Cloak and Spider

Stealing Memories

Thren kissed his wife on the lips, then told her goodbye.

“Don’t worry,” he said, pausing at the door to the quaint home on the corner of the winding street. “The Scorpion Guild will never find you here.”

Marion smiled at him, exotic and beautiful despite the simple dress she wore, which clung to her dark skin and hinted at so very little being worn underneath.

“I’m more worried about not being found,” she said. “Do not forget about me here, and bring my boys to me when you feel it safe. I miss them already.”

She gave Thren a look he’d often wilted under before, one that promised a fiery passion should he return to her. All he had to do was momentarily escape the guilds, the dealings, the bloodshed and drugs.

“I miss you already as well,” she told him.

Thren chuckled, shook his head, and then stepped out into the street. Waiting for him was Grayson, arms crossed over his muscular chest.

“I’m telling you,” he said in his baritone voice. “It’s not safe here.”

“And why is that?” Thren asked as the two walked down the empty street. Worn homes were on either side of them, many with boarded windows and locked doors. The territory was newly taken by Thren and his Spider Guild, and it still showed the remnants of the bloody conflict that had earned him the victory.

“Territory’s too new,” Grayson insisted, rubbing a hand over his shaved head. “This was Scorpion territory for years. Those who live here, they aren’t loyal to us, not yet. Too many are watching us from the cracks in their windows. I fear at least one will run to Carr, hoping to earn themselves a shiny copper.”

Thren paused at the end of the street, glanced back at the home his wife hid within.

“I know,” he said, turning away. “I’m expecting it.”

Grayson barred the way before he could take another step.

“No,” his friend said. “No, you won’t do this. I won’t allow it.”

“She’s not at risk,” Thren said.

“You don’t know that.”

“Yes, I do.”

“Damn it,” Grayson said, shoving Thren back. “She’s my sister!”

Before he’d even taken a staggering step back, Thren had already drawn one of his short swords and pointed it at the enormous man.

“And my wife, or have you forgotten?” he asked, meeting Grayson’s hard stare. He let his voice drop. “Carr won’t dare harm a hair on her head, Grayson. Not while his own wife and son are in my custody. He’ll only want to take her to keep things even between us. If I can ambush him in the act, I can devastate his ranks, perhaps even capture the slimy bastard himself.”

Grayson’s hands flexed, hovering over his own swords before relaxing.

“How many men are watching the house?” he asked.

“A dozen, all my finest,” Thren said. “I’ll be here as well. The moment he makes his move, we’ll be on them. I promise.”

They resumed walking down the street, an act Thren knew he had to carry out before he could slink back through the darker streets to take up the watch with the rest of his men.

“You’re pushing against Carr too hard,” Grayson said. “You’re not giving him the respect he deserves.”

“I’m the best guildmaster Veldaren has ever known,” Thren said. “There is no one smarter, no one better, no one more ruthless than I.”

“And before you, Carr was the youngest, the fastest, the most ruthless.”

Thren chuckled. Of course he knew that. For a time the man known only as Carr had been the one they’d never dared cross, even as together Thren and Grayson hopped from guild to guild, establishing their reputation in Veldaren. But that was years ago, before he’d asked Marion to marry him, promising a life and wealth far beyond the petty riches they’d known. Before he’d overthrown Jorry the Swift and claimed the Spider Guild as his own.

The riches had followed, the years had passed, and slowly the Spider Guild had grown from just another guild to something all the others watched in fear as street after street switched from Viper, or Hawk, or Crow, to the circle and lines of the Spider.

“There’s a reason we’ve gone after Carr over the past year,” Thren said as they stepped out into Iron Road, a far more populated stretch linking several smithies and tinkers’ shops. “He’s the one everyone was afraid of. He’s the one all the other guilds must account for in their plans. This city will never view us as its rulers so long as Carr is alive. Street by street, deal by deal, we’ll crush him. No one’s dared challenge him, yet now I have his wife and son. He’ll act rash, he’ll act stupid, and he’ll act afraid.”

“So be it,” Grayson said. “But I’m going back into the house. I won’t let her stay there alone.”

“She’s not alone,” Thren said, pushing aside a cutpurse no older than seven who had been angling too close. The brat looked baffled that he’d been noticed, and he wisely rushed away. “Wallace and Michael are in there with her. I’ve had them hidden inside for days now, waiting for Marion.”

Grayson shook his head.

“You did all this, yet told me none of it? I’m starting to think my title as your right hand is just a way to keep me happy.”

Thren smacked him on the shoulder.

“When it comes to Marion, I play everything close to the chest,” he said. “Now gather up your best fighters. Make sure you bring Pennell with you. Come nightfall, I want you to assault their warehouse on Flintsteel Road. Brag long and loud about it too, especially near Pennell. He’s been selling information to Carr the past few weeks.”

Grayson froze in his tracks.

“Pennell?” he said. “That drunken idiot?”

“Watch him the next time he drinks,” Thren said. “More ends up on his shirt than in his mouth.”

The two passed through Iron, then onto the main road leading east to west through the heart of the walled city of Veldaren. With the traffic so much louder, especially due to the midday trading, the two could talk with ease.

“Why let Carr know about my attack on the warehouse?” Grayson asked.

“He’ll assume the attack is the reason why we’re hiding Marion,” Thren said.

“And if he sets up a trap for me at the warehouse?”

Thren laughed.

“Carr will have the entire building empty before you set foot near it, just to mock me. We’re playing a game, Grayson, and Carr is going to find out just how many moves behind me he actually is.”

The enormous man stopped at a stand selling fruit, bought himself a few apples, and then began eating one.

“We’re far enough,” he said, tossing one of the apples to Thren. “Here. In case you get hungry while waiting. I don’t like this, Thren, but I’m trusting you. Keep her safe, and I’ll do my best to play the distraction.”

Thren saluted with the apple.

“We can kill Carr at any time,” he told his most trusted friend. “But it’s not about the killing. It’s about the message you send. When I do take his life, I want all of Veldaren’s underworld to realize just how dangerous it is to cross paths with a Spider.”

With that, Thren pulled his gray cloak tighter around his shoulders, then let the hood fall over his features. Into the alley he went, away from the crowds, away from the noise, and into the shadows and darkness that he had known all his life. In a world of backroom deals, of men who bought herbs and powders with stolen coin and fled from encounters with whores with shame in their eyes, Thren felt himself their king. These pitiful creatures, slaves to addictions and lusts, would always come crawling to him to feed their needs. Without need of chains or collars, Thren enslaved them all, building an empire on the backs of the weak.

But there were pretenders to his throne, and Carr was the most prominent. The Scorpion Guild had to suffer an embarrassing collapse to trigger the cannibalization that Thren desired. Let the other guilds pick apart the remains, taking territory in a mad dash to capitalize on Carr’s death. And in the chaos, they wouldn’t realize that with a relentless creep, the Spiders were taking more of their own territory.

That’s how you build a web, he thought. One strand at a time.

Directly opposite the house Marion stayed in was a burned-out husk of a building. Thren himself had set fire to it when they moved on the territory. Over ten Scorpions had been hiding inside, waiting to ambush Thren’s guild once they let down their guard near the very end of their raid. Remembering their screams still put a smile on Thren’s face. With the building in ruins, it was easy work for Thren to crawl amid the ash on his belly, taking up vigil on Marion’s home without anyone from the street possibly seeing him. He stared through a slit barely wider than his thumb, but he could see enough.

Knowing the rest of his guild waited on the rooftops, Thren cleaned ash off his apple, took a bite, and then settled in.

When the sun set, a very faint light shone in the window facing the street. It was a single candle, lit by Michael to let the rest know all was well inside. Thren smiled at the candle, and he let his nerves calm. Wallace and Michael were eyeing the streets as well. Should they spot a member of the Scorpions, then out the candle would go. Occasionally Thren watched someone wander down the street, more often than not a member of his guild. The stars twinkled into existence, and the city took on a bluish hue as the moon shone bright above it.

Yet as the hours passed, they saw not a sign of Carr’s arrival.

I know you’re patient, thought Thren as he shifted from side to side on his belly to keep his muscles loose. But not this patient.

Perhaps no one had run to Carr with information on Marion after all? Or perhaps Carr hadn’t realized, when presented with the tip, that it’d actually been about Marion and not a decoy? Worse, what if they’d planned an ambush on Grayson after all? His friend was possibly the best living fighter he knew, but all the skill in the world meant nothing if an arrow took you through the back of the skull.

Thren shook his head, trying to banish the thoughts. Dozens of reasons could explain the delay, and dwelling on the worst of them did nothing. He had to focus on what he knew, and so far all he knew was that it was a quiet night in that little corner of Veldaren.

And then out went the candle.

“Where?” Thren breathed, pressing himself against the blackened wall. Across the rooftops he watched his guildmembers rise from their hiding spots, coming out through windows and up from false shingles. Several others rushed out from the alleyways, encircling the house. Yet despite it all, not a sign.

Dread clenched its cold fist around Thren’s stomach, and he staggered to his feet, ignoring the aches from spending so many hours in one position. Stepping through the broken wall, he drew his swords as members of his guild neared.

“We saw no sign,” said one, but Thren shook his head, hurrying toward the house.

“Inside,” he said. “All of you, inside, now!”

When he reached the door, he heard Marion’s scream. His foot slammed against the handle, and though it’d been locked, it broke under the force. The door opened a space, and using his shoulder for leverage, Thren smashed it open the rest of the way. He gave himself no time to think, no pause to survey the situation. It was time to act, and he whirled into motion. Two men were just before the door, small crossbows in hand. Their clothing was of the Scorpion Guild, and no doubt their arrows were tipped with the deadly poison of their namesake.

Thren flung himself to the left, lashing out with one of his short swords. One arrow sailed past him, embedding into the chest of one of his guildmembers behind him. The other bow failed to fire, Thren’s sword smashing through its frail construction, snapping the string and cutting the arrow in half. Before either Scorpion could react, he flung himself back the other way, his swords dancing, opening up their throats with a shower of blood.

When they fell, Thren found himself face-to-face with Carr. The man looked harmless enough, his face round, his eyes a soft brown. But there was nothing soft about the dagger that pressed against his Marion’s neck. Michael lay dead in the corner, an arrow lodged in his throat. By the window, his hand still resting atop the candle, was Wallace. The entire back of his shirt was soaked red.

“Not a step,” Carr said. His voice was calm, as if they were good friends.

“Let her go,” Thren said, the muscles in his body tensing.

“I said not a step.” Carr pressed the dagger tighter against her throat, drawing a single crimson drop. From outside came screams, followed by the sound of combat. “Do you think you’re the only one in Veldaren who knows how to plan an ambush?”

Thren looked to Marion, and she met his gaze. So far she had kept her mouth shut, but he could see by the fire in her eyes that she was just waiting for Carr to give her an opening. Even the slightest delay, and she would escape. Thren was not the only one who had grown up on the streets.

“How many men did you bring out there?” Thren asked, thinking to stall.

“Marion is mine,” Carr said. “Which means ten or ten hundred, it doesn’t matter, I have all the leverage I need right here.”

“You lay a finger on her…”

“You’ll what?” asked Carr. “Kill my wife? Cut a finger off little Reed’s hand? They’re not here, Thren, just you and me and Marion. Put down your swords, and fall to your knees.”

“And if I don’t?” asked Thren. He took a step closer, just to see how Carr reacted. The man didn’t even flinch. “You’ll kill Marion? Do it, and your family dies. Even if by a miracle you kill me as well, my orders will still stand. Grayson will execute both of them.”

“Except Grayson’s off stalking an empty warehouse,” Carr said, and there was no hiding the victory in his voice. “And as for my family…you don’t think I’d come after your wife without having freed my own, do you?”

The dread that had been building in Thren’s stomach suddenly exploded throughout his body. That was it then. All his maneuvers, all his planning…it’d meant nothing. He’d thought he’d hidden Lenore and Reed somewhere Carr could never find them. He’d thought his ambush careful enough, and subtle enough, to suffice. But instead it’d all come crumbling down.

“You haven’t won,” Thren said.

“Yes,” Carr said. “I have. Drop your swords.”

“No.” Thren took another step closer. “You’re here, right here. No matter the territory, the gold, the reputation, or anything else, I know that you’d sacrifice all of it to save your life. And that’s what’s at stake right now, Carr. Harm her, and you die. It’s that simple.”

“And I know you,” Carr said. “I know you’d never let something happen to Marion. No matter how fast you think you are, I’m the faster. On your knees, and drop your swords. I won’t ask ag-”

“Carr!” shouted a Scorpion as he barged through the front door. “More Spiders coming in from the…”

Marion twisted in Carr’s grasp, and Thren lunged. No one was faster than he was. He’d always believed it, worked hard training himself to be the absolute best. But it seemed time itself slowed so he might see the blur that was Carr’s hand, see the spray of red that flew across the room, see the gap of flesh that was once his beautiful Marion’s throat open up.

“No!” he screamed. He made to stab with his sword, but Carr flung Marion into his arms. Unable to help himself, he caught her, cradling her against him. She wasn’t dead yet, the cut on her throat too shallow. As Carr fled into the second room of the house, Thren held her, stared into her dazzling blue eyes as the life slowly drained from them.

Thren shoved his cloak against her neck, trying to stem the bleeding. He heard her cough, try to speak. Her lips formed the words, and he read them easily enough.

Don’t go.

Thren held her, looked to the other room. He felt his rage overwhelming him, felt his sorrow weighing down his shoulders. He didn’t know what to do, what to say. Carr was getting away. That was all he could think about. The bastard was getting away.

Gently he put Marion down, cut off a shred of his cloak, and pressed it hard against her throat.

“I’ll be back,” he said, kissing her forehead.

When he ran into the other room, he found a latch open in the floor, the door lifted up to reveal a tunnel dug beneath the house. Thren heard Grayson’s damning words echo in his head.

This was Scorpion territory for years…

A tunnel network. How many houses linked together? How many secret raids and transactions had been carried out through them, completely under Thren’s nose? Not wanting to think on it, not wanting to let his mind realize how thoroughly he’d been outsmarted, Thren dropped into the tunnel. It was as dark a chasm as Thren had ever seen, but he was friends with the darkness. The tunnel went in only one direction, and on his hands and knees Thren crawled ahead. The sound of combat faded away, and on and on he rushed. His hands brushed the walls, following their gentle curves. In the growing silence, he listened for movements, for breathing, anything to signify Carr’s presence.

After a curve, a yellow orb quickly came into view. It was a single stone, shining a puke yellow, but the light was enough for Thren to see that it shone directly above an intersection of two tunnels. Stopping beneath, Thren looked down all three passages, but they were nothing but empty walls of black. He tried to scan the ground, but there was no way to tell in what direction Carr had gone.

Curling his fingers into fists, he smashed them against the dirt and let out a bitter cry. Using the intersection for space, he turned around and crawled back to Marion. When he stood at the secret latch, he found several members of his guild standing around, waiting for him. Their weapons were bloodied, and many of the men were wounded. From the other room, Thren heard sobbing, and it took no guessing to know who it was.

“I’m sorry, Thren,” said Senke, one of his more promising recruits. The handsome man reached down a hand, helping Thren climb out from the tunnel. “Grayson got us here too late.”

Thren nodded. Feeling like a stranger in his own body, he stepped out into the other room. Grayson huddled over Marion’s body, cradling her in his massive arms. Her eyes were closed. She did not move.

“Grayson…” Thren said. “I’m sorry. I should have known better. I should have…”

The man looked up.

“Damn it, Thren,” he said, his voice hoarse. “You’re not as good as you think you are. No one is, and now my Marion…now my little…”

Still holding his sister’s body, he yanked the gray cloak off his shoulders and tossed it to the floor.

“I’m done with you,” he said, rising to his feet, Marion’s weight seemingly nothing as he held her. “You never listened, you bastard. Never thought someone could beat you. Maybe you’ll learn again, maybe not, but I won’t be here to find out. Take the whole damn city if you want. I’m gone.”

He stormed out of the house, leaving Thren alone with the handful of his men.

Thren’s fists shook as he closed his eyes and collected himself.

“What happened?” he asked.

“Warehouse was empty,” Senke said. “Grayson didn’t seem surprised at all. After that, we were going to return back to our hideout, but then we found this…”

Thren opened his eyes and accepted the offered item. It was a gray cloak, stained red and cut into several pieces.

“Grayson sent a runner to the safe house we had Carr’s family locked up in, found it smashed open. The cloak belonged to one of the men stationed there. That’s when Grayson sent us hurrying here. Managed to kill the rest of the Scorpions, at least those that didn’t get away.”

Thren crumpled the cloak in his hands. No doubt Carr had expected to get in and out of the home without being noticed, taking Marion with him. The cloak at the warehouse had been his way of taunting Thren, making sure he knew every single step of his plan had been expected or countered in some way.

“How many of you are there?” he asked Senke.

“Fifteen of us,” the man said.

Thren drew one of his swords and scanned the faces of those with him. When he saw one in particular, he couldn’t believe the audacity. Taking a step forward, he grabbed Pennell by the neck, yanked him to his knees, and then jammed a knee into the man’s stomach.

“Carr tell you to stay and watch?” he asked as Pennell lay on the ground, clutching his waist. “He want you to tell him how miserable and beaten I was?”

“I don’t know what you’re…”

Thren kicked him in the teeth, silencing the lie. Reaching down, he grabbed Pennell’s left hand, stretched it out, and then slammed his sword through the palm. It pierced the wood of the floor as Pennell screamed. The rest of the Spiders stepped away, some stunned by the revelation, others furious.

“Listen to me, you little shit,” Thren whispered into the man’s ear. “Someone will suffer my wrath tonight. It can be you, or it can be Carr. Now you fucking think long and hard about who you’d rather it be.”

“The Raven’s Claw,” Pennell said, his face turning pale. “The upper levels, they’re all Carr’s. He’ll be there, I swear!”

Thren stood, flipped his other short sword so he could grab the hilt with the blade downward, and jammed the blade down through Pennell’s mouth. He let go of both his swords so he could stand and watch as Pennell convulsed. At last, when he was dead, Thren freed both weapons and cleaned off the blades.

“The Raven’s Claw is a tavern in the far south,” he told the men with him. His face felt flushed, yet his hands and feet like ice. “We’re going there, now. I don’t care who you see when we attack, whether or not you think them innocent. When we step inside their door, everyone dies. Everyone but Carr and his family. We take them alive. Do you understand?”

The hard eyes of hard men met his gaze, and they all nodded.

“Good,” Thren said. “Then let’s go.”

They ran through the dark night streets, weapons drawn, cloaks fluttering behind them. The few who saw them coming fled quickly out of the way. No doubt many were in league with the Scorpions, but the Spiders ran too fast, too straight. No one would beat them. Thren wouldn’t let them. Heart pounding, he let the blood coursing through his veins push away his thoughts of Marion, of the betrayal in Grayson’s eyes. The chill of the night was a bitter kiss on his skin as the sweat ran down his neck.

They turned a corner, Thren still in the lead. The Raven’s Claw tavern was in sight, a two-story construction lurking over the nearby homes. Lights shone through gaps in the curtains of the upper floors. Three burly men leaned against the front and side, looking bored. Guards, Thren knew, disguised as vagrants or drunkards. There was no disguising their panic when they saw the mass of gray cloaks come storming toward them.

“Never slow, never stop,” Thren shouted as he drew his swords. “Faster than the night. Faster than the dead. Let the blood flow!”

The guards had fled inside by their arrival, but Thren wasn’t worried. His mind had no space for worry. They’d come too fast, too hard. Carr couldn’t outthink Thren at a game Thren was no longer playing. Arms crossed before his face, Thren slammed into the door, using his weight and momentum to smash it inward. As wood splintered around him he rolled, dodging frantic swings of swords by men on either side of the door. Pulling up from his roll, he lashed out, slicing out the throats of two men unlucky enough to be drinking at the table beside him. As they collapsed, Thren jammed his elbow onto the curved table, tipping it over as he fell once more. Arrows thudded into the table above him, fired by three men on the stairs with crossbows.

“Move!” Thren screamed at the door behind him. Glass shattered as his men smashed in through windows, others lunging through the doorway with their daggers drawn. The guards there were quickly overrun, and as the rest of the patrons drew their own weapons, Thren let out a laugh. What were they to him? Nothing, absolutely nothing.

The men on the stairs were busy reloading when several Spiders flung their daggers, killing one and wounding the two others. Thren saw this while glancing around the table, and with their threat over, he returned to his feet, short swords held out at either side of him. Behind the bar was another door, and pouring through it came members of the Scorpion Guild, all carrying long daggers or maces. Thren met their eyes as they leaped over the bar, trying to overwhelm the Spiders. This was the best they could do? The first to near him offered a clumsy thrust in an attempt to disembowel him, but Thren slapped it aside, stepped closer, and rammed his sword through the man’s stomach.

“That’s how you gut someone,” Thren whispered into the man’s ear, as if he were a dying lover. A twist, a yank, and the sword came free.

The rest of his guild clashed with the Scorpions, but these were Grayson’s handpicked best, and they made short work of the frantic defenders. Blood spilled across the counter, and from every direction came screams. Thren reached behind the counter, grabbing several bottles, and then smashed them into a single puddle. That done, he grabbed a rag, soaked it with some of the liquid, and then dipped it into the fire as all around him men died. When the rag caught fire, he tossed it into the puddle, setting it aflame.

“Carr must be upstairs,” Senke said, sliding up to him. His arms were caked with blood, as was his mace, and along his left cheek ran a weeping gash.

“Come with me,” Thren said. “Send the rest outside to circle the place. No one escapes.”

Senke shouted out the order as Thren climbed the stairs. At the top waited a trio of men, all wielding swords, their faces hidden behind the deep yellow of their cloaks and hoods. Behind them Thren caught a glimpse of an open door at the far end of the hall, and Carr running inside it.

“Do you smell the smoke?” Thren asked the men. “How well does a scorpion burn, I wonder?”

The first slashed with his sword, but it was a feint. The two others lunged as the man suddenly pulled back. Thren lifted his blades, and he could not keep the look of contempt off his face. He’d seen the other two tense, seen the way their feet shifted for their lunges, and the feint could not have been more obvious, for even if Thren had not blocked, the angle was such that the blow would have missed anyway.

If these were the best Carr had, Thren was sorely disappointed.

With his left hand he blocked one attack, and the other he parried aside so he could step closer, pull his sword around, and double-thrust for the man’s stomach. Except instead of gaining an easy kill, he found his prey leaping away. The other two men converged simultaneously, one striking high, the other low. Thren let out a cry, and he fell back toward the stairs while batting aside the lower hit. Pain spiked across his chest, his shirt ripped and his chest bleeding from a shallow wound. Despite the pain, Thren let out a laugh. Perhaps Carr had at least one more trick left up his sleeve.

But now Thren knew the level of his foes. More importantly, he had help coming from the stairs. He rushed them headlong, swords a blur. They tried to cut him as he passed, but he shifted, angled his run so he flew through them, cloak hiding the bulk of his movements. Skilled they were, but Thren felt his mind sharpened, its focus magnified by the corpse of his beloved Marion. With every step, every hit, he felt his rage growing. Bleeding from more shallow cuts along his arms and legs, Thren landed on a shoulder, rolled to his back, and then kicked up to his feet.

“Not good enough,” he said, spitting blood. From the stairs ran Senke, the way no longer blocked by Thren. Attackers on both sides, the three Scorpions tried to divide their attention, two to Thren, one to Senke. Neither had a chance. Senke was as skilled with his mace as any man could be with a weapon. He swung wide for the man’s chest, but when he made to block, Senke had stepped in close, left leg sweeping out the man’s knees. When the Scorpion fell, Senke’s mace followed him to the ground, blasting in his ribs with an audible crunch.

Thren’s two died just as easily, one sword finding throat, the other piercing lung. Yanking his blades free, Thren turned down the hall as smoke began to billow up the stairs.

“At my side,” Thren said, ignoring the other doors as he ran. Finding the one on the far end, the one he’d seen Carr enter, he tested the handle and found it unlocked. Eyes narrowing, he turned the handle, kicked the door open, and then dodged to the side. An arrow shot through the center of the door, embedding into the opposite wall. Thren stepped inside, showing no hurry. Carr stood in a small but well-furnished bedroom. By the window stood Carr’s wife, Lenore, and his ten-year-old son, Reed. Seeing Thren, the guildmaster lowered his empty crossbow.

“It wasn’t supposed to happen this way,” Carr said as Thren approached.

“I know,” Thren said. “And I don’t care.”

* * *

They dragged all three through the street, their wrists bound together with rope. Of the fifteen Spiders who had come, only four had died, compared to the twenty Scorpions Thren’s men had killed. No doubt more Scorpions lurked throughout the city, but Thren walked with his sword pressed against their leader’s throat. None would dare interfere, not anymore. If anything, they’d all be looking for new guilds to take them in.

Thren said nothing to them, as did Carr. Lenore wept, the pretty little thing, but she kept her mouth shut. Only the child dared say anything, but his questions were ignored, and eventually he fell silent.

Arriving at Thren’s hideout, a simple unmarked warehouse, they entered, Thren leading the way.

“Take them to the dark room,” Thren ordered. “Tie them to the wall, but don’t harm them needlessly.”

As Thren watched the men carry out his orders, he glanced to the stairs leading to the upper floor. Waiting on them, watching quietly, were his sons. Aaron was barely visible over the bannister, his blond hair and blue eyes poking out. Beside him Randith leaned against the wall with his arms crossed, a frown on his face. He seemed so much more serious than his ten years should have allowed.

“Where’s Mom?” Randith asked, his voice piercing the din.

Thren swallowed, tried to think of a way to answer.

“Dead,” he said, his voice suddenly hoarse.

Randith winced, but he put on a show of remaining strong. It made Thren proud of him, sick as his stomach was from the finality of the words he’d spoken. Aaron, however, teared up immediately.

“No,” the younger brother murmured. “No, she can’t, she…”

“Take him back upstairs,” Thren said. “Now. I have work to do.”

Not wanting to see them any longer, to see their pain both hidden and obvious, he pushed his mind to the matters at hand. In the back of his warehouse was the dark room, unfurnished and lacking any windows. Thren stepped inside, taking a torch with him. Hooking it on the wall just below a small vent to allow the smoke to escape, he returned to the door and shut it. The sound it made echoed and echoed in the cramped space.

“Thren,” Carr whispered, his features shadowed in the flickering torchlight. “Please, do whatever you want to me, but let them go. They had nothing to do with it, you know that. You know that!”

Tied to the opposite wall were Carr’s wife and son, and they both sniffled, crying from fear and uncertainty. Thren never looked their way. Instead he stood before Carr, let him see his body shaking with rage, let him see his control about to shatter.

And then Thren collapsed to his knees. He let his hardness break, let the anguish come pouring forth. As Carr watched in stunned silence, Thren beat against his legs, crying out Marion’s name again and again. Stumbling to his feet, he flung himself against a wall and smashed his fists against it, then slammed it with his forehead. He thought of Marion’s smile, her dazzling eyes. He remembered her body against his, every curve, every secret, all replaced by the ghost of a memory stolen away in Grayson’s hands. Thren never bothered to wipe away his tears, just let them flow down his face, down his chin.

At last his composure came to him, almost unwillingly. Using his sleeve, he brushed the snot from his nose, then walked over to Carr. The man sat on his rear, with his hands tied above him, and Thren knelt so they might stare eye to eye.

“Listen well,” Thren said after clearing his throat. “Tonight marks the end of your guild. Every Scorpion will die. Even those who left your guild to fly a cloak of a different color, they will die. Anyone who dares utter your name, or the name of your guild, will die. Twenty years from now, should a man be foolish enough to start a guild with the emblem of a Scorpion, I will crush his guild into the ground before it can last a week. Tonight you, and everything you accomplished, will cease to exist. Do you understand me, Carr?”

The man nodded, his jaw trembling.

Thren finally wiped at the tears that wetted his face, then held his hand out to Carr.

“I wanted you to see that,” Thren said, his voice so soft, so cold. “I wanted you to see the pain and anguish you’ve caused me. Marion was everything to me. Everything. My men may see me as hard, or calloused. Others will marvel at how I left her memory behind so easily. But you will know, Carr. You’ve seen it, seen every bit of my anguish.”

Thren grabbed Carr by the hair and pulled him close enough that he could whisper into his ear.

“And you’re about to feel that same pain and anguish, you stupid bastard. Because this isn’t about the dead. This isn’t about revenge. Not anymore. It’s about the message.”

He flung him back, rose to his feet. His tired, red-eyed gaze turned to Carr’s terrified family. No smile, no pleasure on his face. A sob came from Carr’s throat, yet the sound made no impact on Thren. Just a dullness in him now. A death.

“You’ll feel it,” Thren told the guildmaster. “I promise you, you’ll feel it. All that pain. All that agony.”

He drew his sword, approached the boy first.

“And I won’t have to lay a hand on you to do it.”

All throughout the night, Carr screamed and sobbed.

True to his word, Thren never laid a hand on him.