David Dalglish - Blood of the Underworld

“Neither are the Eschaton or the Ash,” Daverik said.

Grayson shrugged. He had a point there. He’d seen the fire unleashed by that yellow bastard’s spells, and pretty much everyone knew of the crater left by Deathmask in the middle of the damn street.

“Continue on as we have,” Laerek said. “Grayson, ready your men. We must prepare this city as Karak has demanded. In this, we cannot fail. Go, and be blessed by the Lion’s protection.”

Grayson didn’t give a shit about the Lion’s protection, but his gold was real enough. He tipped his hat, then trudged off into the night. Laerek said he wanted the city prepared, and somehow that involved plunging it into total chaos. So be it. With the guilds destroyed, and the Trifect weakened, no one would have the strength to stop him. Didn’t matter if Laerek’s secret master wanted Veldaren taken over to worship of Karak, or was planning some sort of war with one of the other three nations. In Mordeina, Grayson had overcome both wars and gods. In Veldaren, he could do the same.

Besides, once the Suns claimed the city, Laerek had an ugly surprise awaiting him if he thought he could still call Grayson ‘mudborn’ and live.

Victor looked up at his tavern and sighed with relief. He’d left only a token guard, and come morning, he fully expected it to be a burned heap instead of safe and sound. His head ached, and his armor felt like it weighed a thousand pounds, but the night was done, the sun rose 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 was just not 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 much 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 to the higher 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 the 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 it stinking of sweat and blood. The washbasin had been filled recently, steam still rising from the top. He washed his hands and face, the warm water feeling divine on his skin. When the door opened, he turned about and leaned against a wall of his room.

“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. 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 he had 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 be gone.”

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, and you’re daft if you think the arrangement the Watcher created will last one second beyond his death. 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 wanted to weaken his guild, and all the others, as well. Letting them think he’d only take the small timers, and that his crusade was doomed to fail, 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 ain’t you, is it? Heard a lot about what you’re capable of, but torture’s not part of it. And 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 was then, 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 returning to his bed and setting 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 over freely, but times were growing desperate.