ensuing dizziness, and then sat on her knees.
“I’m fine now,” she told him. “You say we have lots to talk about, so let’s talk.”
He nodded, as if perfectly fine to hurry through the bullshit.
“Garrick surprised me with his boldness. I’d feel more upset if he didn’t surprise you as well, and you’ve known him far longer than I. Even a rigged die will roll something new with enough throws, if you know what I mean. I tried to save us both, but clearly Garrick wasn’t one to be persuaded. He wanted you dead, and I did my best to fool him regarding that. I succeeded, of that I’m sure. My position in the guild is tenuous right now, esteemed in most of the lower members that despised you, but Garrick wants me killed, that much is obvious. And now here we are. It’s only been a day, and I managed to keep you wrapped and safe so no bugs or worms could get at you.”
Veliana shuddered at the prospect.
“So here we are,” she said. “What is it you want? Why keep me alive?”
“Because I made you an offer, and I won’t let some idiot guildmaster interfere with my plans. That offer still stands, though I need your answer now. Will you aid me, or must I find another?”
“And if I say no?”
His eyes held no joy, no amusement, only grim truth.
“I’ll put you as you were, though this time no spell will bring you back.”
She thought of the cold, the darkness. An involuntary shudder coursed through her, too strong to hide. She couldn’t go back to that, even if it wasn’t a true death. Garrick had turned against her, and even now she would be a outsider, a banished ghost from her own guild.
“I’ll help you,” she said. “Even if I did have a choice, I’d still help you. I want that son of a bitch to die, slowly, painfully, and at my hand. That is all I ask. Can you promise me that?”
Deathmask handed her a small bottle of some red vintage. She tore out the cork and drank.
“That, my dear,” he said, “is something I can assure you of. He’ll be your kill, all yours.”
The alcohol burned going down, but damn did it feel good.
“Then enough lies and games. I can hardly turn against you, now that I’ve been ‘executed’ by the Ash Guild. What is your plan? Why have you come to Veldaren?”
Deathmask smoothed his robe and then sat opposite her on the floor. He scratched at his chin, as if thinking where to start.
“I was once a member of the Council of Mages,” he said. “Less than six months ago, in fact. They preach non-involvement in political matters, but it’s nonsense. We had our eyes everywhere, especially on the kings and their capitals. When this war erupted between the guilds and the Trifect, I was assigned to watch. Through coin and magic, I learned of every guildleader, their goals, and the reaches of their power. As the years dragged on, and my boredom grew, I formulated various plans and contingencies. I was not a high ranking member, Veliana; far from it. My strength was equal to many, but my years were few. Not enough gray hairs, if you will. I also had a reputation as a…troublemaker.”
“Shocking,” Veliana muttered. He chuckled and continued.
“They told me nothing of why I was tracking Veldaren’s underworld, so left to my imagination, I thought of every possible reason. Recently I came up with a plan I was sure could work. It wasn’t foolproof, and would involve risk to whoever tried carrying it out, but I was certain of its worth. This stupid grudge war wasn’t going to end, not without killing off Thren Felhorn, and I knew a way. When I tried to convince the Council of this, they gave me strict orders not to interfere. I saw a wealth of gold, but gold means nothing to those aging bastards. They want influence, power, and information. Gold helped with that, but was hardly their true ambition.
“I went on with my plan without their approval, and that is when I realized how dangerous they thought me. Several of my contacts were actually in the pockets of other higher ranking members. My assassination attempt accomplished nothing but my banishment. They took my name from me, Veliana. They stole it with a spell, called my ambitions foolish, my desire for gold a young man’s folly. We call you nameless, they said, for you are death. They refused to see the power I might gain, the wealth the underworld of Veldaren smuggled every single night.
“I came here to prove them wrong. I lurked until the right moment to introduce myself. I have a plan, many in fact, and this is just one of them. We will take over the Ash Guild and turn it into a powerful force no one will dare act against. We’ll kill many accomplishing this, possibly hundreds. Does this bother you?”
She thought over everything he’d said. It made sense, and it explained many of his strange powers. Of course he could be lying, but even if he was, it didn’t change what Garrick had done to her. As for his question…
“No,” she said. “Not if it lets me kill Garrick. The innocent aren’t long for this world anyway.”
Deathmask smiled.
“Good girl,” he said. “Then you shouldn’t mind what you must do next.”
11
E velyn washed her hands in the bowl and wiped them on a nearby cloth. Feeling like a morbid butcher, she tossed her bloody apron aside. Matthew stood beside her, looking down at the boy.
“Will he live?” he asked.
“I believe so,” she told her husband. “I sewed him up quick enough. Lost more blood tending to the Kender’s boy when he hit his head on their fence.”
“He was also older,” Matthew said. Evelyn nodded but said nothing. The silence stretched as they both looked upon the sleeping boy, his skin pale and slick with sweat. She hoped that meant his fever was finally breaking, but it easily could be because of the amputation. The human body did strange things when in pain, and Evelyn didn’t want to imagine what the boy had felt when she took the saw to his shoulder. He’d been feverish and unable to talk, so maybe he hadn’t felt much.
“Strange not knowing his name,” Matthew said.
“We could give him one.”
“Not much point. If he wakes, he’ll tell us it himself.”
“ When he wakes.”
Her husband gave her a look, then nodded. It was the closest she ever got to an apology with him.
“Right. When he wakes. Give me a moment to take care of this.”
The boy’s arm lay wrapped in rags on the floor by the bed. Matthew scooped it up and carried it outside. Though he didn’t tell her, she knew the hogs penned out back were about to get an interesting addition to their diet. They’d kept the children out of the house while she cut, though her oldest, Trevor, had insisted he watch. Just shy of fourteen, he might have been able to stomach it, but truth be told, she couldn’t afford the distraction should he have cried out or lost control of his stomach.
“I’ve been thinking,” she said when Matthew returned. “We might as well name him. Both him and that Haern were injured, and I have no doubt they’re hiding from someone. I’d hate for one of us to let slip his real name before we can get him home.”
“I reckon you’re right. Any ideas?”
“Always wanted to have a boy named something fancy. How about Tristan?”
“Too fancy. No one would believe us when we say he’s ours. How about John?”
She frowned. “He’ll only have this name for a week or two at most, and you want something so plain as John?”
He blinked at her. “My father’s name is John.”
“Your father was a very plain man himself.”
He took an angry step toward her, grabbed her wrists, and then, laughing, pulled her against him. Her own laughter faded as he held her tight, and she wrapped her arms about him.
“You going to be all right?” he asked.
“Just blood and dead flesh,” she said. “Not as if he was squealing like a hog.”
“It’s just you and me right now. You know that, right? We can open the stitches, say he bled out when we took the arm. Wouldn’t be a lie…”
