looters.
At the foot of the stairs she found Alyssa, come to survey the damage.
“We’ll rebuild, replace it all,” Zusa offered. “Your loved ones survived. That is what matters.”
Alyssa slowly wrapped her arms about her, leaned her head against her breast, and cried.
“Ten years,” she whispered. “Gods help us, ten years.”
“Not this time,” Zusa said, stroking her hair. “Not this time.”
It was shallow comfort, a weak promise, but right then, she had little else to offer.
16
Grayson knew he should be furious by the defeat, but he was far too amused for that. He’d gathered together men of all guilds, united with promises of the Watcher’s death and a luxurious future. At each guild he’d been treated like a prince, and cheered with raised glasses despite them knowing so little about him. Only a few had glanced his way with untrusting eyes, realizing what the others did not. He was a fearsome man, and a thief, but a thief from a distant nation, and of foreign guilds.
Foreign guilds eyeing Veldaren with hungry mouths open.
“To the Watcher’s killer,” said one of the members of the Spider Guild as Grayson stepped into the guild’s tavern, the man lifting his glass in a mocking toast. Grayson grinned at him, the look sapping away whatever cheer the man had.
“I stuck my sword through his gut and out his back,” Grayson said. “Perhaps this Watcher of yours is a devil after all. No man lives through that.”
The thief was smart enough to say nothing, only shrug and resume drinking. Still grinning, Grayson looked about the tavern, counting numbers. A pathetic remnant of what they’d been, especially compared to when he and Thren had been working together so many years ago. Hardly a merchant would quake at seeing the ragtag group of fifteen men drinking and bandaging wounds. Thren would recruit like mad to replace his numbers, but it would take time. With so much death and conflict, and so little coin in return, he’d gain only the desperate and delusional.
Now that he thought of it…
He found Thren drinking with a group of four in a far corner. Stealing a drink from the man who had mocked him, Grayson guzzled it down as he walked over to Thren’s table, slamming his empty cup atop the hard wood. Three of them jumped, but not Thren.
“So how goes your night?” Grayson asked, grin spreading.
“As poorly as your ill conceived plan,” Thren said, leaning back and looking as if he had not a care in the world. He couldn’t pull off the image completely, though. Thren was never much of a bluffer, Grayson knew, never had been and never would be. His eyes always gave him away. Too much intensity.
“That so?” Grayson glared down at the man opposite Thren, who glanced at his guild leader.
“Go check and see if any others have made it back, Martin,” Thren said.
Martin shrugged and gave up his seat so Grayson could take it.
“I must say, I thought things would go differently,” Grayson said, his elbows on the table. “With the rioters loosening up the guard, should’ve had easy pickings. Sadly, looks like the looters got the bulk, and we just shed the blood.”
“Blood that shouldn’t have been shed,” Thren said, tilting his head slightly. His eyes narrowed. “You are no master here, no leader. Whatever your influence with the Suns, this is Veldaren, not Mordeina.”
“Don’t remember you forbidding it,” Grayson said, and he laughed at the way Thren twitched. He was furious, he could tell, but something kept him in check. Was it the way the attack had failed? Perhaps, but with his guild suffering such losses, that couldn’t be enough. Had to be something more. Had to be…
“So where were you during all this?” Grayson asked, looking over to the bar and frowning when he realized he would have to fetch a drink himself. “With you at our side, I daresay we still might have broken through with ease. Might have even taken down the Watcher.”
Thren stared him in the eye, not moving, not answering. So smug. It was answer enough.
“Yeah, guess it’s foolish of me to think you’d have helped,” Grayson said, standing. “You couldn’t kill the Watcher all these years, doubt you’d be able to now. Shit, you’d probably take his place if you could.”
It was as direct a challenge he could make without proof. Instead of rattling Thren, it only made him smile.
“You’ve attempted to usurp control of my guild,” Thren said as the thieves on either side of him stood, reaching for their weapons. “You lied about killing the Watcher, and led my men to their deaths in a battle you had no stake in. You are no longer welcome in my home. Go elsewhere, old friend, for you cannot stay here.”
Grayson’s hand drifted to his sword. All about, the tavern had gone deathly quiet. Hopelessly outnumbered, Grayson knew he could not win, not then.
“You fear me a threat, yet cannot run, so you would banish me instead,” he said. “You are a coward. You’ve never had the strength to face an opponent that might defeat you. Keep pretending you are strong. That’s what you did when Marion died. Why not continue?”
Thren was on his feet in a heartbeat, shortswords drawn.
“Say it,” he said, ice in his voice. “Say what you’ve always wanted to say, so I can kill you.”
“Say what?” Grayson asked, purposefully putting his back to Thren and walking for the door. “That you killed my sister? I would if it was true, but it ain’t.”
He stopped at the door, no one with the courage to get in his way. He looked over his shoulder, gave Thren one last smirk.
“She killed herself the day she married you.”
The door slammed shut behind him, and Grayson laughed. It’d been so long, he’d forgotten how great it felt to raise the ire of one so focused and controlled. But his humor hid the scars that Grayson himself had nearly forgotten. His poor Marion, in love with that fool. Now she was dead, and all her sons, as well. All because of Thren.
It would be such a pleasure killing him.
Entertaining the image of him plunging his sword through Thren’s throat, Grayson made his way toward the southern district. He might be late, but that was of little concern to him. The others would not leave. They’d need to hear of how things went. Whistling a tune, he cut through the alleys until he found one in particular, of little note but for the two men already there.
“I thought you wouldn’t show,” Daverik said.
“Why’s that?” asked Grayson.
“Because of how complete your failure was,” said Laerek, tugging at the hem of his priestly robes. Grayson chuckled and shook his head. Laerek was his and Daverik’s liaison from the west, speaking for the nameless man moving the various pieces in the game they currently played. Grayson was unaware of his full reasons, but so long as his Suns got to make their move on the streets of Veldaren, he really couldn’t care less.
“It was neither a failure, nor so complete,” Grayson said, unafraid of Laerek. He was a wisp of a man, thin, his nose long and his tongue sharp. He had no real power, just a glorified messenger for someone who had the gold and influence to bend both the guilds of Mordan and the priests of Karak to his will.
“All the guilds suffered tremendous casualties,” Daverik said. “Victor’s patrols kept them from causing too much chaos. As for Lady Gemcroft’s place, well…”
“Should have been there, Laerek,” Grayson said, crossing his arms and leaning against a wall. “Dead as far as the eye could see. Doesn’t matter that Alyssa still lives. Her mansion is in pieces, and the guilds are no threat to us anymore.”
“Then who is a threat?” Laerek asked.
“The Trifect still is,” Daverik said, and Grayson noted the uncomfortable look on his face as he said it. “That, and Victor. His arrival has…complicated things.”
“Trifect should have been taken care of,” Laerek said. “You assured me your Faceless could kill Alyssa without difficulty.”
“There were complications.”
