Traitors' Fate

by Andy Peloquin

  "Among the records of House Torath was a bill of sale for the Torath mansion in Upper Voramis to Lord Estyn of House Damuria." Triumph shone in the Scorpion's eyes.

  Ilanna grinned. "Keltor, you brilliant, brilliant man! As always, House Scorpion proves its worth in abundance."

  The prim, fussy man actually blushed and gave an embarrassed half-bow. "Thank you, Guild Master."

  Ilanna took a seat on the room's only chair. Keltor's discovery had made it clear that Lord and Lady Damuria were either aiding Lord Torath in his service of the Bloody Hand, or serving them directly. But unfortunately, that didn't solve the problem of how to get at either Lord Torath or Lord Damuria, nor how to sever the Bloody Hand's operations in Praamis.

  "Errik," she said after a moment, "can you get your hands on some clothing appropriate for Upper Voramis?"

  Errik nodded. "Shouldn't be a problem."

  "Get outfits for you, Sys, and Athar. Keep an eye on the Torath and Damuria mansions, and use Athar to send back any important information I need to know." She turned to Keltor. "Can you remain here?"

  "Gladly!" Keltor replied. "After a sleepless night, I'd love nothing more than to close my eyes for a few hours."

  "Good." Ilanna turned to Athar. "Anything I need to know, you come straight here. If I'm not in, Keltor will tell you where to find me." She frowned, for the first time noticing the absence of the Hound Journeyman. "Where's Laken?"

  Errik grinned. "Probably into his fourth tankard of ale by now."

  Ilanna raised an eyebrow.

  The Serpent chuckled. "I sent him out to do the rounds of the taverns and alehouses, see if he could learn anything new." His expression darkened. "Before you ask, he didn't find a way into Torath manor. Place is sewn up tighter than a corpse's bunghole."

  Ilanna sighed. "Why can't things ever just be simple and easy?"

  Sys snorted. "What's the fun in that?"

  Ilanna scowled at the grizzled assassin. He gave her a wry smile and leaned back against the wall.

  Errik shot the older Serpent a meaningful look.

  Sys seemed to get the hint. "Let's go, pup." He grabbed Athar's arm and dragged him toward the door. "Give the Masters their privacy."

  When the door closed behind the Serpents, Errik turned to Ilanna. "Our visit to Graeme the other day got me thinking about the Serenii tunnels beneath the city. Maybe we could use them to get into the Damuria and Torath mansions, like you did with Lord Auslan's."

  Ilanna and Allon, a Hound Journeyman, had used the sewage tunnels beneath Praamis to get past the high walls around Lord Auslan's mansion and the Arbitors guarding them.

  "I was thinking of paying Graeme another visit and seeing if he can help."

  "Good thought," Ilanna mused, "but he wasn't exactly thrilled to see us."

  Errik shrugged. "I can be quite convincing, you know."

  "Of that, I have no doubt." Ilanna grinned. "However, he might be a bit less annoyed if I go alone. You're not the only one with skills of persuasion."

  The frown on Errik's face made plain what he thought of her going alone, but he knew better than to voice protest. "Be safe."

  Ilanna gripped his arm. "Always."

  With a nod, he slipped from the room.

  Ilanna turned to Keltor. "If Laken returns, tell him I went to The Angry Goblin bookstore in Lower Voramis. I'll be back within an hour, but he can find me if he has urgent news."

  "So be it." The Scorpion reached into his pack and produced a worn, weather-beaten book bound in leather. "Now, if you don't mind, Guild Master, I've a date with the works of Taivoro."

  Ilanna peered through the grimy glass windows of The Angry Goblin bookstore. Despite the early afternoon hour, the door was locked and the store empty. Casting a surreptitious glance up and down the street, Ilanna drew out a steel pick and rake and inserted them into the lock. Within a matter of seconds, it clicked open.

  She reached up to stop the bell from jangling as she entered, releasing it only after closing the door behind her. The thick clouds of dust in the air made the silence in the store seem eerie, cloying. Without hesitation, she slipped across the room and behind the counter.

  On her first visit, Master Lornys, the then-owner of the store, had activated some hidden mechanism beneath the countertop. Her practiced fingers located the hole in the wood where the trigger had once been anchored, but not the trigger itself.

  Graeme must have moved it. She ran an experienced eye over the shelves, searching for anything out of place. The sheer number of books, titles, and authors set her head spinning. Hard to believe anyone had the time to put so many words into the same place, and on the same subject.

  Though the skills she'd developed over her two decades and more as a Hawk could easily fill a volume larger than any on the shelves, much of it was instinct, knack, and practice. Anyone could teach pickpocketing and lockpicking, but only years of experience imparted the wisdom needed to survive.

  And that wisdom was telling her not to waste her time here. She'd come to speak to Graeme, and had only broken in out of habit rather than necessity. She could return the following day and talk to the balding alchemist without stealing from him now.

  She didn't bother muffling the bell as she left. The side alley was empty, and traffic on the street beyond moved at a sluggish pace. Summer brought a near-intolerable heat to Voramis, and the temperature remained consistent during the day even as summer turned to autumn. The nights, however, tended to be cooler, growing downright biting the closer they drew to winter. Voramians had adapted to the summer heat by carrying out most of their activities early in the morning and later in the afternoon. Midday was the lunch hour, spent indoors and in the cool shade.

  Those unlucky enough to be on the streets during the heat of the day moved slowly, perspiring freely despite the filmy tunics and broad-brimmed hats. Few lifted their eyes as she passed. Even the oxen and mules pulling carts seemed more exhausted, barely uttering a sound of protest as their sweating drivers cracked whips to urge greater speeds.

  A knot formed in her gut as she caught sight of a familiar figure sprinting down the street. Laken's cloak flew behind him, and his feet fairly flew over the cobblestones. She scanned the avenue behind him, searching for pursuers—clad either in Heresiarch red or the dull-colored clothing of the Bloody Hand. Yet she saw nothing but a few slow-moving pedestrians and a cart piled high with over-ripe apples.

  So why the hurry?

  The worried lines of his face only added to her anxiety.

  "Laken!" she hissed as he approached. "What's wrong?"

  Breathless, Laken threaded his arm through hers and steered her to the side of the road, into the shadows of a shuttered merchant's stand.

  "Guild...Master…" he panted.

  "Easy, man. Take a breath, tell me what's the matter."

  Laken bent over, hands on knees. "Bloody…Hand!"

  Her shoulders tensed. "What of them?"

  He met her eyes, and genuine fear filled his expression. "They know…you're here!"

  Chapter Eight

  "What?" Ilanna's heart stopped. "How do you know? Are you certain?"

  He sucked in deep breaths, fighting to regain control of himself. "Yes," he gasped, nodding. "Heard…someone talking…about it."

  "Who?" Icy feet tiptoed down her spine.

  "Tavern…" He pointed west, toward the Port of Voramis. "The Iron Arms…two thugs, had to be Bloody Hand."

  Ilanna cursed. "How did they find out?"

  "Don't know." He regained some measure of control over his breathing. "But between there and here, I've run across six groups of goons pretending not to be watching the street. They have to be looking for you. Who knows how many more there are around the city?"

  Ilanna's eyes narrowed. "Did you catch any hint of who they're looking for?"

  This seemed to puzzle the Hound. "I just said it. You."

  She shook her head. "Description, Laken. Hair color, height, features, clothes, that sort of thing?"
She gestured at her hair. "None of the Bloody Hand have seen me in years, so how do they know what to look for?"

  His eyes went wide. "N-No," he stammered. His face reddened. "I didn't think about that. All I know is that I heard a thug say 'find Master Gold', and I had to come warn you."

  Ilanna gripped his shoulder. "You did the right thing." It wouldn't do to berate the man. His instincts had been correct; if only he'd gotten a bit more information. "Do you think you can find a clear path between here and the inn?"

  Laken's expression grew pensive. "I think so," he replied in a slow voice. "If you don't mind slogging through a few back alleys."

  Ilanna shook her head. "Not at all. It's easier to scrape a bit of shite off your boots than Bloody Hand scum." She grinned. "Though I'm not sure how to tell the two apart…"

  Her humor had the desired effect. The tension lining Laken's face relaxed. "Truer words were never spoken, Master Gold."

  She glared. "Keep a lid on that name, will you? For now, you can just call me Viola."

  He shot her a questioning look.

  "Everyone in the Bloody Hand knows the name Ilanna," she said. "But call me Viola, and no one will think twice."

  "Viola." He tried the name out. "Pretty name. Like the flower."

  She nodded. "Just like the flower."

  He'd never know that Viola had been her true name, the one given to her at birth. The Night Guild had stripped it from her and given her a number—Seven. She'd had to earn the name Ilanna. The Viola she remembered was a weak, scared child that bore little resemblance to the Ilanna she was now.

  "Let's go," she said, motioning for him to lead the way.

  The Hound was a few years older than her, and one of the most experienced Journeymen in his House. His training had included disguises and false personas. She had no need to tell him how to travel the streets of Voramis without attracting attention.

  He wore the rough-spun, simply tailored clothes typical of Lower Voramians. If he walked with his head erect, his posture confident, he could pass for a merchant. Add a bloody apron, and he'd fit the role of butcher perfectly. Now, he walked at a slow shuffle, his back bent and eyes fixed on the ground—the perfect imitation of a commoner down on his luck.

  Ilanna matched her pace and posture to his, playing the role of submissive wife by walking a step behind him. Her bright red hair hung down over her face, concealing her features. Adding a stoop to her shoulders completed the façade.

  She scanned the street through the curtain of her hair. A knot formed between her shoulder blades, both from the uncomfortable hunch and presence of a group of men standing on the corner of a nearby intersection. Two were the heavy-set, bull-necked ruffians adept at cracking skulls and intimidating shopkeepers. One had the shifty eyes and wary, restive posture that could only come from years spent on the streets stealing for a living. The fourth man seemed relaxed, leaning against the wall with a casual air. The way his hands never strayed from the weapons on his belt made his occupation as a killer perfectly clear.

  They look exactly like members of the Night Guild. The thought was horrifying yet undeniable.

  Thugs, thieves, and assassins were the same in every city. She'd told herself the Night Guild was different than the Bloody Hand, but was that true? The Guild itself brought a sort of order to Praamis, preventing the chaos caused by crime. But the Bloody Hand did the same. They stole, murdered, and hurt others, just as the Guild did.

  Are we any different, then?

  The question raced through her mind as they walked. She tried to refute it but could not. For all she believed the Night Guild did good to Praamis, in the end, they were criminals. They flouted the laws of the city in the endless pursuit of ill-gotten gains.

  "Sorry about this."

  Laken's whispered words snapped her out of the maudlin thoughts. Before she had time to react, he seized her by the scruff of her tunic and yanked her out of the street.

  "I said it before, woman," he shouted, "you give me lip one more time and I'll beat you ‘til you beg." His face hovered so close she could smell the ale on his breath. "Now you've gone and done it!"

  He shoved her toward a nearby door, sending her stumbling. His boot slammed into her rear and she fell hard in a pile of muck. Filth squelched beneath her hands, staining her tunic. She whirled on him, eyes flashing, only to be met with the cracking end of his leather belt across her shoulder.

  "I've heard enough of your Keeper-damned nonsense!" he shouted as he struck her again, this time in the leg.

  The blow stung more than hurt, but she cried out in surprise.

  "This'll learn you, you sharp-tongued shrew!" Again, leather snapped across her shoulders.

  Ilanna recovered her wits enough to catch the belt as it descended.

  "Behind me!" Laken hissed.

  From her position on the ground, Ilanna caught a glimpse of six Bloody Hand thugs striding down the street, eyes fixed on them.

  "Please!" she begged. "Help me, or he'll beat me to death."

  The belt cracked across her outstretched arms, and she let out a pitiful bleat.

  "Oi! You there!" one of the thugs called. "What's this, eh?"

  Laken spun on the thug. "Just teaching the missus a bit of manners, that's all."

  "Help me," Ilanna moaned in her most pitiful voice, using her hair to cover her face. "Don't let him hurt me."

  "Shut your mouth, you carping hag." Laken's voice held surprising vitriol. "I've listened to your nagging long enough. 'Work harder, Lan,' you say. 'Clean the house, Lan,' you say. 'Why don't you have a bigger prick, Lan?' you say." He growled. "I've had more than a man can take, and then you have to go and insult my manhood?"

  The Bloody Hand thugs seemed to be struggling not to grin as they watched the exchange, making no move to interfere.

  "If we weren't in public, Gara, I swear I'd teach you a lesson you'd never forget." He seized her hair and pulled, giving her enough time to find her own feet. "We'll put this right, lads," he called to the thugs over his shoulder as he hustled her down the alley. "Next time you see her, she'll be as sweet as an angel."

  "Might want to think about getting a bigger prick, though," one of the thugs called after them.

  Laken shouted an insult back and half-dragged, half-shoved her down an adjoining street. The reek of rotten vegetables mixed with the stench of discarded beef and pig offal, and a thick layer of green-grey mud covered the floor. Ilanna nearly slipped but caught herself on a rough brick wall.

  Laken released her and doubled back to peer around the corner. When he returned, he wore an expression of mixed relief, chagrin, and fear. "Please forgive me, Master Gold." His voice held more than a little terror. "They were looking right at us, and I was certain they were going to stop us. I had—"

  She held up a muck-covered hand. "Peace, Laken. You thought and acted quickly." With a wry grin, she rubbed her shoulder. "I might have suggested an alternate plan, but you saved us."

  The worry faded from his face, and he let out a long sigh.

  She fixed him with a stern glare. "If I ever hear this story so much as whispered around the Guild, however, I'll cut your balls off myself, roast them, and feed them to every Journeyman of House Hound. Do you understand?"

  The Hound's eyes flew wide, his fear returning. "O-Of course, Guild Master."

  "So long as that's clear." Ilanna gave him a syrupy smile. "Now let's get off the streets before we have any more trouble."

  "Fiery hell, you reek!" Keltor pinched his slim nose with a delicate hand.

  "Get stuffed, Kel," Laken snarled. "You try wading through the alleys of Voramis and see if you come out smelling like roses and lilies."

  Their encounter with the Bloody Hand had left both of them wary of the main avenues and thoroughfares. They'd opted to return via the back streets of Lower Voramis. Unfortunately, the concept of cleanliness seemed even more foreign here than in Praamis. People emptied slop buckets out their windows, and only Ilanna's quick reflexes had saved t
hem from being doused in Keeper-knew-what unmentionable liquids and solids. The denizens that lived in the parts of Voramis unseen from the more heavily-traveled streets emptied their bladders and bowels wherever they chose. In places, the piles of debris, refuse, and more than a few unconscious and drugged people rose as high as their knees.

  The journey had been made in tense silence, the only sound the wet slurp of booted feet struggling through ankle-high mud. Laken refused to meet her eyes, and she'd caught him flinching whenever she drew too close. He'd recover, in time. For now, she welcomed the instinctive fear her reputation inspired. He'd keep his mouth shut, that was certain.

  While Laken bickered with Keltor, Ilanna slipped out of her soiled clothes and into a fresh tunic and breeches. Her boots had kept out the odd-colored fluids mixing with the muck and mire of the back alleys, but she'd have to get a new pair once this was all done. She had no desire to bring that particular miasma of odors back to Praamis with her.

  "Are you certain?" Keltor was asking when Ilanna returned her attention to the two Journeymen. "How could they have known we were here?"

  Laken shrugged. "No idea." He scratched his stubbled cheek. "Truth be told, I don't think they knew we were here. All I heard was they were looking for Master Gold, not for the Night Guild."

  "A fine distinction." Keltor sniffed.

  "Yet an important one," Ilanna chimed in. Both men turned toward her. "So they know I'm here, but they don't know about the rest of you. Perhaps they'll assume I have people with me, but they won't know who or how many. As long as you don't do anything to give yourselves away, you should be able to continue moving around unimpeded."

  The Journeymen seemed to ponder the statement.

  Keltor nodded first. "A fair point, Guild Master." His slim lips puckered, and a line deepened in his forehead. "Which means you're confined to the inn, at least until dark."

  "Agreed," Ilanna said. "Under cover of night, I should have no problem staying out of trouble. Or fleeing from it."