“Then there will be many other things you can’t do.”
“Wonder what it’d be like peeing through three holes,” Harruq said.
Haern faked a thrust, and that was all the man could take.
“They moved the headquarters!” he shouted. Haern smacked him across the face.
“Quieter, and calmer. Where did they move it to?”
“The Swine’s Pearls,” he said.
“Sounds like a nice place,” Harruq said. “New to me, though.”
“Just opened last month,” Haern whispered. “Your boss plays a dangerous game, little thief. Run home. Tell Thren I’m coming, and by tonight’s end, he will bleed at my feet.”
Haern removed his saber, and the thief fled. When he turned out of sight, the assassin gave chase, leaving the surprised Harruq standing far behind.
“What are you doing?” he shouted, sprinting after. Haern’s glare silenced any further shouts. Rounding about a corner, the half-orc grumbled as he watched Haern leap into air, grab a jagged brick halfway up a building, and then use it to propel himself to the roof.
“How am I supposed to follow you now?” he asked. He ran after, the fleeting image of gray cloak upon the rooftops as his only guide. They crisscrossed southwest, deep into the heart of the city. Harruq caught glimpses of Haern and their thief, who did not appear to realize he was followed. The half-orc ran on until he lost sight of both.
“Forget it,” he said, slowing to a walk. He gasped for air, his many bruises crying out in fresh pain. The gash on his forehead trickled blood atop his eyebrows, and he wiped it with the back of his hand. The hairs on his neck stood. He whirled about, his swords drawn. Haern stood there, grinning.
“You have gotten better,” he whispered.
“Don’t have much choice, do I?” he shot back. “What’s with the running? Where is the Pearl’s Swine place?”
“The Swine’s Pearls, and it is in the northwestern corner of Veldaren.”
Harruq sighed in surrender. “Alright, so why are we here?”
“Because the new headquarters is not the Swine’s Pearls. That fool had the audacity to lie to me. Come. Our friend has just arrived, and we must not let them prepare for our appearance.”
The half-orc smashed his swords together. He felt his adrenaline surge yet again, and he desperately hoped it would be enough. It had been a long night, after all.
“Let’s go make them pay for Aurry and Delysia,” he said.
The assassin drew his own sabers and flashed a wicked smile.
“The Watcher has come to collect.”
O n the outside, the new headquarters for the Spider Guild looked far from extravagant. To the passing eye, it appeared to be a small, poorly lit store offering vague, unsorted items, with only the hanging sign of a barrel and smith hammer offering any idea of what services might be appropriated inside. The two approached the door from either side. With a nod from Haern, Harruq kicked the door open, the half-orc following Haern in.
A few poor quality weapons lined some racks. Smithing and fletchery tools covered the others. Foul smelling barrels of ale filled an entire corner. Behind a rotted counter was a single unguarded door. Haern crossed the room silently. Harruq, on the other hand, stretched and popped his neck and back without worry for the sound. When his part of their impromptu plan arrived, he would do as expected, except he would do it loud and nasty.
Haern pushed the door open with the side of a saber. He put an ear to the crack and listened. He heard voices, one in particular loud and panicked. Perfect. Their thief friend had just arrived. The assassin nodded to Harruq, who cracked his knuckles.
“Disgusting habit,” Haern whispered across the room.
The half-orc chuckled.
“Let’s go already,” he said, spurring the man into action. Haern kicked the door all the way open and entered as a whirlwind of cutting steel. The room was a small, well-decorated entryway leading to a larger door. Their thief was in conversation with two guards blocking the way. They never had a chance to move. Haern buried one saber in the left guard’s eye, the other slicing the right guard’s stomach, spilling intestines to the floor.
The thief drew his dagger as the two guards fell dead to either side of him.
“You lied to me,” Haern whispered. He hit the dagger with a savage combination of chops. It flew to the floor. “You could have lived.” The thief turned to flee. Haern felled him before he took a single step. He twisted the blades when he pulled them free. Voices shouted from the other side of the door, their quick exchange having alerted those within.
“Ready, Harruq?” Haern shouted.
Before Harruq could answer, the door swung open, and armed guards rushed out. They wore little armor, and wielded shortswords and clubs. Outnumbering Haern six to one, they had little chance. The assassin dashed to the left, parrying away everything that came near him. The guards formed a semicircle, blocking any chance to retreat. Undaunted, Haern spun, whipping his multiple cloaks into a frenzy. The gray cloth twirled about, hiding the actions of the assassin’s blades. The first guard who tried a thrust watched his severed hand fly to the floor in a great spurt of blood.
The guards stared, unsure of what to do, and then Harruq barreled into the fight, his swords held high. The closest two died without a fight. Another tried to block Harruq’s double-chop, only to have his blade, and bones, shatter under the magical power of the twin blades. Haern leapt out of his cloak dance, running between two fleeing guards making for the larger door leading further into the complex. His curved blades sliced soft flesh. When he reached the far side of the room, he somersaulted off a wall and landed atop the guard whose hand he had severed. A vicious stab ended his life.
The remaining two, wounded by Haern’s pass, threw down their weapons and fled for the street. Harruq snarled at their cowardice.
“Let them go,” Haern shouted. “Thren is the one who must pay.”
The half-orc ignored him, charging after the fleeing guards. He flung Condemnation through the air. The sword blasted the nearest guard off his feet, the blade piercing through his back. Harruq yanked his sword free as he ran past. The final guard grabbed a sword from a rack and faced his attacker.
Haern shook his head. Such foolish anger had no place in battle. Focused anger, perhaps, but never uncontrolled idiocy. The half-orc still had much to learn. The killing was far from done.
Beyond the entryway was a much grander lounge. Red and blue pillows covered the floor. Thick red curtains sectioned off parts of the room for privacy. On the far side stood guildmaster Thren, a near perfect image of Haern, barring the aged look of his hands and his bulkier stature. Twenty members of the spider guild formed a shield between them.
“It is time to die, Watcher,” Thren said, his voice calm, unwavering. “The honor of thieves must be restored.”
He snapped his fingers. In one single mass, the twenty charged. Haern saluted their deaths with one saber, and then stunned them all by pulling his hood from his face.
“Halt!” Thren shouted. “By the gods, put down your weapons!”
Haern chuckled, shaking his gold hair loose.
“I have kept my face hidden for a long time,” he said, his voice no longer a whisper but strong and firm. “I feel it right you know the truth before you die.”
The members of the spider guild halted and glared. Many more spat and gestured obscenely, especially those that had grown up training with the guildmaster’s long lost son.
“You were to be our savior,” Thren said, pulling back his own hood. His hair was gold, and his eyes an ocean blue. “Every man and woman would have quaked at the sound of your name.”
“I am Haern, Watcher of the King. Men do quake at my name, but only those who deal in shadows and death.” He bowed to his father. “You have hurt those I love and I will not risk their harm for my sake again. Look upon my face, all of you. Those who see my face must die. May Ashhur take pity on your souls before casting you to Karak’s abyss.”
Thren sighed. “You have been dead to me for seven years. Nothing has changed. Those loyal to my name, slay this man, and receive the highest honor I may bestow. I will call you son, and my heir, to replace he whom you slay.”
