Blood of the Underworld(34)

Victor sighed.

“You’re right. Forgive me. Today has not gone well.”

“So I heard.”

Word of the attack had spread throughout Veldaren like wildfire. Tarlak had gotten a firsthand account from Haern, at least on how the attack had ended. As for casualties, that was a little sketchier. Tarlak had hoped to glean more information out of the lord, but so far had struggled to get the man to talk. Now that they were surveying his handiwork, at last he had a chance.

“Most of these runes I’ve burned in,” Tarlak said, trying to keep Victor engaged, his mind on their conversation instead of elsewhere. “It’d take a lot to smudge or break them, but it is possible. Make sure your guards are always aware.”

“What should they watch for?”

“Well, I’d say a man with a big mallet smashing the wood in. That’d probably break them. Think your guards would notice that?”

Victor paused a moment, and then miracle of miracles, laughed. Tarlak snapped his fingers. Finally he was getting somewhere.

“No one will lay a finger on the building,” Victor said. “And I think even my least-trained men would still find it strange for a man to be hacking at a wall.”

“Praise the gods for intelligent help.”

“Amen.”

The two walked toward the entrance of the building. Guards trailed behind them. They’d watched Tarlak carefully the entire time, supposedly on the excuse that they didn’t want him harmed while casting the protection spells. Tarlak found the lie insulting.

As if he needed protection.

His balance teetered a bit as he walked with Victor, and he decided that maybe that wasn’t so insulting after all. Victor caught him, inquired if he was all right.

“Just a little woozy,” he said, rolling his head side to side. “Ever had a headache so bad that it split your insides in half, making every light look ten times too bright?”

“I can’t say I have.”

“Then you’re damn lucky. Consider me adding the cost of a drink to your expenses, because I need one right now, otherwise I won’t make it home.”

“Then consider it paid.”

Victor led Tarlak to the door. The wizard made sure not to crack a smile. His head hurt, but not that terribly. Still, Victor looked like he wanted those he hired to trust him, even respect him. A good sign. Anyone willing to buy beer for his underlings was a man with great potential. The guards let Victor pass, then stepped in front of Tarlak.

“All off,” said one.

“All...off?”

Tarlak realized the guards meant his clothes, but Victor interrupted before he could protest.

“Let him through,” said the lord. “I’m trusting my life to his wards, not much sense to fear him slipping a knife on me.”

“Smart man,” Tarlak said as he stepped inside and took a seat at a table. A servant hurried over, pitcher in hand. Accepting it graciously, he sniffed the contents. Strong scent of honey. Excellent.

“Only common sense,” Victor said, dismissing the offered cup as he sat opposite the wizard. “If you wanted me dead, those wards would set my home on fire in the middle of the night instead of keeping out the more determined scum of the underworld.”

“Speaking of scum, did you catch those responsible for the attack on your scribes?”

Victor crossed his arms and leaned back in his seat. His clear blue eyes bore into him, and Tarlak could sense the inner debate. When Victor spoke, it appeared Tarlak had passed.

“Not as many as I would like,” he said, sighing. “The Hawk Guild was responsible, that I know for sure. Guesses run from about thirty to forty that set up the ambush. We killed at least twenty...well, twenty died, I should say. My men can only account for seven. The Watcher took out the rest.”

“He does tend to do that,” Tarlak said, chuckling.

“If I’m not mistaken, he is a member of your mercenaries, is he not?”

Tarlak lifted an eyebrow.

“Aye, he is. Considering hiring him? Doesn’t come cheap, but of course, we’re relying on future payments already. What’s a little more debt between friends?”

“I just hope to know if I can consider him friend,” Victor insisted.

“Money tends to make such matters irrelevant.”

At Victor’s glare, Tarlak raised his hands and quickly apologized.

“Forgive me, I tend to joke when I should grovel. If you’re wondering what the Watcher thinks of you, I’d say right now he doesn’t know. Just between you and me, I think you’re a respectable enough guy, but the Watcher tends to be a bit more distrusting.”

Victor nodded, waved at the servants. Accepting a drink, he downed half. Tarlak shifted in his seat, wondered what troubled the lord so that he would suddenly decide he needed alcohol after all.