“I think we might have underestimated our foes,” Carson said, pushing powder into his longneck pipe. It was the finest leaf available in Mordeina, and he’d brought it with him all the way across the continent to Veldaren.
“Just their tenacity for survival,” said Nora Bloodcraft, his wife. She sat opposite him, trusting him to alert her to any threat. Unlike his short dark hair, she had beautiful blond hair, tied into a tight ponytail that ran across her neck, down her chest, and to her waist. They both wore crimson coats made of the finest leather and then stained to identify their mercenary band. Nora, seeing his pipe full, leaned forward and snapped her fingers. The leaf smoldered and began to smoke. Leaning back, Carson drew in a long breath and then sighed.
“Need to ration this better,” he said, looking down at his pouch. He’d used too much on the trip over. Last thing he needed was to go bartering for whatever shit they grew in Neldar. “And perhaps you’re right. They present no greater threat than we thought, but their ability to survive is admirable. They seem to lack any pride or honor, at least when it comes to fleeing a fight.”
“Pride and honor would just get them killed, anyway. We should have known better.”
“It’s our own fault for trusting that weasel, Laerek,” said Percy Bloodcraft, carrying three drinks from the barkeep, who stood behind the bar, skin pale, hands shaking. They’d told him only once to leave them be, and made it clear what might happen if he did not. The chubby fellow kept glancing at the door, where the bodies of two men lay, both having been foolish enough to ignore the Bloodcrafts’ request for privacy. One had bled out from a gash running from belly to throat. The other’s face was a charred husk, with faint flecks of white bone showing.
Percy sat beside Nora, put down the drinks, and then leaned back in his chair. He had no biological relation to Nora and Carson, but like all members of the Bloodcraft Mercenaries since their creation, Percy had been adopted into the family once his skills were proven suitable. He looked like he was nothing but bone and hair, but he was fast. Hidden in the folds of his crimson coat were dozens of knives of all sizes, and he could make each one fly like a bird on the wind. His hair was a soft brown, the only thing beautiful about him.
“We’re new to this city,” Carson said, ignoring the drink set before him. “We must make do with the information we are given.”
“Sure thing, father, but wouldn’t it make more sense to doubt everything instead?”
Carson and Nora were not much older than Percy, but he’d taken to calling them mother and father ever since joining the Bloodcrafts. Something about it amused him, perhaps how it managed to get underneath Carson’s skin.
“With how our day has gone?” Nora said, tasting her drink and then frowning at it. “Perhaps it does. The Ash Guild avoided our ambush with nary a casualty. Even worse…where is Nicholas?”
“Nicholas is dead,” Percy said, smirking. “You know it, I know it, we all do. I told you I should have gone with him.”
“His abilities were a perfect counter to the Eschaton,” Carson said, breathing in more from the pipe. “The Ash Guild was more of an unknown, and posed the greater risk.”
“Well, it looks like you calculated wrong.”
Nora shook her head.
“That, or the Watcher still lives. If his rumors are to be believed, he could have achieved victory. Surely it took someone of his skill with a blade to kill Nicholas.”
“Laerek assured us the man was dead,” Carson said. “I might have a word with him. His poor information has cost us dearly.”
“If the Watcher killed Nicholas, then we need to hunt him down and return the favor,” Percy said, leaning forward in his seat and drumming the table with his fingers. Carson saw the eagerness there, and it amused him greatly.
“There’s little word on who he is, or who his loved ones are,” Carson said. “All we know is of his allegiance to the Eschaton.”
Percy shrugged.
“Someone will talk. Someone has to know. All we have to do is find out, and do a little knife work, and we’ll have him helpless.”
The door opened. Carson leaned to the side to see better past his wife. It was a woman, slender, with long brown hair that curled down around her shoulders. Her dress was plain but clean, and of a soft blue.
“Miss,” the barkeep said. “Please, you should go…”
“No men here to buy a whore,” Percy said, glancing back and seeing her. “Go on your way.”
The woman stepped around the two mutilated bodies, seeming unfazed by them. Carson narrowed his eyes, and then he began to laugh.
“My, my,” he said. “I think we’ve found our Widow.”
The woman did not sit at their table, but the one beside them, as if uncomfortable with their presence. She kept her hair low over her face, and when she talked, it was a strained whisper that Carson had to struggle to hear.
“Laerek said I could find you here.”
“Well, that’s the first thing Laerek’s been right about so far,” Percy said, but he was the only one to laugh.
“The city seems to know you well,” Nora said. Carson could tell his wife was examining her closely, trying to reach an opinion of some sort. He trusted her ability to read someone, and when their talk was done, he’d listen well to what she had to say. “Yet I wonder why. All you’ve done is kill a few members of a guild. Others do it all the time. Why are you so special to Laerek, or to us?”
“People die all the time,” the strange woman said. “I give the city something to remember, to both fear and enjoy.”
“What’s your real name?” Carson asked, putting aside his pipe.
“Don’t you know? I’m the Widow.”
The woman laughed, and something about it unsettled Carson’s stomach. He shifted in his seat, and his hand reached for the sword strapped to his belt.
“Keep your secrets, then,” Nora said. “Whatever Laerek’s plan is, let him keep it. But why are you here? What business do you have with us?”
“I’m here to help you,” she said.
Percy laughed, and even Carson had to fight to keep down a chuckle.
“Is that so?” he asked. “Who are you to help us? And help us do what, exactly?”
“I know this city,” the Widow said. “Know it far better than you. I’ve seen its gross underbelly, know its scabs and scars. If you want, I can draw the Watcher out. You’ll have a clean shot, all of you. All I ask is that you kill him quickly. I don’t want him to escape, and trouble me further.”
Carson looked to the other two. Nora’s nod showed she approved. Her gut told her that the Widow was to be believed. Percy merely shrugged.
“It’s either the Watcher, or the Ash,” he said. “We need to stick together no matter who we go after.”
Carson nodded, but Percy’s remark about trusting no one still echoed in his head. He looked to this strange, nameless woman, then gestured for her to continue.
“Go ahead,” he said. “Let’s hear your plan.”
24
The first night was terrible, but Nathaniel managed. Several times he woke up thinking he’d heard a noise, or that he’d seen movement in the shadows.
“Zusa?” he called out each time, squinting to see. Always nothing, but he couldn’t help but think monsters lurked within the dark corners of his room. Normally he told himself it was Zusa, but he knew it wasn’t. She’d left. Somehow, by the way his mother had kissed him goodnight, he knew she was gone. The night crawled along, until at long last daylight met his ragged eyes.
The day came and went, him sleepwalking through most of it. At one point he fell asleep at the table, his uneaten food beside his face. One of the servant women had scolded him harshly for that, and he’d only been able to offer the most meager of apologies. All the while, he waited for Zusa’s return. And waited. The servants whispered of how the previous night had been far safer, and that Victor was winning over the city. Nathaniel knew this should have made his mother happier, but it did not.