Chapter 8
They weren't hard to find. The vermin didn't even try hiding in Akar, making no attempt to scurry away on seeing him. They simply fingered their weapons in what they considered a threatening manner.
Einari ignored the glares as he approached, and raised a hand for the guards accompanying him to remain out here. Like him, they wore the distinctive red and black Society uniform.
He doubted he'd be welcome within, and going any further in force could risk aggression from these idiots. He didn't want that until he'd learnt what he needed. As long as his men were within earshot he shouldn't have a problem.
Not that he expected much trouble. They'd become too accustomed to the local guards – indolent and corrupt, or easily cowed – and had grown complacent. Thieves were meant to hide. That was how they survived.
He stopped before the pair of bruisers guarding the door. 'I will see your leader.'
Their stares said they'd sooner beat him and toss him away. A minimal degree of reasoning kicked in as they glanced at his men, and one disappeared inside.
The other thug had a few inches on Einari, and was considerably wider, not that he'd last long if it came to a fight. His type relied on bulk for intimidation, while Einari's sturdy frame was muscle, honed for combat with constant practice.
The first thug returned, and Einari followed him inside. They traversed relatively clean and well-lit corridors, making the miscreants they passed all the more incongruous.
Einari was ushered into an office which gave the pretence of being a place of business. The old man behind the desk scowled through his pinched face, a spiteful prune at the middle of this empire of decay. This would be Thjodstar.
Behind him stood a man Einari recognised as Snaenjar, his expression guarded as he watched carefully.
The escort joined the other two thugs lounging around the room, keeping close watch and ready to attack at the slightest provocation.
Einari sat in the chair before the desk without awaiting an invitation.
The old man's scowl deepened. 'What do you want, boy?'
'Information,' said Einari, his voice calm and betraying little disdain.
'What do I look like?' snapped Thjodstar. 'Some kind of information broker. I have people for that kind of thing.'
'What you look like is a thief,' said Einari. 'Leader of the thieves of this city. Someone who would know who was responsible for a theft from my employers.'
'You mean the accident down by the docks the other day?'
'I mean the theft which was made to look like an accident, and which I know you know was actually a theft.' Mainly from what he'd read on their faces. They'd shown no surprise, and Snaenjar’s face had gone a touch too stiff. Thjodstar himself looked defiant – he wouldn't give up anything to someone he saw as an enemy.
'Don't know anything about it,' said the old man. 'If that's all, you can leave.'
'I don't believe you,' said Einari.
A ripple of tension spread through the room. Thjodstar's eyes narrowed dangerously. He wasn't used to being spoken to so bluntly. 'Did you call me a liar?'
'You spotted that, did you?' Einari had no intention of backing down before their kind. He'd come for information and intended to get it.
'Since you know who I am, I'll assume you're insane. Y' don't think those mercenaries out there'll be of any use to you in here, do you?'
'They're peacekeepers, not mercenaries.'
Thjodstar snorted. 'You're all just private soldiers, working for the Society. The city has its own guards.'
'Who’ve proven ineffectual in dealing with the disease you represent.'
His eyes hardening, Thjodstar was preparing to have his men act.
'I'm from the Storm Isles,' said Einari.
Thjodstar’s glare grew confused. 'So what? Y' got a different approach to manners? Y' think I should go easy on you because of that?'
'What do you know about the Isles?'
'They're down south, wet, lonely, and apparently breed rudeness.'
'Unlike you, we remember the worst depredations of the Elinar raiders. I recall them clearly as they cut my family down in front of me when I was eight, leaving me for dead.'
'My heart bleeds for you.' Thjodstar didn’t attempt sincerity.
Einari ignored him. 'They'd come when they wished, and none of our preparations were ever enough. The local guards would get cut down, or hide with everyone else, and the raiders took what they wanted without a care. Living off the hard work of others. Then the Society arrived. They brought glyphs, and guards armed with glyphs. They didn't fall so easily. And the raiders soon stopped.'
'Fascinating, but unless this has anything to do with me...'
'We are not the local guards. You cannot buy us off. You cannot cow us. And we do not tolerate parasites.'
'Get out of my place,' snarled Thjodstar.
Snaenjar bent to whisper something, only to be slapped away.
'You think you're the first to come here trying to bully me?' asked Thjodstar. 'Trying to threaten to lock me up if I don't cooperate? You're not the first, or the last. I've ruled here since before your mother squatted you out, and I'll be here long after the pigs that'll eat your remains have passed through me.'
'There appears to be a misunderstanding,' said Einari, his voice still perfectly even. His face betrayed no hint of his tension as he anticipated the next moments. 'You telling me what I want to know won't be the difference between you going to prison or staying free. It's the difference between you going to prison or dying.'
His eyes widening with rage, Thjodstar signaled the thugs. Hardly necessary.
Einari rose as they approached. They were evenly spaced, one to either side, and one directly behind. Their distance gave him a couple of seconds, which would be too long for them.
He kicked the chair back towards the one to his left as he turned right. His sword slid from its scabbard, and the glyph pulsed to life as it caught the rightmost thug across the throat, sliding through as though cutting water. The blade continued unabated, slicing the chest of the next in line before he could draw his weapon.
The remaining thug tossed the chair aside, and had a club defensively before him, still deciding what to do with it. Einari didn't give him the chance, advancing inexorably as his blade swept through the weapon. The glyphs meant the club was sliced in two with only the mild resistance.
A sharp stab, in and out of the thug's chest in a blink, and the fight was done.
Einari turned on the two behind the desk. Neither had moved in the bare seconds the fight had taken.
Stepping forward, Einari's blade reached across to slice the old man's throat. Thjodstar’s face spread in surprise as he tried in vain to stop his lifeblood staining his clothes.
Ignoring the dead and dying, yet alert for noise from the corridor behind him, Einari fixed his gaze on Snaenjar. The thief's hand drifted away from the sword hilt. His posture became unthreatening, his hands out to his sides.
'Do you have an answer for me?' asked Einari.
The man nodded.