Blood of the Underworld (33 page)

“That’s correct, sir.”

Victor laughed.

“Was there something you needed?”

Sef nodded.

“Our majesty’s advisor is ready to speak with you. He’d said he’d meet you in his chambers in the castle, to discuss your request.”

“Tell Gerand I’ll be there shortly,” Victor said, turning back to the raised platform. “There’s still a few more awaiting the axe.”

Sef bowed low.

“Of course. Enjoy your show.”

Thieves, murderers, and lowborn thugs trudged up the steps, their crimes labeled, categorized, and proven to the necessary extent. Then came the axe. For Victor, it wasn’t enjoyment, and truthfully, he would have been disturbed to feel that way upon seeing another man die. No, as the axe fell, and the head separated from neck, he felt his city taking one tiny step closer to peace. It carried the same satisfaction as pulling a flea from a dog, or yanking a weed from a garden. A sick, immoral life was snuffed out. They would commit no more crimes, frighten no more innocents, and take no more lives.

Step by step. Up the stairs, before the executioner, and then the chopping block. Step by step.

When it was done, Victor went into the king’s castle and trudged up the stairs to Gerand’s room. He knocked on the door, and was quickly let it. Gerand’s room was a tidy place, well furnished for its small size. Taking a seat at his desk, Gerand motioned for Victor to sit in the only other chair, which he did. It was overly stuffed, and far from comfortable.

“I thank you for coming to see me so late,” Gerand said.

“I should be thanking you for not making me wait another day,” Victor said. Gerand smiled at the comment, but he didn’t look amused. It was almost like a trained response to anyone attempting wit.

“I’ve gone over your request,” Gerand said, leaning back in his chair. “And while your results are impressive, and the costs you listed for hiring your soldiers fair, I am not sure the king’s treasury is ready to pay just yet.”

“Why is that?” Victor asked. “Have I not crushed the strongest, most dangerous guild in your city’s history? Surely that is worth a partial advance on the compensation I was promised.”

“Perhaps.” Gerand tapped his fingers together, collected his thoughts. “You see, Victor, while his majesty might be rash, and willing to agree to things without much thought, I try to be a bit more...patient. I like to peer deeper into things, and I’ve done so with your family. I know who you’ve done business with, from every major trader and merchant.”

Victor’s eyes narrowed.

“Is that so?”

“It is. When the king’s advisor comes calling, people tend to talk. No one wants to let things become...unpleasant. And since you’ve given me the costs to train and hire your men, it was a simple matter to compare that to what I learned of your wheat trade. Do you know what I found out?”

“What is that, advisor?”

Gerand breathed in deep, wrapped his fingers together. His face was emotionless, a well-controlled mask to hide whatever it was he felt.

“You’re broke, Victor. You can’t afford your own army.”

The words sent a chill down Victor’s spine, but he did his best to hide it, just like Gerand.

“That’s preposterous,” he said.

“Is it?” asked Gerand, his eyebrows lifting. “Your lands are not large, and such skilled men as yours are not cheap, especially for the danger they face and the time you’ve committed them to. Perhaps a few you’ve promised a pittance of land, but you don’t have much to give. Even if you’ve been saving for the past five years or so, which I honestly believe you have, within a few weeks your men will want another portion of their pay and you simply won’t have it. Which of course brings us to your request for an advance.”

Gerand leaned back, clearly giving Victor an opportunity to speak. He tried to think, to know what was expected of him.

“What I’ve done has helped this city,” he said, deciding to be honest in his appeal. “You have to know this. After everything I’ve accomplished, surely his majesty can issue in good faith a portion...”

Gerand waved a hand, interrupting him.

“His majesty will do as I say in this, so long as I convince him he’ll sleep safer at night. I am the one you must convince, so direct your arguments to me. What makes you think I should trust you with such wealth?”

“You’ve seen my men combing the streets. You’ve seen the scum I’ve brought to your judges. Even the Trifect has opened their books to me. For what reason would you doubt me?”

Gerand waved a hand at him.

“Stay calm, friend. I have no time for anger or personal insult. And forgive my manners...would you care for a drink?”

The advisor poured them both a glass of wine, and Victor accepted it reluctantly. Once Gerand had taken a sip, Victor did so as well. It was fine vintage, and despite himself, Victor drank half the glass.

“So you wonder why I should doubt you, after all I’ve seen,” Gerand said, setting his glass beside him at his desk. “That is exactly the point. I’ve seen you driven to put your life in danger, risking every shred of your wealth to hire and train men to accomplish this fanatical quest. I can only imagine how many moneylenders are eyeing your wheat fields even as we speak. Yet what I don’t know is
why
. What could possibly drive you to such lengths?”

“Why does it matter my reason so long as my motives are pure?” Victor asked.

“Are they pure? I don’t know, and I don’t much care. But it matters to me because I do not like entrusting the streets to a madman, and to me, you carry the look of a madman. It sparkles in your eyes. Sane men do not give up everything for others, I’m sorry. That is something I do not trust in my gut. So tell me something I can believe, that will convince me to open the treasury to you, and I will do so.”

“You don’t trust someone to give everything, to sweat and bleed for others,” Victor said. “You are a sad, bitter man if that is true. But if you don’t trust that, then what of vengeance, Gerand? Is that something you can trust?”

“Perhaps.”

“Then know that what I do, I do for the honor of my parents. I do so to avenge my childhood. The crimes these guilds have committed against me are loathsome, and if you have looked into me as you say, then you know what they’ve done. My parents did not deserve that. It should never have happened, never, and I will do whatever it takes to break every person involved and lay their corpses before the memory of my mother and father.”

Victor crossed his arms, and he felt like one awaiting judgment.

“So tell me,” he said. “Am I still a madman?”

Gerand chuckled.

“Perhaps, but if you are, you’re a madman I can understand. That is all that matters. I will give you the advance you requested, plus half over. But I want you to remember something, Victor. If you are wise, you’ll listen well. If you accomplish what you desire, if you keep breaking the guilds one by one, then I’ll make sure your men remain paid, in secret, and quiet, so none will know of his majesty’s involvement. But if you fail, then I’ll suddenly discover how you attempted to defraud the castle, and lied about your wealth in vain hopes of having our treasury pay for your ill-conceived crusade. In short, either they hang, or you do. Have I made myself clear?”

Victor swallowed down both saliva and his pride, then nodded.

“I do,” he said.

Gerand waved a dismissive hand.

“Good. Now go. I’ll send the gold sometime in the next few days, once it’s clear this peace will actually last.”

Victor stood and bowed to the advisor.

“You are most gracious,” he said, each word like a bee sting on his tongue.

“You can hate me if you wish, but you shouldn’t,” Gerand said, sensing his frustration. “I’m your friend in this. I have no love for these guilds, either. They’ve threatened my life plenty, even in this very room. But my friendship extends only as far as your usefulness. I have faith in you, and I do have hope that you’re the right madman to create something good in Veldaren. Besides, with the Watcher dead, someone needs to inspire fear in the heart of thieves.”

Victor chuckled.

“He’s not dead,” he said.

Gerand shrugged.

“Then we’ll have two madman spilling the blood of the underworld instead of one. Try to get along.”

T
hey had the bar to themselves, just as Carson Bloodcraft preferred. He sat facing the door, his back to the wall. No one would sneak up on him. A fool might try to prevent his exit, thinking him trapped, but such a fool was no threat to him. Just an inconvenience at best. Given how young the night was, the tavern should have been teeming with activity, but some coins and a few simple words had changed that.

“I think we might have underestimated our foes,” Carson said, pushing powder into his longneck pipe. It was the finest leaf available in Mordeina, and he’d brought it with him all the way across the continent to Veldaren.

“Just their tenacity for survival,” said Nora Bloodcraft, his wife. She sat opposite him, trusting him to alert her to any threat. Unlike his short dark hair, she had beautiful blond hair, tied into a tight ponytail that ran across her neck, down her chest, and to her waist. They both wore crimson coats made of the finest leather and then stained to identify their mercenary band. Nora, seeing his pipe full, leaned forward and snapped her fingers. The leaf smoldered and began to smoke. Leaning back, Carson drew in a long breath and then sighed.

“Need to ration this better,” he said, looking down at his pouch. He’d used too much on the trip over. Last thing he needed was to go bartering for whatever shit they grew in Neldar. “And perhaps you’re right. They present no greater threat than we thought, but their ability to survive is admirable. They seem to lack any pride or honor, at least when it comes to fleeing a fight.”

“Pride and honor would just get them killed, anyway. We should have known better.”

“It’s our own fault for trusting that weasel, Laerek,” said Percy Bloodcraft, carrying three drinks from the barkeep, who stood behind the bar, skin pale, hands shaking. They’d told him only once to leave them be, and made it clear what might happen if he did not. The chubby fellow kept glancing at the door, where the bodies of two men lay, both having been foolish enough to ignore the Bloodcrafts’ request for privacy. One had bled out from a gash running from belly to throat. The other’s face was a charred husk, with faint flecks of white bone showing.

Percy sat beside Nora, put down the drinks, and then leaned back in his chair. He had no biological relation to Nora and Carson, but like all members of the Bloodcraft Mercenaries since their creation, Percy had been adopted into the family once his skills were proven suitable. He looked like he was nothing but bone and hair, but he was fast. Hidden in the folds of his crimson coat were dozens of knives of all sizes, and he could make each one fly like a bird on the wind. His hair was a soft brown, the only thing beautiful about him.

“We’re new to this city,” Carson said, ignoring the drink set before him. “We must make do with the information we are given.”

“Sure thing, father, but wouldn’t it make more sense to doubt everything instead?”

Carson and Nora were not much older than Percy, but he’d taken to calling them mother and father ever since joining the Bloodcrafts. Something about it amused him, perhaps how it managed to get underneath Carson’s skin.

“With how our day has gone?” Nora said, tasting her drink and then frowning at it. “Perhaps it does. The Ash Guild avoided our ambush with nary a casualty. Even worse...where is Nicholas?”

“Nicholas is dead,” Percy said, smirking. “You know it, I know it, we all do. I told you I should have gone with him.”

“His abilities were a perfect counter to the Eschaton,” Carson said, breathing in more from the pipe. “The Ash Guild was more of an unknown, and posed the greater risk.”

“Well, it looks like you calculated wrong.”

Nora shook her head.

“That, or the Watcher still lives. If his rumors are to be believed, he could have achieved victory. Surely it took someone of his skill with a blade to kill Nicholas.”

“Laerek assured us the man was dead,” Carson said. “I might have a word with him. His poor information has cost us dearly.”

“If the Watcher killed Nicholas, then we need to hunt him down and return the favor,” Percy said, leaning forward in his seat and drumming the table with his fingers. Carson saw the eagerness there, and it amused him greatly.

“There’s little word on who he is, or who his loved ones are,” Carson said. “All we know is of his allegiance to the Eschaton.”

Percy shrugged.

“Someone will talk. Someone has to know. All we have to do is find out, and do a little knife work, and we’ll have him helpless.”

The door opened. Carson leaned to the side to see better past his wife. It was a woman, slender, with long brown hair that curled down around her shoulders. Her dress was plain but clean, and of a soft blue.

“Miss,” the barkeep said. “Please, you should go...”

“No men here to buy a whore,” Percy said, glancing back and seeing her. “Go on your way.”

The woman stepped around the two mutilated bodies, seeming unfazed by them. Carson narrowed his eyes, and then he began to laugh.