takes to break every person involved and lay their corpses before the memory of my mother and father.”
Victor crossed his arms, and he felt like one awaiting judgment.
“So tell me,” he said. “Am I still a madman?”
Gerand chuckled.
“Perhaps, but if you are, you’re a madman I can understand. That is all that matters. I will give you the advance you requested, plus half over. But I want you to remember something, Victor. If you are wise, you’ll listen well. If you accomplish what you desire, if you keep breaking the guilds one by one, then I’ll make sure your men remain paid, in secret, and quiet, so none will know of his majesty’s involvement. But if you fail, then I’ll suddenly discover how you attempted to defraud the castle, and lied about your wealth in vain hopes of having our treasury pay for your ill-conceived crusade. In short, either they hang, or you do. Have I made myself clear?”
Victor swallowed down both saliva and his pride, then nodded.
“I do,” he said.
Gerand waved a dismissive hand.
“Good. Now go. I’ll send the gold sometime in the next few days, once it’s clear this peace will actually last.”
Victor stood and bowed to the advisor.
“You are most gracious,” he said, each word like a bee sting on his tongue.
“You can hate me if you wish, but you shouldn’t,” Gerand said, sensing his frustration. “I’m your friend in this. I have no love for these guilds, either. They’ve threatened my life plenty, even in this very room. But my friendship extends only as far as your usefulness. I have faith in you, and I do have hope that you’re the right madman to create something good in Veldaren. Besides, with the Watcher dead, someone needs to inspire fear in the heart of thieves.”
Victor chuckled.
“He’s not dead,” he said.
Gerand shrugged.
“Then we’ll have two madman spilling the blood of the underworld instead of one. Try to get along.”
They had the bar to themselves, just as Carson Bloodcraft preferred. He sat facing the door, his back to the wall. No one would sneak up on him. A fool might try to prevent his exit, thinking him trapped, but such a fool was no threat to him. Just an inconvenience at best. Given how young the night was, the tavern should have been teeming with activity, but some coins and a few simple words had changed that.
“I think we might have underestimated our foes,” Carson said, pushing powder into his longneck pipe. It was the finest leaf available in Mordeina, and he’d brought it with him all the way across the continent to Veldaren.
“Just their tenacity for survival,” said Nora Bloodcraft, his wife. She sat opposite him, trusting him to alert her to any threat. Unlike his short dark hair, she had beautiful blond hair, tied into a tight ponytail that ran across her neck, down her chest, and to her waist. They both wore crimson coats made of the finest leather and then stained to identify their mercenary band. Nora, seeing his pipe full, leaned forward and snapped her fingers. The leaf smoldered and began to smoke. Leaning back, Carson drew in a long breath and then sighed.
“Need to ration this better,” he said, looking down at his pouch. He’d used too much on the trip over. Last thing he needed was to go bartering for whatever shit they grew in Neldar. “And perhaps you’re right. They present no greater threat than we thought, but their ability to survive is admirable. They seem to lack any pride or honor, at least when it comes to fleeing a fight.”
“Pride and honor would just get them killed, anyway. We should have known better.”
“It’s our own fault for trusting that weasel, Laerek,” said Percy Bloodcraft, carrying three drinks from the barkeep, who stood behind the bar, skin pale, hands shaking. They’d told him only once to leave them be, and made it clear what might happen if he did not. The chubby fellow kept glancing at the door, where the bodies of two men lay, both having been foolish enough to ignore the Bloodcrafts’ request for privacy. One had bled out from a gash running from belly to throat. The other’s face was a charred husk, with faint flecks of white bone showing.
Percy sat beside Nora, put down the drinks, and then leaned back in his chair. He had no biological relation to Nora and Carson, but like all members of the Bloodcraft Mercenaries since their creation, Percy had been adopted into the family once his skills were proven suitable. He looked like he was nothing but bone and hair, but he was fast. Hidden in the folds of his crimson coat were dozens of knives of all sizes, and he could make each one fly like a bird on the wind. His hair was a soft brown, the only thing beautiful about him.
“We’re new to this city,” Carson said, ignoring the drink set before him. “We must make do with the information we are given.”
“Sure thing, father, but wouldn’t it make more sense to doubt everything instead?”
Carson and Nora were not much older than Percy, but he’d taken to calling them mother and father ever since joining the Bloodcrafts. Something about it amused him, perhaps how it managed to get underneath Carson’s skin.
“With how our day has gone?” Nora said, tasting her drink and then frowning at it. “Perhaps it does. The Ash Guild avoided our ambush with nary a casualty. Even worse…where is Nicholas?”
“Nicholas is dead,” Percy said, smirking. “You know it, I know it, we all do. I told you I should have gone with him.”
“His abilities were a perfect counter to the Eschaton,” Carson said, breathing in more from the pipe. “The Ash Guild was more of an unknown, and posed the greater risk.”
“Well, it looks like you calculated wrong.”
Nora shook her head.
“That, or the Watcher still lives. If his rumors are to be believed, he could have achieved victory. Surely it took someone of his skill with a blade to kill Nicholas.”
“Laerek assured us the man was dead,” Carson said. “I might have a word with him. His poor information has cost us dearly.”
“If the Watcher killed Nicholas, then we need to hunt him down and return the favor,” Percy said, leaning forward in his seat and drumming the table with his fingers. Carson saw the eagerness there, and it amused him greatly.
“There’s little word on who he is, or who his loved ones are,” Carson said. “All we know is of his allegiance to the Eschaton.”
Percy shrugged.
“Someone will talk. Someone has to know. All we have to do is find out, and do a little knife work, and we’ll have him helpless.”
The door opened. Carson leaned to the side to see better past his wife. It was a woman, slender, with long brown hair that curled down around her shoulders. Her dress was plain but clean, and of a soft blue.
“Miss,” the barkeep said. “Please, you should go…”
“No men here to buy a whore,” Percy said, glancing back and seeing her. “Go on your way.”
The woman stepped around the two mutilated bodies, seeming unfazed by them. Carson narrowed his eyes, and then he began to laugh.
“My, my,” he said. “I think we’ve found our Widow.”
The woman did not sit at their table, but the one beside them, as if uncomfortable with their presence. She kept her hair low over her face, and when she talked, it was a strained whisper that Carson had to struggle to hear.
“Laerek said I could find you here.”
“Well, that’s the first thing Laerek’s been right about so far,” Percy said, but he was the only one to laugh.
“The city seems to know you well,” Nora said. Carson could tell his wife was examining her closely, trying to reach an opinion of some sort. He trusted her ability to read someone, and when their talk was done, he’d listen well to what she had to say. “Yet I wonder why. All you’ve done is kill a few members of a guild. Others do it all the time. Why are you so special to Laerek, or to us?”
“People die all the time,” the strange woman said. “I give the city something to remember, to both fear and enjoy.”
“What’s your real name?” Carson asked, putting aside his pipe.
