*
T he city had gone to the Abyss. There was no other way to describe the horrors Haern watched as he hurried along the streets, keeping his head down and his swords hidden. It was too dangerous to remain on the rooftops. Every mercenary with a bow was firing at whatever moved. He’d counted four fires the last time he’d found a quiet enough spot to scale a wall and look over the city. Madness, total madness. Was this what it’d been like when his father first declared war against the Trifect so long ago?
The mercenaries traveled in squads, some as large as a hundred. They roamed the streets, smashing in doors, dragging out scared owners to ask questions, demand names, and sometimes execute outright. He watched a group of three thieves, Spiders based on their cloaks, chased by twenty men in armor. They died when a second group cut them off, another ten with naked blades and eager eyes. The mercenaries left only pieces of the three. Pieces.
Because he lacked guild colors and appeared the beggar, he’d managed to avoid much of their ire. He’d been questioned twice. The first time he feigned deafness. The second time he pointed them on their way toward the headquarters of the Serpent Guild. While following them, he watched a couple dragged out of bed, the husband hollering, his wife holding blankets to her chest to hide her nakedness. While their children watched from the doorway, the mercenaries cut their throats and cheered the name of Alyssa Gemcroft as if she were a goddess of blood and murder.
All the while, the city guards remained nowhere to be found.
Haern ducked through a side alley, not surprised to find two more there with him. They wore the colors of the Hawks, and they drew daggers as he rushed by. He wished them luck, out of nothing more than professional courtesy. Part of him wondered how many would abandon their cloaks. Doing so was considered punishable by death. Still, it seemed the only way to survive. Of course, he’d seen plenty without cloaks or colors dying in the street. Perhaps all it’d take was a single man whispering your name to find yourself in the arms of sellswords…
Deciding it worth the risk, he used a window ledge to vault atop a house that overlooked the headquarters of the Serpents. Thirty soldiers surrounded the place, some wielding crossbows, some torches. There was no doubt to their intentions. Those inside could die by blade or by smoke and fire. Hardly a choice he’d desire to make.
“By order of Lady Gemcroft, all those affiliated with the thief guilds are to be executed,” the mercenary captain shouted. “We know you’re in there, so come out and die with honor!”
Haern flattened on the rooftop, making sure no one could see him. The last thing he wanted was some crossbowman with a twitchy finger putting a bolt through his eye.
“This city ain’t hers!” challenged a hidden stranger. Haern’s eyes narrowed as he realized the voice did not come from the surrounded headquarters. “Time you sellswords learned that!”
There were five buildings with clear views of the headquarters, including the one Haern lay atop of. From every one of their windows appeared green-cloaked men with bows and crossbows. With a loud cry they released. A third of the mercenaries died in the first wave. Some tried fleeing toward the main streets, while others stormed toward the buildings. The arrows gave chase. When the last fell, Haern saw William Ket step out from the headquarters, a gleaming sword in his hand. He found the mercenary captain, chopped off his head with three swings, and lifted it to the air. The rest of his guild cheered.
Haern’s blood ran cold. The other guilds would certainly be preparing ambushes as well. While it’d be foolish not to expect losses on both sides, and he generally held no love for mercenaries, there were a few mercenaries that he did care for.
“Damn it, Senke,” he whispered, pulling back so he wouldn’t have to see the executions of those who still cried out in pain. “Tell me you aren’t part of this nonsense. You can’t have been this stupid.”
But of course he would have. It seemed every free man had been brought into Alyssa’s fury. What had spurred this on? Why now? He so rarely heard news of her, of the Trifect in general. They’d grown quiet, defensive. But this?
There was nothing quiet about the screams that seemed to come from everywhere as the stars vanished beneath great curtains of smoke. How much of the city would burn? Would any be desperate enough to form bucket brigades while the death squads marched? He didn’t know, and didn’t care. He had to find Senke and Delysia. Losing them once had been hard enough. He couldn’t do it again. The city was large and swarming with men. Finding them would be near impossible, but at least he knew names to search for…assuming neither were using aliases.
Haern dropped back to the street and began searching for a smaller group of men to ambush. He had to avoid several larger patrols, and at one point, a crossbow bolt. At last he encountered a group of three, deep in combat with five members of the Ash Guild, a sixth bleeding out nearby. The mercenaries were cornered against the city wall, and it was only their superior armor and reach that kept them alive against the greater numbers. Haern descended upon them like a whirlwind, his swords cutting down two before the thieves even knew he was there. He cut the throat of a third, then watched the final two die at the hands of the mercenaries.
“Thanks,” said one of them, a gruff man with a beard and a wicked cut across his nose that was still bleeding. “Fuckers led us here as a trap, then jumped us from the rooftops.”
“I have no time,” Haern said, making sure to keep his cloak low so they only partially saw his face. “I’m searching for a small group of mercenaries. One is named Senke, another Delysia Eschaton. They should be together.”
“Not a clue,” said the man with the bleeding nose.
“Don’t know about no Delysia,” said the second as he walked over and killed the sixth Ash member, who had been whimpering in pain. “But that name sounds familiar. I know a Tarlak Eschaton, and he runs his tiny group, nothing but small-timers. Guy’s half off his rocker. Might be them you’re looking for.”
“Perhaps. Do you know where they might be?”
The man spat. “All them smaller groups got put together and sent to the far south. Alyssa figured it’d be easier to spread out and find the rats when they tried to hide in their slums.”
Haern fought down his panic. They’d been sent into the very homes of the thieves, as if they would be the ambushers? When the guilds fled to safety there, it would be they doing the killing, not the mercenaries. He had to get them out of there, and fast. He bowed to the three men and then turned south.
“Hey, what’s your name?” asked the man with the bleeding nose.
“I have none,” he shouted. When he turned, he caught sight of something strange, like a white face peering down from the wall, round and hairless. A glance back revealed only darkness.
I’m jumping at shadows, he thought. If you’re alive, Senke, I’m going to murder you for accepting such a stupid assignment.
He wondered where his father was in all this. He wouldn’t hide, not against such blatant disrespect. The Spider Guild’s headquarters were in the southeast. If these Eschaton mercenaries stumbled upon him and his best…
Haern ran faster.
Deciding speed was more important than stealth, he cut to one of the main roads and trusted himself to outrun any patrols. He raced south, all the while doing his best to ignore the pain in his stomach. The wound there hadn’t quite healed, though it was hardly more than an angry red scar. Still, the movement was enough to stretch the skin and agitate it. What he’d have given for an extra day or two to heal before all this madness hit.
“You! Stop!”
Haern cursed as he saw a group of five up ahead rush toward him, no doubt thinking him a fleeing member of the guilds. The houses were packed tight on either side, so it was either turn back in search of a route around, or go straight through.