David Dalglish - Blood of the Underworld

“You heard him!” Grayson roared, amused at how the fat man jumped at the volume of his voice. One by one the wagons were unloaded, his Suns lugging the crates into their place of storage for their time in Veldaren.

“I won’t be handling any of it,” Billick said as he watched. “You know that, right? Don’t tell me what it is, and don’t make me sell it. I’ll let you get it in, and I’ll let any one of you Suns get it out. Just make sure the pay is on time.”

“Good man,” Grayson said, smirking at him. “So brave, so noble. You’ll get your pay. Just keep an eye on our wares. I don’t take kindly to those who help themselves to what isn’t theirs.”

Billick got the message, and he nodded fast enough to make the fat of his neck bounce.

“I have business elsewhere,” he said. “Shop’s all yours for the rest of the day. I won’t come back until morning.”

Once the crates were stored, Grayson gathered around his men and began divvying out smaller bags.

“One silver,” he told them. “Stay close, and stay together. Let them come to you. And I’ll drag back to Mordeina in a bag anyone I hear charging more and pocketing the top.”

The men began to scatter, each eager for their first step in taking over the streets of Veldaren.

“Pierce,” Grayson called out, stopping the man.

“Yeah?”

Grayson grinned at him.

“Go find someone in a guild, don’t care which, or how old they are. Just find someone, and then gut them. I want to send a message that we aren’t to be messed with, understood? So make it brutal.”

Pierce’s grin was ear to ear.

“That I can do,” he said, twirling a dagger in his hand.

“Good. Go get to work.”

As the rest scattered in groups, only Boggs and Tracy remained behind.

“Not many places to stash three wagons,” Boggs said, climbing up into the first.

“We aren’t leaving for a while,” Grayson said, glancing up and down the street. “Should be an inn nearby desperate enough for coin to let us hole up all three for a few months. At worst, we can sell them at market.”

“Come on, lovely sister,” Boggs said as Tracy climbed up to join him. “Let us find some clean, comfortable beds for our companions.”

Tracy snickered.

“So not too much lice in them, then?”

Before they could move out, the back two wheels of the wagon exploded, and with a loud bang the wood hit the ground. The oxen jostled, startled, but Boggs kept them calm.

“The fuck?” Boggs asked, looking back. Tracy hopped down to take a look, but Grayson could already tell what had happened. Smoke rose from a magical fire that burned out into nothing. Grayson drew his swords as a man in a gray cloth mask approached from down the street. Ash swirled about his face, hiding his dark features. Grayson recognized him from the failed attack on Alyssa’s mansion. He gripped his swords tighter.

“Grayson…” Tracy said, also seeing him, but Grayson raised a hand, gesturing for her to remain calm.

“Well, now,” Grayson said, approaching the intruder in a way that got him nearer to the first wagon, and therefore cover. “This is a surprise.”

“Perhaps,” said Deathmask. “But your arrival isn’t. I’ve been expecting one of the guilds from Mordan to arrive for years. Honestly, your delay proved irritating.”

Grayson let out a laugh.

“No more than your interference. What is it you want? If you’re here to protect your territory, you might as well give up now. Our money, leaf, and coin are pouring in from Mordeina like a flood. You won’t stop us.”

“I don’t mean to stop you,” Deathmask said, crossing his arms. “Other than your wagon, of course. I did mean to stop that. As for your Suns spreading across Veldaren, they’ll encounter resistance soon enough, though not from me. The guilds won’t go down quietly, not unless things change. Not unless you have my help.”

“I can’t decide if you underestimate us, or overestimate your own worth,” Grayson said. “Speak plainly, wizard.”

“I am no wizard,” Deathmask said, and he was surprised to see the anger glowing in those mismatched eyes. “And my offer is plain enough, even for you. Let me help your guild take over the city, every single brick and stone. In return, you split your profits with me.”

“How much?” Grayson asked, honestly intrigued.

“What else would a split be? Half.”

His intrigue died amid his laughter.

“Do you think I need you so badly that I’d sacrifice a fortune for a victory I will already achieve? Show some intelligence.”

The ash swirling around Deathmask’s face slowed, grew thicker.

“I am no fool, Grayson. The guilds are crumbling, dying to both you and Victor. I can help you finish them off, show you where to shove your sword. What I ask for isn’t much, not when you consider that every coin you take from Veldaren is a coin you didn’t have the day before. But do not think your takeover of these streets is inevitable. Not when Thren still stalks the city. Not while I’m still alive.”

“Well,” Grayson said. “I guess we should take care of that, shouldn’t we?”

Fire was already surrounding Deathmask’s hands before Grayson rolled to the side, using the wagon as cover. The expected attack from the wizard came, a burst of fire that consumed where he’d stood. It was slow, though, and more flash than heat. He was being played with, Grayson realized, as he leaned his back against the wagon.

“Doesn’t have to go like this,” Deathmask said, his voice drawing nearer. “We could be partners, and work together.”

“Bullshit!” Grayson shouted, his mind elsewhere. Tracy had rolled from the wagon to the door of the shop, hidden from Deathmask’s view. Boggs crouched just above Grayson within the broken wagon. Grayson held up three fingers to Tracy, counting them down. At one, they leapt out, but Deathmask was no longer alone. Men-twins, by the looks of it-stood before him, each holding a pair of daggers. Grayson slid, and he swung his arm in the way to knock Tracy down, as well. Four daggers sailed above them, hitting nothing.

“Back,” Grayson said as he turned and ran, sheathing a sword so he could grab Tracy by the arm. No spells gave chase like he thought. Instead, with a few words from Deathmask, his wagons caught fire one by one, burning as if doused with barrels of lantern fuel. Tracy let out a cry for her brother, but amid the smoke, Grayson could not tell if he escaped safely or not.

They ran for the door, but instead of finding safety in the shop, a woman with a wicked scar across her right eye met them there, bearing the colors of the Ash Guild. She held a dagger in her hand, and it glowed with purple fire.

“This is hardly the way to leave a negotiation,” she said.

“Nor the way Veldaren will fall,” Deathmask said, calmly walking toward them, the ash circling his head faster and faster, his smile hidden behind cloth yet clearly visible in his eyes. “The four of us have held our territory for years against all challengers, yet you would think to brush us aside like children?”

Boggs fell from the back of the nearest wagon, coughing and hacking. Tracy tensed, and Grayson could tell she wanted to go to him. His hands and face were black from the ash, but his burns didn’t seem too severe. Far more worrisome were the twins, who hurried to his location.

“Still breathing,” said the first.

“Just barely,” said the second.

Deathmask stepped closer and closer. Grayson could almost reach him with a lunge, but he looked unafraid, as if he actually believed he was the dread ghoul he appeared to be. The scarred woman seemed far more tense, and she kept her dagger at the ready.

“Don’t you dare lay a finger on him,” Grayson said to the twins.