Free the Darkness (King's Dark Tidings Book 1) (16 page)

“For all we know this could be a bloody takeover by the
Serpents!” said an exasperated Blondie.

Rezkin cocked his head and said, “I assure you, I am not a
member of the Serpent Guild…or the Wolf Pack…or the Diggers, Blood Hawks,
Crimson Blades, Razor Edges or any other guild in any city.” Only three guilds
actually operated in Justain, but anyone who was anybody would know the names
of the others. Like the Diamond Claws, they were the powerful
patron
guilds that operated in the other capital cities to which all smaller guilds in
the other cities and towns had to pay tribute in order to continue operating
– and breathing. “None of that matters, however, because in the next
thirty seconds, everyone who is not on that side of the room is going to die.
It will be very disappointing to have to kill all of my personnel at the start,
but we do what we must,” he said nonchalantly.

A couple of the younger men and an older merc moved to the
side of the room where stood Attica and Rom. “Even if you
could
kill us
all, you wouldn’t. What good would it do you? You wouldn’t have a guild left,”
Blondie protested.

Rezkin nodded and with an empty, icy stare replied, “That is
true, but the news would spread and the next guildmaster I approach will be
more likely to accept my proposal. Now, your time is up.” Just as he said this,
another man scurried over to join Rezkin’s supporters. “It seems the count is
now six of mine against…five of yours.”

Blondie and his cohorts glanced around and noticed their
numbers had dwindled far more than the few who had defected to Rezkin’s side.
Several men and women realized the imminence of additional bloodshed and
escaped out the back. Rezkin caught the eyes of his followers. “Kill them,” he
ordered with a nod.

A moment of stunned confusion fell over his followers as
their eyes went wide in surprise, but it was too late. The order had been
given, and Blondie and his comrades reacted instantly. Rezkin stood in place as
the two sides collided. Fists smacked against flesh, daggers slashed and
plunged as they slid through meat and collided with bone, and bones cracked and
broke as men called out in clipped death wails.

Attica hung back behind the men gripping a small belt dagger
with white knuckles. No matter how hard she gripped the thing, the hilt felt
loose and slippery with sweat. One of Blondie’s followers ducked past Rom as
the bigger man’s fist collided with Blondie’s jaw. The grungy former merchant
guard stumbled toward her with a feral grin tainted by the stench of cheap
whiskey and rotting meat. The young woman backed up until her back hit the
wall. Her fear-addled brain remembered her dagger just as the foul man reached
for her. She lashed out and scored the man across the face, opening a deep gash
from cheek to mouth.

The man she knew as Yarl released an agonized howl that
quickly morphed into a bestial growl of anger. The drunken glint in the man’s
eyes was filled with pain and fury as he grasped her with two meaty fists
around her neck. Yarl squeezed her throat so tight she quickly felt as though
her face would pop from the pressure of the blood trapped within. Her lungs
began to burn with the need for air. The whole room was filled with bright
stars as an inky blackness closed in from the sides. In a final moment of
clarity, she thought to herself how stupid she must have been to drop her
dagger, and she beat futilely at thick, hairy arms.

Attica’s arms dropped limply to her sides and then she was
on the floor staring through a pink haze at a bloody corpse. Painfully gasping,
air that felt like fire and winter’s frost flooded her lungs. She coughed and
tried to swallow, but the muscles in her throat were not cooperating, and she
ended up gagging. As her vision cleared, she saw the corpse was Yarl. He was
lying on his side staring back lifelessly into her eyes. A silver throwing
dagger protruded from his neck, the image of a raven in flight etched along the
finished tang.

Her muscles felt like jelly, but she managed to push herself
to a seated position slumped against the wall. She looked around as she coughed
and gasped. Dead men lay everywhere like a macabre carpet of flesh, blood and
bone. Three still stood before her – her cohorts Rom, sixteen-year-old
Benni, and middle-aged former merc, Kendt. Attica’s neck muscles protested as
she forced her head to turn. There she spied the man who had caused all of this
bloodshed and had nearly gotten her killed. He still stood exactly as he had
before the bloody battle ensued. She could not help the anger that clawed at
her as the reality of her brush with death sunk in and tears began to flood her
eyes. All of this was
his
fault. Life was not easy before he arrived,
but it made sense. She knew her place and could depend on her day-to-day
survival unless she really screwed up.

With a start, Attica realized the mysterious stranger was
moving closer. He flowed like the crimson blood that spilled across the floor.
She began to wonder if her ears were damaged for she could hear no evidence of
the heavy boots that stopped in front of her. She looked up at him through wet
lashes, but he was not looking at her. His icy blue eyes were constantly
roaming and assessing the room and its occupants, both living and dead.

The young woman jerked back as the dreadful killer bent and
plucked the dagger from Yarl’s neck with a wet
s-s-schlick
. Attica’s
stomach heaved, but her throat was too swollen to allow anything through. The
young man – for she now took the moment to observe that he was, in fact,
very young – wiped the scarlet-stained silver blade on Yarl’s tunic and
then slid the raven-etched weapon up his sleeve. Attica was shocked by the
sudden revelation. It was the killer who had saved her life. He did not have to
do so. Two others who had stood for the invader were dead on the floor, and as
far as she could tell, he had not otherwise participated in the battle. She
wondered if maybe he had a soft spot for women. That notion was quickly put at
rest when she saw what he did next.

Rezkin slowly stalked around the room observing the carnage.
He bent and checked to see if a few of the men with more questionable injuries
were truly dead. He found one man who was unconscious but still alive and a
woman who was feigning death in an attempt to save herself. The young warrior
plunged a dagger into both their hearts with cold indifference. These people
were criminals, and they had stood against him. Others would learn that if they
wanted to live, they would heed his wishes. They would learn to fear him.
Compliance and respect by means of fear was not his preferred method of
leadership, but it was the reigning system of government among thieves,
assassins and other criminal elements. The deaths of half a dozen or enemies so
now would mean fewer enemies and fewer deaths later.

The final circuit of the room brought Rezkin to stand before
the large, bald man the others called Rom. Rom was still breathing heavily and
clutching at a large gash that ran from his bicep to mid-forearm. The big man,
who was actually about Rezkin’s height, ducked his head in subservience and
backed away. The body that lay at Rezkin’s feet was that of Blondie. Rezkin
noted the man was still breathing and appeared to be rousing into
consciousness.

The young man slapped Blondie’s face a few times and jerked
him by the tunic to a sitting position. The man’s eyelids fluttered open, and
it took a moment for his pupils to focus on the cold, blue eyes that stared
back at him. Rezkin could tell the moment realization struck the blonde man
that his people had lost and he was now at Rezkin’s mercy.

“Hold his arms,” Rezkin ordered. The middle-aged thief
scurried forward and gripped Blondie’s arms behind his back.

“No, wait!” Blondie plead as he pushed to his knees. “I-…I
can be of use to you! I have contacts, business deals…I can fight!”

“Not very well, it would seem,” Rezkin replied as he moved
to stand over the young woman who was still slumped against the wall. The woman
looked up at him with blood-shot green-brown hazel eyes. The young warrior held
out a hand to indicate she should rise. To his surprise, she reached out and
grasped the proffered hand and used him for support as she pulled herself to
her feet. She quickly pulled back as soon as she regained her balance.

“Your dagger,” the mysterious young man said. Attica was
confused at first and then realized what he was saying. She glanced around and
found her dagger lying on the ground not far from Yarl’s body. She bent and
retrieved the small weapon with barely a sway. The young woman moved to sheath
the dagger, but the stranger quickly gripped her wrist. He caught her surprised
eyes in his icy, cold stare and said, “Kill him.”

Attica’s mouth dropped. “What?” she croaked. At first she
could not tear her eyes from his. That icy blue was mesmerizing in a terrible,
awe-inspiring way. The man squeezed her wrist slightly and returned her
attention to his command. She glanced around and saw the three men standing not
far away. Kendt was holding Marson’s arms behind his back as the blonde man
knelt on the floor. “Y-you want
me
to kill Marson?” she squeaked. Attica
shook her head as furiously as she could with her injured neck and protested,
“I-I’m not a killer! I’m just a thief! I have other means of getting what I
want. I’ve never killed anyone!”

“This man led a resistance against me – against
you
.
One of his men left you with those bruises around your neck when he nearly
killed you.” Attica’s hand strayed to her sore neck as she thought about how
she must look. “Do not think for a moment that this man…Marson…would not have
done the same if he had been in the other’s place,” the frightening stranger
replied.

“Please…I don’t want to be a killer,” Attica pleaded.

“This is war, Attica. People die in war,” the new
guildmaster replied.

“But
this
,” she said as she waved a hand at the
restrained, kneeling man, “is not battle.
This
is an execution! He can’t
even fight back,” Attica replied, her throat constricting to clip her words at
the end.

“If he
could
fight back, you would die. You have no
fighting
Skills
, a condition that must be corrected if you are to work
for me. You are a thief. You work in a city where thieves who are caught are
strung up from the bridge or sent to the gallows. Rival guilds battle for
territory, and members of your own guild compete for position and will stop at
nothing if they believe you are in their way. Victims of thievery occasionally
fight back and are killed by accident or intentionally from the thief’s fear of
being caught. Death was inevitable in your line of work, Attica – yours
or someone else’s by your hand. It was just a matter of time. That time is now.
You will kill
him
or you will leave the guild,” Rezkin ordered as he
indicated the cowering man on the floor. Marson’s eyes darted back and forth
changing from fear as he looked at the new guildmaster to pleading as he looked
at her.

Attica knew the truth of the guildmaster’s words. She had
always known that eventually she would end up killing someone or she would die.
Everyone she knew who managed to survive long enough to bear children had
either directly or indirectly killed someone. Guildmembers liked to think they
were above the guttertrash that begged in the streets, but in reality they were
the worst of it. They were the ones who had become so desperate that they sold
their own souls in hopes of having something better. Attica would be nothing
without the guild. The guild was all she knew, and every other dream had died
away with each passing year of hardship and the knowledge that, with the black
guild tattoo that had been forced upon her, no one of worth would ever accept
her.

Starting with her hand, Attica’s whole body began to shake
as she took several steps toward her intended victim. She glanced up
questioningly at Rom with tearful eyes. The big man had been almost like a
surrogate father to her at times – as if she had any idea what a father
was. When she was younger and truly starving, he would sometimes give her food.
On cold nights, he occasionally allowed her to sleep on the floor near his
hearth. He did not provide for her all the time, for he said he did not want
her developing an attachment. He had no desire to be a father to some orphan
girl.

Attica had always scorned a man’s touch, so much that she
would not consider becoming a whore, but Rom had convinced Madame Terly to
teach her to seduce a man into lowering his guard long enough for her to lift
his purse. No one had ever confirmed her suspicions, but Attica believed the
reason most of the other guildmembers left her alone was because they feared
Rom’s wrath.

As Rom met her gaze now, though,
she saw none of that protectiveness. He looked resigned. After a brief moment,
the big man simply looked away without a word. Attica gripped her dagger
tighter and turned her attention back to the man kneeling at her feet. She
realized that he had been speaking, begging and pleading, but she had heard
none it. Attica felt like she was in a different room –
alone
–
looking in on this one through panes of glass. Even the sounds seemed to be
muffled. Then, in an instant, it was like there was a
pop
and everything
was clear and crisp again. The stench of body waste, blood and death filled the
air, her face was cold and damp with sweat, her chest and throat burned, and
Marson was blubbering at her feet.

“Please! You don’t have to do
this! I’ll serve you! I’ll be loyal, I swear it!” Marson howled.

The new guildmaster was suddenly
at her side, although she had not seen him move. “Here,” he indicated as he
pointed to a place at Marson’s neck.

Without giving herself a chance to
think about what she was doing, Attica plunged the dagger forward with perhaps
more force than was necessary. She pulled her hand back quickly, terrified of
what she had done. The dagger did not quite hit the spot the guildmaster had
indicated at the correct angle, and Marson yowled and struggled in Kendt’s
grip.