Free the Darkness (King's Dark Tidings Book 1) (42 page)

“It’s not like she can stay your girlfriend forever, Rez,”
Tam huffed in exasperation. “Eventually, you will either have to marry her or
move on. If you don’t marry her, she needs to find someone else to marry. She
can’t just keep being your girlfriend.”

Rezkin furrowed his brow. He had not been aware of this
stipulation to the position of
Girl Friend
. The hierarchy was more
complicated that he initially thought. He attempted to liken it to some other
type of relationship hierarchy that he
did
understand.

“What, it is like a promotion?” Rezkin queried in confusion.

Tam laughed, “If you want to look at it that way.”

If Frisha were a career officer in the military, she would
be expected to work hard and receive promotions. If she were passed over for
promotion too many times, she would be dismissed from service. It sounded like
Tam was saying that Frisha’s responsibility as his
Girl
Friend
was to eventually enter into a marriage contract with him. If she failed to
meet his standards for such a contract, she would lose her position.

Would whoever was in charge of his
friends
replace
Frisha with a different superior female
friend
until he finally chose
one? Rezkin did not want a replacement
Girl Friend
. He understood
Frisha’s strengths and weaknesses and knew that she would not panic in
dangerous situations. In addition, he was surprised to admit, he trusted her
not to stab him in his sleep. These seemed like good qualities to have in a
wife, and there was no guarantee that a replacement
Girl Friend
would
possess them.

Still, Rezkin was not ready to enter into a marriage
contract. He had just left his training and had no need or desire for heirs at
this time. Striker Farson was still out there somewhere, and Rezkin had a
rising desire to solve the mystery that was his life. There was also the fact
that husbands had certain responsibilities to their wives, or so he understood
from his studies. He would be expected to provide Frisha and his heirs with a
home in which he spent most of his time, and he would need a socially
respectable position to provide a regular income. He doubted being a criminal
overlord counted as such.

“I am not ready to enter into a marriage contract, Tam, and
I cannot provide for a wife and offspring in the obligatory way,” Rezkin
replied.

Tam sighed, “But, if you don’t, then General Marcum and Lady
Adelina will marry her to someone else. Do you want to lose her? If you aren’t
ready to get married, then why not enter into one of those prime courtships
instead?”

Rezkin furrowed his brow in irritation. Why did all of this
have to come up so quickly? Was it part of his purpose that he finish his
training and immediately enter into a marriage contract? What was the point of
all of his training? Still, he did not want Frisha to be replaced with a
stranger.

“I will consider it,” Rezkin replied.

Tam smiled broadly and slapped Rez on the back. Rezkin
noticed that he did not tense up as much as he usually did when someone made
physical contact and reminded himself not to let his guard down per
Rule 24
.

“It’ll be great!” Tam exclaimed. “We’d almost be like
brothers.” Tam rubbed at his brow and laughed, “If I was actually related to
Frisha, I mean.”

That night, after everyone else was abed, Rezkin slipped
into the night wearing his dark clothing, black armor and deep cowl. The
criminal element in the city of Kaibain was strong, highly influential, and
ruthless. Far more dangers resided in this city than just a few simple thieves’
guilds, and Rezkin intended to add as many of them as possible to his
repertoire of resources.

First, he had to meet up with the personnel he sent
separately from his own traveling party. They were supposed to have left
Justain the day after he and his companions departed. The thieves would have
encountered the riverboat returning to Justain with the bandit captives and
learned of the change in plans. From there, the Diamond Claw members should
have continued to Drennil to complete the task he had set for them. After
Drennil, they would have continued on to Kaibain. A few experienced thieves
would have had a relatively easy time of the rough travel and should have made
it to Kaibain ahead of him. Of course, that was assuming everything went to
plan, which rarely was reality.

The young warrior traveled the dark streets of the city with
efficiency using the map he held in his mind. On occasion during his training,
Rezkin had wondered why he was required to memorize so many maps and floor
plans when he was never permitted to leave the immediate area of the fortress.
At times he had been sent on longer treks into the forests and mountains of the
north, but never had he ventured into civilization, so the knowledge seemed
frivolous at best. Now that he knew he had a purpose and that purpose was to be
undertaken in the outworld, the Masters’ insistence on the memorization made
more sense.

When he was half way to the safe house for the Kaibainian
branch of the Diamond Claw Guild where he would meet his contacts, Rezkin
decided to change directions. He had made an instantaneous decision to
completely overhaul his plans, having realized that he would need the element
of surprise to carry out his ambitions. Once he met with his people, news would
spread, and the element would be lost. His masters’ and the strikers had always
been pleased with his ability to think quickly and change tactics in an
instant. Rezkin had learned to follow his instincts, and they had saved him
innumerable times. This was one of those times when he just knew he had to
adjust his strategy.

Rezkin did not know where his destination was located so he
needed to find a guide. It would be a tossup whether he ended up with the Razor
Edges or the Crimson Blades, the city’s two other thieves’ guilds. While the
Diamond Claws had branches in Justain and Kaibain, the Razor Edges could be
found in Kaibain and Port Manai. The Crimson Blades were purely local, though,
having been unable to gain a foothold in the other cities. Because the King’s
Seat had their full attention, their influence within the city was slightly
stronger than the other guilds.

By now, news had spread to most of Ashai about the takeover
of the thieves’ guilds in Justain. The mage relay would see to that. Guards and
security officials had been notified of a major movement in the criminal
element of one of the country’s capital cities. He doubted anyone took the
threat of the disturbance spilling into the Seat of the King seriously, though.
No one had that kind of influence, surely. Rezkin needed to take advantage of
their apathy and misplaced sense of security. No one would be expecting him to
be here already, if at all.

After dancing across several rooftops and scanning dark
alleys near the rowdy taverns and brothels, Rezkin finally found a promising
lead. A young man had just stabbed an older man in the gut and grabbed the
man’s coin purse. The young man darted away quickly before anyone noticed, not
that help was likely to come anytime soon or that it would do any good. The
older man had already expired on the ground in a pool of blood. The knife must
have struck something vital, or perhaps the man’s heart simply gave out.

Rezkin took off in silent, secret pursuit of the young
slayer. Eventually, the young man ducked into an abandoned shop that looked to
have once held a chandler’s workshop, if the globs of wax in the sills and
across the exposed floor were any indication. Unconvinced that this was the
location of the guild house, Rezkin waited. A couple of jittery young men
entered the building a brief time later but were shoved back out with a shout
from the building’s other occupants. After about an hour, the young killer
finally emerged looking alert and excited. Dark lines crawled up the back of
his neck – lines that had not been there during Rezkin’s pursuit. An
inker
.

The young warrior mentally shook his head in disdain. No
respectable guild would allow its members to
ink
. He was about to give
up pursuit of the drug addict and find an
actual
guild member when the
young man joined with a small group of equally seedy men.

The largest of the men wore clothes that were a bit too
small, his trousers and tunic sleeves riding too high on his legs and arms. The
guild tattoo on his inner forearm was unmistakable. Two serrated daggers stood
in the shape of a
V
, the pommels nearly touching at the bottom with the
blades facing outward. It was the symbol of the Razor Edges.

Finally, he was getting somewhere. Rezkin hoped the man
intended to return to the guild house tonight. He did not have much time to get
everything done before he needed to leave for the tournament. The tournament
was still his best chance at finding out about the strikers – at finding
Farson.

The men laughed and tossed a small jug around, sharing its
contents that Rezkin surmised were most likely of an intoxicating nature. It
was a wonder the Razor Edges were successful at all if their members were all
drunkards and
inkers
. Perhaps these were the worst of the lot, or maybe
the branch in Port Manai was more proficient. Eventually, an older woman
dressed much like the women near the brothel approached the group. She scolded
them, and the men ducked their heads in submission. Some of them looked
chagrined, others were angry, but no one protested the dressing down. Finally,
the group dispersed.

Rezkin followed the tall man and his two companions. They
turned a corner and descended a set of stone steps leading to the basement
level of a slaughterhouse. The warrior nearly cringed in spite of himself.
Who
would want to live or work beneath a slaughterhouse
? The smell alone would
be enough to drive one away, not to mention all the fluids and other gore that
would drain down into the lower level.

In only moments, the men reemerged, one carrying a heavier
purse, and Rezkin was relieved. He had no desire to infiltrate the location,
and not just because it was a slaughterhouse. The basement likely had only one
entrance, and the enclosed space would make it dangerous to penetrate and
escape if necessary.

Rezkin followed the men in a winding route, passing through
the working district and then the merchant district. Eventually, they entered
the back courtyard of a moderate but well-appointed estate house not unlike the
general’s home. As the young men entered, a couple of others were leaving. One
raised his hand in greeting, and his sleeve fell back to expose the guild
tattoo.
Interesting
. It seemed this guildmaster lived lavishly and liked
his luxuries. Unfortunately, Rezkin had no information on the current Razor
Edge Guildmaster. The last information he received about two months ago had
indicated unrest within the guild. The former guildmaster had been killed, and
at the time, no one had been able to hold on to the position.

The young warrior wondered who lived here and if the current
resident was the rightful owner. It was not uncommon for criminals to set up
shop in an empty home while the owners were away. Perhaps they had even killed
the owner and anyone had yet to discover the treachery. It was even a
possibility that some minor lord or merchant had decided to extend his
influence with the darker side of society, not unlike the disgraced
Lord
Urek.

Rezkin could learn only so much from sitting outside in the
shadows. He also tired of the inaction. The young warrior dropped from his
perch on the low branch of a tree, silently landing within the estate
courtyard. He slipped through the shadows to one side of the building that was
lacking in doors but had plenty of windows, which were just as good. Actually,
Rezkin preferred windows. People did not expect anyone to enter through
windows, and they were often located in secluded places rather than along
corridors that others used for passage. He wondered how people could feel
secure at all when their sanctuary was riddled with such vulnerable weaknesses.

The intruder casually pulled himself through one such
weakness on the first floor. He was a little surprised to encounter a minor
ward, probably one intended to discourage entry and alert the homeowner of an
intruder. Rezkin was unconcerned. This ward was a negligible annoyance compared
to the plethora of wards he had encountered in the bank.

The room was dark and devoid of people. Although it had been
dark outside, he still waited a moment to allow his eyes to adjust to the
deeper blackness. The room appeared to be a kind of catchall workroom with
equipment ranging from washboards and basins to files, grinding stones, and
whetstones to broken cart axles. The intruder made his way to the door, careful
not to upset any of the equipment. From the outside, this side of the house appeared
to be quiet and unoccupied, and it seemed his evaluation was correct. The
corridor was unlit and empty.

As Rezkin slinked down the hall, he felt the tingle of mage
power slide over his skin from somewhere above. He realized that something of
interest must lay up there if someone went to the trouble and expense to have
it warded. For him to feel the ward down here meant it was poorly shaped and
unfocused. Still, any ward was costly, even a poor one.

The silent intruder came to the stairs, but rather than
following them all the way up where he might be spotted, he launched himself
onto the banister with silent grace and then leapt up to grasp the balcony
railing. His toes touched the second floor without a sound, and he crouched low
in case anyone had detected his movement. Just as he was about to stand, a door
opened below and a man’s voice echoed through the stairwell.

“Yes, Guildmaster, but you know people are talking. It’s bad
for morale. Half the men want to give in already, and the other half want to
kill the first half,” the voice argued.

“I don’t care,” replied a woman. “We have no reason to
believe The Raven will come here. For all we know, this is a scheme cooked up
by the authorities to throw us off. They’re probably hoping we’ll give ourselves
away in a panic.” Rezkin could not see the two since they were below him, but
the woman sounded mature and confident.

“But, if he
does
come here demanding our loyalty,
what do we do?” the man asked in frustration. Rezkin wanted to know the answer
to that question as well. Then, more quietly he added, “They’re saying he’s not
human
.”

Silence ensued for a moment, and he assumed the woman was
contemplating the answer. Finally, she said, “From what we’ve heard, he only
kills people who oppose him. So, if he comes, then we just go along with it.
We’ll let him think we’re on board, and when he lets down his guard, we take
him out. He’s only one man.”

Fortune favors the bold
, Rezkin thought to himself. It
was by pure luck he had been present at this precise time and location to
overhear their plans. Of course, he would have suspected such deceit anyway,
but this way he knew for certain. The man changed the subject, and by the sound
of their voices, he knew they were walking toward the stairs. The intruder
quickly padded down the walkway until he felt the tingle of the mage ward he
had encountered earlier. He pressed past it with a focused
will
and
tested the latch on the door the ward was intended to secure. The door was
unlocked. Rezkin would never understand why people put such faith in mage
wards.

The warded room was an office. It contained a plush chaise,
a few lounge chairs and a large desk. Several shelves lined the walls upon
which sat record books, stacks of correspondence, and loose parchments. The
hearth crackled with flame in the heat of the summer, making the air too warm
and stifling. A box of incense placed near the fire suffused the room with a
spicy aroma.

The intruder quickly crossed to the side table and poured
himself a beverage. It smelled strongly of spirits, but he had no intention of
actually drinking it. He took a seat at the desk and shuffled through a few
papers noting anything of importance. Then leaned back, propping his legs up as
Urek had done. Rezkin wanted to appear confident and unconcerned, and these
thieves seemed to appreciate overly dramatic gestures. He held the drink
casually but made sure his cowl hid his features. He did not want these people
to recognize him when he went about town with Frisha and Tam.

The door opened and in strode a man and a woman deep in
conversation. The man closed the door behind them. He was tall and broad of
shoulder, his face and hair clean and his clothes cut in the style of a servant
of high station. The woman was in her early thirties and was dressed in a fine
silk and velvet gown in a mustardy gold color. Layers of petticoats pushed the
lower part of the gown out to completely fill the doorway as she entered. The
bodice was cut low enough to show ample cleavage, and she had wrapped about her
arms a burgundy shawl of crushed velvet. Her shimmering golden locks were piled
atop her head in mounds of curls, and glittering jewels dangled from her ears.
She might have passed for a lady if she did not appear to be trying so hard.