“This is what I think of your ugly mark,” he said. “I’ll proudly bear it so long as you stay with me. I will never cast aside your loyalty, for I’ve been cast aside enough in my own life.”
Veliana felt strangely touched by the gesture.
“One day,” she said, “I hope to believe you.”
They turned their attention to the unassuming building before them. The rooms appeared dark, but both knew of the lower expansion below ground, no doubt housing the last remnants of the Ash Guild. A few men and women wandered past them on the streets, several with dead eyes and drunken gaits. To Veliana, it seemed like the entire city was suffering a massive hangover, a crude comparison given how many of her kind had been mercilessly butchered. So far Deathmask hadn’t explained how he planned on dealing with all the mercenaries, but she had no choice but to trust him. Patting her daggers, she told him to move, and she would follow.
“Keep your hood low,” he told her. “Surprise is everything. Theatrics can turn even the most ordinary of foes into something fearsome, and you are no ordinary foe.”
They approached the door. A single thief leaned against it, looking like he’d been up for two days straight. Through bleary eyes he watched their arrival, recognizing Deathmask when they were almost within striking distance.
“Hey, we thought Thren-”
Veliana cut his throat before he finished the sentence. As his body fell, she glanced to Deathmask, and her look was clear. Look what I can do. Do not fear my loyalty. They are no longer friends of mine.
“Atta girl,” he said, his mismatched eyes sparkling behind his mask.
When she tried the door, it was both locked and barred. Deathmask gently moved her aside, put his hands upon the wood, and closed his eyes.
“Theatrics,” he whispered.
His hands shimmered between red and black, and then the door exploded inward in a great shower of splinters, accompanied by a shockwave that thumped against Veliana’s chest with enough force to make her catch her breath. Deathmask stepped through the dust and debris into a small entry room. Two men sat on either side of the doorway, their hands raised over their faces. Specks of blood dotted their clothes, damage from the shrapnel. Veliana rushed the one on the right, thrusting a dagger into his chest before he could react. Deathmask waved a hand at the other, who suddenly dropped to his knees, gagging. Before she could see the total effects of the spell, Veliana stabbed his heart.
“Sometimes quick is better,” she said.
Deathmask pushed open the second door, and they stepped into the last remnants of the Ash Guild, all gathered from the various corners of Veldaren. There were twenty of them, sitting on chairs and pillows and looking miserable. Veliana felt both anguish and elation in seeing Garrick among them. Part of her had hoped he’d died in the fire, for he deserved nothing better, but at least his survival meant that he would be hers, all hers.
“Members of the Ash,” Deathmask said, screening Veliana with his body. He wanted to maximize the impact of revealing her, she knew. A smirk crossed her lips. They all thought her dead, Garrick included. How his mouth would drop, how wide his eyes would go… All around, the thieves stood and drew their weapons, for though Deathmask was one of them, there was something dangerous about his arrival, in the way he walked, the way he addressed them.
“You,” Garrick said, pointing a shaking finger. “You turned the Spiders against us, didn’t you? Why else would they let you live?”
“I am not the one who went into bed with the Spider thinking I might not get bitten,” Deathmask said. “This destruction is your doing, all your doing. Listen to me, guildmembers! He sold your souls to Thren Felhorn, all so he might sleep well at night.”
“You lie!”
About a third of the men around them were exchanging glances, and their daggers and clubs lowered. Veliana watched and waited. She had to be fast. The first attacker needed to die immediately if she were to discourage the rest. When it came to a battle of personalities between Deathmask and Garrick, there would be no contest. At some point, Garrick would call an end to it before he lost completely.
“How else would you have maintained leadership?” Deathmask asked. “Why else would the guilds have made peace with you, even though your position was weak? Weeks ago you made your pact, and one by one the other guilds realized and left you alone. Only the Hawks attacked, and only once. Thren punished them severely for that, didn’t he?”
More mumblings about them. A couple glared at Garrick. These were the rumblings of treason, Veliana knew. Normally such accusations would be whispered ear to ear, allowed to fester and grow. But the Trifect had pressed too hard. If they were to survive, they needed new leadership, and now.
“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Garrick said. He had drawn his dagger, but it remained at his side, as if he were afraid to even point it at Deathmask.
“Come now. We all know whose guild this truly was, before it was Thren’s. It was Veliana’s, not yours, never yours. That is why you wanted her dead.”
Louder grumblings, though many were disparaging her name. She felt anger simmer in her heart. Even now, they would deny her work, her sweat, her toil. The gods damn them all.
“She died because she tried to kill you, that’s all,” Garrick said.
Veliana stepped to Deathmask’s side and pulled her hood back. She smiled, and the look on Garrick’s face was everything she’d hoped it’d be.
“I never died,” she said. Her voice was soft, but even a whisper could have been heard in that suddenly quiet room. “But you will, you traitor. You sold our soul to Thren. I can never forgive you.”
She flung herself at him, not caring for her safety, nor the greater numbers. She would have his head, and this time, no one would stop her. Garrick cried out for aid, and several thieves jumped in her way. Spinning away from a club, she gutted one on her left, rolled along the ground, and hamstrung another as she stood. The one with the club tried to smash her back, but she twirled again, her spine bending in an unnatural angle so the swing passed above her breasts. And then she was up again, stabbing him repeatedly, kicking away his corpse with seven bleeding holes in his chest.
“Make your choice!” Deathmask cried out. It seemed many had. They turned on the others, striking at those who moved toward him. The room was now in chaos, and within it, Veliana thrived. She kicked out the legs of one rushing for Deathmask, burying a dagger through his ribs as his body hit the ground. Pulling it free, she flicked blood off it toward Garrick, who stood with his back to the wall, his dagger held before him.
“Where’s Then to protect you now?” she asked as she stalked him, her daggers hungry in her hands. “Where’s the men who would rather rape me than serve under my leadership? Where’s your guild, Garrick?”
A blinding flash burst from behind her, a spell of some sort from Deathmask. In its light she rushed Garrick, her knee leading. It slammed into his crotch while she swatted away his dagger. Her other dagger’s hilt struck his forehead. She rammed an elbow into his mouth, then slashed across his face when she pulled back. Blood spurted from a gash across the bridge of his nose. His cry of pain was a garbled, weak thing.
“Now you’re the example,” she whispered to him. She stabbed her dagger into his throat, twisted it left, then right, and finally yanked it free. Blood splashed across her chest, but she didn’t mind. At his death, much of the chaos slowed, for it seemed there was little point left in fighting. She glanced around and saw all eyes upon either her or Deathmask. Only ten remained of the initial twenty.
“Those who would betray their loyalties deserve nothing less,” Deathmask said, kneeling beside Garrick’s body. He put a hand on his head, which burst into flame. The fire did not burn him. The body blackened and smoked, and in seconds it was nothing but a pile of ash. Taking a handful, Deathmask stood and flung it into the air. It revolved around his head, hiding his visage, making him look like some strange monster instead of a man.