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Blood of the Underworld(117)



Ten seconds later, the daggers fell from bleeding hands. Thren pressed the tip of his sword against the man’s neck.

“Your name?” he asked.

“Pierce,” said the thin man.

“Well, Pierce,” said Thren, “How much pain do you wish to feel?”

The man licked his lips, as if he were facing a trick question.

“Little as necessary,” he said.

“A wise answer. Tell me where Grayson is, and that is what you’ll receive.”

“Only a dead man turns on Grayson,” Pierce said.

Thren pressed his blade tighter against Pierce’s neck.

“You are a dead man,” he said. “But that’s not what matters. That’s not the question. The question was, and still is...how much pain do you wish to feel?”

Finally he saw a hint of true fear in Pierce’s eyes.

“You can’t do shit to me,” he said. “You do, and you’ll get it back ten times worse. Veldaren’s our city now. Go back to whatever guild you serve and tell them that.”

Thren laughed.

“I am my guild,” he said. “I serve none but myself. And I can do a lot, Pierce. So much in so little time...”

It took a few minutes, but he got his answers.

Billick’s Oddities wasn’t too far away, and he knew the shop well. The man was a notorious cheat, and he showed no loyalty to any guild. Because of that, everyone liked him, and everyone used him to deal stolen goods. With him, gold was all that mattered, which meant you knew exactly how far to trust him. Thren grinned at the thought. It looked like Billick had found a partnership worth far too much for him to turn down.

Pierce had said they only used Billick’s place to store their goods, not stay themselves, but Thren had a feeling Grayson would always be nearby. His takeover of Veldaren depended on his product. He wouldn’t leave it unguarded. Thren approached cautiously, watching for any inquisitive pairs of eyes. He couldn’t rely on cloaks and colors anymore. With so much in flux, everyone could be a snitch.

When he was at the top of the road leading down to Billick’s, and almost within sight of the store, Thren heard the first of the horns. He stopped, confused by what they meant. When a second sounded, further away, he realized what it was, but could hardly believe it.

“What madness is this?” he wondered aloud.

Troops marched into the southern district, coordinating their movements with the blows of trumpets. It couldn’t be the city guard, at least not alone. The King was too cowardly for that. Only one person made sense, and given the audacity he’d already shown, Thren knew he shouldn’t be as surprised as he was.

Victor was coming to play.

Thren rushed toward Billick’s. He wouldn’t let Victor get Grayson. That was his kill, his chance to send a message west to the guilds in Mordeina. They would never fear Victor, no matter how many men he had. He was still an outside lord, a man not of their world. No matter how bright he shined, he would never find them all in the shadows. For it to matter, Thren had to be the executioner.

Sounds of combat reached his ears, first little, then gradually louder. The marching of feet soon followed. Screams, scattered and few, accompanied the progressive movement south. As Thren ran, he saw Suns joining him on the street, all fleeing to the same place. Thren drew his swords, stabbed a man beside him wearing their colors. Without losing a step he shifted to the side, overtaking another fleeing woman. She sprawled headfirst into the dirt after he slashed out her heel.

At the doors of Billick’s Oddities, several men gathered, simultaneously dispersing as a squad of ten armored men turned the corner. One of the soldiers lifted a horn to his lips and blew. Thren hooked a right, finding the alley occupied with a man furiously pulling at a scrap of cloth sewn into the sleeve of his shirt that identified his guild allegiance.

“Having second thoughts?” he asked the dirty man, grinning. Thren cut out his throat before he could answer, his fingers still in the hole he’d torn in the fabric. Glancing side to side, he gauged the cramped distance between the two buildings, decided them close enough. He leapt from wall to wall, constantly kicking himself higher so that on the third kick he landed atop the building directly adjacent to Billick’s. As he’d expected, Grayson was up there, surveying the movement of the troops. Thren knew well how he felt, for he’d done the same when Victor stormed his headquarters. But how had Victor discovered Grayson’s place?

A black fire gave him his answer, firing up from the ground toward the rooftop. Grayson dropped to his stomach, avoiding Deathmask’s attack. Glancing over the edge of the roof, Thren saw the Ash Guildmaster leading a squad of six armored soldiers, Victor at his side. Grayson looked up from where he lay, saw Thren watching. His lips were grinning, but his eyes promised death. Thren grinned right back. The two were about to be kindred spirits in their homelessness. Grayson, as if imagining his thoughts, only shook his head in disagreement.