Blood of the Underworld(70)

“Calm yourself,” Thren said as he rose from his chair. “Speak clearly, and tell me what is going on.”

“City Guard’s closing off streets all around here,” Ricki said, tugging at the collar to his shirt. “Was coming back from the market, spending what little I got from the Gemcroft’s place, you know? Just barely snuck past while they was setting up, yelling at people to get in their homes.”

“You think they will come for us?” Thren asked, struggling to believe it. How would they even know of their location, let alone have the guts to make a move?

“They ain’t alone,” Ricki said, pulling open the door. “I saw Victor’s men gathering far up Iron Street. Don’t take much to figure out what they’re doing. Looks like someone decided to take us out.”

That was enough to spur Thren to action. He pushed Ricki aside, dashed up the stairs, and burst into the proper rooms of the inn.

“Wake everyone,” he yelled at the innkeeper. “Now! You, too, Ricki!”

Both rushed toward the rooms, the innkeeper the ones on the lower, Ricki the upper. Thren pulled his cloak tight about him and pulled its hood over his head. The more he looked like every other thief, the better. He was no fool. Victor had no interest in scum like Ricki, or even Martin. No, they wanted him. Of course they wanted him. Question was, how did they know? Who had sold out their location?

Men and women began stumbling down the stairs and into the main hall, most drunk or in a stupor.

“Ready your things,” Thren yelled to them. “Our lives are in danger. Soldiers come with swords!”

This awoke a fire in them. The inn grew more chaotic, and amid that, Thren went back to the door and glanced down the street. In the far distance he saw squads of soldiers in approach. He had thirty seconds, perhaps a minute at most, before he was surrounded.

Thren ducked back inside, found what was left of his guild anxiously awaiting orders. He looked to them all, and feeling his insides hardening into stone, he gave them.

“This is not the end of my guild,” he told them. “But wherever you go, whoever of you lives, toss aside your cloak and colors. I know your names, your faces, and will forever remember your vows. Listen, and wait. The reaper cannot take me, the guard cannot break me, and no whoreson of a noble will defeat me. Not now. Not this day.”

He saw the shock in their eyes, the disbelief. But Thren could see the writing on the wall, whether it was carved into the stone or written with blood. Someone conspired against him. Perhaps it was Victor. Perhaps it was one of the Trifect. It might even be the Widow that killed his men and mocked him afterward. Whoever it was, he needed to be found, and killed. The lesson of the Watcher weighed heavy on Thren’s mind. Free of all ties, one man alone could accomplish so much if he had the strength and will to do it.

“Go,” he told them, and that one word broke the spell. The shattered remnants of his guild rushed to the doors, a few returning to their rooms to grab their things. Thren did not wait, nor did he make for a door. Instead he climbed the stairs, having prepared for such an event. In a far room he stood on the bed and pushed against the ceiling, lifting several boards to reveal a hole to the roof. Climbing up, Thren replaced the boards, then slunk to the edge. From there he looked down and surveyed the forces arrayed against him.

It wasn’t good. They’d brought at least a hundred armed men, if not more. Every which way he looked, there was a squad of six to ten guarding a street. No doubt more lurked in the alleyways closer to the inn. Only the rooftops remained open to him, though the crossbows he saw the various soldiers holding made him nervous. Crouching lower, he waited, just a moment, to see how the chaos played out. His former guild members fled in all directions, like rats abandoning a sinking ship. The squads closed in, and more worrisome, none gave chase. It was a perfect net, tightening in. Those that tried to make it past were attacked, and while Thren watched, he saw several shot dead with crossbow bolts.

And then the main force from Victor reached the inn, many carrying torches. They didn’t enter. They didn’t try to flush anyone out. Instead, they set it aflame.

“Oh shit,” Thren muttered. Whatever time he had was done. He’d hoped to lurk, perhaps even hide on the rooftop until the search ended, but now he had no choice. Every way was guarded. Every direction he turned, he saw armed men waiting. One after another of his guild surrendered, those not fast enough to avoid the squads. Others dove into windows and forced open doors as soldiers chased after. Thren wished them well, then drew his swords.

Either they’d kill him, or he’d kill in return. There would be no capture, not for him. The fire grew, the smoke of it reaching the ceiling and the heat of it warming the wood beneath his feet. Despite it all, Thren pulled his hood lower and grinned. Grayson had claimed Thren feared facing an opponent strong enough to defeat him. Feeling the way his senses lifted, the sudden clarity of his sight, perhaps it’d just been too long since he had faced a truly worthy opponent? With Victor, Grayson and his Suns, and now the Widow, perhaps he finally had a plethora to choose from? Before, he only had the Watcher, and his presence had been a blanket across his ambitions, smothering him.