“The old house,” she said. “Below the Split Pig Inn. We expanded their cellars and paid handsomely to do so. They should still be empty, and the owner was a crusty old dog that won’t be intimidated by sellswords.”
“Then that’s where we’ll go,” he said, retying his mask over his face. “Let them see you alive, let them hear my demands of obedience. As of now, the Ash Guild is under my control.”
“And if Garrick still lives?”
Deathmask flashed her a smile, all pretense of fear gone.
“Then you get your revenge, assuming you’re strong enough to take it.”
She patted her daggers. “I’ll be fine. Follow me, and keep your eyes open. The last thing I want to do is die before my steel tastes Garrick’s blood.”
19
G host woke when the sun shone bright on his face. He stirred, rubbed his eyes, and then forced them open. Midday, he guessed. His stomach rumbled, and his head pounded from the night before. He felt he could sleep another four hours or so, but his body would have to endure. Still, he wasn’t in too much of a hurry. He had a name, after all, a place to search and question. Not much harm in grabbing a bite to eat.
Once he left his room at the shabby inn, he swung by the main market in the center of town, buying a thick slice of bread smothered with butter and honey. While he ate, he sat by a fountain in the center and listened to the idle talk as men and women passed by. The overwhelming sensation was not fear, as he’d expected. It was anger. More surprising was how it wasn’t directed at the guilds, or even the Trifect. They directed it at the king.
Stupid dogs, he thought as he ate. You’ve lived under this chaos for so long it’s become normal to you. The Trifect and the guilds will war, and you see this as acceptable, but only if the king protects you. Last night destroyed your apathy. Last night saw your blood joining the others. So you rage, but only to your protector. Damn king. Should have put this nonsense to rest years ago.
Still fairly new to Veldaren, Ghost knew only a little of the king, but what he’d gleaned wasn’t flattering. As he listened to men swear against their liege’s honor, and women insinuate he’d been born without his manhood, it seemed obvious that his cowardly indifference could no longer last. But whose side would it fall upon, the guilds’ or the Trifect’s? Logic seemed to place him as a puppet of the Trifect, but Ghost was unsure. Which one would he fear more? If the man were a true coward, he’d fear the enemy he couldn’t keep out with gates and walls, the enemy that’d fill his drink with poison and lay a dagger under his pillow while he slept.
Meal finished, he drank from the fountain and then headed to the mercenaries’ headquarters. Not surprisingly, it was crowded with both the rich and the poor. They were pleading their cases, demanding compensation for damages done in the chaotic night. The old keeper, Bill Trett, shouted the same phrase over and over, as if come the fiftieth time it might sink in.
“Take all complaints to Alyssa Gemcroft’s estate. She has promised to accept full responsibility. I’m sorry if your house burned down, or someone died, but please, take all complaints to Alyssa Gemcroft’s estate. She has promised…”
Ghost slammed a massive fist against the door, the sound thunderous in the small room. The crowd, about twenty in all, jumped and turned.
“Enough!” he roared. “Get your asses out of here, and go to Gemcroft’s with your problems.”
He kept his muscular arm pressed against the door, holding it open. The stance also revealed the weapons at his hips. He glared, letting them see he had no desire to argue. A few filed out, while the rest looked about, as if trying to decide just how serious he was. Only a few carried weapons, and he doubted they were proficient with them.
“I’m letting go of the door,” he said, his voice lowering in volume but not in depth. “When it shuts, I kill everyone in here not a member of the mercenary guild. That clear?”
He let go. A wiry man in silks lunged for it, sticking his hand in the way. The rest followed him, until only a thankful Bill remained.
“What the Abyss happened last night?” the older man asked. “I expected several of them to jump the counter and attack me.”
“Frightened sheep,” Ghost said. “Let Gemcroft handle them. No reason for you to put up with their bleating.”
“I doubt you’ve come here to be my savior,” Bill said, sitting down and smoothing his hair. He pulled out a bottle from a drawer and took a deep swig. “So what is it you need?”
“A small group of mercenaries, led by one named Tarlak. Do you know them?”
Bill raised an eyebrow. “I do, but only because they’ve caused me a bit of trouble. Tarlak Eschaton, leader of the Eschaton Mercenaries. Refused to join our guild or pay dues. The last representative I sent to forcefully request they join came back as a toad.”
Ghost blinked. “A toad?”
“A damn toad. Cost a fortune to send for a representative of the Council of Mages to come change him back. They weren’t too happy with that Tarlak, either. Evidently he’s a rogue apprentice or something, but since he’s not an official member they don’t consider him their problem, so long as he doesn’t start blowing up houses or trying to become anything more than what he is now.”
“Which is?”
Bill shrugged. “A smalltime mercenary. Why do you ask?”
“I need to find him.”
“Last I knew he was on Crimson Alley, thirteenth heading south from Axe Way. Should still be there.”
“Do you know how many else are with him?”
Bill took another long swig, paused to think, and then stood. After he’d locked the door, then put a wooden bar across, he sat back down.
“I’m thinking we’re closed for the day,” he said. “And I’m not sure I like where this is going, Ghost. Care to tell me why you want to know so much about this Tarlak?”
“He knows something.”
“From what I hear, people that know something you want to know have a funny way of turning up dead.”
Ghost shrugged. “Depends on how loose their lips are.”
“My, aren’t you a piece of work?” Bill said, chuckling. “But considering they aren’t part of the guild, and you are, I guess I can tell you what I know. He lives with his sister, young gal. Priestess, I think. Also got some guy named Brug, though why he’s taken him in I don’t have a clue. We turned down that guy’s application twice. Too much temper without a shred of skill to back it up. Last is a guy named Stern, bald as you, but that’s all I know. If he can fight, I haven’t heard word of it. Like I said, smalltime, with only his petty magic tricks to make him stand out in the slightest. Oh, and those god-awful yellow robes of his. They’ve only been around for nine months or so, maybe a year. I don’t expect ‘em to last.”
Ghost bowed, stealing Bill’s bottle as he did. He took in several gulps, the burning in his throat doing much to awaken him.
“Enjoy your day in peace,” Ghost said, handing it back. “And lock the door after I leave. There’s still people gathering outside.”
“Will do.”
A glare from Ghost caused the few waiting outside to step back, and he didn’t move away until he heard the thump of the wood barring the door.
“You’ve still got your lives,” he told them. “If you’ve got that, you can move on. I suggest you do. Your pleading and curses won’t do a damn thing to sway anyone, not in this city.”
He trudged south, toward the Crimson, keeping an eye out for Axe Road so he could begin counting. Finding the thirteenth from there was easy. Eyeing the building’s two floors, he crossed his arms and thought. Deciding his entry point, he continued on. A block later he turned around, coming back in a side alley. The way was dark, and two men glared at him as he passed. Any other they might have tried to rob, but he’d flashed them a grin, and he saw the way they stared at his painted face. They’d have been more likely to try and rob a dragon.