Thren shook his head. No, there was no if, only when. Grayson would not have traveled such distance without good cause. The only question was how the foreign guilds planned to make their attack, and how great their cooperation would be. Their first move, though, Grayson had stated clear as day. The truce between the Trifect and the guilds would have to be broken, and the easiest step to that was obvious: ending the life of the Watcher.
“Good luck, Watcher,” Thren said softly, doing everything to subdue his anger, to think clearly and carefully like he knew he must. Despite his frustration, he felt pride. All the way to Mordeina, Grayson had said. The Watcher’s reputation had spread throughout the four nations, coast to coast.
“Good luck,” he wiped his hand with a cloth, “...my son.”
4
The parade of men in chains seemed endless as Victor stood at the entrance to the King’s dungeon, a large, ungainly block attached to the side of the castle. They’d even started tying people with rope, having run out of manacles. An excellent day, Victor thought. He doubted it could have started any better.
“Milord,” said Sef, Victor’s leader of his guard. He was a heavyset, bearded, and battle worn servant of the Kane household for almost two decades. “Sir Antonil Copernus wishes to speak with you.”
“Send him over,” Victor said.
Sef bowed, hurried away. Moments later Antonil arrived, wearing the regal armor of his position as captain of the guard and protector of his majesty’s city. His long blond hair peaked out from the lower limits of his helmet. Scars of battle marked his face. A shield hung from his back, and his longsword swung at his hip. The Guard Captain bowed low, and addressed him with sincere respect.
“Milord Victor, I come at behest of my King,” he said, standing straight. “He thought it best I help oversee your endeavor, as well as ensure my own guards assist you in any way they can.”
Victor grinned at the knight.
“Are you sure about that? I thought our gracious King might fear giving too much assistance, lest he earn the ire of both the guilds and the Trifect.”
Antonil’s smile hardened, and his voice lowered.
“Perhaps. In all things, I protect the people of this city. You’d best remember that. Your men may carry weapons, and the King’s blessing, but upon my word they lose both, and join the men they’ve arrested in a cell.”
“All I do, I do for the people of this city, Antonil.”
Antonil nodded, but did not respond. Victor felt his respect growing. The man looked tired, frustrated, but hid it well. An air of authority hovered over him, and whenever he cast his eyes about, even Victor’s own men stood at attention.
“There are so many,” Antonil said, turning to the lines before the dungeon entrance. “We cannot fit them all.”
“We don’t need to,” Victor said. “Follow me, and I will explain.”
Victor led the way. There were five lines, all steadily shuffling forward as Victor’s soldiers brought in their latest catch. Though some wore the cloaks of the guilds, most did not. They were merchants, peasants, prostitutes, even the homeless and the beggars. Antonil took in the sight, and his frown deepened.
“They are not under arrest,” Victor explained. “At least, not most. We are here for answers, Antonil, and to do that we must ask questions. Information is our greatest weapon against the shadows these scum cloak themselves in. It should please you greatly to know we fully abide by the law.”
They stopped at the head of one of the five lines. An older man sat at a desk, a lengthy parchment before him, along with a large inkwell and quill. On his knees, two soldiers holding him still, was a fat merchant. His clothes were smeared with mud, and across his right cheek was an angry cut that oozed blood. At their arrival, the merchant glanced their way, and paused.
“Continue,” said the old scribe before him. “Their names, if you know them.”
“I...I don’t.”
“Then their descriptions. And remember, we will talk to them, as well.”
The merchant glanced their way. Victor put a hand on the merchant’s shoulder.
“The law will protect you,” he said. “Speak the truth, and hold faith. It will only be a matter of time. They cannot hide forever.”
Their eyes met, just for a moment, and then the merchant turned to the scribe.
“The bastards’ names are Jok and Kevis, both in the Wolf Guild.”
His voice trailed off as Victor led Antonil away.
“I don’t understand,” Antonil said beside him. “We cannot just arrest anyone in the guilds. Our arrangement forbids it, for it is they who police the streets...”