“We took a sacred oath to extract the blood tax!” Graham screamed. “They took over a hundred of ours, so we take two hundred of theirs! It is our moral duty!”
Minick held his hand up at that. “Are you kidding me? There is no profit or value in that Blood Tax. It is what landed us in this nightmare to begin with.”
“An oath bound in blood,” one of the lawkeepers muttered from the back. “We cannot go back on what we vow.”
Minick shook his head in disbelief. “Are you all so foolish?”
“You are free to disobey your oath,” Lawspeaker Emelia said. “But that means you have turned your back on the Thieves Guild.”
“The oath also demands that you listen to the superior leader, and by law of succession, I am in charge,” Minick said.
“Then we call a vote for a new leader,” Emelia said. “That power is afforded in our charter.”
“Fine!” Minick shouted, throwing his hands up in frustration. “If you all want war and a new leader, go ahead. Have fun being massacred. I resign from my post effective immediately.”
The crowd was quick to burst into arguments about who should lead. The arguments would grow long and heated. But Minick, ever so clever, was cautious enough to wait until the crowd was distracted with casting their votes in a secret ballot. At that point, he was quick to sneak to the stairs.
“Hey,” one of the stair guards said, pointing at him. The man, Martin, held a rather long halberd. “We’re on lockdown, no one comes in or out.”
“Didn’t you just hear all that,” Minick said, pointing to the crowd. “They’re casting a vote. You two need to get over there.”
Martin glanced at the other guard. “What kind of vote?”
“New leader, I stepped down. I’ll keep an eye on the post,” he said. “Too much pressure for me anyway.”
“Uh-huh,” Martin said.
Minick sighed and leaned forward, producing a small key. “I’m getting the hell out of here. This key opens up the emergency guild funds vault. I suggest you take the funds, vote for a new leader and then lay low until all this blows over.”
Martin eagerly took the key. “Fine, Minick, you stand guard,” he glanced at his partner and nodded. “We need to go check on the vaults.”
Minick took a deep breath as he approached the City Guard offices. Located in the heart of the Fountain District, this would be where Captain Markov would be. At least, he hoped.
As Minick approached the small, square building, he noticed a gigantic creature made of rocks walking nearby. The Stonemar was huge, nearly 9 feet tall and was adorned in a chest plate with the emblem of the Glimmer city watch on it. None other than Captain Markov was walking alongside the creature, instructing it.
“So, generally we ignore small things, like noise complaints or food theft, as long the merchant’s being ripped off are wealthy. We call it the beggar’s tax,” Markov said.
“Food should be free?” the Stonemar asked.
“Only if you’re starving,” Markov replied. His focus shifted to Minick. “Can I help you, citizen?”
“Uh, erm, yes, actually,” Minick said. He had to be quite cautious in his dealings or else he’d be finding himself hanging next to Kimpter. “I would like an audience with you.”
“Out here is just as good as anywhere else,” Markov said. “This is Craig, he’s my shadow, so anything you say to me, you’re saying to him.”
“Yes, Craig, a pleasure. My name is Minick,” he said as he stretched out his hand to shake Markov.
“Ah yes, I believe you’re a member of the Thieves Guild,” Markov said, refusing to shake the man’s hand. “Now, Craig. This is what we call either an informant or attempted suicide. We can determine which one he is by hearing him out.”
“He looks suicidal,” Craig said. “Walking out in the open is an invitation to death.”
“Please!” Minick said, raising his hands. “I’m here because I want to make a deal. I can hand over valuable information about the rest of the guild. In exchange, I’d like for you to simply forget all about me, my supposed crimes, anything like that.”
Markov shrugged. “You want to stay in the city?”
“Glimmer is my home,” Minick said. “I’d rather not be forced to leave.”
“An informant then,” Markov said. The captain walked up to Minick and put his arm around his shoulder. “You’ve got two minutes. If I don’t like what I hear, Craig is going to paint the sidewalk with your blood.”
“Ah! Okay, okay! Listen, there’s only fifty of us left. We’re holed up inside the 50th level of the Ward of the Dead. They want war and are arming up right now. I tried to dissuade them, but they are dead set on attacking you.”
Markov chuckled at that. “You know I have informants in there, right?”
“What?” Minick gasped.
“Yeah, I paid off a few of the survivors to stir up trouble, to keep them all in one location. My men are gearing up for the raid as we speak.”
Minick’s heart sank. “Oh…then I just…”
“You just ratted out your people for nothing,” Markov said. “But, I’m in a great mood right now. Maybe because circumstances for Glimmer have just gotten a lot better. If I’m correct, you were the treasurer, right?”
“Yes, yes I was.”
“You were good with running numbers, calculating and ensuring money goes where it needs?”
Minick nodded. “Of course.”
“Great. Craig, please escort Mr. Minick to his new job with Elias.”
Craig chuckled a little and walked over to Minick, picking the man up with one hand, slinging him over his shoulder. Minick didn’t fight the grasp of the Stonemar, noting how exceptionally careful the creature was not to squeeze him painfully.
“You’ve got to be kidding me,” Minick grumbled. “I just quit my last job as a treasurer.”
“Give me one good year and you’ve worked off your debt to society,” Markov said. “Is that fair? Or do you want to handle this in courts?”
“No, no, this arrangement is fine!” Minick replied. “A year sounds great.” This was just great. He had traded in one dangerous job for another. The only difference here was that this new job probably wouldn’t pay him nearly as well as the Thieves Guild. Still, it was better than dying horribly underground. Something told him that Markov wasn’t sending his men to arrest anyone down in the Ward of the Dead.
Groth stood in front of his four brethren. They had long eschewed their original names, as he had, and had lived by names given to them by the humans. There was Craig, who had been one of the greatest singers in the Stonelands, Peter, a doctor of natural sciences, Urgg, a philosopher and Crusher, a stonemason. All of them were accomplished Stonemar in their own rights, with incredible gifts that the world hadn’t seen for a long time. Now, they were gathered together not to use their skills for the good of society and the world, but rather to beat humans to death.
“Should we say something to rally these poor men?” Urgg asked, in the natural tongue. There were only fifteen members of the watch. The five Stonemar would be more than enough to take out 50 men. Honestly, with nowhere else to run, a single Stonemar could have done the job. But Markov had been adamant to use his brand new fighting force.
“We should not risk the lives of innocent peacekeepers,” Craig said. “Let us tell them to wait here.”
“Is it moral then, to ignore the rule of our leader who we owe much?” Urgg asked.
“Perhaps we must contemplate this, for a time,” Crusher said.
“No!” Groth grunted, not in the mother tongue but in his human voice. “We must not delay. Move according to plan.”
“Brother Groth is far too hasty,” Peter replied. “But we should consider his position in the matter.”
Groth growled a little. Each of these Stonemar had been ragged, homeless and without a clue. Only the Stonemason had been able to get any kind of work, although he was quickly fired due to how long he took to carve a single piec
e of granite. They still had not adapted to human society. At least Groth knew how to make decisions. “Move!” he barked again.
The four all grunted, but complied, moving toward the wide staircase leading deep into the earth. The soldiers behind them, led by Grecin, followed as well.
“Battle scares me,” Peter said.
“It is like swatting flies,” Groth replied. They continued for what seemed to be an eternity down the stairs. “You have nothing to fear.”
“I fear not death, but the fates of those whom I harm,” Peter replied.
“They are murderers and thieves,” Urgg said. “Is it not our duty to then dissuade them through reason?”
Groth sighed at that. He had been in the company of humans for so long, he forgot what it was like to be with a band of creatures that liked to think deeply before they made any decisions. “A writ has been pronounced by the Magistrate. They are enemies of the state and must be slain.”
“The treasurer is under such a classification,” Craig added, “but we employ him instead.”
Groth said no more. As long as his people were moving downwards, toward the 50th floor, he had nothing to say to them.
Grecin hustled up next to Groth. “Say, Groth, you wouldn’t mind if we stayed back during the attack? Guard the entrance?”
“Do as you please,” Groth said. “It is not my call to make.”
“Captain said you were the point man on this,” Grecin replied.
“Point man? I do not understand,” Groth said. “I have no edges to me.”
“No, it means you’re in charge,” Grecin replied, laughing a little. He patted Groth on the arm. “Markov made it clear that you are the final word on everything.”
“Why would he make such a decree?”
“He sees something in you, I reckon. Captain doesn’t like a lot of people, but he seems quite fond of you,” Grecin replied. “So, here’s your chance. Run this operation smoothly and I’m sure he’ll be impressed.”
“I do not wish to impress anyone,” Groth said. He grumbled a little, emanating a deep sound from his body.
To his surprise, the deep grumbling sound echoed from both Peter and Craig. Groth turned to look at them. “We empathize with you, brother!” Peter said. “Whatever you suffer, we take on your suffering.”
“Tell us your pain!” Craig entreated. “And we will muse on it for a fortnight.”
Groth ignored them. Of course, in his culture, not answering right away was perfectly fine. They would be patient with him. But he could not return the patience to them. What was it about their presence that bothered him so? Was it that they reminded him of home? Or that they reminded him of how different he had become? He did not know.
Finally, they reached the entrance to the final crypt. The door, marked with symbols and pictograms of the dead rising up to see their makers, was sealed up tightly.
“What’s the plan?” Grecin asked.
Groth turned to face the man. “Stay here. All of you. I will handle it myself.” And before anyone could answer, he charged into the thick, stone wall. Much to his surprise, the wall held itself intact after his first charge, but the yellowish granite cracked deeply. He threw a few more punches until it gave way, crumbling down.
Beyond the wall was a large crypt full of men and women who were waiting for him. No doubt some scout had reported Groth’s movements. Groth stomped forward, almost blinded by his frustration. He had been prisoner in this wretched human society for so long that he could barely stand his own culture and his own people. While they had remained the same as when the left the Stonelands, it was he who had changed. And it was all because of this damnable job he had taken.
One of the humans approached, his hands up. “Please! Please, we wish to parley.”
Groth stood at full height, towering over the man. He was so much larger than the human. His fist would easily obliterate him, as well as the rest of them. They would stand no chance against a Stonemar in his prime. And for a moment, the temptation was great. He could have just let loose and destroyed every last soul in the building. But doing so would not be right. He could not kill in cold blood, no matter how angry he was.
“Speak your peace,” Groth said. “But know that should you attack me, I will slay every last one of you.”
“We surrender,” the man said. “We cannot hope to fight against you. Please, have mercy on us.”
“Lay down your arms and kneel on the floor,” Groth replied. “All of you.”
The group of men and women complied, dropping to their knees and quickly throwing off their swords and bows. Such things would be of no use against a single Stonemar, let alone five.
Groth turned to face Grecin, who was standing at the front of the shattered door. “They will come peacefully.”
Grecin slowly walked up to Groth, shaking his head. “Uh, we got a bit of a problem here,” he muttered.
“And that would be?”
“Well, taking them into custody means giving them a trial,” Grecin said. “And uh, well…a trial means they’ll be free to talk all about Cimirite and maybe even point the finger at the Captain’s involvement. Then when the lawyers get involved, it’ll be a nightmare.”
Groth lowered his head at that. “So, we are not to capture them, are we?”
“I’m just surprised they surrendered instead of fighting back,” Grecin said. “It’d be a hell of a lot easier if they were resisting arrest.”
“This is murder,” Groth said.
“Think about it as extra-judicial justice,” Grecin said.
Groth tightened his fists and growled. “These lives will not be harmed. Not by you.”
“Don’t be a dumbass,” Grecin said. “You do know that you’re not here on city authority. You’re here because you, like myself and the rest of these fine men here, are working outside of the law. We weren’t given instructions to arrest. You don’t get to change the purpose of our mission.’
“I thought Markov put me in charge,” Groth replied.
“In charge of the killing. These bastards can’t see the light of day. They made their choice long ago. They decided to play the game.”
The game. Groth reflected on the words and recalled Markov’s advice on the first raid they had been in together. “And they lost,” Groth muttered.
“Exactly,” Grecin said. He drew out a sword. “But I respect you not wanting to sully your hands. Keep them in line and we’ll take care of it.”
Groth shook his head. “No. I will handle it.” He turned and faced the kneeling men and women. They all looked at him with fear in their faces. A pang of guilt struck him. But as he crushed the skull of the first man in front of him, he had a realization. Had things been reversed, not a single one of these monsters wearing human skin would have hesitated. Perhaps that would be enough to ease his conscience. At least for this millennium.
Chapter 40:
Samuel stood in front of the glistening teal painted building. At over six stories tall and furnished with the finest of beds, The Patrick Yirn Home for Wayward Children was finally complete. He could see dozens of children, bedraggled and fearful, being led into the building by volunteers who would look after them. Their new lives began today. And he couldn’t be more happy.
Patrick’s son, Jacob Yirn, had been significantly more reasonable than his father. In fact, when Samuel first stopped by the young man’s new office, to enquire about the state of the orphanage, Jacob had no idea of his father’s dealings. He assumed that the contract signed by his father, like all other contracts, was legitimate and saw no reason to hold up the construction any further. As far as the boy knew, his father had been murdered by the help, who had all seen fit to kill Patrick and loot the house. And with the town criers repeating that message for the cost of a mere three copper, Samuel was in the clear.
Sali came up alongside him. “You really pulled it off.”
“Yeah, I did,” Samuel said. “Yeah, I did.”
“But was it worth it?�
�� she asked, turning to look at him. He noticed that dark circles ran around her eyes and that she looked quite exhausted.
“What do you mean?”
“You know what I’m talking about,” she said. “I know you killed him. So, I want to know, was it worth it?”
Samuel kept his mouth shut. It was clear by the anger in her voice and the judgement on her face that she did not approve of his actions. She was too smart for him to hide the truth from her. “It was a complicated situation,” he tried to explain. But this elicited only a cynical laugh from her.
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