“One more drop,” he said to his distorted reflection upon the blade. “Every day it seems I say it: just one more drop…”
Was that how rivers began, with just one more drop? He didn’t know, but what he did know was that the memory of his parents was worth an ocean; sheathing the dagger on his belt, he flung open the door to his room and marched down the steps into the lower floor of his converted tavern. Sitting in chairs, standing at the bar, by the door, and leaning against the walls were the various mercenary captains. Victor knew them all well, had befriended many of them over the past few years. They’d formed the backbone of his forces required to cleanse the scourge of the underworld from Veldaren. But it’d all been a gamble relying on the king to help shoulder the load of paying them, and as the men had died and the grumbles began, that gamble had failed spectacularly.
“He emerges,” said Joras One-Eye, sitting at a table with a large glass in his left hand. A bit of foam from the beer within coated his short beard. “I hope you managed to find a few extra bags of gold underneath your bed while we waited.”
Victor walked over to him, and while the others watched, he stole Joras’s drink and finished it himself. Feeling the burn going down, he used it to give himself the extra push he needed.
“I see no reason for this farce,” he told them. “Time. That is all I ask for. How much coin have I already poured into your open hands? Surely you can trust me to wait a few weeks more…”
“Hard for a dead man to pay his debts,” Joras said. “And we all know that’s what you are: a dead man walking.”
“If you all did your damn jobs, the danger on my life would be irrelevant.” He glared at them, then set his glass back down on the table. “Nothing has changed. Come here and threaten as you wish, but it won’t get you your gold. If you want to disband and send your men home, then do it. If you won’t wait for your payment, then you won’t receive it. The truth is that simple.”
“Aye, that’s simple, all right,” said another of the captains, a hefty man with two axes strapped to his belt. “So how’s about we make it simple for you, Lord Kane? If we don’t get paid, me and my men go find our payment elsewhere. How about in your family lands? I think there’s a few extra silvers lost in those golden wheat fields of yours.”
“I hear women can go for a pretty handful of silvers in parts of the world, too,” a third captain piped up.
“Are you threatening me?” Victor asked.
“I think we are,” Joras said, standing. The others mumbled their agreement. “And I think you need to give us a better answer than the one we’ve had. All of us have bled and died for you, for this wretched city, and while you might be a weeping-heart fool, we aren’t doing it for the good of our souls.”
“Good of our pockets, maybe,” someone from the back chimed in.
Victor swallowed hard, and when Sef stepped inside, Victor nodded.
“So be it,” he said. “Give me but a moment, and I will see what I can do. Good men as you deserve payment for the work you’ve done.”
He walked to the door, patted Sef on the shoulder, and then together, they stepped outside.
Gathered in loose formation by the door were three hundred soldiers, the ones most loyal to Victor’s family. Victor knew he should feel pride at their supporting him, but those three hundred had also been paid. It seemed even the loyal must still be bought.
“Kill them all,” he said to Sef. With a quick set of hand motions, Sef sent in several squads of the three hundred. They stormed through the door of the tavern, and shouts of warning quickly sounded from within, followed by the clash of metal and cries of pain.
“Inform the other mercenaries they are to be dismissed,” Victor said to Sef. “Tell them they will be paid in time if they are patient, but the moment I hear what I consider dangerous talk, they will be executed on the spot.”
“They’re not going to be happy about their captains’ deaths,” Sef said. “They might seek vengeance.”
“Then they can get in line.”
As the sound of combat from inside began to die down, Victor turned away and walked down the street. Sef hurried to join him and he asked where he intended to go.
“Anywhere,” Victor said. “Anywhere but here. I need some fresh air. I need to remind myself why I even bother with this damn city.”
Sef hardly looked pleased, but he accepted the answer and walked alongside him. Victor’s first thought had been to go to the market, to buy himself a small trinket or perhaps something fine to eat in an attempt to cheer himself up. The coming days would be ugly, for once the various mercenary groups elected new captains and finished with their interpersonal bickering, they’d be back again to demand money … and he doubted those who did would come alone like their former captains had.
As they walked, Victor noticed how quiet the street seemed, how few people milled about. He felt his instincts begin to cry danger, but the moment the group of five stepped out from one of the alleys ahead, he knew it was too late.
“Victor…” Sef said beside him, reaching for his ax, but Victor grabbed his wrist so he would not ready it.
“Stay calm,” Victor said. He glanced over his shoulder, saw three more stepping out to block any retreat. One held a drawn dagger, the other two large crossbows. All of them bore the pointed star of the Sun Guild. Bringing his attention back to the front, he braced himself for a potential fight. He’d long known of the Sun Guild’s advance, but since their return to Veldaren, he’d yet to strike at them and they at him. Hand settling on the hilt of his sword, he prayed it would remain that way.
Of the five approaching, the one in the center stood out above the rest. He wore a long leather coat that had been stained a dark black, his umber hair tied into braids and pulled back from his face. His long ears were scarred at the top, revealing his elven heritage. Most obvious of all, though, was the blackened hand when he lifted it in greeting, making his following introduction unnecessary.
“Greetings, Lord Victor Kane,” said the elf with the scarred ears. “I am Muzien the Darkhand, master of the Sun Guild.”
“Shit,” muttered Sef.
“Your reputation precedes you,” Victor said, louder. “I wondered if you would someday come calling.”
Muzien smiled, and he seemed so pleasant, so calm, it made Victor all the more nervous. Only a man of absolute confidence could enter such a meeting in broad daylight and be so relaxed.
“Every man and woman of importance within this city shall have their time before me,” Muzien said, and he continued his slow pace, arms clasped behind his back as if he were on a careless midday stroll. “Whether they spend it on their knees or facedown in a pool of their own blood will be up to them.”
Again, Sef looked ready to grab his ax, but Victor glared his way, ensuring such a foolish action did not happen.
“Consider me flattered you think of me as a man of importance,” Victor said, trying to keep his voice light. The last thing he wanted was to reveal fear before someone such as Muzien. It’d be like throwing bloody meat before a pack of hungry wolves.
“How could I not?” Muzien stopped just outside sword’s reach, the remaining four with him lingering behind. The elf crossed his arms before him, and he narrowed his eyes as an amused smile spread across his lips. “After all, are you not the man who was to come into this city and cleanse it to its very core? Were you not here to deny us our shadows, to bring us into the light so we might wither and die? My, how people talk of you. All my ears hear are pomp and pride and an idiocy so stubborn, it must be religious zeal. So, here I am, and here you are, yet you do not act against me. My men live, and trust me when I say this, Victor, they still find plenty of shadows.”
“Circumstances change,” Victor said, trying not to let his bruised ego dictate his speech. “Surely you can understand that better than most.”