cost. Better the Ash Guild dissolved leaderless than continue in the hands of that paranoid bastard.
“You know how to keep a gentleman waiting,” Garrick said as she arrived.
“I’m sure Deathmask will forgive me.”
Garrick chuckled, not at all bothered by the slight.
“Well, we’re all here now. Before we begin…Vel, would you care to hand over your daggers? I’d hate for someone to get hurt.”
It took all her concentration to hide her panic. Should she do it? If she refused, it might make her seem all the more rebellious. Its meaning might also be taken to a far worse, though truthful, extreme. She glanced at Deathmask, and during the brief moment their eyes connected, she saw the corner of his mouth curl into a grin, followed by a wink.
Trusting him, she handed over her daggers and crossed her arms.
“I trust I won’t like what I’m about to hear if you’d insult me so,” she said.
“Perhaps, but I am not the one who shall be speaking.” He turned to Deathmask. “Tell me, please, why Veliana is still alive.”
All about men murmured, and she wondered how they were interpreting that statement.
“I do not understand,” Deathmask said, feigning confusion. “Is there a reason she should not be?”
“Don’t lie to me. I know she attacked you last night. One of my men watched your exchange. Tell me, why is it you didn’t kill her? She did, after all, try to kill you.”
“I assumed it just a training exercise,” Deathmask said, the lie smooth on his tongue. “Veliana confirmed as much near the end of our fight. Was I wrong in my assumption? Was her response to me a lie?”
This was clearly not the answer Garrick had expected. He frowned and shifted in his cushion.
“Yes, you damn fool, you were wrong, and she a liar. You should be dead, yet are not.”
Veliana held her tongue. What game was Garrick playing? She’d warned him at revealing attempts to murder an accepted member without reason or proof, yet here he was exposing his plans to the guild, and not just that, but showing how they had failed.
“For what reason would she attack me?” Deathmask asked.
“Isn’t it obvious? She fears you. She knows with your skill you might quickly ascend to take her place. Isn’t that right, Veliana?”
He grinned at her, his bloodshot eyes twinkling. Veliana’s hands shook as she choked down her outrage. So that was it. He’d cast the shame of a failed inner-guild execution on her, and if she tried to deny it, it was her word against his. Her word against the word of their guildmaster. One clearly outranked the other. The punishment for such a charge was limited to two options: banishment, or death.
Staring at that grin, she knew which option Garrick had already chosen.
“You planned this from the start,” she said, her voice nearly a whisper. Garrick stood and stepped closer as the rest of the guild tensed. They understood the accusation, and they too knew the possible punishments.
“I merely took advantage of an opportunity,” he whispered so only she could hear. She glared at Deathmask, suddenly wondering how many of his promises had been lies. Perhaps all of them. He’d set her up, she realized. She’d wasted time debating and discussing with Zusa when she should have killed the bastard. All attempts on his life had been made in secret, with no one else informed. They’d all died as well. No one could prove Garrick’s attempts. Once more, his word against hers. Damn it all!
“As you know,” Garrick said, raising his voice to a theatrical level as he turned his back to her. “Our laws are clear for such an attempt. We cannot have anarchy within our ranks, not in this crucial time while we fight for our very survival.” He spun. “You will be made an example, Veliana, one for the entire guild to see.”
“Guildmaster, if I may make a request,” said Deathmask. Garrick seemed worried, but he gestured for him to continue. “Since it was my life she tried to take, I ask that I be the one to carry out her punishment.”
“You fuck,” she said, her hands clenched tight into fists. “You sick little fuck.”
She feinted a lunge at Garrick and then hurled herself at Deathmask. She was unarmed, but even with her bare hands she knew a multitude of ways to kill. If she could strike him just right, crush his throat or snap his neck, then at least she’d die taking revenge. Her fist slammed into his mouth, just in case he attempted to cast a spell. With her other fist she doubled him over with a blow to the stomach. She heard men shouting, but she stepped closer and wrapped her arms around his neck. Just a single hard twist and then…
Something hard smacked the back of her head. Her stomach heaved, and her whole body went limp. Deathmask pulled free, and he shouted for the others to leave her be.
“She is mine,” he said. “Guildmaster, I ask, is your punishment for this madwoman execution?”
“It is,” said Garrick. He sounded amused by her display.
Her helpless rage grew. The men let her go, but it took all her strength to stand. Already a knot grew on the back of her head. She felt ready to vomit. Deathmask closed the distance, and her wild punch missed. He grabbed her by the throat and flung her against a wall. A dagger flashed from his belt and pressed against her neck.
“Do you trust me?” he whispered into her ear. His grip tightened around her throat. Her eyes met his, and against all her instincts, something in those brown orbs gave her hope. She nodded, a barely perceptible movement given how tightly he held her against the wall.
“Then stay perfectly still.”
He muttered a few more words, soft whispers hidden by his grin. At last he pulled back his dagger and stabbed her chest, in and out with such speed her blood was flowing before she ever felt the pain. Black dots cluttered her vision as he held her still.
“Sleep in darkness,” she heard him say as the rest of the Ash Guild hooted and hollered. No doubt Garrick was one of them. She tried to curse his name as she died, but her whole body was turning rigid, refusing to cooperate, refusing to struggle, refusing to breathe…
And then the darkness came, and she could only obey Deathmask’s request.
*
O ric waited until mid-afternoon before heading out. He traveled south along the main road, ignoring the peddlers and the beggars. He veered off when appropriate, making his way to the mercenary’s guild. While it had once been a weak entity, the years of battle and constant work had filled its coffers, upgraded its recruitment, and increased its influence. Anyone wanting work had to go through them. There were some advantages, like guarantees in price or insurance should some of the higher ranked fail to fulfill their duties. Mostly Oric thought it a grand scheme to jack up the cost of hiring mercenaries, but what did he know?
The building itself was still small, little more than a large cube to house records and provide the wealthy a place to visit close enough to the main road that they might not be afraid. Oric entered, crossing his fingers as he looked about the office hoping to see an old friend. Sure enough, there he was, white bushy unibrow and all.
“Oric?” asked the old man as he came from a back room to the front at the sound of a bell ringing above the door. “Come closer, my eyes aren’t what they…so it is you! Good to see you, you ugly son of a bitch.”
Oric grinned. “Was worried you’d died off, or been replaced by someone who can still remember what happened more than an hour prior.”
The old man laughed. His name was Bill Trett, and in Oric’s former sellsword life, a respected colleague. Bill had killed until his strength failed him, but by then he’d acquired such a wealth of knowledge of the various employers that the guild taught him his numbers and set him in charge of the guild’s transactions.
“You see this mess?” he asked, pointing to the various shelves stocked with expensive paper. “Only I know where everything’s at. They’ll keep me on until I die, and perhaps a little bit longer than that if they can figure out a way.”
“Gods know they need you,” Oric said. “The Trifect still filling your purses?”
Bill waved a dismissive hand. “The money’s steadied, nearly every one of ‘em just wanting the bare minimum. Not like when this mess first started, when I saw more gold change hands than I could count. Blood really filled the streets then, didn’t it?”
Oric smiled, remembering the many thieves he’d cut down while in Leon Connington’s pay. It’d been a very good year.
“I think Alyssa’s going to give everyone some work later today, so be prepared,” Oric said. Bill raised his eyebrows but didn’t inquire further. “But for myself, I need a favor, Bill.”
“What’s that? Not that I should be doing you any favors. Last I remember, I saved your life up in Felwood, not the other way around.”
