The Lost Runes Saga [Epic Fantasy]

FORTY

At a normal time, the offer might have been an interesting one, but for once, gold was the furthest thing from Vidar's mind. "Afraid not."

Mikael nodded to himself, looked up at one of his men, and made a circling gesture with his finger. Mikael's man left the room. "So be it." He stood with some difficulty and put his hands on the table, leaning forward a little until the wood creaked under his weight. "Gentlemen, this prolonged petty squabble has come to an end. The steward is not happy with the latest developments."

A heavy fist banged on the front door, and the shouting stopped.

Sigmund turned his attention to Mikael. "What is this? Who is out there?"

A voice sounded from the other side of the door, muted. "We have the building surrounded. Come out now if you wish to keep your lives. The crown demands your surrender."

Vidar groaned and stood, casting his gaze this way and that, trying to find an alternate exit. There was none to be had. The men of the different factions had been close to coming blows, but now they were sheathing their weapons, looking to their leaders.

Sigmund's head hung down, and he shook it. "Mikael, what have you done?"

"What needed doing," the fat man said, leaving the table, surrounded by guards.

"Bastard," Sigmund croaked. "Backstabbing bastard." In a blur, the thief leader's hand dove into a pocket, followed by a snapping of his wrist. A throwing dagger whipped through the air, straight toward Mikael, but the barrier of an algiz rune sprang up, blocking the attack. Mikael didn't even look back.

Fjodor watched him go, a searching look on his face, before turning to Vidar. "We better go out there as well."

"I am not exactly allowed in Nordstan. They'll throw me in jail for this."

"That is the least of your worries now, I am sure."

"I am not sure I agree," Vidar said, turning to Sigmund. "Is there an escape route hidden about somewhere?"

"Even if there was, that fat, treacherous fuck would have barred it. Just like the windows."

The front door opened, and Mikael stepped outside, his heavy footfalls leaving the house. Sigmund gave Fjodor a hard look. "We go out with our heads held high. I am not rotting away in some cell like a common drunkard."

Fjodor nodded and drew his own blade. Vidar saw his fingers wrapped around one of the wooden discs he had provided them. There was an algiz rune for each member of their little crew. They wouldn't help much, considering what was waiting out there for them.

Fighting his way out was an option, but he really didn't want to hurt innocent soldiers or guardsmen. They were bastards down to a man, but that was just part of their profession.

Sigmund and his people walked out, followed by Fjodor and his men, with Vidar bringing up the rear, wishing for a hood to pull over his head. Perhaps none of those outside would recognize him. Though he would be imprisoned either way, brought back to that piss-stinking block of cells.

Vidar was brought out of his own head as he stepped outside and saw Mikael sprawled on the ground in front of a contingent of soldiers, over thirty of them with either crossbows or spears. It took him a moment to understand what had happened. The red clothes of the fat man hid the blood, but when it pooled around him, turning the snow crimson, Vidar knew things had taken yet another turn.

The soldiers were dressed in uniform, and their eyes looked hard, determined. Mikael's men were holding weapons but didn't move to engage, which Vidar found understandable, seeing as they were both outnumbered and outclassed. The thieves, by all appearances, were tough men, but soldiers they were not. They'd get slaughtered in an instant.

"What is this?" Sigmund growled. His eyes darted back and forth between the soldiers.

Fjodor walked up right behind Sigmund, and Vidar watched in horror as Fjodor plunged a dagger into the side of Sigmund's neck before pushing outward in a spray of blood. Sigmund was dead before his body reached the ground. His men stood there, frozen, much like Mikael's followers.

Fjodor raised his hands and moved out to stand near the soldiers, gesturing for his men to follow. Vidar remained on the steps of the house, just as shocked and unable to move as the rest of them.

A figure emerged from the throng of soldiers, a thin man Vidar hadn't seen before. They spoke, but the words did not reach Vidar's ears. It didn't matter. The message was obvious. Fjodor had superseded Mikael's deal with the soldiers.

Fjodor turned with a grin, addressing the two groups of thieves. "The thieves' guild is mine. Halmstadt is mine, and all members of the guild belong to me. Any attempt to form new leadership in the western, southern, or northern districts will meet total annihilation."

He looked at Mikael's and Sigmund's men. "Spread the word. I expect the lieutenants to come see me by first light."

He looked up at the coming dawn. "You better hurry."

The men set off running.

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Fjodor spoke to the thin man for a moment longer, and a rather heavy-looking bag, with the clink of coins, exchanged hands before the soldiers left, many of them glancing up into the ever-brightening sky.

"Did you just become the sole guildmaster of the thieves' guild in Hamstadt?" Vidar asked, looking up at Fjodor's rather pleased face.

"There will be some who are not comfortable with change. But after I secure my position, yes, you are correct," Fjodor said as they set a brisk pace toward the nearest gate out of Nordstan.

"What about Ida?"

"I will extend my hand in invitation to her small group, allowing them to join my guild. She will be a lieutenant overseeing all women. It's time for some change in how the thieves' guild operates."

"And if she doesn't want to join you?"

Fjodor's pleased expression dropped a little. "We cross that road when we get to it. For now, it's time I repay some favors I owe you. Paint and painters?"

"Aye," Vidar said, "but I don't think we have enough time to see that plan through before the dragons return. That's why we need our other project. The metal prods will allow us to burn runic symbols into whatever people use for protection while we work on the larger defenses. The rune scribes have shown their true faces, and we can't expect much help from them."

Fjodor cleared his throat and spat on the ground. "A bunch of arseholes."

"They captured my friend," Vidar said, as they passed through the now open gate, leaving Nordstan in a hurry.

"The one with the glasses?"

Vidar nodded. "That's why I need someone to open the door for me so we can get inside."

Fjodor considered for a moment. There was an almost imperceptible widening of his eyes, then he narrowed them. "I will do you one better, Vidar. It is partly thanks to you I can do some good for the thieves' guild. I owe you, and I always pay my debts, so I'll send a small group with you to retrieve your friend, while I see about creating several more of the tools needed to burn your runic symbols into anything and everything."

Vidar held out his hand. "Thank you."

Fjodor grabbed it and squeezed. "Partners."

Vidar echoed, "Partners." He sort of liked the sound of that. So far, Fjodor had been a man of his word.

* * *

* * *

* * *

Less than an hour later, Vidar stood next to a ruined building to the east, near the wall separating Nordstan from the rest of Hamstadt. It was full-on morning now, and with it, the overcast sky had cleared, showing a blue, empty sky.

Vidar glanced down one street, moved a couple of steps, and looked down another, shifting his weight back and forth, waiting, and tapping his fingers against the staff, knowing he would find use for it soon.

Finding Alvarn in that huge building would be a challenge, but Vidar refused to back down. His friend was suffering because of him, and that would not stand.

Boots crunched in the snow, and Vidar caught Linus rounding the corner of the neighboring residence, his shock of red hair standing out against his somber-colored attire. He broke into a smile and waved, hurrying toward Vidar, with a small group of four men following him. The other four looked nondescript, either clean-shaven or with light scruff, their eyes open and honest, their expressions blank. They wore workers' clothes, thick against the cold, and functional. At first, Vidar thought it was a joke, with Fjodor assigning a whelp and a bunch of workers for the task, but then Linus spoke, gesturing to the four.

"These are⁠—"

"No names," one of them interrupted, a flash of intensity crossing his face before he schooled his expression.

Interesting. So their entire demeanor was a cover. Vidar nodded to them. They each nodded back. The one who'd corrected Linus spoke in a soft voice as his eyes darted over Vidar, the building, the street, taking it all in. "We are briefed on your man's appearance and the likely capabilities of those we will intercept on your behalf." He moved a hand into a pocket on his shirt and withdrew an algiz rune. "Fjodor gave us these."

Vidar nodded. "Good. Don't kill anyone unless you absolutely have to."

They all nodded. "We will keep the rune scribes alive. A diversion by the front gate of this building will draw their attention away from us."

"Great," Vidar said. Having professionals with him settled him somewhat, but he still struggled to keep still, his hands squeezing the staff. He turned to Linus. "I didn't expect to see you here."

The hatch was right in the open. Linus got down on his knees next to it and brought out a leather satchel which he folded open, revealing a wide selection of small tools. He grinned up at Vidar. "Lock picking is my specialty."

It took the lad almost half an hour to get it open. Still, Vidar couldn't help but be impressed by how he wielded the tools with expert precision, listening to the clicks and feeling around inside the lock. Once opened, Linus returned each tool to its original position in his kit, rolled it together, and tied a leather cord around the bundle. He stepped to the side and gestured to the sloping staircase, waiting for them.

The four thieves hurried down on silent feet, and Vidar followed. "You're not coming, Linus?"

"No, this is as far as I go. On Fjodor's orders."

"Well, thank you."

He turned and closed the hatch. It clicked shut, and darkness enveloped him. Soon after, the glow from the kenaz rune tattooed on his forehead gave them enough light to see by.

The corridor was empty, and they swept across empty rooms and barren hallways, making sure each was clear before continuing. At the end of the long, sloping path, they reached the morgue where Vidar had said goodbye to Sven not that long ago.

Sven's body was gone, but another rested on one of the raised platforms, covered by a sheet. Cold gripped Vidar's stomach as he hurried inside and removed the cloth to see a burned, almost unrecognizable face staring back up at him. It was one of the dark-clad men who'd attacked him in front of the guild.

Vidar put the sheet back and looked at the thieves waiting by the door. He shook his head. "It's not him. There are cells further down."

The thieves left without a word but found the cells empty as well. Vidar cursed under his breath. He'd hoped Alvarn would be held in one of these cells, allowing his rescue without disturbing the anthill full of rune scribes above. With that option gone, the only way forward was through the door separating the tunnel from the rest of the guild's underground shelters.

Vidar hunched down and listened at the door, not wanting to be spotted through the bars in the window. He heard an indistinct murmur of voices and risked peeking out. He saw no people nearby, and the corridor was dark up to perhaps twenty paces in, where a dim kenaz rune shone. Vidar thought he saw movement just beyond the reach of that rune, the flash of a rune scribe's robe.

"We have to go in," Vidar whispered, carefully pulling on the door.