“It wasn’t right to. I was there when my father left you to die at the hands of that disgusting…Worm. I couldn’t do so again.”
His words hung in the air. When she spoke, her tone didn’t seem quite so hard.
“I spread word of Aaron Felhorn’s death after that night. I did it to hurt your father, but I’d be lying if I denied doing it for you as well. Aaron was dead, and it seemed true enough. What was the name you spoke to me that night? Something plain…”
“Haern.”
“That’s right. Is that who you are now? Haern the Watcher? I find it hard to believe you’re that same boy who spared my life. Do you know how many friends of mine you’ve killed? How many associates? You’re still Thren’s son, aren’t you? Perhaps you should adopt your old name, Aaron.”
“I am not!” he shouted.
In the corner, the dark-haired man laughed.
“Such ferocity. Well, there’s no doubt you’re skilled, and Vel here was lucky enough to get the jump on you after you were injured. Seems to corroborate everything we’ve heard about you, other than the demon blood. I’d sense that if it were the case. Still, your father cavorting with a succubus is an amusing thought.”
Haern shifted in his bonds.
“What is it you want from me?” he asked.
“Before I tell you that, I want you to understand just how powerless you currently are. I could kill you right here, that’s obvious enough. But I could also tell your father you’re still alive. How beautiful a game that would be, watching him tear the city apart house by house until he found where you hid. My curiosity is almost high enough to see what exactly he’d do. Would he greet you with open arms, or a dagger? Perhaps both?”
Haern glared. The man saw this and laughed again.
“Still, I’m in this for the coin and power, not the curiosity. I have a proposition for you, Aaron. Sorry, Watcher. Or would you prefer Haern? So many names, I find myself at a loss.”
“Haern is fine.”
“Very well then, Haern, my name is Deathmask, and I have a request of you. This is something I cannot do on my own, nor with just Veliana’s help. But you…you have no loyalties, no weaknesses, no aspirations other than killing. So my request is simple, really: help me end this war between the guilds and the Trifect.”
This time it was Haern’s turn to laugh.
“I’ve slaughtered hundreds of you thieves, and even with my help, the Trifect has sat on its hands and failed to do what needed to be done. Last night was a start, but it won’t work, we both know it. It’ll just anger them further. The retaliation will be terrible, if it hasn’t happened already. What could I possibly do?”
“Your name carries weight, believe it or not,” Deathmask continued. “Though really I should say your reputation does. Every thief fears the night when the mark he goes to rob turns out to be you. Even the guildleaders are frightened of you, except for perhaps Thren. A rampage of dragons wouldn’t make him soil his pants. But you have to understand something. All of these thieves, these underworld rogues, they’ve been trained since birth to survive. That’s all they know. They’ll claw and grab everything they can on their way up, but deep down, they just want to live, and live well. If you threaten that, you can turn them to your side.”
“No guildmaster would step down at my threat,” Haern said. “You’re a fool. They’d rather die than forfeit their wealth.”
“And that’s the other thing you must understand,” Deathmask said, grinning. “They have no honor, no code. They want wealth, and they want to live, but they won’t live without wealth, not when they’ve at last obtained it. So you must threaten their lives while at the same time offering them a chance to keep everything they’ve gathered. It can work. I know it.”
Haern leaned back in his chair, still not convinced.
“What is your plan?” he asked.
“Do you know how much the Trifect pays to employ those mercenaries? How much money they lose year in and year out from Thren burning their goods, from Kadish slaughtering their help, from Garrick looting their wares? They’re going bankrupt fighting this war, but they can’t stop, they can’t make peace, for Thren won’t let them. No one wants this to continue. Before the guild wars, everyone made a tidy profit and hardly anyone died. We had a system. But Thren took offense, and the Trifect overstepped their bounds. A fair mistake by both, but now everyone’s too stubborn to stop. Tell me, Haern, do you understand how protection money works?”
“I’m the son of Thren Felhorn,” he said, as if that should explain everything.
“Good. My plan is very simple; we take half of what the Trifect is paying for mercenaries, as well as losing annually from our destructive ways, and then accept it as protection money.”
“Protection for what?”
“The Trifect, their lands, and their possessions. We split the money evenly among the guilds. This way everyone gains, and the Trifect not only stops having us burn down their shit, but we even protect it!”
“It’d never work, you have to know that. Even if they agreed, it’d fall apart in months, if not sooner. Someone will get greedy. Someone will turn on another. I expected something cleverer.”
“As if your five years of trying to singlehandedly conquer the thief guilds has worked out so much better,” Deathmask said. “But you’re right; it would fall apart…unless we had an enforcer.”
Haern remained quiet for a long time.
“Untie me,” he said at last.
“Will you try to kill me?” Deathmask asked.
“Such little trust for someone who wants me to work for him.”
The man shrugged. “Fair enough. Cut him loose, Vel.”
She did so, reluctantly. Haern stood and stretched his muscles, grimacing as his back popped. His arm also ached like mad, the muscles there definitely torn. He glanced about the dim cellar, then turned his attention to Deathmask.
“Tell me everything,” he said.
“We’ll let every member of the Trifect, and every thief guildmaster, know the terms. Let them also know, in no uncertain language, that if they refuse they’ll die. After that, we’ll broker a few meetings, get everyone in one room, and make them agree to these conditions. Anyone who tries to make a fuss, we send you after them. How does that sound?”
“Insane,” Haern said. He looked for his swords, saw neither. “Were you not out last night? The blood clogs the gutters. They’ll never agree, not to anything. You’re delusional, Deathmask.”
“If you don’t accept,” Veliana said, stepping in front of the stairs leading upward to daylight, “then we’ll have no choice. You’ll have no one to blame but yourself.”
“For what?”
“We’ll tell your father of your new name, and of who you really are. How long do you think your little crusade against us will last once he knows? Right now he sees you as a nuisance, a ghost to keep his men on their toes and to cull the weak from his guild. But for Aaron Felhorn to turn against his own flesh and blood…”
Haern stood before her, staring eye to eye. Even wounded and exhausted, he would not back down.
“Do it, then,” he said. “But ask yourself who will find who first…my father finding me, or me finding you? Move aside. Now.”
She tilted her head so she could see Deathmask, who must have made some sort of approving gesture.
“Very well. It was good to see you, Aaron. ”
He stepped out into the street, winced at the daylight, and then hurried away. With nowhere else to go, he headed for Senke and the mercenaries, hoping he might reach there without any other strange women attacking him.
*
“D o you think he’ll change his mind?” Veliana asked once he was gone. Deathmask shrugged.
“Depends on what you mean. Over what I just offered? No. But I never expected him to.”
Veliana raised an eyebrow. “Care to fill me in?”
“Of course. Haern will never put his heart behind a plan I created. It needs to be his own, one he feels will be his legacy. We need his pride involved, otherwise he’ll be ineffective and dangerous. I’ve planted the idea, though. He knows many of us desire peace, and that he can be a key part of it all.”
She sat down on the pile of cushions that had been her bed since Deathmask took her away from the Ash
