The Burning City (The Guildmaster Thief Book 2)

by Jake Kerr

  Alard stepped on the side of the dead horse and easily parried the swing of the Knight. His counter was delivered with such force that his blow knocked the Knight's sword so far to the side that it struck the horse's neck. Alard's return swing sliced through the midsection of the knight, leaving him mortally wounded.

  Unfortunately, the two remaining Knights had circled around by then and Alard had just enough time to raise his sword to block an incoming blow. It was a weak parry, and the force of the blow, coming as it did from a moving horse and above, knocked Alard to the ground.

  Vesper knew that even the mighty Alard would have trouble fighting two prepared mounted Knights coming from different directions. Sliding his balanced knife from its sheath, Vesper took a step and hurled it. He had very little hope of finding a damaging spot on the moving Knights, but the large horses made excellent targets. The knife slammed to the hilt into the neck of the closest horse, which shrieked and bolted, a stream of blood flowing freely from its neck. The Knight remained in the saddle, but Vesper knew he would dismount soon, one way or another.

  Continuing forward, Vesper grabbed his knife and turned his attention to Alard. The final mounted Knight was using his horse as a weapon, rearing it up and using its hooves as deadly clubs. Alard had no counter to this, so he skillfully retreated, keeping the body of the dead horse between him and the attacking horse as much as possible.

  Vesper had only one weighted knife, which he had already used, so he would be of limited help. Still, attacking two is much harder than attacking one, so he ran forward, yelling out, "Reinforcements are coming guild mate!"

  The mounted Knight didn't even pause, he turned his horse and galloped back up the lane. Vesper was shocked it worked. He was wearing the blue cloak of the Merchants not the brown of the Rangers, yet the Knight hadn't even considered that. All he heard was "reinforcements," and he retreated.

  Alard ignored Vesper. He jogged down the cul de sac and past the pile of dead bodies. Vesper watched as the last Knight approached Alard, having somehow dismounted. Not much intimidated Vesper, but he had to admit that Alard approaching with his huge sword and wearing his flowing hooded robe would have made him consider fleeing. So he had to give the Knight credit for engaging with the Deputy Thief.

  What the Knight earned in courage he lost in stupidity. The battle was as short as three sword swings, two of which were by Alard, and the second of those ending with the Knight cut practically in two.

  Alard wiped his sword on his brown cloak, sheathed it on his back, and strode toward Vesper. Smiling, Vesper sheathed his dagger and said, "I'm glad I'm on your side."

  "Vesper."

  Giving a slight bow, Vesper replied, "Deputy."

  "I've been looking for you."

  "You have found me. Or should I say I found you."

  Alard nodded. "We need to flee, and there is a distinct lack of safe houses remaining in the Flats."

  "The Circle lies beyond those houses. We can work our way toward the Warehouse District. The Knights patrol the Wall, but the Craft Guild guards patrol the roads there. Orion doesn't trust anyone but guild members that close to the warehouses."

  "And if a Craft Guild member stops us?"

  Vesper shrugged. "Then I tell them Quinto's deputy wants to talk with Orion. It's a story that is already spreading."

  "It is a good plan," was Alard's only response before turning and walking toward the houses that stood closest to the Great Wall and the road that lay behind them. Vesper caught up to him and asked, "So why were you looking for me?"

  "Because you're valuable."

  30

  The Assassin

  Pattis had killed a lot of people in his life, but his favorite was Guildmaster Pietro. He had found a poison that stopped a person's heart, but it needed to be administered in such large quantities that it was almost impossible to deliver effectively.

  Every day for two weeks Pattis manned a stall near Founders Park and asked to share an apple with the old Guildmaster. The old man smiled and happily did so every day, commenting on the day he dies that he quite enjoyed his new ritual of stealing an apple from the stall near Founders Park.

  He said the words with a hearty laugh, which made Pattis laugh himself. He was killing the most beloved man in Ness in front of everyone, and no one was the wiser. When Pietro died, Pattis felt a little sad that he wouldn't have the opportunity to meet him near Founders Park and continue to poison him.

  Pattis wasn't sure if Orion would become his favorite assassination, but he was fairly certain it had a chance. Orion was just as dumb and trusting as Pietro, so the challenge wasn't in succeeding, the challenge was in doing it as creatively as possible.

  The plan was audacious. Pattis was going to stab Orion to death in his own Tower, leaving behind a knife that could be traced back to Polo. Getting in unseen, completing the assassination in Orion's sanctuary, getting out unseen, and then blaming another guild? Pattis would smile about this mission for a long time.

  Orion was quite public, and getting an audience with him was generally not hard for higher ranked Guild Members. Pattis was a highly ranked Merchant Guild member, and with the relations between the two guilds, arranging a meeting wasn't difficult.

  "Name and business with the Guildmaster?" The guard at the gate sounded almost bored as he asked the questions.

  "Corian with the Merchant Guild. I need to discuss accounts with the Guildmaster."

  "Discussing accounts" was so vague that Pattis had practiced a series of more detailed explanations, depending on how difficult the guard was. To his shock, the guard let him through.

  "The Guildmaster's assistant is on the second floor. He will take you to him." And with that Pattis was inside the Craft Tower.

  On the second level, the assistant appeared just as bored as the guard. "The Guildmaster sees many people. Please stick to the facts of your discussion. If the Guildmaster dismisses you, you are to leave immediately. There is no discussion and no objection to his decisions."

  "Of course," Pattis replied.

  "The Guildmaster will see you now."

  "Now?" Pattis looked to see if anyone had exited or if someone within the room behind the secretary had indicated that the Guildmaster was free, but there was no one. Apparently , Pattis was one of the few visitors that day.

  Without even replying to Pattis' question, the assistant waved a hand over his shoulder, indicating that Pattis should continue onward.

  To his shock, the room was completely empty. Orion was so lax about his security, that he trusted the entire city to honor him. It was a moderately sized room, and Orion didn't sit on a throne or even a dais. There was a desk at the end with two comfortable looking chairs facing it.

  Between the door and the desk were rows of seats. The room looked like a combination of Larsen's office and a theater. Pattis approached the desk. He didn't plan on killing Orion immediately. He wanted to arrange Orion's death in a way that the Guildmaster had no opportunity to scream out.

  "Sit. I always welcome friends from the Merchant Guild." Orion smiled. "You sell our goods!"

  Pattis closed the distance and sat in one of the chairs. "It is an honor, Guildmaster."

  "We honor each other with every meeting," Orion replied. Pattis hated such empty sayings and was tempted to stab Orion then and there. "But we cannot talk with out a toast and drink. It is required of everyone I meet for the first time." Orion lifted a cup already filled with wine and handed it to Pattis.

  "Thank you," Pattis replied as he sniffed the wine. It smelled fabulous.

  "To friendships between guilds. May they become even stronger."

  They clinked glasses and Orion drank his entire glass. Pattis took a sip, but as he prepared to put his glass down, Orion frowned. "We cannot talk until you drink your full glass. It is the tradition."

  Pattis smiled and drank all of his wine, holding the glass in his left hand as he tapped the hilt of his knife with his right. Needing to get next to Orion, Pattis said
, "Before we talk, may I offer you a gift?"

  Orion stared at Pattis intently but didn't say anything. The stare made Pattis uncomfortable. Or maybe it was the wine. Pattis felt his stomach tighten. Am I nervous? No, he wasn't nervous. He never got nervous. He just suddenly wasn't feeling well.

  "It's okay," Orion said with a smile. "It takes time. Right about now you will be wondering why you feel odd. It's because you are slowly losing the ability to move. It starts with your stomach for some reason, and one can't quite understand the feeling so you consider it as sickness, but you'll understand it soon enough." Orion laughed. "Look, your hands have already fallen to your side. You can't move them."

  Pattis couldn't understand what was happening to him, but Orion was right--he couldn't move his hands or arms. Poison. It was the only thing that made sense.

  "Pattis. Blade of the Merchant Guild. How foolish you are."

  "H- h-," Pattis tried to speak, but his jaw was no longer working.

  "How did I know you were Larsen's Blade? My goodness. He is a dear friend of mine, didn't you know? He let it slip back when you assassinated Pietro. He was very proud of you." Orion stood up just as Pattis fell forward, his head slamming against the desk before he slid to the side and landed on the floor.

  Pattis worked through every possible scenario of escape, but there were none. His entire body was limp, and his breathing was suddenly becoming more difficult. He could still see, however, and he watched as Orion's black leather shoes with a bright yellow decorative strip stopped in front of his face.

  "Your arrogance and stupidity is nearly as great as Larsen's." For the first time, Pattis could hear an edge to the old man's voice. It was calm but with a tinge of anger that made it even more frightening. "You fool! You thought you could assassinate me in my office? You couldn't even assassinate me in Founders Park." The tip of Orion's shoe slid forward and under Pattis' cheek. Orion raised his foot, and Pattis could see Orion's face. "Don't feel bad. You aren't the first to underestimate me."

  Pattis' chest started to tighten, and he had to labor to breathe. He knew he was going to die, and his promise to himself--that when his death arrived he would take whoever killed him with him--turned out to be empty.

  "I could show mercy, of course, but I prefer to watch you suffocate to death. It is such a horrible and embarrassing way to die, is it not? To stop it all you need to do is... take... a... breath. So simple to do, and yet... here you are."

  Pattis breathing ceased, and he knew his life was about to end. The gods would ignore him, of course. His life had been too violent, too evil. Perhaps Larsen would avenge him.

  "Ah, your eyes close. You will be joining Larsen soon. Yes, your mission was not only your downfall, it was for a Guildmaster who wouldn't even be alive to see its success."

  Things started to fade, and Pattis found the certainty of death calming. He had very few regrets as his life ended, but one was that he had chosen the wrong side.

  31

  A Surprising and Important Development

  Founders Square, the central square of the Old Quarter, was one of the oldest parts in all of Ness. It's cobblestone center was worn so smooth that wagons could ride across it with very little violence to their passengers. The buildings that surrounded the square were similarly old, and one towered over the others.

  Its previous use was lost to history, but it was made of stone hauled from the mountains, and its two stories were marked by a solidity that projected security, timelessness, and authority. It was called Founders House, and it was rumored that the founders of Ness met there to settle disputes, among themselves and of their fellow citizens.

  Ralan was sitting in a large room at the front of the second floor, with large windows overlooking the vibrant square. With him was Coode, Dirk, Philos, and a group of ten Harvest Guild members, each one the patriarch or matriarch of a family that was forced to leave the Lower Quarter.

  They sat around a round table, with Ralan at what could be considered the head--the seat with the back to the square. Coode was to his right and Dirk to his left. Wine, meats, and cheeses were available around the table, and the Harvest guild members picked at the food.

  Ralan was nervous. It was one thing to rally desperate people stumbling into the Old Quarter from across the Bridge, but it was another thing to face the leadership of the families who were dispossessed. They would be bitter, angry, and judgmental. One misstep, and Ralan would destroy any goodwill the Thieves were building with them.

  Hoping for the best, Ralan decided to be blunt and honest. With nothing to lose it was most likely not only the best strategy, it was the easiest--all he had to do was tell the truth.

  Turning to Coode, Ralan said, "We are missing families."

  "Indeed," he replied. "A significant number were imprisoned, while others are still lost in the chaos. Then there are the many who simply don't require a voice."

  Ralan nodded. Not every family required a place at the ruling table. They looked to others to represent their interests, and those families were gathered around him. Well, some of them were. The most important families were imprisoned.

  Turning to those families surrounding him--Harvest Guild members who were attacked, harassed, and betrayed--Ralan could see the hardness, the pain, and the anger behind every face. "I understand you all are uncertain as to who the Thieves are, why we are helping you, and what is going on. I hope to answer all those questions during this meeting."

  Ralan turned to Coode. "This is Coode, he is the Captain of the Old Quarter." Turning to Dirk, he said, "This is Dirk, he is Captain of the Guard." Looking back to his guests, Ralan continued, "These two men are in charge of your food, shelter, safety, and security. Coode, can you please give us an update on the refugees."

  "Yes, Guildmaster." Ralan was grateful that the proud Coode treated him with the respect a guildmaster demanded. It was important in front of the hard faces. "The clearing of the Lower Quarter has effectively ended. There are occasional Harvest Guild members wandering across the bridge, but they are few and far between at this point. If I may put modesty aside, sir, our guildmates have done an amazing job making the abandoned sections of the Quarter livable for our new guests." Coode nodded across the table.

  He continued, "We are doing our best to make them comfortable, and they are organized as well as we could into neighborhoods that they would find familiar. We have roughly ten areas of the Quarter in good enough shape to house everyone. So far, it appears to be enough."

  "Ten neighborhoods." Ralan looked at the ten guests at the table and suddenly realized why Coode had brought this specific group. Speaking to them, Ralan stated, "Do you agree with Captain Coode's assessment?"

  A sour-faced woman with wispy white hair replied. "Aye. It be dusty, but it is dry and livable."

  "And the food?" Ralan asked.

  "Better than some of us are used to," a young man replied.

  "Good. We need to take care with supplies, as we were unprepared for your numbers, so that may change, but I hope you understand." Faces around the table nodded. "Captain Dirk, any news on the Knights?"

  "The Wall on this side of the river remains under our control. The Knights seem little interested in operations against us. The Knights on the Bridge are mostly staying in the background, stopping violence and supporting the Merchant Guild Guards."

  "Traitors!" someone across the table spat.

  "Indeed," Dirk replied. "The Merchant Guards are the ones driving the Harvest Guild across the bridge, although, as Captain Coode noted, that appears to have ended."

  "Any sign of operations against us?" Ralan looked at Dirk. He knew that he was asking a question that would require a confidential answer, but he wanted to display trust and transparency to the Harvest Guild members. He hoped Dirk would understand.

  Without any hesitation, Dirk replied, "None, sir. The Knights appear to be doing no more than simply letting things happen. They are not gathering anywhere we can see for any kind of offensive against us.
The Rangers are operating normally. In fact, it is possible that Quinto doesn't even know what is happening within Ness."

  Ralan nodded. "It is possible. They are very isolated. I'm sure their information comes from Saxe."

  "The Craft guards are not marshaling any forces either. They and the Knights appear to simply be letting Larsen do all the dirty work."

  "They are still traitors," came a reply from a man at the table, which led to universal murmurs of approval.

  "And Polo?" Ralan asked. It was perhaps unfair to ask that of Coode or Dirk, as the Harvest District was far outside either of their responsibilities, but he knew their answer, and he hoped it would spur conversation from the Harvest Guild families.

  "No word, sir," Dirk replied, as Coode nodded.

  "He'll make things right," a fourth voice stated. He was a middle-aged man with a thick, brown, full beard and mustache. "He'll rally those from the mines and the Outer Fields."

  "Please introduce yourself," Ralan said. He was hoping that by bringing the families into the conversation he wouldn't have to make an inspirational speech or answer questions for which he had no answer. They would shape the conversation themselves.

  The man introduce himself, and then the others did the same. A few expressed gratitude for the kindness of the Thieves, but the overwhelming attitude seemed to be one of suspicion. At one point Coode leaned over and whispered, "You need to share our history and mission, Guildmaster."

  Ralan outlined a brief history of Ness as Raef had taught him. The civil war from centuries earlier, the move across the river and then the gradual disparity between the rich in the Upper Quarter and the poor in the Flats and even those that lived in the Old Quarter and worked after traveling every day across the bridge.