“Who are they?” Victor asked as the Watcher pulled him into the next room, where only a single body, that of a woman, lay facedown on the floor.
“A family in the wrong place at the wrong time,” was his bitter response.
“I mean their murderers.”
The Watcher helped him sit in a corner, then turned to the woman’s body.
“They’re a group of mercenaries known as the Bloodcrafts,” the Watcher said. “Now give me a moment.”
The Watcher dragged the body out to be with the others, then came back in and leaned against the opposite wall. Victor studied him, finally noticing the blood pooling at his side.
“Are you hurt?” he asked.
“It’s an old wound,” the Watcher said. He shifted so that the blood was hidden by a cloak. “It’s nothing. I can endure worse. What of you?”
“Starting to feel like myself. A child could probably beat me at fisticuffs, though.”
The Watcher looked back at the door, and Victor could tell he wanted to be with the rest of his friends. Victor’s guilt grew. A trap laid for him, an innocent family dead, the Eschaton fighting, perhaps even dying, and all for what reason?
When the Watcher turned on him suddenly, his guilt magnified tenfold.
“Why are you here?” he asked. “You’ve driven this city insane, infected it with your own madness. What’s going on, Victor? Attempts on my life, yours, the Trifect…is it all worth it? For your pride? Your attempts at power? I had this city under control.”
“Control?” Victor laughed. “Control? If you say so, but that’s not what I saw.”
“What do you know of Veldaren? You’re an outsider, some foreign born…”
“No!” Victor shook his head, and he forced himself to sit up. “No, this is my home, Watcher. I was born here, raised here. It was the thief war that drove us out. It destroyed everything I had, Watcher, everything. You know nothing, and I won’t dare let you disgrace me so.”
The Watcher fell silent, and he resumed scanning outside the building, as if unwilling to speak. The silence wore on Victor, and when the Watcher returned to the room, he did his best to push away his anger.
“I don’t know how old you were,” Victor said, gesturing toward his hidden face. “For all I know you were a child, or an elderly man even then. Do you remember when the thief war started? That first night was the worst. The Trifect had bargained and bartered for months, trying to establish certain boundaries-rules of engagement, you might say. They were fools to have done so, and because of that, all of Veldaren paid the cost. My mother and father heard of Leon’s failed attempt to kill Thren and knew everything was about to go to pieces. We tried to flee, the three of us, our belongings crammed into a coach.”
Victor sighed, and a shudder ran through him.
“The streets were chaos,” he said. “Every single guild rose up, determined to shock and cower the city into submission. Mercenaries ran about, with hardly any orders beyond killing anyone they caught looting or vandalizing. I watched from the window of our coach. Buildings aflame, people screaming. And they hated us for it, the lowborn folk of this city. I didn’t understand it then, but I do now. We had failed them. With all our wealth, all our power, we had failed to prevent the carnage. My family is not part of the Trifect, but we had dealings with them, we visited their homes and we basked in the light of their coin. To Veldaren, we were just like them. They blocked our horses, flung stones, and screamed a thousand curses as we tried to flee.”
The Watcher shifted, pulling his cloak tighter about him.
“I was just a child, but I do remember,” he said. “It was on that night my older brother died.”
Victor grunted, rubbed his eyes with his forefinger and thumb.
“Nearly everyone lost someone that day, and the commoners released that anger upon us. I still remember my father pulling me back from the window, telling me to ignore them. ‘That isn’t them,’ he told me. ‘That is their fear talking, their sorrow, their anguish. Don’t hate them for it. We are as much to blame as they’.”
“A noble man,” said the Watcher.
“A kind man,” Victor said. “Gentle. Compassionate. Scared the shit out of me sitting across from him in that coach and seeing the fear in his eyes. They…the mob surrounded us. I saw the thieves among them, those damn cloaks. Even now, they wear them without fear. Arrows hit the sides of the coach, along with rocks. I still thought we could push through. Our driver, he just urged the horses on. I remember the first person we hit, the sound I heard as the wheel crushed bone…”
Victor felt his memories threatening to overwhelm him, and for once, he was too tired to fight them away. His tears swelled, and he let them fall. What did it matter if the Watcher saw weakness, after all that had happened?
“I still thought we’d make it out safely,” he said. “But then they killed the horses. That was when I knew. My mother was crying, but my father, he never hesitated. He grabbed my shirt and tore it, then yanked the boots off my feet. I didn’t understand, but he knew what was to happen. He knew. And then he struck me, again and again, until I bled across my clothes. I was too stunned to respond. He did it all so I could hide. I could be just one of the mob. Right before they tore off the doors, he had me crawl through a small window in the back and then roll to the ground. I thought they’d notice, but there were too many people, all focused on the doors. Without a single copper to my name, I ran. I didn’t look back. Those thieves…those bastards…do you realize what they did to me? It isn’t the coin. It isn’t even the murder.”
He smashed his fists against the floor, pressed his head against the wall.
“My last memory of my father is of him striking me!”
The Watcher had remained silent throughout, and he let Victor calm himself, let him sit there with his fists shaking.
“How did you survive?” he at last asked.
“I left Veldaren,” Victor said. “Walked on bare feet north. Begged for food whenever I met strangers, and hitched rides with a few that seemed kindly. When I reached our family’s castle, I walked into the court, muddy faced and bleeding feet, and announced my presence.”
Victor shook his head, and he wiped his tears away.
“You ask why I do this? You ask what madness drives me? That is it. I want revenge against everything the guilds took from me. I had to flee my childhood home, while the beaten corpses of my parents were stripped naked, robbed of every possession, and then left to rot beside our dead horses.”
He wiped away his tears, and as he did, he chuckled.
“Do you know the worst part?” he asked. “The greatest insult? I found out Thren used our mansion as his home when he discovered it was vacant. For years he tunneled out holes and boarded up windows, and that scum lived and slept in the bed of my father. And when he left, he burned it all down, to the last brick and board. That’s when I knew. That’s when I swore to come back, to make every man bearing the colors of a guild tremble in fear of my name. Day after day I trained. My family is not the wealthiest, but I saved money like a tightfisted miser. This is my purpose. This is how I will honor the memory of my parents. Before I die, I will rid my beloved city of the rats and vultures that have done nothing but destroy.”
The Watcher stood over him, staring, thinking. Something burdened him greatly, but Victor could only guess at what.
“I understand more than you can possibly believe,” he said. “I am sorry for the loss of your parents, and your home.”
Victor closed his eyes and shook his head.
“It doesn’t matter, not anymore. What I saw out there…I am nothing to you, to your kind. I thought Veldaren full of thieves, cowards, men with daggers and poison and little else. But I was wrong. Now I see the monsters. How can I stop men who summon fire with a wave of their hand? How can I hunt down those who move faster than my eyes can follow, whose skill borders on that of gods? I’ve done nothing but throw stones into a cave, and at last I’ve woken the beasts within it. I’m a fool, Watcher, a damn fool.”