Free the Darkness (King's Dark Tidings Book 1) (15 page)

“Just draw your sword and get on with it. I ain’t got all
day,” Thorn snapped.

Rezkin shrugged and said, “I did not realize you were in
such a hurry to die. I will not kill you with my sword, though. I will kill you
with yours.” Almost as soon as he finished speaking he had covered the distance
between them. Thorn’s swing was too slow and weak, and Rezkin caught the man’s
sword hand easily. The warrior slammed his other hand into the crook of the
denleader’s elbow and twisted the man’s arm. The sword came free, and Rezkin
plucked it out of the air as it started to fall. With a flick of his wrist, the
dull blade thrust into the man’s gut at such an angle that the tip of the short
blade protruded from between Thorn’s shoulder blades. With wide eyes and a
blood tainted wheeze, the denleader slumped to the ground lifeless.

Rezkin stepped back and checked his clothing as he kept an
eye on the former denleader’s henchmen. Both were staring at the corpse in
surprise. The entire
challenge
was over in the blink of any eye.
Satisfied that he had managed to avoid getting blood on his apparel, he asked,
“Do we have a problem?”

“No, not at all, boss,” the bigger man quickly replied.

“Problems with you seem to be poor for the health,” remarked
the woman. “We’re good, but…ah…Draphus might have somethin’ to say about it,
and for that matter, so might the Guildmaster.”

“Who is Draphus?” Rezkin asked.

The woman’s smirk returned as she replied, “The Diamond
Claw’s Second.”

Rezkin tapped his hilt as he thought. “Then Borgout is
dead?” That had been the name of the Second for the Diamond Claw Thieve’s Guild
last he had heard.

The woman chuckled. “You’re a bit behind. Martius is the
Guildmaster, now. Greld and Borgout were killed three weeks ago.”

The warrior grunted. “I have been busy. Which one of you is
Second of this Den?” he asked.

The big man gulped nervously and said, “That’d be me. The
name’s Cratz.”

“What is your weapon of choice, Cratz?” Rezkin asked.

Cratz cracked his knuckled and crossed his arms over his
protruding gut. “I use my fists,” the meaty man replied. Several of the
small-men cringed as though remembering those fists.

Rezkin turned his attention to the woman. “And, you,
Attica?”

“I tend to avoid confrontation all together. My marks either
don’t see me or they’re too busy seeing enough of me not to notice when I lift
something,” she said suggestively.

The warrior frowned. Posing the question to both of them, he
asked, “How do you expect to overcome your enemies without any
Skills
?”

Attica lost her smirk for the briefest moment as she
replied, “We’re street thieves. It’s not like we’re going up against the Guard.
If anyone serious tries to do business in our territory, Martius sends in the
Enforcers.”

Rezkin was familiar with the thieves’ guild enforcers. They
were usually ex-mercenaries, soldiers or House guards who were lucky enough to
be dishonorably discharged rather than killed, and lifelong criminals and
smugglers with some martial training.

“Martius’ll be sendin’ his enforcers after you, I reckon’,”
Cratz commented.

“It would be a waste of personnel,” Rezkin replied. “Very
well. Take me to Martius.”

“You
want
to go to the Guildmaster? He’ll gut you!”
the big man exclaimed.

Rezkin did not like the idea of entering into a
confrontation with a master of a thieves’ guild without reconnaissance. This,
however, was the most opportune time since he had been blocking the doorway and
no one could have gotten out to warn the guildmaster that someone was causing
trouble in his territory. When he first became involved, Rezkin had simply
wanted to correct a problem with the small-men’s training. After seeing the
miserable state of affairs at the den, though, he found himself in deeper than
expected. Logically, he knew it was probably good that the thieves’ guild was
not more successful, but his years of training and ingrained desire for
efficiency drove him to seek more for the young small-men in whom he had seen
untapped potential.

“A’right, I’ll take you to him,” said Cratz.

“No,” Rezkin replied. “I need you to stay here and make sure
no one leaves this room until I say otherwise. Attica will take me.”

“I’ve never actually met the guildmaster,” said the woman,
her voice wavering slightly.

“But you know where to find him,” Rezkin stated rather than
questioned.

The woman nodded and said, “Well, yes, but…”

“Lead the way,” Rezkin interrupted.

Rezkin followed the frilly, shear lavender cloak through the
streets and down dark alleys. The cloak would have looked fine on any number of
ladies but was at complete odds with the appearance of the female thief. It was
her hasty attempt to appear as anything other than what she was to the
normal
folk and city guards. Attica wrapped the diaphanous material tightly around her
to cover her unladylike appearance, and walked with a sway in her hips.
Although it was still light, the sun had sunk below the horizon and one could
not immediately see that she was not wearing full skirts beneath the cloak.

The woman stopped at a door behind a seedy tavern and
glanced around. She rapped on the door in a similar pattern to the one the
small-men had used at the den, and the door opened a moment later. Rezkin stood
to one side in the shadows as she spoke.

“The Slink’s new denleader wants to meet with the
guildmaster,” the woman said in a forceful rush.

The guard at the door was a bit shorter than Rezkin, which
was still quite tall, and built like a mercenary. He carried a dagger and a
long hunting knife at his waist and wore gloves fitted with brass knobs over
his knuckles. He grunted and said, “The boss didn’t assign the Slinks a new
leader.”

“He won by challenge,” the woman replied with her usual
smirk. “If you could call that a
challenge
. He didn’t seem to have any
trouble from where I stood.”

“A tough guy, eh? Well, bring ‘im in, and if he gives us any
trouble, he’ll not be leavin’,” replied the merc.

Rezkin slipped out of the shadow and the man’s surprise was
evident. Along the way, the young warrior had acquired a plain, dark brown
cloak, which now hid his features. The affect was hardly intimidating for the
gruff merc since most thieves tended to hide themselves in a similar fashion,
but it did provide the doorman with an image he expected to see. A quick
perusal of Rezkin’s person and the man noted the two sword hilts at Rezkin’s
waist. The door guard grunted and spit off to the side in derision, obviously
having found Rezkin lacking.

“Draphus
might
see you, but don’t think you’ll be
gettin’ to the Master. He ain’t got time to be meetin’ with the likes of you,”
Spitwad remarked.

Rezkin kept his daggers palmed as he stalked past the
doorman. He slouched a bit, bringing his height closer to the man’s level. He
focused on appearing less intimidating hoping the act would get him closer to
the guildmaster before he had to start killing people. He was nearly certain
there
would
be killing. A truly intelligent guildmaster would accept the
deal Rezkin intended to offer. These were thieves, however, and the position of
guildmaster tended to attract the insatiably ambitious. It was highly unlikely
the man would bow to Rezkin’s demands.

The back of the tavern was the
business
end, and it
took up about eighty percent of the space. Had Rezkin passed through the single
door opposite him into the front area that was presumably open to any patrons
brave or stupid enough to enter, he would have seen that it consisted only of a
long bar with a few wobbly stools. This back area, however, held numerous
tables around which gamblers, drinkers and otherwise unsavory characters
gathered. While several of the women were like Attica and appeared to be just
as rough as the men, others were scantily clad and buried under too much
makeup. These women giggled and hooted at the men as they tossed around their
coin and called for more drinks.

Rezkin focused on appearing as unimportant and inconspicuous
as possible. It must have worked, because the guild members did not even
acknowledge his existence. Spitwad led Rezkin and Attica to a small office in
front of which stood another merc who looked quite similar to and just as bored
as Spitwad. He simply leaned against the wall and grunted as Spitwad and the
others entered the office. An average-looking man with brown hair, brown eyes,
and plain clothes sat behind an ordinary brown desk. To look at him, there was
absolutely nothing noteworthy about the man, which Rezkin immediately noted. It
was an advantageous look for thief.

“The new denleader, here, wants to see the Master,” Spitwad
grunted.

The plain man leaned back and said, “Is that so? I don’t
recall assigning a new denleader.” He looked over Attica and remarked, “The
Slink Den, I presume?”

“Yes, sir,” Attica said. She tilted her head toward Rezkin
and said, “He defeated Thorn in challenge.”

The man’s lips twitched as he looked Rezkin over and said, “Not
a difficult feat, I should think. The man was an idiot who shouldn’t have been
allowed to wield a butter knife, much less carry around that scrap metal he
called a sword. Who are you, then?”

Ignoring the question, Rezkin asked, “Why did you put him in
charge if you knew he was incompetent?”

The unassuming man barked a brief laughed when he replied,
“Oh, he was competent enough to keep track of the street rats. He was also too
stupid to calculate his
taxes
properly. He was always willing to pay
more when we told him he was short. You haven’t answered
my
question,
though. Who are
you
?”

“I am the man who’s taking over,” stated Rezkin.

“Oh, I can see that, but why do you want to be a denleader?”
the man asked. “You don’t look like you’re hurting for money, and I can’t see a
man like you hanging around the gutter rats.”

“I do not wish to be a denleader. I am taking over the
guild,” the warrior replied.

Another short burst of laughter and then the man was leaning
over his desk with fire in his eyes. “I don’t take kindly to talk like that,
and you can bet the Guildmaster doesn’t either.”

Rezkin cocked his head to the side curiously and said, “You
would have me believe you are the Second named Draphus, yet I know you are the
Guildmaster and therefore must be Martius. I have a proposal for you.” Martius
leaned back in his chair again and tapped the desk with one finger in
contemplation. Rezkin shook his head slightly and said, “You can reach for that
crossbow, but it will be the last thing you do before I take your head.”

Martius’s wandering hand stopped. He grinned showing a full
set of yellow teeth. Actually, at least two of the teeth looked to be
replacements carved from bone. “You think to intimidate me in my own
Guildhouse? I have an entire room of men just behind you at my beckoning call,
not to mention Tyre and Barclay in this very room.”

Ah, Spitwad had a name, and it was Tyre. Barclay had to be
the other bored guard. Both men grinned showing several broken and rotting
teeth of their own. Rezkin nodded pleasantly to each of the men and then turned
his attention back to the guildmaster. “If your guards wish to remain
breathing, they will not interfere. You, however, have a decision to make, and
you have not even heard my proposition.”

The guildmaster rested his elbows on the desk as he grinned
over his intertwined fingers. “Very well. Let’s hear this proposition. Let no
man say I’m not a gracious host, even to those who are obviously lacking in
intelligence or sanity.”

Rezkin drummed his fingers on the hilt of his sword. The
warrior, himself, was conditioned against such ticks, but the masters had
impressed upon him that showing them at opportune times would make him appear
more human, or more menacing, depending on the desired outcome. Choosing the
right tick at the right time was a difficult skill, and it had taken years of
observing the prisoners and other “visitors” to the fortress to use them
effectively. Now, he realized those “visitors” were prisoners just as any of
the others. It seemed that everyone who ever set foot in that fortress was
destined to die there – except him.

“I know how your operation works, and I have seen enough to
find it lacking. In addition, I have decided that I have a use for your
personnel. Therefore, you have two choices. You will serve me or you will die,”
Rezkin stated succinctly.

The guildmaster frowned. “I tire of this. I thought you
would at least come up with something more creative. Kill him,” he said waving
at the mercs to get on with it.

Tyre came at Rezkin immediately. He pulled his hunting knife
from his belt and slashed at the young warrior. Rezkin easily dodged as he
ducked behind the man. Twisting the merc’s knife-wielding wrist, he bent the
man’s arm straight back and shoved at his shoulders.  The merc lost hold
of his weapon and careened head first into the wall.

Barclay took a swing at Rezkin’s head from behind, but his
fist met only air. Rezkin ducked and spun, shoving his shoulder into the man’s
gut and causing him to double over. The young warrior grabbed the man just
below the hips and stood, tossing the rugged guard into the air. Barclay landed
on his back with a
whomp
, and Rezkin kicked him in the head hard enough
to hear a crack. He did not know if it was the man’s skull or neck that broke.
The first guard, Tyre, was just attempting to sit up with a moan when the young
warrior lobbed a throwing dagger into his throat. Blood spurted between the
merc’s fingers and poured down his jerkin as the man lay thrashing and
clutching at his neck.

Rezkin twisted and threw himself behind the open door just
as a crossbow bolt dug into the old wooden slab. A shout rang out from the
adjacent room, and he knew he was running out of time. He flitted across the
room faster than the guildmaster could reload. Whipping Bladesunder from its
sheath, he whirled as he leapt over the desk and took Guildmaster Martius’s
head clean off his body. Just as the head smacked into the floor, several more
men piled into the room. Rezkin whipped his blade around splattering the men
with the guildmaster’s blood. He held the sword slightly behind him so it was
covered by his cloak. The Sword Bearer did not desire for these men to know he
carried a Sheyalin, but he wanted to keep his weapon at the ready.

The men paused as the guildmaster’s head rolled to the
center of the room. They took in the additional bloody carnage of the two top
guards and then looked at Attica questioningly. The woman stood to one side of
the door where she had been standing upon entering the room. She had her arms
wrapped around herself tightly as though doing so could protect her from the
violence. Her face was pale as alabaster and her eyes were wide with surprise,
but when she noticed the attention of the newcomers she managed a smirk.

Attica tilted her head toward Rezkin and said, “He’s the new
Guildmaster.”

This did not sit well with any of the men, and the shifty
one in the center narrowed his eyes as he asked, “Says who?”

The woman nonchalantly leaned against the wall with a shrug,
although Rezkin thought she looked a little weak in the knees and probably
needed the support. With a lift of a brow she said, “Well, I’m not going to
argue with him, but please feel free to do so. I’m sure he’ll make his point
the same way he did with the others.”

“He can’t take on all of us–,” Shifty was saying when
his words were abruptly cut off due to the small matter of the dagger lodged
into his brain through his eye socket.

The men startled and several even jumped back a step. No one
had seen the killer move, and the strange man still stood exactly as he had
moments before, the only evidence of movement being the slight sway of his worn
brown cloak.

“Does anyone else care to protest the matter?” Rezkin asked.
By now a few more men had shoved their way into the room to investigate the
commotion. The angry shouts and sounds of dying men and falling bodies had not
been difficult to interpret. Several of the men were muttering quietly and
making all-too-obvious hand motions in a very poorly disguised attempt to plot
some plan of attack. Rezkin could not believe these men were supposed to be the
experienced
elite
of the Diamond Claw Guild.

“Okay, let us do things a little differently,” Rezkin said.
“Anyone who opposes me will die. That being said, all who wish to live and are
willing to serve me, stand to this side of the room,” he instructed as he
motioned to his left. “All who think they have the
Skills
to defeat me,
stay where you are.”

Some of the men glanced around anxiously while several
others drew weapons or crossed their arms in defiance, rooting their feet to
the ground. Attica had played witness to the intruder’s defeat of a number of
men at this point and weighed the odds carefully. She moved several paces to
her right and stood as the lone supporter of the interloper. She turned and faced
the small mob of thieves with a knowing smirk. One of the larger men, a bald
man with deep-set eyes scratched at the stubble on his chin thoughtfully.

“You stand with
him
, Attica?” he asked.

Attica huffed and said, “If you’re smart, then you will,
too.” Baldy nodded and took a few loping steps to stand beside Attica and then
turned to face the other guild members. A younger man of maybe sixteen years
scurried over and stood slightly behind the bigger man.

A blonde man with blue eyes and a bushy mustache eloquently
expressed his disbelief. “What in the bloody, blazing hells are you doin’, Rom?
You don’t even know this guttersucking prick. He just came in ‘ere and
bloody-well killed Martius, Tyre, Barclay and Meso…”

“And Dirge, Quip, and Thorn…and maybe Pratt,” Attica added,
thinking of the men who had been killed or seriously injured back at the den.

The man stared at her slack jawed before picking up where he
left off. “He’s bloody tapping our guild members, and you’re just gonna to let
‘im get away with it?”

The bald man named Rom eyed the intruder wearily and then
shrugged and said, “Don’t wanna join ‘em, do I? Me thinks he’ll be tapping you,
too, if you don’t shut it.”