’t it make more sense to doubt everything instead?”

Carson and Nora were not much older than Percy, but he’d taken to calling them Mother and Father ever since joining the Bloodcrafts. Something about it amused him, perhaps how it managed to get underneath Carson’s skin.

“With how our day has gone?” Nora said, tasting her drink and then frowning at it. “Perhaps it would. The Ash Guild avoided our ambush without casualty. Even worse… where is Nicholas?”

“Nicholas is dead,” Percy said, smirking. “You know it, I know it, we all do. I told you I should have gone with him.”

“His abilities were a perfect counter to the Eschaton,” Carson said, breathing in more from the pipe. “The Ash Guild was more of an unknown, and posed the greater risk.”

“Well, it looks like you calculated wrong.”

Nora shook her head. “That, or the Watcher still lives. If his rumors are to be believed, he could have achieved victory. Surely it took someone of his skill with a blade to kill Nicholas.”

“Laerek assured us the man was dead,” Joanna said, her eyes locked on her drink. She’d barely had a sip of it, yet her attention rarely left her reflection in the liquid. To Carson it seemed she was bored with anything and everything that didn’t involve making a man suffer in pain.

“That he did,” Carson said. “I might have to have a word with him. His poor information has cost us dearly.”

“If the Watcher killed Nicholas, then we need to hunt him down and return the favor,” Percy said, leaning forward in his seat and drumming the table with his fingers. Carson saw the eagerness there, and it amused him greatly.

“There’s little word on who he is, or who his loved ones are,” Carson said. “All anyone knows is that he works for the Eschaton Mercenaries.”

Percy shrugged.

Joanna dipped her finger into her drink, lifted it out, and then sucked off the cheap wine.

“They talk,” she said, fingernail still scratching against her teeth. “They always talk.”

The door opened. Carson leaned to the side, the better to see past his wife. It was a woman, slender, with long brown hair that curled down around her shoulders. Her dress was plain but clean, and of a soft blue.