weakness.
“I will not agree,” he said. “And if that is your sole purpose here, get out now.”
Deathmask chuckled. The slightest misstep might cost him his life. But this was it. This was the heart of everything.
“That Watcher, I hear he is good, almost impossibly good. I also hear he fights like you. Did you know that? As if he might be your own son, but we both know that couldn’t be. He died in a fire, of course. I’m sure you saw his body…”
He looked to Thren, letting the guildmaster know there was far more he wasn’t telling. No lie. No bluff. Thren opened his mouth, and then closed it. Those blue eyes barely moved. What firestorm of thought must rage behind them, Deathmask wondered. Taking a deep breath, he performed his wildest gambit.
“If he succeeds, the Watcher will be a legend. He’ll have beaten both the Trifect and the thief guilds, all in a single night. He’ll have ended ten years of conflict with a stroke of his swords. The entire city will fear him, for he will be the king’s Watcher, enforcer of the truce. The night won’t belong to us anymore. It’ll belong to him.”
He swallowed. Now or never. Take the risk.
“He’ll have surpassed even you, Thren. How amazing must that man be?”
Thren looked like a heavy burden had settled upon him. His muscular frame wasn’t quite so strong anymore. The terrible will that had ruled him weakened, and a million questions died unspoken on his lips. For perhaps the first time ever, Thren Felhorn looked uncertain.
“Did he send you here?” he finally asked. Deathmask nodded. “So be it. Give him his chance. My guild will accept the terms, so long as the Watcher lives. This city is a cruel one, and even now, it might have claimed him.”
“I doubt it,” Deathmask said, his heart pounding in his chest. “Given who he is, who made him. Come the morning, we’ll count the bodies, and we’ll see what remains of those in power. I have a feeling, though, that tonight is when it all ends.”
“Get out of here,” Thren said. “And never speak a word of this to anyone, or I will kill you.”
Deathmask bowed low.
“As you wish,” he said, glad the mask could hide his enormous smile. More relieved than he’d ever been in his life, he exited the room, weaved unguided through the halls, and emerged from the mansion, alive and victorious.
29
Because of the breastplates the guards wore, Senke led the way, his flanged maces able to punch through if swung hard enough. Haern followed, watching behind them as much as ahead. The entire mansion was in chaos. Servants fled every which way, and several times he heard them cry out the name of a thief guild. His lips curled into a vile grin every time. No thief guild, not this time. They were worse than any guild. They’d come, live or die, to complete their mission, though so far it was only the guards that did the dying.
“Where might Leon be hiding?” Haern asked as he yanked his saber free from the armpit of a dead mercenary.
“Holed up in his bed?” Senke suggested. “He’s not the most mobile of men.”
“And where would that be?”
Senke gestured ahead, and then behind them.
“Your guess is as good as mine.”
The cries of ‘intruder’ followed them as they rushed along. They shoved servants aside if they got in the way, but most were smart enough to cower or turn and run.
“Bottom floor,” Haern said as they passed a set of stairs. “I can’t imagine him climbing those every night.”
As Senke opened another door, he slammed it immediately shut, and on the other side arrows sunk into the wood with heavy thunks.
“I think we’re getting somewhere,” Senke said, and he grinned.
They backtracked, weaving through the natural flow of the building so they might curl around their ambushers. Sure enough, they found them at the intersection of another hallway, kneeling behind small overturned tables that had once housed vases of immeasurable wealth. All three held crossbows and wore boiled leather armor. Senke crashed into two of them, Haern the third. Making quick work of them, they turned left and continued along.
“It should be harder than this,” insisted Senke, needing to shout to be heard over the commotion.
“Don’t say it, or it might come true.”
The next hallway they met six mercenaries, all wielding shortswords and small circular shields of wood latched together with iron. Senke laughed and rushed the six with wild glee, as if he could see Haern’s glare behind him. Despite his exhaustion, Haern couldn’t help but feel energized, and he raced to his side so they might crash into the mercenaries in a single brutal collision. Every turn might house more men ready to kill them. Every door might hide archers ready to shoot a barb into their throats. And neither could care less.
The shields proved difficult, mostly because Haern had little experience dealing with them. It wasn’t like a shield was standard issue for the men who stalked the night. He kicked and stabbed as he and Senke slammed into them, cutting the tendons of one guard’s arm and tripping another. Before he could finish him off another was there, and his saber slapped harmlessly against the wood, not even drawing a splinter from the finely polished surface. The soldier thrust for his midsection, but Haern parried it aside with his left hand, leapt closer to the wall, and then kicked off it to give the maneuver speed. His saber crashed into the guard’s neck, punching through the leather armor and into flesh.
Swords stabbed for where he should have been, but he dropped to the ground and rolled. Senke, as if in some mental link with him, saw and jumped over him, blocking blow after blow with his maces. Haern leapt to his feet, slamming his left shoulder against the wall to painfully kill the rest of his momentum. Only one guard remained within reach, and Haern desperately flung one of his sabers in the way. The shortsword deflected and stabbed the wall, close enough that Haern could see his reflection in the blade. And then his sabers were thrusting in, and the shield could not block all of the attacks.
Senke took down the last, hammering his shield with his maces until the guard made a mistake, not surprising given how the rest of his fellows had fallen and panic was surely crawling through his veins. His sword slashed, but he overextended, and Senke broke his elbow with an upward swipe of his mace. A kick to his neck blasted him against the wall, and he slid to the ground, unconscious.
“You hurt?” Senke asked. Haern shook his head. “Good. One of those sons of bitches cut my leg. Delysia’s going to be pissed at me.”
Deeper and deeper in they went, until at last they found Leon’s bedroom. It was empty.
“Slap me silly,” said Senke, looking around. “Where could that giant tub of lard have gone off to?”
He took a step forward, not seeing the thin string laced across the door. Haern did, and he pulled Senke back by his cloak, just before the entire room erupted in flame. The fire swirled about in a momentary funnel before fading away, leaving nothing but ashes inside, the rest of the house safely intact.
“A trap?” Senke asked, his eyes wide. “A fucking magical trap?”
“You’re welcome,” Haern said. He leaned against the wall and closed his eyes, wishing he could just order away the headache pounding in his forehead.
“Damn traps. Where to now? He might have left, Haern, and then what the fuck do we do?”
“Stay calm,” he said, eyes still closed. “He slept here until an alarm sounded because of your wizard friend, and so he gets up, activates the trap. He’s in a hurry, but not moving fast. The rest of his guards are ushering him along. Where do you go? Where is safe, close, and defensible?”
“You take him where no one could have gotten to yet, where there couldn’t possibly be an ambush waiting. You take him to the mercenaries’ quarters.”
Haern opened his eyes and shot his mentor a wink.
“Good a guess as any. In the back, and away from the other quarters. He wouldn’t want their low class
