Blood of the Underworld

27

Stephen Connington stepped into the tiny room, holding a candle to give himself light. As he’d hoped, she was already waiting for him there.

“Mother,” he said, seeing her sitting against the wall, surrounded by little toys carved out of wood.

“I’m here, child,” Melody said.

Stephen went to her, curling up in her arms as he closed his eyes. He was getting too big for it, he knew, but he did so anyway. With his eyes closed, he was once more lost in darkness, lost in a past he’d thought he’d escaped. Sadly, it seemed he never would.

“Do you think father loved me?” he asked.

“You know he did.”

He thought of the years of darkness amid months of light, of the beatings and the hunger, followed by Leon’s lips on his neck.

“Do I?” Stephen asked.

He’d been a bastard of Leon’s, birthed by a lowly servant girl who had aroused his father’s attention. Melody was not his mother, not by blood, no matter how much he might wish it be true. There’d been times Leon had treated him well, had laughed and told him stories as they walked through the mansion. Other times, though…other times…

“He told you so, didn’t he?” Melody said, stirring him from his thoughts.

His father’s voice echoed in his head, distorted over time so he couldn’t be sure if the love he heard in it existed or not.

You know they would kill you, Stephen. They don’t think you’re good enough to be one of them, to take over everything I’ve built. They want some boy pulled from a prissy noblelady’s cunt instead. But you’re my daughter, you hear me? You never forget it. My blood. So don’t you worry when I put you down there. It’s for your safety, Stephen. Your safety.

No matter the love he felt from his father, those long months spent in the cell had wore on him, bathing him in darkness as he grew up isolated and alone. But then, when he was almost six, an angel had been delivered to him. It was his mother, the true mother that owned his heart. Melody had been placed in the cell adjacent to his. The first he’d ever known of her was the songs she sang to pass the time. In that deep darkness, that voice had carried him, given him comfort so he could sleep without crying.

“Alyssa’s supposed to be next,” Stephen said. “Laerek insists on it, before she might discover our plans.”

“I understand,” Melody said, gently stroking his hair. Not his real hair, though, but the long wig he’d put on prior to entering. He still remembered the night he’d taken it, hidden in shadows while watching the whores pass. Oh, some didn’t ask for money, might have even claimed they were proper women, noble ladies or faithful wives. But they were all whores. His father had made that clear.

All women are whores, Stephen, even you. It’s in their blood, and it’s stronger than anything else in this world. That’s why you shouldn’t feel bad. It’s not your fault. You just can’t help it, always looking at me like you do. But you’re my daughter, my precious little daughter. Now come here.

Stephen had sliced the woman’s beautiful brown hair off at the scalp, all while the venom of the brown widow spider kept her paralyzed. She’d been unable to move, but he’d seen the screams in her eyes when he finally pulled the last of it free. It was her beauty, he knew. She hated to lose her beauty, to see someone stronger, someone more deserving, take it away.

“Are you sure you don’t mind?” Stephen asked. “I…she’s my sister, isn’t she? Your daughter?”

Melody’s careful stroking of his head paused, and he felt his muscles tense. He hated when she did that, one of those subtle things to let him know her displeasure.

“She’s not my daughter,” Melody said, her bony fingers tightening around his shoulders, making him feel like a disobedient child. “She’s Maynard’s daughter. He kept her from me, Stephen. He wanted her for himself, because he was selfish. Because he was weak. He knew the strength Karak gave me, and would not let her know it as well. That’s why he sold me to your father.”

Stephen felt fury burn bright in his chest. Of course it was Maynard Keenan’s fault. Leon had made that quite clear. He’d come to his father multiple times, whenever he was given freedom to leave his cell and roam the mansion. Whenever he asked for Melody to be released, he’d been given the same answer.

If Maynard finds out, he’ll kill me. She’s supposed to be dead, Stephen.You know what dead means, right? It means not walking around talking to my servants, being seen by guests, eating food cooked by women with more mouths than sense. I love her dearly, but down there she has to stay if you want her to survive.

For five long years he’d asked, until the Bloody Kensgold came. He’d been in his cell, not allowed to join the festivities, when the thieves had come and set the mansion ablaze. The smoke had been thick as the building burned above them. The heat swelled, and Stephen had huddled by the floor, sobbing in terror. Melody had kept him calm, singing through the noise and chaos, her voice echoing across the stone to give him comfort. Anytime he woke in the night, heart gripped with horror, he still recalled those songs. Deep underground, they’d survived while the rest of the mansion collapsed.

It’d taken two days, but at last they’d been dug free. Stephen still remembered staggering out into the light, stinking of filth, his body drained and dying for a drink of water. He’d reached for his father, only to have Leon take a step back, his nose crinkling in disgust. That was when Stephen realized just how ugly he was, how wretched a body he inhabited. When his mother had been pulled out, it was she whom he’d held, she whom he’d pulled close against his body.

“I was never his daughter,” Stephen whispered. “Every time he called me that, he lied.”

“Hush now,” Melody said, putting a hand against his cheek and forcing him to look up at her. “You can’t help how you were born, so don’t blame yourself. Your father was a troubled man, but he loved you. He loved us. Never doubt that.”

He nodded, then tugged at her shirt.

“May I?” he asked.

“If you must.”

She unbuttoned her blouse, then pulled free a breast. Stephen latched onto it with his lips, rubbed across the nipple with his tongue, and then began to suck. No milk came out, not like the earliest years in the prison, but he was long past needing that physical nourishment. It was the attention he needed now, the soothing sensation of being cradled by his mother. He suckled for a while, felt his nerves gradually ease. He was anxious about killing Alyssa, he knew. It was that bodyguard of hers, that heathen woman, Zusa. Laerek assured him she’d be occupied that night, but he knew enough of Zusa to not trust that promise. When he killed Alyssa, he’d have to make it quick, not enjoy it like the others.

But Laerek had made him another promise, one that still got his blood racing when he thought of it.

“Laerek said he’ll have Thren ready for me soon,” he said, releasing Melody’s nipple and then pressing his face against her breast. “He was given orders to leave him alive, just so I can kill him. I can’t wait, mommy, I can’t…”

She stroked his face, and he heard her chuckle as if he’d said something amusing.

“You shouldn’t let him trouble you so,” she said.

Stephen shook his head.

“How can you say that? You loved father, too, didn’t you?”

“Of course.”

“And he killed him, mother! Thren killed him!”

He’d just taken power a little over a year ago, his right as firstborn son finally acknowledged despite him being discovered within Leon’s cells. Not long after, Laerek had come to him, asking questions about things Stephen had never wanted to think on again.

“Do you know who killed your father?” Laerek had asked.

Stephen had not been told, so he’d been left to rumors.

“I assume it was the Watcher,” he’d replied. “Is that not what the whispers say?”

Laerek had shaken his head, and given him such a condescending smirk.

“A man in gray, wielding matching blades, came into your father’s home, slew his guards, and then executed him without mercy. He’d brought a companion with him, who died, unable to escape. His name was Senke, a long-time member of the Spider Guild. Thren Felhorn killed your father, Stephen.”

“Then why does the Watcher take the credit?”

“He thrives on fear. Why would he not?”

Stephen had had nothing to say to that. He’d given no thought to Leon’s murder, only in regaining his power. Upon doing so, his very first act had been to free Melody. She had been with him, teaching him the ways of high society, guiding him through the pitfalls that might have ensnared him. And hearing Laerek’s question, she’d leaned down and whispered into his ear.

“You have the name of his murderer. What will you do, Stephen? How much did you truly love him?”

He thought of that now as she held him, seemingly uncaring about the death of Leon’s murderer.

“Why do you not hate him as much as I?” he asked her. His face deep into her cleavage, he inhaled deeply, the smell of her sweat and sex so familiar to him. “You were the one who urged me to meet Laerek, who asked me to seek vengeance. I do this all for you.”

Melody gently pushed him back, and before he could protest, she fully clothed herself.

“You would doubt me, then question my emotions?” she said, a stern edge overcoming her voice. “Truth is, Leon is dead. If avenging his murder gives you peace, then I support you. But most important is that we remain faithful to our god. That is why I wanted you to listen. That is why I urged you to do as Laerek says. The end of days is coming, my sweet little child. Veldaren must be made ready. Will you fight for it, or will you sit here in your room with your toys and your shadows and hide from what you have been called to do by our glorious Karak?”

Tears grew in his eyes, and he fought to keep his voice under control.

“Please don’t be mad at me,” he said. “I will. I promise I will. I’ll kill her, and I’ll leave her in darkness just like her father left you.”

Melody took his chin in her fingers, tilted him close, and kissed his forehead several times.

“Feel no shame,” she said. “And fight your doubt, just like we must fight the chaos of this world. Karak has given you a grand purpose, and I couldn’t be any more proud. Go do what must be done, and know that I will always be here for you.”

Behind her was a closet, and carefully he stood and pulled it open. Inside was a crossbow loaded with a single arrow, its tip coated with poison. All prepared and ready for him with his mother’s loving hands. He took it, smiled at her.

“I’ll make you happy,” he said. “I owe you so much. I’m not sure I can ever repay you.”

Now holding the candle, Melody lifted it to her face so the light shone across her smile.

“You’re my beloved daughter,” she said. “The one I should have had and raised if not for Maynard’s pride. You have nothing to repay me for.”

Stephen reached for the door, and as he pulled it open, Melody called his name.

“Stephen,” she said. “When you take her eyes, tell her the truth. Tell her you’re my daughter now, more than she’ll ever be. Do that, but remember, don’t harm Nathaniel. Karak has blessed him for a reason. Once free of Alyssa’s influence, his gift will blossom like a flower, and we must do whatever we can to nourish it. He is no threat to my ascension.”

Crossbow shaking in his sweaty hand, Stephen nodded to his mother.

“I will,” he said. “I promise I will.”

He left, shut the door behind him, and then hurried down the hall to where Alyssa slept.

Victor leaned against the back wall of his tavern, arms crossed, body covered with shining armor. His fingers drummed the hilt of his sword, but he forced himself to remain calm and leave it sheathed. Gathered together, in both the tavern and two nearby streets, were the bulk of his forces. They were all equally impatient, but Victor had no choice, much as it left a foul taste in his mouth.

True to his word, Deathmask arrived twenty minutes after sunset. He walked alone, his face unclouded by ash or cloth. His smile was wide, and it unnerved Victor further.

“I’m here, and my men ready,” Victor said. “What is of such great importance?”

Deathmask bowed low in greeting.

“Forgive me if I inconvenienced you,” he said. When he pulled up from his bow, there was a sparkle in his red eye. “But if you want to keep a hold on Veldaren, you need to act now, without delay.”

“What are you talking about? Speak plainly.”

Deathmask looked to be in no hurry, despite his urgent message. He paced before Victor, tapping his lips with a finger.

“I’m sure you know much of this city’s guilds, but what about elsewhere?”

Victor shook his head.

“I must profess ignorance in this.”

“And other things, as well,” Deathmask said, grin growing. “But then let me remove your ignorance. There is a guild in Mordeina known as the Suns. Over the past few years they’ve spread their influence, first into Ker, then Omn, and now they’ve set their eye on Neldar. They’re coming here, into Veldaren, so they might strike at the heart of this nation, and then branch out like a disease.”

Victor frowned, not liking what he was hearing.

“Are you afraid of losing some profit, thief?” he asked.

“Don’t be naive. Veldaren is already spiraling out of control, and the Suns will destroy it completely. They won’t rest until every guild, mine included, is wiped out.”

“So far I don’t see much reason to hate them.”

A bit of amusement left Deathmask’s eyes.

“Enough, Victor. You know as well as I that the guilds here are weak, and can be controlled. But not the Suns. This is not some distant threat, nor someone that will bow to the Trifect or pay heed to the Watcher. They’ve come to conquer…and they’re already here.”

Information he’d received the day before suddenly clicked, and Victor felt a pit grow in his stomach.

“The cheap crimleaf,” he said. “I’d heard of the bottoming out of prices. The new dealer…that’s them, isn’t it?”

“Not just crimleaf,” Deathmask said. “Other leaves, and powders far worse. Have your men not found the bodies all across the southern district? War’s begun, so far silent but for the Bloodcrafts. Each day their numbers grow, members of all guilds sensing the coming tide and abandoning their old allegiances for the new.”

Victor shifted, leaning more of his weight against the wall. He tried to think, to understand what it meant. Slowly he was bleeding the guilds dry of both members and coin. It might succeed, too, but only a fool would think someone else wouldn’t try to fill the void. If the Suns were as dangerous as Deathmask claimed…

He looked up at the thief.

“What do you want of me?” he asked.

Deathmask pulled a cloth from his pocket and tied it across his face.

“Help me,” he said, his other hand pulling out a handful of ash. “Swallow your pride, and send your soldiers flooding into the Suns’ newly acquired territory under my direction. We’ll crush them here, now, before they gain more than a foothold.”

With a wave of a hand, the ash scattered about his face, then hovered there, hiding his features.

“The city is mine, Victor, but I am a kinder lord than the Suns will ever be. Do not doubt your decision, not in this.”

Victor closed his eyes, thought of the carnage he’d seen the day prior while being protected by the Eschaton.

“You say the Bloodcrafts have been hired to protect the Suns?” he asked.

“It seems that way. If not for them, I’d have already crushed their initial push.”

Victor shook his head. Anyone who would bring in such dangerous beings just to protect their drug trade was someone he couldn’t allow to gain prominence in Veldaren.

“I’ll help you,” he said. “But know that I will watch you closely, and do this only for the good of the city.”

“The good of the city,” Deathmask chuckled. “How quaint.”

He whistled, and the rest of his guild appeared from further up the street, approaching in their similar colors.

Monsters, thought Victor as they gathered. You said you’d protect me from the monsters, Watcher. But what happens when the monsters turn on each other?

“Ready your men,” Deathmask said. “It’s time for a slaughter.”

Victor left without a word, trying to not think about the company he kept, or of the bloodshed to commence. The peace at the end was all that mattered, he told himself. The final victory. The safe streets and unviolated homes.

“Milord?” asked Sef at his arrival.

“Prepare our men to move out,” he said.

“Milord, something troubles you, I can tell. What…”

“I said prepare them to move out!”

Sef took a step back, then bowed low.

“Forgive me,” he said.

Victor sighed, put a hand on the man’s shoulder.

“No,” he said. “You’ve done much for me, and now I must ask for more. Prepare them all. A new threat has entered our city, and we must crush it while we still have the chance.”

Sef tensed as the Ash Guild came around the corner of the tavern, weapons drawn and shimmering with magic. Victor shook his head and motioned for his soldiers to stand down.

“I do this with a heavy heart,” he said, pointing to Deathmask. “But it must be done. Follow this man’s lead. Once more into the underworld we go.”

Beneath the ash and cloth, Deathmask’s smile grew and grew.