Mark Del Franco - Uncertain Allies

Brokke placed his hand on my sleeve. A static of essence danced along my skin and settled on my eyes. Around the dragon’s head, faint dwarven runes glimmered in deep green light. “What does it say? I never mastered the dwarven language,” I said.

“When Thekk Veinseeker did not feel he had been treated fairly by the Guild, he laid a warning on the door that any dwarf who entered would meet his doom,” Brokke said.

He released my sleeve, and the runes faded from my sight. “Is this your way of saying you can’t stay, but you’ll meet me for coffee later?”

He crossed the portico. “Doom is merely the judgment of our lives, Connor. I have always lived my life knowing it would be judged in the end. I do not fear my doom. If I did, I would rethink my life.”

Briallen waited at the elevators, glaring, with her arms crossed. “I’m glad I’m the one with the least interest here.”

I kissed her temple. “Liar.”

She hit the elevator button. “MacGoren’s still using the Receiving Hall as an office. He needs to assert his authority any way he can. Let him pretend he belongs there,” she said.

We switched to the second elevator bank and arrived at the thirtieth floor. The doors opened to several squads of Guild agents lining the corridor. The air vibrated with sendings as we were ushered along. An agent opened the large door carved with an oak tree with an interlocking crown of branches. MacGoren waited at the end of the sky bridge in a chair in front of the Guildmaster’s seat. For all his pretension, he didn’t have the nerve to sit in the official chair. In the crook of his arm, he cradled the Guild staff of office, a short length of ebony wood tipped with gold and topped with a blue beryl the size of a golf ball.

He enjoyed watching us make the long walk down the length of the hall. “You have five minutes. Say what you will and be done with it,” macGoren said.

“This is a trap, Ryan. Vize would not walk in here willingly,” I said.

MacGoren pretended to dust something off his knee. “A wise man once told me that recognizing a trap was the beginning of avoiding it.”

“The point was to figure out what the trap was, not to let it close on you. Nigel taught me the same thing, macGoren. You’re about to fail avoiding one,” I said.

“It is Vize who is trapped, Grey. He can do nothing within these walls without my permission,” macGoren said.

Briallen stepped closer. “Oh, knock it off, Ryan. You aren’t Guildmaster, no matter how much you wish otherwise. Only Manus ap Eagan has the power to bind anyone here, and while he lives, you keep the seat warm—and not even the actual Guildmaster seat.”

MacGoren frowned, shots of white essence sparking in his wings. Her words stung, as she’d intended. One of the nice things about being Briallen ab Gwyll was speaking her mind when others feared to do so. “I will not allow this opportunity to pass, Briallen. He’s requested protection from the Elven Court. Maeve will be pleased with this.”

“Delay this until we’ve had a chance to figure out his game,” she said.

From the moment I met macGoren, he had been an opportunist. Whether it was money, power, or status, he put himself first. That self-interest had been his downfall on more than one occasion. “MacGoren, I know Vize better than anyone. He doesn’t operate this way. A public ceremony is not his style.”

MacGoren leaned back, shifting the scepter into the crook of his arm. “He has nothing left, Grey. Even the Consortium hunts him now. The humans will thank me that he did not fall into their hands.”

Briallen scoffed. “Thank you ? Is that what this about, Ryan? Your vanity? You will never be Guildmaster if you put yourself first. I will go to Maeve to stop this. If she doesn’t appoint me Acting Guildmaster, the underKings and -Queens will.”

MacGoren affected a bored expression. “Feel free, Briallen. Let me know when she gets back to you.”

The doors to the Receiving Hall slammed open, startling us. Aldred Core strode in, his ceremonial cape flaring behind him. I glanced at Brokke, wondering if he knew that the “ambassador” was going to show. He hardly turned to watch Donor approach, which was enough confirmation that he knew what was going on.

“I demand an explanation for the detention of Bergin Vize,” Core said.

MacGoren had the common sense to stand, even if he didn’t know the Elven King was under the glamour. “Ambassador Core, it is a pleasure to have you here again.”

The fury on Donor’s glamoured face was anything but pleasure. “I asked you a question, Guildmaster.”

“He’s not really Guildmaster,” I muttered.

MacGoren pretended not to hear and wore that smug look I hate about him. “No, I believe you made a demand, sir. If you wish an official response, there are official channels you may go through.”

“This isn’t Aldred Core. You’re standing in front of the Elven King,” I said. Brokke made a small hissing sound under his breath. I ignored him. If Donor was gunning for me, I doubted he had changed his mind.

MacGoren laughed. The idiot laughed. “Really, Grey, do you expect me to believe the king of the Teutonic fey would be here, and I not know about it?”

Briallen held up a hand. “Wait, Ryan. My sources have been indicating the Elven King is in the city. If Connor is saying this is Donor, I believe him.”

I turned to Brokke. “Tell him.”

Brokke bowed and stepped closer to the window. “I am here as an observer at the request of Her Majesty Eorla Elvendottir.”

I flinched as the dark mass reacted to my anger. Brokke wasn’t going to help.

“Ask Eorla, then. She knows,” I said.

Donor drifted to the window and faced downtown. “The Grand Duchess is on the march here as we speak. I warned you something like this would happen, macGoren. My people are trying to force her to rethink her actions.”

I went to one of the large windows. Plumes of essence radiated near the financial district by the Rowes Wharf Hotel, the afterimage of essence-fire burn. “What are you trying to pull, Donor? Eorla would not attack the Guild.”

He gave me a dismissive look. “My name is Aldred Core, sir. I imagine she is mounting a rescue for her foster son. She has always been volatile, as you well know, Guildmaster.”

I saw the plan now. Donor wasn’t going to let Vize out of his sight, not until he had the faith stone. “Don’t listen to him, macGoren. He’s setting Eorla up.”

MacGoren returned to his chair. “Enough of this. Eorla is the reason you’re not in chains yourself, Grey. She may have gotten the federal authorities to go away, but she has never acted in our interests. I would believe her no more than that dwarf standing behind you. I need to get this issue out of the way. If Eorla dares to attack, we shall meet her with firm resolve.”

The flutter of a sending wafted across the hall. Guild agents entered, their chrome helmets gleaming as they marched down the sides of the hall. Another squad took to the air and hovered over the rest, their faces focused on the door. Vize entered, surrounded by four druids. Everything else aside, macGoren had the sense to use his toughest security. A small group followed them, local Court hangers-on, reporters and Guild staffers, their faces avid with the excitement of seeing an international criminal under arrest.

The dark mass in my head flared with spikes as Vize approached. He grimaced at the same moment. In the battle between us that had cost us our abilities, we both ended up with the darkness inside us. As it had grown inside me, the darkness had spread inside Vize. His entire arm smoldered with it.

The look he shot me said he hadn’t expected to see me there. His usual self-righteousness seemed shaken. I didn’t buy it. The escorts stopped him shy of the floor medallion. He stared at the glamoured Elven King, hate burning in his eyes before he faced macGoren. I didn’t buy that either, not after Brokke’s refusal to out Donor. They had a plan. “I seek protection from the Seelie Court,” Vize said.