Chapter Four-Hundred Eighteen (Patreon)

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Salazar ‘The Shadow’ Siltz

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The elf in drab leathers does his best to resist thumbing the hilt of his favorite dagger.  First comes the caressing, then playing with the blade, then someone will get jumpy and he’ll have to clean up.  He doesn’t mind doing a bit of clean up, but his boss wants to go for intimidation, at least to start.

The entire situation reminds him of an old joke among rogue circles: the difference between a politician and a thief is that a thief will happily stab you in the back, where the politician will pay someone to do it for them.  The part that nobody mentions if that a thieves guild master will order someone else to do it, and not even bother paying them.  Something about not angering the assassin’s guild.

Either way, it’s politics and he’s more than happy to be the blade for his boss.  He only knows the elf as Thomen.  He doesn’t know how high up in the greater guild he is, but he knows he’s high enough to be given the task of reestablishing the guild’s presence in Fourdock, and getting satisfaction from the local mayor for having moved so openly against them.

There’s some talk about an Earl being involved, but that’s politics and beyond what Sal wants to think about.  Better to just look intimidating… once they get inside the manor, anyway.

Which is why he keeps his hand away from his dagger.  Thomen wants to play the part of a traveling merchant, clothes fine but not fancy enough to tempt a thief, and simple glasses on his nose.  His ‘guards’ are more rough than most would expect, but still in line with what mercenaries a merchant might hire.  Sal just needs to keep the act going until they’re inside at the table.

The guard at the entrance to the manor doesn’t look fooled one bit.  A merchant wanting to meet after sunset is probably suspicious, but it seems the mayor was expecting them, and the guard doesn’t even bother trying to take their weapons.

Probably for the best.  That always leads to needing to clean up.

A grey-skinned elf shows up to guide them to the dining hall, where the young mayor is waiting.  Sal had heard the mayor was supposed to be a pushover, but he looks… very at ease in his seat, not even rising to greet them.

“Good evening, ladies and gentlemen.  Have a seat, please.  My chefs have prepared a meal for us all, if you haven’t had a chance to eat since arriving in my fine town.”

Thomen subtly nods to his associates, who spread out and sit at the table.  He and Sal both eye the setting at the opposite end from the mayor, noticing a plate, but no seat for it.  Instead of dragging one over, Thomen takes a seat near the mayor, letting the others fill out the remaining spaces.

“Lord Mayor Rezlar.  Thank you for your hospitality.  We have much to discuss,” finally says Thomen, as the servants start serving soup as the first course.

The young mayor smiles with a little too much teeth, a hand moving to brush the boutonnière on his lapel.  “Oh, I agree.  After your associates’... bankruptcy, I believe a significant renegotiation is in order.”

“As do I, though I get the feeling we both wish to negotiate in opposite directions.”

The mayor smirks.  “I believe you are correct, just as I believe I am the one with the superior position, having had a hand in the failure of the previous business venture here.”

Sal takes a taste of his soup, his eyes flicking down to the surprisingly tasty tomato soup in front of him.  He usually prefers stews if he has to have anything in a bowl, but he still appreciates what he’s been served here.  Thomen seems to agree, taking the time to finish his own before he responds to the mayor.

“Ah, but it is that very hand that gives my organization the leverage to demand better terms.”

The mayor chuckles and shakes his head.  “Self defense, Mr. Thomen, and I believe you should leave it at that.  Ms. Toja attempted to assist in my assassination without consulting with the proper organization.  If you were to press the matter, it would mean your friends condone the action, which would certainly gain the ire of people I imagine you would rather not anger.”

Thomen doesn’t look fazed, but Sal suppresses a shudder at that news.  Stabbing some random nobody is one thing.  Going after anyone in a position of power needs the involvement of the assassin’s guild, and they don’t appreciate freelancing.

“Even so, my associates lost quite the investment.”

“Then they should learn how to better manage the risk of those investments.  I certainly never agreed to guarantee them, should something fail,” answers the mayor with a voice of steel, brooking no negotiation on that particular point.

“You are aware that may strain our working relationship?”

“Ah, you assume I even wish to have one.”

The thieves go still at that declaration, all eyes on the mayor, who appears to still be relaxed.  Has he gone mad?  Maybe he thinks that dealing with Toja means he can deal with the entire guild?  Sal can’t help but tap at the hilt of his dagger as the servants clear the soup bowls and present an appetizer of baked oysters.

Thomen takes a forkful and savors it before he speaks.  “You seem to assume it’s an option.”

The mayor smirks and shakes his head.  “Make no mistake Mr. Thomen.  I understand reality, but that does not mean I have to enjoy it.  Any ‘working relationship’ we may have will be at arm’s length, minimum.”

Thomen smiles.  “Ah, then you are willing to accept the previous arrangement?”

“Absolutely not.  I had allowed Toja far too much influence.  I don’t intend to make that same mistake.”

Thomen sighs and pushes away his empty platter.  “No, you seem determined to make a different mistake.  I see no guards in this hall.”

The mayor smiles.  “You see what I want you to see.”  With a flick of his wrist and a flex of mana, the water from the glasses around the table shoot out to douse most of the lights, leaving only a few standing candelabras around the edges of the room, as well as sparse moonlight from the windows as illumination.

“Darkness, Lord Mayor?  I hope you didn’t expect to unnerve us with…”  Thomen trails off as a rumble is heard in the distance.  A rumble that seems to be slowly approaching.  Silverware rattles, and the water that still remains in the glasses ripples like invisible pebbles have been dropped into them.

Sal has his favorite dagger out, the thief standing and searching for the source of the rumbling that must be footsteps.  His eyes are drawn to one candelabra in particular, right in front of the window.  It still has all the candles lit… letting him see something moving just outside.  Before he can try to warn everyone, the moonlight is blocked by that very something, and soon a large eye dominates the window.  The iris contracts in the light, giving the distinct impression that whatever is out there can see all of them.

“Ah, my other guests have arrived.  I ordinarily would have waited to start dinner for them, but they have a… unique palate.”

Thomen stands to demand answers, but before he can, the window is pushed open by a small clawed hand.  The glass swings out of the way, and then the window frame itself warps and flows around the thing that casually walks through what should not even be able to hit its snout, let alone the rest of it.

“Dragon…” slips past Sal’s lips as it steps inside, though not a type of dragon he’s familiar with.  Though it has no wings, it has enough teeth and enough size that it doesn’t need them.  It eyes the thieves with contempt before casually striding over to the empty place at the table.  It passes by Sal, and he doesn’t even think about attacking.  If he tries anything, he’ll be the one getting cleaned up.

“Sorry we’re late,” comes a voice that seems to be right next to his ear, and Sal’s glad he’s not the only one who flinches.  The voice doesn’t offer any excuse for being late, and the dragon simply continues to lower its head until it rests on the floor, its eyes still well above the level of the table.

And then a rat casually walks down from the top of its head, and sits on the table, before the plate.

“What kind of joke is this?” asks Thomen, only for literal and metaphorical weight to descend on them all.  The rat’s eyes are glowing orange, its tail leaving a faint trail of the same color as it looks over the thieves.

“The only jokes I see here are you lot.  You can negotiate with Rezlar, he’s the mayor.  But I have an offer you can’t refuse from the Boss.  He’s got a pretty low opinion of you guys after Toja.  If you get too big for your britches again, he has no issue taking you out like he did her.”

The weight stays as a servant sets a plate of cheese before the rat, and only after he starts nibbling does the pressure ease.

“You would declare war on the thieve’s guild?” demands Thomen, only to grunt as the pressure apparently returns to him.

“You really don’t get it, do you?  It wouldn’t even be a war.  I wouldn’t even put myself in the top five of Boss’ scions, and you guys can only still breathe because I’m being nice.  And just in case you guys are as clueless as Toja was: Boss is a dungeon.  He doesn’t appreciate when someone messes with his delvers.  And to be clear: everyone in Fourdock delves.”

The pressure lifts once more, and Thomen’s eyes burn with fury.  “Salazar!”

A gloved hand rests on Sal’s shoulder, and every instinct he has tells him to not move.  He can practically hear the smile on the butler that was not behind him a moment ago.  “A wise decision, Mr. Siltz.”

Sal slowly sheathes his dagger, his eyes wider than the plate his oyster rests on.  He’s pretty sure nobody has said his last name the entire time he’s been in town.  Thomen’s fury is doused in an instant, and the other thieves slowly realize the situation they’re in.

The mayor smiles.  “I’m glad we could come to an understanding of the situation.  While I agree that stifling your business entirely would be a fool’s errand, I have no intention of letting your organization have the sort of sway it did.  And my priorities are the same as Lord Thedeim’s: the safety of my citizens.”

Thomen frowns.  “Lord Thedeim?  You’d swear fealty to a dungeon?”

The mayor’s smile widens.  “I still swear fealty to the crown, but I swear my soul to Lord Thedeim, god of Change.  Will you adapt to the new situation, Mr Thomen, or will you be swept away by His rolling tide?”

Eyes widen even more at that declaration, the sudden weight from the rat now making much more sense.  If it represents a god...

He looks to Thomen, the elf trying to maintain his image, and failing.  This is exactly why Sal is glad he’s only really good for stabbing.  If he stabs the wrong guy, the consequences are pretty much all on himself.  But if a boss makes the wrong move, it’s everyone’s problem.

“I… will need to consult with my peers to come up with something… mutually beneficial.”

The mayor nods at that, and glances at the servants to bring in the next course of some kind of tender meat.  “That is agreeable.  I’m sure very little went as you would have hoped.  For now, let us enjoy the rest of the meal.  My friends and I killed this arcsnake ourselves, and one of them was so kind as to even butcher it for us, too.”

“Arcsnake?” asks Sal, his curiosity getting the better of him.

The rat speaks up, though it doesn’t have any of the orange magic around it as it does so.  “One of Boss’ stronger denizens.  One is usually a good challenge for even a party with advanced classes.”

A sharp buzzing sound comes from the windows as arcs of lightning climb up the twin heads of serpents waiting in the dark, each window framing an arcsnake showing off why they’re named as such.  The Mayor doesn’t even look up from his plate.

“Please, eat.  There’s plenty more where this came from.”