Blood of the Underworld Read online

  Coming storm, she wondered. What did he mean by that? What did he know that she did not? The idea that Karak’s priesthood wanted the Gemcroft family destroyed was a frightening one, but with all else that had happened, she could not dismiss the possibility. She felt trapped in a web, just one of many in the strands. But who was the spider spinning in the center of it all?

  She didn’t know, but she must find out. Alyssa’s life was in danger. The city passed by her, a silent blur, and it was only when she reached the Gemcroft mansion that she realized she was being followed. Turning, she drew her daggers, but by then they were already gone, the four Faceless Women vanishing into the night like the ghosts they were.

  “Don’t you dare,” Zusa whispered, standing at the closed gate as she issued her threat, not just to the Faceless but to the entire city spread out before her. “You won’t take her away from me. None of you will.”

  In the distance she heard the roar of another explosion, and as it rumbled, she felt as if it were the city’s heartless, mocking laughter.

  When they pulled the black cloth from his face, Victor found himself in what appeared to be a small cellar, the walls made of uneven rock and lit by two torches in either corner. He saw no windows, and no doors. His arms were bound behind him, and his ankles were held firm to the legs of the chair he sat in. Before him, looking far too amused to be harmless, was Deathmask and his Ash Guild.

  “How have you enjoyed tonight’s entertainment?” Deathmask asked, sitting across from him in the only other furniture Victor could see, a similarly old and worn chair. “I’m not sure about you, but killing Spiders always gives me a smile.”

  Beside him, a woman crossed her arms and leaned against his side. From what he’d learned, her name was Veliana, his second in command.

  “I’m not sure he’s worth it,” she said. Victor peered up at her. He decided there was more compassion and mercy in her bloodied eye than the healthy one.

  “Perhaps not,” Victor said, trying to remain calm. “Course, it’d help if I knew what value my life was being weighed against.”

  “Coin,” said one of the two twins lurking against the wall, their pale skin making them seem like ghosts in the dim light.

  “Lots of coin,” said the other.

  “Right,” Victor said, turning his attention to Deathmask, the clear leader of them all. If anyone was to decide his fate, it was him. “But as ransom, or bounty? Or did you lie, and there actually is something my soldiers will soon dig up on your little guild?”

  Deathmask scooted his chair closer, and his grin spread.

  “You think you’re sharp,” he said. “You think your charm will keep you safe from what your soldiers cannot. But you’ve come to a city that eats men like you for supper. We spit your bones out in the gutters. At most, you’re just gristle to get stuck in our teeth. You aren’t a white knight come to save us all, and the sooner you accept that, the sooner you and I might start to get along.”

  “You’ve never faced a man like me before.”

  Deathmask shook his head and wagged a finger at him.

  “You see, that’s the thing...we have. I daresay you remind me most of Thren Felhorn. Oh, don’t give me that look; it’s true. Same cockiness, same certainty that you’ll live forever without meeting someone better. You know, it might even be true. But the problem is you keep acting like you’re special. You keep thinking that there’s something unique about you.”

  He slid even closer and raised a palm to the ceiling. Purple fire burst into existence in its center, and it swirled in an unfelt wind, burned on fuel that was not there.

  “If I shoved this fire into your lungs,” said Deathmask, “you’d scream like anyone else, you’d die like anyone else, and then your corpse would shit itself, just like every other man and woman who has lived and died on this joke of a world. When the worms are eating our bodies, there’ll be no difference between you and I, not a one.”

  Victor took a deep breath, and was glad that the tight ropes holding him to the chair kept him from shaking.

  “I’m not afraid of you,” he said. “Tell me what it is you want, or let me go.”

  Deathmask chuckled, and he clenched his fist, banishing the fire.

  “What do I want? I want you safe and alive, that’s what I want. And for you to do that, you need to start listening. If we work together, we’ll both meet our goals, and you might even live long enough to see the end.”

  Victor tried to hide his revulsion and failed. He thought of his words to the Watcher and shook his head.

  “I will not have you drag me down,” he said. “No deals, no bribes, no sacrificing a shred of my intent. You can’t defeat me, so you hope to make me like you.”

  “Can’t defeat you?” Veliana asked. She grabbed his face in her hands and gave him an earful of her mocking laughter. “Can’t defeat you? Look around, Victor. Instead of removing that mask over your head, we could have buried a dagger in your throat and been done with all this. How about instead of spouting blind nonsense, you start listening to the words you’re saying?”

  She let go, pushing his head back hard enough to hurt the muscles in his neck. He felt his face flush, and he caught the twins snickering in the background. Pride wounded, he looked to the floor, forced himself to think. They were right, of course. His life was fully in their hands. But that didn’t mean he had to surrender. It didn’t mean he had to break.

  “I will not die a hypocrite,” he said softly. “I’ve come to Veldaren to cleanse it of your kind. I will not work with you to do it. It is a poor executioner who relies on the condemned to swing their own axe.”

  “Are you so sure?” Deathmask asked. “We now have a common enemy. Thren will never forgive me for what I’ve done, and you, well, you’re dead no matter what. The only reason you lived through his first attack was with my help. Should you remain stubborn, we may not be so generous the next time.”

  Victor knew he was sealing his fate with his next answer, but he forced away the guilt, the frustration from failing so thoroughly in his goal. Deathmask wanted something, most likely to use him as his own private army against the other thief guilds, but he would not allow it. He would not be so cowardly as to sacrifice everything he believed just to spare his own life. Meeting Deathmask’s eye, he opened his mouth to answer, and that’s when the wall to his left exploded. Rock and dust filled the cellar. The four members of the Ash Guild fell back to the far wall, drawing daggers and readying magic.

  “I must say, Death, I’m rather disappointed in you,” said Tarlak as he walked through the rubble and into the cellar. “Not a single protection spell against scrying?”

  “I cast one on Victor the moment I took him,” Deathmask said as purple fire danced about his fingers.

  “Not on Victor,” Tarlak said, grinning. “On you. But the night’s late, and such a mistake can be forgiven for how tired I’m sure you are. I’ll take your guest off your hands so you can rest. He’s such a troublemaker, isn’t he?”

  More arrived through the hole in the wall, some Victor recognized, some he didn’t. The Watcher was the first, his sabers drawn, his face hidden in shadow. With him was a priestess of Ashhur, the wizard’s sister, Delysia. He’d met her briefly, when he first came to ask Tarlak to cast wards about his home. Last was a short, stocky man with a beard, clunking down behind the others in a full suit of platemail. The four faced off with the Ash Guild, who almost looked eager for a fight—all but Deathmask, who just looked amused.

  “Such a dramatic display,” he said. “But truly unnecessary. Did I not tell your pet assassin he would be safe with me?”

  The Watcher slipped closer, and with a few quick swings of his sabers, cut Victor free from the chair. His back stung when he stood, but Victor was thrilled to be able to move. Glancing to the Ash Guild, he dipped his head low.

  “Thank you for the hospitality,” he said.

  “Any time,” Deathmask said, still looking more amused than upset that the Eschaton had
come to save him.

  “Come see us again,” said the twins in unison.

  Victor stepped through the hole in the wall and an opened chunk of dirt to the surface. The priestess took his arm, asked him if he was injured. Shaking his head, Victor glanced back, saw the Watcher remaining behind. The assassin said something to Deathmask, then left to follow.

  “Take me to my men,” Victor said to Tarlak as he led them beyond the plain looking home and out to the street. “I must let them know I am safe and well.”

  “We’ll do that for you,” Tarlak said. “But for now, you’re coming with us. Your home isn’t safe.”

  “I know. Your spell left a gaping hole in the wall.”

  Tarlak glanced back at the cellar.

  “Indeed. Seems to be my specialty tonight.”

  “Damn fools,” said the shorter fellow in armor. “What were they trying to do?”

  “They were saving my life,” Victor said, remembering his flight down the street, thieves in chase.

  “Doubt that,” the man snorted.

  “Quiet, Brug,” Tarlak said. He stopped them all there in the middle of the street. Victor didn’t know why, but the wizard was twirling his hands about in odd motions.

  “Deathmask doesn’t have an altruistic bone in his body,” the Watcher said, joining them. “If he’s interested in you, enough to keep you alive, it’s probably far worse than if he’d never noticed you at all.”

  “Thanks for the comforting words,” Victor muttered. “My home was attacked, at least fifteen of my men are dead, and a madman has plans for me he’s unwilling to share.”

  “Don’t forget Thren Felhorn wants you dead,” Brug said. “That should be up there, too.”

  Victor glared at Brug, who seemed not to care.

  “Done,” Tarlak said, and with the word, the street split before him like a torn painting. Victor stepped back, stunned. The tear grew, swirling with an unnatural light, until it was the size of a man. Without hesitation Tarlak stepped through, vanishing instead of appearing on the other side. His sister followed, then Brug. Before Victor could step through, the Watcher grabbed his wrist and held him still.

  “We put our lives at risk helping you,” he said. “Do you understand that?”

  Victor nodded.

  “I do.”

  “Good. Never forget it.”

  He shoved Victor into the portal. His vision flooded with stars, gravity twirled and reversed, and then he was landing on cold, hard earth. His stomach heaved, and he vomited uncontrollably. As he gasped for air, he looked up to see a large tower built where rolling green hills met an expansive forest. Tarlak stood before him, hand outstretched, grin on his face.

  “Welcome back to the Eschaton Tower,” the wizard said. “Now that I’ve saved your life at least twice by my count, I think it’s time we re-discuss my fee...”

  11

  Antonil surveyed what was left of the bodies and shook his head.

  “What’s that put the death total at?” he asked Sergan, his most trusted friend. The man was a ruffian in soldier’s armor, big features, dirty hair, and an even bigger axe across his back. He was a good man, though, disciplined, and always willing to tell Antonil the truth no matter how little he wanted to hear it.

  “Not the best at numbers,” Sergan said, turning to spit. “Think we’re getting beyond what I can count. About fifteen or so of Victor’s men in and about his home. Twenty gray cloaks in there with them. Three or four on the way to here, and now this...”

  Sergan gestured to the crater in the street, the corpses scattered about, some killed by fire, some maimed by heavy, blunt blows.

  “What you think? Fifteen? Eighteen?”

  “Lord Victor was a fool to think they’d let him go unpunished,” Antonil said. “Which of these bodies do you think is him?”

  Sergan squinted at a few nearby, frowned.

  “Not seeing any wearing fancy enough clothes. Might still be alive and cowering under a rock somewhere, though I doubt it’ll mean shit. His fool’s quest is over. Once he’s done wiping his ass, he’ll take the first wagon out of Veldaren, I guarantee it. Question is, what do we do? Pretty obvious the Spider Guild is the one responsible for all this. Think we could have the King declare them all under arrest?”

  “Perhaps, if we wanted to send them all into hiding and make all our lives miserable for the next ten years. Who killed the Spider Guild, though? Don’t see any of Victor’s guards having made it this far.”

  “I don’t know, but whoever it was was doing us a service.”

  Antonil let out a grim laugh.

  “Don’t let Thren hear you say that. I’d hate to have to find myself a new trainer for the guard.”

  More city guards arrived from the castle, wheeling a cart behind them. At Sergan’s orders, they began loading up the dead and shifting aside the larger stones to reopen the road for travel. They’d been at it for hours, all to clean up the mess the attack had caused and clear away the rubble and the dead. The sun was rising above the city wall, reminding Antonil how tired he was, and how long a day he had ahead of him.

  Antonil watched his soldiers work with a pall cast over his mood. He’d known this was coming. It seemed everyone but Victor had known it. But expecting it and actually seeing the anger and power of the underworld rise up to strike were two different things. And lest they risk all-out warfare on the streets, Antonil could do nothing about it. It used to be that the easy money made the guilds soft, but no longer. The Watcher had been the one to keep the more troublesome in line, but this was beyond him. Perhaps it was beyond them all.

  “Something bothering you, beyond the obvious?” Sergan asked, coming back over from the crater.

  “If necessary, we could raise an army to battle off kingdoms, perhaps even the wrath of the elves,” Antonil said. “Yet we are so powerless against these thieves. How? Why?”

  “Once the worm gets in the apple, it’s near impossible to get out,” Sergan said, smacking Antonil on the shoulder. “Our walls don’t work against this enemy. They’ve got boundaries, no diplomats, no castles to take or crops to burn. Just men, sticky fingers, and a frightening amount of daggers. Much as I’d like to have every one of them thieves stretched out before me in an open battlefield, they ain’t that stupid. So we’ll do what we can, with what we’ve got to work with.”

  “They’re killing everyone who talks to Victor’s men,” Antonil said, revealing what had weighed most heavy on his heart.

  “Thought you were posting guards?”

  “It isn’t enough. It never seems to be enough. My numbers are stretched thin as it is.”

  Sergan shrugged.

  “You’ll think of something. You always do. And besides, weren’t you listening? Victor’s going to be halfway to Ker by this afternoon, and all the way to Mordeina by nightfall. There won’t be any more witnesses to protect. In a few days, it’ll all die down to the quiet little insanity we’ve learned to live with lately.”

  “Forgive me, Sergan, but I have my doubts.”

  The weathered man raised an eyebrow, spat again.

  “Why’s that?”

  In answer, Antonil pointed to where Lord Victor approached with a large retinue of his men, their armor gleaming in the morning light. Antonil bowed at his arrival, and Victor responded in kind.

  “Good to see you safe and well,” Antonil said.

  “I’m surprised myself,” Victor said before gesturing to his men. “Whatever help you need, my men are here to offer it. Much of this is my fault, and I won’t leave you to clean it up alone. Once it’s done, we can resume the investigations.”

  Antonil managed to hide the surprise from his face and voice, but only because of a lifetime of discipline.

  “You’re still to remain in Veldaren?”

  Victor clapped Antonil on the shoulder.

  “I don’t scare that easily. We’ll use more caution, of course, take things a bit slower now that we know what lengths they will go to.”
>
  Antonil had Sergan dole out orders, then asked Victor if he’d join him for a moment so they could talk privately.

  “Something wrong?” Victor asked as they put their backs to their men and walked.

  “It’s the men and women you’ve been bringing in to testify,” Antonil began. “I’ve tried posting guards, but many go into hiding, and even the ones I do protect have been killed. Often my guards die, as well.”

  Victor nodded while listening, and Antonil saw the hidden anger and frustration.

  “Casualties of war, captain,” the lord said, but he couldn’t quite keep the dismissive tone from wavering.

  “Your war, not theirs.”

  Victor sighed.

  “What do you want me to do, Antonil? I won’t leave, not after all this. Would you have me render their deaths pointless?”

  “I’d have there be no deaths at all. Conduct these talks in secret. Give shelter among your soldiers for those who request it. Once we’ve weakened the guilds, these measures won’t be necessary, but until then...”

  “Enough,” Victor said, his sharp tone startling Antonil. The guard captain watched as Victor turned away for a moment and stared at the crater in the street and the bodies being loaded onto the cart.

  “I thought I was prepared,” Victor said, his voice softening. “I thought I could bear the burden. And I still will, Antonil. I will bear it. But it is far heavier than I ever imagined.”

  “It will get worse before it gets better,” Antonil said.

  “I know,” Victor said, turning back to him. “I will do what I can to hide the identity of those we bring in, whatever good it will do. Your king has already agreed to let me use his castle, so I will question everyone there. As for those in fear for their lives...”

  He gestured down the street, where work had already begun in repairing the wall of Victor’s repurposed tavern.

  “There are many rooms within, as well as space on the floor. Bring them there, until there is no room left.”

  “Will it be safe?” Antonil asked, thinking of the attack only hours prior.

  “From the outside, yes,” Victor said. “I can promise you that. But inside...I don’t know. I invite assassins in with every man I give shelter. I pray you understand the risk I take, and hope I never have reason to regret it.”