David Dalglish - A Dance of Blades

“What do you gain from this?” he dared ask.

“We all want a legacy,” the Watcher said. “This will be mine. The arrangement will rely on you, once everything is in order. Can you enforce it?”

The way he said it sparked a memory, and coupled with the face, he couldn’t keep it in any longer. For a time, he had tried to capture Thren’s son, Aaron, and had even used the king’s old advisor, Robert Haern, to aid him in the task. Time had dulled his memory, and no doubt the child had grown, but still…

“You have to be Thren’s kin,” he said. “His long lost son, Aaron, perhaps?”

The Watcher pulled his hood lower over his face, and his mood seemed to sour.

“I would keep such thoughts to yourself, friend. They are dangerous.”

Gerand felt his blood chill.

“Of course, of course. I guess it is no matter. But can you pull this off? A bluff won’t work with either side.”

“I have lived on the streets, hunting them like dogs. Every single guild has initiated me into their order without knowing it. I know where they live, where they hide. Few can challenge my skill, and none my determination. I will kill them, all of them, if I must. Make the king listen to you.”

He stood and put a hand on the door.

“I’ve already delivered the rest of the messages. They’ll bring their answers to you. Come tomorrow, I’ll check here first, to see who is safe and who must be dealt with.”

“I understand.”

As the door opened, Gerand couldn’t hold in a chuckle. The Watcher stopped, as if he suspected a trap.

“No, it’s not that,” he said as the man closed the door. “I just found it humorous, is all. A long time ago, your father came to me, threatening my life to help him escalate his conflict. Yet now you come here, seeking to end it. I guess you aren’t your father’s son, are you?”

This seemed to put a smile on the Watcher’s face.

“Good night, advisor. Do your part, and trust me to do mine.”

He vanished out the door. Gerand plopped down onto his bed, and now that he was alone, he felt his hands start to shake, his nerves finally getting the better of him. It seemed, despite the guards and walls, those with enough skill could still reach him. Perhaps the king’s jumping at shadows wasn’t so irrational after all…

“Where’s that damn wine?” he asked. Seeing it, he held it by the neck and drank straight from the bottle. Given what he was about to go through the following day and night, he’d need all the courage he could get.

Delysia stumbled upon him getting ready as night fast approached.

“Where are you going?” she asked.

He’d shared Senke’s room, but the other rogue had gone out to spend a night relaxing in the taverns.

“I’ve got some business to take care of,” he said. Brug’s trunk of weapons lay open before him, and he slid several daggers into his belt, plus another into a pocket of his boot.

“My brother did some digging, and he says the mercenaries won’t be going out again tonight,” she said, crossing her arms underneath her breasts. “What is it you’re planning? For once the night might be peaceful.”

Haern felt a half-smile tug at the corner of his mouth.

“The nights are never peaceful here. Quiet, perhaps, but killing can be silent work when done right. Never mind that, though. Promise me you’ll stay inside. Things are about to get very dangerous.”

She put a hand on his arm. “For you as well?”

He shrugged. “Can’t help it. I have a chance to do something great, Delysia, something real.”

“Will you kill?”

He rolled his eyes.

“This isn’t the same.”

“Then what is it?”

“Safety,” he said. “For all of us. My father wants a legacy, and I’ll deny him it. What he started, I’ll end, or I’ll die trying.”

“You don’t have to do this alone,” she said. “Let us help. Let me help.”

“You lost enough because of me. I won’t risk the life you’ve rebuilt here.”

“Who said you had a choice?”

He winked at her.

“Where I’m going tonight, I don’t think a priest or priestess has ever been. Good night, Del.”

He took her hand, kissed it, and then left.

The trip to the castle wasn’t long, though scaling the outer wall, sneaking past the guards, climbing up to one of the higher windows, and then stealthily descending to Gerand’s room took more time than he’d prefer. Probably should have made the advisor meet him at the front gates, he thought. Would have saved him the time and trouble.

When he slipped inside, Gerand looked ready for him. He smiled at his entrance, but Haern saw the way his eyes darted about, and how the edges of his smile quivered. The man was nervous, but he didn’t think it was because he’d set a trap. No doubt he felt the eyes of every guild upon him, plus the anger of the Trifect.

“What were their responses?” Haern asked, having no time to waste.

“I’ve received an answer from everyone but the Ash Guild and James Keenan. With him down in Angelport, there’s no way he might give an answer, and no keeper of his estate here would dare agree to something like this without confirmation.”

“Don’t worry about the Ash Guild. I have their answer. Keenan will fall in line when the other two Trifect leaders agree. Tell me, have any said yes?”

“The Wolf Guild will, but only if Thren agrees as well. If the Spider Guild doesn’t fall in line, though, they’ll deny ever saying so.”

“Is that it?”

Gerand licked his lips. “The Serpent Guild’s man said they’d rather kiss the asses of a thousand corpses than the Trifect’s. The Hawks fired an arrow over our wall, a cloth tied to the shaft with the word ‘Never’ written in blood upon it. Leon Connington’s advisor sent a letter saying they were open to negotiations, but not under such conditions. Lady Gemcroft’s response was cryptic. I received a letter from her saying you’d have to kill her, while her advisor came by later insisting she might change her mind given time. As for the Spider Guild…”

He gestured to a package waiting beside his bed. Haern opened it to find a severed head, eyes and mouth sewn shut.

“Who is it?” he asked, frowning.

“Look closer.”

He did, saw the gray hair, thin nose, and most noticeably, a fresh cut running from the head’s left eye to its ear. Haern glanced back at the advisor and saw a similar, albeit faded, scar on his face. He felt a pang of guilt, and he wondered who the poor guy had been.

“Intimidation,” Haern said. “Don’t fall for it. I won’t let them get to you.”

“How?” asked Gerand, exasperated. “There are five guilds, and three leaders of the Trifect. Three of the guilds, and two of the Trifect, have denied you. Can you kill them all? I might be better off having you killed instead, and letting them fight amongst themselves.”

Haern narrowed his eyes, and the advisor immediately retracted his comment.

“Forgive me, I’m stressed, and have had more to drink than I probably should. How will I know if you succeed?”

“They’ll come tell you,” Haern said, turning to leave. “Oh, and escort me out, will you? I don’t have time to mess around with your guards.”

“Sure,” said Gerand. “Why not? A king’s advisor and an assassin, side by side as friends. I’ve suffered through stranger.”

They walked through the halls toward the castle’s exit, and several times Gerand had to calm soldiers who saw Haern’s cloaks and sabers and immediately assumed the worst. At the giant doors, Gerand grabbed his arm and pulled him close.

“Be careful who you kill first,” he said. “If you fail, but still strike down the leaders of either side, you will unbalance everything. You must succeed in this, Watcher.”