Thren felt his insides harden. They’d found Bert the previous night, an arrow embedded in his throat. His mouth had been open, but no golden tongue there. The eyes of silver, though, they had seen, and the memory still filled him with rage. They’d taken the coins and fled just before the city guard arrived. Some had thought it a hit by the Watcher, but Thren dismissed that immediately. It wasn’t the Watcher’s style. His two men accosted outside one of their taverns—now that was the Watcher’s style. No, the coins and odd rhyme left in mockery had to be the Serpent Guild. Their new leader, Wilson Ket, was known for his pathetic attempts at resembling nobility instead of the street rat he was.
“Now,” Thren said, and the two rushed out.
They’d been watching another tavern, a place where Thren had been told Wilson liked to drink in the early mornings. The crowds had thinned, and no Serpents were in sight. At his command, he and Martin crossed the street, their hands on their hilts. But when he reached the door, he stopped and swore.
“Did someone warn him?” Martin asked.
Thren shrugged. He didn’t know. Enough already didn’t make sense, but adding this?
The door was broken inward. They stepped inside, their blades drawn. Not sure what to expect, Thren still did not find it within that tavern. Instead, several Serpents lay on the floor, their arms bound behind their backs. Over a dozen armed soldiers were about, some tying ropes, others questioning the Serpents, while a few just stood around looking bored. That boredom vanished the moment they laid eyes on the two of them, barging in with naked blades.
“Oh, shit,” Martin muttered.
An appropriate understatement.
“Halt!” several cried, but Thren was already on his way out. In the street, he turned north and ran, jamming his swords into their sheaths. Martin followed, still clutching his dagger.
“They’re following!” Martin yelled, and Thren glanced back to confirm. Only four, but they wore fine sets of chainmail that would turn their weapons with ease. He almost engaged them, figuring to end the fight quickly, but then he saw another squad of soldiers turn the corner just ahead. They wore the same insignia as the others: yellow wings overtop a gold sun. Thren had never seen it before in his life.
“Follow me,” he told Martin, cutting hard to his right. They ducked into an alley, then dove through a window upon reaching a dead end. Thren landed hard atop a table, then rolled to avoid Martin’s fall. Banging one of his knees on the way to the floor, Thren clenched his teeth and muttered a litany of curses at whoever had placed the table there. A woman stood screaming, and he slashed out her throat, not giving a thought to her corpse as they ran up the stairs. On the rooftops they were truly at home, and they leapt across with practiced ease. Once the guards were far behind, Thren stopped.
“Damn it,” he muttered, as up ahead Martin slowed, realizing his guild master was not keeping pace. A cramp stung Thren’s side, and he tried to push it into a corner of his mind so it wouldn’t bother him. It would have been easier if he weren’t so desperate for air. Old, he thought. Was this what it meant to get old? Despite his training, despite his legendary skill, he’d still just be a weary man gasping for air while the young ran on?
“You feeling fine, Thren?” Martin asked.
“Don’t ask stupid questions,” Thren snapped. “What just happened there?”
Martin shrugged.
“Looks like mercenaries going out hunting for thieves. We’ve seen it before.”
Thren shook his head.
“Yes, but not since the Watcher’s agreement. Have they learned nothing? We nearly burned this city down before. Do they think we cannot do it again?”
Martin walked over to the edge of the roof, knelt down on one knee, and peered down.
“Thren,” he said. “You might want to look at this.”
Thren joined him at the side, and if his insides were already hard, they now turned to iron. Hundreds of soldiers wearing the sun and wing insignia patrolled the streets. His mind flashed back to the bloody conflict four years prior, but it didn’t match up. Back then, Alyssa had unleashed a horde of mercenaries upon the city, smashing in homes, cutting down anyone suspected of guilt, and filling the city with fear. This, though...
“They’re orderly,” he said, with a hint of wonder. “Calm.”
“Not just that,” Martin said, pointing. “They’re only talking to most. What do you think they’re doing?”
Thren could spot a thief without even trying, and he saw at least seven weaving through the heavy crowd of the main street. None dared act. When one neared the soldiers, Thren thought they might spot the cloak and attack, but did not.