“Indeed, I can.”
Muzien gestured to his left, to where a stone tile bearing the symbol of the Sun Guild was freshly dug into the earth just before the entrance to a brothel.
“Circumstances have changed,” the elf said. “And it is not to your advantage, you petty lord of a beggar kingdom. Sell all your lands and all your titles. Bring to me the sum of your wealth and lay it before my feet so I may spit on it as unworthy of the time it’d take to stoop down and take into my hands. I have no desire to deal with you. I don’t want to see your men, I don’t want to hear word of your inquisitors, your books, or your record keepers. All your systems and courts mean nothing to me. They will not save you, nor will they stop me, so if you wish to live, you will abandon whatever idealistic notions you have and return to your home.”
“Things aren’t so simple as that,” Victor said, and this time it took more effort than he thought he could muster to keep his temper in check. Never before in his life had he been treated as so thoroughly inferior. “I have no intention of leaving, and if you kill me, the other lords of the land will realize how great a threat you are.”
“The other lords will see you receiving the fate they all anticipated the moment you marched into this city with your banner held high,” Muzien said. “Do not try to play politics with me, human. You’re not skilled enough for the dance.”
The elf snapped his fingers, and the rest turned to go.
“This city is mine,” he said. “Like the sun, from the ground I rise. I control the thief guilds along with the common folk in their slums. The merchants and the lords will soon follow. When kings are in my pocket, you will find yourself alone, and when you do, pray it is far, far from here.”
And with that, he marched away. Sef and Victor remained still, both trembling with rage. A glance behind them showed that the Sun Guild rogues with their crossbows and knives had also left.
“That fucking elven bastard,” Sef said. “You’d think he has the king’s crown jammed up his asshole with how he struts about, acting like he owns everything he sees.”
Victor shook his head, thinking of the reports he’d read recently.
“He’s not that far off,” he said. “Come on, while we still have our dignity.”
They continued their walk, Sef mumbling curses, Victor silent with his mind racing. If Muzien was confident enough to openly mock him, then his takeover of the underworld had to be nearly complete. Nearly, but not quite, because at least one guild still resisted him … at least, as far as Victor knew. He had to find out for sure. He had to know if his lone ally in the darkness was still willing to be his loyal monster.
“Change of direction,” Victor said. “We’ve a graveyard to visit.”
Sef started to ask, realized what it meant, and then shook his head.
“Day keeps getting worse,” he muttered.
It took twenty minutes to cut through the weaving rows of homes gathered in the far south of the city, always heading east toward the wall. The farther east they went, the more spacious the homes grew, less crowded together. By the time they hit the wealthiest corner, many were surrounded by tall fences, with a few even sporting a bored mercenary or two keeping watch at the entrance. And then, in the midst of all the grand buildings and obvious wealth, like a mocking reminder to the fate of such owners, was a cemetery. Victor was certain that was the reason Deathmask had chosen to flee there in the first place.
“Wait here,” Victor told Sef. The man was never pleased with the order, but every time they’d come, outside he remained, as per Deathmask’s orders. Past the opened gate surrounding the cemetery, there were many crypts, each marked by the name of its wealthy family. Some still existed, such as the Gemcrofts, whereas others like the Blackbards and the Garlands were long dead and gone, falling to poverty or extinction. It was to the Gemcroft one he went, and as he climbed down the cold stone steps, Victor couldn’t help but chuckle at the irony. Just as he went to Lady Gemcroft’s mansion for money for his mercenaries and prestige to validate his actions, now he went to her family’s long-forgotten burial tomb for aid of a far darker sort.
The only light within came from the open entrance, and at its farthest edge, leaning with her back against one of the coffins placed in gaps carved into the stone walls, sat Veliana.
“Well, this is unexpected,” said Veliana, amusement twinkling in her right eye. The other was a bloodied red; seeing it made Victor uneasy. If there was anything that made him squeamish, it was having things near his eyes or watching something done to other people’s eyes.
“I find that hard to believe,” Victor said. “Usually, your group knows of what happens in Veldaren sooner than I do.”
“Perhaps,” Veliana said. She hopped down from her perch, smoothed out her pants. “But I fear today I am alone in here. Did I miss something fun up top? New developments, clever schemes?”
She stepped closer, pulling her dark gray cloak tighter about her body and smirking up at him.
“Of course not,” she said. “It is the Sun Guild, always the Sun, every street, every corner, every plot and lie.”
“You sound displeased by this,” Victor said.
“And why wouldn’t we be?” asked someone from the entrance, his shadow falling over them as its caster blocked the sunlight. Victor turned, felt the corner of his mouth tug.
“I heard how you have always thrived in chaos,” Victor told Deathmask as the guildmaster entered the crypt. “Then what greater chaos is this?”
“This isn’t chaos,” Deathmask said, shaking his head. “It’s a slow, steady conquest. Muzien is the opposite of chaos, Victor, and more like an unstoppable force. By the Abyss, if there’s going to be any way we can stop him, it’ll be through pure, unchecked chaos.”
“A bit simple,” Victor said, “but I’m not here to argue. Muzien surrounded me with his men today, and he’s threatened my death if I do not leave. During his little bit of bravado, he claimed the underworld was his. I’ve come to see if that really is the case.”
Deathmask walked right past Victor, stopped to kiss Veliana on the cheek, and then stepped into the darkness of the crypt. As he walked, torches hooked to the top of the hall at either side burst to life, burning purple flame that gave off no smoke. At Veliana’s beckon, Victor followed. They passed by row after row of the dead, finely crafted stone mimicries of their human bodies sealing in their dusty bones. At last, they reached the end, and upon a great stone wall that marked the crypt’s limits was a map of the city stretching from corner to corner, easily twice Victor’s size. The detail was impressive, crisscrossing streets, labeled shops, brothels, taverns, even marks to show where prostitutes gathered together when not employed by the brothels. Most important, though, were the colored lines made out of string that portrayed the limits of the various thief guilds.
Lying on the floor were piles of thread, green and red and black and blue. On the map, there were only three colors: a dark gray, a white, and a yellow. The gray and white shared but a small stretch, whereas encircling nearly the entire city from wall to wall were line after line of yellow.
“It’s down to just the two of us left to fight,” Deathmask said, snapping his fingers so that another torch sprang to life directly above them, giving them more light to view the map. “Cynric’s Wolf Guild is holding out best they can, but I’m fairly certain he’s received his final ultimatum from the Sun Guild.”
“Will Cynric cave in to Muzien’s demands?” Victor asked.
Deathmask shook his head.
“Cynric’s too much of a warrior. Plenty of his guild will turn on him, but that’s to be expected. His core group of men will stay. They all remember the glory days at the start of the thief war, and I daresay Cynric was quite fond of it, too. The other guilds may have built their little empires trading women and wine, but killing has always been what Cynric excelled at best.”