sent Nathaniel away to protect him, to be fostered with a good family. Not so long ago, her father had done the same, and she remembered her anger, her loneliness, and her feelings of betrayal. Once more she understood her father in a way she never had before. He really had hidden her because he loved her, not to get her out of the way like she once thought.
Still, how angry she’d been when she returned…
Her decision made, she dipped the quill in the ink and began writing.
My dear lord Tullen, she began. I have a request for you involving my son, Nathaniel…
2
Biggs kept watch at the door while the rest of the Hawk Guild cleared away the bodies.
“How many will be with him?” asked one as he wrapped one in its dark gray cloak.
“Depends,” said Biggs.
“On what?”
Biggs rolled his eyes. “On who is coming. If it’s Veliana, only a handful. If it’s Garrick, though…maybe twenty.”
The other thief’s face twitched at that. There were only ten of them weaving through the empty tables and quiet furnaces of the smith’s workplace.
“So what do we do if it’s him?”
Biggs turned, grabbed his shirt and yanked him close.
“I didn’t betray my guild and execute my friends so you can turn tail and run,” he said. His knife was in his hand, and he pressed it against the shaking thief’s belly. “We hide, and we kill. You know how to do that, right?”
Biggs shoved him away and turned back to the door. They still had ten minutes until the expected rendezvous, but it wouldn’t surprise him if either showed up early. He’d worked the deal himself, a supposed trade between the Hawks and the Ash involving a powder hallucinogen that many nobles had taken a fancy to. The money was absurd, by far the best score for the ailing Ash Guild in over a year. And now his former guildmates lay dead, and once their leaders fell, Biggs knew he would take control. The Hawk’s guildleader, Kadish Vel, had promised it.
“Into position,” said the present highest ranking member of the Hawks, a thin man named Kenny, whose nasally voice annoyed Biggs to no end. “And for the love of the gods, keep it quiet.”
Kenny slid beside Biggs and glanced up and down the dark streets.
“You sure they’re coming?” he asked.
“I know what I’m doing,” Biggs said, glaring. “A deal this big needs one of the two leaders to show. I hope it’s Garrick, but it’ll probably be Veliana. Not a bad thing, though. She’s the scary one, could kill Garrick in a clean fight, and even easier in a dirty one. Not sure why she hasn’t taken control yet, but I ain’t giving her time to change her mind. If she’s the one, you make sure you get her first.”
Kenny lifted his small, custom crossbow and winked.
“I’ve shot the nipple off a whore at twenty yards,” he said.
“Bastard. What’d she do to you?”
Kenny laughed. “After that? She did everything I asked, of course.”
Biggs chuckled despite himself and their need for quiet.
“Remind me to never…”
He stopped, for he heard a scream from the other side of the building.
“What the fuck?” asked Kenny, spinning about. “The Ash send more scouts?”
“Doubt it,” said Briggs. “Watch the door. I’ll take care of this.”
He tightened his grip on his dagger and ran through a maze of anvils and firepits. While the full moon kept the streets bright, inside the smithy was dark and confusing. He heard a second scream, and when he turned toward it he smacked his knee into the edge of an anvil. He sucked his breath in through his teeth and tried to ignore the pain.
“What’s going on?” he asked, deciding stealth and silence were pointless with the Hawks howling bloody murder. He heard the sound of scuffling, then rattling of weaponry. When he reached where the shop opened up into various displays of blades, hilts, and machinery, he stopped. There was another door in the back, and it was open. Moonlight shone through, falling upon bodies that lay crumpled about. At first Biggs thought them Ash guildmembers, but then he saw their cloaks and knew otherwise. Standing over them was a man.
“Who the fuck are you?” asked Biggs.
The man looked up and smiled. His skin was dark, and his long hair darker. He wore the red robes of a wizard, though he held a dagger in hand instead of a staff. Blood dripped from its edge. Covering his features was a mask of gray cloth pulled tight across his face, with two large slits to allow sight. His brown eyes sparkled with amusement.
“I have no name,” said the intruder with blood on his hands. “But if Karak asks who sent you to his Abyss, tell him the Council’s reaper, the outcast, or the dark man in red.”
He was chuckling, and the sound raised the hairs on the back of Biggs’s neck.
“You’re crazy,” he said. “You know who you just killed? You’ll have the fury of the Hawk Guild come down on you.”
He was blustering, of course. He’d made a quick count of the bodies, and knew that besides him and Kenny, only two others remained alive in the smithy. Still, he couldn’t act weak. It took all his concentration to keep the dagger from shaking in his hand.
The stranger made a flicking motion, flinging tiny globs of blood. Biggs swore as they flecked across his shirt and pants.
“They have to know I exist first,” he said, snapping his fingers.
The blood caught fire, burning as if it were lamp oil. The heat came sudden and intense. Biggs fought an impulse to drop and roll. Magic fire would not snuff out so easily. As he felt his flesh burn, he lunged, his dagger aiming for the stranger’s chest. Before he could reach, the man fled, still laughing, still mocking. Instead of chasing, Biggs turned and ran for the other entrance.
“Kenny!” he shouted. “Get your ass back…”
It seemed his own shadow tripped him. There was no other way to describe the strange sight and sensation. His head cracked against an anvil on the way down, and the sudden pain disorientated him beyond all measure. His stomach heaved, and he thought he would vomit. When he got to his feet, he bolted, not knowing if it was the right way or not. He didn’t care. He had to move; he had to escape that terrible man who could burn blood with a snap of his fingers.
“Gods, Biggs!” cried Kenny as he plowed right into him. Biggs clutched him to remain standing, and this time he did vomit. The mess splattered across Kenny’s shoes, but to Kenny’s credit, he didn’t bat an eye.
“Kill him,” Biggs said, turning and pointing.
The stranger approached, his dagger still in hand.
“You have but a few left,” he said as the blood upon his blade burned like embers fresh from a hearth. The light danced across his masked face, casting an orange haze over the gray. Biggs stepped back, doing his best to ignore the pain of his burns and the throbbing of his head.
“What, to kill you?” asked Kenny. “All we need is me.”
He lifted his crossbow and fired. The bolt bounced off as if the stranger’s skin were made of stone.
“A spellcaster?” said Kenny. “Damn it, Biggs, what shit did you get us in to?”
The man’s grin spread, but he didn’t laugh. It seemed the time for laughter was over. A gleam shone in his eye, like a predator ready to pounce upon its prey. From either side, two more thieves rushed from their hiding places. Kenny laughed, and Biggs realized it had been a trap all along, prepared while he ran headlong like a fool to see the reason for the commotion. The two thieves stabbed, but their daggers struck only cloth. The stranger twisted and fell, avoiding both blows. When he hit the ground, his hands became a blur of strange motions. An explosion of fire blinded Biggs’s vision in the darkness, and then he heard the screams.
