Death's Reckoning (29 page)

One spearman stood his ground, perhaps feeling the fight was slipping away from them, and they needed to stop the momentum Thruck had gained. He stabbed with his spear, but Thruck swept it aside with axe with ease. The human’s weapon looked like a toy compared to the lumbering beast.

A spear came out of nowhere from behind and planted itself into Thruck’s calf. The crowd reacted, and the monster bellowed in pain. The spearmen who’d stabbed him refused to back off, thinking to push his advantage. Thruck turned, and the spear tore deeper in to the muscle. But he slammed his knee down on the weapon, snapping it in half. It was a brutal move no one would have expected. No human would have done that, and Thruck continued his attack. He swept his axe out and struck his foe in the shoulder, ripping through armor and leather straps, and cutting into flesh. The man tumbled and fell.

Thruck limped as he set his feet again but shook off the spear as if it were no more an annoyance than an insect bite. The other spearmen stayed aggressive, stabbing forward at Thruck’s head and torso. Thruck was nimble enough to duck his head, weave to the side, or knock it away with his axe.

Jerrod thought it impressive the way he used the weapon. It was obvious the ogre had gotten professional training somewhere. Animals didn’t fight this way on their own.

The swordsman Thruck had kicked was recovered enough to fight and made a stupid move to dive at his legs, perhaps thinking to take advantage of the ogre’s injury. But the ogre was too fast. He sensed him coming stabbed with the tip of his axe, catching the man in the side, even as he rolled away from the blow. He bent in half. Blood gushed from the wound, spewing all over the floor, a mortal wound.

Now two men faced the ogre. One had a busted arm, limp by his side, and his sword broken. He shared a look with the active and did something he should have done the second the match began and took a knee, signaling surrender.

The crowd booed, but Jerrod smirked as this left the lone spearman in an awkward position. The rules stated a participant could not concede unless he had already suffered an injury, serious or otherwise, but blood had to be spilled. The first man had a torn shoulder, and that was his out. This man had no injury. So he did what he had to in order to live and stabbed himself in the leg with his spear. Then he dropped to his knees and surrendered.

The fight was finished. The crowd roared its disapproval and tossed debris on the arena floor. Thruck growled back at them, but the battle lust drained from his form, and he stalked back up the ramp to the backstage area.

Jerrod scoffed. Fucking swine. Thruck remained undefeated.

Chapter Seventeen

Soft music played. It was always enjoyable when a minstrel arrived to entertain the ladies, and this particular instance included a lovely young woman who sang beautiful songs in dulcet tones.

Jon enjoyed it a great deal. It made him feel more at home. His older brother played the violin until all hours of the night amidst their parents’ protests. Their father didn’t care for music. He was busy working, always working, and their mother lacked the willpower to change his brother’s habits. After a while it didn’t matter as his brother became quite skilled, and they didn’t mind the music. In a few short years, Jon looked forward to hearing the soft melodies his brother created.

This duo was good. The singer was wonderful to look at and listen to, and the minstrel played a variety of instruments, including the violin and mandolin. But the woman’s voice went better with the former, and the crowd of girls of Madam Dreary’s asked for similar songs with the violin involved. They were happy to perform.

The girl wore a red silk dress. Madam Dreary gave it to her as part of payment for performing, and it matched her figure and blonde hair very well. Her eyes made contact with Jon’s several times over the course of the evening, and an arousal not known for some time sprung up.

Whether or not the attraction was genuine or faked for the benefit of performance didn’t matter. The battered man let his mind drift away from the thoughts of mutilation and death that had so plagued him in the last few weeks. The image of Jerrod standing above him, hammering away at his face and torso, was stark, and Jon felt the stink of death all around as the city was struck with battle and strife.

It was better to lose himself within this girl’s eyes and the music. After several songs they took a break, and the young girl, Gabrielle was her name, sat next to Jon. They spoke together. It must have been arranged by Madam Dreary.

“Something on your mind, Jon?”

“Oh, sorry. Well, yes, there is. But it would be rude to speak of it.”

She smiled. “Tell me, how long have you lived in Sea Haven? I find it a very interesting city. Its reputation is well earned.”

“For certain.” Jon thought of how his opinions had changed about Murder Haven. “But I don’t live here. I’m working. I don’t wish to speak of it. It isn’t important. How long have you been singing? Your voice is wonderful.”

“Ah, thank you, Jon. That is very nice of you to say.” Gabrielle giggled, and it was the sweetest thing, but all Jon saw was her death mask. This girl would die someday, soon if she spent much of her time in Murder Haven. It was inevitable. Old or young it didn’t matter.

They were all food for worms.

They spoke to one another for a while. Their conversation stayed as pleasant as possible, considering his mood, and the topics light. The weather had been getting warmer; she was accustomed to much colder climates being from the north as she was. His mind drifted, and his head buzzed though he had not imbibed any alcohol in some time. Gabrielle’s company was no longer pleasurable, for he would drag her down with him, this young, beautiful girl who meant no harm. Her life would end with his because of him.

“I’m sorry, Gabrielle, but I’m afraid I can’t speak with you any longer. There’s something….”

She was about to speak, but someone stepped up to them, and his presence was not to be denied. Jon and Gabrielle looked up.

“Ah, forgive me, you two young people, I have not introduced myself. How rude. Madam Dreary has been kind enough to allow me to spend time in this wonderful establishment. I am Malthus Benaire, and I am at your disposal.”

The man wore a long cape and large wide brimmed hat, and when he made a formal bow, Jon blinked. He felt Gabrielle tense up and catch her breath. His heart went out to her. This was his time, his destiny, not hers. When Malthus Benaire seated himself at the table next to them, Jon gritted his teeth and eyed him.

“You didn’t come here for her. It’s me you want. Let her out of it.”

Malthus looked at him, amusement underneath the deep, dark layers of death and deceit. He made a motion with his gloved hand, and the girl stood. Like a golem she walked away, stiff and unwell. Jon made sure she had gotten away before turning to Malthus. The world dimmed.

“I know you,” Jon said.

“I know
you
, Jon,” Malthus Benaire said and smiled. “I knew I would find you. You knew I was coming. How wonderful. I have felt your pain, delicious, dreadful pain. Tell me, did you know you would find your doom when you first came to this city?”

Jon felt hot tears streak his cheeks as a sob struck his body. “I knew. I felt you, felt death stalking me. I tried to fight it, tried to find… find….”

Malthus nodded. “Find those that would help you. But you found more death. It is all around us. I am drawn to it, for it is my mission to investigate its every facet, like a fine jewel is examined by an expert. You are unique, Jon, and have a gift. This makes your doom even more delicious.”

Jon took a big gulp of air and tried to steady his mind, to continue to fight, but it was hopeless. Malthus put a gloved hand on his arm, and his blood chilled in his veins.

“What an innocent mind you have, Jon. I knew you were special. Brave, intelligent, faithful… lost. It is this combination that makes you so desirable to me. No, no, no more tears. Death comes for us all, be emboldened by the fact your end provides for the betterment of all mankind. My work is so very important.”

Jon stuttered. His mind burned. “But how? Why… why did you do this?”

Malthus smiled. “You have a gift, Jon. A gift of extrasensory perception. You’ve denied it all your life, but I have come to you. Along with your current predicament, your grave plight, the feelings of death that haunt you… ah, this is a beacon to me.”

Jon tried to stand, but the world went dark.

* * * * *

The bandage felt tight around his head, but there was nothing for it. His knee hurt as well. And his back. The brief struggle was over so fast, it seemed impossible to suffer so many injuries. Muldor was glad to still be alive, such as it was.

Becket handed him a mug of some hard liquor, and the Guild Master thanked him, a genuine feeling of gratitude in his heart.

“How is Anders?”

Becket shrugged. “He might live. That other fellow… sorry, Muldor. I should have found you sooner. But we didn’t know how far all this went.”

“We?”

Becket sat down behind his desk and nodded, seeming tense. Muldor didn’t blame him. Whatever happened they were both liable, with their necks hanging out for the gallows.

“Lawson told me they were going to make a move for you. Dollenger, Maggur, they want you out. And it goes deeper than that. The city council is involved.”

“Yes, I know. Lord Cassius wants a lord regent to return, and the king refuses to send a replacement so long as The Guild controls so much. They want a restructuring, and this will end us.”

“No, it isn’t Cassius. We don’t know where he stands. Yes, he wants a regent, but Raul Parkins is the one after you, Muldor.”

Muldor started. “Raul? What does the City Watch have to do with this? Why would he want my head?”

“He’s angry, Muldor, upset that you wouldn’t back him and the Watch when they needed funding. He said you stiffed him, so when the time came for a scapegoat, he dropped your name, and other people went for it.”

“What other people?”

Becket squirmed. “Enough people. Look, Muldor, I don’t know all the details. Your own people should have known more. They must have been shut out of the information for this purpose.”

“Then I can trust no one,” Muldor said and sat back. He felt sobered, even though he was in pain at the news of this betrayal.

“Maybe, maybe not. No one did it on purpose. They didn’t know. Look, Lawson is with us. So is Crocker.”

Muldor sat up. “Crocker?” It was unbelievable.

“Yes, I know. But he trusts you. He says you do a great job running the docks and doesn’t want any more change. So it comes down to us against Dollenger and Maggur. I think we can break them, but I don’t buy into Lawson’s idea.”

“And what is his plan?”

Becket took a deep breath before answering. “He wants a war. He’s got a solid group of thugs, men that used to be in the brute squad way back when. I think it’s a bad idea.”

Muldor pursed his lips. His head still hurt, but the ideas were trickling in. He was alive. That counted for counted for everything.

“I agree with you, Master Becket. The time for physical fighting is over, for this city has seen too much of violence. But we have to stop them. They will destroy our beloved Guild.”

“What did you have in mind?”

They talked about it and came to the conclusion they needed to place blame on someone specific. The Dock Masters were the only target Muldor or Becket even considered. Castellan was in jail, Muldor knew a lot of the blame lay in himself, but he rationalized the decision to harm someone else with the knowledge The Guild needed him, and so they set out how to use what knowledge they had and put the responsibility of the current state of the city on someone else.

“Four necks for the gallows,” Becket said. “Two Dock Masters, Cutter, and Raul.”

Muldor considered. He felt exhausted, but they had to figure out what to do, or the rest would remain elusive.

“And how is the City Watch complicit? I don’t see it.”

“Well, they knew about the smuggling. They knew about what was being stolen from Janisberg. Raul’s own people helped load up supplies and ship them out through the eastern gates.”

“But so did our people under Jerrod’s direction.”

“And we place the blame for the dock workers on Maggur and Dollenger. It’s simple. We have the proof.”

“You mean in the billing labels,” Muldor said. “Of course! I thought of the same solution, but I have a feeling they have been moved or destroyed. That was Cutter’s role in this.”

“Old bastard,” Becket said. “He wouldn’t destroy them, though. He keeps everything and should swing with them.”

“I don’t disagree with you on that. But I believe it would be better to enlist him. We need what he possesses. Cutter would go to the grave just to spite us. We need him.”

“Fine, we offer him whatever he wants and then take what we have to the city council and give them an ultimatum: join with us or another war rips the city apart. We have the workers on our side. They’ll follow you no matter what. We have Lawson’s men, some thieves, we can do some damage. More than they are willing to pay I’ll wager.”

It was a sound plan. But one very important part was missing.

“How do we convince Cutter to go along?” Becket said.

“I think I have an idea. We threaten to take away the only thing that matters to him.”

They spoke for a few minutes longer. Their course was set. Muldor got a little more rest, still feeling guilty about Anders’ condition. The young man was going to die by all accounts, and Muldor tried to steel himself for the finish. The plan had to work or more strife would envelope the city, perhaps worse than before.

Muldor wore his disguise again, and by his suggestion so did Becket. They set word for Lawson to meet them at Cutter’s warehouse in the thieves’ section of town, but that might’ve been too risky. They might be walking into a trap. Muldor’s paranoia screamed at him. Also, coming on too strong might’ve been the wrong way to go about convincing Cutter to side with them. Muldor didn’t want to make the same mistakes his predecessor made. He wondered how Castellan would go about handling this situation.

But they decided in the end, they needed Lawson’s presence. The young man was intense and powerful when he spoke, so they walked through the streets that night with confidence, near the end of the day when Cutter would be finishing up his work. Fewer people would be about.

Muldor had met with Styles earlier in the day. The young runner was very tentative about meeting with him, but Muldor consoled him because he knew someone else betrayed him. Styles apologized for what happened, but the Guild Master said not to worry. He could pay him back with a special favor.

The favor involved lantern fuel, torches, and several volunteers. Styles went to it with gusto.

Cutter was where he always was. In fact, every single time Muldor had ever spoken with him, the old man sat in the middle of all the clutter of the thieves’ escapades. The mammoth stash of stolen goods he catalogued and cherished. It was understood that the stockpile was off limits to everyone, even The Guild.

It represented a life’s work, to be doled out when he saw fit, a culmination of everything Cutter had ever worked for. The Thieves Guild was scattered, but Cutter remained, a permanent fixture in this den of wares, ill-gotten though they were.

The old curmudgeon looked up from his desk. A look of annoyance marred his wrinkled features. Then he looked surprised when he watched Muldor, Becket, and Lawson step up towards him. Lawson all but ran towards his desk, and Muldor had to hold up a hand to stop the man from pummeling Cutter.

“Another dog off his leash I see,” Cutter said. “You would do well to control your emotions, Master Lawson. The gallows are about to see some action very soon.”