“You’re down here, and they’re up there,” Cynric said. “If it’s a trap, it’s a poor one.”
“They’re only eyes in the night, to bear witness to your death,” Muzien said. “Forget them, Cynric. We are alone here, just the two of us. Again, I offer you a chance to live. Men will serve you, just as they do now. You will have a position of power and respect. Would it be so terrible for you to cast aside your cloak and bear the star?”
Cynric stood tall before them all, and he puffed out his chest.
“I won’t be made into your pet, nor beaten and bludgeoned until I obey. Kill me if you can, Muzien. I may die, but I’ll die fighting. What other end could I have hoped for?”
The elf shook his head.
“If you see defeat as your only future, then your mind lacks imagination, your spirit void of true ambition. Die well, Cynric, and know the Wolf Guild dies with you.”
Muzien charged straight ahead, building up a frightening speed before vaulting into the air. Cynric estimated the distance, saw he’d come up short, and used the heartbeat’s time he had to brace himself for the eventual assault.
Except a ring on Muzien’s blackened hand flashed when he landed, and suddenly there were two of the Sun Guild’s master. One dashed to the left, the other to the right, and Cynric was baffled as to what to do. Once they had him flanked, they rushed in simultaneously, the coordinated attack leaving him helpless. With no choice, he moved to block the strikes from his right. His blades passed right through Muzien’s, scattering the image like smoke.
Something sharp pierced his back. A hand reached around his neck, holding him still as he bled.
“Your pride cost you your life,” Muzien whispered into his ear. “Do you feel it piercing your flesh? Bleeding you dry? Pride, in a meager creature of failed gods? Fools, all of you, your whole damn race…”
Swords fell from Cynric’s limp hands. He opened his mouth to retort, some last insult against the elf’s victory, but then a sharp pain spread across his throat, and when he breathed in, his lungs filled with blood. When he fell, he was still gagging, failing to gargle out a final curse against Muzien and his blasted Sun Guild.
Muzien looked down at the dead body of the former Wolf Guild’s master and shook his head.
“If only you had served,” he said. “In time, you could have earned a place of honor at my side.”
Not that it surprised him, though. It was a cruel self-fulfilling prophecy. Those he wanted at his side were the strongest, the bravest, the ones with a sense of pride and destiny to their lives. Yet those same people would always be the ones who would resist him, who would deny the perceived insult at having anyone else lord over them as master. Muzien needed to find such people when they were young, before they’d tasted power, such as he had with Thren Felhorn.
Muzien glanced up and down the street. He heard distant sounds of combat, but it had mostly died down from what it’d been only moments before. The Wolf Guild would be defeated soon, their numbers too thin to cause much permanent harm. If anything, Cynric’s ambush had made things interesting compared to some of the others. At least the Wolves had had the wisdom and strength to fight, unlike the Hawks, who had only burned. As the days of his takeover faded into history, Muzien would let his men talk of this night with wonder and pride, reminiscing on the ferocity of their foes, the cleverness and brutality of their final death throes.
The Hawks, though, would never have their name whispered again.
“Scour the city for any who remain in hiding,” Muzien called up to those on the rooftops. “Search until dawn, then consider the matter finished. The few you miss will not dare bear the cloak of their fallen master.”
The rogues saluted, then dashed away. Alone, Muzien continued his way back toward his home in the eastern quarter of Veldaren, not far from the city’s entrance. Normally, he’d have stayed back to enjoy the last of the hunt, but Daverik was waiting for him, and Muzien knew the priest was an annoying sod whenever their meetings did not begin on time. So he walked, refusing to give Daverik any more haste than that. He took in the sight of the city as he did, amused by what he saw. The night life had slowly died off since his arrival, a fear growing in the populace at what the omnipresent symbol of the Sun meant to them. Doors to the various taverns were shut instead of left open in an attempt to entice more clientele by the sound of merriment within. Many of the street women had taken to lurking deeper in the dark spaces of the alleys, and it wouldn’t surprise Muzien if many others had gone to the brothels, seeking their protection.
Change was frightening, and all of them could sense the change blowing the wind. But they’d yet to see his true revealing to the populace. No, Muzien had something special planned for that defining moment, when the entire city would witness their new lord and then bow in obedience.
Muzien’s home was plain, a one-story building with a front door and a single window without glass or covering beside a thick brown curtain. The wood was old but sturdy, the roof flat with wooden slats to keep out the rain. Muzien knew such a bland outer appearance would prevent anyone from thinking it would be his home, but that was a common shortcoming of humans. They assumed a man of wealth and power could not bear to live without it, even for a moment. Muzien flexed his dark hand, whose ache had never left him over the decades.
Yes, he’d sacrificed far worse than a comfortable bed and vaulted ceilings to accomplish his goals. Let the humans remain blind fools. Was that not the reason he’d come to live among them in the first place?
“I hope your wait was not long,” Muzien said as he stepped through the door.
“Longer than I would prefer,” said Daverik, the priest waiting with his back against the wall. He’d positioned himself facing the window, and Muzien had little doubt the man would have leaped through if he had felt himself in danger.
“I had business to attend to first,” Muzien said, walking past Daverik to the far wall. Lifting up a board from the floor, he reached down into a deep pit dug into the earth, then pulled out a cool glass bottle. He removed the cork and drank it straight, without glass or cup.
“Were you successful?” Daverik asked.
“I always am.”
Daverik smirked.
“Come now, even for one as skilled as you, I find it hard to swallow that you yourself believe that. What of Grayson’s first attempt to move into the city?”
“Grayson’s attempt,” Muzien said, setting down the bottle. “Not mine.”
“And your other apprentice, Thren Felhorn, would you consider him a success as well?”
Muzien narrowed his eyes.
“You had a reason to meet with me, priest, and I suggest you get to it before my mood sours.”
Daverik reached into his pocket, pulled out a bag tied with a red string, and tossed it to him. Muzien caught it in one hand and, with a twist of his fingers, removed the knot to glance inside. Rattling within the small pouch were over two dozen gold coins.
“This is a pittance of what I was promised,” Muzien said.
“It’s all I can procure for now,” Daverik said. “Everything else has gone to the guards to ensure they continue looking the other way when your wagons pass through our gates.”
“The guards are greedy, then. Many still hold out their hands, demanding coin so we may smuggle in your tiles.”
“My tiles?” asked Daverik. “They bear your symbol, not mine.”
Muzien took another drink, then pushed the cork back into the bottle.
“My symbol,” Muzien said, staring into Daverik’s green eyes, “but your coin, your request. I am content to scrawl the symbol of the Sun with chalk, to carve it with a knife, or even paint it with blood so all may know. But you insist on stone and even tell my men where to place them. If you think me daft, Daverik, you should reconsider while you still have the chance. I’m fond of games, and it’s clear you are playing one … but no one has ever turned against me and lived. I pray you remember that.”