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“If that is true, then why do I still live?”

Ridley winked.

“Because you’re not the best of us. You’re the worst of us, Muzien, the very worst.”

At that, the Darkhand had to smile. He looked to the sleeping city, which, despite the fire he set, would not dare come to put it out, not while so many of his guild walked the streets in all directions, ordering men and women to return to their beds should they poke their heads out their doors. The city was alive, Muzien knew, a living, breathing conglomerate of beings, and like any being, it could be made to fear, and fear him it would.

But there was still one man out there who wouldn’t fear him, who could be a great asset to his plan, or its most terrible threat.

“Where have you gone, my student?” Muzien asked with a breathless whisper that was carried away by the night wind along with the smoke, ash, and all else that remained of the Hawk Guild.

CHAPTER 1

The wagons, all three of them full of men and women laughing and calling to one another, rumbled along on wooden wheels down the road that split the forest. So far, it seemed none realized they were being watched.

“I don’t see why we must hide,” Thren whispered beside Haern as they crouched together against the trunks of trees fifteen feet out from the road.

“Caution over haste,” Haern said. He gestured to the dark gray clothes and long cloak each of them wore. “Besides, neither of us is inconspicuous.”

As Thren shrugged, Haern returned his attention to the three wagons, particularly the men and women visible at the front or walking alongside. They’d passed so many already, yet if there were even more …

“They’re with the Sun Guild,” Thren said, his voice slowly growing louder as the wagons continued. “If that is what you’re searching for, then stop bothering. Their earrings mark them clearly as such.”

“Damn,” Haern muttered, thudding his forehead against the rough bark of the tree, feeling it scratch his skin. “How many will he move into our city? A thousand? Ten?”

“A hundred thousand if need be,” Thren said, drawing his two short swords and calmly walking toward the road. “That’s how Muzien works. The idea of failing doesn’t even enter his head.”

Haern reached out to grab his arm, hesitated just before. Thren paused and looked his way, and there was a fire in his glare at the very idea that Haern might try to stop him.

“What is it?” Thren asked, pulling his gray hood up over his blond hair. “Since when are you one to shy away from bloodshed?”

“We have no reason to fight.”

Thren laughed.

“Those wagons are full of killers and thieves that will make life miserable for everyone in your precious little city. We’re doing the world a favor. Now either stay and watch, or take the east flank. Your choice.”

Haern watched his father break out into a sprint, racing just outside the limits of the road so the trees still blocked sight of him with their low branches and their wide green leaves. Despite his speed, he was still a whisper compared to the cheer coming from the wagons. Haern estimated at least twenty total in the group, perhaps more if anyone were inside wagons and hidden by the sun-bleached tarps. Twenty dead, and all for what? Wearing the wrong earrings?

They’re not innocent, Haern told himself as he drew his own swords and dashed to the other side of the road, rushing through the trees while eyeing the rapidly approaching wagons. The people in the Sun Guild were flooding into his city, taking over the various drug trades, demanding protection money from every street they controlled. They were threatening the peace he’d bled for. That was what he told himself as he watched his father come leaping out of the woods, spearing a raven-haired woman through the neck as she walked alongside one of the horses. That was what he repeated in his head as the driver of the wagon fell, intestines spilling out beneath him before he hit the dirt.

Not innocent.

From the other side, Haern emerged, his sabers feeling heavy in his hands. The party was letting out confused cries, many making mad dashes for wherever it was they’d stashed their weaponry. Haern knew the early period was when they’d need to score the most kills. If the survivors could band together, form a perimeter …

One saber cut through the heel of a fleeing man, and his other lashed out, opening the neck of a man who’d come rushing in with his own sword raised. A turn, a step, and the wounded man on the ground died with his lungs pierced through the back. As the blood flowed, Haern let out a grim chuckle.

Who was he kidding? The combined wrath of the Watcher and Thren Felhorn had descended upon the Sun guildmembers. There would be no survivors.

“Fall back!” a man yelled, heavyset and with dirty hair hanging over his face. He seemed to be the only one aware of what was going on, and Haern set his sights immediately upon him. His foe wielded a long blade in his left hand, his other ushering people toward the third wagon. Two more had joined his side by the time Haern came crashing in, whose haste nearly cost him dearly. The two others, each holding a short sword, tried to rush him simultaneously, their blades slashing. Haern skidded to a stop out of reach, and he flung himself to the right, smashing away the pathetic attacks to create an opening. The third man, however, had far more skill than the other two and anticipated the maneuver. Out lashed his sword with his long reach, its aim for Haern’s chest.

Fighting off panic, Haern whirled the saber in his right hand about, and he let his weight drop unsupported. The thrusting blade batted upward, and Haern fell, tilting his head back and watching the blade stab mere inches above him. Landing hard on his knees, he rolled once to put his feet beneath him, then lunged. His skilled foe was already pulling back, but the other two were not so lucky. Haern struck down the first, rammed his knee into the second, disarming him with a slash to the wrist, and then cutting him down as well.

“You’ll die for this,” the dirty-haired man said, still retreating toward the back of the wagon. “You’re messing with the Sun Guild; don’t you get that?”

The threat had only the opposite effect on Haern. Instead of frightening him, he felt relief. They had made no mistake when guessing their allegiance.

“You’re about to be dead men, and you waste your last words on empty threats?” Haern asked.

The man grinned, and from around the corner stepped two women, each armed with small crossbows. Before the man could even open his mouth to give the order to fire, Haern was already flinging his cloak into the air to obfuscate his movements. Instead of dodging to either side, he rushed low and straight at them, and when he heard the surprised cries of the three, he dropped into a roll. He heard the twang of crossbow strings, and he tensed on instinct, waiting for the piercing pain of a bolt. None came. He pulled out of the roll, and then his sabers did their work. The man died, having survived for only three exchanges of their blades. One of the women dropped her crossbow to draw a dagger, the other still frantically trying to reload.

“Drop your weapons,” Haern told them.

They had no chance to respond. Blades pierced both their chests, and they gasped before they fell. Thren Felhorn stood behind them, his swords and clothes caked with blood.

“Drop your weapons?” Thren asked, swinging his short swords in a futile attempt to fling the blood off them. “Did you plan on taking prisoners?”

Haern looked around for any more to fight, but the three wagons had been abandoned.

“Does it matter?” he asked.

“You hesitate to kill women,” Thren said, shaking his head. “The ones immersed in the lives we live are just as dangerous as any man. You’ll get yourself killed someday if you let such a weakness linger.”

“Perhaps.” He sheathed his blades. “Did you kill the rest?”