Guilds & Glaives
Page 1
GUILDS & GLAIVES
Other Anthologies Edited by:
Patricia Bray & Joshua Palmatier
After Hours: Tales from the Ur-Bar
The Modern Fae’s Guide to Surviving Humanity
Clockwork Universe: Steampunk vs Aliens
Temporally Out of Order
Alien Artifacts
Were-
All Hail Our Robot Conquerors!
Second Round: A Return to the Ur-Bar
S.C. Butler & Joshua Palmatier
Submerged
Guilds & Glaives
Laura Anne Gilman & Kat Richardson
The Death of All Things
Troy Carrol Bucher & Joshua Palmatier
The Razor’s Edge
GUILDS & GLAIVES
Edited by
S.C. Butler
&
Joshua Palmatier
Zombies Need Brains LLC
www.zombiesneedbrains.com
Copyright © 2018 S.C. Butler, Joshua Palmatier, and
Zombies Need Brains LLC
All Rights Reserved
Interior Design (ebook): April Steenburgh
Interior Design (print): ZNB Design
Cover Design by ZNB Design
Cover Art “Guilds & Glaives” by Justin Adams of Varia Studios
ZNB Book Collectors #12
All characters and events in this book are fictitious.
All resemblance to persons living or dead is coincidental.
The scanning, uploading, and distribution of this book via the Internet or any other means without the permission of the publisher is illegal and punishable by law. Please purchase only authorized electronic editions of this book, and do not participate or encourage electronic piracy of copyrighted material.
Kickstarter Edition Printing, August 2018
First Printing, September 2018
Print ISBN-10: 1940709202
Print ISBN-13: 978-1940709208
Ebook ISBN-10: 1940709210
Ebook ISBN-13: 978-1940709215
Printed in the U.S.A.
COPYRIGHTS
Introduction copyright © 2018 by S.C. Butler
“In the Asps’ Nest” copyright © 2018 by Lawrence Harding
“The Sword and the Djinn” copyright © 2018 by Howard Andrew Jones
“Honors Among Thieves” copyright © 2018 by Esther Friesner
“Rainbow Dark” copyright © 2018 by Rhondi Vilott Salsitz
“The Three Assassins of Lord Slaughter” copyright © 2018 by Jeanne Cook
“Footprints of the Hou d” copyright © 2018 by Violette Malan
“The Witch That Wasn’t” copyright © 2018 by Leah Webber
“Oathbreaker” copyright © 2018 by John David Wolverton
“Blood and Onyx” copyright © 2018 by Russ Nickel
“The Charter” copyright © 2018 by Ashley McConnell
“Guild of the Ancients” copyright © 2018 by D.B. Jackson
“The Cage at the End of the World” copyright © 2018 by James Enge
“Assassinsssss” copyright © 2018 by Jason Palmatier
“Those Who Look Back” copyright © 2018 by Maria Bashkueva
Table of Contents
Introduction by S.C. Butler
“In the Asps’ Nest” by Lawrence Harding
“The Sword and the Djinn” by Howard Andrew Jones
“Honors Among Thieves” by Esther Friesner
“Rainbow Dark” by Jenna Rhodes
“The Three Assassins of Lord Slaughter” by Gini Koch (writing as Anita Ensal)
“Footprints of the Hound” by Violette Malan
“The Witch That Wasn’t” by Leah Webber
“Oathbreaker” by David Farland
“Blood and Onyx” by R.K. Nickel
“The Charter” by Ashley McConnell
“Guild of the Ancients” by D.B. Jackson
“The Cage at the End of the World” by James Enge
“Assassinsssss” by Jason Palmatier
“Those Who Look Back” by Amelia Sirina
About the Authors
About the Editors
Acknowledgments
Introduction
S.C. Butler
Stop right there! If you like your fantasy filled with fellowships and noble quests, this anthology is not for you. And if you love lengthy tales of politics and power, then it won’t be to your taste either. But if you like a little intimacy with your evil, and your vengeance short and sweet, with perhaps a pinch of silliness in the witchcraft, then these fourteen delicious sweetmeats of sword and sorcery will prove right up your alley. And it will be a dank, twisting, fetid alley, too.
Jump from body to body with a soul runner, hungry for true freedom. Swap masks with a maskmaker as he desperately tries to hide from his fate. Laugh with an unmage while she unsuccessfully tries to persuade first her Inquisitor—and then her Insurance Adjustor—that she isn’t what they think she is at all. Duel with the Gray Maid, creep out with the Tirribin and the Belvora, dive headfirst into the Asps’ Nest, even pull King Finehair’s immaculate man-mane. In this book you will find no high elves (only low), no politics (unless assassination is involved), and certainly no nobility. What you will discover will be all the finest points of … GUILDS AND GLAIVES.
In the Asps’ Nest
Lawrence Harding
One might have expected the guards to be especially alert tonight, but Katja Shade-Eyes knew how guild hierarchies inevitably resolved themselves. Tonight was a night to be seen—to boast, to impress and, if necessary, to brown-nose one’s way into the good books of the Grand Master and her lieutenants. To be left guarding the doors on a night like this was a disappointment, if not an insult. The best and brightest would be inside. And besides, what was the worry? No one would be insane enough to break into a guild-hall on a Pledging Night.
No one except Katja.
Still, alert or not, there were three guards at the door. That in itself was no bother—and the knives that had once been her namesake thirsted for their throats—but tonight’s contract did not call for bloodshed. At least, not yet.
That left stealth. So that is what she had planned for.
Nor were the guards the only protection the entrance had. There were also the alarum wards across the doorway that would alert the guards—inside and out—if anything unauthorized should pass through. Besides that, lesser wards had been laid around the surrounding streets like tripwires, so that nothing could approach undetected. Unfortunately for them, Katja had a way with wards.
She had watched them setting the lesser alarums earlier from a convenient rooftop. She knew where they were and once she had seen the way the runes were carved it was quick work to creep down and alter them for her own purposes before they were activated.
A ward a street away was about to go off for no reason whatsoever, other than that she had told it to. Her timing had to be precise. The whole hit depended on it. Any second now …
One of the guards cocked his head at the sudden sound. “Something’s tripped a ward.”
His fellow shuffled, looking out into the chill night air. “Probably just a cat.” This earned him a meaningful nudge and a sneer from the third.
“Grayfang told us to be on extra high alert tonight, and that’s what we’re going to be. You stay here. We’ll go check it out since you’re so lazy.”
Two of the guards drew their knives and disappeared round the corner, leaving the remaining guard at the entrance, staring nervously out into the gloom. That meant he was facing away from Katja when she dropped from the gutters behind him and shoved half an ounce of ha’lik against his unprotected face. He struggled for a moment, his cries muffled against the hand clamped over his mouth, th
en relaxed and allowed Katja to lean him gently against the wall.
Ha’lik was useful stuff. A mild opiate and hallucinogenic, it induced the notion that one had just had a pleasant daydream. Of course, any rogue with any experience knew the signs of it—probably even the grunts guarding the outer doors tonight—but by the time they worked it out it would be too late.
The guard’s eyes drooped as he stared off into space with a lazy grin while Katja stuffed her soiled glove safely into her pouch. He began to hum while she carefully unclipped the sigil from his tunic and pinned it to her own breast. She allowed herself a small, satisfied smile as she slipped through the outer wards into the Asps’ Nest.
It was time to go to work.
* * *
“So,” Katja asked the hooded figure sitting opposite her. “What’s the job?”
They were in a private room of The Golden Sheaf. This, contrary to the belief of most lowly rogues, was where the real business happened. If you wanted to impress an underling or intimidate them into doing something, you took them to the Ritual Chamber of a guild-hall and filled it with smoke and candles. If you wanted to get serious business done, this was the place to do it.
Outside in the taproom rogues, pickpockets, and knifemen of all gangs and guilds rubbed shoulders. The Golden Sheaf was the only truce-house in the city. No one drew steel on another here—not twice, anyway. Even cut-throats needed time off.
The voice from within the hood was deep and velvety. “The Black Asps.”
“You have business with them?”
The hood chuckled. “Everyone does, sooner or later.”
Katja drummed her fingers against the table. “True enough. I’m not unfamiliar with them myself.”
“So I have heard.”
“Oh?” Katja leaned back in her seat and stared hard at her potential employer. “And what have you heard?”
* * *
A scream echoed down the corridor behind Katja and the lanterns set into the wall began to pulse with an unnatural red light. The screaming was almost drowned out by the dull bass of the alarum charms throbbing from the wall—but not quite. In the meantime, everyone in the area would be very much aware that some sneak had fallen foul of the Black Asps’ wards and was suffering a world of pain. Discretion had its merits, but sometimes it paid to advertise.
The guard would recover, eventually. And he’d been taught a salutary lesson—never lose hold of your guild-sigil. And if you do lose it, don’t trip your own guild’s defenses before you notice. As an added bonus, any minute now there should be …
She ducked around a corner and lost herself in the shadows as best she could. This time she didn’t need to make much of an effort—the guards from the second ring of defenses were rushing to deal with the apparent intruder caught in the wards. They weren’t expecting anyone to be inside already. She let them blunder past, each eager to be the one to apprehend the victim and claim the credit and a better posting next Pledging Night. She counted them as they went past—all three, a full complement. Some god or another must be smiling on her for them to leave their post unguarded. When their footsteps were lost in the distance beneath the alarum wards, she snuck round the corner to the now-deserted guard-post.
She’d underestimated the Asps. Clearly someone wanted this particular Pledging Night to be secure—there was still one guard manning the post. She stopped abruptly and launched herself backwards round the corner. She could only count herself lucky that the guard had been facing the wrong way. Katja swallowed a hissed curse. Gods above, how could she have been so sloppy? She flattened herself back against the wall, deep in shadow, and held her breath.
He didn’t raise the alarm. It didn’t sound like he had moved, much less noticed anything amiss. He was probably fresh meat, too, dumb and unobservant, obediently staying put while his more experienced handlers checked out the racket at the entrance. So much the better. She crouched and produced a tiny mirror from a hidden pocket in her sleeve. She screwed it onto a piece of wire, which she bent into a suitable angle. Carefully, she edged it round the corner, low to the ground, where it was less likely to attract unwanted attention.
He was definitely alone. That was a blessing. He was huge and resolutely filled the doorway, which was not. He was also built like an ox; luckily, she still had enough ha’lik soaked into her glove to stun one. She judged that she was maybe six paces away from the guard. An ideal distance. His stance caught her eye, too—the stance of a young street-brawler before he’d been bloodied enough times to stop fearing pain. There was a nervous aggression to it, better for warning off the weak than warding off an attack.
She slipped the mirror away and, pulling her scarf firmly over her nose and mouth, she re-donned her soiled glove. She took a deep breath, then sprang around the corner.
Her estimations had been correct. Not only was the guard green, but he was nervous and, frankly, didn’t seem the quickest on the uptake. By the time he had opened his mouth to raise the alarm, her fist had connected with his jaw hard enough to stun him for a few seconds. It would suffice. She rammed her other hand against his nose and mouth, pressing hard to force him to inhale as much of the remaining ha’lik as possible. The huge man’s eyes widened, then his lids drooped dreamily. He stood as if resuming his guard as Katja slipped behind him and away, further into the den of the Asps.
If she got this right, she would have a clan again. It would be a challenge, but she was a woman of her word. She could do this. And she would.
If she didn’t, she had no future.
* * *
“I heard that your last encounter with the Black Asps got you expelled from the Spiderkin.”
Katja kept her face blank. Her interlocutor continued.
“I heard that it was a simple mission. A hostage-exchange after some of the more overconfident low-rankers started an unsanctioned turf war. I heard that people died …”
Katja didn’t need to listen. She was too busy fighting off the memories that came flooding back, as if summoned by those words.
She knew that she wasn’t at fault, but that didn’t stop her blaming herself. The violence had erupted almost as soon as negotiations began. The Asps shot first, of course, but the only survivors had been herself and the Asp ambassador. It was her word against his and his word had actual weight. The Spiderkin had had no choice. Katja had to go.
Work enough was forthcoming—even with a black mark against her, her reputation was sufficient to find jobs from clients who preferred to operate beneath the notice of the guilds. It was murky business but, in a way, she’d never been freer to pursue contracts—even if they were less savory than the guild-work she had been used to. She’d kept herself alive and in coin, and she could take a certain amount of pride in that. And yet …
She may have swum where others would have sunk without a trace, but compared to her old life she was barely treading water. The clanless life was lonely—no allies to call on, no safehouses to rely on, no one to watch your back … and no future to speak of.
She had been given a year’s grace ten months ago. Time was running out. And yet the memories of the night of her banishment stalked her as if they had only happened yesterday.
* * *
Katja couldn’t see the face of the Mistress of the Spiderkin, hidden as it was behind wisping webs of smoke and incense and the silken gauze of her mask, but she could feel its expression. Regret, apology, and, worst of all, sympathy. That was the knife that cut the deepest.
“Katja Blade-Weaver, I hereby cast you from the Spiderkin.”
Katja simply bowed. There was no point resisting. Any objection would only lengthen this humiliation.
“You have failed our order. You have cost us wealth and lives. But, in light of your previous service, you will be allowed to live.”
Katja bowed again. “Thank you, Mistress.”
The Mistress stared down impassively at her from her dais. “Before you leave this place, never to return, you must shed the signs t
hat joined you to us.” She gestured curtly to two guards who emerged from the shadows to stand beside Katja.
“First, your weapons.”
Katja unclipped the belts that criss-crossed her torso and handed them to her guard. Then she bent and removed the two knives from her boots, another from each sleeve. As she handed the last blade to the other guard, the Mistress held up her hand.