voice was so powerful everyone had no choice but to stop and listen. All eyes went to him. By the gods the man was fierce. Jerrod had a venomous, frightening presence, even at the best of times. When he got upset, it was terrifying to behold.
“You,” Jerrod said and pointed to the closest guard. “You put your weapon on the floor, real slow like, or we butcher everyone in here.”
The man flicked his eyes to the sergeant, but the hooded nightmare stormed towards him, arm raised, brass knuckles flashing in the torchlight.
“I’m talking to you, bub. Not that shit heel. Put your weapon down or you got a fight you ain’t gonna win.”
The guard hesitated, glancing back and forth between hood and sergeant, but the reality of the situation began to dawn on him and the others. The guard put his sword on the ground, and the sergeant stepped forward.
“Promise not to hurt these people. Take what you want and go. We will cooperate.”
“Put down your weapons, all of you, or we kill everyone. No promises. No deals.”
The sergeant ordered his men to comply, and the sound of metal striking stone echoed throughout the room. Zandor tapped Felix on the shoulder, and the man played it up by starting to argue but then put his sword down with the others.
The hoods moved. One group consisting of four men, grabbed some employees while a dozen more picked up the swords of the in house security and private guardsmen. They rounded up all the soldiers and tied their arms behind their backs with the others.
More hoods entered the room and began separating patron from security. They tied them up too. Zandor let himself be taken, tied and then they stuffed gags in everyone’s mouths. The toughs were rough and efficient. Zandor gave them credit; they didn’t waste time. Then they put dark bags over their eyes, and the sight Zandor had enjoyed his whole life went out.
* * * * *
Anders wasn’t sure what to think. Marston assured him this man Zandor was a legitimate purveyor of all things criminal. He would get them up and running in no time, just like they had been going before. But the young thief had yet to see any concrete proof, only talk.
“He’s got people,” Marston said, and the tall thief folded his arms across his muscular chest and leaned back. “Everywhere, man. I’m tellin’ ya.”
They and a few other thieves were at the Silver Charger, a place where the former Thieves Guild members were still welcome.
Anders milked his stale ale and considered his former brother in arms. Marston wore finer clothes than most of the others of his social class, with rich fabric that was both expensive and clean, an affectation of the Elite thieves.
Anders shook his head and turned away.
Marston scoffed. “You’ll be back. And maybe then we don’t take you, see how that feels. Heh.”
Anders kept drinking his ale, hoping it was not watered down too much but knowing it was. After another sip he pushed it away, feeling Marston’s eyes on his back. Anders fingered his dagger and wondered if he could find a way to slip it into Marston’s neck and sever the vein there, that big pulsing one.
It was doubtful he could’ve won, but he could hurt him bad. Maybe enough to get him to leave him alone.
Marston left.
* * * * *
The knocking came fast and furious. The door shook on its frame. Then, shouting from the other side.
“Lord Governor! You must come at once!”
Cassius sighed and turned away from the window. He had been enjoying a splendid view of the Western Docks where the ocean stretched out in a beautiful splendor. The waves rippled to and fro. His office allowed him a nice view of most of the city. During the renovations after Janisberg’s naval attack, Cassius had insisted on a taller building, and the six story structure was now the tallest building within hundreds of miles. His office had the best position.
“Yes, yes, what is it?”
The door opened and in came one of his aides. Cassius forgot
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