Haern. “Otherwise I might turn you into an actual ass for a day and rent you out to a farmer.”
Haern only grinned at him. With a sigh, Tarlak relented, and he took a seat in a wooden rocking chair beside the fire. Removing his yellow hat, he scratched the top of his head with his fingers, then ran them through his red hair to straighten it.
“If we help him, then he’ll live long enough to actually accomplish something,” he said, all his bluster and anger fading away. “That means the current peace with the thief guilds cannot last. They’ll react soon, and violently. But how? If they focus on just Victor, we might counter, but if they target the rest of the Trifect, Veldaren will fall to chaos within days.”
“We can’t let there be another thief war,” Delysia said. She said it softly, but it weighed heavily on her heart. “The last one went on for more than ten years. So many died, so many...”
Haern shifted, feeling uncomfortable, especially with her so close to him. Her father had been just one of the many casualties of that conflict, killed by Thren while Haern watched. It had been his first true mission, to kill Delysia when she fled. But hearing her heartfelt sobbing for her father, and her prayers for safety, he had not been able to bring himself to go through with it. He’d later told her, and she’d forgiven him. He didn’t know how, but she had.
“I won’t let it happen,” Haern insisted.
Tarlak shook his head.
“Then perhaps instead of helping Lord Victor, we should get him out of Veldaren as fast as possible?”
“Even if he has a chance to succeed?”
Tarlak threw up his hands in surrender.
“If that’s your idea of intelligence, then so be it. No matter what we do, we risk this blowing up in our faces, so might as well go for broke.”
A knocking turned their attention to the door.
“Who is it now?” Haern asked.
Tarlak shook his head, for scrying spells embedded in the tower let him see the visitor.
“Day just keeps getting better,” he said. With a snap of his fingers, the door opened on its own, and in stepped Zusa, clad in her dark wrappings, her gray cloak fluttering behind her.
“Magic is a poor host to greet at a door,” she said, sheathing her daggers.
“Yes, but it keeps my lazy ass in a chair,” Tarlak said. “Come in, and share whatever terrible news you’ve brought with you. Gods know you’re never here to tell us something good.”
Delysia scolded her brother’s poor hospitality, and hurried up to greet Zusa. The Faceless woman awkwardly accepted her embrace, then set aside her daggers. A wave of Tarlak’s hand, and a glass of wine appeared on the nearby table. Haern watched Zusa settle in, taking a seat opposite Tarlak. She looked odd dressed in such a way, yet was sitting comfortably in an old wooden rocking chair. Though she tried to appear gracious, Haern could tell she was in a hurry, and that whatever reason brought her to their tower was an urgent one.
“Thank you,” she said, sipping the wine before putting it aside. “But my time is short. One of our servant boys was attacked this morning, just before dawn. His eyes were cut out and replaced with silver coins, and two pieces of gold were put on his tongue.”
The news struck Haern like a brick to the head.
“A rhyme,” he said. “Was there also a rhyme?”
To his dread, Zusa nodded.
“Tongue of gold,” she recited, “eyes of silver. Run, run, little Nathan, from the Widow’s quiver.”
With each word, Haern felt his fingers tighten against the fabric of the couch. After the first two murders, he’d thought it was just someone with an agenda against the Spider Guild, but to also strike the Gemcroft family, especially in such a petty, cruel way?
“Do you know of this...Widow?” Zusa asked.
Haern sighed, and he caught Tarlak staring at him, clearly also eager to hear. Nodding, Haern shared what he’d discovered, of the two bodies, and of Victor also requesting help
Haern only grinned at him. With a sigh, Tarlak relented, and he took a seat in a wooden rocking chair beside the fire. Removing his yellow hat, he scratched the top of his head with his fingers, then ran them through his red hair to straighten it.
“If we help him, then he’ll live long enough to actually accomplish something,” he said, all his bluster and anger fading away. “That means the current peace with the thief guilds cannot last. They’ll react soon, and violently. But how? If they focus on just Victor, we might counter, but if they target the rest of the Trifect, Veldaren will fall to chaos within days.”
“We can’t let there be another thief war,” Delysia said. She said it softly, but it weighed heavily on her heart. “The last one went on for more than ten years. So many died, so many...”
Haern shifted, feeling uncomfortable, especially with her so close to him. Her father had been just one of the many casualties of that conflict, killed by Thren while Haern watched. It had been his first true mission, to kill Delysia when she fled. But hearing her heartfelt sobbing for her father, and her prayers for safety, he had not been able to bring himself to go through with it. He’d later told her, and she’d forgiven him. He didn’t know how, but she had.
“I won’t let it happen,” Haern insisted.
Tarlak shook his head.
“Then perhaps instead of helping Lord Victor, we should get him out of Veldaren as fast as possible?”
“Even if he has a chance to succeed?”
Tarlak threw up his hands in surrender.
“If that’s your idea of intelligence, then so be it. No matter what we do, we risk this blowing up in our faces, so might as well go for broke.”
A knocking turned their attention to the door.
“Who is it now?” Haern asked.
Tarlak shook his head, for scrying spells embedded in the tower let him see the visitor.
“Day just keeps getting better,” he said. With a snap of his fingers, the door opened on its own, and in stepped Zusa, clad in her dark wrappings, her gray cloak fluttering behind her.
“Magic is a poor host to greet at a door,” she said, sheathing her daggers.
“Yes, but it keeps my lazy ass in a chair,” Tarlak said. “Come in, and share whatever terrible news you’ve brought with you. Gods know you’re never here to tell us something good.”
Delysia scolded her brother’s poor hospitality, and hurried up to greet Zusa. The Faceless woman awkwardly accepted her embrace, then set aside her daggers. A wave of Tarlak’s hand, and a glass of wine appeared on the nearby table. Haern watched Zusa settle in, taking a seat opposite Tarlak. She looked odd dressed in such a way, yet was sitting comfortably in an old wooden rocking chair. Though she tried to appear gracious, Haern could tell she was in a hurry, and that whatever reason brought her to their tower was an urgent one.
“Thank you,” she said, sipping the wine before putting it aside. “But my time is short. One of our servant boys was attacked this morning, just before dawn. His eyes were cut out and replaced with silver coins, and two pieces of gold were put on his tongue.”
The news struck Haern like a brick to the head.
“A rhyme,” he said. “Was there also a rhyme?”
To his dread, Zusa nodded.
“Tongue of gold,” she recited, “eyes of silver. Run, run, little Nathan, from the Widow’s quiver.”
With each word, Haern felt his fingers tighten against the fabric of the couch. After the first two murders, he’d thought it was just someone with an agenda against the Spider Guild, but to also strike the Gemcroft family, especially in such a petty, cruel way?
“Do you know of this...Widow?” Zusa asked.
Haern sighed, and he caught Tarlak staring at him, clearly also eager to hear. Nodding, Haern shared what he’d discovered, of the two bodies, and of Victor also requesting help
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