Blood of the Underworld(38)

Haern bit down a curse.

Ropes rolled down in front of him, and then the thieves descended. Haern kept perfectly still, hoping his presence might go unnoticed. Through a crack in his eyelids he counted their number. Twenty...thirty...forty...

Thren Felhorn landed before him, and Haern stopped counting. His father looked almost exactly like he remembered. His strong jaw, his coldly intelligent blue eyes, his reddish blond hair cut short so it would not interfere with his hearing or vision. The only differences were the wrinkles, and the way his skin looked stretched and thin. It was a strange thing, realizing how much his father had aged, but peering up at him, Haern still felt like a child. For a brief moment of terror, he thought Thren might see him, and without his hood hiding his face, recognize his long lost son. If he did turn and draw his shortswords, Haern didn’t know if he would be able to react in time to save himself.

The first of the thieves reached the door, and Thren followed after. Haern slowly exhaled. His hands were shaking, and as he sat up, he relied on his years of training to steady his breath and calm his heart. This is what he’d expected, what he’d known would happen. In times past, Haern had stormed through the mansions of the Trifect, slaughtering mercenaries and thieves alike to bring about peace. He’d fought the most skillful of opponents, from the Wraith to Dieredon. He would show no fear—not here, not now. The Spider Guild must fear him, not the other way around.

Should have kept Tarlak with me, Haern thought. One well-placed fireball, and the entire fight would already be over. With so many of the thieves’ backs to him, it was tempting to rush into their ranks, but he knew Thren would not be so foolish as that. Instead, Haern slunk to the side of the building, then ran to the back. Scrambling to the top, he drew his swords and pulled his hood over his head, letting its magical darkness hide his features. Four men with crossbows remained on the rooftop, guarding the flank. Haern crossed the shingles without a sound. Two were already dead before they knew he was there. Another fell to the hard stone below, blood gushing from his throat. The fourth managed a single scream before a saber took away his voice, and his life.

In the tense silence, that scream was enough. Standing to his full height, Haern held his swords out wide, let the Spider Guild see him there, looming, a promise of death in the dark night. The guards inside had started to shout, for several thieves had jammed thick iron crowbars against the hinges and begun to jar them loose. Those in the back turned, though, and they readied their weapons. At least fifty on one, thought Haern.

Could be worse.

The door shook, men rammed against it, and then it broke. The Spider Guild rushed the opening, and from within the tavern Haern heard the sound of combat. He knew soldiers protected Victor, but how many? And would they hold? Below, a line of thieves remained, about ten left to protect their flank from the lurking Watcher. Haern smiled despite himself. Now that was better.

He leapt into the air, his cloaks trailing silently behind him. Sabers eager, he twirled so that they could not guess his direction upon landing. They’d cut in, try to bury him in sheer numbers. And he’d be ready. His feet touched the ground, and he dropped, rolling to help soak up his momentum. He felt his shoulder connect against a man’s legs, and when the thief went down Haern pulled up, leaping again, avoiding frantic cuts. This time he was fully in control, parrying away hits with vicious speed. Pirouetting on one foot, he lashed out, cutting down two nearby thieves.

More rushed in, but they were simple attacks, thrusts and chops that showed their lack of formal training. Most could only dream of training with the masters Thren had brought in from around the world on a monthly basis. He’d wanted Haern to be his heir, his lord of the underworld. As the Spiders died around him, Haern felt in himself the fulfillment of that destiny, in a way his father never could have anticipated. Parry, shift, counter, and another two fell. Spinning, he let his cloaks flare out, let them disguise his movements. One thief slashed only to miss, stabbing into gray cloth instead of flesh. Haern lunged at him, knowing him vulnerable. His sabers pierced the man’s belly, and a twist sent the contents spilling.

The remaining men wanted no part of him, and turned to flee. Haern let them, knowing he had bigger problems to face. Looking to the door, he saw the entirety of the guild had managed to force themselves inside. He still heard combat, which was a good sign. Long as men were fighting, Victor had a chance.

When he reached the broken door, an eruption shook the ground, along with a bright flash that lit up the night. Haern shifted his feet to keep his balance, then swore. From above the rooftop, he saw smoke billowing into the night sky.