David Dalglish - A Dance of Blades

“Yeah, Oric?”

“Find anything?”

Uri shook his head. “He ain’t in here. Nothing for Ben or Gert, either.”

Oric looked to the adjacent room, which was curtained off, decided there would work.

“Come take him,” he told Uri. The other soldier grabbed Trevor by the wrists and shoved him through. Meanwhile, Oric walked over to the woman.

“What’s your name?” he asked her.

“Evelyn,” she said through clenched teeth.

“Pretty name, that. You come with me now, or I’ll drag you away by the hair while your little ones watch. Your choice.”

She kissed her daughters and stood. Oric put a hand on her neck and guided her into the room where Uri pinned Trevor against a wall.

“You’re trying to protect your ma, maybe your pa, or both,” Oric said as he shoved Evelyn onto the small bed in the cramped room. “But you ain’t protecting them, not anymore. Gonna show you what’ll happen, Trevor, if you don’t tell me what you know, got that? Hold him tight, Uri.”

“Will do.”

Oric struck the mother, spun her onto her stomach, and ripped at her skirt. When she started to sob, he took a wad of the blanket and shoved it into her mouth. Trevor struggled, but Uri stood a foot taller and easily outweighed him. Oric pulled off his belt, pushed aside the rest of Evelyn’s skirt, and shoved himself inside. She screamed into the gag, tears streaming down her face. Oric beat her when her screams got too loud, or when Trevor’s struggles lessened. He needed the horror to continue. He wanted that fucking brat scarred.

When he finished, Oric pulled back and refastened his belt. Evelyn pulled at her skirt, trying to hide her nakedness, but Oric yanked at it, denying her even that.

“Let him go,” he said to Uri.

Trevor flung himself at Oric, who expected the reaction. He ignored a single punch, caught Trevor by the throat, and flung him back against the wall.

“You want to know what will happen next?” he asked as Trevor clutched his wrist. “I’m thinking Uri wants a turn, but I’m not letting him. Know why? Because you’re going next unless you tell me everything that happened here.” He laughed. “How’s that sound? Ever wanted to needle your ma, Trevor? Here’s your chance. No one will blame you. You were just being a man, right, protecting your family? How about one of your sisters out there? Think they could use a good poke? Maybe I’ll make you do all three, just one after another, until…”

“Just stop,” he screamed with what little breath he had. “I’ll tell, everything, I’ll tell everything, please, just stop, just stop…”

He let Trevor go, who collapsed at his feet. Oric knelt before him so they could stare eye to eye.

“You tell me every goddamn detail you know, or next time, I might not be so nice.”

Oric listened as Trevor told of Haern’s arrival with a boy he knew only as Tristan. He listened as he detailed Tristan’s amputation. Then came Ben and Gert’s arrival, and Oric felt his blood boil as he heard of how their father killed them. Both of them, Trevor insisted. He seemed determined to make that clear. Last came their father’s departure for Veldaren only a few days prior, mounted and following the main road.

“Good boy,” Oric said, slapping the boy across the face when he was finished.

“Mind if I have a go?” Uri said, nodding to where Evelyn remained upon the bed, her face wet with tears. Oric shrugged.

“Get on out, boy. No need for you to watch this.”

The three soldiers gathered outside the house ten minutes later.

“No sign of anything strange,” Ingram said. “Found where they maybe did some digging recently, but the ground’s too hard and cold for me to check.”

“Don’t bother,” said Oric. “We know what they did. Nathaniel’s with their father riding south. If we press hard we can overtake him.”

Uri pointed a thumb back at the house.

“You leaving them alive? They helped kill two of us, tried lying as well. Don’t set much of an example.”

“Leave them all for now,” Oric said. “When we find this Matthew, I want to drag him back to his home so he can watch as we kill every last member of his family. Let that story spread across the north. No one opposes Arthur, and no one dares kill his soldiers. Now ride. No matter what, they can’t get to Felwood before we do.”

D eathmask and Veliana toasted their success with stolen wine in wooden cups. They’d killed three of Thren Felhorn’s Spiders before fleeing, and their cloaks had made their guild affiliations clear. As far as both guildmasters knew, they were at war with one another. Given how close the attacks had been, and the overall chaos of the night, it’d be near impossible to prove which had been first, so neither could prove theirs had been mere retaliation.

“Thren’s a cautious, paranoid bastard,” Deathmask said as he sipped the wine. It tasted terrible, but his head pounded, and he needed alcohol, no matter how cheap a form. “He might think something’s amiss, or the attack a bit too blatant for Garrick’s taste. Still, the doubt’ll be there, and neither’s going to be happy with one another.”

“You should hurry back before they wonder where you were,” she told him.

“Quite true. Looks to be another long day. Finish your glass. I want you to come with me, keep an eye out on the guildhouse entrance. If Garrick suspects something, I might need you to cover my hasty escape.”

“As you wish, your majesty,” she said with none-too-thick sarcasm.

They left their basement and hurried to the Ash Guild’s headquarters. With Veliana watching from the rooftop, Deathmask strode inside. He couldn’t have been happier with what he saw. The entire room was in disarray. Pillows lay scattered and shards of glass covered the floor by the bar. Garrick stood trembling at the far end. About twelve Ash members were inside, and none seemed eager to be near their guildmaster.

“Greetings,” Deathmask said, pretending nothing was amiss. “Good to see you survived last night intac-”

“Where were you?” Garrick shouted. Deathmask blinked, and he glanced at one of the other men as if to show how confused he was.

“Running for my life out in the streets, much like every other thief in Veldaren. I stopped by here once, but found the place empty, so I hid until morning.”

Garrick paced back and forth. His eyes were bloodshot. Deathmask wondered how much crimleaf the man had coursing through his veins. His speech was also slurred, perhaps from one, or several, of those broken bottles over at the counter. Drunk and stoned. Deathmask struggled to contain his amusement.

“Spiders!” Garrick shouted, as if none of them were there anymore. “Goddamn Spiders! What is Thren thinking? He think I betrayed him? He think I’d be stupid enough to do that? We had a deal, you fucking Spider, you fucking…fucking…damn fucking Spider!”

Deathmask’s eyes lit up at that. A deal? Could Garrick have been working for Thren?

“Someone showed up about half an hour ago,” offered one of the nearest thieves, keeping his voice low so his guildmaster would not hear. “Claimed that two members of the Ash came and killed several of Thren’s men, and he demanded an explanation.”

Garrick still overheard, and he stormed closer. Deathmask saw how incredibly dilated his pupils were, and he decided his guess was correct. If Garrick’s entire strength and confidence were built upon Thren’s protection, then having that suddenly taken away would probably scare the shit out of him. Deathmask couldn’t wait to tell Veliana. She’d been ready to kill the man before. What might she do knowing he’d sold the entire guild out to the man who’d executed her former guildmaster?