David Dalglish - A Dance of Shadows

Thren felt his blood turn to ice.

“Is that what you think I am?” he asked. “Some low-rent bodyguard for the Trifect?”

Grayson grunted. “That’s what I’m here to find out. A lot has changed over the past ten years, and I want to know just how much.” He stood, put a wide-brimmed hat made of leather on his bald head. “I have my own place to stay, so don’t worry about offering me a bed. Not sure how long I’ll be here, but I thought I’d drop in and give you my greetings.”

“What are you really here for?” Thren asked as the big man was about to exit. “If all you wanted was information, you’d have sent an underling, not traveled across Dezrel yourself. You’re here for more than that. What is it?”

Grayson stopped, looked back at him with a dangerous grin on his face.

“What if I don’t feel like answering? Will you make me, Thren?”

Thren swallowed, and his hand drifted down to the hilt of a short sword. Grayson saw this, smirked.

“Careful,” he said. “I have no desire to cross swords with you. Besides, it wouldn’t be fair. After all… you’re injured.”

When he was gone, Thren took his glass and smashed it across the counter. The glass cut his hand, and he stared at the mixing blood and alcohol. His fury grew. Grayson had sensed weakness, and Thren could not refute it. Despite all his best efforts, his guild was weaker than it had ever been. All the guilds were. And if the Suns, or the Stars, or any other guild from Mordeina decided to move in…

Thren shook his head. No, there was no if , only when . Grayson would not have traveled such a distance without good cause. The only question was how the foreign guilds planned to make their attack, and how great their cooperation would be. Their first move, though, Grayson had stated clear as day. The truce between the Trifect and the guilds would have to be broken, and the easiest step to that was obvious: ending the life of the Watcher.

“Good luck, Watcher,” Thren said softly, doing everything to subdue his anger, to think clearly and carefully as he knew he must. Despite his frustration, he felt pride. All the way to Mordeina, Grayson had said. The Watcher’s reputation had spread throughout the four nations, coast to coast.

“Good luck”-he wiped his hand with a cloth-“my son.”

The parade of men in chains seemed endless as Victor stood before the king’s dungeon, a large, ungainly block attached to the side of the castle. They’d even started tying people with rope, having run out of manacles. An excellent day , Victor thought. He doubted it could have started any better.

“Milord,” said Sef, leader of Victor’s guard. He was heavyset, bearded, and had been a battle-worn servant of the Kane household for almost two decades. “Sir Antonil Copernus wishes to speak with you.”

“Send him over,” Victor said.

Sef bowed, hurried away. Moments later Antonil arrived, wearing the regal armor of his position as captain of the guard and protector of His Majesty’s city. His long blond hair peeked out from the lower limits of his helmet. Scars of battle marked his face. A shield hung from his back, and his long sword swung at his hip. The guard captain bowed low, and addressed him with sincere respect.

“Milord Victor, I come at behest of my king,” he said, standing straight. “He thought it best I help oversee your endeavor, as well as ensure my own guards assist you in any way they can.”

Victor grinned at the knight.

“Are you sure about that? I thought our gracious king might fear giving too much assistance, lest he earn the ire of both the guilds and the Trifect.”

Antonil’s smile hardened, and his voice lowered. “Perhaps. In all things, I protect the people of this city. You’d best remember that. Your men may carry weapons, and the king’s blessing, but upon my word they lose both, and join the men they’ve arrested in a cell.”

“All I do, I do for the people of this city, Antonil.”

Antonil nodded, but did not respond. Victor felt his respect growing. The man looked tired, frustrated, but hid it well. An air of authority hovered over him, and whenever he cast his eyes about, even Victor’s own men stood at attention.

“There are so many,” Antonil said, turning to the lines before the dungeon entrance. “We cannot fit them all.”

“We don’t need to,” Victor said. “Follow me, and I will explain.”

Victor led the way. There were five lines, all steadily shuffling forward as Victor’s soldiers brought in their latest catch. Though some wore the cloaks of the guilds, most did not. They were merchants, peasants, prostitutes, even the homeless and the beggars. Antonil took in the sight, and his frown deepened.

“They are not under arrest,” Victor explained. “At least, not most. We are here for answers, Antonil, and to get them we must ask questions. Information is our greatest weapon against the shadows these scum cloak themselves in. It should please you greatly to know we fully abide by the law.”

They stopped at the head of one of the five lines. An older man sat at a desk, a lengthy parchment before him, along with a large inkwell and quill. Before him was a fat merchant on his knees, two soldiers holding him still. His clothes were smeared with mud, and across his right cheek was an angry cut that oozed blood. At their arrival, the merchant glanced their way, and paused.

“Continue,” said the old scribe before him. “Their names, if you know them.”

“I… I don’t.”

“Then their descriptions. And remember, we will talk to them as well.”

The merchant glanced their way. Victor put a hand on his shoulder.

“The law will protect you,” he said. “Speak the truth, and hold faith. It will only be a matter of time. They cannot hide forever.”

Their eyes met, just for a moment, and then the merchant turned to the scribe.

“The bastards’ names are Jok and Kevis, both in the Wolf Guild.”

His voice trailed off as Victor led Antonil away.

“I don’t understand,” Antonil said beside him. “We cannot just arrest anyone in the guilds. Our arrangement forbids it, for it is they who police the streets…”

“It should be you who polices the streets, not them,” Victor said. “And you are no fool, so think. It doesn’t matter if the guilds hold to the agreement, and do not steal. They still extort. They still kill. They demand bribes of merchants, smuggle goods to avoid tariffs, and flood your streets with powders and leaves that addle the minds of your people.”

He gestured to the lines.

“Right now we gather evidence against them. We get names. We list crimes. When we capture them, we steadily move upward. We take everyone we can, then repeat the process. All of it, written and stored forever, unable to be killed or silenced. Time will not save them from their crimes. I will find them. All of them.”

“But why here? Why in the open streets?”

Victor grinned, and gestured to the dungeon behind them.

“If they refuse, or lie, that is where they go. When their eyes wander, they see the fate awaiting them for such transgressions. Besides, let the whole city watch what we do. Let them know I am here, and will not stop. I will never stop, not until this city is a place of lambs instead of leeches.”

Antonil swallowed hard, looked back to the line.

“You release them after you’re done, correct?” he asked.

“The innocent ones, yes.”

“And then they go home, having been seen by all, known by all to have talked. You know what will happen to them, Victor. You’re sentencing them to death!”

Victor whirled on Antonil, leaned in close.

“If they die, it isn’t by my hand, but the hands of murderers and thieves who should have never been allowed to live as long as they have. I do what must be done to save Veldaren from itself. I am no fool. This is a new kind of war, but blood will still be shed. If your guards do their jobs, those men and women will live. Stop cowering in fear of the dark corners.”