to you now, people of Veldaren. To you, and to the gentle touchers.”
“Enjoy the show!” Leon shouted from the hill. “Give ‘em blood!”
One of the gentle touchers put down a small table he had carried from the wagon. Another unrolled a canvas wrapping filled with instruments. They started with the small pins. Two focused on each hand, taking their pins and slowly pushing them underneath Will’s fingernails. Two more did the same to his toes. The fifth constantly surveyed the ropes, tightening when necessary, grabbing hold of Will and keeping him still when he flexed his fingers or tried to bend his knees.
Once enough pins were in place, they split apart their duties. One took a small set of pliers and peeled back a fingernail. Another took a thin pin and jammed it into the exposed flesh underneath. A different gentle toucher used a hammer and a blunt piece of wood to smash down on the toenails with pins underneath. With each strike, Will’s entire body thrashed against the ropes.
“Like art,” Cynric said as he watched. “Like fucking art.”
Thren’s hands shook as he watched. He refused to look away. Somehow Will had been caught, and like a damn fool, he hadn’t gone looking for him. He might have spared his closest enforcer from this terrible tragedy. Even better, he might have spared him from the spectacle. Hundreds of people howled and cheered with every moan and scream of pain. Two gentle touchers simultaneously grabbed Will’s little toes with pliers and pulled them back until they were so out of joint they were perpendicular to the rest. Thren watched as Will the Bloody, the strongest, fiercest member of his guild, wept like a child.
And they hadn’t even cut him yet. Only a little bit of blood trickled from his fingers to the wood stage. The gentle touchers ripped off Will’s loincloth and took their needles and pliers to his groin.
“Change of plans,” Thren said. His face was an icy mask, his disguise barely hiding his rage. He pointed at Leon, not caring if any saw.
“He’s mine,” he said, his voice so cold that Cynric shivered. “No matter what happens, that fat bastard is mine to kill. I’ll leave the Gemcroft ambush to you.”
Cynric turned and shoved his way through the crowd, not desiring to watch anymore. Thren kept his hands clenched, refusing to be weak. No spectacle would defeat him. He stared at Will’s eyes, hoping that for at least one moment they would meet his. He wanted Will to see Leon’s death in his stare, to see the rage and know that no man, not even a member of the Trifect, could escape it.
After twenty minutes, the gentle touchers brought out their knives. Ten minutes later, Will died. The crowd cheered, thrilled with the spectacle. Their cheers rose when Will’s head rolled off the platform. A few men kicked it about, laughing as if it were all a game. Just before he left the throng, Thren stabbed one in the back and then vanished before anyone even noticed the drunken man was dead.
W ith so many processions of food and wagons moving westward, Haern had an easy time procuring himself food. He kept his mask over his face, feeling comfortable only with it on. Afterward he found the main hideout for the Spider Guild and scouted for a hiding place. With the whole guild soon to move out, he only needed to follow one to find the rest. One of the nearby homes had a tunnel dug underneath, so Haern crawled in through the window of a finely furnished house opposite.
Thankfully the occupants were long gone, most likely enjoying the festivities. Haern grabbed some pillows from the bed and stretched out across the floor.
His belly full and body aching, his sleep was welcome. He offered a single prayer before closing his eyes, and that was for no dreams. The prayer went unanswered. Haern dreamt of the Lion, snarling at him in fury. When he awoke, cold sweat poured off his body. The wounds from the lion’s roar had reopened and bled anew. Haern re- bandaged them using strips of the cheapest looking shirt he could find, feeling a little guilty as he did. Whoever owned the home would certainly think him the oddest burglar ever.
When he glanced outside, he saw the sun not far from setting. Expecting the bulk of the activity to happen after dark, Haern straightened up, stretched his muscles, and then watched. An hour crawled by, quiet and boring. Just when he began thinking of switching locations, Haern spotted three men in the gray of the Spider Guild exit the front door. They hurried north, their cloaks flapping in the air behind them.
Haern didn’t bother going downstairs. He propped the window halfway open, slid out, and then dashed along the rooftops. The buildings were close enough together that he could follow at a swift pace without any fear of being spotted. For a moment he wished he had the dagger he’d tossed back to the priests of Karak. Whenever it came time to act, he didn’t like the idea of being weaponless. He’d have to find a way to arm himself, and quick.
The three men traveled through the alleys and back corners, avoiding the main roads whenever possible. Haern smiled. If he followed along the ground, it might have been troubling. Up on the rooftops, he took straight paths where they took winding ones. It didn’t take much guesswork to follow them. They were travelling toward the Gemcroft mansion.
With how empty the streets were, Haern picked up occasional snippets of their conversation. Part of him was furious at how freely they talked. Sickness hit his stomach when he thought of how Thren would have punished them if he had known. To think he had loved a man like that. Haern shook his head. Still loved. He couldn’t lie to himself. Thren was a monster, yet still his father. Turning blind eyes toward his feelings would only endanger himself.
“…of a fire,” Haern heard one say.
“Can’t wait myself,” said another.
“What about Beren?”
“Wait until everything’s crazy. Kadish will…”
And then they were too far gone. Haern scrambled about a chimney, leapt over a thin alley, then stopped at his new perch. The expansive Gemcroft mansion stretched out before him on the opposite side of the street. Below him, the three men of the Spider Guild gathered and waited, for what Haern was not sure.
They were talking again. Haern took step after careful step along the roof, testing each one to make sure it would hold silently. Once he was near, he lay flat on his stomach and put an ear to the edge. If the men had been whispering, he wouldn’t have heard, but their discipline seemed to have vanished with their excitement.
“…abyss are those blasted Hawks?” said the one on the left.
“We’re still early,” said the one on the right.
“Ash ain’t here either,” said the middle, cleaning his fingernails with his dagger. “Wonder if those cowardly skirts will even come.”
“Thren got to James,” said left. “The Ash boys will show.”
“Wouldn’t bother me none if the Hawks stayed roosting overnight,” said right. “All of them fuckers would sooner kill you than rob you. They turned a little turf war into some goddamn bloodbath. No decency among them, none at all.”
“People get that from their leader,” said middle. “Kadish is to blame. Guy likes to eat flesh, people flesh. Everyone knows it.”
Haern scoffed. The three idiots below him certainly didn’t take after their guildleader. A part of him hoped Thren would show up while they still were talking, just to hear their chastisement. A much larger part hoped he’d never see his father again.
“Look, that way,” said right, pointing further down the street. A group of eight men in the dress of the Hawk Guild marched openly in the center of the street. Curved daggers flashed from their belts.
“They out of their mind?” asked left.
“We’ve declared war,” said middle. “Looks like Kadish wants everyone to see it.”
Haern turned his head so he could watch. Kadish led the way, smiling his red smile. The eyepatch hung loose over his face. The Hawks drew their daggers as they neared.
“Where’s the rest of ya?” asked middle, stepping closer. He pointed toward the mansion, of which they were in full view. “And did you think to use a bit of stealth? Any guards in there won’t think much to a couple of cloaks scouting the place, but you’re acting like you’re a damn army.”
“Who says we aren’t?” Kadish asked. “And my men are coming. The question is, where’s the Ash Guild? And what about the rest of the little crawly Spiders?”
A bolt struck the ground by their feet, its tip exploding into a puff of thick gray smoke. Both parties turned to see a single man approaching, his dress that of the Ash Guild.
“About time,” said Kadish. “Where’s your masters?”
