《Chronicles of a Dark God Collected》


 1—Freedom’s Price

    Raomar caught the carriage as it left the Hartender city mansion. He flipped the driver a single gold coin, paying for his silence and the risk he took. It might do little to ease the man¡¯s conscious, but that would assume the man had one¡­and given he was already hiring his master¡¯s coach to a stranger, that was doubtful.


    Raomar made a note to keep that in mind for future dealings.


    He stepped up on the running board as the coach slowed to make its turn from the driveway to the street, opening the door and sliding inside before anyone realized he¡¯d gotten aboard. Despite the gathering dusk, he kept his cloak¡¯s hood pulled low over his face and hid his hands beneath long sleeves and dark gloves.


    No one knew his race or rank¡ªand he preferred it that way.


    As head of Deverath¡¯s thieves¡¯ guild, and a kevarag living in a city of humans, it was better he went unnoticed¡ªand unnoted. Tonight, he would meet the hunters of his kind and give them another man¡¯s life in place of his own.


    Latching the door firmly closed, he settled back in the padded leather seat and wondered what Duke Joseph Hartender would say, if he knew who¡¯d commandeered his private carriage. The man might not be amused to know it was being used by the guildmaster of Deverath¡¯s most powerful illicit traders to transport a cat burglar from one form of confinement to another.


    The burglar had been caught and convicted of breaking into the Harbor Master¡¯s office, and then sentenced to hang in a gibbet at the city gates. He¡¯d thought Raomar¡¯s offer a godsend.


    Raomar stifled a snort. Little did he know.


    The coach rumbled over cobbled streets, the horses¡¯ steady pace not breaking until the coachman reached the city gates. Here he slowed and rough voices demanded what business had him leaving so close to nightfall.


    Inside the coach, Raomar tensed, worried the guards would insist on searching the coach.


    ¡°Who knows what passes through the master¡¯s mind,¡± he heard the coachman reply. The man¡¯s brusque tones hinted at resentment. ¡°I get paid for doing what I¡¯m told and not asking why.¡±


    It was the right answer for the guards, who ushered him on.


    Raomar relaxed as the coach moved through the gates at a walk. The slow pace made it feel like he was reluctant to leave the protection of the city walls¡­and for all Raomar knew, he was. He settled back in his seat. The man was very good at following instructions.


    He heard the dull boom of the gates closing in their wake, and the coach slowed again. The coachman was following his orders to the letter. The man would soon get down and make a show of checking the horses¡¯ harness.


    When he did, Raomar slipped out of the coach, using it to shield him from view of the gates. Working his way back to the wall, he looked for the thief. He found the man crouched in a shallow ditch at its foot. He jumped when Raomar¡¯s hand descended on his shoulder.


    ¡°Guildmaster?¡± he whispered, and Raomar laid his hand over the man¡¯s mouth.


    ¡°This way, Andern.¡±


    At mention of his name, the man relaxed. He didn¡¯t waste breath arguing but followed Raomar as he led the way back to the open coach door and inside.


    ¡°Do you remember our agreement?¡± Raomar asked as the man settled into the seat opposite.


    Andern colored and nodded.


    ¡°A child, sir.¡± He hesitated. ¡°To one such as you. What did you mean by that?¡±


    Raomar sighed, feeling the coach rock as the coach driver climbed into his seat. The carriage lurched forward and he glanced toward the thief, keeping his hood low over his face. As the vehicle picked up pace, he sighed again and flipped back his hood.


    He knew his yellow eyes gleamed in the coach¡¯s shadows and sat close to the window so his features were lit by the rising moon.


    Andern gasped, startling in his seat.


    ¡°You¡¯re¡­¡± He gulped. ¡°You¡¯re kevarag.¡±


    Raomar nodded.


    ¡°Tree cat,¡± he explained shortly.


    ¡°And I¡¯m to have a child with one¡­like you?¡±


    Raomar nodded, and the man rushed on.


    ¡°And¡­and after that, I¡¯m free?¡±


    ¡°Once the child¡¯s survival is assured.¡±


    He watched as the man digested the news, saw the question he didn¡¯t ask. How long? It was written on his face.


    In truth, the man would never return to the city. Once Raomar delivered him to the kevarag, he would end his days with them, a slave to their whim. Raomar was just glad¡­


    ¡°And will you come to fetch me?¡± the thief asked.


    Raomar looked at him¡ªand lied without shame.


    ¡°I¡¯ll send the carriage,¡± he informed the man. ¡°Grunwol will come, if I do not.¡±


    That last part went from mild untruth to blatant lie. The Northlands barbarian knew nothing of his master¡¯s bargain with the kevarag hunters. He hadn¡¯t been around when Raomar had made it.


    Raomar looked out the window and sighed. It had taken a sleeping spell to ensure he kept that pact a secret, tonight. The barbarian had pledged his life for Raomar¡¯s, swearing to protect him at all times and at all costs. He refused to listen when the elf told him he had no debt.


    Raomar¡¯s mouth curled, memory of the hunters bringing the bitterness of defeat. He¡¯d left his lands without permission, evaded the hunters sworn to keep his people contained and ¡®protected¡¯¡ªand he¡¯d done so for twenty-three long years.


    No one outran them forever, though¡ªand the price for his freedom had been set at ten lives for every year he¡¯d stayed free¡­and two for every year since his release. He¡¯d owed two hundred and thirty lives and been given scant time to pay it¡­but he¡¯d made his payments ever since. Andern would be the second for the coming year, and Raomar was free of debt for another four seasons.


    He gave an internal shrug. There¡¯d be more mistakes. By the time the next payment was due, he¡¯d have enough.


    Feeling the man¡¯s uncertain gaze on him, Raomar glanced over.


    ¡°What is it?¡± he asked.


    The man blushed, Raomar picking up the color change with eyes adapted to the dark.


    ¡°Well?¡± he prodded, and the thief ducked his head.


    ¡°It¡¯s just that I¡¯m¡­I¡¯m not used to¡­¡± He let the words trail off, trusting Raomar to understand.


    The guildmaster nodded.


    ¡°Not used to selling your body,¡± he concluded, and the man gave a hasty nod, and was momentarily silent.


    Raomar watched as he screwed up the courage to ask the next question. It would have been a surprise if he hadn¡¯t.


    ¡°Is there¡­ I mean, can I pay the debt another way?¡±


    Raomar sighed. ¡°Perhaps¡­¡± he began, drawing the dart he carried for just this occasion.


    The man gave him a hopeful look, and Raomar was grateful humans did not see so well in the dark. When he moved, it was lightning fast. He shifted across the coach in one swift movement, burying the dart in the side of the man¡¯s throat.


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    Andern gaped at him, and Raomar met his eyes.


    ¡°No,¡± the kevarag told the man. ¡°There is no other way. Your life was forfeit the moment you failed me. I lied. You will not be returning to the lands of men, but will end your days among my kind as their slave.¡±


    The man¡¯s eyes clouded with confusion, hurt and betrayal filling his features as he struggled to move against the fast-acting poison. Raomar used his body to pin Andern to the seat, holding the dart in place to ensure the full dose entered his bloodstream.


    ¡°You will wake properly when I order it,¡± he told the man, as he felt Andern¡¯s body relax beneath him. He patted the thief¡¯s cheek. ¡°Now, sleep.¡±


    ¡°Yes, guildmaster,¡± Andern replied, his voice drowsy in obedience, but Raomar kept him pinned until his eyes closed and he drifted into slumber.


    Once he was sure the man wouldn¡¯t stir, Raomar took the dart from his throat and returned to his side of the carriage. Andern remained slumped in the opposite corner, now fully apprised of his fate and completely under the kevarag¡¯s control.


    Soft laughter filtered through the silent air around him, and Raomar blushed. The medallion he wore around his throat grew warm against his chest.


    Trust the goddess to find my discomfort amusing, he thought, and whispered a small prayer of gratitude to her. It was her temple who¡¯d sheltered him from the hunters, and her priests who¡¯d given him a new path to tread in the world to which he¡¯d fled.


    Enshul was the human goddess of the night and shadow. All things that happened between sunset and sunrise fell into her domain. Thieves, assassins, and deceit all fell under her purview but she held equal seniority with the god of the moon and the stars and fortune tellers were part of his domain over hers.


    She didn¡¯t seem to mind the lack, however, embracing all who came to her for aid in the shadier dealings of society¡­and enjoying the game of spies and diplomacy. She¡¯d welcomed Raomar when he¡¯d fled to the sanctuary of her temple, and walked with him still.


    Her presence made him smile. Asharma cared only for her own people, but Enshul¡­ Raomar¡¯s smile broadened. Enshul cared for all who walked the shadows and called on her name. The sense of the goddess¡¯s presence faded and he knew he neared his destination, and she was giving him the space to make the trade.


    Asharma was a jealous goddess. It was bad enough that Raomar had shunned her priesthood, worse that he should choose to serve her human counterpart. He hoped she stayed away, this time. The hunters didn¡¯t like defying a goddess when the debt was paid. If he failed¡­


    Raomar shuddered.


    If he failed to make the necessary payment, Asharma¡¯s people would be waiting.


    A glance out the window told him they¡¯d arrived at their destination, and Raomar used the hilt of his dagger to signal the driver to stop. Rapping sharply, three times, he waited, relaxing when the coach slowed. As it came to a halt, he nudged Andern with his boot.


    ¡°Time to rise,¡± he told the man, and knew the drug still held when Andern blinked and nodded. ¡°Follow me.¡±


    He slipped from the coach and turned to help the thief descend. There was no point in delivering damaged goods to the hunters.


    He shivered, wondering which of the clans had won the honor of collecting his tribute. Tree-Cat, Tree-Rat, Sky Falcon and Cavern Spider produced the best hunters of the clans, but they weren¡¯t the only clans there were¡ªand the hunters forsook clan ties to become part of the elite force the kevarag use to track down any who left their lands without permission.


    His own capture had been made by a combination of Tree-Cat and Sky Falcon¡­and memory of it sent another shiver over his skin. They had taken him beyond the pursuit of his friends, as well as the protection of his goddess¡­and they¡¯d forced him to accept the pact of lives or forfeit two hundred years of his own.


    They¡¯d promised to ensure he survived to the end of his debt.


    And not much longer, he¡¯d thought, and read the confirmation in their eyes.


    The memory chilled him but he led the way away from the carriage, not looking back when he heard the coachman click his horses into a walk. His capture had shamed his goddess, making her seem weak before two pantheons¡ªan advantage Asharma had tried to use for her own gain¡­and failed.


    Raomar smiled grimly, and draped an arm around Andern¡¯s shoulders, drawing him into the night. They crossed the verge and climbed a fence in need of repair, Andern¡¯s voice signaling the drug was wearing off, although his suggestion that the thief would only wake properly when he commanded it, still held.


    ¡°Master?¡± The slur in the thief¡¯s voice made it clear he still hadn¡¯t come to grips with his situation.


    Raomar cast him a happy smile. ¡°This way, Andern. It¡¯s not far, now.¡±


    The look on the man¡¯s face said he thought he should be afraid, but didn¡¯t know why. Raomar reached out and clasped his shoulder.


    ¡°Come,¡± he told the man. ¡°Our friends are waiting.¡±


    Looking slightly reassured, Andern followed. He hesitated a little when the elf led him into a shadowed grove of aolmar trees.


    Raomar let the thief catch up and fall into step beside him.


    ¡°They will meet us here,¡± he told the man. ¡°Stay close.¡±


    The shadows of the copse engulfed them, and a thick silence descended, broken only by Andern¡¯s heavy breathing. Raomar laid a hand on the man¡¯s arm, feeling him startle.


    ¡°Not far now,¡± he reassured the man, even as the air shifted around them and a soft breeze touched their skins.


    There had been no breeze in the fields they¡¯d left behind¡­and this one smelt of rain.


    Raomar felt Andern tense beneath his hand. he heard the man draw another shaky breath, then hold it, as he sought to control his fear. He was sure the effects of the dart had completely worn off, and pulled the man further into the trees.


    They crossed the boundary, the grove revealing itself to be much larger on the inside than it was on the outside. The aolmar gave way to other trees, these ones more tangled and older than was possible for the copse they¡¯d entered.


    Raomar didn¡¯t give the thief time to think about the grove¡¯s age or impossible depth, but drew him forward until they came to a sun-filled clearing. Here, Andern did pause.


    He came to a complete stop, pulling against Raomar¡¯s grip. The elf halted, letting the pressure ease, and then pulling him forward. This time, Andern obeyed, following the guildmaster to the clearing¡¯s center.


    ¡°We are here,¡± he declared softly, his words both a warning to his guildsman and an announcement to the hunters. ¡°Now, wake.¡±


    Movement drew their attention to the clearing¡¯s edge, in time to see the first of the hunters appear. His heart sank. Of all the clans¡­


    The woman who stepped through the hanging leaves had golden skin streaked with slashes of green. She moved with sinuous grace to come to a halt before them, her presence capturing Andern¡¯s stunned attention.


    Raomar tightened his grip on the thief¡¯s arm, and the woman smiled.


    She was wearing a sheath of finely spun spider silk, split so it revealed most of her thigh. Her gaze passed across Andern as though he didn¡¯t exist, and she addressed Raomar in a tone as distant and cold as the southern mountains.


    ¡°What is the human doing here?¡± she demanded, as though she didn¡¯t know.


    Raomar knew the question as part of the handover¡¯s ritual wording, and ignored Andern¡¯s worried look as he replied.


    ¡°He pays a debt to me by providing a service to you,¡± he replied, not relinquishing his grip on the thief¡¯s arm.


    The woman laughed.


    ¡°Perhaps to me,¡± she corrected, running her gaze up and down Andern¡¯s body as though he were a piece of meat and his clothing didn¡¯t matter.


    The man tensed beneath Raomar¡¯s grip, and the woman smiled. She tilted her head from side to side, continuing to assess the thief as she moved around them. Only Raomar¡¯s grip on Andern¡¯s arm prevented him from turning to face her.


    A fine tremor shook the man and he swallowed as though his throat had gone unexpectedly dry¡­and so he would, Raomar thought, given the way he was being inspected. The woman¡¯s next words made the thief jump.


    ¡°He will do,¡± she finally agreed. ¡°Do your terms remain the same?¡±


    ¡°Unless the hunters have changed their price,¡± Raomar replied.


    The woman¡¯s mouth quirked into a humorless smile.


    ¡°Hunters do not change the terms of their pacts,¡± she answered.


    Andern gave Raomar a startled glance, but Raomar kept his eyes on the woman¡¯s face.


    The grass rippled around them, and four more golden forms rose above it.


    Andern¡¯s body tensed under Raomar¡¯s hand, and he tightened his grip, turning slightly so he could watch the thief¡¯s reaction. A shiver rippled through the man, and Raomar did not blame him. Of all the tales told about the kevarag, their ability to change to the form of their totem creatures was not one outsiders knew.


    He kept his grip tight as the golden serpentine forms rising above the grass thickened and grew limbs, their heads shifting from snake to humanoid as their bodies changed.


    ¡°Clan Viper,¡± Raomar acknowledged, giving one of the most feared clans of the kevarag their name. ¡°I am honored.¡±


    The clan speaker tilted her head, appraising his sincerity.


    ¡°We fought for the honor,¡± she told him, and he noticed her pupils had become upright keyholes as she met Raomar¡¯s gaze and held it.


    A scale-like shimmer marred her flawless skin, and she flicked a surprisingly long tongue as she hissed at one of those newly risen from the grass to join them. The man dipped his head in acknowledgement and turned toward Andern.


    Raomar felt the thief pull against his grasp, and held him harder, shaking him slightly.


    ¡°Master¡­¡± Andern began, realizing his situation. He crowded closer. ¡°Master, please¡­¡±


    Raomar leant in close. ¡°Kneel,¡± he whispered, emphasizing it by pulling down on the man¡¯s arm. He paused, before adding, ¡°Kneel, and you might live.¡±


    ¡°Master?¡±


    Raomar turned to face the thief and laid his free hand on the man¡¯s other shoulder, pushing him to his knees and holding him there, until the Viper hunters came alongside and rested their hands beside his.


    As soon as he was sure of their grip, Raomar stepped away. Fear filled the thief¡¯s gaze.


    ¡°Master¡­ I beg you,¡± he began, as Raomar took three swift strides away.


    Raomar turned and met the guildsman¡¯s eyes.


    ¡°I made a pact with the hunters, Andern,¡± he told the man, ¡°And you made a pact with me. My pact is complete. Make sure you honor yours.¡±


    ¡°But¡­¡±


    Raomar turned to face the woman.


    ¡°He is yours,¡± he told her, and she dipped her head with a sultry smile.


    ¡°He may well be,¡± she replied, tilting her head so her gaze slid over the kneeling thief.


    Andern caught the intent in her eyes and shot a terrified look at Raomar.


    ¡°Plea¡ª¡± he began, and received an open-handed slap for his trouble.


    ¡°Silence!¡± the viper-hunter ordered. ¡°You have no master. Prostrate yourself before our Mistress of Venom, Valineth, Third Lady of Clan Ashmoreth Viper. It is her mark, you will bear on your shoulder, your chest and your cheek, and her whim that keeps you alive.¡±


    Andern gulped, his eyes wide with fear as he looked from Raomar to the woman. The hunters pushed him forward until his forehead touched the earth. The man¡¯s protest was partly muffled by grass and earth and the woman glanced toward Raomar.


    ¡°Mistress Valineth,¡± the guildmaster acknowledged and turned to walk from the clearing.


    Silence followed him, and then Andern began to scream.


    Raomar winced at the agony he heard there, remembering that Clan Ashmoreth Viper branded its slaves with a dilution of its namesake¡¯s venom. Venom and acid. The scars remained for life.


    Andern¡¯s cry died to a whimper, and then his voice rose, again, this time begging for mercy before transitioning to a second drawn-out wail. It faded as Raomar reached the border relieved to feel the chill of Toramar¡¯s cooler air, once more.

 2—The Guildmaster Returns

    The Duke of Hartender greeted Raomar by placing a sword at his throat, and the kevarag elf froze. Had the coachman betrayed him? he wondered as the duke growled out a demand.


    ¡°Who are you and what are you doing on the road so late?¡± he demanded.


    Raomar sent a hasty prayer to Enshul, and cast a hasty glamor.


    ¡°You don¡¯t recognize me?¡± he asked, relieved when the duke stared at him, squinting as though not quite believing his eyes.


    If the magic had worked, the duke would be seeing a slim dark-haired man with hazel eyes. A human about whom he¡¯d feel a faint sense of familiarity.


    ¡°It¡¯s Ramon of Wildejun,¡± Raomar explained, quickly building on the impression. ¡°We met on your last visit there. Don¡¯t you remember?¡±


    He watched as the duke¡¯s eyes narrowed, holding himself still as he watched the man¡¯s mind work. It was a relief when the man lifted his sword away and sheathed it.


    ¡°You still haven¡¯t told me what you¡¯re doing meeting us this far out of the city,¡± he stated, settling back into his seat, and rapping on the ceiling to signal the driver to continue.


    ¡°You don¡¯t remember?¡± Raomar managed to inject a little hurt into his voice, but the duke wasn¡¯t falling for it.


    He shook his head, his expression speculative.


    ¡°You told me that if ever my journeys took me close to your estate, I was to look you up. I was on my way there, when I saw your carriage and flagged it down.¡± He watched the man¡¯s face, then added, ¡°Your driver recognized me¡­¡±


    The duke¡¯s lips twitched.


    ¡°He has an eye for faces,¡± the duke remarked. ¡°I¡¯m glad he saw you.¡±


    Raomar almost breathed a sigh of relief, but hid the emotion with a brisk nod. ¡°Since you haven¡¯t thrown me back into the night,¡± he added, ¡°I¡¯m guessing you¡¯re agreeable to letting me accompany you to the city?¡±


    ¡°Yes,¡± the duke admitted, warily.


    Raomar didn¡¯t hide his relief at the answer.


    ¡°Then I won¡¯t impose on you beyond that,¡± he told the man. ¡°I have business to attend, and must return to Wildejun post-haste after. I have an inn I usually stay at.¡±


    ¡°Will it be open?¡± the duke asked. ¡°It is late.¡±


    ¡°It¡¯ll be open for me,¡± Raomar told him. ¡°I pay well enough.¡±


    The duke gave him a deprecating smile. ¡°I can imagine.¡±


    He glanced out the window, seeming disinclined to talk. Raomar didn¡¯t push him. The glamor would only hold so far. They settled into an easy silence, with the duke directing his driver to drop Raomar off at the inn.


    ¡°Thank you.¡±


    The duke waved him away.


    ¡°It¡¯s a small matter between old friends.¡±


    Raomar managed a small smile, but there was something about the way the duke said ¡®old friends¡¯ that worried him. Was the glamor wearing off? Had it worked at all? He made a note to look into the duke and why he might be resistant to magic.


    The inn wasn¡¯t too far from his next destination. Raomar turned into a non-descript side street, before walking the half mile he needed to cover in order to reach a small supply store¡ªand it was a simple matter to pick the lock on the front door.


    Once inside, Raomar closed and locked the door behind him, before traversing the shop interior and exiting through the back door. The alley behind the store was called Stinking Alley because of the offal rotting behind the butchery at one end and the fish scraps behind the fishmongers at the other.


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    In between them, however, plant life festooned the alley walls, and flowers bloomed from unlikely spaces between the buildings. Flashes of blue and red and orange revealed the presence of tropical birds and an unseasonal warmth drove away the crisp cold air of early autumn.


    The sorceress responsible for this transformation ran a store for rare herbs. She was also responsible for the glamor at each end of the alley that added to its name, just as it was she who ensured both butchery and fishmongers stayed at either end. Their rubbish and offcuts strengthened her illusion of dark, foul-smelling shadows shrouding the narrow laneway.


    Most people avoided the alley like a plague.


    Ducking under a particularly virulently colored hanging fern, Raomar tapped a quiet rhythm on the stones of the wall beyond, murmuring ¡®Enshul¡¯ as he did. Pausing long enough to take a breath, he stepped through the illusory stones that filled the newly formed opening where he¡¯d tapped them.


    Most of his guild members used another entrance three alleys over. This one was a secret held between himself and the small group of priests who served the goddess of night.


    The wall closed behind him as soon as he stepped across the threshold, his weight sufficient to trigger the mechanism that controlled it. A narrow staircase opened up before him, blue-flamed torches springing to life as he descended.


    Raomar didn¡¯t stop in the small temple at the foot of the stairs, but turned down the side hall leading to the thieves¡¯ guild. Once again, murmuring Enshul¡¯s name, he passed through the door, then took himself to his quarters.


    He passed his bodyguard¡¯s quarters and saw the note he¡¯d left had been opened. Seeing it, he relaxed, knowing the man believed him safely inside the temple, which meant Grunwol had left on the task Raomar had set him.


    Crossing the hall, he slipped quietly into his quarters. As the door closed behind him, he caught a glimpse of himself in the lamp-lit mirror beside the entrance.


    His passing caused the lamp to flicker and, for a moment, his amber eyes gleamed gold. Turning to face the glass, Raomar flipped back his hood and bent to inspect his image.


    He wasn¡¯t particularly tall, standing a shade under six feet, and was lightly built, like all his race. The face staring back at him was crowned by a mane of straw-blond hair touched by two streaks of blue which marked the goddess¡¯s favor.


    The mottled green and brown patterning his skin was reminiscent of the fur of his clan¡¯s totem, as were his amber eyes, and when he smiled his teeth were the teeth of a predator. It was no wonder he wore a hood.


    Satisfied with his appearance, Raomar stalked down the corridor to his room. There, he¡¯d employed the sorceress to make his quarters more like his homeland. The air was warm, just as it was in his homelands, and the walls were festooned with the plants of home, lending his chambers a slightly earthy scent.


    If it hadn¡¯t been for the stone walls surrounding him, he¡¯d have thought he was once more in the forests where he¡¯d grown up. That thought caused the smile to fade.


    He¡¯d fought against his kin and knew that, despite the bargain he¡¯d struck, there was no home in the kevaragan lands behind him. Even if he could return, he¡¯d find only death.


    No¡­he didn¡¯t yearn to go back. He had all he wanted here, including the freedom he¡¯d craved badly enough to risk his life for, but even so¡­


    Shaking himself free of the melancholy that accompanied such thoughts, Raomar pushed the memories away. He moved through his personal chamber via a vine-shrouded doorway that led to a bare stone room.


    In it stood a low ebon-wood table with a low ebon-wood stool. In the center of the table stood a large water-filled bowl of smoky crystal. The room was the only chamber in his suite that was devoid of plant life, and it was cloaked with a silence so intense it almost made his ears ache.


    That was a good sign. It meant his quarters had been undisturbed.


    Whispering softly in his native tongue, Raomar broke the spell giving the room its silence. His words made the lanterns in the wall sconces flare to life.


    Blue light from blue flame banished the black shadows in the corners, softening the harshness of the bare walls. Raomar noticed the color of the flame and felt a part of himself relax.


    The goddess was with him still.


    With a soft breath of relief, he raised a hand to lift the mottled green soapstone hanging around his neck clear of his tunic. It was carved in the shape of a winged weaver, one of Enshul¡¯s chosen forms. The warm stone felt almost alive in his hand as he raised it so he could see the gemstones set down the weaver¡¯s center.


    ¡°Filameth,¡± he whispered to the goddess. ¡°My name is Raomar Filameth¡­and I am both guildmaster and your faithful servant.¡±


    The gemstones flared once in acknowledgement and Raomar smiled. Seating himself behind the table, he tucked the weaver back inside his tunic and laid his hands on either side of the bowl. His hands looked like mottled green and brown smoke through the crystal.


    His reflected eyes stared back at him from the watery depths that lay, becalmed, before him. Their tawny amber gleam shone attentively back, challenging him to begin. Raomar answered that challenge by blowing softly across the bowl¡¯s surface.


    Waiting until the ripples subsided, he focused his mind, preparing the spell he needed. When the water was once again still, he spoke, imagining he could see the words settle to its surface. Once the last syllable lay drifting between the bowl¡¯s crystal walls, the water shimmered, and an image obscured the sides of the bowl.


    Raomar froze, hardly daring to breathe.


    He had found the spymaster¡¯s apprentice.

 3—Snaring the Spymaster’s Apprentice

    The spymaster¡¯s apprentice moved swiftly along the broad street leading to the town gates. Her green eyes danced warily in all directions as she searched her surroundings for the dangers she knew were lurking. The tension of her pose and the tilt of her head betrayed her alertness and her fear.


    Watching her, Raomar snorted softly in derision. She had chosen not to obey his instructions. Attempting to leave the city, now, would not keep her from him.


    She¡¯d swear allegiance to the guild, or she¡¯d become an example for the rest.


    Much as he hated doing it, Raomar knew he had no choice. If he didn¡¯t enforce his will here, there were others who¡¯d challenge his right to be in charge. As his mind drifted, the water clouded, the image of the apprentice wavering.


    With a soft growl of impatience, Raomar forced himself to concentrate, bringing the picture back into focus and zooming in on the slender figure making for the gates. There was a moment¡¯s hesitation, then the water cleared.


    The apprentice was as lightly built as he was, and moved as silently as a wraith. Her movements were as graceful as those of any child brought up in the faraway courts of the plains and Raomar wondered how well she could ride. It would be unusual if she couldn¡¯t.


    With another soft word, he altered the spell to give him sound, as well as sight, and adjusted the picture. Somewhere, in the nearby darkness, Grunwol would be following.


    Raomar knew the big man wasn¡¯t far away, that he¡¯d have been tracking the apprentice as she made her attempt to leave the city in defiance of the guildmaster¡¯s orders. He wondered where the Northman had concealed himself, since the apprentice seemed unaware of him.


    She was also unaware of the Northman¡¯s partner in this hunt.


    Raomar frowned. Why Grunwol had thought he needed a partner was beyond him, but the man had insisted on the shadow thief¡¯s company and Raomar had agreed. He¡¯d learned to trust the barbarian¡¯s instincts for the hunt.


    Dart was also somewhere in the confines of the bowl, and it would be futile to look for her. Raomar resisted the temptation to try and see where the shadow thief was hiding. She wouldn¡¯t appreciate the intrusion and he knew she had the means to know when she was being scried, if not by whom.


    He sighed, watching the apprentice progress through the streets.


    No, upsetting Lady Dart was not something he wanted to do. She was far too valuable an ally to annoy.


    The soft scuff of footsteps on not-so-distant cobbles drew his attention back to the bowl. Raomar frowned, surprised to hear any sound from the apprentice. It took him a few seconds to realize the apprentice wasn¡¯t making any noise¡­and that she seemed as puzzled by the sound as he was.


    *   *   *


    Brianda Bloodbriar tensed as she heard the sound of footsteps on the road behind her. She didn¡¯t want to look, not wanting to alert those following, but knowing she¡¯d have to check soon. The footsteps had sounded closer, this time¡ªlike they were closing.


    It was yet another sign that all her carefully laid plans were coming rapidly apart. She¡¯d wanted to leave the city two days ago, before she¡¯d drawn the attention of the city¡¯s guildmaster.


    Nobles, she thought sourly. Her contact had refused to bring their meeting forward, even when she¡¯d stressed the urgency.


    ¡°His lordship is out hunting and cannot be disturbed.¡±


    The senior servant had been as supercilious and unsurpassable as most of his kind, and had become even more rigid when she¡¯d tried to insist.


    Brianda had waited the two days he¡¯d demanded, then delivered the commission her master had died retrieving. It had been one day too long, and her funds had run out. She¡¯d had no choice but to lift a few purses to pay for her lodgings, and had hoped it would go unnoticed.


    It hadn¡¯t, as she¡¯d discovered when a Northman dressed in light-weight tunic and trousers had tapped her on the shoulder.


    ¡°The master bids you leave, or pay your dues,¡± he¡¯d told her. ¡°You have until sunset.¡±


    He didn¡¯t specify which master, or why, but he¡¯d slipped a wooden token into her hand and walked quietly away, leaving her standing shaken in the middle of the street. A Northman¡­


    She¡¯d had nightmares that night, dreams of pain and blood and terror, that had left her sweating in a twist of sheets and seen the inn-keeper pounding at her door.


    ¡°Dreams,¡± she¡¯d explained. ¡°Just dreams¡­¡±


    He¡¯d given her a doubtful look and asked her to dream more quietly, so the rest of the guests could sleep, and Brianda had quietly agreed. Dawn had seen her knocking on the duke¡¯s door, and being sent swiftly on her way.


    ¡°He¡¯ll see you in the morning.¡±


    She¡¯d been refused the right to wait in the foyer, and left standing on the doorstep after the door had closed. Another night had passed, with restless dreams haunted by glittering green eyes and the snap of a lash that sent her downstairs to end the night before the warmth of the common-room¡¯s fire.


    The duke had arrived late, then taken his time reading the missive she¡¯d brought. She¡¯d been fed and watered with scant attention, then paid.


    ¡°Thank your master,¡± he¡¯d told her shortly, then left without another word.


    He hadn¡¯t even asked why her master had sent her, instead of attending the meeting himself. Brianda had left, her heart sinking at the gathering dusk and rapidly approaching night. As much as she wasn¡¯t looking forward to spending another night on the road, she hoped the guards would let her out.


    The sound of footsteps came again, and Brianda resisted the urge to break into a run. If she was lucky, she¡¯d reach the gates. She¡¯d camp outside the guardhouse if she had to, but she was leaving.


    Someone had to carry news of her master¡¯s demise to King Strevani¡¯s court. There, at least, his presence would be missed, and he¡¯d be grieved as he should be.


    The sound of boots scuffing against cobbles came again, bringing Brianda back to her current predicament.


    There had to be at least two of them trailing her steps¡­and it was past time she tried to out-distance or out-maneuver them. She had to reach the relative safety of the gates¡ªand she had a feeling her current pursuers weren¡¯t about to let that happen.


    A narrow alley opened up to her left, and she turned into it, pretending it had always been her destination. Behind her, the footsteps paused, and the indistinct murmur of voices whispered softly in her wake. The words were too indistinct for her to hear.


    Hearing them wasn¡¯t necessary, she decided, rounding the corner and breaking into a run as soon as she was out of sight. She kept her footsteps as silent as she knew how, running with her head down until the corner was well behind her¡­and only then did she look up.


    The street ended. Instead of an intersection, the brick and timber front of a cobblers rose in front of her. Boots and shoes lined its window front and Brianda gaped at them in disbelief. Moving into the shadows of its doorstop, she pivoted to look back down the street.


    Maybe they weren¡¯t following¡­ Maybe they hadn¡¯t seen her¡­ Maybe¡­


    Her mind raced as she tried to salvage something of her plans. Tucking herself back in the shadows she watched the street beyond the lane¡¯s end, breathing a soft sigh of relief as two figures walked across it and kept going.


    Brianda took a deep breath, thanking Enshul, goddess of thieves and the night as she listened to their footsteps fade. When the night was quiet, once more, she moved out of the shadows and trotted swiftly back the way she¡¯d come.


    *   *   *


    Watching her, Raomar nodded in slow approval, then shifted the scry¡¯s focus to the rooftops, where he found his enforcer.


    Grunwol was moving parallel to the girl, and had probably watched her from the roofs for most of the night¡ªa routine task for the big Northman¡­until the two others had appeared. Retrieving the apprentice before she reached the gates was the man¡¯s main priority, but discovering which of his competitors had sent similar pursuit rivaled it.


    Raomar watched as Grunwol silently maneuvered his huge bulk across the roof tiles, descending the angled canyons and negotiating chimneys with an ease that many envied. The Northman tracked the apprentice¡¯s path as she moved from a trot and bolted toward the end of the lane.


    Seconds later, he watched as Grunwol dropped to a crouch. The two figures were back, two men, bulky in black leather armor who rounded the corner with the suddenness of good planning. Raomar saw when the apprentice spotted them and dropped into a brisk walk.


    Ten feet from gaining the main street, and too close to avoid notice, the apprentice continued forward, slightly angling her path to keep out of arms¡¯ reach as she went to pass the new arrivals.


    ¡°Evening, sirs.¡± Her voice showed no sign of the worry she had to be feeling as she tried to walk by them and into the street beyond.


    They moved swiftly to block her way.


    ¡°Evening, miss,¡± one of them replied. ¡°And what brings a lovely lady, like yerself, out at this time of night?¡±


    The girl blushed¡ªand well she might, Raomar thought, given she¡¯d just been greeted like a common call girl in a tone that suggested her services were expected. He watched as she pasted a smile on her face and replied.


    The author''s tale has been misappropriated; report any instances of this story on Amazon.


    ¡°I¡¯m not for sale,¡± she told them. ¡°I¡¯m running an errand.¡±


    The hint of something lethal lurked in her expression, and Raomar heard a certain hardness in her voice. If he¡¯d been one of the men confronting her, he¡¯d have taken a couple of steps back.


    Messengers didn¡¯t give more information than they had to¡­and most thieves thought twice about interfering with them, in case they angered someone more powerful than they could handle.


    The two men exchanged glances, and then looked back at the girl.


    ¡°An errand, is it?¡± one asked, smirking. ¡°Collecting or delivering?¡±


    The girl frowned, and Raomar mirrored her expression. What was the man driving at? Did he already know who the girl was?


    He had to admire the girl, as she answered with more confidence than she had a right to.


    ¡°An errand,¡± she repeated, eyeing them up and down. ¡°Now, let me pass.¡±


    ¡°Just as soon as we¡¯ve your name,¡± the speaker of the pair told her.


    There was no threat in his tone, just matter-of-fact command.


    The girl paused, and Raomar knew what was passing through her mind. Brianda Bloodbriar, Brianda of the Blood, Brianda Spikenard¡­ Any of those would be enough to get her killed, as would Brianda the Assassin¡¯s Daughter.


    Raomar shook his head and wondered what was taking Grunwol so long to reach her.


    In the meantime, the girl looked into her questioner¡¯s eyes, tension running through every line of her body.


    ¡°Well?¡± the man demanded.


    ¡°Well, what?¡± Brianda asked, and the two men exchanged glances.


    ¡°I asked yer name.¡±


    The girl swallowed, then glared at him.


    ¡°Bonnie,¡± she lied, her voice firm, her gaze never shifting.


    Again, the men exchanged glances. Arching one eyebrow, the questioner looked the girl up and down.


    ¡°Bonnie,¡± he repeated, then asked the question she¡¯d been trying to avoid. ¡°Bonnie what?¡±


    Brianda glanced away, looking past him as though looking for help. What she was really looking for was inspiration. She needed a name¡­a surname¡­one common to these parts and not the plains she came from.


    There wasn¡¯t much to choose from between the buildings crowding the lane, and its dimly lit confines didn¡¯t reveal much. Dark lumps of refuse, the irregular pattern of cobbles¡­the lane¡¯s name on a board at the entrance¡­


    ¡°Bonnie Cobbler,¡± she answered, flicking her gaze back to his face.


    ¡°Cobbler?¡± the man spat.


    He glanced around, his gaze taking in their surroundings and passing across the sign as it did so. He snorted, amusement briefly lighting his features before he turned back. His smile faded.


    ¡°Absolute cobblers!¡± he snarled, stepping to grab her.


    *   *   *


    Raomar tensed, resisting the urge to deny the man¡¯s actions with a shout. His grip on the bowl tightened and he pressed his lips together.


    To make a sound, now, would end the spell, and he needed to see what happened next. The girl would be brought into the fold¡­or hunted to extinction. There was no other way.


    It was bad enough he¡¯d come out of his seat, and fortunate he hadn¡¯t lost his grip on the spell. As it was, the water rippled, blurring the picture. It did not settle, until he¡¯d sat back down.


    Releasing a soft breath, he watched the water stir and the picture return to normal. Once it had, he murmured the word to shift its focus to Grunwol. The Northman balanced beside a chimney, observing the drama unfold in the lane below.


    Raomar wanted to order the man to take out his rivals and make the capture, but knew his second-in-command had the situation under control, even if it didn¡¯t look it. Resisting the urge to drum his fingers against the sides of the bowl, the beast elf waited.


    With most of his bulk concealed by the chimney¡¯s shadow, Grunwol reduced his chances of a stray glance uncovering his presence. Raomar watched as the big man unhooked the rope-and-grapple he carried, and reverse down the roof.


    As he did so, a startled shout came through the bowl, and Raomar snapped the command to switch the focus back to the girl. He was in time to see her duck beneath her opponent¡¯s hand. The man¡¯s fingers brushed the back of her cloak and missed, and the girl didn¡¯t give him a second chance.


    Her palm slammed into the cobbles, as she threw herself into a roll and came to her feet. She didn¡¯t look back as she raced for the end of the lane, dodging the second man¡¯s grab as she went.


    Raomar stifled a slight cry of dismay, forcing himself to sit as he watched her opponents go tearing after her. One of them pulled a dagger from his hip and flung it after her retreating form, and Raomar silently cursed.


    If Grunwol didn¡¯t hurry¡­


    *   *   *


    Brianda¡¯s palm stung from hitting the cobbles, but she was past her pursuers with the lane¡¯s end clear before her. Running footsteps came from behind her as her assailants tried to catch up, and she hoped they didn¡¯t catch her before she reached the corner.


    She gave herself a one in one hundred chance, but it was still a chance.


    Passing beneath the street sign, she lashed out to catch the corner and spun herself around it. Something whirred past her and clattered off the stonework beside her hand.


    Brianda didn¡¯t stop to find out what it was. She didn¡¯t need to. She¡¯d had daggers thrown at her before. She also knew the men wouldn¡¯t be able to catch her, before she ducked down another of the alleys¡­and once she did that, she could be up on the roofs and away.


    Neither of them looked like climbers.


    ¡°Thief!¡± The cry rang out behind her, and Brianda cursed.


    That cry would bring out the locals¡­or the Watch¡­or both. It was the only chance the men had of stopping her, and they knew it.


    ¡°Stop! Thief!¡±


    ¡°A gold for the one who brings her to me!¡±


    Cold fear coursed through her. That last call was enough to have everyone out of their beds and in the street¡ªeven those most determined to mind their own business.


    ¡°Thief!¡±


    ¡°A gold for your help!¡±


    ¡°Dammitall,¡± she muttered, as doors opened on either side of the turn she wanted to make. Two men, three boys, a girl, and two women with brooms converged to block her path, and she altered course.


    She had to get out of the street.


    Footsteps echoed above her.


    Above? Brianda resisted the urge to look up. Above meant the rooftops, but she hadn¡¯t¡­


    There was no time to look. What she needed was another alley, one where the occupants of the houses flanking it hadn¡¯t yet woken to her pursuers¡¯ cries.


    ¡°A gold!¡±


    ¡°Stop! Thief!¡±


    More voices took up the cry, adding to the volume and the likelihood the Watch would come.


    She really had to get out of the street.


    ¡°Thief! Thief!¡± The shouts grew louder and became a chorus.


    Doors opened in answer. Lanterns were held aloft.


    ¡°A gold for the one who stops her!¡±


    Lanterns bobbed down stairs and footsteps scrambled over the cobbles. Very soon doors would be opening ahead of her instead of just on either side in her wake.


    Brianda put her head down and ran harder.


    The shouts traveled faster than she did, and doors started to open ahead of her, their emerging inhabitants moving to block her escape. Brianda looked around, hoping for an opening between the houses and shopfronts, but not seeing any.


    She turned towards a vertical stretch of shadow, only to find a recess from which emerged a group of men hastily buckling their trousers. A brothel¡­with customers eager for more gold. She changed course, pivoting to avoid the grab from one of the other residents, and diving under the outstretched hand of another.


    There was an intersection ahead.


    Brianda put on a spurt of speed, avoiding yet another pair of hands and leaping over someone¡¯s hasty attempt to trip her. Reaching the intersection, she bolted right¡ªand slammed into a breastplate made of hardened steel.


    She bounced off, the impact throwing her back onto the cobbles, her head ringing. Shaking her head, Brianda started to roll to her feet, all too aware of the mob racing toward her, and the armored figures closing the distance between them.


    She wasn¡¯t aware of the amber eyes blazing with frustration that watched through the rippling waters of a crystal bowl, or the big man who landed hard on the cobbles on the other side of the street. He raced toward her.


    Brianda heard his footsteps, but kept her eyes on the watch sergeant and the leveled spears of the two watchmen approaching beside him. Scrambling back, she tried to get to her feet as well as get out of range. She didn¡¯t expect to hit the solid wall of Grunwol¡¯s boots or feel a large hand closing over her collar, her hair and the nape of her neck.


    Brianda lashed back with a boot, and her captor shook her, making her teeth rattle.


    ¡°Enough,¡± he commanded, his voice soft enough to stay between them, as his grip tightened.


    Brianda froze. She knew that voice! She drew a breath to explain she¡¯d been leaving, but he shook her again, and the words fled.


    Raising her eyes, she saw the mob had registered her capture¡­or, more importantly, registered who had made the capture. They also registered the presence of the Watch and turned quickly away.


    ¡°What¡¯s going on?¡± a hard voice demanded.


    The watch sergeant had halted two strides away, raising his hand to signal his men to stop. They still held their spears, but upright, the tips no longer pointed in her direction.


    Brianda almost relaxed. If it hadn¡¯t been for the man that held her, she¡¯d have been happy with the change. As it was, she was in more trouble than if the Watch had caught her. She glanced at the sergeant, but he ignored her, his attention on her captor.


    ¡°Just a little in-house trouble, Sergeant,¡± the Northman replied, and Brianda¡¯s hopes of leaving the city died.


    Her captor¡¯s grip had momentarily tightened, and she knew he wouldn¡¯t let her go.


    ¡°We seem to have the cause of it well in hand,¡± the Northman added, giving Brianda another shake as he did so.


    The answer made it clear there¡¯d be no negotiation, and she was well and truly caught. Brianda¡¯s heart sank, and she wondered if she¡¯d ever see the plains city again¡­or if her master would ever properly be mourned.


    ¡°In-house, eh?¡± the sergeant asked, studying Brianda¡¯s face. He was about to say more, when the guildsman spoke.


    ¡°Yes, in-house.¡± Again, the words were accompanied by a shake, and Brianda¡¯s teeth rattled. ¡°We were in the middle of dealing with it when you came, but there were¡­complications.¡±


    The sergeant scanned the streets around them, and gave him a disgruntled look. After a minute¡¯s thought, he came to a decision.


    ¡°In-house,¡± he repeated, then cleared his throat. ¡°Well, deal with it more quietly in future¡­a little more in-house in fact.


    The pressure on Brianda¡¯s neck increased.


    ¡°We will, sergeant.¡±


    She heard satisfaction in the reply, and the grip didn¡¯t ease. Keeping her eyes down, Brianda watched as the sergeant¡¯s shins and boots took a step out of her range of vision, then she listened as he walked away.


    ¡°Abouuut face!¡±


    Boots slammed into the cobbles.


    ¡°Forward¡­march!¡±


    Hearing the squad move away, Brianda took a chance. Hoping the guildsman¡¯s attention was on the retreating patrol, she shifted her hand carefully, until she found her dagger¡¯s hilt.


    She might have been caught, but she didn¡¯t need to stay that way. Curling her fingers around the hilt, she drew it carefully from its scabbard.


    The Deverath guild was the only thieves¡¯ guild she¡¯d noticed¡­as in, she hadn¡¯t been able to find evidence of another¡­and that meant she was in a lot of trouble, because there were only two ways a guild got that powerful in a city this size.


    They were either brutally ruthless in enforcing their rules¡­or they had access to power from another realm. Brianda didn¡¯t want to discover which.


    The grip on her shoulder didn¡¯t loosen, but her captor didn¡¯t speak. Brianda guessed he was waiting for the Watch to turn the next corner¡­and she didn¡¯t want to still be caught when they did. Her grip tightened on the dagger and she tensed her arm, preparing to drive it back into the man holding her.


    Unfortunately, Grunwol didn¡¯t hunt alone.


    There was a brief snap of sound, and pain flared through Brianda¡¯s wrist. She gasped and dropped the dagger, her hand opening under the impact of a long, thin dart. A jerk followed the sound of the dagger hitting the cobbles.


    For a moment, her captor stood still, and then he flexed his arm, turning Brianda to face him. She lashed out, catching him in the stomach with her foot, and his green eyes flared with anger. She tried again, swinging for his face with her undamaged hand.


    The Northman snarled, then dropped to one knee, shifting his grip and slamming her into the cobbled road with enough force to drive the breath from her lungs. Brianda¡¯s head hit hard and she saw stars for the second time that night.


    She was still trying to catch her breath, when he flipped her onto her stomach and pulled her hands behind her back. Brianda turned her head and caught a glimpse of his face. His silvered hair glimmered and fury rode his expression.


    For a moment, she was reminded of another Northerner, and panic rose like a cold sea in her gut. No! Gravarik! She tried to pull free, but he was too heavy.


    ¡°We haven¡¯t the time to waste,¡± he growled, and her panic ebbed.


    Not Gravarik¡­ Breathing fast with fear, Brianda stilled.


    Not¡­Gravarik¡­ she reminded herself. Just another¡­only another¡­ Someone different.


    She hoped she was right.


    ¡°Nice shooting, my lady,¡± the big man murmured, and Brianda wondered who he was talking to.


    She hadn¡¯t shot anyone.


    ¡°Please¡­¡± she began, as hopeless as it was. ¡°Let me¡­¡±


    ¡°No,¡± he told her shortly, slinging her over his shoulder, like a bag of wheat.


    Behind them, she caught a glimpse of the empty street, and saw two familiar figures backing away from several more. Curious, she watched, and saw her original pursuers taken quickly from their feet, their bodies carried away.


    Ruthless, she thought, remembering her master¡¯s assessment of the guild situation in Deverath. That thought was almost comforting.


    Ignoring what she thought, the guildsman carried her quickly off the main street and into a smaller lane. Every stride rippled through him, travelling into Brianda¡¯s stomach.


    ¡°You can put me¡­¡± she began, and was cut off.


    ¡°No. Be silent.¡±


    Brianda wondered what he¡¯d do if she threw up down his back. The movement was making her feel ill, and her wrist ached, both from being tied, but also from the dart. She wondered idly if he¡¯d bound it, or if it was bleeding¡­and why that even mattered.


    As well as feeling nauseous, she was also starting to feel clouded¡­like she¡¯d been drinking¡­or¡­


    The dart had been poisoned?


    Brianda wondered if the guildsman knew¡­and what would come first, oblivion or vomiting.


    She was still pondering the question, when darkness took her.

 4—Guild Business

    Crack!


    The ringing slap startled Brianda to wakefulness. She tried to protest but her tongue felt thick in her mouth and the words came out garbled. Trying to sit up proved pointless, since she was already sitting, a large hand propping her against a rough wooden wall as the one that had slapped her caught her other cheek in the backswing.


    Pain brought tears to her eyes and Brianda tried to pull away. Her eyes flashed open, but then drifted closed again. Another slap brought another garbled shout, and she decided if her captor kept it up, he was going to get a dagger between the ribs.


    In answer to her protest, however, she was tipped to one side and her hands released. Pins and needles flooded her wrists as she was shifted upright, again, and then let go. This time, when she opened them, her eyes stayed open.


    She almost wished she hadn¡¯t.


    The Northman was crouched two feet away, watching her intently. Brianda returned the favor, ignoring the sudden surge of fear as she made herself study the man.


    He was big¡ªboth tall and broad, his face craggy with weather and whatever journeys he¡¯d taken. Green eyes stared into her own, and his hair showed the first signs of silver.


    Funny, she hadn¡¯t thought of him as old, when they¡¯d last met. She wondered if it was part of a glamor.


    Cautiously, she began to rub life back into her hands, and to look around the room.


    It was bare, and appeared to have been uninhabited for some time. It was also on a ground floor if the dust-covered stone beneath her was any indication. There was no fire in the hearth behind the guildsman, but light came from a candle set in a brass holder, going green with age. Sacking hung across the only window she could see.


    As she watched, it stirred, and the guildsman spun into a defensive crouch, dagger in hand.


    ¡°Speak now, or die,¡± he ordered, and soft laughter greeted his words.


    Brianda reached for her dagger and found the scabbard empty, but the guildsman only glanced in its direction.


    ¡°It¡¯s a wonder they still call you a barbarian,¡± a woman mocked, sliding through the window and dropping to the floor. ¡°You¡¯ve more manners than most.¡±


    Not ground floor, Brianda corrected herself as the Northman relaxed, but basement.


    She sighed, taking in the newcomer¡¯s features as she approached.


    She had a solid build, copper-brown hair and dark brown eyes.


    ¡°You have something of mine, Grun,¡± she stated, holding out her hand.


    ¡°I do.¡± The Northman drew a long dart from a belt pouch, and flipped it toward her.


    She caught it mid-flight, and then turned to the door.


    ¡°Thank you,¡± the big man added, and she shrugged.


    ¡°All part of the job,¡± she answered, laying her fingers on the door handle.


    The Northman watched her every move, looking like he wanted to say something else, but didn¡¯t dare.


    Brianda wondered what that could be, but the Northman spoke again.


    ¡°What was it?¡±


    ¡°Sleep-tip,¡± the woman replied, looking back over her shoulder as though waiting for what might come next.


    ¡°Slow working,¡± the guildsman noted, as Brianda decided now might be a good time to leave.


    The window wasn¡¯t that far away.


    She gathered her feet beneath her.


    ¡°Don¡¯t go anywhere, Bonnie Briar.¡±


    Brianda froze. Only her master had used that particular name. He¡¯d said it was because she made him happy when she was around. Her breath caught, and she lost her balance, falling unexpectedly onto her side.


    The woman frowned, then reached into her cloak. Drawing out a vial, she tossed it to the Northman.


    ¡°Antidote,¡± she explained. ¡°Get her on her feet, faster.¡±


    As if that was a good thing. What if they didn¡¯t want her on her feet faster?


    The Northman put the lie to that as soon as he¡¯d caught the vial. Snatching it out of the air, he shifted to kneel beside her, and hauled her upright. Brianda couldn¡¯t help it, she flopped, rag-doll like.


    With a growl of frustration, the Northman propped her against his side, and uncorked the vial, supporting Brianda¡¯s chin as he raised it to her lips.


    ¡°Drink,¡± he ordered.


    Brianda opened her mouth, sipping at the vial as he tilted its contents into her mouth. They came out in a rush and she gulped them down, almost choking on them. The guildsman held her jaw closed until he was sure she¡¯d drunk it, not letting her go, when she sagged back against him.


    The antidote clung to her tongue and throat, making her gag with its bitterness. It burned its way down her throat, before erupting in her belly and sending fire through her. Her vision exploded into white fuzziness and she screwed her eyes shut.


    When her mind cleared and the lethargy left her limbs, she opened her eyes, discovering she could see clearly, and that her hands had formed fists by her side. Twisting out of the Northman¡¯s arms, she rolled into a crouch to face him.


    He kept his hand curled around her bicep and met her gaze, the sight of his eyes and his white-blonde hair making her flinch. It was all she could do not to run, to make herself face him, and remind herself that this was not the Northman that haunted her sleep.


    His eyes were green, green not blue. Not blue. This was not Gravarik, whose eyes were a perversion of the summer sky.


    Brianda closed her eyes and let out a long, shuddering breath. When she opened them again, again, he was still watching her and the woman was nowhere to be sensed or seen.


    ¡°The guildmaster is waiting,¡± the Northman stated, his grip tightening. ¡°If you try to leave before we get there, I will remove your hands. Understood?¡±


    The expression on his face left her no room for doubt. Brianda swallowed, then nodded.


    ¡°Understood, guildsman.¡±


    Instead of letting her go, his grip tightened again. He slid his hand down her arm, stopping when he came to her wrist.


    ¡°Do you?¡± he asked, pulling her hand toward him and pinning it against the floor.


    ¡°Yes!¡± Brianda couldn¡¯t help the note of rising panic. She pulled against him. ¡°Yes, I understand.¡±


    Her hand didn¡¯t budge an inch. She twisted, trying to pull free.


    ¡°We¡¯re going to meet the guildmaster,¡± she told him. ¡°I understand.¡±


    He drew the dagger at his belt. ¡°Do you really understand?¡±


    Seeing the blade rising above her pinned wrist, feeling the unyielding strength that pinned her arm to the floor, Brianda gasped.


    ¡°Please¡­¡± she begged, hearing the tears in her voice and despising herself for it. ¡°No, please, I¡­¡±


    A sob hiccupped through the words and for an instant, she was no longer in a basement in Deverath, but back in the mountains, with another Northman holding her wrist. She fixed her eyes on this one¡¯s face, caught again by the difference in his eyes.


    They were green, not blue. Green. The color of grass and safety, not the blue of danger and dragons¡­and ice and pain¡­and the guild had gone to the trouble of capturing her, a meeting with the guildmaster was promised. They would surely not cripple her before that¡­


    She kept her eyes on the guildsman¡¯s face, trying to ignore the blade, hoping¡­


    The dagger descended, its blade coming to rest over the base of her hand. Brianda trembled, but didn¡¯t try to pull away.


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    It¡¯s just a test, she told herself, just a test.


    ¡°Just a test, just a test¡­¡± whispered through the air, her mantra escaping the confines in her head.


    The guildsman chuckled and then released her wrist¡­although the dagger¡¯s edge continued to crease her skin. It took all the control Brianda had not to snatch her hand from beneath the blade. When the dagger lifted, she made herself remain, as still as stone.


    The guildsman flipped the dagger so that he held the blade.


    ¡°Here,¡± he said, extending it toward her. ¡°Take it.¡±


    Accepting the weapon from his hand, Brianda saw it was her own. She slid it back into its sheath with shaking hands, watching as the Northman rose to his feet. He offered her his hand.


    ¡°I had to be sure,¡± he explained, as she took it and he hauled her to her feet. ¡°Come.¡±


    Releasing her hand, he headed out the door, breaking into a swift and silent lope as soon as he hit the street beyond. Brianda scurried to catch up, matching her stride to his so she ran at his heels.


    He didn¡¯t look back, but his warning rang in her ears, and she could still feel the phantom touch of the dagger at her wrist. The thought of running the other way didn¡¯t even cross her mind. This was part of the testing process¡ªand her master had said that every guild had one. The question was how many steps there were in this guild¡¯s process.


    Their run took them down backstreets that she recognized as being part of the merchant¡¯s sector. Those streets looked different, now they weren¡¯t crowded with delivery carts being loaded and unloaded and runners dashing from store to customer or customer to store with special orders.


    They smelt better, too, since the street sweepers had had time to do their jobs.


    Brianda followed the guildsman closely, tired from the long day of running, but not willing to give up. Their footsteps, as soft as they were, echoed off the shop doors and walls, but no one parted the curtains of the homes above the stores. At this time of night, most figured it was better not to know.


    Still, there was movement on the roofs above them, and she was sure she¡¯d caught sight of someone taking cover in the shadows of a loading bay. Before she could draw the guildsman¡¯s attention to it, however, he slowed.


    Brianda slowed with him, doing her best to get her breathing under control so she could listen as he was. Taking a deep breath, she let it out slowly, and heard the sounds that had him coming to a halt and drawing his sword.


    He pivoted slowly, his eyes scanning the shadows, stepping around her so that she was always at his back. Brianda appreciated the show of trust and drew her own weapon. For a moment, it was tempting to plunge it into the man¡¯s kidney and bolt for the city walls, but the time for that had passed.


    Instead, she listened to their hunters closing, their furtive broken steps betraying each one¡¯s location. Those came not only from the street around them, but from the rooftops, as well. Cloth rustled, and rats squeaked and skittered away in panic.


    As she set her back to the guildsman¡¯s Brianda heard the soft hiss of blades being drawn.


    ¡°Guildsman?¡±


    The shadows answered for her. They moved out of the dark, coalescing into human form, but cowled and cloaked so their features were hidden. Weapons glimmered with reflected lamplight as they advanced.


    It had to be a test¡­for her. What was it her master had said? Deverath had only one guild, which was unusual for a city its size. Most cities had four or five large guilds, who were highly territorial, but had interconnecting rules of trade. Below them were a myriad of smaller groups, some subsidiaries of the bigger ones, others operating in the cracks in between.


    No, she decided. It¡¯s a test¡­it has to be a test.


    Deciding there was nothing to be gained by running, Brianda settled into a stance ready for combat. Drawing her dagger, she settled it between her fingers and waited.


    A shadow darted forward, and Brianda responded with a swift flick of her arm. She sent the dagger hissing through the dark. The shadow cried out, dropping its blade and stumbling back.


    Brianda scanned the remaining shadows, trying to anticipate which one she¡¯d need to defend against, first.


    Laughter whispered softly from the dark.


    ¡°First blood to Bloodbriar,¡± a voice stated, and a chill swept over her.


    Bloodbriar¡­ It was her father¡¯s name¡­her elven father¡¯s name, and one both her master and her mother had kept secret from the world at large. But how?


    Brianda glanced toward the voice, but her prime concern were the other attackers. They had paused at the voice, but were now advancing. The voice¡¯s source was not the greatest threat, and she would deal with it later.


    That was what she thought, until she heard it shift from amusement to a chant. The air around fizzed with energy, and Brianda leapt to one side.


    ¡°Caster!¡± she shouted, not sure if the Northman would react in time.


    The spell struck as she leapt clear, but Brianda hit the cobbles and rolled into a second dive, one that took her past the closest shadows to a wall. She rolled to her feet and turned. Without the guildsman, the wall was her next best chance.


    She looked for him, catching sight of his large figure. Their smaller attackers had him surrounded, and more converged on him from the dark. His sword swept back and forth, glittering as it parried and thrust.


    He was reversing toward a wall of his own, but it didn¡¯t look like he¡¯d reach it.


    Brianda contemplated making a break for the city gates, then decided against it. Firstly, because this probably was a test¡­and, secondly, because she¡¯d made a commitment and the conditions hadn¡¯t been met.


    She stepped away from the wall, parrying a thrust in her direction and sliding closer to the guildsman¡¯s enemies. Soon, she was fighting on two fronts, but holding her own and blessing her master¡¯s insistence she learn how to fence.


    She was so focused on her opponents, that she failed to hear the growth of a second chant. Her next attack brought a shout of pain from one of the Northman¡¯s opponents. He pivoted to face her and their blades met in a savage clash.


    Another of their attackers turned away from the Northman, and Brianda found herself facing three.


    Maybe I didn¡¯t think this through¡­


    Cloth tore and pain seared her side. A fourth attacker had flanked her, stepping out of the shadows to strike her from behind. Brianda pivoted, lashing out as she turned. Her sword sliced across the top of her new attacker¡¯s arm, biting deeply into their flesh.


    It was a minor victory, and Brianda kept moving, diverting the slash into a parry as one of her other attackers tried to take advantage of the distraction. She registered the chant as it reached a crescendo and she turned her opponent¡¯s blade, before trying to block another attack.


    Their blades clashed. The air fizzed around them, and he danced back, grinning. Brianda went to follow¡­and found she couldn¡¯t.


    The chant died and the air grew tight around her. Her muscles locked and she couldn¡¯t move an inch. Her opponent stepped forward, blade raised, and more of their assailants closed.


    Fighting the spell didn¡¯t make any difference. No matter how hard she strained against it, the magic wouldn¡¯t give. It locked her muscles tight, holding her at the mercy of her attackers. Sweat broke out over her skin, and she grunted with the effort.


    Once again, laughter whispered out of the dark. It was followed by a short, sharp whistle. That stopped her attackers in their tracks, and they glanced toward its source. A second whistle followed, and they sheathed their blades, exchanging hand slaps and brief smiles, before disappearing down the street and into the alleys and shadows.


    A familiar large shape came into her field of vision, and she moved her eyes trying to get a better look. He said nothing, just laid a heavy hand on her shoulder and turned her to face the dark mouth of a loading bay. A hand gesture followed, directing her gaze.


    Brianda flicked her eyes from the guildsman to the squared-up patch of darkness. At first there was nothing, then she registered movement. Black shuddered against the shadows. Dark blue shimmered through it, and then separated to reveal another figure.


    Slender and tall, it was hidden beneath a dark blue-black cloak. As it stepped forward, it pushed the cowl back from its head revealing sharp-edged features that sent fear coursing through Brianda¡¯s limbs. Her cry choked in her throat, and the newcomer lifted his face toward her.


    Amber eyes regarded her from his finely-chiseled face. Elven features, sharp as a tree-thorn cat¡¯s, showed clearly beneath a skin blotched in green and brown. A mane of hair the color of pale straw glowed softly in the moonlight, two vivid streaks of blue marring its golden gleam.


    The sight had Brianda struggling against the magic binding her with all her strength.


    Kevarag! Kevarag, kevarag, kevarag! The warning screamed through Brianda¡¯s mind like an alarm, stories fleeting through memory, but something else rose, too, her master¡¯s voice.


    ¡°Enshul, goddess of night and shadows,¡± he¡¯d said, ¡°blesses those who win her favor by touching their heads and turning a lock of their hair blue.¡±


    ¡°She does?¡±


    ¡°She does¡­and she denies them the ability to conceal it, marking them as her own. It is both a sign of protection and possession, for who would interfere with a goddess¡¯s claim?¡±


    Brianda remembered chuckling at that. ¡°And who would try to harm what is hers?¡± she¡¯d added, winning a rare smile from her master.


    The blue streaks caught her eye and held it.


    Favored by Enshul, one part of her head thought, and was countered by the other. Beast elf.


    Brianda didn¡¯t know if she wanted to flee or fight. Sweat beaded her face as she tried to break free of the spell enfolding her.


    ¡°Be still.¡± The elvish words were accented by a darker tongue and she flinched. The priest¡­guildmaster? Whoever he was, he glided closer, and Brianda¡¯s instincts turned to flight.


    ¡°Be still,¡± the kevarag told her, in soothing tones. ¡°If I¡¯d meant you harm, you¡¯d be feeling it by now.¡±


    This much was true. She knew it was true, but it was hard to stop fighting to get free, hard to reject her mind¡¯s demands to run. She kept her eyes on the guildmaster¡¯s face, flinching as he allowed himself a slight smile, then switched to Common.


    ¡°Grunwol,¡± he said, addressing the guildsman. ¡°You will bring her to the guild hall and await me there.¡±


    ¡°Master.¡± The guildsman bowed his head.


    A soft gasp echoed through the dark, and guildmaster and Northman snapped their heads toward it.


    ¡°Mika.¡± Again, the guildmaster¡¯s voice was quiet¡­and, yet again, it carried an order.


    Brianda listened as the man concealed in the shadows shifted to face him.


    ¡°Master?¡±


    ¡°Bring yourself and Aral. Come within the hour and I will tend those wounds.¡±


    ¡°Master,¡± the guildsman acknowledged.


    There was relief and gratitude in the man¡¯s voice and Brianda watched the shadows thin as those filling it moved away.


    The guildmaster stepped back into the loading dock¡¯s shadow. For a moment, Brianda was sure she saw him pause and lift a hand in her direction. She couldn¡¯t be certain, but he vanished between one breath and the next, and the spell around her was gone.


    The Northman caught her as she wobbled unsteadily. His hand curled around her bicep, stilling her instinctive lunge into flight. Brianda gasped, pulling against him for a second, then realizing what she was doing.


    She froze, pulling in several long breaths in an attempt to calm herself.


    A familiar laugh whispered softly out of the darkness and was swiftly gone. When only the night remained, the Northman released her arm.


    ¡°Remember,¡± he told her, nodding toward the sword she held in one hand.


    It reminded her she¡¯d thrown her dagger, and she wondered if she¡¯d be able to get it back. She couldn¡¯t even remember if it had hit its target. A quick scan showed it wasn¡¯t on the ground.


    Brianda nodded shortly, sheathing her sword, and trying not regret the empty scabbard where her dagger usually sat. Her hands shook, and she hoped the Northman hadn¡¯t noticed.


    Perhaps the guildmaster would be better than Sussurianakshan¡­ Perhaps.


    He can hardly be worse, she told herself, as a shudder ran through her. Very little could.


    ¡°This way,¡± the Northman ordered, stepping into the loading area and leading her into the narrow alley concealed in its shadow.


    Trapping her fear behind a will of iron, Brianda followed. What had her master said?


    ¡°If you cannot escape them, join them. We¡¯ll figure out where to go from there.¡±


    That¡¯s all very well and good, she thought, but what am I to do, now you¡¯re dead?

 5—Guild Member

    The Northman took her halfway along the alley, before sliding into an alcove and lifting the cover to a hidden sewer entry.


    ¡°Wait for me at the bottom,¡± he ordered, motioning her to lead the way down the ladder.


    Brianda nodded and descended down the ladder she found at its rim, letting her eyes adjust to the dimly lit dark. Lanterns stood in alcoves set at distant intervals along the wall.


    If she¡¯d been purely human, it would have been very hard to see, and she quietly thanked the father she¡¯d never known. His heritage had given her the ability to see in the low light levels of the tunnel, where a human would have struggled to see anything but the dark.


    The Northman followed, dragging the sewer cover into place above him before he did so. Instead of heading directly into the dark, he stopped at the ladder¡¯s foot, fumbling at his belt. Muttering indistinctly, he pulled a gleaming stone from a concealed compartment in the ladder, shattering Brianda¡¯s low-light vision and scattering the shadows.


    Brianda dashed the tears from her eyes and stared at the stone.


    ¡°What is that?¡± she asked.


    ¡°Wizard light,¡± the Northman answered.


    ¡°Was it expensive?¡± Brianda wanted to know, more because of the magic, than because she needed to know.


    The Northman snorted softly, and his mouth moved into what might have been a smile, but which faded too quickly for Brianda to be sure.


    ¡°Cost the last owner his life,¡± he replied, leading the way deeper into the tunnel.


    At a loss for how to respond, Brianda followed.


    With the Northman moving swiftly and surely ahead, she soon found herself struggling to keep up. Her side ached and a dull pain radiated through her ribs and stomach. To make matters worse, the wizard light¡¯s glow hurt her eyes, making her vision blur with tears.


    Whenever she tried to look beyond the light, her eyes met an impenetrable wall of black, the lanterns nothing more than fuzzy orange pinpricks breaking the dark. The sewer air stank, moving on a fetid current that eddied and swirled around them.


    It was cool against her side, its touch bringing a chill to the wound there. Ice leached through her skin, clawing its way into her chest.


    The Northman moved on, ignorant, his long strides eating the ground as he strode beside a thick river of sludge, oblivious to the puddles through which he splashed. Brianda struggled to keep up, trying to keep her breath even as she stumbled after him.


    Her head spun, and she wondered how much further they had to go. If they didn¡¯t make it to the guild quarters soon, she wasn¡¯t sure she¡¯d make it at all. Darkness lapped at the edge of her mind, so she focused on the pure white glow of the wizard light, using it to anchor her to wakefulness.


    She used it, also, to steer by, the Northman¡¯s silhouette like a shadowy beacon surrounded in a swathe of light. The breeze chilled her, its touch reaching more than her side. Dampness had spread down her side and over her hip. The sewer wind turned its warmth to ice.


    The wizard light had shrunk to a distant beacon by the time the Northman stopped by another ladder in the wall. A frown creased his thick silvery brow when he saw how far behind she¡¯d fallen, but Brianda moved as confidently as she could, and he didn¡¯t speak. Instead, he tapped the ladder with his hand.


    ¡°Up you go,¡± he told her, the frown returning as she grasped the first rung, and winced as she began to climb.


    ¡°You¡¯re hurt?¡± he asked, and she blinked.


    ¡°A little,¡± she replied, forcing herself to keep moving.


    Stopping seemed like a really bad idea, no matter how tired she felt. They had almost arrived and Brianda figured she could last a little longer. As soon as she¡¯d gone high enough, the Northman followed.


    They both stopped when Brianda reached a firmly closed hatch. She flinched as the Northman pulled himself up enough to reach past her and rap a staccato sequence of knocks on the barrier. Footsteps echoed overhead, and the hatch opened.


    Brianda blinked against the sudden glare of a lantern, raising a hand to shield her face.


    ¡°I don¡¯t know you!¡± the startled rumble made her flinch, but before she could explain, two mammoth-sized hands seized her by the shoulder and jerked her clear of the trapdoor.


    She heard the Northman shouting in her wake, was sure he cleared the hatch in record time, and wished she knew what half the words meant. By then she was halfway across the room above, the hard-won gold of her mission raining down in her wake.


    The Northman was still shouting when she found the wall, twisting so she hit it with her shoulder and back. She bounced, but not very far, landing in a heap on the floor. The doorkeeper¡¯s words reached her as if from a great distance.


    ¡°Why didn¡¯t you tell me she was one of ours?¡±


    ¡°I knocked!¡±


    ¡°As if that was enough. How was I to know she hadn¡¯t spied the codes? You know what she is!¡±


    As if either her profession or her heritage was something to be held against her, Brianda thought, fighting down the urge to sink into the feathery darkness that called.


    ¡°It was the right code!¡± the Northman roared back. ¡°What she is doesn¡¯t matter!¡±


    ¡°It does! Why¡¯d you send her up first?¡±


    ¡°Because¡­¡± The Northman stopped, letting out a deep sigh. ¡°Winds of the Far Ice! We need to¡­¡±


    ¡°Check to see if she¡¯s still alive,¡± a newly familiar voice suggested.


    It reminded Brianda of the dark, its tones both deep and cold.


    Steel hissed clear of scabbards and boots shifted. The guildmaster ignored them, coming through the far door, his amber eyes gleaming.


    ¡°Yes, Guildmaster,¡± the guildsman replied, and Brianda heard the sound of his approach.


    Rather than lie there and wait, she pushed slowly and painfully to her hands and knees, the sudden tearing pain in her side an unpleasant surprise.


    ¡°Of all the gods-forsaken, in-bred, goat¡­¡± she began, softly, using the wall to go from her knees to her feet. When she¡¯d finished suggesting he was the outcast, reject of a breeding project using effluent and govra, Brianda went over it again¡­in orcish¡­because some epithets sounded better that way.


    By the time she was upright, and able to look him in the eye, while cursing in fluent elvish, Grunwol was staring open-mouthed, and the door-keeper had turned a bright cherry red.


    ¡°And of all the ass-infected, bottom-breeding¡­¡± Brianda began, describing what she thought of loyalty tests for thieves¡¯ guilds that put the lives of their members in danger to test them, ¡°¡­demon-spawned, illegitimate¡­¡±


    Soft laughter reached her and she faltered, having switched from elvish to something combining it with orcish and trade tongue. Another chuckle caused her to stumble over the next two words and then to stop.


    She caught the Northman¡¯s look, and the door-keeper¡¯s expression, and scanned across to the guildmaster. By the time she reached him, all amusement had vanished from his face, and his expression gave nothing away. Brianda blushed.


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    ¡°I¡¯m sorry, Guildmaster¡­¡± she began, stepping away from the wall.


    A wave of weakness washed over her and she stumbled. The Northman hastily stepped forward winding an arm around her waist. At first Brianda tried to stand on her own, but she soon realized that was impossible.


    Besides, they¡¯d need to know about the injury sooner, rather than later, just as soon as¡­


    She gave the guildmaster a worried look, then took control of her face as her master had taught her, and wiped all emotion from it as if looking at the guildmaster was like looking into a mirror. She saw him tilt his head as though something about one side of her trousers had caught his attention.


    A momentary frown creased his brow, and fled. His voice made her tense.


    ¡°Brianda ¡®Bonnie¡¯ Bloodbriar,¡± he began, letting his satisfaction at her capture come through in his voice.


    Brianda shivered, fighting the urge to lean on the Northman. Any agreements she made were going to be made with her standing on her own two feet.


    ¡°Guildmaster,¡± she managed, as fear sent her heart racing.


    How does he know my name? Will he do me harm for bearing it?


    She shivered, focusing on staying upright.


    ¡°I am Guildmaster Raomar Filameth, Overseer of the Deverath guild, and you have not paid your respects, despite being a guest in my city for over a week.¡±


    ¡°I am no thief,¡± Brianda replied, and he gave her a hard stare.


    ¡°Spies are merely thieves of a different name,¡± he answered, ¡°and my mistress still counts them as part of her domain.¡±


    Brianda wondered what his mistress thought of assassins.


    ¡°Any who cloak their lives in shadow come under Enshul¡¯s rule,¡± he told her, answering the unspoken question as though reading her mind, ¡°regardless of race.¡±


    Brianda bowed her head. She knew of the goddess, but very rarely prayed. Her training had been sufficient for most of her missions. Rather than insult him or the goddess herself, she remained silent.


    ¡°And you were warned,¡± the guildmaster stated, reminding her of the Northman¡¯s earlier visit.


    Brianda tilted her head, glancing up at the guildsman, wondering when he would notice how much she was leaning on him. She found her face heating, again.


    ¡°I had not had time to comply,¡± she answered.


    ¡°Why?¡± the guildmaster asked in mild tones.


    Brianda shivered. The last time she¡¯d heard tones like that, it had been Gravarik, and the beating that had followed¡­ Fear rolled through her, and she swallowed to wet her throat.


    ¡°I was on business of a delicate nature,¡± she rasped.


    The Northman snorted and the guildmaster raised an eyebrow, studying her until she blushed.


    Instead of challenging her, he asked, ¡°This business, is it now complete?¡±


    As if you didn¡¯t know, Brianda thought, careful to keep her rebellion from her face. She kept her answer simple.


    ¡°Yes.¡± It seemed the safest thing to say.


    ¡°This evening at Hustler¡¯s Tavern,¡± the Northman confirmed, and Brianda drew a sharp breath.


    The guildmaster nodded, his face turning grave.


    ¡°Nevertheless, you have operated without license or permission and as such owe us a percentage¡­¡±


    Brianda snorted and was about to indicate the gold lying scattered across the floor, when he continued.


    ¡°¡­of your time.¡±


    Brianda stilled. Shock momentarily left her blank, and it took her a moment to gather her thoughts.


    ¡°How much¡­time?¡± she managed, only to have him change the subject.


    ¡°It has also come to my attention that your master is no more.¡±


    That unexpectedly stung, and Brianda fought the sudden prickle of tears. Rather than trust her voice, she nodded, jerkily. It was not enough to satisfy the guildmaster.


    ¡°Can you confirm it?¡±


    Brianda gulped, taking an iron grip on her emotions, and raising her head so she could meet his eyes.


    ¡°He died on the road. Someone¡­¡± She squeezed her eyes shut. ¡°They sent assassins.¡±


    She did not add that her master had kept the assassins busy so that she could escape and complete their task¡­or that she had heard him die.


    The kill had not been clean.


    ¡°I do not know if he was buried.¡±


    The simple admission almost broke her, but she held her emotions in check and fixed her gaze on the beast-elf¡¯s face. He met her eyes and held them, studying her with a somber gaze.


    ¡°You know I cannot let a mere apprentice leave my jurisdiction,¡± he stated, and Brianda¡¯s spirits flagged. She¡¯d been hoping¡­ ¡°Deverath will complete your training.¡±


    Brianda wanted to argue, but tiredness dragged at her limbs and pulled her toward sleep, and she knew she didn¡¯t have time.


    ¡°Guild terms,¡± she asked, hearing the faint slurring that edged her words, and hoping he did not.


    ¡°Fifty-five per cent of takings,¡± he answered, forestalling any protest with a half-raised hand, ¡°and all information to me. There is no independent brokering, here. Understood?¡±


    Brianda nodded, the movement making her head spin. She swayed, and the Northerner tightened his grip around her waist. The guildmaster continued.


    ¡°And mind the Watch.¡±


    ¡°And in return?¡± Brianda asked, when he paused.


    ¡°Guild protection and support,¡± he replied, ¡°training, and license to operate within the city once your training is complete.¡±


    ¡°Understood,¡± Brianda told him. ¡°I accept your offer.¡±


    It was hardly an offer, but she was in no position to argue. There was one more thing she had to ask, but as she opened her mouth to do so, the guildmaster spoke.


    ¡°There is one other condition,¡± he added, and Brianda sighed.


    There was always one more condition.


    ¡°How much?¡± she demanded.


    ¡°If you are ever imprisoned, the guild will rescue you, but the price is a child to one such as me.¡±


    Brianda stilled. ¡°A¡­ A what?¡±


    ¡°A child to one such as me, in return for your release from imprisonment.¡±


    The demand made her head spin¡­or something did. Rather than fight it, Brianda said the first thing that came to mind.


    ¡°As long as you¡¯re the father,¡± she replied, and this time the slurring could be clearly heard.


    The Northman jerked, making a sound somewhere between a snort and a short laugh, but hurriedly strangling it. The guildmaster stared at her, then shrugged.


    ¡°Agreed,¡± he replied, then asked, ¡°Pact?¡±


    Brianda didn¡¯t answer, the pain had subsided to numbness, but she felt cold¡­and tired¡­like she could sleep for weeks¡­like she should sleep for weeks. She knew enough of injuries to know that wasn¡¯t good.


    ¡°Healing,¡± she mumbled, and he stepped forward giving her a worried glance.


    ¡°What of it?¡±


    ¡°Is it guild cared?¡±


    The guildmaster dipped his head.


    ¡°Of course.¡±


    ¡°A¡­all of it?¡±


    The guildmaster¡¯s frown deepened.


    ¡°Yeees.¡±


    ¡°Then pact,¡± she agreed, extending her hand.


    The guildmaster moved forward to accept it, frowning as though he felt its temperature and was worried.


    ¡°Pact,¡± he agreed, his frown growing deeper as his grip tightened.


    ¡°Witnessed,¡± the Northman said, covering their hands with his own, before the guildmaster could say anything.


    ¡°Witnessed and sealed,¡± the door keeper confirmed, adding his hand to theirs.


    As if the words were a signal, the darkness rose and dragged Brianda in.


    She did not hear the Northman¡¯s exclamation as she slid out from under his arm.


    *   *   *


    Raomar watched as Grunwol caught the girl before she hit the floor. As the Northman¡¯s hands closed around her waist his eyes widened.


    ¡°Roamer.¡± Alarm rattled through the man¡¯s voice and Raomar knelt quickly beside him.


    Grunwol gently laid the girl on the floor and drew the wizard light from his pouch. His hand was slick with blood, and the blood-drenched tear in her armor and tunic shone. More spread onto the stone beneath her, but slowly.


    The Northman tossed the stone toward the door keeper.


    ¡°Agar! Keep it steady.¡±


    The watchman caught the stone with deft fingers and came to stand over them, holding it so neither blocked its light. As he held it aloft, Grunwol drew his dagger and cut the girl¡¯s armor from her, setting the pieces aside so the guildmaster could work.


    ¡°Will she live?¡± he asked, seeing the depth of the cut and the pallor of her skin.


    ¡°Enshul,¡± Raomar began, addressing the goddess in the opening words of a short prayer, ¡°she is one of mine¡­and so, one of yours. I ask your intervention.¡±


    As he spoke a silver glow sprang up around his hands, spreading over the wound from the fingertips he used to pinch the injury¡¯s edges together. He closed his eyes, following the magic¡¯s passage as it flowed below the skin, mending the damage she¡¯d taken in their test.


    A small smile curled his lips as he remembered her description of tests that risked the testers and their subjects.


    She might not be wrong, he conceded, as the magic tended to the worst of the injury, mending the damage deeper than mere skin. The blood flow slowed and stopped, once again contained as it should be.


    Grunwol shifted uncomfortably beside him and he felt for the man. To be denied¡­ To have lost¡­


    He pushed the thought away. It had been years since he¡¯d stopped the Northman following his mate into death, and he still wasn¡¯t sure he was forgiven. He did not need to see the man¡¯s face to know how close those memories still rode him.


    The glow intensified, spreading from his hands to his elbows. Blue lightning flashed and he pressed his lips together, holding the magic in place by sheer force of will, and checking to ensure the healing was complete. After one final flash, the lightning died, and the spell ended.


    Raomar lifted his hands, resting them on his knees, before struggling to his feet.


    ¡°It is done,¡± he stated, looking down at the girl¡¯s still form. ¡°Get her cleaned up and in a tunic and put her in with Mika and Aral.¡±


    Remembering the healing both men had needed, he frowned, adding, ¡°Get Druurnal to watch them. I want no more injuries, and either one might feel payback is in order.¡±


    Grunwol acknowledge the accuracy of that statement with another soft snort. Brianda had acquitted herself well, but her defense had not been without cost. Mika and Aral would definitely feel some payback was in order.


    He bent to lift the girl from the floor, lifting her head so the guildmaster could slip a brass token on a chain around her neck.


    As Grunwol turned away, Raomar laid a hand on his arm.


    ¡°Thank you.¡±


    The Northman shrugged.


    ¡°You are the reason I remain,¡± he answered simply, and Raomar didn¡¯t know if that was a blessing or a curse.


    Raomar nodded, taking his hand from Grunwol¡¯s arm and watching him go. He hoped Mika and Aral wouldn¡¯t go too far¡­but that was why he¡¯d set Druurnal to watch¡­and he had more important matters that needed his attention.


    A new threat was rising, and tonight¡¯s interference had only highlighted the danger.


    Things were afoot in the city, and he needed to discover what they were.


    Sending a silent request to the goddess, he returned to his quarters.


    The water shimmered at his arrival.

 6—Tunnels and the Tillerman

    Once Grunwol had left, Raomar lifted the trapdoor. Agar was gathering Brianda¡¯s commission from the floor, counting as he went. The guild would take its percentage before returning the rest.


    ¡°Guildmaster?¡± Agar asked, as Raomar lowered himself onto the ladder.


    Raomar gave the man a hard look.


    ¡°I have matters to attend at the docks,¡± he stated. ¡°In private.¡±


    Agar pursed his lips, and Raomar almost felt sorry for the man¡­until Agar reminded him of why he¡¯d made the man a watchman in the first place.


    ¡°You gave me orders, guildmaster,¡± he said, ¡°as has the Northman, and I won¡¯t be crossing either of you.¡±


    Raomar dropped down the ladder, stopping only to haul the trap-door closed overhead, before Agar could summon Grunwol. It was true he¡¯d given Agar orders that no-one traveled the sewers alone¡­but he hadn¡¯t realized Grunwol had left orders regarding him.


    Raomar grimaced. What¡¯s the good of being guildmaster, if you can¡¯t break your own rules?


    He heard the slide of metal as the watchman secured the exit after him, and slid into the shadows at the ladder¡¯s base. Moving as quickly as he dared, he hoped to gain enough distance that his business would be done before anyone caught up with him.


    If he was fast, he might even reach the meeting point before the Northman left the guild. The docks weren¡¯t that far away.


    Grunwol would be annoyed, but Raomar didn¡¯t care. He¡¯d repeatedly told them he could take care of himself¡ªonly to be reminded he was guildmaster¡­and no longer had that luxury. Raomar gritted his teeth.


    In the meantime, he had business to conduct¡ªthe kind he¡¯d prefer to undertake without the Northman at his back. The Tillerman had a rendezvous, and Raomar wanted to be at the meeting place in time to see what it was about.


    Reports had finally confirmed the Tillerman was behind the two men who¡¯d tried to intercept Brianda before he could¡­and where he¡¯d be, later that evening.


    Dart and her potions had drawn that much truth from them before they¡¯d died.


    His rival was gaining in power, but moving as slowly and carefully as Raomar had done when he¡¯d first come to the city. Unlike Raomar, however, the Tillerman was moving against a single organization and not many small ones¡­and Raomar kept a better watch on his own people than his rivals ever did.


    Where he¡¯d been able to thin the ranks of his predecessors without them noticing, the Tillerman had not. Enshul watched over his affairs¡ªand she jealously guarded her possessions. Raomar had taken the fractured factions and welded them into a single entity, with the exception of the assassins, the carters¡¯ guild, the fences, and old Ben¡¯s orphanage of street runners. Those he¡¯d made allies¡­and Ben had been the Tillerman¡¯s first victim.


    Remembering, Raomar¡¯s mouth twisted with regret. Ben¡¯s charges had scattered, and the guild had been so busy dealing with other incursions, it had yet to track them down. Raomar wondered if he¡¯d come to regret that, and pushed the thought away. Now, was not the time.


    Hartender¡¯s duke was connected¡­and he did not know how. That was one of the things he hoped he¡¯d learn, tonight. He turned into a maintenance tunnel, four men wide and lit by evenly spaced torches. The smell of salt mingled with the outflow, and the rhythmic lap of water told him he neared the harbor walls.


    Hartender and the Tillerman¡­ Raomar shook his head. He wished he¡¯d known sooner. In the meantime¡­


    A shift in the air, and the muffled sound of footsteps behind him, warned him he was no longer alone. Rather than let his pursuers catch up, Raomar slid into a side tunnel to see who it was.


    Either his second-in-command was in a hurry and not moving as carefully as he should¡­or it was someone else. Raomar was sure it was the Northman, and whatever escort the man could round up at short notice, but such assumptions had killed before, so he decided to make sure.


    That¡­and he didn¡¯t want them anywhere near him, regardless. If he could hear them, the Tillerman would hear them, also¡­and Raomar needed to know what his rival was up to.


    With a soft sigh of regret, he moved further down the tunnel, deliberately leaving a trail for them to find¡­and then he stepped into the channel of sluggishly moving sludge and took another side-tunnel. His boots would be ruined, but not even Grunwol could follow a path that wasn¡¯t there.


    Taking another turn toward his destination, he left the channel. His damp boots would leave prints, but the flow grew deeper and faster and wasn¡¯t safe to walk. Raomar wrinkled his nose at the stench, and moved quickly. The detour had cost him some time, and he didn¡¯t know how long he had.


    A brief gleam in the sewer dark caught his eye, and he remembered Grunwol knew the tunnels¡­and him¡­almost as well as he did. Cursing softly, Raomar slipped into another side tunnel, calculating if he could afford another detour.


    He couldn¡¯t, so instead he waited, concealing himself in shadow as he observed their approach. The burly Northman led the way, carefully shielding the wizard light in the palm of one large hand. Behind him, spaced just far apart enough to make them difficult to see, were four others.


    Six, Raomar corrected himself, glimpsing two more at the very edge of the light. The number of men annoyed him. Their lack of quiet annoyed him. He¡¯d mark them for further training¡­and he¡¯d speak to Grunwol about the quality of men brought to protect him.


    He needed an escort that could move as quietly as he could¡­and fight as hard. Glaring at the group moving cautiously toward him, he drew back a little further, and waited for them to pass. If they wrecked his chance of discovering what his rival was about, the Northman would know his anger¡ªfriend or not.


    He didn¡¯t want an escort¡­or need one. He needed information. Stifling a growl of frustration, Raomar forced himself to stand still as the first man, passed. The Northman would be next.


    Raomar prepared to slide out beside him, only to have his vision blocked by a swift-moving shadow. A large hand closed around his throat, and he was pushed back into the wall, the point of a dagger pressing into his gut.


    Raomar closed his eyes, just as light flared in front of his face, and found himself just as abruptly released.


    ¡°Shards and snow!¡± Grunwol whispered, and the light vanished. ¡°You could have been killed.¡±


    Raomar straightened his tunic, looking past the barbarian for the rest of his escort. They¡¯d formed a defensive half circle around the tunnel entry, and were looking outward.


    It¡¯s a start, Raomar thought.


    He turned to the Northman.


    ¡°They¡¯re too noisy,¡± he stated. ¡°I heard you coming before I saw the light. I need to get closer than they¡¯ll allow.¡±


    ¡°These are the best I could find at short notice.¡± Grunwol gave Raomar an accusing glance. ¡°You want better, I need more notice.¡±


    ¡°How about the notice I didn¡¯t want an escort.¡±


    Grunwol gave him a hard stare. ¡°We¡¯ve talked about this.¡±


    Raomar glanced at the men, then decided they needed to hear what he had to say.


    ¡°They¡¯re good enough,¡± he admitted, ¡°but not for this. I need to get closer.¡±


    Grunwol looked about to disagree, but Raomar continued.


    ¡°Let me move ahead, and observe. If things go north, then come to my aid.¡±


    He kept the pleading from his tone. He wasn¡¯t going to beg, and he wasn¡¯t going to kill his friend to ensure he was obeyed. The Northman meant too much to him for that, but he needed¡­


    ¡°Agreed,¡± Grunwol told him. ¡°Where?¡±


    ¡°Next junction,¡± Raomar said. ¡°Follow me just past it, then wait. I¡¯ll be within sight.¡±


    He hesitated, then tapped the fist Grunwol had wrapped around the wizard light. ¡°Keep that out of sight until we¡¯re out of the junction, once more. It can be seen for miles.¡±


    The Northman nodded, then relayed the orders to the rest. Raomar didn¡¯t wait for them to be ready, but hurried to his vantage point. He heard the faintest of noises as they came after him, but they stopped where he¡¯d asked, and no light gave them away.


    He was almost too late.


    The point he¡¯d chosen overlooked one of the main channels beneath the city, one which provided access for deliveries from the ships to smaller docks beneath Deverath¡¯s streets. Its entry was gated and guarded by the Deverath Port Authority, but the Watch rarely ventured beyond the main waterway.


    Unauthorized duplication: this tale has been taken without consent. Report sightings.


    Raomar made his way along the edge of the feeder channel, skirting the mouth of the pipe that took its contents down to the main channel. As he settled into hiding, he heard the sound of low, hoarse whispers and the dip of oars.


    The smell of salt, damp, and effluvium mingled, and Raomar crouched close to the wall and looked out.


    Soon, the lamp-lit prow of a longboat appeared, but not from the dockside. This one came out of one of the waterways linking to the main. It was loaded to the gunnels, carrying two men and three women between the four men rowing. A fifth man crouched in the prow.


    Raomar frowned, studying the boat¡¯s occupants. It passed by his perch and continued out into the bay, forcing him to descend a narrow set of stairs to see where it went. Raomar hurried down, but only far enough to observe it as it passed through the gates and drew to a halt alongside a ship berthed not far from the tunnel.


    The rowers were dressed as sailors, but their passengers¡­


    Raomar¡¯s frown grew deeper.


    Noblemen? Sneaking out of the city in the dead of night?


    One of them was clearly the patriarch of his house, but nothing on his jacket or cloak revealed which one. He sat stiffly behind the man crouching at the prow, his mouth pressed firmly in a straight line, his expression stony.


    The women huddled together in the next row of seats, their arms twined around each other¡¯s waists, their two younger ones fearful, the older one disapproving. The two young men facing them had the look of their father, and their faces were grave.


    One glanced back at the tunnel with something like regret, and both the old man and older woman tensed. They relaxed when the younger one turned back without speaking. The rowers took the boat to the next ship, and a soft whistle pierced the darkness.


    Raomar moved further down the stairs until he saw the oarsmen draw the longboat to a halt and steady it. A wooden ladder dropped down the ship¡¯s side, followed by a swing seat, and the women looked uncertainly at each other.


    The older one went first, her face pale under the lamplight. One of the younger men climbed the ladder, followed by the older man. The third did not leave the boat, and Raomar thought that was because he was waiting to see the rest of his family and their belongings safely aboard.


    To Raomar¡¯s surprise, he didn¡¯t follow, but sat quietly in the stern of the boat, raising his hand, once, in farewell to those on the deck above. As he watched, the oarsmen pushed away from the ship and turned their craft back toward the tunnel.


    Raomar moved carefully back up the stairs. He¡¯d ask Dart to discover which ship was docked, maybe see if she could find a way to board it. Shouts drifted from across the water and he paused long enough to see the ship start moving away from the dock.


    Or where it¡¯s going, he amended, before hurrying back to his vantage point. Movement further back in the tunnel made him realize he¡¯d shifted out of Grunwol¡¯s sight, and he cursed softly.


    Glancing toward the Northman¡¯s position, he saw the man drift back to the junction, and let out a breath of relief. This time, when the longboat passed, he followed it, taking one of the catwalks over the main waterway to reach the secondary outlet.


    His escort moved quickly after him, coming close enough to keep him in sight. Raomar wasn¡¯t sure that would be far enough for him to avoid detection, but knew it was the best he could expect. He kept to the galleries for as long as he could, before descending another narrow set of stairs to walk along the ledge that ran beside the channel.


    The longboat took another turn, this time into a tunnel Raomar didn¡¯t remember, and he frowned, taking the turn carefully, in case anyone was waiting. Once inside, he saw it was newly constructed, as was the small jetty jutting out into the quiet lagoon created several yards in.


    The Tillerman had been very busy since taking the docks. Raomar studied the lamplit jetty and apron of stone beyond. He¡¯d heard rumors of construction, but not paid them much attention. Now, he wished he had.


    Maybe Dart was right and he needed to establish an arm for the undercity on its own, instead of relying on his scouts to find all that was hidden there. He needed the sewer maps redrawn. Adding it to the mental list he kept, Raomar moved closer so he could see and hear what was going on at the jetty.


    The dock might be well-lit, but there were plenty of shadows where he¡¯d stopped. He stepped into the niche created by a hidden ladder. A quick glance up revealed a long climb leading to the surface, and emptiness in the shaft above.


    Hoping his escort didn¡¯t try to follow, Raomar climbed a little to get a better view of the docks. Halfway up the wall, he discovered a narrow ledge built into it¡ªempty, but providing a good overlook.


    Silently, he moved closer. Letting his eyes adjust to the light, he moved within earshot, and crouched to study the docks.


    None of the faces gathered below were familiar, and he frowned. He assumed the Tillerman was the man stepping from the longboat¡¯s prow to the dock¡­but the young nobleman¡­that one he didn¡¯t recognize. As he watched, several men moved out of the shadows, a wizard among them.


    Raomar made sure to mark his features. Perhaps Alessia would know him¡­or Dart. It would give him yet another avenue to pursue as he tried to identify the man trying to take his territory.


    ¡°Time to move, your lordship.¡± The voice of one of the oarsmen drew his attention back to the boat.


    He was in time to see the young nobleman glance back at the oarsman, and be prodded again. He was young, somewhere between his eighteenth and twenty-fifth summer, if Raomar had to guess. It took a moment more before he registered the young man¡¯s face resembled that of the other two men in the boat.


    A younger son? But why had he remained behind? Why would any nobleman leave one of his heirs behind? Raomar marked it as another question for Dart, and focused on the drama being played out below.


    With another prod from the oarsman, the young nobleman got to his feet and stepped carefully onto the dock. Two of the newly arrived men hurried forward, one steadying him as the other stood back.


    Guards, Raomar thought, noting their light leather armor and weapons.


    The man Raomar assumed was the Tillerman waited on the stone-landing, beside the wizard, observing the nobleman like a cat intent on its prey.


    Shaking his arm free of the guard, the nobleman moved to stand before him.


    ¡°My family owes you much,¡± he said softly, taking a pouch from his belt and holding it out to the Tillerman.


    Coins jangled quietly in the dark.


    ¡°Your family¡¯s compensation for my men¡¯s lives was enough,¡± the Tillerman replied. ¡°Our debts are equal. Go quickly and in peace.¡±


    He gestured toward the entrance of the chamber, and the young man turned, walking to the edge of the lamplight before he paused. Surveying the darkness beyond, he glanced back.


    ¡°Will there be a guide?¡± he asked, noticing no-one had moved with him.


    Raomar leaned a little further forward, wanting a better view as the Tillerman exchanged glances with his men, then looked back at the lordling.


    ¡°That would demand a price more than the one we¡¯ve already been offered,¡± he replied.


    ¡°More than what you¡¯ve been offered?¡± the young man asked sharply, and took a step back from the edge of the light.


    ¡°Much more,¡± the Tillerman replied.


    ¡°How much more?¡± the nobleman asked, his voice shifting up in register.


    Once more he glanced into the sewers¡¯ black, and Raomar wondered if he could see at all. The lamps on the docks had been perfect for ruining his chances of growing accustomed to the dark.


    ¡°Thirty thousand kings,¡± the Tillerman replied, and Raomar bit back a whistle at the price.


    Kings were coins of gold, each one worth ten queens of silver, or a hundred bronze princes. Thirty thousand would take most merchants a year to acquire, depending on their trade. As a price to reach the edge of the tunnels, it was exorbitant.


    The nobleman¡¯s jaw dropped, his surprise evident before he recovered and closed his mouth, attempting to smooth his features to a blank.


    ¡°I¡­take it, you¡¯re not carrying that much?¡± the Tillerman asked, signaling his men forward.


    The nobleman held up a hand.


    ¡°Wait¡­wait, I can pay,¡± he assured them.


    Raomar caught the Tillerman¡¯s raised brow as he signaled his guards to stop. The lordling fumbled in the second pouch at his belt, pulling from its depths something small that glittered pale blue in the lamplight.


    Keeping a wary eye on the guards, he returned to the Tillerman, before stretching out his palm to reveal a small, blue gem.


    ¡°How far does this buy me?¡±


    The Tillerman took it, removing an eye glass from his top pocket and setting it to his eye to examine the gem. His mouth twisted in disdain.


    ¡°Five steps in the dark.¡± Glancing at the pouch, he asked, ¡°Do you have anything else?¡±


    Again, the lordling delved into the pouch, withdrawing a gem of a deeper shade of blue. Color danced in the lamplight as he passed it over.


    The Tillerman accepted it with more respect than the last, but examined it just as carefully.


    ¡°That might buy you the parchment¡¯s retrieval,¡± he ventured, after several long minutes. ¡°I couldn¡¯t guarantee more than one attempt for this, but it would buy at least that.¡±


    ¡°And my freedom?¡± the young lord pressed, identifying what was really at stake.


    The Tillerman took the glass from his eye and returned it to his pocket. When he raised his head, his face was hard.


    ¡°That chance was gone when my client made the payment.¡±


    The nobleman fumbled hastily at his pouch, withdrawing two more gems.


    ¡°These?¡± he asked, and the guards paused.


    The Tillerman shook his head. ¡°The price has been paid. The bargain sealed.¡±


    ¡°But¡­¡± the nobleman looked at the men closing in, and back at the Tillerman. ¡°I need to get back to my sister. I¡­I promised!¡±


    The Tillerman eyed him gravely.


    ¡°That¡¯s not a promise you¡¯re going to be able to keep,¡± he replied, but the young man refused to give up.


    ¡°At least look at them!¡± he urged, holding out the gems.


    The Tillerman gave a heavy sigh and took the gems, making a show of examining each.


    Raomar almost laughed when the show became a proper examination, and his rival tucked the gems carefully into another pocket.


    Once again removing his glass, the Tillerman glanced at the nobleman.


    ¡°These will guarantee you the parchment,¡± he stated, before nodding to his men. ¡°Take him.¡±


    The young lord failed to reach his sword as one of the guards closed, and tackled him to the ground. A second guard piled on top and, together, they pinned him. A third guard took his sword and searched for more weapons at his waist as two more raised crossbows to cover him.


    The nobleman struggled until the Tillerman came to stand in front of him and lowered his blade where the young man could see it.


    ¡°Yield?¡± he asked, and the nobleman froze, lifting his head in an attempt to see his captor¡¯s face.


    ¡°Boot¡­knives,¡± he gasped, and the guard retrieved them.


    The Tillerman moved his blade closer to the young man¡¯s face.


    ¡°Do. You. Yield?¡± he repeated.


    ¡°To you,¡± the lordling replied. ¡°I yield to you.¡±


    He rested his forehead on the stonework and waited.


    Raomar, watching from above, saw when the Tillerman nodded to his men, and the lordling was released. To his credit, the young man didn¡¯t move, but waited. The Tillerman snorted, sheathing his blade.


    ¡°Get up.¡±


    The nobleman rose, moving slowly and eyeing the guards warily. Noting they¡¯d moved out of reach, and the crossbowmen stood ready, he turned his attention to the Tillerman, and waited.


    The Tillerman looked him up and down, and shrugged.


    ¡°As I said, for thirty thousand kings you would have been free.¡±


    He raised a hand for silence, when the young man would have protested, and the nobleman subsided.


    ¡°You didn¡¯t have that, but had the price of the papers the spymaster took. Once your buyer no longer has those, he will no longer need you and you will be released.¡±


    ¡°You can¡¯t guarantee that,¡± the young man protested, and Raomar agreed.


    ¡°For five thousand kings more, I can,¡± the Tillerman assured him.


    ¡°Done,¡± the lordling replied, without hesitation.


    ¡°Blood word?¡± the Tillerman demanded, and the young man nodded.


    ¡°Done,¡± he repeated.


    Raomar frowned. That wasn¡¯t an agreement. Technically, that oath had to be repeated in the reply for it to be given. As it stood, the young man had only agreed to the five thousand kings and not sealed the bargain with his life, but his word¡­and such promises could be broken.


    ¡°Blood word,¡± the Tillerman growled, and his blade was at the young man¡¯s throat with a speed that made Raomar blink.


    The young lord froze.


    ¡°Blood word,¡± he replied, but the blade stayed where it was.


    ¡°Be glad I don¡¯t double the price,¡± the Tillerman told him, his face fierce.


    The lordling swallowed, as though he realized how close he¡¯d come to death. The Tillerman sheathed his blade, and turned his head, sending a soft whistle through the dark.


    For a moment, there was no reply, then lamplight winked in the tunnel depths.

 7—The Duke of Hartender

    Raomar watched the nobleman as the lamplight approached. He saw the lordling¡¯s hand twitch toward his empty scabbard, then clench into a fist when he found no hilt. Tension ran through his body as he recognized the nobleman walking in the newcomers¡¯ midst.


    Raomar studied the group, counting six men in chain mail, swords and daggers at their hips. The nobleman walking among them was of medium height, with dark hair and familiar features.


    Hartender! So, the rumors were true.


    Raomar frowned, watching as the Tillerman moved in close to the young lord and draped an arm over his shoulders. The lordling clenched his fists, but didn¡¯t try to move away and the Tillerman bent close to the man¡¯s ear, his words carried up by a trick of the air.


    ¡°Here comes your buyer. When I am paid, you¡¯re no longer mine.¡± He straightened, patting the lordling¡¯s shoulder as he lifted his arm and stepped one pace away.


    Raomar stared at them. The Tillerman had virtually told the boy, he owed him nothing once the money was paid¡­reminding him he¡¯d only yielded to the Tillerman and no-one else. Did he want the nobleman to try something stupid?


    The lordling waited, not taking his eyes from Hartender¡¯s face¡­and not trying to conceal his dislike for the man. Raomar wondered what had passed between the two houses for there to be so much bad feeling.


    Hartender, for his part, surveyed the lordling with great satisfaction, smirking at his discomfort as he looked him up and down. The lordling tensed, sliding a foot back in a fighting stance and half-raising his fist. The two closest guards shifted stance, preparing to subdue him, their feet making the slightest scrapes on the stonework, and the young nobleman sighed.


    His gaze shifted from the guards to the Tillerman¡­and then to the approaching nobleman and his escort. His face tightened, but he lowered his fist, and Raomar relaxed.


    The men accompanying Hartender weren¡¯t just guards. They¡¯d seen their share of fights¡­and done their share of killing. Raomar could see it in their expressions, in the way they held themselves, loose and seemingly relaxed, but ready for anything. Their gazes traveled the tunnel around them as they scanned the dark beyond the lantern.


    Hartender¡¯s group reached the light, with two of his guards breaking away to approach the young nobleman. Hartender came to a halt before the Tillerman.


    ¡°You brought him,¡± he stated, and the Tillerman met his gaze.


    ¡°I did. Did you bring the payment?¡±


    ¡°Of course,¡± Hartender replied matter-of-factly, and stepped to one side so the two men carrying a large chest could bring it forward.


    Without being asked, he lifted the lid.


    ¡°I don¡¯t expect you to count it here,¡± the duke added in oily tones, ¡°but it¡¯s all there.¡±


    He paused and gave a brief smile.


    ¡°After all, you know where to find me.¡±


    The Tillerman fixed him with a look that had the duke¡¯s escort reaching for their weapons.


    ¡°I do,¡± he told the man, ¡°and I know your business in the court.¡±


    Raomar¡¯s eyes widened. That was a threat.


    Apparently, Hartender thought so, too, because he narrowed his eyes and pursed his lips.


    ¡°Indeed,¡± he replied tartly, and looked over at the younger nobleman. ¡°Is there any reason why my goods are not correctly packaged?¡±


    The Tillerman gave him a cold smile, letting his gaze travel over the duke¡¯s escort.


    ¡°You asked only they be delivered, not that they be delivered with a bow.¡±


    Anger darkened the duke¡¯s features, but the Tillerman continued, with a shrug.


    ¡°And I knew you would bring sufficient to keep them secure.¡±


    ¡°Indeed¡­¡± the duke repeated disapprovingly. He indicated the chest and its contents, then gestured toward the young noble. ¡°May I?¡±


    ¡°By all means,¡± the Tillerman replied, stepping back, and signaling his men to take the chest and leave the lordling to the duke. ¡°I have your payment.¡±


    He gave a short whistle and moved back toward the wall. Raomar heard the grind of stone and felt the tremor of a heavy door shifting aside. The duke¡¯s head snapped around in surprise, but he said nothing.


    Bootsteps followed and then the ledge shook and the grinding sound came again. A heavy clunk followed, and then silence, and Raomar knew the Tillerman was gone.


    Below him, the Duke of Hartender stared at the wall a moment longer, then turned back to the young man, who was now flanked by his guards.


    ¡°Broderick.¡± The satisfaction in that address made Raomar wonder what the Duke of Hartender stood to gain by his rival¡¯s capture.


    Something in the way he said it was too much for the young lordling, and he pivoted taking two strides into the dark beyond the lanterns. Hartender¡¯s men were faster. One moved swiftly to block his path, and the second slammed a fist into the young man¡¯s ribs when he changed direction.


    The blow hit low and hard and the lordling folded, wrapping an arm over his ribs and hitting the ground on his knees. He tried to stumble directly to his feet, but was driven to his stomach as the guards slammed into his back and forced him down.


    He gave a short, sharp cry of pain as his arms were dragged behind his back and bound elbow to wrist. He bit back a second cry as they hauled him to his feet and turned him to face the duke. Hartender stretched a hand toward his face, and the young man tried to twist away.


    ¡°Steady now, Broderick. This is for your own good.¡±


    Raomar watched, catching sight of a thin blue glow outlining the man¡¯s fingers.


    The lordling saw it to, and gasped as he turned away. One of the guards seized him by the scruff of the neck and held his head still enough for the duke of Hartender¡¯s hand to come down over the boy¡¯s eyes. Broderick froze.


    The duke smiled and laid the palm of his other hand against the boy¡¯s cheek.


    Broderick gasped and froze, and the duke spoke a short phrase.


    Raomar¡¯s eyes widened. The Duke of Hartender was a wizard?


    The blue flared to white and the duke shifted his hand so it stroked up the nobleman¡¯s cheek, across the crown of his head, and down the other side of his face. Broderick¡¯s breathing quickened in panic and he gasped a second time as the duke slid the hand from his eyes and down to his chin, before withdrawing it.


    White light followed, and the young nobleman scrambled back¡­or he tried. The two guards held him fast. His breathing sped and the white light turned to ink and then sank beneath his skin.


    ¡°Wait!¡± the boy cried. ¡°What have you done?¡±


    He sagged in the guards¡¯ grips.


    ¡°I can¡¯t see.¡± Panic gripped his voice. ¡°I can¡¯t see.¡±


    He tried to turn.


    ¡°Joseph? What¡­Why am I blind?¡±


    ¡°So you¡¯ll walk where you¡¯re asked,¡± the duke replied shortly. ¡°My men will guide you.¡±


    ¡°But¡­¡±


    The duke gave the nearest guard a short, sharp nod, and the man drove his fist into the lordling¡¯s side.


    ¡°Quietly,¡± the duke ordered, and the lordling closed his mouth on the protest he¡¯d been about to make.


    Raomar watched, trying to understand the significance of what he¡¯d seen¡­and who the lordling really was. ¡®Broderick¡¯ was not a name he knew¡­not that he knew all the names of the lords and their progeny, but many¡­yes.


    It was another question for Dart, and he set it aside for another time, watching as Hartender and four of his guards led the young nobleman into the dark.


    Four?


    Raomar looked around in alarm. Movement flickered at the edge of his vision, followed by the sharp punch of a dart. Numbness spread immediately after, but not fast enough to stop him registering a second impact and more numbness.


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    His vision blurred and he slammed a palm into the stone before him, trying to stop himself from pitching over the edge. He succeeded in pushing himself back, felt the wall behind him as he toppled to one side, his eyes closing of their own accord.


    Raomar fought the poison coursing through his system. He would have fought the man who rolled him off the ledge to drop into the arms of the men waiting below. The duke doubled back, leaving the younger nobleman sagging between his two guards.


    ¡°What have we here?¡± he asked, as Raomar was hauled upright and held still for inspection.


    Raomar blinked, managing to get his eyes open long enough to register who he faced.


    ¡°Well, hello, ¡®old friend,¡¯¡± the duke greeted, placing a hand under his chin and turning his face from side to side.


    Raomar¡¯s eyes fluttered closed, and he tried to open them, tried to get his legs to obey enough to bring his feet under him so he could hold his own weight¡­failed miserably.


    The hiss of steel from a nearby scabbard had the duke snap, ¡°Wait! He¡¯s an old fr¡­¡±


    The hand on Raomar¡¯s jaw tightened.


    ¡°You conniving sonuvabitch!¡±


    Raomar tried to keep his eyes open, but failed. He must have missed another signal from the duke, because a vial was forced between his lips and his head was tilted so its contents flowed into his mouth and down his throat.


    He swallowed convulsively, trying not to choke as his head started to clear. This time, his eyes didn¡¯t close when he opened them, although the view hadn¡¯t improved.


    The Duke of Hartender¡¯s face was inches from his own.


    ¡°You¡¯re coming back with me,¡± he snarled, as rough hands bound Raomar¡¯s wrists behind his back, ¡°and we¡¯re going to have a long chat about where we¡¯ve met before and why I¡¯m under the illusion we¡¯ve known each longer than our meeting in my carriage.¡±


    ¡°We should put him out,¡± said the guard who¡¯d captured him, but the duke shook his head.


    ¡°No, Kale. Blindfold him so he can¡¯t mark the way¡­and gag him so he can¡¯t cast anything.¡±


    Raomar fought against both, earning himself a swift blow to the side of the head that drove him to his knees and rattled him enough for both orders to be carried out. When he tried to twist his head to make the blindfolding less effective a second blow left his mind spinning and he didn¡¯t resist further.


    Once he¡¯d been secured, he was hauled to his feet. Judging from the soft, panicked breathing ahead of him, he¡¯d been set behind the lordling, a fact that was confirmed moments later when Broderick spoke.


    ¡°Joseph,¡± the young man asked, plaintively. ¡°How long?¡±


    ¡°Long enough,¡± the duke replied shortly, and his tone should have been enough to prevent any further argument.


    Raomar heard the scrape of boot leather against stone and the duke moved forward.


    ¡°Take the lead,¡± he ordered and other footsteps obeyed.


    Ahead of him, Raomar heard the young nobleman stumble and his escort curse.


    ¡°Watch your step,¡± one snarled, and Broderick muffled a groan.


    Raomar drew a long, quiet breath focusing his senses on the tunnel around them. He listened for other sounds beyond the ones the group made. At first, all he could hear were Broderick¡¯s unsteady steps, and his guards¡¯ firmer tread.


    The duke was easier to pick out, now that the man was no longer trying to move silently, but the man¡­or men¡­he¡¯d sent ahead were almost inaudible. Raomar listened to the steps of the men nearest him.


    There was one on either side, both moving confidently through the dark. Behind him moved two more, too close for him to try and break away¡­not that he¡¯d want to when he was bound and blindfolded. The further they walked, the easier it became to identify each member of his small group by their tread.


    He also noted the sound of moisture flowing or dripping down the walls, the unhealthy ripple of the waste water running in a narrow channel down the center of the passage, and the trickle of more coming from inlet pipes set at regular intervals in the walls and floors. Several feet away came the frantic skitter of rats in flight, and beyond that, the soft step of someone following.


    The further they went, the more he wondered who else might be interested in the duke and his business. He could think of no other reason someone would parallel them for so long¡­unless Grunwol¡­


    Raomar didn¡¯t think so. While he hoped Grunwol followed them, he¡¯d rather the Northman had returned to the guild to work out a way to get him out of the duke¡¯s control. At the idea of his people doing something to set him free, Raomar relaxed into thought, letting his escort guide him through the dark.


    The duke¡¯s magical ability had surprised him, but when he thought about it, he realized the magic hadn¡¯t been difficult to cast. Had he merely triggered an item?


    Raomar replayed the casting in his mind and decided he hadn¡¯t. No, he thought, Joseph Hartender was a mage. The question was, how advanced were his studies?


    Trying to work out the answer kept him busy until his escort pulled him to a stop.


    From beyond the blindfold, Raomar heard the duke mutter impatiently, followed by a click and then grinding. Fresh air gusted into the tunnel, rippling his clothes and clearing some of the sewer stench from his nostrils.


    Raomar pulled in a grateful breath, trying to clear the smell of sewerage from his lungs. What he got was wood smoke and the scent of baking bread. The smell of furniture polish told him they¡¯d reached a residence.


    The duke¡¯s? he wondered, before kicking himself for asking such a stupid question. Who else¡¯s home would it be?


    It wasn¡¯t like the duke would trust knowledge of this kind of activity to anyone else, or a strange household. Broderick¡¯s breath quickened, and then a deep breath followed, as if the boy was determined not to panic.


    Raomar listened as the young lordling was led across the threshold, then allowed himself to be guided after. Behind them, the door grated shut, closing with a definite thunk as they entered a narrow corridor.


    It was a short one, ending in a jangle of keys and the cooler air of a cellar. Ahead of him, Broderick stumbled, again, grunting as his escort made their disapproval felt.


    ¡°Steps.¡± That single word was accompanied by a tightening of the grip on his arm, and Raomar slowed.


    ¡°Watch yourself,¡± was the only warning he got before his foot hit empty air.


    Another jerk prevented him from falling and he cautiously began to descend. Behind them, the kitchen noises faded, along with the smell of baking bread. The air grew cool, and then a little musty, as though it had been shut inside for a while.


    A sharp turn to the right awaited them at the bottom, followed by another short corridor. This time when he was brought to a halt, he heard Broderick breathing beside him. The metallic grate of a bolt being drawn was followed by the clank of a metal-bound door, and Raomar was pushed forward.


    ¡°Put them in together,¡± the duke ordered. ¡°Untie them, and remove the elf¡¯s blindfold and gag.¡±


    Broderick grunted and stumbled as he crossed the threshold behind Raomar, and the elf kept moving until he was clear. Heavy footsteps were accompanied by a strong grip on his arm, and he was again jerked to a halt.


    ¡°Stand there.¡±


    ¡®There¡¯ ended up being where Raomar had stopped, and the guildmaster waited.


    Rough hands removed his blindfold and gag, before removing his bindings. Even when he was free, Raomar forced himself to stand still. It would be sheer idiocy to give the guard an excuse to gut him just when he¡¯d been freed.


    The guard turned him. ¡°Bed¡¯s there.¡±


    He turned Raomar again. ¡°Bucket¡¯s there. Don¡¯t get them confused.¡±


    That last brought harsh laughter, and he was shoved roughly toward the wall as the guard reversed quickly away from him


    Raomar heard Broderick gasp and then the sound of the young lord hitting the cell floor as the two guards retreated. While his eyes were still adjusting, he saw them reach the cell door and pull it closed after them. The sound of the bolt being rammed home left him in no doubt he was stuck for a while.


    He caught sight of the darker patch that was the young lord, just as lamplight flared in the corridor outside. Some of it glimmered through the small, barred window set high in the door, and Raomar shaded his eyes.


    Straw rustled and the lordling pushed unsteadily to his feet.


    ¡°Wait!¡± he cried, turning toward the door. ¡°Joseph!¡±


    Raomar sighed.


    ¡°Joseph!¡± Broderick called, louder this time.


    Raomar heard him draw breath for another cry.


    ¡°What is it?¡± Duke Hartender snapped from the door.


    ¡®I need¡­¡± Broderick hesitated, swallowed hard, and wrapped his hands around the window. ¡°When will I be able to see again?¡±


    The duke snorted.


    ¡°When it pleases me,¡± he replied.


    ¡°But¡­¡±


    ¡°Enough!¡± Hartender snapped. ¡°You¡¯re still alive, aren¡¯t you?¡±


    Broderick paused.


    ¡°Well,¡± Hartender demanded impatiently, ¡°aren¡¯t you?¡±


    ¡°Yes, but¡­¡± Broderick began, and Raomar caught sight of the fury that crossed the duke¡¯s face beyond the bars.


    He was about to haul the young man away from the bars, when he heard the rattle of keys, and the door was jerked roughly open.


    Hartender came through in a rush of force, picking Broderick up and slamming him into a nearby wall, while two of his guards came through to stand between the pair and Raomar. The guildmaster raised his hands and backed up to lean against the other wall.


    The crossbows were cocked and didn¡¯t waver, and Raomar kept his hands raised and his back against the wall. He didn¡¯t take his eyes from what was happening with the two noblemen, but neither of the guards looked back.


    Hartender wrapped a hand around the younger nobleman¡¯s throat, then laid the palm of his other hand over Broderick¡¯s heart.


    ¡°N..¡± Raomar began, seeing blue light swirl along the duke¡¯s arm.


    He almost started off the wall, but a soft whistle drew his attention to the guards and one of them shook his head, waving a finger in forbiddance. The other one¡¯s aim didn¡¯t waver and his finger tightened on the trigger until Raomar resumed his position.


    Behind them, the duke¡¯s voice rose and fell in a brief chant that Raomar did recognize. Nausea rolled through his stomach and cold fear chilled his skin. He wanted to protest that this spell wasn¡¯t necessary, that¡­


    The blue faded to purple, and darkness sent black specks dancing through the light. Sickened, Raomar watched the light coil down Hartender¡¯s arm to glove the hand spread over Broderick¡¯s chest.


    Hartender cocked his head, speaking the final word to the spell, and sending the light into the young lord¡¯s torso. Streaks of black-streaked purple crackled over the young lord¡¯s chest and shoulders and he screamed, his body jerking under the duke¡¯s grip.


    With another snapped out syllable, the duke released him, stepping back to let the lordling drop to his knees. Broderick wrapped his arms around his chest and crashed from his knees to his side, his breath coming in ragged sobs.


    The crossbow shook in its wielder¡¯s hands, and the man gave the other soldier an anxious look. The other guard didn¡¯t flinch, although his face became shuttered. Behind them, Duke Hartender turned slightly to look at Raomar.


    ¡°When I come for you in the morning,¡± he said, ¡°you will tell me who you are and the truth of how we met.¡±


    The ice-cold surety in his voice sent a chill through Raomar, but he forced a slight smile to his lips and inclined his head.


    ¡°If that is your wish,¡± he replied, forcing his voice to calm, even as anger rolled through him.


    The duke could bring whatever pressure he liked, but it would do him little good. Raomar didn¡¯t believe he¡¯d still be there in the morning. In the meantime¡­


    He fought to keep the outrage from his face. Firstly, he was being threatened¡­and, secondly, he had a hole in his intelligence network, one that badly needed to be filled. The threat could be avenged, the hole¡­


    He¡¯d find a way. He stayed propped against the wall as he watched the duke and his men leave, then crossed to where the young nobleman lay curled on the floor. To his relief Broderick was unconscious.


    Perhaps it¡¯s better that way, he thought, carefully lifting the young man and carrying him over and depositing him on the cot standing in one corner.


    If he was honest, he was relieved to find the man alive¡­and maybe even more relieved that he wouldn¡¯t have to deal with any more adverse reactions to his race. When he was sure the lordling was resting as comfortably as he was able, Raomar retired to the other side of the cell, curling into the straw to get some sleep.


    If his people didn¡¯t come for him, he was going to need every ounce of strength he could gather, because in the morning, he¡¯d be facing the duke. It was not a prospect he looked forward to¡­and he hoped Grunwol came for him sooner.


    But how¡­

 8—Grunwol, the Garitzik and the Shadow Fey

    Grunwol cursed a blue streak. He¡¯d pulled the guildmaster¡¯s escort back as soon as he realized they¡¯d alert the Tillerman to Raomar¡¯s presence. He hadn¡¯t been happy about it, but it had been the only way.


    Once the Tillerman¡¯s exchange had been complete and the man had left, he¡¯d gathered the escort and followed. As the tunnels had narrowed, he¡¯d marked the path and taken his people.


    The docks might be the Tillerman¡¯s domain, but under the docks was that even more true, and he couldn¡¯t risk a single one of them being caught. All he could hope was that the newly arrived crime lord had completed his activities for the evening and was ready to retire.


    He wished the guildmaster had warned him of his plans for the night so that he could at least have had the tunnels located next to guild territory mapped. That way he¡¯d have had some idea of what they were heading into. As it was, he now had to find which of the damned nobility had shanghaied his guildmaster and friend, and get him back.


    There was clearly more about the Tillerman they didn¡¯t know that they needed to¡­like the fact he used magical wards over all the dockside sewer entrances and maintenance ledges, and the alarms they triggered were silent. Knowing the night guards were shadow fey and gargoyles would have helped, too.


    It would have saved them all a lot of pain¡­and it would have meant he could have prepared his men for the attack that took them beyond the guildmaster¡¯s reach. He hadn¡¯t known he¡¯d lost any, until the last man had dropped his blade.


    The clatter had seen him pivot in time to see the guildsman¡¯s unconscious form being carried through a portal of darkness ringed in mist. The Northman had backpedaled quickly, hoping to find Raomar and get him out of the tunnels before the shadow found him.


    He was listening to the sluggish flow of water and murmur of voices ahead when he heard another sound¡­as if a large bird had gotten lost inside the tunnels. That, in and of itself, wasn¡¯t a cause for alarm, but the accompanying chill made it worrisome.


    He backed up against the damp wall of the tunnel so he could see both ways down it, even as he tucked the wizard light back into its pouch so it wouldn¡¯t give him away. The only problem with that was it left him almost blind.


    Closing eyes at least let him sharpen his listening, but that did him no good. The first he knew he¡¯d been outmaneuvered was when two sharp blades dug gently into his sides.


    ¡°Move and you die, ¡°a voice rasped from before him as his own blades were removed from their sheaths with silent efficiency.


    ¡°I don¡¯t suppose I can bargain?¡± Grunwol asked quietly.


    The voice that answered was laced with scorn. ¡°What could you possibly offer us?¡±


    ¡°A debt?¡± Grunwol suggested, carefully opening his eyes.


    To his surprise, he wasn¡¯t facing an elf, shadowy or otherwise, but something else. The creature crouched before him was only slightly shorter than his own near-seven-feet of height and outweighed him at least two to one.


    The peoples of the north knew them as garitzik, but here they were known only as gargoyles. Bat eared, canine snouted, and bedecked with stony wings that arced from its shoulders to its knees, the gargoyle scented him.


    ¡°Northlander?¡± it rasped, crinkling its nose, ¡°you are far from the plains and mountains of ice.¡±


    ¡°I am,¡± Grunwol agreed, not flinching when the creature leaned into him and sniffed again.


    ¡°What was your totem?¡±


    Was¡­ The question brought an unexpected twist of pain.


    ¡°I have no totem, now.¡±


    It gave a derisive snort in response.


    ¡°This I know,¡± the garitzik replied. ¡°I asked not what it is, but what it was.¡±


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    ¡°Wolf,¡± Grunwol replied, steeling himself for the inevitable follow-up.


    The gargoyle didn¡¯t let him down.


    ¡°And where is your mate?¡±


    Long-buried grief ripped through him, and Grunwol bowed his head, closing his eyes so the monster before him didn¡¯t see his pain. Clenching his teeth, Grunwol choked down a second surge of loss, still fresh a decade after the event. When he replied his voice was rough with suppressed emotion.


    ¡°Gone ahead,¡± he responded, his voice cracking despite his best efforts. ¡°Gone¡­alone.¡±


    The very answer made him want to howl, but for that he would need to be a wolf, and the shift was forbidden¡­and unwanted. He repressed a sob and hoped the gargoyle would leave the subject alone. Surprisingly, it did.


    ¡°The debt you offer,¡± the creature said. ¡°Which is it?¡±


    ¡°Blood and iron,¡± Grunwol replied. It was all he had left.


    Shadow moved beside his head, and warm breath whispered through the garitzik¡¯s aura of cold.


    ¡°You will come when we call, Northman. Wherever you are. Whatever you are doing.¡±


    ¡°The debt cannot be sealed without your true names and your blood,¡± Grunwol replied.


    The garitzik reached forward, extending an ivory claw. Before it could touch him, footsteps sounded in the passage he¡¯d been following, footsteps coming from where his prey had gone.


    ¡°Come with us,¡± the warm shadow said, and pulled him back through the wall, through air where there should have been stones.


    The gargoyle followed.


    Grunwol¡¯s startled shout was cut short as the mist that bordered all such gates boiled down to close it behind them. This time, when the gargoyle¡¯s ivory claw came toward him, there was nothing to interrupt its strike.


    ¡°Your heart shall know our names,¡± it rasped, opening a deep tear in the muscle and skin above that organ. ¡°It will answer when we call, and direct you where to go.¡±


    Grunwol heard its words through a wave of pain as the garitzik¡¯s claw scraped over bone. His left shoulder and arm went numb and he struggled to stay upright with no wall to support him. His eyes widened as the garitzik withdrew its talon and licked the blood from its surface.


    ¡°I can find you wherever you might seek to hide,¡± it assured him. ¡°Your blood speaks to me.¡±


    Grunwol made a note to kill it as soon as he was able, watching as it opened a vein in its own wrist and pressed the wound to the gash it had created in Grunwol¡¯s chest.


    ¡°Your blood speaks to mine, revealing truths that might otherwise remain hidden. My blood knows your true name and your loss.¡±


    Grunwol choked back a cry as the gargoyle¡¯s blood burned its way into him. If one of the shadow fey hadn¡¯t reached out to steady him, he would have fallen. Another of the shadow fey moved to stand beside the gargoyle and extended its wrist.


    The creature took its forearm away from Grunwol¡¯s chest, and sliced open the fey¡¯s vein with a careful flick of its claw. The fey bowed his head in thanks and crossed to place his wrist against Grunwol¡¯s wound. Again, the gargoyle licked its claw clean.


    Catching Grunwol¡¯s eye, it intoned, ¡°I am the keeper of the debt¡­¡±


    The Northman felt the shadow fey¡¯s blood work its way to his heart and wrap itself around it.


    ¡°Our blood converses in shadow and the gray light at the edge of the day, ¡°the fey told him. ¡°I can find you between worlds and in the twilight.¡±


    He lifted Grunwol¡¯s left arm and nicked the vein at the wrist. Lifting it to his lips, he took a sip.


    ¡°Your blood speaks with me,¡± he continued, a moment later, ¡°but it keeps your secrets. We are tied. You know my true name as I now know yours. You will come to me, when I need you most. Your blood will bring you.¡±


    Grunwol didn¡¯t like the sound of that, but had no choice but to accept it.


    His blood would take him when the fey needed him most? He really didn¡¯t like the sound of that. The elf stepped away and out of sight. Moments later, Grunwol felt himself being transferred from one fey to the other, and a female shadow elf stepped into view.


    She inclined her head toward him, before offering her wrist to the garitzik¡¯s claw. Once again, blood was spilled by, and cleaned from its gleaming ivory tip, binding its donor to the oath keeper.


    Grunwol fought down a wave of nausea, and a second wave of dizziness, fighting to remain conscious. Who knew where he¡¯d end up if he didn¡¯t?


    His left arm felt like lead, and his chest like it was alight.


    When the elf pressed her wrist against his flesh, he barely held back another cry.


    The gargoyle¡¯s blood had burned like fire, and the first fey¡¯s blood had infiltrated his heart like mist¡­but this fey¡¯s blood was honey and the far north wind. It drove itself through his heart like a stake and then wormed its way through the rest of him.


    I am lost, Grunwol thought, as the second fey began to speak. There is no more hope for me.


    ¡°My blood stakes its claim,¡± she stated, ¡°the claim of all my people. If one should need you, you will come. My blood will lead the way.¡±


    She raised his wrist, and Grunwol realized he was still bleeding, a trail of red flowing over his palm and dividing into individual rivulets, one for each of his fingers. The fey woman raised his wrist to her lips and drank more deeply than her predecessor.


    Grunwol¡¯s head spun, and he groaned as she lifted her lips away.


    ¡°Your blood hides your heart and deepest thoughts,¡± she assured him. ¡°You know my true name and I know yours. Your blood demands an oath from me and I have given it.¡±


    This last seemed to surprise her as much as it surprised him, but she didn¡¯t explain, merely took a silken kerchief from her pocket and bound his wrist before using the ties on his shirt to hold the damaged limb across his chest.


    ¡°Where do you need to go?¡± she asked.


    Knowing Raomar was long gone, Grunwol named the one person who could help him.