No hesitation, no debate. She put her other hand atop the first, clean, pale skin mixing with blood, and then bowed her head. He heard her whisper the name of Ashhur, saw a soft glow spread across the bleeding skin. It was nothing like before; instead of hurting his eyes, it was soothing, a reassuring sight in the darkness. For several minutes Delysia prayed, stopping only to remove a hand and toss yet another shard of metal that somehow appeared in her palm.
At last, she wiped her hands clean on the leg of Thren’s pants, then stood, pulling hair from her face that had stuck to the sweat running down from her brow.
“Your turn,” she said, coming over to glance at the bolt in his back.
“You should rest first.”
“I have all night to rest.”
He winced as he felt her touch the skin around the entrance to the wound.
“It hit bone,” she said. “I can’t push it through, which means I have to pull.”
Haern slowly lowered to his knees, took in several deep breaths, then braced himself.
“I’m ready,” he said.
“This will hurt.”
“I know. Do it.”
She was right. It hurt. As he clenched his teeth together, forcing away the pain, he heard the soft murmurs of her prayers, the gentle ringing accompanied by the light around her hands. Slowly the pain faded, becoming a tingling ache.
“Thank you,” he said, slowly rising back to his feet.
“Go back to our camp and get our supplies,” Delysia told him, settling back down beside Thren. “He needs a blanket.”
Haern stood there, unwilling to leave. He stared at the face of his father, his skin ashen as he slept.
“You should have let him die,” he whispered.
Delysia looked up, and there was no hiding her glare. Rising, she took a step closer and then slapped him across the face.
“I save people,” she said. “I don’t leave them to die. Not when I have a choice. Now go get your father a blanket. Tonight will be cold, and he’ll need it.”
Haern opened his mouth, closed it, and then left to do as she asked.
CHAPTER 11
The night was deep as, from the nearby rooftop, Cynric watched the Sun Guild surround his guildhouse with their torches held high.
“I used to think Veldaren was the most dangerous city in all of Dezrel,” said the master of the Wolf Guild. “But now I see differently. We have grown weak, soft. We should have crushed the Sun Guild the moment they stepped foot into our city, but instead we listened, we bartered and hid. Only the Ash resisted. Why did we not? Why did we act so timid?”
Beside him on the rooftop were seven of his best men, the most trusted and loyal. All of them had filed their teeth down to fangs, in mimicries of their guild leader.
“We sensed the change in the wind,” said one of them. “The Sun Guild could have been an ally against the Trifect.”
“And now they are our executioners,” Cynric said. “The Trifect is more ally than foe in this battle. What a twisted world we live in.”
They fell silent as below them Muzien called out to the guildhouse for the Wolf Guild’s surrender. Cynric smirked when he heard it.
“Corner any animal, and it will bite,” he said. “And we are no timid animal. We are wolves.”
He turned to the seven.
“I may never see any of you again, but know you are my best, my bravest, and I take pride in having your allegiance. Go, and show the Sun Guild that we will make them bleed before we break.”
They each dipped their heads in respect, then scattered in all directions along the rooftops, where the remaining fifty of Cynric’s guild waited in ambush. Now alone, Cynric leaned back on his haunches and looked up to the moon, and slowly he breathed in and then let it out.
“Shame you’re not with us anymore, Thren,” he whispered.
The other guilds had always mistrusted the cold-blooded man, but Cynric had known Thren’s heart. He’d sensed the ambition within it, the craving for an empire. Such desires fitted Cynric just fine, and together they’d orchestrated the Bloody Kensgold, killed Maynard Gemcroft, and burned Leon Connington’s mansion to the ground. That same power, that commanding presence, would have served them well tonight.
Cynric drew a long dagger from his belt.
Victor had suddenly grown timid, the Trifect silent. Thren was gone, as was the Watcher. Veldaren’s salvation would have to rest in his hands.
Again, Muzien cried out for surrender. He was a wraithlike figure, looking thin in his long coat. The circle of torches around the building lifted higher, and the whole of it carried the feel of a religious ceremony. Cynric smirked. At least Muzien had a sense of showmanship about him. The Darkhand shook his head, and he turned his back to the building. The rest of the Sun Guild, at least thirty by Cynric’s count, advanced upon the building. Within were only three men, those willing to die for the cause, and Cynric waited for them to act.
The Wolf Guild’s headquarters was a two-story building, full of curtained windows, and from three different windows they appeared, all facing Muzien. The three held crossbows, and they fired wildly, unable to aim for a single moment due to the sudden barrage of bolts unleashed at them by Muzien’s men. Still, the damage was done, Muzien untouched but two men on either side of him dead with crossbow bolts deep in their bodies. A good start.
Cynric turned and ran from the guildhouse, knowing time would be short. Already the building burned behind him, the Sun guildmembers throwing torches through windows and pressing them up against the base. A glance at either side showed the rest of his guild following suit, racing fast as they could along the rooftops.
The plan was simple. Muzien would never leave himself vulnerable, Cynric knew that, and those thirty men were but a scrap of the Darkhand’s total power. He’d have had more men ready, waiting to attack the moment the Wolf Guild dared attempt an ambush. So, they wouldn’t ambush Muzien at all.
They’d ambush the ambushers.
Cynric’s men had located them prior to the attack, two different sections of thieves gathered on opposite sides of the Wolf Guild’s headquarters. Heading toward the south, escorted by twenty more Wolves, Cynric approached the two alleyways where the Sun guildmembers gathered. They waited patiently, over forty of them, with two at the end of the alley, keeping watch for Muzien’s signal. Cynric didn’t wait, didn’t slow down or even fire a crossbow bolt or two to soften their ranks. Blind, overwhelming fury was what he needed to take down his foes. Upon their prey they descended, and he howled to announce his arrival.
He landed atop one man, his heel colliding hard with the man’s neck so that it snapped upon slamming to the stone ground. A slash, and the woman beside him gasped as blood gushed out the length of her throat. All around him, he heard his enemies crying out in surprise, heard them drawing weapons and shouting conflicting orders. Amid the chaos, Cynric felt right at home. As his men continued to fall upon them from the rooftops, Cynric charged three to his left that had put their backs to a wall. The first rushed at him, thinking to catch him off guard, but Cynric easily shoved the dagger aside, drew a blade with his free hand, and slashed across the man’s face. Unable to stop to ensure its fatality, he continued on, wielding both blades now. The remaining two threw up swords in defense, and he nearly laughed at the attempt.
They wanted to swordfight, to thrust and parry in the dance people like Thren and the Watcher excelled at. But that wasn’t Cynric’s game. He was never much of a dancer.
Cynric crashed right into him, twisting his body out of sheer reflex to avoid his prey’s weak thrust. His knee drove into the man’s stomach, his daggers stabbed chest and shoulder. Even Cynric’s forehead slammed the man in the nose, splattering blood across both their faces. Spinning his body in a half circle, he yanked his daggers out of the first man’s chest only to whirl around and bury them in the face of the other, one piercing the eye, the other an open mouth. His death scream was gargled nonsense as the blood poured down the blade.