Blood of the Underworld(112)

Haern shrugged.

“If we’re going to fight, I’d rather us be the ones doing the ambushing. Or would you rather wait for them to come to our tower while we sleep, or assault me when I’m alone upon the rooftops?”

“They’ve made their intentions clear,” Delysia said, taking her brother’s hand. “They’ll kill us no matter what it takes. You saw the bodies. How many innocents they killed.”

“I say we do it,” Brug said, hopping up from his chair. “I’ll get my armor.”

“You’re with this insane scheme, too?” Tarlak asked.

Brug shrugged.

“What? I killed one of them already. Nothing says I can’t do it again.”

Haern grinned at his friend.

“That’s more like it,” he said. “So what will it be, Tarlak? Ready for us to go on the offensive for once?”

Tarlak lifted his hat and scratched the back of his head.

“That means I’ll have to face that one lady throwing all the fire, won’t I?”

“Probably.”

“Fine.” A devilish grin spread over his face, removing his pout. “But this time, I’m coming prepared. Come on, Brug, I’ll need your help with this.”

Over the day they prepared, and then before nightfall, they hurried back. Haern felt confident the Bloodcrafts were like most thieves, sleeping in the day and going out at night. And if not, well, then they’d catch them sleeping. Hardly the most honorable kill, thought Haern, but he’d dealt worse punishments than that.

The tavern was at the corner of Iron, a major trade route heading north to south through Veldaren, and Raven, a far smaller dirt road that jutted off into the remnants of homes, most shuttered down as the wealth had traveled steadily north over the past decade. Haern watched the entrance from an alley, on the opposite side of Iron. This gave him a wide view of the tavern, as well as the positions of the rest of the Eschaton.

Tarlak waited atop the baker’s shop beside the tavern. Haern could not see him, for he’d cast a lengthy spell of invisibility across himself before climbing up. The wizard directly faced the windows of the room, and precautions were necessary for such close proximity. Brug and Delysia were up Raven Street, so that if anyone fled away from Tarlak and Haern they’d be there to intercept. No exits went unwatched, no pathways unprotected. None of them liked the potential collateral damage, but the ambush was set, and at least no innocent families would be butchered like last time when the Bloodcrafts prepared their own ambush.

Time passed, and Haern felt his nerves start to fray. Slowly the sun fell behind the wall.

“Come on,” Haern whispered. “Come on, come on.”

They sky turned red, then purple, and then at last the stars winked into existence one by one. Still no sign. With every passing moment, Haern knew something was wrong. Had the innkeeper’s boy lied, or perhaps just been misinformed? No doubt the rest of his friends were as anxious as he. Maybe he should call the ambush off, or try to sneak into their room to confirm...

It was only instinct that saved him. He saw a flash of something high above, a shadow that didn’t feel quite right, and without thinking he dove to the side. Down fell a man in a red leather coat, longsword slamming the ground where he’d been. Haern pulled out of his roll, sabers drawn, but his attacker remained back. Surprise gone, he seemed in no hurry.

“Hello Watcher,” said the man. He was middle-aged, handsome, with dark hair cut short. Haern tensed. He’d crossed swords with him once already, and been stunned by his near inhuman speed.

“I’d greet you in return,” Haern said, “but I don’t know your name.”

The man grinned.

“Carson Bloodcraft. Consider me honored to meet you a second time. Few have the skill to match blades against me and live.”

“I could say the same.”

Carson chuckled.

“Indeed. Let me make this quick, Watcher. We knew you’d come for us after our last ambush, and we have prepared one of our own. We know where your friends are, all of them. Yes, even the wizard foolish enough to think we couldn’t see through a simple invisibility spell. With but a signal, they’ll attack.”

The man was too confident, the tone of his voice and pull of his smile too consistent. No lie. Tarlak, Delysia, Brug...they were all in danger.

“What do you want?” Haern asked, subtly tightening the muscles in his legs for a leap. “Do you wish to mock me before you try to kill me?”

Carson shook his head.

“Our mission is to eliminate you as a threat, Watcher. This can be done a lot of ways. But you see, your mercenaries killed one of our members, which leaves us with an opening. Your skill is incredible. With your reputation, and your abilities, you’d make a fine addition to the Bloodcrafts.”