Gazes that had nervously followed the assassin's trek to the bar hurriedly turned back to their own business and dared not look up. Drasek Riven fairly stank of murder. He had a reputation among the Night Knives as a man who loved to kill. No one in the Stag risked eye contact. Except Cale.
Cale met Riven's hard gaze with a cool stare. The assassin's one good eye flashed recognition, and he strutted over to the table. Licking his lips, Cale tasted the salt of sweat. Riven reminded him of a hunting cat- compact, powerful, and predatory.
Calm down, man, he ordered himself. Though he towered over Riven physically, Cale knew his own bladework was no match for the temperamental assassin's slim sabers. He made his face an emotionless mask as Riven slid into the chair across from him.
'You're late,' Cale announced matter-of-factly.
Riven regarded him over the rim of his tankard while swigging a gulp of ale. He set the tankard down softly and sneered. 'So?' Clearly, the assassin was itching for a confrontation.
Cale gave no ground, though it meant risking naked steel. He pointed a single finger at the assassin's pockmarked face and hissed, 'So the next time you make me wait, I walk away. You understand? We'll let the Righteous Man decide who's in the wrong.'
That struck home. Cale was Riven's only rival for the guildmaster's ear. Where Cale urged caution and patience to the Righteous Man, Riven urged violence, and violence now. Most times, events had proven Cale's counsel the better. Riven would not want to make the Righteous Man choose between them. Not yet.
Cale watched with satisfaction as Riven's smug sneer twisted into a scowl. Tight lipped, the assassin fixed him with a menacing glare. 'You push me too hard, Cale, and I'll gut you like a bluefish. The Righteous Man be damned.'
Still unwilling to back down, Cale leaned forward and stared unflinchingly into Riven's scarred face. The assassin had lost an eye on a job years ago but disdained an eye patch. The scarred, empty hole in his face provided a window into a soul equally scarred and empty. 'You know where to find me,' Cale calmly stated.
To his credit, Riven gave no ground either. 'That's right,' the assassin replied softly. 'I do.' He flashed stained teeth through a neatly tended goatee. 'The Righteous Man won't be able to protect you forever, Cale. When he's gone, I'll still be here. Then we'll have this conversation again.' Riven's hard gaze promised blood.
Cale leaned back in his chair and tried to look unconcerned. 'It's starting to stink in here. Be about your business, errand boy.'
Riven jumped to his feet and whipped a saber from its scabbard before Cale could even get a dagger drawn. Suddenly staring down the point of Riven's blade, Cale slowly removed his hand from the dagger's hilt. His heart raced. Riven stared at him a long moment, waving the saber blade under Cale's chin. Cale said nothing, only stared. At last the assassin sheathed his blade and slowly sat back down. His signature sneer returned tenfold.
'You're slow, Cale,' he mocked. 'Very slow. You're like a little dog… lots of yap-' he leaned forward and champed his teeth, his one eye burning a hot hole of hate into Cale's consciousness- 'but no bite.' He sat back and smugly crossed his arms over his chest.
We'll see, bastard, Cale thought. You show me your back, and I'll show you your grave. Though he itched to say those words aloud, Cale kept his calm and said, 'The information, Riven.'
The assassin made a deliberate show of slowly quaffing from his tankard before speaking. 'The information is this, Cale: Naglatha has hired us-'
'Naglatha! Since when do we work for an agent of the kingdom of Thay?'
'Since she started paying in platinum suns,' Riven snapped. 'Now shut up and listen.' The assassin leaned forward and spoke in a whisper. His breath made Cale want to gag. 'An issue is soon to be before the Hulorn, and Naglatha wishes to see it decided in Thay's favor. The Righteous Man assured her that he could see to it.'
'What issue?'
'Not my business,' replied Riven easily. 'Not yours either. We're just providing the leverage.'
Cale saw immediately where the conversation was going. He shook his head and spoke hurriedly, trying to head it off. 'I've already told the Righteous Man that I've got nothing on Thamalon Uskevren. I'm working on it, but the man is clean.'
'So you say,' replied Riven. 'But you've been 'working on it' for years. The Righteous Man is growing impatient, and so am I. No one is that clean, Cale. Your inability to come up with some dirt makes a man wonder.'
Cale leaned forward in his chair with narrowed eyes. That comment hit too close to the mark. 'Wonder about what?' Under the table, his left hand fingered a dagger hilt.
Riven returned his cold stare, unflinching. 'About where your loyalties lie.'
Cale sniffed derisively and leaned back in his chair as though unconcerned. 'It's no wonder you're a lackey. You don't see the value of having a Night Knives agent in the Uskevren household? I've proved my worth to the Righteous Man ten times over, but I can't find something that doesn't exist. We'll have to use someone else.'
Riven laughed, a sound like a hacking cough, and said, 'It's already been decided. We're using Uskevren. He's got the most influential voice among the Old Chauncel. Since you've been unable to come up with anything, I've convinced the Righteous Man to address matters more directly.'
At the words 'more directly,' a pit formed in Cale's stomach. The Old Chauncel was a common name for the small set of wealthy families that comprised the money-and power-elite of the city of Selgaunt. Few were nearly as 'clean' as the Uskevren, but fewer still deserved the attention of the Night Knives. The Uskevren had Thamalon at its head, and Thamalon commanded respect. Cale knew what was coming next.
Riven went on with a grin, 'It's like this: You're going to arrange the kidnapping of his youngest son. What's his name… Talbot? While we're holding the little bastard, his father will do exactly what we say. If not, I'll split little Talbot from gut to gullet and move on to the next son.'
With difficulty, Cale contained the storm that exploded in his soul and managed to maintain a calm facade. Talbot to be kidnapped! The boy had only recently returned to Selgaunt after being involved in a hunting accident in the forests outside the city. He wasn't even living at Stormweather Towers, the family's city estate. Since the accident, he had been residing in one of the tallhouses the Uskevren had scattered around the city. Where he's an easy target, Cale thought. Riven obviously knew none of that or Talbot would have been taken already, without Cale's involvement.
Cale took a deep breath and tried to craft an excuse on the fly. 'Kidnapping the boy is unwise,' he said. 'Thamalon will retaliate afterward. All the Scepters in the city will come down on the guild.' Selgaunt's Scepters could make business difficult if a noble like Thamalon forced them into action. Cale shook his head. 'No, it's definitely unwise. Tell the Righteous Man it can't be done.'
'I'm not telling him anything,' Riven spat and slammed his fist down on the table. 'You'll do exactly what you're told. The Righteous Man understands the risks. You figure out a time when the boy is vulnerable and leave word for me here, with Jelkins.' He jerked a thumb over his shoulder to indicate the skinny barkeep. 'I'll assemble the team. You've got two days.'
Somehow, despite his numbness, Cale managed a nod. He pushed back his chair and stood on legs gone weak. Two days! A mere two days! He must betray Thamalon, disobey the Righteous Man, or confess his past and lose everything that mattered. Either way, nothing would stay the same. If he betrayed his lord, he could not live with himself. If he disobeyed the Righteous Man, he would be dead within a tenday. If he confessed his past, Thamalon would dismiss him and Thazienne would hate him. He could not bear that.
In a flash of desperate inspiration, he saw a way out-plunge his blade into Riven's throat right now. No one in the Stag would bat an eye, and he could concoct an explanation for the Righteous Man afterward. Hells, he had been doing exactly that, concocting stories for the Righteous Man, for the past nine years. Everything could go on as it had.
His hand drifted to his dagger hilt. Riven hunched over the table, finishing his ale, unsuspecting. Cale stared at the back of the assassin's neck, the exposed flesh visible, beckoning. One thrust through the throat, a gurgle, then it would be over, just as with the man back in the alley.
'Unwise,' Riven said without looking up. 'That, Cale, would be unwise.'
Cale heard the smile, and the challenge, in the assassin's words. Without a word, he spun on his heel and stalked out of the Stag. He needed to think.
When he reached the street, he nearly collapsed. The hopelessness of his situation weighed on him like a
