Julian Flowers walked past the shattered remnants of an oak table that lay at the centre of the underground chamber. Skimming his surroundings with a watchful eye, he resisted the urge to grind his teeth, mindful of the two dozen lesser men that were crawling through the wreckage.
How the hell had something like this slipped past the guard. Damned incompetence — even in the dark alleys of Wyrdshade, something like this would have taken time and resources that should have been suspicious.
Coming to a halt in the centre of the large, domed room, Julian sighed. Staring up at the ceiling, he traced the spider-webbing cracks where flakes of plaster had fallen away to reveal tightly set masonry. The room was garish and crude, with decades-outdated plasterwork, and finishing more fit for a brothel than a stately lounge — but he could admit the craftsmen had been skilled.
Skilled enough they would have been easily able to find more honest work.
The thought struck in his mind as he turned towards the flickering wardfire at one edge of the room. The trash who’d lived here had left gold jewellery on the mantle — though a few gouges in the varnished wood suggested that someone had made off with the choicest pieces during their escape.
This night was a mess. A blatant violation of his domain, occurring in full light of the public. Kanmost’s journals, a lead they had only just uncovered, gone. Ripped right from his clutches, while one of his few trustworthy rogues lay dead and cold.
It was too coincidental — too quick.
The Archivist’s disappearance was one thing: he’d given the man far too long a leash, and he may well have hanged himself with it. The journals, though? Sure, whoever had taken Kanmost could have gotten their location directly from the source — but why move now?
Unless they had somehow caught wind that he had a lead, and they wanted to cut off the trail. All he had were suspicions, but this was all too neat. Too clean.
If it wasn’t for the interference of another party, his enemies would have already cut him off at the knees.
Another impossibility, and more suspicions — confusing ones. Whoever else had been at that house had been strong and capable, but oddly amateur.
Julian started to pace, plaster crunching underfoot as he stepped directly over the cold corpse of a legless man. He barely noticed the thick paste of plaster and blood sticking to the underside of his boots.
As he walked, he let the murmurs of his men wash past him. They were picking through the hideout for evidence, though with a slow cautiousness that irked him. Gods’ scorn, there was already a trapmaster on site; they could at least move with a bit of briskness in the cleared sections.
“Lord Flowers,” Kel said from behind him, striding over from a side passage.
“Kel. What have you found?” he answered, though he didn’t turn towards the man.
“Precious little. It looks like two attackers hit them at the same time as we did — probably were already inside if they slipped our net,” Kel replied, before he nudged the corpse between them with one foot. “Bladed weapon took this one out, but there’s traces of another being hit with some sort of nature-aligned ranged skill. Something to bind them. Almost certainly the same two who hit the house.”
Julian snapped to his second with an expectant look. “They bound one — did we manage to capture them?”
Kel shook his head. “Slipped their restraints before we could break through the traps. This one would have still been alive, but he poisoned himself.”
Julian ground his teeth — another setback. Without a captive, they had very little hope of tracking down the journals before they left the city.
“There must be something else! Two people can’t run roughshod through an operation like this and then disappear into thin air.”
Kel didn’t so much as twitch as Julian raised his voice. Still just as even and calm as ever — great traits to have in a second, but even better for an oathbreaker. Julian took a slow breath, and banished his momentary suspicions. If Kel wanted to move against him, he would have been far more subtle about it.
“We found one more thing. An arm, and a few bloodstains,” Kel added a moment later.
“Show me.”
…
An axe to slay a dragon jutted from the wall, its oversized head caked in drying blood. Another bucket of the stuff coated the floor in a coagulated pool.
Its haft, thicker than a table leg, was splintered — but only in one spot, like it had been hit by a hammer. At its base, where the wooden pole slotted into the mechanisms of the trap, the gearing had been twisted — some of the teeth were shorn fully. Hells, the edge of the axe was pitted and chipped like someone had used it to hack at a block of solid adamant. Enchanted and alchemically treated steel. Broken against someone's body.
Those details interested Julian far more than a bit of blood.
He knew the like of traps like these — over-engineered monstrosities designed to fatally wound even a Silver bastion. A never ending blight. No matter how many redoubts and hideaways they razed, someone always built more — and too many became the graves of good men.
One of the attackers had taken it head-on and lived.
He switched his focus to the stray arm at the end of the room. Whatever had happened, both parties had paid in blood and bone — but Julian suspected that only one had truly suffered. Kel had said that some of their men had already tested the broken vials that had been scattered through the halls like confetti. Smoke bombs.
Enough of them that the entire complex must have been choked in an endless cloud of it. Whoever had taken the criminal’s arm had done so blind.
“What’s at the end of the trail?” Julian asked, thoughts swirling.
“Another entrance to the stormways — though a much deeper section. There’s more blood, and few traces of poison. The same kind as what was found on the one missing a leg,” Kel said from behind him.
So the same pair had escaped, and killed off the rogue they’d been following. If they were already inside when his forces had struck, then there was a chance they’d caught the handover.
They might already have the journals. The torn open walls at Kanmost’s house suggested that both parties had been looking for the same thing.
Julian narrowed his eyes — a single face painfully vivid in his mind. Brutish, with those muddied green and gold eyes. If that team was involved, it would certainly explain what he was seeing. He had no real proof: the Ruby Crown made cursory observation all but impossible, and the tails he organised were set to move into place tomorrow. Proof was superfluous. They’d been at least somewhat invested, and they were certainly strong enough.
But why? He couldn’t figure out their angle. If they were good enough to find this place, they were good enough to tail a courier. That would get them the Wellspring without all the attention.
Before he could piece it together, he heard two sets of footsteps approaching from behind. They weren’t guards — he would have heard the jingle of their mail.
Stolen novel; please report.
“Ah, there you are,” Lord Steelroot said, pushing his blonde hair out of his eyes. The stark white lighting in the hall threw deep shadows off his cheekbones. Next to the sturdy solidity of Baron Rosenhall, he looked almost skeletal.
“Adrian. Edmund,” he replied, nodding his head at the last two members of his party. He focused on Lord Steelroot a moment later. “Do we have tails ready to go for Kaius and his team?”
“Of course,” Adrian replied. “Why, do you think they’re involved?”
Edmund snorted and ran a hand through his tightly cropped black hair. Julian thought the cut was unsightly, but the man insisted that it was better for his aim. “Of course they are — I still think we should just throw them in a cell and be done with it.”
That didn’t surprise Julian. Edmund had always been decisive — he’d needed to be to climb as high as he had at his station. Still, the fact remained that one Baron Rosenhall would be seen as far less culpable for abuses of station when Julian was standing right next to him. The man had less to lose.
Locking up the guildhounds would be a political nightmare. From everything he had heard, that team had far too much pull with the guild. Plus, there were the more mundane risks — even he had to admit that Kaius and his team were capable. All of them had reinforced all of their aspects — a feat that he and his party had not matched. Then there were the rumours coming out of Deadacre.
If they were even a fifth as strong as those made them sound, it was a strength that could only be achieved by one thing. Honours.
The collateral damage wasn’t worth it — at least not within the city. Regardless of their standing, if Kaius and his team had gotten involved, he refused to let their provocation go unchallenged. Even if they weren’t involved in Kanmost’s disappearance, he’d given them enough warnings. If they decided to try for the Wellspring, it would be their heads.
“Make sure the guildhounds are left unmolested, but keep a close eye. If they leave the city, we will be ready. Better to confront them away from prying eyes. I want every stride of the walls watched too — someone had those journals, and they will try to move them soon,” Julian said resolutely, before he met Kel’s eye. “Ready our support team when we reach the palace.”
Kel nodded.
…