Blood of the Underworld(68)

And they did, Victor returning to his bed and setting down the cloth and dagger. Alan paced before him, trying not to look nervous but seeming so anyway. Victor watched him at all times, still not trusting him. It burned his gut to pay for information that should have been given over freely, but times were growing desperate.

Another knock, and then a guard entered holding a brown leather bag. Victor retrieved it, then tossed it over to Alan.

“There,” he said. “Now talk.”

“Corner of Iron and Wheat,” Alan said. “It’s made to look like an inn—the Thirsty Mule. Everyone should be there, recovering from last night’s debacle. Now be a man of your word, and let me pass.”

Victor sat down on his bed, stretched his arms out at his sides.

“Go,” he said. “But before you do...how do I know you don’t lie?”

A faint smile tugged at the side of Alan’s mouth.

“There’s easier ways to make money than this, Victor. Safer, too. Go to the Thirsty Mule. You won’t be disappointed.”

Victor chuckled. His hand slipped inside the washcloth, grabbing the hilt of the dagger. With a burst of speed he caught Alan flatfooted, slamming into him with his shoulder. Together they rammed against the door, the tip of Victor’s dagger pressing against the thief’s throat. Guards cried out from the other side, but Victor called them off with a word.

“Where is Thren?” Victor screamed into his face. His dagger pressed harder against flesh, threatening to pierce through at any moment. “Where is he really?”

“I told you where he is,” Alan insisted.

Victor stared into his eyes, daring him to lie, to give the slightest twitch revealing his guilt.

“One last time,” Victor said, his voice dropping. “Where...is...Thren?”

Alan met his gaze, and he leaned closer so that the dagger drew a drop of blood.

“Threaten all you want,” he said. “My words aren’t changing. He’s there.”

Victor let him go, then shouted another order to his guards.

“Get out of here,” he said.

Alan was all too eager to oblige. With him gone, Victor tossed the dagger atop his dresser and then rubbed his eyes. Truth or lie...truth or lie?

“Form an escort,” he said at last, exiting his room and kissing goodbye his morning of rest. “I need to speak with Antonil.”



Antonil met him in the castle courtyard, looking as tired as Victor felt.

“Good to see you escaped last night unscathed,” Antonil said. His clothes were clean but unkempt. Victor figured he’d dressed quickly at his request, most likely wanting the same sleep Victor was denying himself.

“A shame the rest of the city cannot say the same,” Victor said, clasping Antonil’s hand in greeting. “Please, forgive me for interrupting your morning, but I must act soon, and I need the help of your guard.”

A note of caution entered Antonil’s words.

“Act on what?”

“I know where Thren is,” Victor said. “Him, and most likely the rest of his guild.”

Antonil turned aside and swore.

“You realize what this will do,” he said.

“I know.”

“This isn’t some minor thief or merchant. Thren has killed kings before.”

“And yet still he lives,” Victor said, crossing his arms.

Antonil frowned, but could not argue that point. Pacing a few steps in either direction, he mulled over the thought.

“What is it you want?” he asked at last.

“This is something we cannot fail. Between your city guard and my soldiers, we can seal off a dozen streets, and surround his hideout with a wall of swords and spears. Last night was the end of whatever peace Veldaren has known. Thren will not let this pass.”

“How do you know that? I heard nothing of Thren last night, nor did anyone report his actions to my guard.”

Victor shook his head, hardly believing what he was hearing.

“The man is a thief, a criminal, and a madman who has terrorized this city for years. Every shred of history says he will take this opportunity to make things worse, and you want to argue about how in a single night no one happened to see him? What are you afraid of?”

“What am I afraid of?” Antonil stopped his pacing and stepped close. “You weren’t here. At times I could barely patrol the streets because we were too busy pulling corpses out of homes and gutters. I had to put men at every single window of the castle, for Edwin was convinced he’d have his throat slit in the night. No matter how bad the killings, I could not get men to talk to me, nor my guard to investigate thoroughly, for doing so would just result in more dead. Every night, it took a little piece of me to convince this city that just maybe they could sleep well, despite it all. And now I see the same chaos erupting before me, and you call me a coward for fearing you’ll fan the flames instead of smothering them?”